What Distant Deeps (34 page)

Cory would have done the same. Adele, however, would have been auditing the captains’ discussion and might have let the challenge wait.

But Adele was otherwise occupied. Well, whatever she was doing was in the best interests of the Republic; and in this case, probably the best interests of the Alliance as well.

“Captain Leary,” von Gleuck said at last. “I trust you, and I’m going to act on that trust. If I’m mistaken, I hope my ghost drags you down to Hell, because I don’t expect my body to survive this afternoon. Z 46 out.”

“Leary out,” said Daniel. “Break. Gerdis, this is Princess Cecile. Acknowledge, over.”

“Princess Cecile, this is Cinnabar vessel Sarah H. Gerdis,” said the freighter’s captain in a tone of tightly controlled anger. “We have carried out your illegal instructions to the letter. Are we clear to land, over?”

Daniel grinned despite the situation. The captain of the Gerdis had balls, and he and his crew were surprisingly able to have arrived so soon after the Sissie. Granted, Daniel had remained almost four additional hours at the way point until the Bonaventure finally got under way; but even so, a civilian vessel’s economically small crew simply couldn’t shave minutes in the Matrix by taking advantage of minute variations in the gradients between universes.

I’ll buy him a drink after this is all over and done with, Daniel thought, grinning even wider. Assuming, of course.

Aloud he said, “Gerdis, I am transmitting landing instructions which you need to follow. If you attempt to land in Calvary Harbor, you’ll probably be destroyed by an anti-ship missile. If you try to land anywhere else on the planet save the point I have marked, I will destroy you. Acknowledge, over.”

“Acknowledged, Princess Cecile,” the captain of the Gerdis said. He didn’t bluster or threaten at this point, but Daniel had no doubt that he was framing a blistering complaint to his putative employer, to be passed on to the figures who used that employer to insulate their noble selves from any shady deals in which the freighter could be proved to have been involved.

A moment later, the Gerdis added, “Coordinates received. We will transit into close orbit, then brake for a landing as ordered. Gerdis out.”

“Princess Cecile out,” Daniel said mildly. The freighter’s distance from Zenobia made it reasonable to reenter the Matrix, but the captain was making a point by not asking for permission. Daniel had matured enough—and had enough real power—that he could view dominance games by weaker men with amusement, but the fellow was pressing his luck.

Daniel took a deep breath. Vesey was careting another point in empty space; somewhat farther out than the Gerdis had managed, but not bad. Thus far matters were proceeding quite well. Assuming, of course, that the caret was a Cinnabar transport and not the Piri Reis.

Daniel chuckled; he had a few seconds, after all. He keyed his transmitter with, “Z 46, this is Princess Cecile. Otto, I assure you that if things don’t go as I intend, your spirit won’t have to search far to find mine. Leary out.”

The freighter Mary Ann coalesced into sidereal space, filling the caret. So far, so good.

“Extracting in thirty, repeat, three-zero seconds,” said Cazelet on the general frequency. Adele continued to sort her data. The way she presented it depended to a certain degree on the situation on the ground in Calvary.

“I’m ready, mistress!” Cory said on a two-way link.

Of course you’re ready! Adele thought. If I’d had the slightest doubt of that, I wouldn’t have directed you to handle ordinary communications duties after we extracted.

“Yes,” she said aloud.

Much depended on where Posy Belisande and her brother were. The Founder Hergo probably wouldn’t accept Adele’s unsupported word, but Posy on the other hand—

Extracting, a voice was saying, but Adele had suddenly become a block of clear ice. She stood beside herself, seeing light passing through her body and refracting from tiny cracks and impurities.

What does the process of returning to normal space do to my brain that causes these illusions? Or—are they illusions?

Adele was back in her own skin. She no longer had time for philosophy—because that’s all it really was, philosophy. Philosophy was never a useful occupation for someone who was concerned with objective reality.

The Princess Cecile had extracted 127,000 miles out from Zenobia. The High Drive had kicked in as usual, to counterfeit gravity. In addition, the corvette retained its velocity from when it had most recently left sidereal space, the way point where they met the transports.

