The Last Paladin

by Ward Wagher

  “Our first thought was that this was the work of the Arabian terrorist group that infiltrated the North American continent, specifically the Carolina Free State. We lost track of them.”

  “I believe I shall have a conversation with the Governor-General of the CFS,” Palmer said. “Their internal security is severely lacking.”

  “Currently their security people are on speaking terms with us,” Lewis continued. “Not that it helps any.”

  “You indicated your first thought was that this was the work of the Arabians,” RWB said. “Does that mean you no longer consider them suspect?”

  “I doubt they have the capability to manufacture complex chemical poisons like this. The Pacificans might have the capability but lack motive. I think it had to have come from off-planet.”

  “Centaurans?” Worley asked.

  “That is my suspicion,” Lewis replied. “Proving it would be difficult.”

  “So, somebody murdered Pop and got away Scot-free,” RWB said.

  “Finding the responsible party will be difficult,” Lewis said, “but do not give up hope.”

  RWB looked around the table. “I suppose I need to meet with all of you individually. I guess Holden can make the arrangements.”

  Everyone nodded, so RWB stood up. “Thank you, everyone. Holden, you and I need to start planning the memorial service.”

  He left the room and Palmer followed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “What do we need to do next?” RWB said as he walked through Palmer’s office and into the Paladin’s office.

  Holden Palmer had followed RWB. “Other than arrangements for the memorial service?”

  “We had already agreed to talk about that. I was referring to this.” He swung his arms around indicating the office.

  “I understand, Sir. I will have someone come in and remove the old Paladin’s personal effects and move everything from your office into here.”

  “Please store Pop’s things in a room nearby so I can get at it once things settle down. I would like to keep some of it. I suppose there are things that will need to go to the museum.”

  Palmer was making notes with a stylus on his comp term. “A very good idea. If you agree I can do some research on previous transitions to see if there’s anything needing attention.”

  “You do that. Now what decisions do I need to make about Pop’s memorial?”

  Palmer handed a sheet of plasticine to RWB. “Your father actually planned his memorial in some detail. It merely requires your approval. Or, perhaps you might want to make some changes.”

  RWB held up the sheet. “Pop did this?”

  “Yes, Sir. He gave me the first draft fifteen years ago and had kept it up-to-date since.”

  He handed the notes back to Palmer. “If that is what the old boy wanted then that is what we are going to do. This is fine with me. Just make sure that I am where I need to be when I need to be there and in an upright position.”

  Palmer looked up quickly to catch the smirk on RWB’s face. “I believe we might achieve that, Sir.”

  RWB looked around the room and fidgeted slightly. “What else do we have, Holden?”

  “We need to begin setting up appointments with key members of the government. You also need to schedule a general session with all of those people together.”

  “Can you not set this up on your own?”

  “Is there somewhere you need to be?” Palmer looked slightly confused.

  RWB studied the secretary for a few moments and then laughed. “Yes. I had forgotten how pop complained that you were quite the tyrant over his calendar. That is fine with me, Holden. If I tried to manage that I would probably make a royal mess of things.”

  Palmer cleared his throat. “I am not entirely sure how to respond to that, Sir. However, I will be happy to continue to manage the calendar. That is the key to a smoothly running government.”

  RWB laughed and clapped the older man on the shoulder. “I am glad we have that settled. I will see you tomorrow, Holden.”

  “Wait! Where are you going? We have things to do.”

  “I have a party to attend. I have cut things close, but I think Fillip can get me there in time.”

  “But that is not on your calendar, Sir.”

  “It is now.”

  RWB pulled his com out of his pocket as he walked to the door. Then he stopped. “Holden, I know you have my com code. Just send me messages if anything urgent arises.”

  He punched a code on his com as he walked through the door. “Fillip? Spin up the turbans. We are going to Memphis.”

  He motioned to Jones and Cathay to follow him as he swept out of the office. The two guards looked slightly bewildered but quickly moved into formation behind the galloping Paladin. The group moved down the hall to the elevator. Once they got into the car the Paladin pushed the button for the roof.

  “Did I hear you say that we are going to Memphis?” Jones asked.

  “Yes indeed. Cliff Barr is having a party and his parties are memorable.”

  When the elevator doors opened, RWB quickly stepped through them and then trotted up a set of steps to where a door opened out onto the shuttle pad on the roof. A thirty mile-per-hour wind swept across the top of Wilton House and the thirty below temperatures encouraged no one to dawdle.

  “Come on,” he yelled. “I am not going to stay outside here any longer than I have to.”

  As soon as RWB opened the door, the hatch on the shuttle slid open and the boarding stairs extended. He scampered across the pad as Jones and Cathay trotted in pursuit. After he climbed aboard, Smyth punched the button to close the hatch.

  “No time to waste, Fillip. I hope you got clearance.”

  “Of course, I did, RWB. I need you to buckle in before we lift off. It is going to be bumpy up there today.”

  The Paladin grinned over at Jones who was buckling his seatbelt. “After I caromed off the bulkheads a couple of times he always asks if I have fastened my seatbelts.”

