Command Decision (12 page)

“Not that long ago,” Ky said. “And it’s still growing. We’re part of Third Fleet.” No need to mention that so far there was no First or Second fleet and that her three ships were the whole of “Third.” “Now. Do you have route information for the Adelaide Group? Is your ship capable of microjumps?”

“Yes, I have navigation data, but no, we can’t do microjumps.”

“What’s your best insystem speed?”

The answer was depressingly low. They would be another five days to the jump point—another five days of high alert, because Ky did not trust the Gretnans at all. On the other hand, that was five days to gather information about what had happened to Polson, everything that Partsin knew.

“We’re a small colony,” Partsin said at the first briefing with the other captains. “We’re not rich; I don’t know why they attacked us, except maybe we have a six-axis jump nexus.”

“That would do it,” Argelos said, nodding.

“They came in,” Partsin said. “Maybe fifteen ships; I’m not sure. Overwhelmed our local protection, occupied the colony, and told everyone to get out within thirty-six hours or expect a bloodbath. We only had two ships docked capable of taking on passengers—it wasn’t nearly enough.” Ky remembered the panic at Sabine; she could imagine how much worse this might be. “They didn’t care,” Partsin went on. “Everything our governor tried to say, begging for more time, they just said
Not our problem, get out or die
. A lot of people didn’t believe them until they shot a whole classroom full of children.” His face twisted; Ky felt her own stomach knot in horror. She waited until Partsin had caught his breath.

“What can you tell us about them?” she asked then. “Any details at all might help.”

“They’re insane,” Partsin said bitterly. “They look like thugs, most of them, but they act like robots—that kind of discipline. They wear burgundy and black—”

“Turek,” Pettygrew said. “It’s got to be—”

“Go on,” Ky said to Partsin.

“The governor asked who they were, where they were from, who they worked for—they just laughed at him.”

“Did you get any records of them?”

“No…well, nothing really good. One of the kids had a toy recorder; the images are blurry, but you can tell the color of the uniforms and so on. I do have a list of ship IDs, but I’m sure the beacons were faked.”

“Anything might be helpful,” Ky said. “How are your passengers doing?”

“Better than they were,” Partsin said. “Some of them had medical training, so they set up the protocols for refeeding.”

Ky, remembering the situation at Sabine, sympathized, but there was nothing more they could do until they reached a friendlier place.

CHAPTER

SIX

Nexus II

Ilkodremin was one of the major manufacturing cities on Nexus; from the air its roofs glittered blue with solar panels. Rafe took a tram directly to his first call, the manufacturer of commercial ovens he had noted at Flasic’s Bakery Supplies, and entered into a long discussion that became an unsatisfactory negotiation about the availability of their ovens offworld, the possibility of sublicensing the plans, and other details he hoped would bore anyone doing surveillance.

In the afternoon, it was the manufacturer of a machine that turned out small cylindrical snacks filled with minced spiced fruit, but that, too, led to no contracts being signed, since Rafe specified a filling that was incompatible with their machine.

The next morning, he was off on another regional transport, headed away from what he thought of as his target area, to the tropical seacoast city of Maresh. A small specialty manufacturer there had, he explained to the apparently bored waiter at dinner, a reputation for innovative small-batch designs.

The small specialty manufacturer did indeed have such a reputation; the company’s designer was also one of the very few people on the planet outside his own family Rafe felt he could trust. The connection was accessible if anyone looked, but decades old. Lissa had been a student at the same school where he’d been sent.

He watched her scowl over his list of requirements, wondering if she’d remember the simple code they’d used in school. If not, he’d try something else. Her frown deepened; she shook her head once as if to dislodge a fly. Then she looked at him, straight-on as she always had.

“Genson Ratanvi. From…Cascadia.”

“Quite so,” Rafe said. He let his face relax for an instant, Genson’s expression of stuffy disapproval shifting, he hoped, to the crooked smile she’d remember. From her change in expression, just as quickly suppressed, it seemed to work.

“These specifications…will be difficult,” she said. “Expensive.”

