CHAPTER THREE
CITIZEN DOUGAL
MacKinnie looked slowly around the room. Two young men dressed in kilts as plain as Malcolm Dougal’s stood against the door behind him, their pistols held carefully across their chests in a guard position. Plain kilts or no, they were soldiers, and under their dispassionate expressions MacKinnie detected a slight twitch, nervousness perhaps, at the presence of the secret policemen, or, more likely, hatred for Nathan MacKinnie who had defeated their army three campaigns running.
The room gave the general impression of opulence. The only furniture was the desk, two chairs, and the couch, but there might have been anything behind the red drapes which ran from floor to high ceiling along two walls. When Nathan said nothing, Dougal motioned toward one of the woolsh-hide chairs. “Please be seated, Colonel. Can we get you anything? A drink, perhaps? No, I suspected not. Something else? Earth Stock coffee, or chickeest?”
There was a visible tightening to Dougal’s lips as he offered Earth coffee, something which told MacKinnie the offer was a test. Without hesitation Nathan said, “Chickeest, thank you. Black, and lots of it.”
Dougal relaxed. He waited until MacKinnie was fully seated, then motioned to the guards. “That will be all, Corporal. Remain on call.” MacKinnie heard the door close quietly behind him. “They will bring the refreshments in a moment, Colonel,” Dougal said. “And now, you are wondering why you are here.”
“I’m more interested in who you are. I’ve never seen or heard of you before, and I know of most of His Majesty’s officers.”
“The two questions are not unrelated. Malcolm Dougal is actually my name. My position is rather vague in the budgets presented to Parliament, but as it happens, I am the Director of His Majesty’s Secret Police Service.”
MacKinnie nodded. “I suspected that Lord Arindell was too stupid to operate as efficient a service as Haven’s. So Inspector Solon reports to you when he wants his real orders.”
“Yes. You see, I am being honest with you, Colonel. I expect you to be so with me. Had you taken my offer of a drink at the Blue Bottle, I might have brought you here in a more pleasant manner, but I could not take the chance of your refusal. Or of the Imperial Navy noticing either of us. Everything depends on their not becoming suspicious. Everything.”
He leaned forward and regarded MacKinnie intently. “I now ask your word of honor that nothing said here tonight will ever be repeated to anyone without my permission except as it may conform to duties I have assigned you and you have accepted. Please,” he said urgently.
MacKinnie longed for a cigar, but thought better of displaying the Earth tobacco he had in his pouch. The warning had been plain in the way Dougal had pronounced the words “Earth Stock” when offering the coffee. Dougal leaned back in his chair, but his manner was alert, expecting an answer. MacKinnie said the only thing he could under the circumstances. “You have my word, Citizen Dougal. My word of honor.”
“Thank you.” There was a tap at the door, and one of the guards brought in a platinum tray with copper pots of chickeest, pewter mugs, and cigarettes of a popular Haven brand. MacKinnie noticed that everything he had seen since he entered the room was native to Samual.
Behind the guard, the tall thin figure of Inspector Solon, dressed in the midnight-blue undress uniform of the Royal
Haven Police, stood silently in the doorway. He made no move to enter, and Dougal did not speak to him. When the guard left, Solon went out behind him, closing the door.
“You saw the inspector, of course,” Dougal said. “There are two reasons for his being here. First, I wanted you to see that he obeys me so that you know I am who I say I am. But more important, I trust no one else to guard that door until we are finished.” He smiled pleasantly. “I trust I have impressed you sufficiently. Enjoy your chickeest; you will be here for some time.”
“What about my sergeant?”
“He has already been examined by Inspector Solon, and the man who struck him was an expert. There is no permanent harm. He should be joining us in an hour, perhaps less.”
“Then get on with it.” MacKinnie sipped the bitter stuff, never as satisfactory as Earth Stock coffee. Only a few things were that you found among the stars. Men had colonized Prince Samual’s World nearly a thousand standard years ago, but they had lived on Earth for millions.
“Tell me what you know of the plans the Imperial Navy has for Prince Samual, Colonel MacKinnie.”
“Precious little. They appeared less than a year ago, and almost immediately settled in Haven. At first they didn’t interfere with the planetary governments, but then they made an alliance with your King David—”
“Your king also, Colonel,” Dougal interrupted.
“With King David. They helped you conquer the other city-states around Haven, and finally did for you what no Haven army had ever been able to do. They gave you Orleans. I don’t know who’s next, but I presume this goes on until Haven takes all of North Continent. After that … who knows, the Southies, I suppose.”
“And then what will they do, Colonel?”
“Your newspapers keep telling us they’ll help us, give us all kinds of scientific marvels, but I’ve yet to see any of them. You Havenites have kept them all.”
“We haven’t, because there have been none. Every assistance the Imperials have given us has been direct, with their Marines operating the weapons and none of my people even allowed to see their new technology. Go on, what after that?”
“Once you have conquered the whole blasted planet, I guess they take you into their Empire, with David Second as planetary king.”
“And you find that unpleasant?” Dougal smiled.
“What do you want me to say, Citizen Dougal? You’ve told me you head the secret police. You want me to say treason out of my own mouth?”
Malcolm Dougal poured more chickeest, carefully, not spilling a drop, and took a long sip before replying. “Appreciate your situation, Colonel. If I meant you harm, it would happen to you. I need no evidence, and there would be no trial. No one knows you’re here but my most trusted men, and if you never leave this room, why, who will know it? I’m interested in what you think, Iron Man MacKinnie, and it’s damned important to Haven and the whole planet. Now stop being coy and answer my questions.”
It was the first spark of emotion MacKinnie had seen in Dougal save for the slight tightening of the lips when he mentioned Earth. MacKinnie paused for a moment, then answered.
“Yes, I find that unpleasant. I can think of more unpleasant things, such as domination of the planet by one of the Southie despots, but after what you’ve done to Orleans, damned right I find it unpleasant.”
“Thank you.” Dougal was speaking in his normal tone, an apologetic note to his voice, but the resemblance to a rabbit was gone. Now he merely looked like a businessman. “Would you find absolute domination by an Imperial Viceroy even less pleasant?”
“Of course.”
“And why?” Dougal waved in an imperious manner. “I know why. For the same reason that you drink chickeest, bitter as it is. Because he is an outlander, a foreigner, not of Samual at all, and we belong here. This is our world and our home, and I tell you, Colonel MacKinnie, that we will never be slaves to that Empire. Not while I live and not while my sons live.”
“So you hope to escape that by using the Imperial Marines and Navy to conquer the planet?”
“No. I had hoped to do so, but it won’t work. Colonel, once their colonists and viceroy land here, King David will have no more influence over this planet than your sergeant. I thought you knew little of them. Few know anything at all.” He reached under the desk for a moment. Within seconds, MacKinnie heard the door open behind him.
“Yes, my lord,” a flat voice said. Before he turned to look, MacKinnie knew it was Inspector Solon. The voice fit him perfectly, cold and toneless, like a voice from a tomb.