Scattered Suns (34 page)

Chapter 68—RLINDA KETT

When Rlinda learned about BeBob’s arrest, she flew the
Curiosity
to the EDF Moon base, prepared to spring her favorite ex-husband from the brig herself. He had been arrested only yesterday, and already General Lanyan had scheduled a preliminary hearing. That couldn’t mean anything but bad news.

She landed on the crater pad without permission, and a flurry of EDF guards rushed to the landing area to intercept her. “You have no authorization to be here, ma’am. Leave immediately, or your ship will be impounded.”

From the ramp of her ship she gave them her best you-can’t-be-serious look—a mixture of incredulity, amusement, and defiance. “Bullshit. Branson Roberts is one of my pilots, and no NPTT is going to stop me from seeing him.”

The EDF guards looked at each other. “NPTT, ma’am? We’re not familiar with that acronym.”

“NPTT is what
you
are—
Not Paid to Think.
” She put her hands on her ample hips. “Now, are you going to escort me to Captain Roberts, or do I have to wander around the base looking for him?”

The guards stood firm. “The prisoner is being held on charges of desertion. He has no visiting privileges.”

“We’ll just see about that.”

And she did. Rlinda made a complete nuisance of herself for six hours, intimidating guards, barging into offices, stalking through hallways, interrupting meetings, sending insistent transmissions to everyone she could think of who might help, refusing to leave. General Lanyan would not see her. She couldn’t reach Davlin Lotze, who had vanished on some mysterious errand after making sure that the Crenna refugees had temporary quarters on the fringe of the Palace District.

When Rlinda finally made contact with Chairman Wenceslas and demanded that he do something, his response was curt and cold. “Before you introduced Captain Roberts into the business, I clearly delineated my position on this matter. I warned you I would not help. General Lanyan has been anxious to capture a scapegoat for years now, and Roberts had the bad luck—or the stupidity—to deliver himself right into the EDF’s jaws.”

“How about setting a few priorities here, Mr. Chairman? Captain Roberts helped Davlin and me save all those colonists from Crenna. And he rescued the girl and that old man stranded in the ruins, didn’t he? On top of that, he risked his butt to bring you urgent news you couldn’t have gotten any other way. That has to count for something.” She glared at the screen, but the Chairman’s expression did not change.

“He
is
charged with desertion, Captain Kett. The General is quite strict in his interpretation of the regulations, I’m afraid, and extenuating circumstances won’t change the facts. Within two days Captain Roberts is due to face a preliminary military tribunal to determine his sentence.”

“Sentence? How about determining his guilt or innocence first?”

“This is an EDF matter, Ms. Kett. I will not interfere with the processes of military justice.”

Rlinda was not above begging at this point. “Then at least let me see him. Please?”

The Chairman frowned, considering. “Very well, but that’s the best I can do. At the moment, other emergencies demand my attention.”

Grumbling guards escorted her through the tunnels of gray rock deep into the EDF’s brig level. Rlinda did not feel very smug about her small victory.

BeBob looked forlorn and tired inside his cell. He glanced at her, unable to believe his eyes. “Rlinda!” He surged to his feet as a guard opened the cell door.

The soldiers drew their twitchers, as if they thought he was about to attack them, but Rlinda enfolded him in a bearish hug. “I always knew your heart was bigger than your brain, BeBob. You walked right into a trap.”

He shrugged, his hangdog face showing a real smile for what must have been the first time in a while. “And what was I supposed to do, Rlinda? Did you see that girl’s eyes?”

“You didn’t need to make such a spectacle of yourself. You could have dropped off the two refugees at any Hansa planet, left an anonymous report.”

His eyes flashed with a burst of impatient anger that burned through his misery. “If somebody’s attacking our new colonies, I had to sound the alarm! What if poor Orli thought she was safe on a new planet, and those battleships came again—” Before he could splutter any further protests, she kissed him. He quickly stopped complaining.

When they separated from their embrace, Rlinda saw that the guards had sealed the cell door and left her alone with him. She hadn’t even heard the door close.

BeBob sank back onto his cot, rested his elbows on his knees. “I’ve faced worse than this. In fact, General Lanyan himself gave me a bunch of assignments that were virtually suicide missions. I had narrow misses with hydrogues. I survived the Orange Spot plague on Crenna. I just landed in a massacred colony and rescued an old man and a girl. I can handle cooling my heels in a little room. Right now boredom seems to be my greatest enemy.”

