Crown of the Serpent

by Allen Wold

  "I make my own authority," Rikard said.

  A man on Rikard's right spoke. "I'm afraid she does have the authority." The rest of the room brightened, revealing the stranger woman, other technicians, his interrogators. "I've just gotten a call from the Secretary. We have to let Braeth go."

  Rikard looked at the man, the woman beside him, his father between them. His father's expression was sorrowful, not angry, not disappointed. Then his clothes began to smoke, his skin blackened, small flames danced on his head, his shoulders, across his chest. "God damn you!" Rikard screamed.

  The woman glanced at her male companion, oblivious to the charring corpse of Rikard's father between them. "How long will he be like this?"

  "It will wear off in a few hours," the man said. He was older, and carried himself with an air of resigned authority. The woman carried authority too, but anything but resigned. She looked at Rikard with distaste.

  Rikard, without being drunk, felt as though his brain were swimming in alcohol. This was reality, he knew that now. The false perceptions of his father, Darcy, other places and times, faded but lingered as a dark background to his consciousness.

  Rikard tried to focus on the woman's face, but her features seemed to be rippling, as if seen through disturbed water. She said, "I want this man, and his companion, to be ready to leave within half an hour."

  The man hesitated a beat, then nodded. Around the room, the technicians started switching off their equipment. Rikard watched as the lights went dead, the dials swung to zero, the readouts went blank. Everybody's face was rippling. Some­times he couldn't tell if a person was a man or a woman. An enveloping blackness pulsed in and out around him.

  "We'll straighten him up as quickly as we can," the man said, "but it will take at least two days to do the paperwork."

  "So do it after we're gone," the woman said. She was dark complected, tall and muscular, and something about her posture hinted that she had been born on a world less hospitable than Nowarth. "Now where's Glemtide?"

  "We cannot release this man," the man said with angry intensity, "until the proper forms have been filled out, the required—"

  "Now, Korijian!" the woman said. "You deal with your business however you choose, but Braeth and Glemtide go with me now. Where is she?"

  "In the next lab," Korijian said, barely controlling himself. "But I must insist—"

  "I informed you," thewoman said, "over a standard day ago that I had a warrant for these people. Upon that notification, the matter was legally out of your hands. Federal law required that you make these people ready for me. Why haven't you complied?"

  "We were hoping we could get just a little more information on an important crime. There has been—"

  "I know something about this world, and I doubt that any crime committed here is important to the Federation. I expect full cooperation from you from here on. Now let's get out of here."

  Two technicians came up to Rikard and began releasing the straps, the probes, the contacts. His skin felt fuzzy, half numb, half supersensitive. They stepped back when they were done and Rikard tried to stand, but he couldn't lift himself out of the chair.

  "See?" Korijian said. "He needs more time.'r

  "He'd have had it if you'd stopped your interrogation when I first communicated with you. Are you going to help him walk, or shall I call in my own crew?"

  Korijian just stared at her, but the two technicians helped Rikard out of the chair. The woman turned toward the door, Korijian went with her, and the technicians, with Rikard wobbly between them, followed. As the woman stepped out into the hallway she looked back at Rikard.

  "Don't you think it would be a good idea," she said with malicious sarcasm, '"to give him back his clothes first?"

  She stood in the open doorway, with Korijian fidgeting beside her, waiting as the technicians, with some help from one or two others, started to put Rikard's clothes on. Then she and Korijian left.

  When Rikard was dressed, the same two technicians helped him walk, first up one hall, then down another, until at last they came to a door that let them into the back rooms of an office complex, and from there into the office proper, spacious and well decorated. Korijian was seated at the desk, a broad expanse of polished dark wood, uncluttered exoept for the insets of several specialized communications and control devices. The woman was sitting in one of the side chairs. Rikard's escorts took him to another chair, immediately in front of the desk, sat him down, and then left.

