by David Drake
The outer edge of the boarding ramp was supported on the extended outrigger, itself as big as a corvette. From there it was still necessary to reach the shore. A team of laborers was unrolling the floating extension of foam plastic which would connect the concrete pier to the landing stage on the cruiser's shoreside—starboard in this case—outrigger.
The usual broad street followed the curve of the harbor. Bulk cargo was stacked under tarpaulins or plastic film at several points along it, often spilling onto the pavement.
In the middle of the seafront was a small domed temple that looked old enough to date from before the Hiatus. Molded plaster sheathed the concrete walls. Flaking patches had been filled, but they were noticeably brighter than the sun-burnished surface.
The remaining structures were one or two stories, built from precast panels; windows ran the full height of the walls. They were painted in varying bright pastels, though, and the flowers and geometric designs stencilled on the walls gave them even more individuality.
"Ship," said Daniel, speaking into the microphone discretely clipped to his left epaulet. In other circumstances he might've worn a commo helmet, though that was technically improper with either form of dress uniform. He preferred not to take chances in the presence of Senator Forbes, however. "I'm leaving the Millie in the capable hands of Mister Robinson. He'll announce the leave roster when the vessel's squared away."
Actually, Robinson would announce the leave roster as soon as the civilian brass had gotten safely out of the way. Daniel didn't want a party of rambunctious spacers to shove the governor into the harbor as they rushed toward bars at the other end of the pier. They wouldn't mean any harm by it, but folks who spent their working life in the Matrix were hard to discipline. Their attitude differed from that of civilians whose daily concerns didn't include the risk of being lost forever in a universe which wasn't meant for human beings.
"Six out, Millies!" Daniel concluded. He'd never commanded a ship with so large a complement before. He suspected that he'd have forty or fifty spacers in the local jail by morning . . . though it was possible that the Millies would completely overwhelm the local authorities. That would be even worse, but he'd deal with whatever happened.
"Captain?" Senator Forbes said. "Master Beckford is sending an aircar for me. It'll be able to land here aboard ship, won't it?"
Daniel's face went hard. He wasn't looking at Forbes, but he knew Adele could see his expression. There were any number of ways a civilian flying an aircar into the hold of a warship could go wrong.
"Your pardon, Senator," Adele said in her usual tone of clipped certainty. "I checked with Lieutenant Commander Robinson before I transmitted your message to Mount Marfa. On his recommendation, I directed the vehicle to wait for you on shore for the sake of your safety."
"What sort of nonsense is that?" Forbes said in amazement.
As she spoke, there was a clang and a squeal from above. A topsail yard rotated slowly across the hatchway while riggers shouted angry recriminations at one another. They were working to clear tangles, tears, and very possibly missing spars. This was the Milton's first landfall after a voyage on which her captain had wrung the rig out properly.
Things did snap and fall and were dropped. Even without that, the air currents around the big ship changed as spacers opened hatches. That created a tricky environment for a pilot who wasn't used to it.
If Daniel had offered those reasons, Forbes might well have ordered him to keep the Milton closed up over her crew until she'd left with her friend. With the decision already made and laid to her protégé, however—
"Mister Robinson is quite right, Senator," Daniel said smoothly. "The Gods alone know what sort of ham-fisted foreigners Master Beckford found to fly for him on this benighted mudball."
He coughed into his hand and added, "Incidentally, I understand the lieutenant commander is related to you. An excellent officer, milady. The Milton is fortunate to have him."
Forbes looked at him, suddenly without expression. Daniel had been feeling—well, smug, if he had to be honest; smugly self-satisfied. Though he'd been sure nothing showed beneath his blandly professional smile.
"Captain Leary," Forbes said. Her voice sounded like a hen scratching through gravel, but she didn't raise it. "Do not patronize me."
Daniel let his face go blank. Hogg shifted; Daniel didn't glance to the side to see what his servant was doing.
"Senator," he said. He dipped his chin in acknowledgment.
