Shadow of Victory - eARC (11 page)

June 1921 Post Diaspora

“’Cept there’s also that bit in the Constitution ’bout property rights and trespassers and how a woman’s got the right to defend her property against ’em, ’specially after she’s already warned ’em they’d best get. Right this minute, I’ve got a real itch to exercise my constitutional freedoms. So I think it’d be a real good idea if the sergeant here escorted Mister Omikado off the premises. Be a whole lot easier if there aren’t any more bodies to drag out on the porch.”

—Eileanóra Allenby,

Owner, Whitewater Hollow Outfitters,

Swallow System

Chapter Nine

“We should make Halkirk orbit in another ninety minutes, Mister Brown.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Damien Harahap said, not looking up from his cabin’s workstation display. “Let me know as soon as I’m cleared to go planet-side, please.”

“Of course, Mister Brown.”

The intercom went dead, and Harahap shook his head, his expression wry. He’d had more aliases than he could possibly count in his career. Some had been more imaginative than others, and he had a greater fondness for some, but few had been as…bland as “Mister Brown.” It was certainly serviceable, and he heartily approved of not letting anyone know anything he or she didn’t absolutely have to know, but still…

He put that thought away and turned his full attention back to the display. It no longer featured the reams of data he’d studied on the three T-week voyage from Mesa. Instead, it showed a spectacular vista of the Loomis System’s twin inhabited planets—brown-and-tan Halkirk and gorgeous sapphire Thurso—and floating head shots of both the people he intended to meet on Halkirk and the ones he intended to avoid at all costs.

There was really only one of them he absolutely had to avoid: Lieutenant Ottomar Touchette, Solarian Gendarmerie. Not only was Touchette the senior intelligence officer assigned to Loomis, he’d also worked with Harahap in the Madras Sector less than five T-years ago. Fortunately, according to the confidential Frontier Security files Bardasano had provided, Touchette wasn’t in particularly good odor with Nyatui Zagorski, the local transstellar’s rep. Probably because of Touchette’s habit of providing good, honest analysis…whether it said what his superiors wanted it to say or not. From Zagorski’s record, the last thing he wanted was honest analysis of Loomisian public opinion and its possible ramifications.

From Harahap’s new perspective, that was all to the good. Loomis was close enough to the Madras Sector for him to have been at least generally aware of what was happening in the system even before Major Eichbauer seconded him to Bardasano and Anisimovna for the Talbott operation. He hadn’t realized then quite how bad things were getting, however, which promised fertile ground for Operation Janus. Of course, it remained to see whether it was fertile enough.

* * *

“And where do you think you’re going, Innis MacLay?” Maggie MacLay demanded, propping her hands on her hips and tilting her head back to glare up at him better. “I’ve a list of chores for you a meter long!”

“Ah, now!” Innis smiled down at his wife, then scooped her up and kissed her soundly. “It’s not like I’ll be gone forever, Rùnag. And you know I’ll get right on that list the instant I walk back in the door.”

“And if you do, I’ll want to know where my husband is and what you did with him!” Maggie said, swatting him across the top of his head. “There’s a reason that list’s a meter long, you know.”

“And what would that be?” Innis set her back on the floor and tucked an arm around her. He was a tallish fellow, very nearly two meters tall, and she was more than thirty centimeters shorter than him.

“Well, let’s just say that last week it was only two thirds of a meter long. And the week before that it was only a third of a meter. Are we seeing a pattern here?”

“That you’re a bit OCD about adding to lists?” Innis asked innocently.

“That’s one possible explanation. On the other hand, if this list isn’t shorter by the end of the weekend, there will be sanctions.” She batted her eyelashes at him and rolled her hips. “Painful sanctions.”

“In that case, I’ll make this as quick as I can!”

“That would be wise of you,” she told him, and rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before he headed out the door.

He smiled to himself as he crossed the modest house’s front yard with its brilliant flower garden and headed for the ground car parked at the curb. That house was a sign of just how light Halkirk’s population remained, even now, and of its modest tech base. Most places, the citizenry would have been packed into towering spires of ceramacrete to utilize limited space most efficiently, but even though Conerock was a major regional administrative center, it retained a broad belt of suburbs dominated by individual family-sized units. Innis was more than glad it was, although he had to agree that there were probably certain advantages—in theory, at least—to apartment towers…assuming Halkirk had possessed the technology and industry to build them. For one thing, a tower had a much smaller footprint for the same population. For another, he supposed it would be convenient to live only thirty or forty floors up or down from his place of employment. Except, of course, that his “place of employment” was out in the midst of the continent of Stronsay’s hushed, green forests.