  Korijian and the woman were both angry, she sitting in stony silence, he staring off into space. Rikard expected them to react to his presence, but they did not. He had a long, uncomfortable moment to wonder how much he had told the police under their interrogation. It didn't help any that the room seemed to be shifting off balance, that he felt puffed and pringly all over. Then he began, belatedly, to wonder who this woman was, that she could order a city police commissioner around the way she did. He was almost going to ask her when a movement beside him distracted him.

  It was Darcy. How long had she been there? He didn't remember another chair being there when he came in. She looked awful, as bad as he felt. He reached out to touch her, and she noticed him for the first time. He tried to smile at her, didn't know if he succeeded or not. She leaned over the arm of her chair and put her arms around his neck. He tried to hug her back, though the distance between the chairs made it awkward. How much had she told? He said, "Are you all right?"

  "No." Her voice was weak, and broke even on a single syllable. "I'm not. You don't look too good either."

  "If these people have been damaged," the woman said, "the colonel will not be happy."

  "Your colonel," Korijian said thinly, "has no say on how we conduct our interrogations."

  "That is true, but he may have something to say about your continuing those interrogations after you have been officially notified of the subjects being required by the Federation."

  Korijian just sat there, tight-lipped.

  The woman turned tiredly to Rikard and Darcy. Her gaze was disapproving, almost disgusted. "You're pretty lucky, you know," she said. "If I'd come one day later, your brains would be jelly."

  "Who are you?" Rikard asked at last. His voice sounded strangely metallic in his ears.

  "My name is Orin Sukiro, I'm a special agent with the Fed­eral Police. The colonel has been looking for you. Do you feel well enough to travel?"

  "We can go any time," Darcy said. "Who cares what we feel like?"

  "I don't," Sukiro said. She got to her feet.

  "I'll need to register your authorization," the administrator told her.

  "I've registered three times already, I think that's enough."

  "You'll do it again," Korijian almost yelled, "as often as necessary, or these people don't go anywhere but back into in­terrogation."

  Sukiro glared at him a moment, then slowly, stiffly, she took a thick card out of an inner pocket of her jacket. Korijian reached for it, but she held it away from him, and plugged it herself into a slot on the desk. Korijian stifled a comment, then reached for the card again, but Sukiro kept her hand on the protruding edge.

  "Not," she said, "that I'm afraid you might take it from me."

  Korijian glared at her and sat back in his chair. There was a tone from the desk, and the card popped up. Sukiro took it and put it back in her pocket.

  "But if I lost it," she went on, "you might claim I'd never had it." Her smile was nasty. Korijian just glowered.

  "Now," Sukiro said, "let's go. And I want all their personal belongings, as specified in the warrant and registered—again —just now."

  "They're being brought," Korijian said with poor grace.

  Even as he spoke the outer door to his office opened, and an officer entered, guiding a floater tray, on which were the gravity packs, Rikard's 4D case, and other things they had left at their hotel. Rikard got unsteadily to his feet. He wanted to make sure everything was really on the tray. But the officer guarding it held out his han
d to stop him.

  "I'm sorry," he said, "you're not allowed to handle this until you're out of Nowarth's jurisdiction."

  "What if something's missing?"

  "File a form 407-C39F. It will take about thirty standard days to process."

  "You're kidding," Rikard said. He tried to take an inventory of the tray without touching it. "Where's my gun?"

  "It's been confiscated," Korijian said. "You won't be getting that back."

  "Now wait a minute, Darcy's gun is there—"

  "Msr. Korijian," Sukiro interrupted, "the warrant is very clear. Please check any of the four copies you now have. I am to take custody of Rikard Braeth, Darcy Glemtide, and any and all of their possessions, specifically including that gun!"

  "That gun, Agent Sukiro, is contraband. It is illegal for any person on this planet to own a gun of that type, for any reason, under any circumstances, and that includes officers of the law, security patrol, and planetary guard. Our laws are very clear also, and that weapon is to be destroyed."

  "And I happen to know," Sukiro said softly, "that my gun falls into the same category." She pulled back the tail of her jacket, revealing a holster containing a heavy police blaster. "Do you intend to confiscate that too?"

