"How old is it?" Gretchen measured the device with her hand, taking care not to touch the glass. "Where did it come from?"
The attache rubbed his chin. "I purchased the 'holy relic' from a scrap metal dealer in Capsia last year. A trader from out of the cold waste beyond the mountains had brought it to him. A tentative estimate of the decay rate weighs in at several hundred thousand years. But here is what interests me… The lettering is avery, very early form of Jehanan. Much like you will see on the porticoes of their oldest temples today."
Gretchen turned around, one pale blonde eyebrow rising. "You said the Jehanan civilizations had been destroyed before they could reach into space. Antimatter production facilities are nearly always built in orbit, outside a gravity well."
Soumake nodded. "The physical xenoarchaeologists disagree with me, Anderssen-tzin. They say proof is lacking, but the biologists concur. The Jehanan are not native to this world. They came from space, as we have done, and conquered Jagan. What conflagration tore down their starfaring civilization I do not know…" He grimaced, making a motion which included the city outside the walls ofthe Legation. "…but the native princes are eager reach the stars again. As I said, Jagan is an old, old world."
A steadily deepening frown on Gretchen's face suddenly cleared and she indicated the casing. "Iron."
Soumake nodded. "Iron. Steel. Guns. Ammunition. Armored vehicles. Petro-chemical products. Fuel cells. Advanced atmospheric aircraft. Methanol-engine cargo trucks. Computer networks built from rare metals, or with processing cores which can only be fabricated in zero-g. Before our arrival, the local armies were armed with bows and arrows, spears tipped with metal scavenged from the ruins of the ancients, quilted armor, precious swords made of stainless steel handed down through a hundred generations… Does this sound familiar?"
Anderssen felt cold and sat down, crossing her arms. The Mixtec regarded her steadily.
"Now we are the Japanese merchants," he said softly. "Making landfall on a strange and fabulous shore. Finding an ancient, wealthy civilization lacking iron. Not the knowledge of iron as it was with the Toltecs, no…but the mines are played out, or so far distant from Parus as to be on the lesser moon. They remember the old civilization, these descendants of ancient kings. There are still books, drawings, carvings, oral traditions of a Golden Age when the Jehanan ruled the sky, the waves and the land. They are very, very eager to regain the tools which made them masters of the world.
"I will tell you, the factors from Kiruna paid a heavy price for the right to sell scrap metal on this world. But they are making a handsome profit, unloading the detritus of a hundred years of war in the Inner Worlds. Bargeloads of recycled aluminum from Svartheim and Korgul and New Stockholm arrive every week. And the Fleet won't be interrupting that traffic, oh no."
"But wait…what do they have to trade? Not gold, surely."
Soumake's serious expression remained, but there was a twinkle in his eyes. "Did the Japanese who fled the Mongol invasion of holy Nippon want gold from the Toltecs? No, they needed food, clothing, slaves to clear the deep forests of Chemakum and Chehalis. So they traded what they had – horses, double-season rice, geared milling machinery, metalsmithing – for what they did not.
"And here, on Jagan, aside from pretty artifacts by the ton, there are certain plants which only grow in the Arachosian highlands, or in certain valleys around Takshila and Gandaris. The bitter Nem is a mild psychotropic for the local people, but once the labs on Angehuac have processed the seeds and the milky white sap, well…it becomes much more. Very popular, or so I understand."
"How much profit can there be in biochemicals?" Disbelief was plain in Gretchen's voice.
Soumake snapped his fingers. "Enough, considering they're trading something worth less than a ming here for something with a six hundred percent rate of return by volume on AnГЎhuac. And there are other sources of revenue…glorious textiles, rugs, fine porcelains and ceramics, excellent liquors, certain unique woods. Many, many luxury items in demand in the core worlds because they are new.
"But all of this involves you only peripherally: I will not grant you a permit for survey in the land of the Five Rivers."
"I see." Gretchen thought she did understand and was oddly touched. "You think it's too dangerous for me to be wandering over hill and dale. You think the local princes have accumulated enough firepower to see about settling all their old scores. Is that why the Fleet has arrived?"
Soumake rose from his chair abruptly, face clouded. "I wish every Imperial citizen on Jagan were aboard a Fleet lighter and bound for Tadmor Station today. I suggest…you find an out-of-the-way place to stay, Anderssen-tzin. And remain there and not go out until the next liner comes through. Good day."
Gretchen returned his polite bow, retrieved her papers and made a quick exit. Walking into the cool dry air of the hallway was a welcome shock, wiping away a gathering sense of foreboding. For a moment, though, she turned and looked back at the closed door. He must be truly worried, she mused. I've never seen such a talkative Imperial official before.
The heart of the Consulate was a staircase of native stone dropping two stories from the main business floor to an entry foyer large enough to hold a zenball field. Gretchen was making her way down the steps, distracted by the carved reliefs lining the balustrade, when she nearly ran into a tall woman coming up the steps with a quick, assured walk.
"Pardon," Anderssen said, coming to an abrupt halt before they collided. The woman looked up, fixed her with a cornflower blue gaze and a brilliant smile lit her face.
"My dear! Terribly sorry – I haven't been paying attention all day! You must be freshly arrived? Come about some official business? Of course, no other reason to be in this drafty old place, is there?"
Gretchen found herself turned about and escorted briskly up the stairs and into a sitting room filled with overstuffed chairs.
"Let me look at you. Yes…" The woman's good humor did not abate and the brilliant azure eyes turned sharp, considering Gretchen from head to toe. "Dear, have you found someplace nice to stay? Your current residence just will not do, not for a woman of repute like yourself. There are some beautiful little hotels near the Court of Yellow Flagstones. You will like the White Lily best if I am not mistaken, and I rarely am. Ask any of the taxi drivers, they'll know the way. Yes, very nice, with breakfast – human breakfast – and real beds and, dare I say? Proper bathtubs with hot water. Oh yes."
Anderssen felt a little shocked, as if a bison had crashed out of the nearpine and run right over her, but she mustered herself and managed to squeak out: "Doctor Gretchen Anderssen, University of New Aberdeen, very-pleased-to-meet-you."
"A doctor?" The woman's smile changed, dimming in one way, but filling with warmth as her public persona slipped aside. Gretchen relaxed minutely. "Well done, my girl. Very politely done – reminding me to introduce myself as well." A strong hand – surprisingly callused, given the exceptionally elegant gray-and-black suit the lady was wearing – clasped Anderssen's. "I am Greta Petrel. No, don't laugh, my hair just comes this way, not an affectation at all. All the Army wives don't believe me, of course, but I think you might. Yes, I think you do."
Gretchen managed to tear her attention away from chasing the crisp flood of words coming out of the woman's mouth and saw that Mrs. Petrel's hair was raven black with two white streaks, one falling from either temple. The woman dimpled, one finger brushing across small sapphire pins in her ears and flicking away from the snow-white hair.