Vitorino took the hint. He held up his glass, still over half full. "A toast, then, my dear Captain, to you and your fine ship and crew. You have made me quite a satisfied customer."
"Thank you, Minister," Henry answered. Their glasses touched. "I'm always happy to find satisfied customers."
* * *
With his meeting with Vitorino concluded, Henry departed the Ministry of Trade. He made it to the street before his commlink went off. He brought it up to his ear. "Henry here."
"Jim." Felix's voice sounded strained. "Can you come to the mission? It's my brother… he's been hurt."
Henry frowned. "On my way."
8
Another taxi—this one driven by an irritable Gamavillero who wouldn't give her name and responded in monosyllabic grunts—took Henry to the outer edge of the city. Some of the residential districts were fine-looking ones, the abodes of the upper and middle class of Gamavilla. But his destination was one of the barrios along the western edge of Gamavilla, the dark underbelly of a lovely city like Gamavilla and a reminder of humanity's long history of issues with poverty. Multistoried apartments, some better looking than others, housed the urban poor that worked all across the city, some resigned to their lot and others still looking for the edge to elevate them to something better. Interspersed among them were small businesses in strip malls or on the first floors of residential buildings—bodegas, stores, cheap eateries, and other shops catering to the local needs and desires, some of which were not so benign or even legal.
The Faith Outreach Mission catered to a different kind of need, a different form of desire. Instead of meeting material wants, it was there to provide spiritual nourishment along with the physical variety, to give hope that there was something better waiting for others. It was appropriately contained in an old church, the area's former Catholic parish until the local bishop acquired a better building in a better area that pleased the middle-class worshippers. Walls of brown with white trim matched the neighborhood, preventing the mission from seeming out of place to the locals. Signs in the four languages of Lusitania proclaimed the name of the center.
Or they had. Once the taxi stopped, Henry noted the sign was defaced. Spray paint obscured the name, replacing it with a declaration in Portuguese of "Foreigners GO HOME!" "DEATH TO TRAITORS" was scrawled beside the door, which was busted half off of its hinges. He frowned as he entered the building. His hand went absentmindedly to his holster as he stepped through the entryway.
Someone had gone after the pews with an ax, splitting open the seats. The Bibles and hymnals had taken the worst of the abuse, as if the vandals had been offended by their very existence.
Sitting at the steps to a splintered and wrecked altar was the director and lead pastor of the mission, the Reverand Julian "Jules" Rothbard. Felix was sitting beside his brother, treating a wound on Jules's forehead with a medical kit. Henry stepped up to them. "What the hell happened here?" Henry asked.
"PdDN thugs," Felix answered, "coming from a rally." He ran a medicated towelette over Jules's wound. "Fascist bastards."
"Going to call the police?"
Jules chuckled. "Jim, the police answer to the Home Ministry. Who do you think runs them?"
"Right." Henry nodded. He was familiar with the reputation and power of the she-wolf, Cristina Caetano. "And they hate you because you're from the Coalition? That's it?"
"The PdDN party paper accuses Faith Outreach of being a front for Coalition intelligence all of the time," Jules said. "We're part of a vast Coalition conspiracy to undermine the Estado Novo, obviously."
"I bet they don't do the same thing to the League's stooges in those social solidarity groups," Felix muttered. He reached into the medkit for a bandage and gauze roll.
"Oh, they get it too. One of theirs got killed last month over in Nova Lisboa when the local PdDN enforcers torched their local office." Jules shook his head, drawing a glare from his brother for nearly ruining the bandage. "They're paranoid about both sides."
"I guess you won't be having services any time soon," Henry said, surveying the damage.
"Oh, we have enough local supporters that I can get the help to clean everything up in time for the next service," Jules assured them. "And they didn't mess up the soup kitchen, so at least I can still give my daily meals."
"Still, you'll need new pews, books, a door…" Henry looked to Felix, who nodded in unspoken agreement. "Felix and I will chip in some credits."