  "You are a Federal agent, and there's nothing I can do about that."

  "Fine, and there's nothing you can do about that man's weapon, either, since as of my notification to you of my warrant, that gun became officially Federal Government property. It must be returned to me, if not to him, or you will face Federal charges."

  "I'm sorry," Korijian said, "it can't be done."

  Sukiro stared at him. Korijian stared back. After a moment, a small smile of triumph crossed his face.

  Without taking her eyes from Korijian, Sukiro reached over his desk and started punching buttons. Korijian was too surprised to protest at first, and by the time he recovered, the call had gone through.

  "Department of the Interior," the voice from the comcon said, "may I help you?"

  Sukiro moved around the desk so she could see the screen and be seen by the person at the other end. "I'm Federal Agent Orin Sukiro," she said, as she slipped a card into the comcon slot. "May I speak with Secretary Jakoby, please?"

  "What do you think you're doing?" Korijian protested. But he was helpless to interfere. Sukiro paid him no attention.

  "Jakoby here," a new voice came from the comcon. "What can I do for you, Msr. Sukiro?"

  Succinctly, but in detail, Sukiro explained her problem in getting Rikard's gun released. When she finished, Jakoby asked to speak to Korijian.

  "Let her have the gun," he said. He sounded tired, and a bit reluctant. "I've had the warrant checked, and it's explicit, and in order."

  "Yes, sir," Korijian said. Sukiro reached out and broke the connection.

  "But not here," Korijian said to her. "I'll deliver the gun to your ship."

  "That's fine. Now let's for God's sake go."

  Korijian's resistance at last seemed to be broken. He arranged for an escort, who took Rikard and Darcy, along with Sukiro, to internal transport through the city-tower to a government garage on the outside of the building, at ground level, where they got into a floater.

  Rikard and Darcy shared the backseat with one of their escorts, while Sukiro rode in front with the other. Rikard's mind was becoming ever more clear now, and he wanted to talk to Darcy, to ask her how she was, to find out what she had experi­enced. But the presence of other people stifled him, and he had to content himself with just holding her, as she held him, as , they went past one city-tower, then another.

  The shuttleport was not a tower, but rather a ring of lower structures, surrounding the landing aprons. The shuttles themselves were invisible behind the service buildings, but one craft stuck up, the unmistakable spindle shape of a starship.

  It was small, as starships go, but a starship nonetheless. Star-ships do not land on planets, their structure can't withstand the strain of gravity or atmospheric disturbance. The flicker drives can't move a ship with more than a thousand kilometer accuracy, and even if they could, using a flicker drive near a mass like a planet, or even a large space station, would cause immense damage to the planet or station, due to the momentary spatial distortions of the drive. Yet there it stood, so it had to be one of the special Federal Patrol craft, unique in being fully equipped for surface landings.

  By the time they got close enough to read whatever markings it might have had, it was obscured by the even nearer buildings which, though not towers, were nonetheless mostly forty to fifty stories tall. The driver swung the floater around to one side, then pulled into a government garage, where they all got out.

  One of their escorts guided the floater tray with Rikard and Darcy's belongings, while the other led them through a section of emigration usually reserved for diplomats. Only once did Sukiro have to say anything to the officious personnel.

  The regular shuttle ramps wouldn't connect them to the star-ship, so they took a small open car out onto the apron and drove to where the Patrol craft stood, on its self-contained landing scaffold like a spider's legs. The tip of its flicker-drive spike hung just meters above the concrete. As they neared, a G-vator platform lowered on a guide wire from the transport ring right under the main saucer. It touched ground just as the car stopped and Sukiro got out.

  Rikard was able to walk unaided now, and Darcy, too, seemed pretty steady. One of the escorts unloaded the floater tray and guided it toward the vator platform. Sukiro turned to the other.

  "I'll take Msr. Braeth's gun now," she said.

  "I don't know anything about that," the woman answered, and for the first time Rikard wondered why Sukiro was making such a fuss about the weapon. The Federal Police couldn't know anything about its special features, it must just be Su-kiro's way.

