“And she knows that, Isaak,” Pepper said patiently.
“Well… maybe we’ll still get along, even if she’s a officer. But what about my bizness? With that damn Laney still here, snoopin’ around, he’s bound to swipe my rice bowl!”
“You leave it with me,” Pepper offered offhandedly. “I can handle Laney. Beside, scuttlebutt says Laney’s gonna be an officer soon too; take engineerin’ on Saanta Cata-linaa.”
“Yah,” Isak smoldered. “Ain’t that a gas? Makes me even gladder I’m gettin’ off her.” He winced and shrugged. “Just as well, I guess. He does know her guts inside an’ out, an’ they’ve tried to make his sorry ass work at just about ever’thin’ else. Can’t kill ’im…”
He suddenly peered suspiciously at the ’Cat. “Yah! An’ Earl Lanier left you his bar to watch for his useless, fat ass, an’ you took it plumb over!”
Pepper blinked and shrugged. “He still my partner, if he ever comes back alive.”
Isak’s eyes went wide. “So you wanna be partners, huh? Damn it, Pepper, I’m already partners with so many of yer cousins, I can’t keep track of ’em all!”
“I keep track of ’em,” Pepper said, “an’ I keep bizness goin’ while you’re gone too. You still get your half when you come back. Gilbert gets his half, cousins get one half for all, an’ I take only half for me.”
Isak scrunched up his face in a frown. “I dunno…”
“What else you gonna do? Let Laney take it? I don’t know when Saanta Cata-linaa sails… He might be here a long time after you fly off!”
“No, dammit! I don’t even want nobody sellin’ smokes to him!” He paused, then stuck out his hand. “That’s an awful lotta ‘halfs’ but I guess we got a deal!”
Suddenly, he jerked his hand back with a sharp “Ook!” and vanished below the level of the bar.
“What?” Pepper demanded.
“I just seen Dennis Silva yonder! With Mr. Sandison!”
Pepper turned. Even amid the crowd, Silva stood out. “Yeah! There he is! I heard he was coming to Baalkpan!” He leaned over the counter and peered down at Isak. “Hey! How come you hidin’ from him? Is he going to kill you for something?”
“Not that I know of… but he might have a reason!”
Pepper tossed his rag down on Isak’s head. “Why are you scared of Silva? He’s a right guy. You ain’t scared of Laney, and he’s a jerk.”
“Yeah, but no snipe ever wants Silva to see him!” He looked up at Pepper. “You oughta get down too!”
Pepper snatched his rag back and blinked consternation. It was going to be another strange day at the Screw.
CHAPTER 12
New London, New Britain
Empire of the New Britain Isles
March 12, 1944
Courtney Bradford flapped his strange, wide-brimmed sombrero to cool himself while sweat beaded on his ruddy, balding pate. He was wearing a finely woven maroon wool frock coat cut in the local style, appropriate for the formal event he was already late for, and, except for the hat, he looked fairly respectable in the outfit, which included tan breeches and a black cravat cinched tightly around his neck. The wool was cooking him though, and he suspected that before the day was done, he would probably die. Fortunately, hats like the one he flailed at himself were the style on Respite, and there was enough demand for them in the Imperial capital of New London on New Britain, or the “Big Island,” that they were relatively easy to find here. He’d been relieved to discover it after losing his previous one of similar shape at sea.
He leaned forward and peered out the coach window at the throng of humanity, and despite his discomfort, was utterly charmed. There weren’t nearly as many indentured women on New Britain Isle, at least here in the capital city, and for a time he could push that unpleasant aspect of this society to the back of his mind. Here, for the first time in his travels on this world, was a familiar civilization. The streets were paved with smooth, rounded stones, and the architecture was even reminiscent of the timeless parts of the old London he’d visited many times. There were no automobiles of course, but there weren’t any brontasarries or paalkas either. Real horses pulled carriages and wagons and quaint streetcars with dozens of occupants. Iron tires grating on stone and clopping hooves replaced the sounds of motors and tooting horns, but he was old enough to remember when that had been the case back home as well. He understood there was an impressive library and even several museums, and he couldn’t wait to visit them. One museum contained relics of the Founders, including preserved portions of their ships. Another was devoted to specimens of creatures acquired from other lands the Empire had visited or claimed during a brief exploratory period some decades past. Like Scapa Flow, but on a much grander scale, New London resembled an oasis of familiarity on an otherwise wildly exotic world. Only the superabundance of parrots and small, flying reptiles as ubiquitous as pigeons seriously undermined that illusion of normalcy. He grunted and leaned back in his comfortably cushioned seat to examine his companions.
Sergeant Koratin’s white leather armor practically gleamed, and his red-striped blue kilt was immaculate. He had graying, dun-colored fur, and the manelike beard around his face was almost white. He was an “odd duck,” as Courtney’s American friends would say. He’d been a noble, a lord of Aryaal, on faraway Jaava where Surabaya should have been. There, he’d been a political creature: venal and corrupt, swept along by the winds of expediency, foul or fair. His devotion to the moral and physical well-being of younglings had always been his passion, however, no matter how poor an example he set. The war, the loss of his family-including his own precious younglings-and the consequences of real corruption backed by limitless power, had caused an epiphany.
Sister Audry’s teachings-and Courtney’s explanations of them-had made him a Christian, if not yet a Catholic, and though he was not wild about the political structure emerging within the Alliance, he was devoted to destroying its enemies. Now he was an enlisted Marine, not even an officer, who’d distinguished himself repeatedly in battle. He stayed as far from politics as he could, but he was still a keen observer of them. Bradford thought his insights might prove useful and had tapped him as his aide while Koratin fully recovered from wounds he’d received at the Battle of the Imperial Dueling Grounds.
Beside Koratin was Lieutenant Ezekial Krish of the Imperial Navy. He was dark-skinned with black hair, and wore his very first attempt at an Imperial mustache on his upper lip. Courtney wondered what kind of name Krish was, but decided it didn’t matter. The Imperials were descendants of polyglot crews of a pair of lost East Indiamen, and their population had grown with the help of “acquisitions” from the east. Likely, Krish didn’t even know the original foundation of his name. Courtney swept the thought away. The young officer seemed a conscientious lad and took his duties as liaison to the Allied ambassador seriously. Today, his help was particularly critical, because he would have to guide Courtney through the protocol of his appearance at the Imperial Court of Directors. Currently, the young man was staring significantly at a large watch in his left hand. A silver chain disappeared between the buttons of his white coat.
“We’ll arrive in plenty of time, Lieutenant,” Bradford assured the man, trying to conceal his own resurgent unease. “As you said yourself, my own part in the proceedings is quite limited. I doubt I’ll even be required to speak.” Despite his calm words, he suddenly tugged almost desperately at the cravat, as if on the verge of a claustrophobic fit. Adjusting the ridiculous thing was the primary reason for his tardiness.
“Perhaps, Your Excellency,” Krish replied with brittle calm, reaching across and stilling Courtney’s hands, “but their majesties specifically charged me with your punctuality.” It was no secret that Courtney Bradford needed keepers. “Much of the Governor-Emperor’s address concerns the Alliance, and he wanted you there as its representative.”