"Your donations will be welcome, Jim. But I'll forego them if you'll come to a service."
Henry chuckled. "Not happening."
"You can't stay angry forever."
"It's not anger." Henry crossed his arms. "It's resignation. I suppose the Almighty and I are in agreement on that."
"This is the part where he tells us that God turned His back on humanity, and you insist he's wrong," Felix said to Jules. "And there, all done." He pulled his hands away from his brother's new bandage.
"I know… thanks." Jules turned his head to face his brother. "And you, Felix? Can't I get my own brother to come to a service?"
"You know me, Jules. You were always the spiritual one in the family. I'm the apostate."
"More lapsed than an apostate." Jules patted his brother on the shoulder. "Besides, we're Methodists, not Catholics. It's not supposed to work that way."
"I thought Faith Outreach was nondenominational," Henry said.
"It is, but it doesn't ask us to give up on the churches we're connected to," Jules replied.
"Fair enough." Henry looked at his old friend with sadness. His simple suit was frayed and ripped from the attack. The white bandage around his head made Jules look like he'd been in a battle, which was not too inaccurate an observation. "There are other worlds where you could run a mission. I mean, worlds where they won't kick your ass and vandalize your church because you're from another planet."
"I know." Jules smiled and shook his head. "But this is where God wants me. I'm here to spread Christ's message to people who need to hear it, and these people need it."
"And Caetano and her thugs?"
"They're the ones who need to hear it the most," Jules said.
Felix shook his head and suppressed a laugh. "We won't talk him out of this, Jim. My brother's determined to stay, even if it makes him a martyr."
"Right." Henry sighed and looked around. "Well, let's at least get this stuff picked up. Then you just have to wait for the replacements."
"Your assistance is welcome," Jules said. "I have faith that I'll get you back to church one of these days."
Henry shook his head but said nothing. In the end, everyone needed hope to hold on to, even if it led nowhere.
9
PV Morozova
Harron System, Neutral Space
6 August 2460
Miri felt her strength coming back gradually, breathing air that was only slightly stale—the life support system's scrubbers needed work—and eating bowls of borscht and other typical Russian fare, which pleased a stomach that had been empty for far too long. The meal was certainly not kosher, but then again, it wasn't the first time she'd had to break the dietary laws.
With enough time passed since the last jump, Miri was confident they'd arrived at their destination system, although the Morozova hadn't landed yet. She went to sleep wondering where, precisely, they were. There were several worlds in the region she preferred to avoid, although with their reputation, she could at least be sure they weren’t on a League or League-friendly planet.
She was awoken by a gentle nudge from Feodor's nurse, an older woman named Yevgenya. "Come," she said. "We are on planet now."
Miri followed Yevgenya into the dark-blue corridors of the Morozova. Their route took them through the crew spaces of the ship and eventually to a cargo bay. Boxes of materials—most stolen, she suspected—were being unloaded.
Piotr Tokarev was waiting at the bottom of the ramp. With him was an alien about a quarter of a meter taller. The alien's skin had
a rubbery look to it, and the two eyes on the being's head were set farther apart on the face than on a human. The clothing was of contrasting orange and green hues with a series of patterns over the chest.
Miri suddenly understood precisely why the Tokarev brothers hadn't wanted to tell her their destination.
The alien was a Harr'al, and they were almost certainly on their homeworld, Harron.
The Harr'al were one of the less advanced species in the galaxy. They were a disunited planet of kingdoms and principalities, a few theocracies, and some enclaves from other species established with the support of local potentates. Between the Harr'al attitudes and the nature of the offworlders who set up the enclaves, everything from gun running to drug smuggling to sapient trafficking was permitted, even encouraged. The Harr'al themselves usually practiced slavery. With their position in the Trifid Nebula region being far from worlds with both the power and desire to do something about it, it wouldn't change anytime soon.