  "All right then," Sukiro was saying, "then find out."

  "I'm supposed to stay with you."

  Sukiro didn't say anything, didn't change expression, just stared at the officer until she colored, got back in the car, and drove back toward the service ring. The other officer, having finished with the tray, watched uncomprehendingly as she drove off.

  "She'll be back in just a minute," Sukiro told him. "At least, she'd better be."

  The minute went by, and Rikard decided to sit down on the vator platform. He was still feeling weak and confused, but the sun was shining, there was a pleasant breeze across the apron, and if he just sat, he could turn his mind off for a moment. He was hardly aware of Darcy sitting down beside him.

  Several other minutes went by. Rikard thought about lying back and maybe taking a nap. But Sukiro was getting impatient. She got on the platform and touched the controls. Rikard watched the remaining officer, left on the apron, shrink as the platform rose to the ship's transport ring.

  He could almost feel Sukiro's tension as she led him and Darcy through the narrow companionways to the inside lift shaft, and up to the tiny bridge. Two Federal officers, in uni­form, were sitting at the command stations. There was barely enough room for Sukiro and her charges to stand. The agent put a hand on the second officer's shoulder.

  "There's a floater tray below," she said. "Stow it, will you?"

  The man nodded and left, and Sukiro took his place, where she turned on the comcon and called the police commissioner. "I want that gun, Korijian," she said without preamble when he came on. "And I want it now."

  "I'm pushing through the protocol just as fast as I can," Korijian replied. Rikard could see, over Sukiro's shoulder, the man's face on the comcon screen, looking stubborn and frazzled.

  "That should have been taken care of long ago," Sukiro said. "I've had enough. You have failed to conform to standard Federal agreements and procedures, you've resisted Federal authority, and I think it's about time I lodged a formal complaint."

  "There's no need—" Korijian started to say, but Sukiro cut him off, redialed, the ship's log symbol came on the screen. She then proceeded, in concise detail, to do ju
st what she had threatened. Even as she was signing off by stamping the report with her ID card, the second stuck his head in.

  "We got the gun," he said. "I put it in safe three."

  "Good enough," Sukiro said. She got up and let the second resume his place. "Let's go."

  She took Rikard and. Darcy, not down, but out into, the tiny living area that surrounded the bridge, under the ship's dome. "We don't have any extra cabins," she explained. "You'll have to make do on the couches here."

  Telltales by the bridge hatch were blinking, so Rikard and Darcy got themselves comfortable. Liftoff from a planet on a shuttle was usually very easy, but a ship like this was not de­signed for atmospheric movement, and if there was any turbulence, its gravity system would not be quick enough to keep them from being knocked off their feet. Sukiro took a chair near them, and even as she sat the ship went up—very fast if Rikard could judge by the rapid change in hue of the sky overhead. Even in a patrol craft, the dome was fully provided with external screens. Internal lights came on as they ascended past the atmosphere, the screens darkened where the sun was, and after a few moments Nowarth came into view as the ship rotated into orbit.

  They did not stop at the planetary station, which Rikard could see as a quarter disk off near the limb of the planet, but drove on inertials away from Nowarth toward the jump-slot at the star's north pole, a bit farther out than Nowarth itself. It seemed that Sukiro was going to spend that part of the trip with them.

  "What are we charged with?" Rikard asked her. It was some­thing he should have asked long before.

  Sukiro looked at him a moment, then at Darcy. "There are no charges," she said.

  "But that warrant—" Darcy started to say.

  "Enjoy your trip," Sukiro said, and looked away.

  "Now wait a minute," Rikard said. Though he was still a bit fuzzy, his mind was now clear enough that he could feel anger again, and the palm of his right hand began to itch. "Just what is this business all about?"

  "What it's about," Sukiro said with exaggerated condescen­sion, "is that the Federal Police want you, and you're going."

  "In other words," Darcy said, "you're kidnapping us." Sukiro just smiled. "Let me see that warrant" Sukiro, still smil­ing, just turned away.