Cauldron of Ghosts (18 page)

“No,” that came from Victor and Thandi simultaneously.

“Nobody will notice if Yana just disappears,” Thandi elaborated. “We need to give her a body transformation and a genetic sheath since she was on Mesa with Victor and Anton. But she doesn’t need a double.”

“The same’s true of Steph Turner,” Victor added. “That’s assuming she agrees to come at all.”

Jacques pulled out his com. “Okay. So who makes the call? And who do we start with?”

Victor and Anton exchanged looks again.

“There’s something a little scary about that,” mused Cathy.

“You think?” That came from Berry. But she was smiling when she said it.

“We need to start with President Pritchart,” said Anton. He pointed at Victor. “
He
is actually very disciplined, believe it or not. He won’t—can’t—agree to this without the approval of his superiors. And given that they’re bouncing his official status around, there’s no one except Pritchart who could sign off on it. As for who should make the call . . .”

Victor pulled out his com. “I’ll do it. I’d rather Jacques did, but . . . a special officer beards his own commander-in-chief.”

“Eloise Pritchart does
not
have a beard,” said Cathy.

Victor’s gloomy expression was back. “Stick around,” he said, as he keyed in some numbers. “By tomorrow she may have.”

His face got the slightly vacant look of someone who’s talking to someone far away. “This is Special Officer Cachat. Would you please pass on to President Pritchart that I need to speak with her as soon as possible.”

After a moment, he continued: “Yes, I know she’s very busy. This is important.”

Another moment passed. Victor rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you.” He turned off the com. “Wasn’t it Shakespeare who said, ‘first thing we do, we kill all the bureaucrats’?”

Cathy shook her head. “No. It was lawyers.”

“He got it wrong, then.” He put the com away. “I wouldn’t hold out great hopes that I’ll be able to see her anytime soon. The president’s gofer—excuse me, assistant executive director—made it pretty clear that I was a nuisance with delusions of grandeur.”

“Is that so?” Jacques took his com back out. “Let me try, then.” He entered some numbers and within a short time got the same slightly vacant expression.

“This is Jacques Benton-Ramirez y Chou, Third Director at Large of the Planetary Board of Directors of Beowulf. What is your name, please?”

A few seconds passed. “Well then, Assistant Executive Director Hancock. I need to speak to President Pritchart.”

A few seconds passed. “I didn’t say I needed an appointment, Ms. Hancock, I said I needed to speak to President Pritchart. If you require an explanation of the word ‘now’ I can have it provided for you by my cousin. That would be Chyang Benton-Ramirez. He’s the Chairman of Beowulf’s Board of Directors.”

A few seconds passed. “Thank you, Assistant Executive Director Hancock.”

To the people around him he said: “She’s getting her.”

A couple of minutes passed. “Eloise? Jacques here. Something very important has come up. I need to meet with you as soon as possible. I’ll be bringing your Special Officer Cachat with me. Captain Zilwicki as well. And General Palane.”

A few seconds passed. “Splendid. Fifteen-thirty it is.”

He put away the com and glanced at his timepiece. “Okay, we’ve got a little over two hours. We’d best get moving.”

* * *

After they left, Ruth sat back down at looked at the HD. The talking heads were still at it.

“—unfortunate, I agree, but there it is.”
Yael Underwood was saying.
“We just don’t know very much about Cachat and what little we do know is half-speculation.”

“Boy, are you in for a wild ride,” said Ruth.

Chapter 18

When Steph Turner and Andrew Artlett were ushered into the conference room, they were surprised to find Queen Berry and Princess Ruth waiting for them. There was another person in the room whom they didn’t recognize. That was hardly surprising, since they’d only been in the Beowulfan capital city of Columbia for a short time. Their ship had arrived the previous evening.

“Where’s Victor?” Steph asked. “And Anton? They were the ones who sent me the message to come here right away.”

Andrew pulled out a chair for her and helped her get seated at the table in the center of the room, facing Berry and Ruth and the unknown man. He wasn’t usually given to such gallantries, but he was trying to evade the gazes coming his way. The ones that indicated
and what is he doing here?

