“Good of him to walk home,” Sula said.
“It’s a nice day, why not?”
“Shall we follow?”
They picked up their tools and strolled out of the Garden of Scents. The Naxids moved rapidly on their four feet—Sula had never seen one move slowly unless he was injured—and they had already sped past by the time she and Macnamara left the park. One of the Constabulary guards looked over her shoulder at them as they came out of the park gate but saw little of interest; she turned back to follow the judge, and her jacket flashed a bead-pattern to her partner.
“I wish I knew what she just said,” Macnamara muttered.
The black beaded scales on a Naxid’s torso and long back were capable of a flashing red, and bead-patterns were used as a form of auxiliary communication. The chameleon-weave fabric of the Naxids’ uniforms duplicated the patterns on the scales beneath, so even Naxids in uniform were capable of communicating silently in a private language that few non-Naxids could read.
“I doubt she said anything interesting,” Sula said.
“Are you sure that’s our judge?” Macnamara asked. “I can’t tell them apart, usually.”
“I’m reasonably certain,” Sula said. “I got a glimpse of his face as he went past and it looked right to me.” She offered the world a chill smile. “But even if he’s not the judge we’re after, he’s important enough to rate a couple guards. As far as I’m concerned, that makes him a target.”
The Naxids crossed to the opposite side of the boulevard, where the Makish Palace waited. Sula and Macnamara remained on their own side of the street and watched with what she hoped was an appropriate level of disinterest. The judge passed through an elaborate fence of gleaming silver alloy, then entered the house through the formal garden out front. One guard went into the palace with him, and the other stationed herself in the garden.
Sula’s eye had already moved on to the building next to the Makish Palace, another ornate structure, a palace of mellow gold sandstone with an intricate, carved facade of radiating, interlinking lines. The place was obviously shut down, and the garden out front had run riot.
“No obvious security besides the two guards,” Macnamara said.
“Beg pardon?”
Macnamara repeated his statement. Sula looked at the abandoned palace again.
“I’ve got an idea,” she said.
A gold-accented door opened in front of Sula, the door to a private club. In a whiff of tobacco smoke a well-dressed Terran, braided lapels and fashionably pleated trouser front, stepped out of the club and glanced left and right as he made a minor adjustment to his cuffs.
The door closed behind him. His mouth gaped under its narrow little mustache.“Lady Sula!” he gasped.
She stepped forward, took his arm, and steered him down the street. Macnamara, suddenly alert, kept a wary eye behind.
“You’re dead!” the man cried.
“For all’s sake, PJ,” said Sula, “you don’t have to make such a fuss about it.”
THREE
“Laredo is too far,” said Fleet Commander Tork. His melodious voice sounded like wind chimes, and it took a modest effort to separate content from melody. “A message would take eight days each way to Chijimo, and ten to Zanshaa. We are Fleet Control Board; we must remain near the Fleet.”
Lord Chen had no desire to join the fleeing Convocation on Laredo, the home of his bumptious in-laws. He had no desire to accept the hospitality of Lord Martinez, and face the daily reminders of his dependent status. He had no wish to see his daughter Terza surrounded by the members of the parvenu family to whom he had sold her.
On the other hand, he was less than enchanted with what Lord Tork seemed to be proposing, if for no other reason than it offered fewer opportunities to escape Tork’s company.
The eight members of the Fleet Control Board were traveling together on theGalactic, a sumptuous passenger yacht the Fleet maintained in order to ferry dignitaries from one system to another. ThoughGalactic was a large vessel, it was stuffed full of evacuees from Zanshaa—a large staff of secretaries and communications staff, members of the Intelligence Section and the Investigative Service, bureaucrats from the Ministry of Right and Dominion, servants of the board members…all people who existed to serve the lords of the Fleet, and who Lord Chen was finding it difficult to escape.
Lord Chen was trapped on a small ship with his job, and he wasn’t enjoying himself. At Tork’s insistence, the board had followed the rules it had laid down for everyone else, and so Lord Chen was permitted only a single servant, and family members were forbidden to accompany—and in any case Lady Chen, who had strongly disapproved of the arrangement by which her only child and heir was married to a Martinez, would never have consented to visit Laredo. Since boardingGalactic, Lord Chen’s sole diversion had been frequent communication with his daughter Terza, who was on the Martinez yachtEnsenada, traveling a few days ahead.
“What do you have in mind, my lord?” he asked Tork.
A waft of air brought Lord Chen the scent of Tork’s decaying flesh, and he took a discreet sniff of the cologne he’d applied to the inside of his wrist. The Control Board met in a room that had been intended as guest quarters for important Fleet dignitaries. It was bright with mosaics that showed ships dashing through wormholes; but now a long table crowded the room and the air was rather close.
The Daimong turned his round black-on-black eyes on Chen and chimed again. “We will divert to Chijimo and remain with the Home Fleet until the time comes for the recapture of Zanshaa.”
Lord Chen could not imagine Lord Eino Kangas, who commanded the Home Fleet, being very pleased at the idea of his superiors hovering over him that way.
“My lord,” said Lady Seekin, “shouldn’t we remain with the Convocation? We may need to contribute our expertise on important matters, and of course our votes.”
Lady Seekin, a Torminel, was one of the civilian members of the board, and a convocate. Her comprehension of Fleet matters was imperfect, but she understood the political dimension of her career very well.
“The important votes have already been taken,” Tork said. “Policy has been set and allocations have been made. It is our duty to make certain that the proper policy is implemented, and that no mistakes are made with regard to Fleet deployments and tactical doctrine.”
Kangas was going tolove this, Chen thought.
“I confess to reservations,” he said. “Aren’t we better employed being Lord Eino’s advocate with the Convocation? Few of the Lords Convocate have our experience in—”
“We are best employed by ensuring the destruction of the rebels and the restoration of the Praxis to the capital!” Tork declaimed. His voice took on the harsh, clanging, dogmatic overtones that others on the board had learned to dread. Lord Chen tried not to wince as the discord clashed in his skull.
Junior Fleet Commander Pezzini, the other Terran member of the board, gave a convulsive sneeze. Perhaps he’d gotten too strong a whiff of the chairman.
“My lord,” he said, “if we sit on top of Fleet Commander Kangas that way, it’s going to look as if we don’t trust him.”
“We will be ensuring the correct employment of the Home Fleet!”Tork said. His voice was like a razor blade shredding Chen’s nerves. Chen took another whiff of cologne.
“We have entrusted Lord Eino to make those deployments,” Pezzini said. His voice was firm. “It’s not our task to second-guess him.”
“We must not take chances!”In the small room the voice sounded like a blaring fire alarm.“The Fleet has been undermined by subversive activity and unsound doctrines!”