Quietly, Miles reached down and pressed the "alert" button on Iverson's comm link. "Why, Mark?"
"Because I need them. My own troops are much too tired for any more work today."
"Your troops?"
"Please do as I ask. Because I ask it. Because you owe me," Mark added, in a voice so low Miles had to strain to hear. Mark's eyes burned, a brief spark.
Fell muttered, "He used it. He has to know—" He leaned in again, and said to Mark, "Do you know what you have in ah, hand, Mark?"
"Oh, Baron. I know what I'm doing. I don't know why so many people have so much trouble believing that," Mark added in a tone of hurt complaint. "I know exactly what I'm doing." Then he laughed. It was a very disturbing laugh, edgy and too loud.
"Let me talk to Lilly," said Fell.
"No. You come here and talk to Lilly," said Mark petulantly. "Anyway, you want to talk to me." He nailed Fell's eye with a direct look. "I promise you will find it profitable."
"I believe I do want to talk with you," murmured Fell. "Very well."
"Miles. You're there in Ryoval's study, where I was." Mark searched his face, for what Miles could not guess, but then Mark nodded quietly to himself, as if satisfied. "Is Elena there?"
"Yes . . ."
Elena leaned forward on Miles's other side. "What do you need, Mark?"
"I want to talk to you a moment. Armswoman. Privately. Would you clear the room of everyone else, please? Everyone."
"You can't," Miles began. " . . . Armswoman? Not—not liege-sworn? You can't be."
"Technically, I suppose she's not, now that you're alive again," said Mark. He smiled sadly. "But I want a service. My first and last request, Elena. Privately."
Elena looked around. "Everybody out. Please, Miles. This is between Mark and me."
"Armswoman?" Miles muttered, allowing himself to be thrust back out into the corridor. "How can—" Elena shut the door on them all. Miles called Iverson to arrange transport, and other things. It was still a polite race with Fell, but it was clearly a race.
Elena emerged after a few minutes. Her face was strained. "You go on to Durona's. Mark has asked me to find something for him here. I'll catch up."
"Collect all the data you can for ImpSec while you're at it, then," said Miles, feeling bewildered by the pace of events. Somehow, he seemed not to be in charge here. "I'll tell Iverson to give you a free hand. But—Armswoman? Does that mean what I think it does? How can—"
"It means nothing, now. But I owe Mark. We all do. He killed Ryoval, you know."
"I was beginning to realize it had to be so. I just didn't see how."
"With both hands tied behind his back, he says. I believe him." She turned again toward Ryoval's suite.
"That was Mark?" Miles muttered, heading reluctantly in the opposite direction. He couldn't have acquired some other clone-brother while he was dead, could he? "It didn't sound like Mark. For one thing, he sounded like he was glad to see me. That's Mark?"
"Oh, yes," said Quinn. "That was Mark all right."
He quickened his pace. Even Taura had to lengthen her stride to keep up.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Dendarii's little personnel shuttle kept pace with Baron Fell's larger drop shuttle; they arrived at the Durona Group's clinic almost simultaneously. A House Dyne shuttle belonging temporarily to ImpSec was waiting politely across the street from the entrance, by the little park. Just waiting.
As they were circling for a landing, Miles asked Quinn, who was piloting, "Elli—if we were flying along, in a lightflyer or an aircar or something, and I suddenly ordered you to crash it, would you?"
"Now?" asked Quinn, startled. The shuttle lurched.
"No! Not now. I mean theoretically. Obey, instantly, no questions asked."
"Well, sure, I suppose so. I'd ask questions afterward though. Probably with my hands wrapped around your neck."
"That's what I thought." Miles sat back, satisfied.
They rendezvoused with Baron Fell at the front entrance, where the gate guards prepared to code open a portal in the force screen. Fell frowned at the three Dendarii in their half-armor, Quinn and Bel and Taura, trailing Miles in his gray knits.
"This is my facility," Fell pointed out. His own pair of green-clad men eyed them without favor.
"These are my bodyguards," said Miles, "for whom I have a demonstrated need. Your force screen appears to have a malfunction."
"He was taken care of," said Fell grimly. "That won't happen again."