Miri didn't quite keep the fear from her face. It was an instinctive one but would at least secure her cover. Anyone in her position would have had cause to fear being brought to Harron, where the nonexistent law and the practices of the locals brought the genuine worry of being sold into slavery.
Piotr noticed her and shook his head. "No need for worry. I not sell you or anyone. Would be offense to God. Besides, protection was paid for your ship."
"I understand. Thank you." Miri wondered if he would have been so friendly if he knew she was Jewish. Old prejudices didn't always die out, even with aliens around to make the bigotry seem more foolish.
Piotr gestured to the Harr'al. "This is Vasily. Christian name. He convert to church, our agent here."
The Harr'al nodded. "My greetings." He pronounced English almost as poorly as Piotr. Miri watched him cross himself in the Eastern Orthodox style, using two fingers. "Christian. Christians are true religion."
Piotr beamed with pride at Vasily.
Miri had little knowledge of Harr'al religion. It was not unheard of for religious conversions to happen between species if the religions were already compatible with a species' needs and psychology. She briefly wondered what led the Harr'al to embrace a human faith over his own world's choices then promptly decided it was none of her business.
"Will take you to dwelling place," said Vasily. "Get you food."
"I would like access to communications as well," she said, "so I can report in to my employers about the Kensington Star."
"Have sent message already," Pavel said. "But is still good you send your own. There is place for spacers. Vasily will take you." He gestured away from the ship. "We launch soon. Keep eye out for League ships, spread word."
Miri answered with a nod but not an enthusiastic one. She figured she would have a hard enough time explaining things to her employers. A lot of people would be inherently suspicious of any claim about the League's involvement. She had a video from her suit, but that might not be enough.
It will have to be, she pondered as she approached the open-topped Harr'al helicar. Vasily took the driver's seat, and she the other. She buckled the harness and said nothing while the Harr'al manipulated the controls. The vehicle lifted into the air and went out the hangar door to reveal the spaceport, a collection of circular structures built around landing pads and a big central terminal. The structures of the city beyond were boxy, looking like they were shaped by clay instead of brick or another material. Other vehicles flitted about in the air around them, going to and from other locales in the city. The streets below teemed with life of all varieties. "I am unfamiliar with the cities on your world," she said to her Harr'al escort. "Where am I?"
"Sektatsh. Eastern edge of Calnat country… nation. Enclave for offworlders. Taking you to Alien Quarter, rooms there."
Miri recognized the name. Sektatsh was one of the seedier ports, certainly. "If you don't mind me asking, what caused you to convert?"
Vasily nodded, although she wasn't sure what that gesture might have meant. "Calnin worship Tashin. Tashin not nice God. Tashin make slaves. Taken as slave myself. Freed by missionary, learn about true religion and how Jesus came to free slaves!" The answer, enthusiastic as it was, was also punctuated by the broken English Vasily spoke.
"I hope you have found happiness, then," Miri said. "This city, are there any slavers?"
"Slavers everywhere on Harron. Everywhere. Not open here, but still here."
So I had best be careful. "Is there somewhere in the Alien Quarter where I will be safe?"
"Yes. Take you to spacer home."
Miri was glad to hear it, and soon, she noticed the destination’s symbol of three round shapes arranged in a circle on a dark-blue field, the insignia of the Interplanetary Spacers' Union. Like many others in the trade, she—or at least Karla Lupa—was a dues-paying member of the ISU, and for a good reason. Her case was one of the significant reasons the organization existed and continued to get membership—it provided support in the event of surviving the loss of a ship and advocates to argue with the transport carriers, corporate or private.
The roof was topped by the assemblage of discs and antennae of a quantum transceiver. The connection it had to the regional quantum entanglement network would allow her to connect via commlink to her accounts and pay for things, as well as let the owners of the Kensington Star know what had happened.
