Between the mauve-clad limbs of the Trade Unioners, I saw the honor guard of the Castaway Cluster who had stood at both sides of the stage clamber up and wade into the fray. They started pulling the invaders away and punching them. Sgarthad was pulled off me as the crowd surged. My arms were still pinned. I kicked out at my captors, taking one behind the knee and the other in a more delicate place. They both let go. I dropped into a martial-arts stance, facing off against a large man with a pitted complexion and shorn blond hair. He grinned ferally and started to move in on me.
“Down, sir!” Parsons commanded in my ear. I ducked A stun charge zipped over my shoulder and hit my would-be opponent in the throat. He fell like a stone. “Down, sir, and stay down! Protect the device.”
I folded myself up and threw both arms across my face to protect it as the battle raged over my head. I was kicked several times in the ribs and back, but I had to guard the viewpad that controlled the video mayhem I was wreaking on the Trade Union’s hopes throughout the Cluster. I could smell blood and my neck throbbed painfully.
The battle went on over my head. I heard shrieks and yells of anger as the citizens of Boske took their long-awaited revenge upon the invaders. Shots did ring out now. I heard both stun charges and bullets ringing, along with the crash of furniture and bellows of rage. I would have been glad to take out some of my frustration on the Trade Union personnel, but this part of the fight belonged to Parsons.
After an interminable interval, the unmistakable sound of fist on flesh and that of bodies striking the floor near me with some force presaged the rush of cool air down my neck.
“Get up, sir,” Parsons said. “It is over.” I uncovered my head to see him standing over me. Beside him was a slender young man, clean-shaven and clear-skinned, dressed in the midnight blue uniform of an Imperium midshipman. Beside him hovered my miniature tank, a.k.a. Emby. “Well done, sir.”
“It was a joint effort,” I said, patting Emby. “Many others participated in that success. We are all to be congratulated. But have you got him?”
Parsons stepped to one side to reveal Sgarthad in the hands of Nesbitt and Oskelev. When I came towards him, he struggled and snarled. I could almost picture the animal face still on him.
“You fool, you have destroyed the work of years,” he shouted. “Generations! The hopes of my family are ruined!”
“This is for my family,” I said, letting the ire I felt well until it spouted up like a fountain. “You’re nothing like Xan. He would be ashamed of you.” I cocked back my fist and smashed it into his face. I felt my knuckles crack, but so did the Trade Union captain’s perfect cheekbone. His face immediately began to swell up. He would never be so symmetrical again. I shook my wrist as the throbbing pain began. “Ouch.”
“I have a first-aid kit in the wings, sir,” said the young man.
“Thank you,” I said, a bit bemused. “And you . . . ?”
“He is part of our contingent, sir,” Parsons said. I frowned, glancing at him, but Parsons was infallible, and I always trusted his judgement.
“And what name have I known you by?” I inquired.
“Midshipman Frank,” the youth said.
“Frank?” I echoed, astonished. “Any, er, relation?”
“Yes, sir,” he said.
“Well, well.” I glanced at Parsons. He shook his head. I was disappointed, but I understood. Explanations would have to wait.
A small, plump woman with graying brown hair bustled up onto the stage and embraced Councillor DeKarn. The two women hung on one another’s shoulders, talking and crying. I recognized the newcomer as Ambassador Ben. Behind her came Anstruther, walking with an almost cocky gait. As she reached the other two, the ambassador caught her by the wrist and pulled her over.
“My goodness, I have never been through anything so impressive!” she declared as Parsons and I came to join them. “This young officer opened my cell and set me free, stunned one guard running toward us, did a flip and kicked the other one in the head!”
“She’s very good at jai-alai,” I pointed out. “Stunning reflexes.” Anstruther blushed. “Well done, Ensign.”
“Thank you, sir.”
A man with a bulbous nose and piggy eyes strode majestically onto the stage, accompanied by Redius. The Uctu exchanged winks with me and nodded toward his charge. This must be the famous Councillor Zembke. The councillors who had sat in the first two rows of the auditorium hurried up onto the stage and surrounded the man, pounding him on the back and shouting for joy.