“I hope not too expensive,” Rafe said, back in Genson’s persona. “It is because of your known expertise and reasonable prices that I came here at all. Maresh is hardly on the beaten track.”

“It can be quite pleasant,” she said.

He smiled, Genson’s smile and not his own. “Perhaps you could show me? A dinner, maybe?”

She stiffened a little. “I don’t usually socialize with clients, Ser Ratanvi. I’m sure Ser Bannat would be glad to show you around—”

“But I was hoping you—” He cocked his head. “I don’t mean to give offense, you understand. It is the habit of we Cascadians to maintain politeness; there would be no…nothing to object to, in that way. It is just that I would prefer you to Ser Bannat as you are the person who would be involved in the design of any machines, should we come to agreement on price.”

“I see,” she said. “Perhaps you’ll excuse me a moment…”

“Of course,” he said. “May I wait here—?” The design studio, with its files of projects. “Or would you prefer I wait in the public area?”

“I won’t be long,” she said. “You can wait here.”

Rafe refrained from stripping the data out of any files, since Ratanvi would not have done so, and in a short time Lissa returned.

“My boss has agreed to let me leave early today, Ser Ratanvi, and he’s given me permission to entertain you on the company account. I’ll just make a reservation at—you do like seafood, don’t you? Spicy?”

Something fishy, yes, and yes, he was hot where security was concerned. They were agreed on that. “I’m so sorry,” Rafe said. “But something I ate when I landed from the spaceport is still causing me trouble. If it could be something very mild instead?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Our regional cuisine is known for its spice blends, but I can certainly find a place with good, but blander food.”

And either no scans—or no scans she couldn’t fox.

“I hope you will pardon the liberty,” he said, “but you have beautiful hair.”

She touched the red-gold of it and grinned. “Now don’t start, Ser Ratanvi. You promised no offense.”

“Understood,” Rafe said.

The sights of Maresh included, as Rafe remembered from his childhood vacations, the long, rocky promontory forming one side of the harbor, where the seabirds nested in summer. Now, in autumn, only a little of the sickening stench remained, but it was enough to keep most people far away. Lissa led him out to the very tip, where the waves sloshed noisily at the rocks, to watch the lights dancing on the waters of the bay.

“So,” she said, when he finally nodded, having checked everything he could check. “What’s going on?”

“My family’s disappeared,” he said. “And someone put a trap on the old home number. Have you heard anything about a shake-up in ISC?”

“Nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “Not a shake-up…I don’t pay attention unless it’s something dramatic, you know.”

“You do know ansibles have been out all over, don’t you?”

“Have they? Where?”

She sounded sincere. “You really didn’t know?”

“No…our customers are mostly local to this system, and the others are nearby. How bad is it?”

“Generalized failure. Happened almost simultaneously.”

“Sabotage.” No doubt in her voice at all.

“Yes.”

“And you’re still working for the same firm?”

“I can’t answer that,” Rafe said.

“I see.” He suspected she saw more than was convenient. She started to speak, stopped herself, and dropped back into the old lingo. “Pretty evening on the water, isn’t it?”

He, too, had seen the light from the little boat, distinguishable from all the other lights dancing on the water by the vee it left behind.

“I think perhaps we should go back,” he said. He turned and offered her his arm. “You’ve been a most gracious hostess and guide, my dear, but this damp air can’t be good for either of us.”

“About the contract,” Lissa began, taking his arm and moving slowly back toward the city.

“I will call on your employer tomorrow,” he said, as stuffily as possible. “Tonight is not the time. But you may assure him that your services were perfectly satisfactory.”

The next day, he shook his head at the estimate Lissa’s employer gave him. “I’m sorry…I believe that is beyond our budget, though I will keep this in mind.”

“You won’t find a better price,” Ser Bannat said. “Not for what you want; it’s quite complicated.”

“Possibly too complicated,” Rafe said. “I will tell them back home. Apologies for possibly wasting your time.”

“No problem,” Ser Bannat said. “But if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.” He left the room.

Rafe had a last few minutes’ chat with Lissa, and took a chance, asking her if she had kept in contact with anyone he might have known, anyone near Pittville in particular. She had cut herself off from the others in the school, she said, except for two girls who had also made it through university. “You might not remember them,” she said. “Colleen and Pilar—both two years younger than me.”