Rlinda’s nostrils flared. “In a fair universe, all those things you did should count for something. Hell, for the past half year you’ve been delivering supplies to Hansa colonies and helping the Klikiss transportal expansion initiative. But General Lanyan won’t cut you any slack. Maybe there’s some other way we can talk them into leniency.”

BeBob looked up at her with a wan smile. “Rlinda, you always said
I
was the one with a bubblehead. Don’t you see what’s going on here?”

She sat beside him, crowding the cot. The mattress supports creaked. “Just trying to keep your spirits up. What’s wrong with a little optimism?”

Roberts scratched his smoky frizz of hair. “They’ve already scheduled a military tribunal for me two days from now, preliminary to an official court-martial. If they find me guilty of desertion, you know Lanyan will want to make an example out of me just the way he did with Rand Sorengaard.”

“You were an EDF scout pilot, not a Roamer pirate.” Rlinda did not have the heart to mention that the tribunal already seemed to be operating on an assumption of BeBob’s guilt.

“And? I’m sure the General thinks that’s even worse.”

“Terrific. What do we do to celebrate, get a lawyer?”

“They’ve assigned me a military-issue advocate, with all the confidence that inspires. He hasn’t even talked to me yet.”

“Doesn’t sound promising.” Racking her brain for a solution, Rlinda hurried to reassure him as best she could. “I’ve made a few calls, BeBob. I’m pulling in all my favors.”

“Good luck. Who have you contacted?”

“Well, first I spoke with the Hansa Chairman.”

BeBob made a rude noise and leaned his head against the wall. “He won’t do anything.”

Rlinda sighed. “No. He got me in here to see you and then washed his hands of this whole mess. But that was just one of my options. I’ve got feeler messages out everywhere I could think of. You’d be surprised at the number of people who owe me one. I’m even trying to reach Ambassador Sarein, my friend from Theroc, remember? And Davlin, if I can find him. He may still be on Earth, but I haven’t managed to track him down.”

“Lotze? What can he do for us now?”

“Hey, I’m still at Step One of the plan here. Don’t rush it.”

“I have to rush it, Rlinda. There’s not much time left.”

Chapter 69—DENN PERONI

After leaving Yreka and flying into Ildiran space with the rest of their cargo, Denn and Caleb could see that one of Ildira’s seven suns was dying. The battling hydrogues and faeros had nearly extinguished it.

“Shizz, would you look at that!” Denn reached over to nudge his companion’s bony shoulder.

Caleb Tamblyn scratched at some whisker stubble on his thin neck. “If they’re on the edge of a battle zone, I doubt they’ll be in any mood to buy trinkets from us.”

Denn shook his head. “Not trinkets—necessities. If they’re getting hit hard by the hydrogues, then they’ll be desperate for vital raw materials like metals, and especially any ekti. Once we learn what the Ildirans need, we can figure out the best suppliers.”

Before the hydrogue war, clan traders had regularly delivered stardrive fuel to the Ildiran Empire, but after the hydrogue ultimatum, the few drops of remaining ekti had been reserved for the Earth Defense Forces. Until now. With those agreements nullified, the Ildiran Empire should be an open Roamer market again.

“My clan’s in the water business,” Caleb said dourly. “It’s not likely they need much of that from us.”

“Just keep an open mind,” Denn said.

For his own part, Denn wished he hadn’t loaded so much worldtree wood. The Yrekans had taken part of it, but Denn doubted such an exotic novelty item would be of any use to the Ildiran Empire, especially now.

When ornate Solar Navy warliners converged around the incoming Roamer trade ship, Denn requested safe passage. “Roamers and Ildirans were business partners for almost two centuries, delivering stardrive fuel and other commodities to the Mage-Imperator. We wish to renew that partnership.”

“
If
we can reach equitable terms of commerce,” Caleb added.

Seven of the flamboyant warships hovered in space around the
Dogged Persistence.
Denn and Caleb stared through the windowports at the finlike solar sails, the sparkling anodized hulls, and streaming antennas that extended like whiskers in all directions. “If I wasn’t so optimistic, I’d be intimidated right now,” Denn muttered. “What’s taking so long for them to answer?”

“I’d be more concerned if those were
Eddy
ships out there. Ildirans might be weird, but it takes a human to do really malicious things.”

“We will escort you to the Mijistra spaceport,” came a gruff, clipped voice from the lead warliner. “Please follow.”

The warliners guided the
Persistence
on an approved path down to the sparkling alien city. As they approached under the brilliant sunlight, the curved, polished surfaces threw off flared reflections like beacons. Ricochets of sunshine filled the atmosphere with a firestorm of illumination.