I turned to my staff and snapped off a crashing salute. They deserved it. They returned the gesture with sheepish grins. I could not have been more delighted to see them.
“Sir,” Plet’s voice said in my ear.
“Lieutenant! Are you all right?” I asked.
“I am fine, sir,” she said, with a touch of asperity. “I have secured the coding of the Marketmaker, with the help of Midshipman Frank. She is ours.”
“Not ours, Lieutenant,” I said, before Parsons could reply. “She is spoils of war for the Castaway Cluster, isn’t she?”
“Not all of it, sir,” Plet said. “There is a merchant vessel in the hold. It has been restored to its owner in the sick bay, a Captain Iltekinov. He and his crew have been released, sir.”
“Excellent!” I said.
Madam DeKarn detached herself from the mob of councillors and came over to kiss me on the cheek. “You brave young man,” she said, her eyes looking deep into mine. “You have saved us all. I could scarcely stand the paranoia and the mindless devotion another minute. I might have punched that man myself! Now we are back to our normal argumentative selves. It is so refreshing, I can hardly express it. You are a hero.”
I felt abashed at all the praise, as welcome as it was. “I am glad to have helped make a difference,” I said. “I know Parsons here is a bit displeased that I have not exactly obeyed the orders I was given.”
“It is no more than I would have expected of your father’s son,” Parsons stated.
I frowned. “You mean my mother,” I corrected him. “She is the hero of the family.”
“Your father was Rodrigo Park Kinago?” “Midshipman Frank” asked, his narrow face alight.
“Yes.”
“Oh, he was a hero. A great man. He saved my family,” the young man said. “They were trapped aboard a transport vessel on the border between the Trade Union and the Imperium. We were caught in the Calsag Trading Company battle around Poctil twenty-five years ago. The life support chamber was blasted open to space. The ship was dying, sir. Your father had been on the other ship as an undercover infiltrator. My father almost shot him dead when he came aboard in enemy uniform. Major Kinago went into the life support chamber in about half a space suit and with almost no air. He had to rebuild the circuit boards almost by hand even as his oxygen ran out. I know it almost killed him, but he saved them. If he hadn’t, I would never have been born. He’s why I joined the Covert Service Operations. I’m proud to meet you.”
I stood stunned. My great-uncle had always implied that the accident that almost killed my father was a mission that had to be accomplished, but he had never told me exactly what it had been. I was deflated and elated at the same time, because the knowledge changed little. My father would go on pottering, and I would go on adoring him regardless, but my renewed respect for him would have filled the Infogrid and overspilled into other galaxies.
“I am proud to be my father’s son,” I said, feeling my throat tighten and sharp tears prick at my eyes. I swallowed. “And I will serve the Imperium in his name.”
Parsons nodded. “I am gratified to hear that, sir. There are other matters to which your talents may be set.” I preened. Because Parsons must leave no window unsoaped, he continued. “But it would be equally gratifying if once you can remain within the confines of the mission as it is stated.”
“But I do so well when I expand my brief!” I said. “Didn’t this work out better than just observing and repor
ting?” Parsons gave me a look that contained everything he might say to me. I sighed. But I had just received my reward. It outstripped any gift or honor I could be given. I couldn’t wait to go home and tell my father about everything I had done. He would understand. And for the first time, so would I.
Madam DeKarn studied “Midshipman Frank” and let out a little cry.
“Colm, that is you! You come from the Imperium?”
The young man lowered his head, abashed. “Yes, madam.”
The councillor’s blue eyes rounded in horror. “Are you a . . . spy?”
“An observer, madam,” he said. “I’ve been in deep cover all these years. I never took any action against your interests or those of the Castaway Cluster, madam. It is just that the Imperium needs to know what is going on. They do care, madam.”
“It was his message that brought us here, Councillor,” Parsons explained. “He risked a great deal getting it to us.”