"Nevertheless." By way of concession, Miles jerked his thumb at the shuttle by the park. "My other friends can wait outside."
Fell frowned, thinking it over. "All right," he said at last. They followed him inside. Hawk met them, bowed to the Baron, and escorted them formally up through the series of lift tubes to Lilly Durona's penthouse.
The word for it, Miles thought, rising past the chromium railing, was "tableau." It was all arranged as perfectly as any stage setting.
Mark was the centerpiece. He sat back comfortably in Lilly Durona's own chair, his bandaged right foot propped on a silk pillow on the low round tea table. Surrounded by Duronas. Lilly herself, her white hair braided today like a crown wreathing her head, stood at Mark's right hand, leaning bemusedly on the upholstered chair back, smiling down beneficently upon the top of his head. Hawk took up position on Mark's left side. Dr. Chrys, Dr. Poppy, and Dr. Rose clustered admiringly around them. Dr. Chrys had a large fire-extinguisher by her knee. Rowan was not here. The window had been repaired.
On the center of the table sat a transparent cold-box. Within it lay a severed hand wearing a big silver ring set with what appeared to be a square black onyx.
Mark's physical appearance disturbed Miles. He had been braced to witness traumas of unnamed tortures, but Mark was covered neck to ankle in concealing gray knits like his own. Only the bruises on his face and the bandage on his foot hinted at the past five days' activities. But his face and body were strangely and unhealthily bloated, his stomach shockingly so, more than the stoutly-balanced figure he'd seen here in Dendarii uniform just a few days ago, and far beyond the almost-duplicate of himself he'd tried to rescue from the raid on the clone crèche four months ago. In another person, Baron Fell for example, the near-obesity wouldn't have made him even blink, but Mark . . . could this be Miles himself, someday, if he slowed down? He had a sudden urge to swear off desserts. Elli was frankly staring, horrified and repelled.
Mark was smiling. A little control box lay under his right hand. His index finger kept pressure on a button.
Baron Fell saw the cold-box containing the hand, and started for it, crying, "Ah!"
"Stop," said Mark.
The Baron stopped, and cocked his head at him. "Yes?" he said warily.
"The object you are interested in is sitting in that sealed box on top of a small thermal grenade. Controlled," he lifted his hand with the remote in it, "by this dead-man switch. There is a second, positive-control switch in the hands of another person, outside of this room. Stun me or jump me, and it will go off. Frighten me, and my hand might slip. Tire me out, and my finger might give way. Annoy me enough, and I might just let go for the hell of it."
"The fact that you have made such an arrangement," said Fell slowly, "tells me you know the value of what you hold. You wouldn't. You're bluffing." He stared piercingly at Lilly.
"Don't try me," said Mark, still smiling. "After five days of your half-brother's hospitality, I'm in a real hostile mood. What's in that box is valuable to you. Not to me. However," he took a breath, "you do have some things that are valuable to me. Baron, let's Deal."
Fell sucked on his lower lip, and stared into Mark's glittering eyes. "I'll listen," he said at last.
Mark nodded. A couple of Duronas hurried to bring chairs for Baron Fell and Miles; the bodyguards arranged themselves standing. Fell's guards looked as if they were thinking hard, watching the box and their master; the Dendarii watched the green-clad guards in turn. Fell settled hims
elf with a formal air, half-smiling, eyes intent.
"Tea?" inquired Lilly.
"Thank you," said the Baron. The two Durona children hurried out at her nod. The ritual was begun. Miles sat gingerly, and clamped his teeth together, hard. Whatever was going on here, he hadn't been briefed. It was clearly Mark's show. But he wasn't entirely sure Mark was sane, right now. Smart, yes. Sane, no. Baron Fell looked as though he might be coming to the same conclusion, staring across the tea table at his self-appointed host.
The two opponents waited in silence for the tea to arrive, sizing each other up the while. The boy brought in the tray, and set it beside the gruesome box. The girl poured just two cups, Lilly's finest imported Japan Green, for Mark and the Baron, and offered tea cookies with them.
