On The Imperium’s Secret Service (Imperium Cicernus) (37 page)

“They needed something vast in orbit,” Fitz said, quietly.  “Every world is supposed to be able to feed itself, but Paradise can't – not without orbital farms and food imported from elsewhere.  The ring provides enough living space for millions of people, as well as space to farm and raise animals.”  He shook his head.  “Malice, or incompetence?”

Mariko blinked.  “I don’t understand?”

“My...mentor used to say that there was no point in looking for malice when incompetence would do to explain something that's gone wrong,” Fitz said.  “Do you think that the settlers were sent here through incompetence, or malice?”

“I don’t know,” Mariko said.  She’d studied the files, both the official histories and the alternate versions Fitz had had with him, but there was no clear answer.  “Incompetence, perhaps?”

There was a chime as the local OTC finally hailed them.  Fitz tapped a switch to send their modified IFF back to the ring. 

“Even with the wormholes, ruling something the size of the Imperium is difficult from Homeworld,” Fitz said.  “The smart solution would be to grant all of the worlds internal autonomy and allow them to solve their own problems; hell, they’re the people on the ground.  They should
know
what needs to be done.”

He snorted.  “But one thing most of the colonies need is a rejection of corporate power, and
that
will never get through the Grand Senate.  If we could find a simple solution to the whole problem...”

Mariko frowned.  “
Is
there a solution?”

“I don’t know,” Fitz admitted.  “As God is my witness, I don’t know.”

The console chimed again as another message appeared on the display.  Compared to Sumter, the local customs officials seemed to be slacking off; they only wanted confirmation that the ship wasn't carrying any infectious diseases or a handful of prohibited goods.  Mariko looked at the brief list and shook her head.  She could have raised an entire army without buying anything on the prohibited list.  Fitz confirmed that they were disease free, their status having been checked on Marius’s World.  Mariko doubted that the customs officers would accept that and, moments later, they were informed that they would both be screened before they were allowed to enter the ring proper.

“Typical,” Fitz snarled, without real fire.  “Everyone’s still worried about another Scarlet Plague.”

Mariko found it hard to condemn the planet’s guardians.  Five hundred years ago, a disease had appeared on the other side of the Imperium, infecting seventy worlds before its presence was noted and the Imperium swung into action to contain the threat.  Eventually, a cure and a vaccine had been found, but no one – according to the official histories – had ever located the source of the Scarlet Plague.  It was enough to make someone wonder if the disease had been engineered by an alien race who didn’t like humans. 

“We’ve been sent a docking slot,” she said.  “Should we confirm?”

“Yep,” Fitz said.  “And then link us into the local datanet.  It’s time to advertise what we have and see who comes crawling out of the woodwork.”

“You are confident that the Secessionists would want to buy what we’re carrying?”  She scowled.

“They’re building a fleet,” Fitz said.  “No one would want
everything
we are carrying unless they had a respectable number of starships at their disposal.  We can hedge the advert to make it more enticing to anyone willing to pick up the entire load in a single purchase.  That should discourage buyers unless they want it all.”

Mariko hoped he was right.

“While we do understand why you would wish to dispose of
all
of it, I cannot take your entire cargo,” the dealer said.  “I would be willing to make a very sweet offer for the GR-17 control nodes and the Type-IV phase cannons...”

“But not for everything else,” Mariko said, refusing to rub at her stinging arm.  The oily man was getting on her nerves, if only because he kept dropping his eyes to her breasts every other moment.  “Which I am afraid we have to sell.  I’ll take your details – in the event we change our minds, you will be the first person to know about it.”

The dealer dropped her a contact chip – a use-once chip, she noted – and walked away, leaving them in their rented office. 

The dealer wasn't the first to inquire about their merchandise. There had actually been an entire string of visitors who were interested, but none of them had wanted
all
of it.  Unsurprisingly, the weapons and their control systems seemed to be much in demand.  They could have sold them for a handsome profit, if they’d only been on Paradise to make money.

But then, pretty much everyone on the ring surrounding the planet was intent on making money.  Money kept the planet’s limited infrastructure from tipping over into ruin.

“Hang on,” Fitz said.  He’d been allowing her to take the lead again, as the owner-commander of
Happy Wanderer
, while he’d been playing her crewman, bodyguard and general dogsbody.  “It seems our last friend left us a surprise.”

Mariko rolled her eyes as he used a multitool to remove the bug from the chair and vaporise it.  Knowledge was power on Paradise and it seemed as if everyone wanted power, to judge by the number of bugs that had been covertly left behind in their office.  Luckily, removing the bugs wouldn't alert any of the unseen watchers; anyone who visited Paradise fairly often would know to bring their own bug-detectors and removers.  Or they could buy them remarkably cheaply in the markets scattered through the ring.

“Another shifty bastard selling goods to pirates,” Fitz muttered, after running a second sweep of the room just to be sure.  Paradise’s bug designers were alarmingly ingenious.  “Pity we can’t report him to anyone who might take action.”

Mariko shook her head.  She still found it hard to believe that
no one
would take action, not when pirates were the scourge of interstellar shipping.  But Paradise didn't give a damn what happened outside its system and it had enough firepower to keep the peace on the ring.  The system prospered by providing neutral ground for smugglers, pirates and secessionists.

