“Very well.” Files looked angry. “I will inform the local military attaché.”
“Perhaps,” Ser Granzia said, “we could wait while you did so?”
Cecelia wondered if she was imagining the threat in his tone. Files flushed, asked for a comlink, and spoke into it. He set it back down with care, as if he really wanted to throw it through the wall, and said the attaché would be along shortly. Cecelia was in no mood to wait for more information. “Captain Serrano,” she began, bypassing Files, “can you tell me how this was found?”
Her captain smiled, as if glad to be asked the question. “Yes—you remember that I authorized Velarsin and Co. to exchange all damaged units from the environmental system, rather than repairing them in place?”
“Of course,” Cecelia said.
“That was for reasons of both time and safety. You may recall that I also had Mr. Brynear document the condition of those components, to back up your damage claim on Diklos and Sons.” When Cecelia nodded, she went on. “Some components could be repaired, and we were to get a refund on those. In the process of examining the components removed, Mr. Brynear’s technicians found items secreted in several. Most suggestively, in the scrubber which we were going to examine when Iklind was killed because he didn’t have his suit on.”
Cecelia felt only confusion. “What does that have to do with it?” Before Serrano could answer, Cecelia realized. “Oh—he knew something was there? Something you’d find?”
“We can’t know, Lady Cecelia.” Heris glanced at Files, who clearly wished she wouldn’t explain more, but she went on. “There’s a chain of occurrences that makes me suspicious of Iklind and possibly others formerly or presently in the crew. The system flush and recharge that Diklos and Sons didn’t do. The curiously inefficient course your former captain set on the way to Court, which made you late. Iklind’s apparent haste to get to that scrubber before I did—at the cost of his own life.”
“You think he was smuggling something. Iklind and . . . and Captain Olin?” First came anger: how dare he? And then fear . . . how had she not known what was happening on her ship? How were the smuggled items transferred if they were? Would Olin have opened the ship to boarders?
“It’s possible, madam,” said Files, with a sharp glance at Heris. “Ship’s crews have been known to do so, without an owner’s knowledge. Of course, sometimes the owner is also involved.”
“Surely you jest.” That was all she could say. The impertinence of the man!
“Are you suggesting the Lady Cecelia was involved in any putative illegal act?” asked Ser Granzia. “Remember—”
“I remember the Sihil-Tomaso ruling, Ser Granzia,” said Files. “I made no accusation; I merely answered what seemed to be Lady Cecelia’s question.” His smile was more of a smirk, she decided. He went on. “Now: procedurally, we must impound the evidence, which includes the location in which it was found; I’m afraid your ship is that location—” Cecelia could hardly believe her ears. Was everything against her?
“Not so, Mr. Files.” Her captain’s crisp voice interrupted Files. “The scrubbers were not in the ship when the items were found. They had already been removed. All environmental system components are dockside; what’s in the Sweet Delight is new and empty.”
“But that’s where they were,” Files said. “On that ship with the contraband in them. There may be more, hidden somewhere else. It doesn’t matter where the scrubbers were when the evidence was actually found—”
“On the contrary.” Ser Granzia’s honey-smooth voice had an edge to it now. “According to the rules of evidence in a list of rulings going back to Essex versus Jovian Mining Ltd., impoundment of the container does not include impoundment of the vessel in which that container was transported, if the discovery occurred while the container was not aboard.”
“But we know the contraband was aboard,” Files said, more loudly.
“But it doesn’t matter, Mr. Files.” Ser Granzia did not raise his voice, but Cecelia saw the other man wilt. “The rulings are all clear, and all in favor of my client. I will be glad to get a local ruling, of course, but I’m sure it will uphold my client’s position. Now—shall we contact Fleet? I believe it is better for us to do this together.”
Files looked angry, but nodded; Ser Granzia turned to Eniso Desin, the senior partner of Velarsin and Co. “May we use your equipment?”
“Of course, Ser Granzia. But I am afraid that we cannot give Lady Cecelia full credit for the reparable elements of the system until they are released from official custody. . . . I am sorry, but—”
“I quite understand,” Ser Granzia said. “Indeed, it would be unfair, and my client will be satisfied if you keep account of what was impounded; if it should be released, and still worth repair, perhaps you will bid on it?”
“Oh, certainly,” Desin said. “Mr. Brynear assures me that at least sixty percent of the components would be worth working on.”
“Excellent.” Cecelia wondered if she, too, should say something, but Ser Granzia rolled on. “Now—it seems to me, Mr. Files, that the discovery of items secreted in the scrubber suggests a motive for Iklind to attempt removal at risk of his life. In fact, it strongly suggests his complicity in some illegal activity, and Captain Serrano’s innocence. I would suggest that a search warrant, limited to Iklind’s personal items and storage spaces, might prove fruitful.”
“But—!” Cecelia got that much out before his hand clamped on her wrist.
“It need not,” he went on, “inconvenience Lady Cecelia or interfere with her schedule, provided that you act in a timely manner.”
“Right.” Files seemed sapped of energy. Cecelia wondered if Ser Granzia’s voice had a hypnotic overlay. “I’ll—get that done as soon as we’ve contacted the military.”
Before she knew how it happened, Cecelia found herself sitting across a table from Heris Serrano in Desin’s private office, with a tray of hot pastries and a variety of drinks before her. Ser Granzia was still in conference with Mr. Files and Desin; Desin’s assistant had brought the refreshments and now left them alone. Cecelia watched her captain pour herself a cup of something hot from a fluted pot. The woman had a quality Cecelia had not yet defined, but found attractive. She never fidgeted, never seemed divided against herself. Yet she did not seem insensitive . . . someone who had read and enjoyed Siilvaas could not be insensitive.
“You may win our wager, milady,” she said now. She offered the steaming cup to Cecelia, who shook her head. She wanted something cold, and chose a bottle of fruit juice from an ice bucket.
“Circumstances have changed,” Cecelia said. “Perhaps I should withdraw?”
“No—a wager’s a wager.” Serrano’s short black hair actually moved when she shook her head; Cecelia had begun to wonder if it was a wig. “I shall look forward to my lessons on your mechanical horse.” She had an engaging grin, Cecelia decided, which made her look years younger.
“Ummm. I still think the interruption of officialdom makes it unfair: suppose I exchange honors and let you teach me more about my ship? I’m now convinced my own ignorance is both inconvenient and culpable.”
The dark eyes measured her; Cecelia felt suddenly as if she had become a novice rider, facing a stern judge in her first event. Why had a woman with such a gift of command given up her commission? Cecelia could not believe it was anything dishonorable . . . not with those eyes. A mistake? A quarrel? She had not seemed quarrelsome so far, even when confronted with Ronnie’s rudeness.
“If it is your pleasure,” Serrano said. “Then I will be very glad to show you over your ship. But I cannot consider it as your obligation under our wager unless I actually win . . . and despite the best your legal firm can do, I expect we will be late leaving.”