"No," said Mark to the cookies in a tone of loathing, "thank you." The Baron took two, and nibbled one. Mark started to lift his tea cup left-handed, but his hand was shaking too badly, and he set it hastily back in its saucer on the arm of Lilly's chair before it could spill and scald. The girl slipped silently up to him, and lifted it to his lips; he sipped and nodded gratefully, and she settled down with the cup by his left knee to serve again at his word. He's hurt one hell of a lot worse than he's managing to look right now, Miles realized, his stomach cold. The Baron looked at Mark's trembling left hand, and more dubiously at his right, and shifted uneasily.
"Baron Fell," Mark said, "I think you will agree with me that time is of the essence. Shall I begin?"
"Please do."
"In that cold-box," Mark nodded toward the severed hand, "is the key to House Ryoval. Ry Ryoval's, ah, secret decoder ring." Mark cackled loudly, bit back the laugh, and nodded to the girl for another sip of tea. He regained control of his voice and continued. "Embedded in the ring's crystal are all of the late Baron Ryoval's personal code-keys. Now, House Ryoval has a peculiar administrative structure. To say that Ry Ryoval was a paranoid control freak would be a gross understatement. But Ryoval is dead, leaving his scattered subordinates at scattered locations without their accustomed direction. When the rumors of his death reach them, who knows what they will do? You've seen one example.
"And a day or two from now, the vultures will be flying in from all over to tear at the carcass of House Ryoval. Possession is rather more than nine points of the non-existent law around here. House Bharaputra alone has obvious congruent interests in House Ryoval's wares. I'm sure you can think of others, Baron."
Fell nodded.
"But a man who had Ryoval's own code-keys in his hand today could be at a considerable advantage," Mark went on. "Particularly if he was well-supplied with personnel to provide material back-up. Without the tedious delays of cracking Ryoval's codes one by one, he could put himself in position to take immediate control of most or all of House Ryoval's current assets, from the top down instead of piecemeal. Add to that a well-known tie of blood to lend legitimacy to his claims, and I think most of the competition would sheer off without need for any expensive confrontation at all."
"My half-brother's code-key ring is not yours to trade," said Fell coldly.
"Oh, yes it is," said Mark. "I won it. I control it. I can destroy it. And," he licked his lips; the girl raised the teacup again, "I paid for it. You would not now be offered this exclusive—and it is still exclusive—opportunity if not for me."
The Baron gave a very tiny nod of concession. "Go on."
"What would you say the value of the Durona Group is, compared to the value of House Ryoval's current assets? Proportionally."
The Baron frowned. "One-twentieth. One-thirtieth, perhaps. House Ryoval has far more real estate. The, er, intellectual property value is harder to calculate. They specialize in rather different biological tasks."
"Leaving aside—or leaving behind—the real estate. House Ryoval is clearly enormously more valuable. Facilities, techs, slaves. Client list. Surgeons. Geneticists."
"I would have to say so."
"All right. Let's trade. I will give you House Ryoval in exchange for the Durona Group, plus value in a bearer-paid credit chit equal to ten percent of the assets of House Ryoval."
"Ten percent. An agent's fee," said Fell, looking at Lilly. Lilly smiled and said nothing.
"A mere agent's fee," Mark agreed. "Cheap at twice the price, which not-coincidentally is at least what you will lose without the advantages of Ry Ryoval's code-keys."
"And what would you do with all these ladies if you had them, ah, Mark?"
"What I wist. Wist, from wistful. I think I like the verb form better."
"Thinking of setting up in business here yourself? Baron Mark?"
Miles froze, appalled at this new vision.
"No," sighed Mark. "I wist to go home, Baron. I wist it real bad. I will give the Durona Group—to themselves. And you will let them go, free and unmolested and without pursuit, to wherever they—wist. Escobar, was it, Lilly?" He looked up at Lilly, who looked down at him and smiled, and nodded slightly.
"How very bizarre," murmured the Baron. "I think you are mad."
"Oh, Baron. You have no idea." A weird chuckle escaped Mark. If he was acting, it was the best acting job Miles had ever seen, not excluding his own wildest flights of scam.
The Baron sat back and crossed his arms. His face grew stony with thought. Would he decide to try to jump them? Frantically, Miles began trying to calculate the military options of a sudden fire-fight, Dendarii on deck, ImpSec in orbit, himself and Mark at risk, the sudden bright muzzle-flare of a projectile weapon—oh God, what a mess—
"Ten percent," said the Baron at last, "less the value of the Durona Group."