“Yes, madam,” Colm insisted. “I am glad you are safe. I tried to look out for you all these months, but I couldn’t let you out without raising suspicions.”
The councillor studied him intently. “You are the one who made sure I had news feeds?” she asked.
“Yes, madam,” Colm said.
“Then all is forgiven,” Madam DeKarn said, squeezing his hand. “Please be in the office early tomorrow. We have to begin the debates all over again, now that all our minds are clear, and I need data. Lord Thomas, you and your staff have all our gratitude. Now, I must go and knock some heads together.” She turned and waded back into the arm-waving, shouting mass of councillors.
“A formidable woman,” I said, filled with admiration.
“That she is,” Colm said, with a smile. “That is why I enjoy working for her.”
Chapter 35
I sat in the captain’s seat aboard the CK-M945B, which I had named at last. I listened with pleasure as Anstruther communicated with the tower at Pthohannix Spaceport, getting our takeoff instructions. My cameras hovered in the air, capturing the event. Putting together a narrative for the pleasure of my cousins and the friends who read my Infogrid file required showing the end of the mission as well as the events leading up to it.
“This is the Imperium ship Rodrigo, departing Boske at fourteen-hundred hours, requesting permission to lift.”
The female voice coming out of the speaker reeled off a spate of settings. Anstruther and Oskelev locked them in.
“Got it, Pthohannix tower. Thanks!”
“Go safely, Rodrigo,” the tower said. “We’ll miss you guys. Come back again.”
I had every reason to feel smug. During the four hours following my tour de force, the rest of the Trade Union soldiers had been taken prisoner. Once their leader had been revealed as the monster he truly was, it broke the trance that the Boskians had lived under for months. They were so angry that my staff and I had to rescue TU personnel who, unable to make their shuttles lift to the mothership (another favor from one of Emby’s friends), had scattered all over the city looking for shelter. Deprived of their transportation and major weaponry, they surrendered to the local constabulary or militia and were clapped for safety in a storage facility where the six “resister” councillors and other targeted personnel had been imprisoned for months. Once the trials were over, they were expected to make their way back to the Trade Union in the host of smaller ships that had been in the Marketmaker’s landing bays and the three vessels I had photographed over Smithereen.
Parsons had more news for me. It seemed that Sgarthad was not the only descendant of nobility in the Cluster. Madam DeKarn and the rest of the “resisters” had at least one command gene, if not two. That was why they had been impervious to Sgarthad’s charms. Madam DeKarn, lovely woman, was now at least open to rejoining the Imperium and would use her considerable influence to make something happen soon. It wasn’t precisely the answer that the emperor was hoping for, but it was better news than might have been. But we had an ally in her office.
“Sir,” Oskelev said, “got a message coming in from Midship—I mean, Mr. Banayere.”
I smiled. “Please, let me hear it.”
The eager face, now covered by a network of red and gold lines and dashes, appeared in the screentank. “Lord Thomas, Commander Parsons and everyone, just wanted to say goodbye. Lieutenant Plet, thanks for the pentaflops of data! Madam DeKarn wants to come up to date on the Imperium, and she can use a lot of this as ammunition. They’ll make a decision. Or they won’t.” He grinned engagingly. “It might take two hundred years more. Thanks again!”
“Not another two centuries!” I protested. The sky outside turned from blue to black as we left atmosphere. The stars lengthened into streaks.
Parsons almost shrugged. “It is no longer our concern, sir, now that the Trade Union has been ejected.”
“The Imperium has to keep a better eye on the Cluster,” I said, “or someone else might come in and try to take over. Lacking a line-of-sight connection to the Core Worlds nearly caused a catastrophe.”
“They will need a new and permanent liaison with the Imperium,” Parsons said. “Someone who will live here openly and embrace the culture of this place.”
“Tattoos and all,” I said, idly. I sat up as lightning struck my imagination. Two birds with one stone! “Parsons, may I speak to you for one moment? Privately?”
“Of course, sir.” Parsons followed me out and into the day room, which was vacant at that moment. He activated his viewpad, and ran the security program he had used in my mother’s office. He nodded to me.