The ramp boomed onto the outrigger. Clamps locked it in place with a quick whang/whang.
Forbes glanced over her entourage. The servants with the trunk met her eyes with the dull disinterest of draft animals. Platt, her male secretary, was tall, soft, and effete; an ageing queen unless Daniel misjudged him. He pretended to be looking at his feet. DeNardo, the Senator's, well, companion, smiled back. He probably wasn't any smarter than the two porters, but he had a sunnier disposition.
"Come along," Forbes said. "We'll wait on shore, as Captain Leary thinks best. Lady Mundy, accompany me if you please. I'd like to have someone to talk with until Prince Willie arrives. He wasn't known for being punctual even before he emigrated to this godforsaken place."
Adele turned toward her, pointedly without looking at Daniel. She slid her data unit into its pocket. "Yes, all right, Senator," she said.
She and Forbes walked down the ramp, step and step. Tovera followed a little behind and to the left of the others; her right hand was inside the attaché case.
Daniel followed Forbes' back with his eyes. "I misjudged that one, Hogg," he said quietly.
Hogg brought his right hand out of his pocket. He snicked opened the blade of his knife, then clicked it closed again.
"You got away with it by dumb luck this time, young master," he said. "But don't make a habit of it if you plan to get older."
The harbormen were sauntering back toward the pier now that they'd unrolled the floating bridge till it reached the outrigger. Woetjans and a team of spacers were lashing the free end to the landing stage; Adele noted that the connection was very loose.
The bosun glanced up at the sound of feet on the boarding ramp. She must've noticed Adele's . . . frown was too strong a word, but frown.
"The sea's calm enough now, ma'am," Woetjans said, "but if we lock the bridge in tight, she'll go under water every time the Millie twitches. Don't want you to get your footsies wet, right?"
Woetjans stepped aside and made a flourish with her right arm. "Clear for use, now," she said. In a different tone she added, "Get out of the bloody way, Hebart!" and aimed a kick at the backside of the spacer who was crowding the path.
Adele walked quickly down the outrigger's ladderway—as she'd learned to call stairs on a ship—and across the landing stage. It seemed solid, anchored by the Milton's huge mass. Only when she stepped onto the foam bridge did she have the queasy sensation of floating. It was six feet wide, with a non-skid surface and a rope railing on flimsy poles to either side.
Adele slacked her quick strides when she was well inshore from the landing stage. Senator Forbes caught up with her. The distance kept the conversation they were about to have private.
"Do you always let commoners talk to you like that?" the older woman said. Her voice would never be pleasant, but this time she was pointedly not making an effort that it should be.
Adele smiled. "Woetjans is my superior officer, Senator," she said. "I'm not political, of course, but a senator's daughter learns to appreciate the value of hierarchies."
Forbes flushed. She glared at Adele, who met the anger with an icy lack of emotion. They continued to walk side by side.
"I'm not mocking you, Senator," Adele said on the third stride. "And I'm certainly not joking. I hold a number of roles in life, as most people do. To Chief Woetjans, I'm 'ma'am' as a mark of respect granted to me and not due to my position as the Milton's signals officer."
The senator's expression faded to neutral. "Ah!" she muttered. She clear
ed her throat. "Yes, all right, I see. Sorry, Mundy."
She probably thinks that Mistress Sand placed me in the RCN, Adele realized. Not even leaders of the Senate cared to delve too deeply into Mistress Sand's business.
"You know Leary well," said Forbes as they walked on. "He's got quite a reputation, in the Navy and to anybody who follows the ordinary news."
"Yes," said Adele. "To both statements."
She said as little as she politely could until she learned where the senator was going with her observations. Daniel and the RCN were so much of Adele's life—were virtually the whole of her life—that she had to remind herself every time the subjects came up that other people didn't have the same view of the cosmos.
She smiled wryly—at herself. They were wrong, of course, but she'd understood even before the Proscriptions that other people didn't have to be right to have power over her.