"Who calculates the value of that intellectual property, Baron?"
"I do. And they evacuate immediately. All property, notes, files, and experiments in progress to be left intact."
Mark glanced up at Lilly: she bent and whispered in his ear. "The Durona Group shall have the right to duplicate technical files. And have the right to carry away personal items such as clothing and books."
The Baron stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. "They may carry away—what each one may carry. No more. They may not duplicate technical files. And their credit account remains, as it has always been, mine."
Lilly's brows drew down; another whispered conference behind her hand with Mark. He waved away some objection, and pointed orbit-ward. She finally nodded.
"Baron Fell," Mark took a deep breath, "it's a Deal."
"It's a Deal," Fell confirmed, watching him with a slight smile.
"My hand on it," Mark intoned. He snickered, turned his control box over, and twisted a knob on the underside. He set it back down on his chair-arm, and shook out his trembling fingers.
Fell stretched in his chair, shaking off the tension. The guards relaxed. Miles almost fell into a puddle. Cripes, what have we done? At Lilly's direction, assorted Duronas scattered in a hurry.
"It's been very entertaining, doing business with you, Mark." Fell rose. "I don't know where home is for you, but if you ever decide you want a job, come see me again. I could use an agent like you, in my galactic affairs. Your sense of timing is . . . viciously elegant."
"Thank you, Baron," Mark nodded. "I'll keep it in mind, should some of my other options not work out."
"Your brother, too," Fell added as an afterthought. "Assuming his full recovery, of course. My troops could use a more active combat commander."
Miles cleared his throat. "House Fell's needs are mainly defensive. I prefer the Dendarii's more aggressive type of assignments," he said.
"There may be more assault work, upcoming," said Fell, his eyes going slightly distant.
"Thinking of conquering the world?" Miles inquired. The Fell Empire?
"The acquisition of House Ryoval will put House Fell in an interestingly unbalanced position," said Fell. "It would not be worthwhile to pursue a policy of unlimited expansion, and cope with all the opposition that must result, for a mere five or so years of rule. But if one were to live for another fifty year
s, say, one might find some most absorbing work for a military officer of capacity. . . ." Fell raised an inquiring brow at Miles.
"No. Thank you." And I wish you all joy of each other.
Mark gave Miles a slit-eyed, feline glance of amusement.
What an extraordinary solution Mark had wrought, Miles thought. What a Deal. Did a Jacksonian defy his upbringing by joining the side of the angels, rebel by becoming incorruptible? So it appeared. I think my brother is more Jacksonian than he realizes. A renegade Jacksonian. The mind boggles.
At Fell's gesture, one of his bodyguards carefully picked up the transparent box. Fell turned to Lilly.
"Well, old sister. You've had an interesting life."
"I still have it," smiled Lilly.
"For a while."
"Long enough for me, greedy little boy. So this is the end of the road. The last of our blood-pact. Who would have imagined it, all those years ago, when we were climbing out of Ryoval's sewers together?"
"Not I," said Fell. They embraced each other. "Goodbye, Lilly."
"Goodbye, Georie."
Fell turned to Mark. "The Deal is the Deal, and for my House. This is for me. For old times' sake." He stuck out a thick hand. "May I shake your hand, sir?"
Mark looked bewildered and suspicious; but Lilly nodded to him. He allowed his hand to be engulfed by Fell's.
"Thank you," said Georish Stauber sincerely. He jerked his chin at his guards, and vanished down the lift tube in their company.
"Do you think this Deal will hold?" Mark asked Lilly in a thin, worried voice.
"Long enough. For the next few days, Georish will be much too busy assimilating his new acquisition. It will absorb all his resources and then some. And after that, it will be too late. Regret, later, yes. Pursuit and vengeance, no. It's enough. It's all we need."
She stroked his hair fondly. "You just rest now. Have some more tea. We're going to be very busy for a while." She turned to gather up the young Duronas, "Robin! Violet! Come along quickly—" She hurried them into the interior of her quarters.
Miles Errant Page 84