Recognizing the gazes, Steph said a bit awkwardly: “Andrew, uh, decided to come with me.”

Having sat down by then, Andrew got a little belligerent. “I know I wasn’t invited but I also know Cachat and Zilwicki. They’re up to something. Involving Steph. Which means ‘up to no good,’ most likely. They got a history. So I came along to make sure Steph doesn’t get hustled.”

Berry and Ruth looked at each other, and then at the man Steph and Andrew didn’t know.

“I guess it’s your call,” Berry said to him.

The man chuckled. “Who knows? This whole project is scrambling everybody’s preexisting notions of proper jurisdiction. But I’ll kick it off.”

He swiveled in his seat to face Andrew. “I assume you’re Andrew Artlett, right? The now-famous—in some circles, anyway—starship mechanic who jury-rigged the repairs on the
Hali Sowle
that enabled Cachat and Zilwicki to bring back their galaxy-shaking—that’s almost literally true—intelligence from Mesa.”

“What of it?” Andrew demanded, leaning his weight on forearms planted on the table.

Steph put a hand on his arm. “Hon, I think he’s being complimentary. Ease up on the testosterone, will you?”

“Um.” Andrew settled back. The expression on his face was that of a man who was embarrassed but was valiantly refusing to acknowledge the fact. “Um,” he repeated.

“I’m Henry Kham,” the man said. “I’m with . . . Well, for the moment let’s just call it the Inter-Agency Development Team.”

“ ‘Inter’ between what agencies and developing what and who’s on the team?” Andrew demanded.

Steph gave him an exasperated glance. “I think we’ll find out soon enough. Now will you puh-lease let Mr. Kham finish what he’s saying.”

“Um.”

Kham smiled. “The interaction is between a number of organizations representing—so far—four star nations. Beowulf, Manticore and Torch being three of them, which is why we’re here. The Republic of Haven is also involved but they didn’t have a representative available to come to this meeting.”

“Where’s Victor?” asked Steph.

“He’s tied up at the moment.”

A little choking sound came from Berry, followed almost immediately by the same sort of noise from Ruth. Kham gave them an inquisitive glance. “A poor choice of words?” he asked.

“Ah . . .” Ruth shook her head. “No, no. That’s fine.”

Berry murmured something that sounded like
except he usually does the tying
although Steph wasn’t sure. The young queen’s face was a little puffy, as if she was doing her best to stifle laughter.

Ruth flipped her hand in a shooing motion. “Keep going, Henry. Don’t mind us.”

Kham turned back to Steph and Andrew. “As for the project we’re developing, it’s basically simple. As invaluable as the information Cachat and Zilwicki brought back was, we need more. So we’re planning to insert another intelligence team on Mesa.” He now looked directly at Steph. “And we want to ask you to accompany them.”

Andrew looked like he was about to object but Kham held up his hand. “Hear me out, please. We wouldn’t be expecting Ms. Turner to play a direct role in the intelligence-gathering. What we’d want her to do is set up a safe house and provide the actual operatives with guidance and advice.”

“No,” said Artlett. He stood up and extended his hand to his companion. “Let’s go, Steph.”

“Andrew, sit down,” she said.

He stared at her, half-gaping.

“Sit. Down,” she repeated. “First, it’s my decision, not yours. Second, you’re being rude. Keep talking, Mr. Kham. What sort of safe house and with what—and how much—money?”

Kham shrugged. “We hoped you’d tell us what would work best as a safe house. Money’s not an issue. We’ll provide it, and as much as you need.”

Steph pursed her lips and her eyes got a little unfocused.

Artlett sat back down. “Steph, you can’t be seriously—”

“Be quiet. I’m thinking.”

He rolled his eyes. But he kept quiet.

After half a minute or so, Steph’s gaze came back in focus. “A restaurant’s probably out, even though it’d be the easiest for me and ideal for a safe house.”