“Just barely,” Rafe said. He had their images stored in his implant; he had more about the old school than anyone suspected, but this was not the time to brag.

“They made it through university, too,” Lissa said. “Colleen married, then it fell apart, then she married again. She and her second husband live about eighty kilometers from Pittville, but I don’t think they ever go that way—she’s always talking about their summer cottage down on the coast. They have three children; she does pottery. Pilar’s an attorney, specializing in family law. She never married, never had a partner that I know of. She lives in Pittville. Colleen lived with her for a while after that first marriage broke up; she might still know people there.”

“You have been most kind,” Rafe said. “Thank you for your time and hospitality.” Her employer was coming back down the hall; Rafe smiled and thanked him as well before leaving.

His next trip took him by train along the coast to Marrn; there he transferred to the line that ran up between rounded green hills to Pittville. On one side, the town looked peaceful and idyllic; on the other, the gaping hole for which the town was named lay raw and red as a wound.

Pilar Metris had an office in a building full of professionals: attorneys, accountants, land surveyors. Rafe did not intend to confide in her; he hadn’t known any of the younger girls well. The woman who came out to greet him from an inner office looked nothing like the girl’s image in his implant. Dark, elegant, and hard-faced, she looked him up and down as if he were an animal for sale.

“You’re a foreigner; you should know that I don’t handle international disputes.”

“I did not come for representation,” Rafe said, “but for general advice. Your receptionist has my credit deposit for an hour of your time.”

She grimaced. “Come in, then. Explain.”

“I am in food service,” he said. “We—the professional organization I belong to, of food service managers—are looking for a location for our triennial convention. We prefer not to be in urban areas, but within an hour of a transportation hub. I was hoping you could advise me whether there is anything in this part of the continent that might suit. I came to a barrister—an attorney, I believe you call them—” She nodded, her face now less hostile, merely intent. “I came to you,” he went on, “because I thought you would be more likely to know of any legal barriers to an interstellar gathering of considerable size, and any local legal difficulties that might arise with advance contracts.”

“What size?”

“For the triennial, that would be five to six thousand. For one of our smaller conventions, such as the annual local regional, which includes all of the Moscoe Confederation and Nexus Group, only about two hundred. All this is contingent on restoration of ansible communications, of course. Not the regional, because we and you both have working ansibles, but the big one…well, I haven’t been able to contact friends back at Allray or Sallyon for almost a standard year.”

“I see. I’m afraid there’s nothing suitable here—or within hundreds of kilometers—for your large convention. We do have several recreational and retreat centers in the hills to the northeast; for business people, I would think Green Hills Conference Center or Chelsea Falls Conference Center would be best. The others are either summer facilities for children or sporting complexes. Should you need to book facilities with one of the conference centers, I’ll be glad to guide you through the contract process.”

“Thank you,” Rafe said. “You’ve been most kind and helpful. I will look up the conference centers—I presume they have listings—”

“Oh, yes,” she said. “But I would expect both to be booked up for the next two years; they’re very popular.” She cocked her head. “How long will you be staying in Pittville, Ser Ratanvi?” That had a slight edge. Had Lissa contacted her? Lissa might.

“A few days,” he said. “My stomach does not like constant travel; I find I need to pause now and then and recover.”

“I see. Well, if you need any further assistance while you’re in town, by all means ask me.”

Rafe spent the rest of the day as a travel-weary businessman might be expected to. He ate a bland meal, went for a walk in the mellow afternoon light, and settled into his room for the evening. The deskcomp connected him to the advertising for both conference centers. Chelsea Falls, northwest of the mines, had two pretty waterfalls in a gorge. Rafe set up a bounce relay with care; he wanted any number he called to connect as if he were in Central instead of here in Pittville. Then he contacted the number given. He spoke to the desk clerk, inquiring about future vacancies, and expressed his regret that they had no space at the time of the regional convention. Its communications codes included the relay sequence, but the originating codes were nothing like the ones he’d noted.