“I have the very candidate for the position of liaison,” I said, very cautiously. “I believe that my cousin Scotlin is seeking to . . . become useful, as I have. I think if he was approached for the job that he would be on it like a dog on a biscuit. I would miss him, of course, but now that the way’s been opened, friendly relations with the Cluster, one could conceivably make the trip once in a while. It’s not an unpleasant place. A little dull, but do you know, Scot likes things dull. And it’ll fulfill the dreams of the hoteliers in Smithereen who always hoped for more tourist trade,” I added. I realized I was babbling, but Parsons was such a mind-reader I feared he would pick up the truth from my thoughts.
“He and his family, sir?”
Curse the man, he did it anyhow! My jaw escaped its hinges and dropped to the ground. “How . . . how did you know?” I stammered.
He gestured to the hovering dots overhead. “I saw the images on your Callusion Optique camera.”
I looked at the cameras as if shocked they could betray me. “No! How? I erased the images! I overwrote them.”
“Nothing effaces entirely from storage units, sir,” he said.
I felt my face grow hot. “I shall have to keep that fact in mind for the future,” I said, annoyed.
“Allow me to demonstrate. Will you hand me your viewpad, sir?”
He held out his hand. I slapped the device into it. With it, he activated the Optique. The small sphere sailed into the air between us, orange lines breaking out over its surface. Images, faint as ghosts, shot out of it and danced on the tabletop: the fairylike Tina twirling, Scot’s face so happy as I had never before seen him. His wife, Jerna, with her sweet face and gravid body.
“Well, I will be braided with ribbons,” I said. “I feel terrible. I never meant to betray him.”
“You did not, sir. The reclamation programs are exclusive to the Covert Service Operation.”
I was still concerned with Scot. “But can it be managed? I mean, without . . . drastic measures?”
“Perhaps the children will enjoy getting tattoos,” Parsons suggested.
I goggled again. That would solve the problem! Parsons could fix anything. “Perhaps they will,” I agreed, as more of my deleted pictures appeared.
Then came one more image: the handsome face of the emperor, my cousin, Shojan XII, wine caught in his throat, expelling red particles.
“My spit-take!” I cried. “I tho
ught that was lost forever because of that felon! Oh, Parsons, I could kiss you!”
I blinked. Then I shot a guilty glance at Parsons. “You knew about this, too.”
“Of course, sir.”
I sighed. “Very well.” I hovered my finger over the viewpad, prepared to erase. Parsons moved the device out of reach. The image vanished. He handed the small rectangle back to me.
“It will be our secret, sir.”
“Really?” I asked, clutching the viewpad to me.
“No one, even His Majesty, will argue that you deserve a small reward for successfully undertaking this observation mission. As long as you maintain security on the image. As you have.”
“It will be under lock, key and guard dogs, Parsons, I promise!” I sighed with happiness. My mother would be pleased. Ambassador Ben was safe, negotiating away like a trooper, and we could once again fill in our Infogrid files. I felt righteous.
“Parsons, my colleagues are still uncertain how altering the face of Captain Sgarthad broke his hold upon the Trade Union.”
“It is quite simple, my lord. You made a fool of him in public. It broke the glamour. He was found to have in his possession a device that ensnared their minds.”
“A device, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” Parsons said, rising to his feet. “A device. The citizens of Boske were ashamed and angry that they had fallen in with his plans so easily. They also learned that they were not alone and could resist him with impunity. That is all.”
“Ah,” I said, laying a finger alongside my nose as my uncle Perleas had done. “That is all. Of course.”
“Have you an abrasion on your nose, sir?” Parsons asked, solicitiously.
“No! It’s a gesture of conspiracy. To a fellow conspirator.”
“I do not conspire, sir.” Parsons looked so offended that I was appalled at myself.
“I apologize, Parsons. No offense was intended.”
“I trust not, sir.” His face returned to its normal granite-like exterior.
“So all is forgiven?” I asked.
The View from the Imperium Page 45