“Agreed,” said Kham. “We already thought of that, but . . .” He shook his head. “The problem is that we just don’t know how much data the Mesans still have on everything connected with Cachat and Zilwicki’s expedition. But you might still be in their records. We can disguise you, but part of those records are that you owned and operated a restaurant. That might be enough to get flagged if a new one opened up in the seccy quarters.”

Ruth spoke up. “I suggested a flophouse. From what I’ve read, there are a lot of cheap boarding houses in the area.”

Steph nodded. “Yeah, there are. A lot of seccies—men, mostly—are itinerant laborers. And the houses go in and out of business regularly, since they’re usually just someone’s home being turned to commercial use when need be. There aren’t any regulations governing boardinghouses except the same fire and sanitation regs that apply to everybody. But those don’t even get inspected for that often.”

“That’s what I figured. And it’d be pretty close to what you used to do, since—correct me if I’m wrong—part of what a boardinghouse provides are regular meals for the renters. Kind of like a small private restaurant.”

“No, you’re right.” Steph’s eyes got out of focus for a moment. Kham took the moment to interject himself.

“That was the objection, though, raised by—ah, one of the development team members,” he said. “That a boardinghouse is close enough to what you used to do that it might get flagged for attention also.”

“Could be,” Steph said. “But that’s not what makes me twitchy about the idea.” She gave Ruth a sharp glance. “Did your reading indicate the other services usually provided by flophouses?”

Ruth frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Laundry’s one of them. But like I said, the clientele is mostly male. So most flophouses provide prostitutes also. Sometimes that service is done directly by the woman—they’re almost always women—who own the house. But it’s usually contracted out.”

Berry made a face. “Steph, nobody would expect you—”

Steph laughed, quite cheerfully. “You’d better not! But that’s not the problem.” She gave Kham a look that was not quite condemnatory but came awfully close. “Am I right in thinking that your so-called ‘development team’ could come up with a whore or two, if need be?”

“Well . . . they wouldn’t be whores, no. They’d actually be trained intelligence operatives. But with that caveat, yes. We could.” He shrugged. “Spying and sexual favors go back together a very long ways.”

“Could you provide the pimp, too?” She waved her hand. “Never mind. Hypothetical question. I’m sure you could. Just like I’m sure that the reason Victor isn’t here is because you’re putting him through some kind of body modification process because there’s no way he wouldn’t insist on being part of this. Make him the official pimp and no other pimp would dare come near the place. Not, at least, after the first couple of ’em got filleted.”

Steph shook her head. “But that’s still not the problem. Where were you planning to set up this safe house? Neue Rostock? That’d be the best district from the standpoint of avoiding the police. Either that or Lower Radomsko. But if you set it up in Neue Rostock you’d have to deal with Dusek’s organization, since they don’t let . . .” Her eyes got unfocused again. “Huh. Actually, that’s a possibility worth thinking about. Lower Radomsko would be a mess. Victor could handle any one of those crazy little gangs—wouldn’t even work up a sweat, knowing him—but there are just so many of them and they really can get pretty crazy. Let me think.”

Again, the unfocused look. After about a minute, she said: “The flophouse is a possibility. The other one is a boutique of some kind. There are a jillion of them in the seccy quarters. They open and close like flowers and most of them have the lifespan of mayflies. Nobody in authority pays any attention to them at all, except for those few in the better-off seccy districts that can get a credit line. They’ll get occasional inspections from credit rating services, which are private but have connections with police and regulatory agencies. But as long as you don’t try to buy on credit, you’re all but invisible to anyone except your clientele.”

“And those are . . . who?” Kham asked.

“Women, mostly. Looking for deals and . . .” She sighed. “Men make fun of us about it, but the truth is that a little fashion—even the cheap stuff within the reach of poor seccies—makes life a little brighter.”

“Amen,” said Ruth. When everyone looked at her she flushed a little. “Hey, it’s true even for royalty. Main difference is just that they—well, okay, we—can afford the expensive stuff. About the only woman of any class I know who’s completely indifferent to fashion”—her thumb went sideways—“is Her Mousety here and she’s just plain unnatural.”

