“Gently, September. I read your formal reports. I know that you’re anxious to be on your way. I won’t detain you long.” Her eyes flicked over to Ethan. “And you, Mr. Fortune, I understand will be staying with us for a while longer. That’s good. I’ll want to draw upon your unique body of experience.”
“I’ll be glad to help whenever I can,” Ethan assured her, simultaneously realizing the truth of Maxim Malaika’s assertions.
September was in no mood to be coddled. “If you’ve read our reports, then why the need for this meeting?”
“Please try to relax, Mr. September, however much an effort it may be for you. I promise you won’t miss your flight.”
September leaned back in the big chair but continued to glance pointedly at the wall chronometer even though ample time remained before the shuttle was scheduled to depart.
“There is this business of the death of my predecessor, Mr. Jobius Trell.” Ethan shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “According to your report he was killed while making use of advanced weaponry in an attempt to enforce an illegal and extortionate trade monopoly on the native populace.”
“That’s right,” Ethan told her.
“Your description of the manner of his death is fuzzy as to details. I was wondering if you could be more specific.” Ethan glanced at September who regarded the ceiling with single-minded intensity. The awkward silence lengthened.
“You see, gentlemen, I have a reason for asking,” Stanhope finally told them. “I have spent forty-three years in the diplomatic service. I am retiring in six months and I want nothing, and I mean absolutely nothing, to mar my record. I am searching for neither scapegoats nor assassins. I just don’t want any surprises. That’s all. I promise you that anything you tell me will remain confidential and will go no further than we three, but if I am to treat knowledgeably with the locals, I must know everything that happened.”
Ignoring September’s silent protest, Ethan related the incidents which had led to the death of the former Resident Commissioner, telling Stanhope about his treacherous alliance with the former Landgrave of Arsudun and how he had manipulated the mad former Landgrave of Poyolavomaar. When he’d concluded the story, Stanhope leaned back in her chair and nodded gratefully.
“Thank you, Mr. Fortune. I appreciate your candor. That is a word rarely employed in the diplomatic corps.”
“Six months, you said.” Ethan strove to change the subject. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I’m surprised they’d send someone like yourself to a place like this with retirement so near at hand.”
She laughed lightly. “Oh, but I requested this post.”
That brought September out of his pout. “You asked to come here?”
“That I did. This is an outpost world, not even a formal colony, about as low a classification as you can find that rates someone with my seniority. Nothing happens here. Once a month the KK-drive ship that travels between Santos V and Drax IV pauses here. That’s it. For a diplomat, Tran-ky-ky is a dull, boring, and unprestigious place to be stationed, and that’s precisely why I wanted to come here.” Her tone darkened slightly, steel beneath the smiles.
“Six months, gentlemen. Six months I have left. I want them to be as quiet and undisturbed as though they never were. I came here to be forgotten for half a year. Then I can retire to my modular on Praxiteles and work on my laserpoint.”
“What are you going to do about the Tran?” Ethan asked her.
“Actually, I think they’re cute, your Tran.”
September guffawed. “About as cute as cannibals on ice skates.”
“That may be. But as they appear to be progressing nicely on their own, thanks to your own philanthropic efforts, I propose to do absolutely nothing. I will stay out of their way. Out of everyone’s way, hopefully. If there are any matters that require my attention, I expect my aides and involved civilians such as yourself, Mr. Fortune, will bring them to my attention. In return for this advice I will do my best to stay out of your way.
“I know that you intend to establish a formal branch of the trading house of Malaika here. I will do what I can to expedite your work by burdening you with as little red tape as possible. In return I expect you and the others like you to serve as my eyes and ears among the natives. As for myself, I will count my tour of duty here a success if I never have to step outside this office save to eat and sleep. I hope I have made myself perfectly clear.”
Ethan nodded. “Perfectly, Ms. Stanhope.”
She glanced at September. “And I expect you to say nothing about your difficulties here, particularly as they concern the late Mr. Trell, for at least six months.”
September adopted a dignified mien. “Ma’am, I assure you that unburdening myself to government officials is right near the bottom of my list of permanent priorities. I’m on my way to a world that makes this one look advanced so I can lose myself in an alien jungle for a year or two.”
“Then we are all in agreement as to the direction of our futures. Good.” She rose. It was a dismissal. “Mr. Fortune, I imagine you have a great deal of work to do. Mr. September, you must have some last-minute preparations to conclude prior to your departure.”
September approached the desk and took her hand in his. It vanished inside his massive palm. “Good to know the future of Tran-ky-ky’s in such understanding hands, for half a year, anyway.”
“Mr. September, you are gallant.” She retrieved her fingers, sat back down. “Now if you will both excuse me, I have a great deal of nothing to do and I am anxious to be about it.”
September wore a thoughtful expression as they took the elevator back to ground level. “Interesting old gal. Wish I’d known her twenty years back.”
“A bit stiff for my taste,” said Ethan.
“Don’t be too quick to judge, feller-me-lad. You never can tell about these steely-eyed types. Why, underneath that hard-shelled exterior there probably beats a heart of pure concrete.”
The lift doors parted. As they exited they nearly stumbled over a preoccupied Milliken Williams.
Like Ethan and Skua, the diminutive schoolteacher had also been in the wrong place at the wrong time when the kidnapping of the wealthy du Kanes had taken place, and like them, he’d been carried unwillingly to the surface of Tran-ky-ky. He was full of self-deprecation and apologies except when he was doing something like introducing the Tran to gunpowder and crossbows. Ethan thought he looked worried. That was William’s usual state of mind. He was always worrying about what was going to go wrong next, and if nothing went wrong, he worried why it hadn’t.
“I was just coming to get you.” His eyes darted from one face to the other. “Could I have a moment of your time, do you think?”
September rolled his eyes. “Everyone wants a minute of old Skua’s time. I’m running out of minutes, Milliken.”
“Please. This is terribly important.”
“What isn’t? All right.” He looked around, gestured resignedly toward the administration cafeteria. “I could use a bite to eat before getting on the shuttle.”
It was between meal times and the room was almost empty. Tran furs and handicrafts decorated the walls and gave the otherwise bland hall a little character. Automatic food machines lined one wall. Ice particles formed abstract patterns on the exterior of a curved, triple-paned window as the wind smashed them against the glass. They ordered food and drink and settled into a booth near the window.
“Skua,” Williams asked earnestly, “how set are you on leaving Tran-ky-ky?”
September said nothing, simply sat and stared. “Is there some sort of conspiracy at work here that old Skua knows nothing about? First you, feller-me-lad, and now our over-educated little friend here.”