“You could just bring in an entire team from the Imperium,” she pointed out.  “A small squadron of warships to stop anyone escaping while you searched the ring...”

“It would be blocked,” Fitz said, sourly.  “Paradise has a remarkable number of friends in high places, people who have been compromised or who come to Paradise to obtain things they just can't get anywhere else.  It’s been proposed, from time to time, that the system should just be occupied and the leadership dumped on a penal world.  The idea never manages to win the official stamp of approval.”

He glanced down at the datapad in his hand.  “So, Captain, we have seven offers on the GR-45 weapons arrays, five offers on the TSR-34 sensor nodes and one suspiciously high offer on the Type-One internal security system.  And our friend who just left probably wants to make his own offer.  It’s a shame we can't sell them all, collect the money, and then vanish before they realise that they have been duped.”

“We could,” Mariko offered.  “Do you think it would be worth the effort...?”

“Breaking a contract isn't a harmless little prank like piracy, rape and murder, not here,” Fitz said.  “We’d have what passes for the local authorities after us, too.  On the other hand, we just can't stay here very long.  The docking fees are eating up our meagre supply of credits.”

Mariko nodded.  A freighter on the ground or docked in orbit wasn't making any money for anyone, apart from the owners of the docking space.  The economics of interstellar trade dictated that a freighter had to spend most of her life moving from star to star, not costing money in a docking port.  Their would-be customers knew that they were hoping for someone to buy them out of everything they’d brought, but they would also know that the longer they waited, the harder it would be to refuse deals for individual parts of their stock.  Mariko’s best guess was that they could wait no more than five days before they had to leave, without purchasing additional supplies from Paradise, or start selling their stock off piece by piece. 

Fitz stood up and checked the computer that came with the rented office, no doubt loaded with surveillance software to ensure that the office’s owners knew what was going on inside the machine.  There were two more emails, both requesting afternoon appointments, without any ID header to note their source.  Probably more dealers who crossed the line between the civilised universe and the dark and shadowy world occupied by the pirates.

“Nothing until after lunch,” he said.  “Should we go eat, my Captain?”

Mariko flushed at the stress he put on the words.  The shipsuit she still wore felt grimy against her skin, ever since the medical team had stabbed her with a needle to run a complete bio-check on her.  It seemed remarkably barbaric, until she realised that it was a way to keep visitors from the Imperium reminded that this wasn't really an Imperium world. 

“Yes, we should,” she said, pulling herself to her feet.  “Do you think we can get anything to eat here?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Fitz said.  “The onboard database lists no less than fifty places to eat within five miles.”

Outside the rented officers, the ring buzzed with life.  Countless capsules ran through the tubes connecting one part of the ring to the rest, moving at a speed that would take them around the entire planet in less than an hour.  Thousands of humans rubbed shoulders with aliens, who looked a great deal more uppity than they would on any other world.  Each of the dining places offered food from right across the galaxy, even sushi from Edo.  And the businesses seemed to be cleaner and more welcoming than the places she remembered on Sumter, even the ones that they’d visited officially.

She led him into the sushi parlour.  A taste of home would go down very well, even though they were light years from Edo.

“It’s astonishing what you can do when you decide to throw out most of the rules,” Fitz commented.  “And also what you can do if you don’t tax every start-up business into the gutter.”

Mariko had to smile as she saw the Japanese writing on the menus, and the surprisingly familiar pictures of wide-eyed aliens who decorated the walls.  Feline aliens were common in the Imperium, but she’d never actually met one of the race which had supplied the image for a piece of odd fashion.  Perhaps they’d existed and died out so long ago that they’d been forgotten, or perhaps they’d just been invented out of whole cloth by pre-Imperium humans.  There was no way to know for sure. 

“I assume you have some recommendations,” Fitz said.

His fake bio claimed that he’d been born on Darwin, a world known for being almost as horrific as Paradise.  Its principal export was people, people who would eat everything and mate at the drop of the hat because it was the only way to keep their population stable.  There was no shortage of stories about people from Darwin, stories that they probably didn't find very funny themselves. 

He lowered his voice, significantly.  “Or maybe the woman watching us over there has a suggestion of her own?”

Mariko had to remind herself sharply to keep her eyes on Fitz, not to look around in a manner that would have betrayed an awareness of their shadow. 

The waitress arrived with a brilliant smile.  Mariko ordered for both of them, choosing a sample platter for Fitz.  He most likely wouldn't have had sushi before, but at least he would be able to eat several samples and decide what he liked before ordering again.  For herself, she ordered fish from the Divine River, only seventy miles from their family home.  It might be as close to home as she ever got. 

“One woman, with white hair and a very pale face,” Fitz muttered, when the waitress had departed, taking their orders back to the chef.  “She’s been following us since we left the office, but I wasn't really sure until she followed us into here and took up a place where she can watch us.”

Mariko frowned, feeling crosshairs taking aim at the back of her neck.  “You think we ought to go somewhere else?”

“Not yet,” Fitz muttered back.  “I think we ought to wait and see what happens.”