In the Stormy Red Sky

by David Drake

  "Aye-aye, sir!" said Robinson. "Ship, this is Three. Prepare for landing sequence in one, I repeat one, minute, over."

  To Adele, Daniel said, "He should have a chance to shine in front of his aunt, don't you think? I'm very pleased with him as an officer, you know."

  Adele brought up an image of Hereward Harbor. It wasn't real-time because the Milton's orbit had her on the opposite side of the planet, but it was only ten minutes old.

  "Daniel, why wouldn't he let the automatic systems bring us down?" she said. "There's nothing in a landing like this that requires human involvement, is there?"

  Daniel's smiling image nodded. "That's correct," he said. "It's an open harbor. But it will give Robinson a chance to get the feel of the ship before he has to, say—"

  His face grinned. There was more than humor in the expression.

  "—land her in the middle of an Alliance fortress, you see?"

  "Yes, Daniel," Adele said. She thought of Fort Douaumont. Woetjans' body flying backward with blood splashing the plastron of her rigging suit; the face of an Alliance soldier filling the sights of Adele's pistol. His mouth was open, shouting in blind terror, as her trigger released . . .

  "Ah, Adele?" Daniel added. "I think we'd better leave the Brotherhood's course alone. We might call attention to matters that aren't our business and complicate another department's operations."

  "Beginning landing sequence—now!" said Blantyre's voice from the BDC.

  The thrusters' roar and vibration doubled in intensity as the Milton began braking to land. The real buffeting wouldn't start till the cruiser dropped into the lower levels of the atmosphere, but this was enough to draw a reasonable end to the conversation.

  Adele settled back in her acceleration couch. She was glad to have an excuse not to reply to Daniel's statement. It hadn't been a real order, after all.

  And she wouldn't have obeyed it regardless. She was going to learn what brought the Brotherhood of Amorgos to Paton, if it was humanly possible to do so.

  CHAPTER 7

  Hereward on Paton

  "You can lower the ramp now, Woetjans," Daniel called. He straightened the sleeve of his best 2nd class uniform and mused aloud, "I wonder if I ought to have worn my Whites?"

  Hogg snorted. "To meet the governor of this pisspot?" he said. "I don't bloody think so, master."

  One side of Daniel's mouth twitched toward a grimace, but Senator Forbes and her aides didn't seem offended. The pair of burly males carried a trunk large enough to hold a body; they didn't bother to set it on the deck while they waited for the hatch to open. It would've been a problem to maneuver so bulky an item down the companionway of the Princess Cecile; Woetjans might've had to winch it out of an A Level access port.

  The entrance hold echoed as the dogs locking the hatch withdrew in a quick series of clangs. Daniel grinned as it creaked down to become the boarding ramp. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to tell the sound from that of slugs from an automatic impeller raking the hull.

  He'd been aboard ships taking ground fire a number of times in the past; he probably would be again, unless human beings suddenly adopted a philosophy of peace. That seemed slightly less probable than Governor Das and his aides opening fire on the Milton.

  Hydraulic rams drove the ramp down with controlled determination. The opening sucked in whiffs of steam and the occasional sharp glitter of plasma, tendrils of exhaust which the atmosphere of Paton hadn't quite reduced to a resting state.

  Hereward Harbor was an embayment that would've required artificial moles to be safe in a storm from the east. Presumably those were rare here. In any case, the sea's unhindered flow flushed away the residues of starship landings more quickly than an enclosure would've done.

  Adele had put her little data unit on the attaché case which Tovera held out flat like a portable table. She turned her head toward Daniel and tapped her right wand twice. "The governor's waiting for us," she said.

  The holographic display above the unit had been a blur to Daniel; it suddenly resolved into imagery of the harborfront. Adele had switched it to omnidirectional, giving everyone around her an opportunity to see what she was seeing.

  An all-terrain truck with eight large tires waited at the land side of the quay. The crest on the driver's door meant it was as close to a limousine as the Cinnabar Resident in the Veil was authorized. Governor Das wore his diplomatic dress uniform of scarlet frock coat with black stovepipe trousers. His boots, waistbelt with shoulder strap, and transverse bicorne hat were all of gilt leather. He was a pudgy little fellow and looked as uncomfortable as he did silly.

  Behind him were two aides, a middle-aged woman and a youth who couldn't be older than twenty. Both stood rigidly, but the woman kept shifting a flat datafile from her right hand to the left.

  "Mistress, the hatch is opening," Tovera said. She wasn't exactly showing emotion—Daniel was pretty sure the little two-legged viper didn't feel emotion—but her tone hinted at stress. The reaction would have puzzled a stranger who didn't know that Tovera was as paranoid as she was lethal and that her sub-machine gun was in the case which she couldn't open while it was Adele's table.

  Das looked over his shoulder and said something unheard to his aides. They started up the pier, marching in better time than Daniel's class at the Academy had generally been able to manage. Was that something the foreign service taught its recruits?

  "In a moment," Adele said sharply, but even as she spoke she shut down the data unit. Tovera unlatched the case and turned, putting herself between her mistress and whatever waited beyond the lowering hatch.

  Daniel smiled faintly. Because of his interest in natural history, he sometimes found himself thinking of human beings as though they were simply animals. They weren't, of course, not simply; but other species weren't simply animals either.

  While Adele was unquestionably the dominant member of her small pack, there was a good deal of give-and-take between her and her servant. As there was—Daniel's grin grew broader—between him and Hogg.

  The hatch was horizontal but continued to whirr slowly downward. The crews at Bergen and Associates had done an exceptional job in straightening the Milton's frames, warped by her collision with another ship during her final battle under Alliance colors. Part of Daniel's duties as the vessel's first captain after a rebuild was to assess the quality of the work which had been done on her. He'd be able to give it an enthusiastic recommendation.

  An honest recommendation, but that went without saying for those who really knew Daniel Leary. He was an RCN officer first, and he wouldn't have hesitated to shut down his own dockyard, no matter how profitable, if it hadn't been doing work he could be proud of.

  "Well, they keep a cleaner harbor than some," said Hogg, eyeing the shore a hundred yards away. He stood with his hands in his pockets—probably gripping a pistol and his big folding knife—but managing to look sloppy rather than belligerent.

  Daniel gave Hogg a sharp glance. He was trying to be nice. He was probably a little embarrassed to have spoken his mind in a fashion that could've caused his master difficulties with Senator Forbes, though that appeared to have gone unnoticed.

  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 discreetly 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's 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 nonskid 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 cleared 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."