"Does he fancy a political career, do you think?" Forbes said.
Adele clutched her personal data unit, still snug against her thigh. The question had been a shock. Just as well I took the question as an informational absurdity rather than a threat.
Smiling rather wider than before, Adele said, "He does not. I don't know a person who would be less interested in a political career. Except for myself, perhaps."
"He could parlay his naval exploits into serious votes, you know," Forbes said earnestly. "Or perhaps you don't know, Mundy, you've lived off-planet for a long time now. Take it from me, your Captain Leary could be the darling of the mob if he played his cards right."
"He's not an especially good card player, his man tells me," Adele said coolly. "Too enthusiastic, apparently."
She coughed, giving herself another moment to organize . . . not her thoughts, but how she could present those thoughts in a fashion that a politician would understand. "Captain Leary sees himself as an RCN officer before everything else."
That might not be true: Daniel probably considered himself as a spacer first and an RCN officer only as a subset of his greater role. If that meant Adele was lying to a politician, it was merely a pleasant reversal of roles.
"He's certainly capable of political maneuvering in the course of his RCN duties," she continued. "I've watched him do so a number of times, most recently in the Bagarian Cluster. But—"
"Don't forget who you're talking to, Mundy," Forbes said, though it was with bluff good-humor rather than a threatening snarl. "I saw Mistress Sand's hand in that business."
"With respect, Senator," Adele said, feeling the edge in her tone. "Don't underestimate Captain Leary. He is his father's son. But you can take my word for it that they share no interests—"
Save for liking the favors of young women; but this wasn't the time for Adele to be as precise as her instinct urged.
"—whatever. Or I wouldn't be here."
Forbes laughed. She sounded like glass breaking, but Adele was reasonably sure she was really amused.
They'd led the procession all the way from the cruiser. As they neared the concrete pier, Tovera slipped between without brushing either one of them. "What?" said Forbes, too shocked to be angry.
"She'll wait for us, Senator," Adele said. She wondered if her voice showed the humor she felt. "There's some things she needs to take care of."
She watched her servant mount the metal stairs. Though they slanted out toward the bottom only by the width of each tread, Tovera didn't use her hands. On top of the pier she moved Governor Das and his aides back with a few words and an imperious jerk of her head.
Adele followed. At this stage of the tide, the pier was eight steps above the water level. The bottom two treads were slimy, but at least the stringers at shoulder height were dry to Adele's hands; they left black corrosion on her palms, though. Behind, Forbes muttered, "This is abominable!"
Adele stepped aside on the concrete. She took out her handkerchief and wiped her hands.
"Ah, Senator . . . ?" said Governor Das hopefully to Adele. His uniform had a high collar, and his throat above it was squeezed to almost the same scarlet hue.
"She's coming, your Excellency," Adele said, nodding toward the ladder. She refolded the handkerchief to bring clean surfaces outward.
Forbes reached the concrete. "Senator Forbes," Das said, his voice a half octave above where it had been a moment before. "Allow me to welcome you to—"
"I do not know you, sir," Forbes said, wiping her hands on Adele's handkerchief. She dropped it disdainfully into the water. "Come along, Mundy. I think I hear an aircar."
Adele fell into step. The business left an unpleasant taste in her mouth, but she hadn't liked Forbes to begin with. Das had behaved like a social-climbing toady, and by so doing he'd let himself in for a snub in front of his subordinates. That was simple cause and effect, and the victim was the cause of his own discomfiture.
She smiled wryly. It still left a bad taste in her mouth.
Forbes looked at her. "If Captain Leary did decide on a political career," she said quietly, "an alliance with an experienced politician could save him from the sort of mistakes that even a clever young man could make in ignorance."
"Senator," said Adele, "I'll deliver your message discreetly. But information is my business."
She smiled coldly. "I started to say, 'my life.' That would have been accurate also. I've told you that Captain Leary will not, in my best personal and professional analysis, ever consider a political career."
