Ily allowed herself to relax and pulled a document pouch from her belt, aware of the impact it had on the quivering Legate.
Skyla settled herself in the remaining chair and laced her fingers together on the table. "The Lord Commander and
the Companions would like to extend our appreciation to your respective governments. "
Ily waved it aside. "I take it that the Lord Commander will not see us in person. May I ask why?"
The Wing Commander's eyes went icy. "You may."
The pause lengthened while Roma began to sweat. His odor, Ily discovered, even cut through his too-thick perfume. At last she added, "Why?"
"He's not here."
"I beg your pardon?" Myles Roma wheezed. "Not here? Not here to meet with the Legate Prima Excellence of his Holiness—"
"You weren't invited here Legate," Skyla reminded sharply. "We hadn't anticipated that your arrival would come so soon after the Myklenian campaign. We've tried to extend every courtesy to you as we would hope you—"
"And we would grant the Lord Commander an instant hearing with His Holiness—"
"And we would do the same with the Lord Commander!" Skyla roared back, slapping a callused hand on the table. "If he were herer
In the awkward silence, Ily asked professionally. "May I ask where he is?"
"Fishing."
"I beg your pardon?"
Skyla's stiff expression turned from Roma to her. "You heard me. Even Companions take time off. We're human. The Lord Commander is enjoying his leisure. You just missed him. He has instructed me to offer his sincere apologies, but the Companions are not hiring their services at the present time… to anyone."
Ily leaned back, hearing the Legate's intake of breath.
"You haven't even heard our offer!" Roma cried.
Skyla sighed. "It might be worth our while if you offered some way to penetrate the Forbidden Borders. Outside of that, we've enough money to see us through for a couple of years. You would offer planets? We have the Itreatic Asteroids. Power? That we control already. Perhaps you would give us each a world to govern? Well, possibly you might entice one or two of the command officers — but it would have to be a good world. Myklene perhaps? No, I can see it in your eyes. We're not worth that good a world."
Ily laughed sourly. "So, you would tell me that with both empires united and the final conflict on the brink of arising, two envoys arrive willing to sell their souls to hire you— and the Lord Commander casually says, 'Sorry,
not interested.' " Her keen mind began peeling away the layers of potential deceit. Of course, the bastard was driving the price up! Perfectly played!
Skyla pulled two packets from her belt and shoved them across the table. "That's right. The Lord Commander's reasons are detailed in these communiques. Please see that your respective governments receive and consider them. You will see our reasons for declining service at this time."
The Wing Commander stood.
"This is simply preposterous!" Roma exploded. "I can't imagine anyone refusing to—"
"Do you sincerely expect to gain favor by bellowing like a Vermilion fog rhino?" Ily asked incredulously.
He turned, bulk bouncing like jelly. "On the day we march into the Imperial palace on Rega, Witch-woman, I shall be looking for you. Neither your assassinations nor the terror you wield so wickedly will save you from the wrath of God, His Holiness, on that glorious day!"
Ily met his fury with a sober stare. "I look forward to it, my Lord Legate." And with a nod to Skyla, she got to her feet and palmed the door which let her into the crowded hallway where her people — on one side — glared at the Sassans on the other.
As soon as she reached her quarters, she ripped open the seal on the diplomatic packet and scanned the contents. Very well, so Staff a had given them good solid reasons for avoiding a war. What did that mean in the end?
She patted the pages against her black Myklenian silks and considered the ramifications. No, there must be a deeper meaning to all this. Staffa had gone fishing? Ludicrous, a false lead. No, canny Staffa has to be biding his time, driving the price up, building desperation among the empires.
She grinned and turned to the comm. "Access to Wing Commander Skyla Lyma, please. This is the Regan Minister."
Lyma's face formed on the holo. "Yes, Minister? I'm afraid we will not take any offers if that's why you called."
Ily's diplomatic smile fell easily into place. "It isn't Wing
Commander. I was only thinking, having read the Lord Commander's excellent brief on the political situation in Free Space, I can see that we in the service of Tybalt the Imperial Seventh have been remiss. I am empowered, in the name of the emperor, to request that Rega be allowed to establish an embassy in the Itreatic Asteroids.
The Wing Commander shook her head, eyes frigid. "It has long been a policy of the Lord Commander to deny such embassies. I think you can perceive the changes it would make in our mandatory neutrality. We will not make the polarization of our people possible through exposure to anyone's propaganda."
Ily nodded. "A wise policy, I'm sure. However, please take our proposal to the Lord Commander. Inform him we would offer the equivalent of one hundred thousand Imperial credits per year for use of Itreatic facilities and services."
Ily enjoyed the hesitation in the Wing Commander's eyes. She'd offered enough to buy a governorship to a major planet. An embassy would be a first step to binding the Companions to Rega.
"I'm sorry," Skyla told her at last. "It's out of the question."
Ily nodded, her smile perfect. "We understand." And one of these days, blonde beauty, I will watch you writhe. "Thank you for your time Wing Commander." She hesitated, another angle forming in her mind. "How do we… I mean, you will provide the services of the Companions for minor security problems so long as they are unrelated to the basic disagreements between the empires, won't you?"
"You are referring to the Targan uprising?"
Ily studied those cool blue eyes. No, there were no pretenses here. Ily relished the sensation as her own smile became genuine. What pleasure this ice-haired beauty would provide. Here, finally, she faced an opponent worthy of her craft and cunning. "Of course, Targa is a current problem area."
Skyla nodded. "I will raise the issue with the Lord Commander. If there is any interest, I will inform you. But please remember that we have just returned from a trying campaign. Most of our people are weary. Will your offer remain open?"
"Of course." Ily felt a tingle of hope. If the Targan situation were allowed to disintegrate, it would be a perfect opportunity when the Companions grew bored with humdrum station life. All it would take would be a prolonging of the civil war there. Something more to inflame the peo ple, to spur them
on. Perhaps an arms shipment to the rebels? The sacrifice of several Regan army corps to hearten the Targan opposition? Indeed, if it flared enough, the Companions would hear. A plea would do more for the curious vanity than a straight-out offer of gold and jewels.
"Thank you for your time Wing Commander." Ily nodded politely and killed the connection.
And where was Staffa? Fishing? Really? There was one way to find out, she thought, and studied her reflection appraisingly before stepping out into the corridor.
Men — be they dock hands or Companions — would always talk to a seductive woman. Only certain sections of the station were open to her and her escort. Nevertheless, within an hour she was leading Special Tactics Officer Ryman Ark into her quarters, laughing and lowering her eyes as his hands explored her body.
"Now why," Ark asked, as he accepted a bulb of Scotch, "don't the Regans send you by more often?"