“Clothes are clothes,” Berry said. “What’s the big deal? I never understood it. Might as well get all excited about different kinds of breakfast food.”

“Like I said, unnatural.” Ruth looked back at Steph. “I can see the advantages.”

“How about combining the two?” suggested Kham. “A small flophouse with a small boutique attached?”

“I can’t see the benefit. I think you’d be more likely to combine the disadvantages of both. But it’s my turn to ask questions. What—exactly—did you want this safe house for? Or for who, I guess I should say?”

“The truth is, we don’t know yet. The ‘who,’ I mean. The other function of the safe house—which might wind up being its only function, for all we know at the moment—is to serve as a permanent drop box. That means a place where information can be passed on. Or along.”

“Or along . . .” Steph nodded. “In other words, your—should I call it the ‘now-developed team’?—will actually be at least two teams. Maybe more. And you need them to be able to stay in touch without actually being in touch.”

“Ah . . . well, yes.”

A voice came into the room, from a hidden speaker somewhere.

“This is cumbersome,” the voice said. “Ms. Turner, are you in or out?”

“Who are you?”

“Who the hell are you?”

The first question came from Steph; the other from Andrew. Both of them were looking around the conference room, trying to spot the source of the voice.

“That doesn’t matter right now,” the voice said.

“Do you recognize that voice?” Steph asked Andrew quietly.

He shook his head. “Nobody I know. But it’s someone from the Traccora system, I’m pretty sure. We had a slaver crew come through Parmley Station from there once. The accent’s pretty distinctive.”

“In or out, Ms. Turner?” the voice repeated. “There are security issues involved. If the answer is ‘in,’ we’ll continue. If it’s ‘out,’ we thank you for your assistance—it’s really been quite helpful—and bid you farewell with our good wishes.”

“That’s it, then,” said Andrew, sounding relieved. He rose to his feet again. “Let’s go, Steph.”

But she made no move to rise. “If I go, what happens to Nancy?”

Both Kham and the unseen voice started to speak but Berry interrupted.

“Shut up, both of you.” She gave Steph a very direct gaze. “I will take care of her until you get back. Or if you don’t come back at all. Whatever Nancy needs and for however long those needs might last.”

She didn’t add
I swear
or
I promise
or any other such phrase. She didn’t need to.

Kham now spoke. “Beowulf will assume all costs of your daughter’s education, Ms. Turner. I assure you—”

“Hush. I knew that the moment you advanced the proposal. The one thing you people aren’t is stingy. But that’s not what I needed to know. If I get killed on this mission—and don’t waste time telling me it can’t happen, because it’s Mesa we’re talking about—then Nancy’s lost the only family she has. She needs people more than money.”

She and Berry looked at each other for a bit longer. Then Steph nodded. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Steph!”

She turned to Andrew. “I hate those people, Andrew. You have no understanding of how deep that hate runs. You just don’t. You and your folk had it rough on Parmley—rougher than I did, in some ways—but you were always you. You always had pride. You weren’t defined by other people. People who despised you and made sure you knew it for as far back as you could remember and who rubbed your face in it every chance they got and if you protested or argued—even looked at them cross-eyed—they’d beat you or kill you. And do it with impunity.”

She took another deep breath. “They just lost that impunity. I didn’t realize it at first, when we got off Mesa. Not at all, those months we drifted in space in the
Hali Sowle
. But after we got to Torch and I saw that new world being created . . .”

Andrew opened his mouth; then, closed it. Then, rubbed his face.

“I guess I’m a little old to discover patriotism,” Steph said. “Or maybe that’s just giving myself airs and this is really nothing more than a primitive desire for vengeance. I don’t care. The stinking bastards finally lost their impunity. And now somebody is getting ready to drive in the blade and I want my hand on the hilt, too.”

She looked away from him and up at the wall. “That’s you, isn’t it, Victor? And Anton’s with you?”

“In or out, Ms. Turner?” the voice said. “You understand that if the answer is ‘in’ and you later change your mind we’ll have to sequester you until the mission is completed?”