  “You betcha,” Smyth yelled as he worked his way through the checklist.

  Cathay slipped into the copilot’s seat next to Smyth. The pilot looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

  “I can manage the bird myself,” he stated.

  “New rules,” Cathay replied. “Two people in the cockpit whenever the Paladin is aboard.”

  “Are you qualified on this bird?”

  “Oh yes. I flew them in the Navy.”

  “Fine. Let me get this thing in the air before RWB gets impatient and throws the three of us out into the snow so he can fly it himself.”

  “Has he done that?”

  “Oh yes. I was late getting him checked out of his hotel one time and he got tired of waiting. I got to the pad in time to see him climbing for altitude.”

  “I did not know he was qualified to fly a shuttle,” Cathay said.

  “So far as I know, he is not,” Smyth said. “The old Paladin tore a strip off him after that incident. Then the old man tore a strip off me for letting it happen.”

  “So, the Paladin needs to be managed?”

  “Oh no,” Smyth said. “Nobody can manage RWB. He needs to be led.”

  “We have clearance,” Smyth said, holding his hand to the earbud. He murmured into the mic and brought up the counter-grav. “Hold on. I was not kidding about things being bumpy today.”

  As the shuttle lifted off the pad, he fed power to the turbines. They moved forward and then immediately dropped 300 feet in a downdraft once they cleared the edge of the roof. A winter storm was moving in and the atmosphere was blustery on this afternoon.

  “Hoooweee,” shouted RWB. “Great ride, Fillip.”

  Cathay glanced over at Smythe, who was fighting the controls and muttering under his breath.

  “Great ride, Smythe?” Cathay asked with a grin on his face.

  Smythe spared a quick glance at his copilot and then quickly focused on the controls again. “The boy is going to kill us sooner or later, Richard.”
>
  “Why Fillip, I thought these shuttles were supposed to fly through anything.”

  “Theoretically yes. But that does not mean it is necessarily wise. Besides, I was talking about the passenger load, not the bird.”

  Cathay glanced forward with a grin as the pilot fought to gain altitude. The gusting wind raised eddies and rip currents as it flowed around the Chicago skyscrapers. The vicious and unpredictable tempest only smoothed slightly as they cleared the skyline. Smythe fed more power to the turbines and pulled the nose into a steeper climb.

  With RWB aboard, the shuttle was now designated as Palatinate One-- and had clearance to do whatever he pleased. Smythe leveled off at 35,000 feet where the air was considerably smoother. He set the heading south for Memphis and began his housekeeping chores. The shuttles were highly automated and would report any problems to the pilot, but one did need to pay attention to the fuel load, enviro controls and the like. With the Paladin aboard, Smythe paid particular attention to the radar. The death of the old Paladin was no accident, and so the pilot was intent on keeping the new one alive.

  He keyed the cabin speakers. “We are out of the worst of the weather for now, people. I strongly recommend you stay strapped in. We could get some unexpected weather events even at this altitude.”

  “You are pretty good, Fillip,” Cathay commented. “I think I would have gunned it a little harder on the takeoff, though.”

  “I do not consider myself good. But I am very careful. The denizens of our fair city get a little upset when we fly by their windows with the turbines at full tilt, not to mention the afterburners. The noise is startling.”

  “So is flying into the side of a building.”

  “There is that. If we had gotten into trouble, we could have powered out of it.”

  “That wasn’t trouble?”

  “No. It felt a lot worse than it was. The definition of trouble would be flying through a North American thunderstorm.”

  Cathay adjusted his seatbelt and scanned the instruments. Then he gazed out the windows. “So, you are telling me you have flown through a thunderstorm.”

  Smythe looked over at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? No. I want to die of old age, while sitting in my recliner and sipping iced tea. I have some friends who like to do that for sport. The adage about old pilots and bold pilots is ancient, but still true.”

  “You have never pushed the envelope in one of these?”

  “Of course, I have. With an instructor pilot under carefully controlled circumstances. And I also have gone beyond that in the simulator.”

  “The envelope for these beasts is pretty wide,” Cathay commented.

  “Ah, yes, the Navy. You would have some experience.”

  “I did some dust-off that was pretty hairy. But if you want something that is really exciting, grab the simulator chip for the shuttle that was leaving Xanadan right before the big one.”

  “There was a shuttle coming out through that?” Smythe looked over at Cathay with his mouth open.

  A rogue planet had entered the Faros system on a nearly reciprocal course with the planet Xanadan. The only survivors of that disaster were the passengers on two Navy shuttles that had left at nearly the last moment. The coffee conversations around the Navy widely considered that to be the most remarkable bit of flying in a couple of centuries.

  “I knew the pilot. He retired after that run. Lives on Harcourt’s World now and refuses to leave the ground.”

  “That must have been something,” Smythe commented. “Is the chip available for the simulator?”

  “Not officially. I could get you a copy if you are interested. They had to dial it back a bit because at full bore it would break the simulator.”

  Smythe whistled. “And they didn’t break the shuttle? I mean, these are stout birds, but something like that.”

