At the table Adelaar toed up a chair, got herself settled, then she took a bundle of fac sheets from a case, squared them and set them in front of her. “The suspect files,” she said, “and the report on the internal security at the Palace that Quale saw fit to donate.” There was an astringent acerbity in the last statement. Quale chuckled, but didn’t bother to answer the challenge. She lifted out a flake-reader, then a case of filled flakes. “We discussed this and found it simpler to let you and your technicians do whatever marrying is necessary to make further copies of this material. The reader is included as another little gift from our generous friend here. The first twenty flakes contain the stats on the Warmaster and her… well, you can’t really call them a crew, the people living on board her. The twenty-first-they’re all numbered, using your system, of course, so you won’t have any trouble identifying what’s which-the twenty-first has the data on the free corridors. You’ll wish to inspect the flakes; don’t worry about inadvertently erasing them, they’ve been impressed. Loading’s simple, just slide the flake skin-and-all into the slot there, then watch the screen. You can manually jump about, there’s a pencil attached, write the number you want on that sensor there. Again, use your own system, the player has been adjusted to respond to it. If you want automatic random access, touch the pencil here. That’ll jump you about so you can get a fair idea what’s on the flake. If you have any questions, I’ll be happy to answer them. You have something for us?”
Elmas Ofka nodded. “Har cousin,” she said. Harli Tanggаr marched to the table and set a large pouch in the middle. Without comment she went back to her post beside the valve. Elmas tugged open the mouth, took out a swatch of black velvet and a small metallic object which she unfolded into a balance scale and a pair of calipers. Then she withdrew several smaller pouches, opened one and let the pearls spill onto the velvet.
The exchange was quick and wordless and the two women began a meticulous examination of what each acquired from the other.
Quale left them to it and strolled over to Aslan. “Be interesting to know just who the surprise was for,” he murmured. He had a pleasant baritone, well, rather more than pleasant; for the first time in months Aslan remembered how long it was since she’d had sex with a man who excited her rather than scaring her rigid. What she’d had with Parnalee wasn’t sex or pleasure, it was a propitiation of the gods of chaos. And even that was, what? two years ago? He had nice hands, long fingers, they ruffed through his beard. It was crisp and short, a few white and gray hairs in the black, just enough to make him look distinguished. She wanted to smooth her fingertips over it, to…
She put the brakes on her imagination. “More tactful not to ask,” she said. “Not now, anyway.”
He dropped beside her. “When we found out you jumped the wall, Del was wondering if we’d have to winnow the whole population to find you.”
“Things were getting a bit… um… hectic, so I left.”
“Saved us a lot of time and trouble, you turning up like this.”
“Pride. And self-defense. Mama’s memory is her biggest asset unless you’re on the wrong end of it.”
He chuckled. “Having spent more’n half a year insplitting with her on board, I know what you mean. She’s a marvel when she’s working, though.”
“Swardheld Quale,” she said. “Pay his price and he gets things done. You’re a bit of a marvel yourself, if the stories are one-tenth true.”
“I’d put the truth level in those things considerably lower than a tenth. Say something like one part in ten thousand. Maybe they get the name of a place right, the rest is… you’re an ethnologist, you know how that goes.”
“Well, some heroes turn out to be a bit more than hot air.”
His right brow quirked up, the scar that nipped its outer end bent outward with the movement. “Nothing to do with me.”
“According to Elmas Ofka, you’re collecting slaves and taking them back.”
“Uh huh.”
“How many?”
“Depends on who we can locate?”
“You’re looking for specific people?”
“We’ve got a list of names we’ve matched up with names from the mainBrain. Rewards, aici Adlaar, rewards; when we get them back to. Helvetia, my crew and me, we collect some hefty gelt.” He rubbed at his jawline… “Couldn’t take ’em all even if I wanted to.”
“I have some people I’d like included in your collection. They might not be on that list, but if what I heard about your fee-structure is reasonably correct, what Adelaar’s paying you for this means you can tuck in a couple of extras without straining yourself.”
“Getting a little hostile, aren’t you?”
“I like to think of it as being practical.” Damn, damn, damn, knee-jerk, foot-in-the-mouth, what am I doing? Shoving him in a bag with Mama’s shithead friends. Maybe he belongs there. I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m reacting like an adolescent. Brain damage? Or are stunners aphrodisiac?
“Quale.”
He got to his feet with a loose, easy shift of his long body that reminded her of Xalloor, the same sort of physical competence. He strolled to the table, toed up a chair and sat.
Elmas Ofka frowned at him. For a moment she didn’t say anything. She has too much riding on this, Aslan thought and felt a touch of sympathy for the woman, a sympathy she didn’t usually have, Elmas reminded her too much of her mother. “You’ve had a week to look these over,” she tapped the case of filled flakes. “Well?”
“Price is right, conditions aren’t too tough, far as I’m concerned, we can go.”
“When?”
“Thirty days.”
Elmas Ofka looked down at her hands, drew a deep breath. “Done,” she said. “How many can you lift?’
“Around seventy, eighty in a pinch. Should be enough for that lot.” He nodded at the case. “Something else, you’ll need to find someone who’s been up there recently, I suggest one of those Fiveworld guards; he’ll know things no one bothers to record.”
“Yes. We have acquired such a person and he’s being questioned.” She broke off, looked away from him. Aslan thought, this next is going to be important. She’s not sure of him, she could be a little afraid of him, which is something I never thought I’d see. “The Warmaster must be destroyed,” she said, “You agree to that?”
“Why not. I don’t want it.”
She relaxed. “Your reasons?”
“Impossible to handle without a huge crew, I couldn’t afford the fuel, I’d have my sleep wrecked by the horde of would-be heroes plotting to take it away from me.”
“I see. You understand my reasons?”
“Simple enough. As soon as Slancy berths at Helvetia, Horgul’s on the map. People will be heading here to take back their relatives, whatever, to trade, raid, generally poke about. The Warmaster’s a target that’d tempt too many of them. You’d have some self-proclaimed Emperor running your world before you blinked twice.”
“What about her stingships?”
“They’re parasited on her. Once you get rid of her, they go inert. If you’re worried about the crews, you can use your systemships to pull them out.”
“One last question. How do we destroy something that big and that powerful?”
“As I see it, you’ve got two options. You can sink her in the deepest part of one of your oceans. That’s the quickest method. Leave some ports open and she’ll die fast. Only thing is, there’s a fair chance in a few years you’ll have a pollution problem; it’ll clear up in a century or two, but you’d better make sure you keep people away from the place until then.”