And except for the fact that you were brought up wanting at least a little space to call your own, he reflected as he unlocked the ground car’s door. And not just a light well inside a tower, either. Real space, with real green in it. And bless Maggie and the kids’ green thumbs for all those flowers!

He smiled again at that thought, but this smile was fleeting. If SEIU had its way, he and a quarter or so of Halkirk’s population were going to be out of a job within ten T-years—fifteen at the most. He was more than a little ashamed it had taken that to get him to wake up and smell the coffee, but his eyes were open now. Which was the real reason he was headed for Fingal’s Tavern this clear, cool Saturday morning. Not for the pint and darts he’d told Maggie about, either.

He started the engine and pulled away from the curb, wondering exactly what Tad was going to tell him.

* * *

“Come in, please, Mister Henry,” the dark-haired and dark-complexioned woman said, rising behind her desk and extending her hand in greeting as the receptionist ushered Damien Harahap into her office.

“Good afternoon, Ms. MacRuer,” replied, taking the proffered hand and gripping it firmly. “I’m glad you were able to see me on such short notice.”

“Well, I have to admit I was a bit puzzled by your call.” Nessa MacRuer sank back into her desk chair as Harahap seated himself in one of the comfortable but old-fashioned chairs in front of it. “MacNish, Tonnochy, and Duncannon is one of Elgin’s older law partnerships, but I’m a bit perplexed by just how it is we can help you.”

“I can’t say I’m hugely surprised by that.” Harahap smiled pleasantly. “It’s been my experience, though, that the fastest way to accomplish something is to go directly to the person you need to talk to. Or, in this case, one of that person’s closer associates.”

MacRuer tilted her chair back slightly and raised one eyebrow. She was a striking woman, Harahap thought, especially here on Halkirk, which had one of the less genetically diverse planetary populations. There was clearly a lot of Old Earth Asian genetic material in Ms. MacRuer, and he wondered if her exotic—by local standards—appearance had been a factor in her professional success. The odds were good that it had. On the other hand, that same exoticness was likely to be just a bit of a handicap in her current unofficial and very quiet avocation.

“Really?” She cocked her head to one side. “My understanding is that you’re in Loomis as a silver oak purchaser for—” she let him see her checking a memo on her display “—the Hauptman Cartel. That’s a Manticoran firm, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” Harahap nodded. “And I realize I’m a bit far from home, but let’s face it, you don’t find silver oak growing on just any planet.”

“No.” For just a moment, something bitter might have flashed in the depths of MacRuer’s tone, but if it had, she controlled quickly. “No,” she went on more pleasantly, “silver oak really is Loomis’ main claim to fame, I suppose.”

“And well it should be,” Harahap said, and meant every word of it. The dense-grained, gorgeously-patterned and colored wood was incredibly beautiful, which explained the staggering prices it commanded from Core World sculptors and interior decorators. “I have to say I understand why the market is prepared to snap up every square meter of it it can get!”

“Yes, it is.” This time the bitterness was more pronounced, and her smile looked a little forced. “But, as I say, I’m not quite clear on how our firm can serve you. MacNish, Tonnochy, and Duncannon specializes in real estate law and transactions, not the commodity market. Besides, if you’re in the market for silver oak, you’d really need to speak to the Cooperative.”

“I understand that.” Harahap acknowledged, then opened his slim briefcase in his lap and arched an eyebrow of his own. “Perhaps it would move things along a bit if I showed you what I have in mind?”

“If you’d like to.” MacRuer sounded a little puzzled, but she nodded.

“Thank you,” Harahap said, and extracted a compact electronic unit. He leaned forward to lay it on the corner of MacRuer’s desk, and her almond eyes went wide as he pressed a stud and a green light flashed.

“There. Now we can talk,” he said, and hid an inward smile as MacRuer darted a quick, nervous look around her office. Her body language seemed to put physical distance between them without ever actually moving. That was good; he’d hoped she’d recognize the unit.

“May I ask what that is?” she said after a moment, although her assumed ignorance fooled neither of them, and this time he allowed his smile to show.