  “It was bent pretty badly. They had to scrap it afterwards. Lot of injuries to the passengers, too.”

  “My, my my,” the pilot said. “Anyway, I need to get on the horn with Memphis Control. I think we are going to do a really steep descent. That front is sweeping across the entire continent and I don’t want to fly through that junk any long than I have to.”

  “Right,” Cathay said. “That should make life interesting for Jones.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He really does not like to fly that much.”

  “I would bet he enjoyed the takeoff,” Smythe laughed.

  “He will be complaining about it all evening, I expect.”

  RWB looked around the interior of the shuttle. It was fitted out as an executive transport with cream colored panels on the bulkheads and tan leather seating. RWB habitually sat near the front hatch in a single, softly upholstered seat. Jones was on the other side, sprawled on a sofa.

  Jones was talking on his com unit and RWB opened his comp term and tried to read a report. After a while he looked over at Jones.

  “What are you working on, Sing?” he asked.

  Jones held up a hand while he completed his conversation, then put the com away.

  “Lining up more security for the Paladin,” he replied. “With just the two of us and Smythe, we are slightly stretched.”

  “Why not use Pop’s security detachment?”

  “I am making arrangements to do that, RWB. Your father lined us up to cover you. Nobody expected you to become the prime target, begging your pardon. So, the need for protection became much more serious.”

  “I am glad you are working on that. I really do not want to be a murder victim. Was Pop careless about his security?”

  “He was not so much careless about it as underestimating the threat.”

  “Why did someone not warn him about it?”

  Jones had a pained expression on his face.

  “What is it, Sing?”

  “I warned him about this. Chicago is a quiet city and he felt comfortable there. He always had security with him, but I thought it needed to be stepped up a bit.”

  “Is that what you are doing, now?”

  Jones nodded slowly. “Anytime you leave town, I want to assign a complete team. What we had in Vale was not adequate. Memphis will be a good shakedown for the team.”

  “Smythe only reserved my suite plus the one next door for you guys,” RWB said. “What kind of a team are we considering?”

  “It is a little beyond consideration. We have ten guards plus communications and logistics. And Smythe told me about this trip, so we were able to arrange for lodging for everybody. The suite next to yours will be the command center.”

  “You know of course that I will not wait around for your people to latch their shoes.”

  Jones replied with a one-sided grin. “Smythe has lectured me on that point. Anyone getting left behind will answer to me.”

  “I do not intend to be difficult. I just do not like waiting around for people to get themselves together.”

  “I understand and I agree.”

  The shuttle tipped over into a steep dive. Glancing out the window Jones saw the dive brakes open. They could feel the counter-grav decelerating the shuttle. From the front of the shuttle they could hear laughter. RWB had a broad grin on his face.

  “Smythe enjoys giving me an interesting ride,” he said.

  “I am going to have to speak with him,” Jones commented. “This cannot be safe.”

  “You might want to talk to Richard first. I assume you parked him up front to vet Fillip.”

  Jones tried to rub his chin, but then dropped his hand to the arm of the sofa to brace himself against the tilt of the shuttle. When they got on the ground, he was going to have a word with Smythe and Cathay.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Smythe and Jones looked across the restaurant where RWB was having breakfast with the girl he had met in Vale. Somehow, she had shown up at this party and once again made a night of it with RWB.

  Smythe turned his head back to Jones. “That is new.”

  “What? The breakfast
or the girl?”

  “Both, actually. Normally he would get up, shower and then checkout. He prefers to have his breakfast at Wilton House.”

  “How is his judgement where females are concerned?” Jones asked.

  “He will bed any girl he finds attractive, so long as she is single. He treats them well and none have complained about being sent away after one night. I have never seen him truly interested as he appears now to be.”

  “Have you picked up a name?”

  Smythe nodded. “Scout Donner. She is an expat Brit from Asimov Station. Has a bit of coin, too. She has no contact with her family, though.”

  “I wonder how that happened,” Jones mused.

  “The girl? Her da was in the League Navy. Retired now, I think. She doesn’t get along with her Ma. They give her a good allowance.”

  “You know a lot about her,” Jones commented.”

  “Both Chaim and Arlen are good at digging out information on people.”

  “In spite the privacy fetish.”

  Smythe studied the couple at the other table. “The old Paladin always hoped RWB would find somebody. I wonder whether this girl is right for him. Do you suppose you could scare her off, Sing?”

  “I have no intentions of doing that,” Jones replied. “You have obviously vetted the girl and if there was a real problem you would have told me. RWB seems level headed to me.”

  “I simply fear his judgment is impaired this soon after losing his father.”

  “I suppose that could be true,” Sing said. “But he seems to have his wits about him.”

  “Other than his drinking and drugs and maybe the partying, I have never seen him do something stupid,” Smythe added. “He is really very, very smart.”

  As they watched, the girl stood up and walked around the table. She leaned down and kissed RWB on the cheek. Then she left the restaurant with a sort of galloping gait. RWB caught the eye of the server and mimed writing the check.