If Adele linked directly, she took the risk of being cut off by orbital motion or planetary rotation. She instead used the circuit she had prepared in Zenobia’s constellation of communications satellites.

It made her feel smug, though that fact irritated her and intellectually she knew it wasn’t warranted. Many people wouldn’t have been ready for the present situation—but that was because they were fools who hadn’t done the obvious, not because Adele Mundy had anything to boast of.

Lieutenant Commander von Gleuck had overseen the laying of a fiber-optics line between the console in his quarters in the Fleet Reservation and Lady Belisande’s bedroom in the palace. The dedicated line couldn’t be tapped, but Adele could—and had—entered the public levels of the console itself. She called through it while her wands located the other people on her list.

“Yes?” Posy said breathlessly. “Otto, what is it? Are you all right?”

Adele blinked. She had rather expected a long wait. Either she had been very lucky, or Posy was camped on her terminal.

“Lady Belisande,” Adele said, “this is Adele Mundy. Lieutenant Commander von Gleuck is all right at present, though I expect there will shortly be a battle which he may not survive.”

It struck her that she was being overly precise for most people’s taste and that she was potentially confusing people who read too much into her flat statements of fact. Which was almost everyone she had met. Well, it was too late for her to change.

“The Princess Cecile will be aiding his ships in battle, of course, and we may not survive either,” she said. “In case all goes well, Otto will want you safe to greet him. That’s what I’m trying to achieve now. Please listen to me.”

“I’m listening, Adele,” Posy said. Her voice was even higher than it had been when she first answered the call, but it was controlled. She was controlled. Adele’s tentative good opinion of the woman was being borne out.

“The Autocrator Irene is preparing a coup against Zenobia,” Adele said. “The allied Alliance-Cinnabar squadron will deal with external threats to the degree possible, but there is already a Palmyrene infrastructure on Zenobia, a combination of traitors and Palmyrene agents. If that infrastructure is removed, I don’t believe the coup can succeed regardless of what happens above the planet.”

“Yes,” said Posy. “What do you want me to do?”

“I want you to go immediately to your brother,” Adele said. “He’s in his office on the ground floor now. Tell him to confirm to anyone who calls him the orders I will have given, pretending to be you. I’m going to call various security personnel. It simply isn’t practical in the time available to give you the information and have you pass it on.”

“Yes,” said Posy. “Otto had suggested that we should be ready for trouble, but he didn’t give us details. Hergo has put the Founder’s Regiment on alert and told the captains of the militia companies to be on call, but he didn’t want to cause a panic without more information.”

She cleared her throat. “Shall I go to Hergo now?”

Without knowing anything whatever about the woman who had replaced this one in Porra’s bed, Adele was quite sure that he had made a bad bargain. Men had different priorities, of course; but even there the Guarantor was unlikely to have shown good judgment.

“Yes,” said Adele aloud. “I’ll contact you in the Founder’s Office if necessary. And if you would, please don’t get separated from your maid.”

Posy laughed. “Never fear, Adele,” she said. “Wood is very much of the same opinion. Dear, you’ve actually made her smile!”

Adele could imagine the smile. She’d seen it on Tovera’s face often enough; and sometimes in the mirror.

“Yes,” she said. “See your brother at once.”

Without bothering about polite closings, Adele broke the connection and chose the next name from her list: the Honorable Jan Belisande, Marshal of Zenobia. He was by background a wealthy banker with no military experience whatever.

Adele could not have chosen a better man to head the planetary militia—the Forces of Zenobia—in the present crisis, though: Marshal Belisande was Hergo’s first cousin. He would certainly be executed by the new regime if the coup succeeded, and he ought to be smart enough to know that.

“Jan,” Adele said, “this is Posy. There’s an emergency. I’m calling you for my brother.”

She had listened to conversations between the cousins; they were on terms of informal friendship though not intimacy. Rather than try to counterfeit Posy’s voice—Adele’s skills as a mimic weren’t up to that—she subjected the transmission to severe compression so that her gender was all that came through to the person on the other end.

“Posy?” the Marshal said. “I didn’t know you had access to this line. How did you get this line?”