Forbes made a moue, screwing her face into even more unattractive lines. "You have a reputation for being as blunt as you're clever, Mundy," she said. "It's a wonder you've lived as long as you have."
"I'm also a good shot," Adele said. If Forbes had learned the rest, she knew that already; but stating it—bluntly—made a useful point. "That has helped on occasion."
She glanced over her shoulder. Daniel and five other officers had followed the Senator's party to the pier at a polite distance. The junior officers were now returning to the Milton—their presence had been merely for honor's sake—while Daniel and Hogg were accompanying the local officials back to the car.
Adele gave a mental shrug. She could only hope that Beckford's aircar arrived before Das and Forbes found themselves at the end of the pier together. The governor could avoid awkwardness by dawdling, of course, which he should be able to figure out on his own. His record in Client Affairs—she'd looked Das up, of course—was good if unspectacular.
She and Forbes had reached the broad esplanade which ran in both directions around the harbor. Tractors hauled cargo wagons, many of them wooden-framed, to and from lighters. Some of the piers had derricks, but much of the work was being done by human beings. Some stevedores were women, but the gangs themselves were segregated by gender.
Forbes looked at the buildings across the esplanade. It was early in the day, but the taverns were busy. Several of the spacers staggering through the swinging doors were so drunk that they must have spent the whole night inside.
"What a bloody dump," she said bitterly.
"Oh, Paton isn't really so bad, Senator," said Adele, following the other's eyes with her own. "You mustn't judge a planet by its harborfront. Even Cinnabar, I'm afraid."
"You have the advantage of experience, I suppose, Mundy," Forbes said. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to learn to accept this sort of—"
She gestured toward the buildings. They were roofed with corrugated metal or plastic sheeting, and the bright paint had flaked in many places to show underlayers that from a distance had looked like designs.
"—environment unless I can somehow find a way to get back into the fight in Xenos. My whole life to date has been spent in civilized surroundings."
An aircar was approaching from the north at 500 feet. As Adele glanced up, it dropped into a spiral centered on the senator and her entourage. It was a large, enclosed vehicle, painted light blue with swirls of pink blurring into magenta.
"I've learned I'm not very good at predicting the future," Adele said in a neutral voice as sh
e watched the car landing. One of the things "civilization" meant to her, of course, was her sister's head nailed to Speaker's Rock; but there was no need to remind Forbes of that. "The best things that have happened to me have been wholly unexpected."
"Life has made me less optimistic than you, Mundy," the senator said. "You may be right, of course."
The aircar fluffed to a halt on the esplanade twenty feet away. The driver had landed downwind so that he didn't blow grit on the waiting passengers. If he'd been hired locally, the standard of drivers on Paton was extremely high.
Servants hopped from the vehicle's open rear compartment and opened the double doors in the middle. They wore full livery, not collar flashes, in the same blue and pink color scheme as the car.
Beckford waddled out. He was at least fifty pounds heavier than he looked in the last images taken of him before he left Cinnabar, and he hadn't been slim then. He made kissing gestures with both hands and cried, "Bessie, dearest!"
His costume had feathers for a theme; Adele wondered if Beckford had designed it himself. There was a range of competence in any specialty, of course, but she would've expected any professional designer to have some taste.
"Hello, Willie," the senator said. She didn't step closer, but she gave Beckford a tiny bow in greeting. "It's my great good luck to find you here in this—"
She lifted her hands, palms up, and gave him a false smile.
"—corner of the universe, shall we say?"
Adele stood quietly with only her eyes moving, but Beckford's attention fell on her nonetheless. "I say, Bessie," he said. "Couldn't they find an officer to escort you? You really are slumming, aren't you?"
Adele realized she'd been waiting for that; waiting for some excuse, anyway. She'd known it would happen ever since she watched Forbes snub Governor Das.
Her mind was as cold as steel in the Matrix. She smiled.
"Willie," Forbes said urgently, her eyes flicking between Beckford and Adele. "You should know—"