Miri pondered whether she should alert them at all. The League had agents in neutral space, agents who might pick up any message she sent. If they realized she was a witness to the attack, they would come after her even if they didn't know that Karla Lupa was Miri Gaon, hated spy and traitor. Perhaps she should disappear, become someone else, and find another ship to get off Harron.
Then again, the Tokarev brothers had already told the owners about her. If Karla Lupa went missing, the wrong conclusions might be drawn. And if the League raids kept up, well, it was folly to think she would get away again.
"Vasily, I need a gun," she said insistently.
"As you need breath," he answered.
A small smile came to Miri's face. Given the reputation of Harron and the enclaves on the planet, those two things were likely connected. "Do you know someone trustworthy?"
"Yes. Missionary. Can take you to them."
The fact that even missionaries on Harron had firearms didn’t surprise her. "I'm going to be a bit, but I can give you a tip to wait for me. Extra money?" She added the last to ensure he understood. "Then we'll go see your missionary."
Vasily nodded.
Miri thanked him and left the helicar. Once inside the hostel, she found that it met the usual design of such places. The lobby, not unlike a hotel lobby, had several chairs and couches, mostly worn to some degree, and some occupied. An HV with vidlink capability was active, displaying a holovid series from another world for the enjoyment of a few human spacers. A pair of big Saurians sat at one table, playing a lively game of rastek. The distinct smell of Tal'mayan sweet smoke wafted through Miri's nostrils, as did the distant scent of liquor. No spacer hostel or hotel worth its salt was without a bar.
She approached the main desk. A young man of East Asian appearance was on duty, his head nearly shaved bald and several star-pattern tattoos mixed with Japanese characters inked on his head and neck. "Union ID number?" he asked her in a perfunctory tone.
"Two nine zero four eight two nine," she replied immediately. "Karla Lupa out of Laffler."
The concierge immediately typed the number in. An identification station on the lobby desk became active, lighting up blue. Miri applied the fingers of her right hand to one scanner and pressed her eye against another. The scanner machine checked her retina, fingerprints, and geneprint against the union's database. After an electronic ping, the concierge checked his screen and nodded. "Miss Lupa. Welcome to the Sektatsh ISU Hostel and Hotel. Are you seeking a bed in the common area or…"
"A private room, please," she said. "With full commlink access."
The young man nodded. She
noticed him pale a little. "You… you're from the Kensington Star?"
"Yes." Miri glanced around quickly. No one else was nearby, so they hadn't been overheard.
"She's on the missing list as of yesterday. They flagged you and every other member of the crew," he said. "Is she here?"
"No. I was adrift in space and picked up by other spacers." Miri wasn't about to admit that "Karla" was saved by the Tokarevs. The ISU got twitchy about pirates for understandable reasons. "I escaped after our ship was taken. I… I didn't see by who." She made the lie work. The kid might talk, and if he did, it would draw even more attention than she was already getting. And her employers would likely be unhappy if she told some hotel clerk before them. "I need to report in."
"Um, all right, here." He took a blank keycard and ran it through the machine to encode it with her personal information and the room authorization code. "Room 288. Second floor."
"Thank you." With that done, Miri accepted the card and set off for her room. She would make the call and get back to Vasily to get her weapon. She was already confident she would be better off with one.
10
The last crate of lithium settled onto its place on the cargo truck. Tia gave a thumbs-up to the driver, who brought his engine to life and pulled out of the hangar. With the job done and the receipt already filed and waiting for Henry's final signature, she and the others were free to do as they pleased for the rest of the evening, as was custom for their first night back into port. She considered the message she’d received over the GalNet and already knew how she'd spend her evening. She looked forward to it, just as she was sure the others would want to do their own thing.
Indeed, Tia didn't even get the time to return to the hatch before Cera and Piper emerged, wearing unzipped spacer's jackets over their blouses. Cera had on knee-length shorts, while Piper was in a pair of faded blue jeans. "Everythin's secure," Cera said. "We're off t' the pub."
Coalition Defense Force Boxed Set: First to Fight Page 63