“It’s only a privacy unit, Ms. MacRuer,” he replied. “Of course, it’s an off-world privacy unit, and I suppose it’s remotely possible I failed to register it with the local authorities when I landed. Is that a problem, do you suppose?”

His gaze held hers very levelly across her desk. To her credit, she neither swallowed nervously nor wiped sweat from her forehead, but he could see the intense thoughts churning away behind her eyes. Loomis was one of the star systems whose law codes required all anti-surveillance devices to be registered with their security forces. Quite a few systems, especially in the Shell and Verge, had regulations like that, although most Core World populations refused to tolerate them. On the other hand, only a minority of the systems which did have them were quite as ferocious as Loomis in enforcing them.

“Actually,” she said after a moment, “it could be quite a significant problem. As an officer of the court, I’m obligated to report any unlicensed privacy units, and I’m afraid the penalties for possessing one are quite severe. Especially for off-world units.”

“I’m not surprised.” Harahap set his briefcase on the floor beside his chair and leaned back, crossing his legs. “I’m sure Ms. MacQuarie and the UPS get nervous when there’s no software backdoor to let them listen in on a conversation anyway. Oppressive regimes tend to be fussy that way.”

“I’m afraid this conversation is over, Mister Henry,” MacRuer said. “As I just pointed out, as an attorney I’m an officer of the court. Not only am I obligated to report your unit, but I feel I should also point out to you that there are limits to acceptable criticism of our star system’s government.”

“And I’m sure Ms. MacLean and Ms. MacFadzean would never dream of transgressing those limits,” he said calmly, and watched her nostrils flare as those two names hit home. “Otherwise, as an officer of the court in good standing, I’m equally sure you would have reported them to the authorities long ago.”

“I don’t think I’m acquainted with either of those people,” she said.

“A word of professional advice, Ms. MacRuer. When someone walks into your office and hits you cold by mentioning the names of your co-conspirators against the government, the shortest response is usually the safest one. Too many syllables tend to indicate nervousness. And it’s never a good idea to deny you know someone when the local authorities already know you’ve met with them. Next time, I’d recommend just saying ‘Who?’ and leaving it up to the other fellow to steer the conversation into something which will incriminate you properly.”

She sat very still for several seconds, then sat back and crossed her own legs.

“Who are you, really?” she asked.

“A Manticoran representative. And I really am here about the silver oak. Just not in quite the way you may have assumed.”

“If you expect me to say anything that could incriminate me or implicate me in any sort of wrongdoing, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.” She smiled brightly. “I have no idea what sort of fanciful flight of imagination may have brought you to my office, of all places on Halkirk, but I assure you that MacNish, Tonnochy, and Duncannon maintain an excellent relationship with Treasury, Security, and the rest of the Administration.”

“And very useful that is for you, too,” he agreed. “On the other hand, you might want to be a little careful. Lieutenant Touchette picked up on the meeting you had with MacLean several months ago—right after she resigned her parliamentary seat in protest. I don’t think he’s mentioned it to Macquarie or MacCrimmon, and I imagine you can cover yourself by creating a document file about a land purchase. She’s certainly well-off enough to make that work. But I’d go ahead and get started on the paper trail now, if I were you. When you have to rush something like that at the last minute, you’re likely to miss some small detail, and that’s all the forensics people really need to pull it apart.”

He paused, and the silence stretched out for several seconds, thin and brittle, while he wondered which way she was going to jump. Then, finally, she inhaled deeply.

“I do know both of the people you mentioned,” she said. “I’m sure you’ll appreciate, however, that admitting I know them—in fact, that Erin MacFadzean’s been a personal friend for many years—could be…professionally detrimental, let’s say, given their rather extreme political views.”

“Oh, come now, Ms. MacRuer! Their rather extreme political views?” he shook his head chidingly. “I don’t think Lieutenant Touchette realized that what he was seeing was a planning session of the Loomis Reform Party’s provisional wing. I’m not sure about that, though,” he added in a thoughtful tone. “From everything I can see, Touchette’s not one of President MacMinn’s greater admirers. And I’m fairly confident he thinks Zagorski is as stupid as he is greedy. So it’s possible he did realize that and just chose not to pass it along to them. I don’t think you can count on his not passing along evidence of additional unexplained meetings. And OFS didn’t assign Frinkelo Osborne as a ‘trade attaché’ in the Solly Legation here in Elgin because he was stupid, either.”