“We’ll need filter goggles out there.” Caleb rummaged through the cockpit storage compartments until he found two sets of protective lenses. “I’ve never been good with really bright lights—never had that problem on Plumas.”

After they landed, the seven warliners hovered above them for a while, as if to make sure the
Persistence
did not launch some foolhardy attack, then the battleships returned to their system patrols. Hearing no other communication, the two men sitting in the cockpit looked at each other. “I think we’re supposed to go outside. Someone will meet us, I’m sure.”

They checked each other to make sure their clothes were presentable: clan markings clear, jumpsuits neat (Denn’s anyway) and all pockets zipped up, their hair neatly slicked back, Denn’s tied with a blue ribbon behind his head. “I wish you had a new jumpsuit, Caleb.”

“This one fits me just fine.”

Blinking in the dazzle even with their eye protection, they saw a small delegation arriving. Denn and Caleb raised their hands in formal greeting.

A colorfully robed man with reflective strips on his sleeves approached them; his skin was an unsettling shade of greenish gold, and his eyes had strange star-sapphire reflections instead of normal pupils. But he looked passably human, enough that Denn guessed the man must be from the noble kith.

The Ildiran put his palms together and pressed them against his chest. “I am the Ildiran minister of commerce. We welcome the opportunity to trade with the humans again. Only seven days ago King Peter paid his respects to the Mage-Imperator, but he made no offer of renewed trade. You do not represent the Terran Hanseatic League?”

“Not at all!” Caleb said loudly. “We’re from the Roamer clans.”

The commerce minister did not seem to understand or care about the difference. “We know little about the nuances of human society and your various factions. However, if your faction wishes to supply us with ekti and vital resources, we would welcome such an interaction.”

The spacious reception hall was too bright, too warm, and too formal for Denn. Though he had worn his best clan outfit, he suddenly felt extremely underdressed. Caleb looked even more out of place, but didn’t seem to notice.

Neither man could believe the Mage-Imperator himself wanted to see them. They had been impressed enough that the Ildiran minister of commerce had met with them. Then, to their surprise they had been summoned into the skysphere. Denn could not remember feeling more anxious in a trade negotiation.

Jora’h greeted them from his chrysalis chair. Denn had seen images of the previous Ildiran leader, who had been so corpulent and atrophied he couldn’t move from the cradlelike throne. Jora’h, much newer to his role, had not yet succumbed to lethargy. He leaned forward, showing his true interest. “According to your discussions with my minister of commerce, you are carrying a cargo of worldtree wood from Theroc? I am interested in this.”

Denn exchanged a surprised look with his companion, and the other man shrugged.

“Whatever sells...” Caleb nudged him.

Denn took a step forward. “After the hydrogues attacked Theroc, we Roamers helped the Therons clear the burned forest. As a gift, they allowed us to keep some of the fallen wood. It has quite remarkable properties. I’d be glad to show you some samples. If the Ildiran Empire would like to purchase a small amount of this material, I’m sure we—”

“I will buy all of it.” Jora’h’s eyes met Denn’s, as if the Ildiran leader were trying to probe him with his alien mind. “I was recently given a treeling from Theroc, and I would like to have this wood as well.”

Denn didn’t know what to say. He had forgotten that Ildirans, with their connected society all bound to the Mage-Imperator, had never learned the nuances of haggling—much to the benefit of the Roamers. “That is...most generous, Mage-Imperator. Thank you. But we have not yet discussed the cost.”

“I will pay your price.” With a wistful smile, Jora’h explained, “Two green priests once studied our
Saga of Seven Suns
here in the Prism Palace. I...grew quite fond of one of them. Your worldtree wood will remind me of her.” He gazed off into the distance, and Denn felt that something deep and strange was going on here. “Forgive me. Our Empire is currently experiencing a time of troubles.”

“Yeah, we’ve seen the hydrogues and the faeros in one of your suns,” Caleb said. “It must be—”

The Mage-Imperator lifted his hand. “There are many crises. I look forward to receiving the wood. My commerce minister will pay you and make arrangements for a cautious resumption of trade between Roamers and Ildirans.”

Seeing that they were dismissed, the two men left the skysphere, pleased with how well the meeting had gone. It seemed a successful venture all around and boded well for the future—unless the hydrogues extinguished the rest of the stars in Ildira’s sky. Then all the ekti in the Spiral Arm wouldn’t help them.