“Jan, I’m calling for my brother!” Adele said. Despite his business success, Cousin Jan wasn’t raising the family’s intellectual average. “You must mobilize the entire militia, the Forces, immediately. The Palmyrenes are planning to invade. And—”

“What! What!” the Marshal said. “The Palmyrenes are invading? Is that what Hergo meant when he told me to have my officers available for summons? Why didn’t he say it was the Palmyrenes?”

Biting off a series of comments that wouldn’t have been in the least helpful, Adele said in calm, measured tones, “Do you have any troops already mobilized?”

“Well, yes,” said the Marshal. “I thought after talking to Hergo that as a, well, training exercise I’d stand to the First Company of Calvary District E. They’re assembled at their muster point right now.”

Adele had noted the militia muster points as a matter of course. She superimposed them on her current display, a schematic of the city with a caret at the location where her call was being received. It was too obvious even to bring a smile that the muster point for Company E1 was the courtyard of Jan Belisande’s townhouse.

“Wonderful!” Adele said with false heartiness. “Bring them here to the Palace immediately. If you’re not here in ten minutes, it may be too late.”

“But!” said the Marshal. “But Posy, you have the Founder’s Regiment! What will happen to my house if I abandon it?”

“Jan, we’re facing a Palmyrene coup!” Adele said. “If you don’t get your troops over here immediately, the only thing you’ll own is six feet of dirt—and that’s if the Autocrator bothers to bury you! Do you understand?”

“I—” the Marshal said. “I
 
.
 
.
 
.” Then, “I’m coming at once. But you have to tell me what’s going on!”

“As soon as you get here, Jan,” Adele said soothingly. She broke the connection. She had much more to do, but for a moment she put down her wands and rubbed her temples with her fingertips.

It took conscious effort for Adele to raise her voice. She would have found it much easier to draw her pistol and shoot Marshal Belisande
 
.
 
.
 
.
 
though of course she wouldn’t have done that even if they’d been facing one another across the table.

Not without greater provocation, at least. Somewhat greater provocation.

The trouble, the thing that brought Adele so often to the brink of cold fury, was that people didn’t listen to what she was saying unless she shouted at them. They reacted to tone, not substance, like so many infants to whom words meant nothing.

The statement, “You will die unless you do this thing,” would be ignored or disputed if one—if Adele Mundy—said it in a calm, logical voice. Screaming was more effective than waving a pistol.

The human race couldn’t be wrong: this was the way the species had evolved over hundreds of thousands of years. But it certainly proved that Adele herself was of a different species, though deceptively human in her physical appearance.

She sighed and picked up her wands. Oh—and one further thing.

“Rene, this is Adele,” she said to Midshipman Cazelet. “I need you to check on a militia unit, E1. It should be moving shortly from its muster point to the Founder’s Palace. If it isn’t doing so in ten minutes, tell me and discuss the matter again with Marshal Belisande. The captain’s call sign is—”

“I have it, mistress,” Cazelet replied from the BDC. “And if necessary, I’ll try to put the fear of god into them before I bother you. Out.”

I should probably have cleared that with Daniel; or perhaps with Vesey. Well, another time. She called the next name: Major Aubrey Flecker, commander of the Founder’s Regiment.

Flecker had been a captain in the Grand Army of the Stars, but he had resigned his commission after being discovered in intimate contact with the twelve-year-old daughter of his commanding officer.

Knowing Flecker’s background didn’t make Adele warm to him, but he appeared to have been extremely able professionally. The Founder was willing to use him, so Adele was forced to do so.

She smiled minusculely. And there was always the chance Flecker would be killed in the near future. That was reason for hope.

“Flecker,” said the voice on the other end of the connection. He didn’t shout, but he spoke with the authority of a man used to being heard and obeyed. “Is this Lady Mundy, over?”

Well, that’s unexpected. “This is Officer Mundy, yes,” Adele said. “Have you spoken with Lady Belisande, Major?”

“I’m in the Situation Room with her and the Founder, Your Ladyship,” Flecker said. “The Founder has ordered me to take your orders as though they were his own. Go ahead, over.”

Adele wondered if Posy was holding a gun on her brother. Though she would probably have delegated that sort of duty to Wood.