The little dragon had made a tactical mistake. The guard had been provided with three choices and that was one too many. He looked puzzled, trying to resolve a conflict that was beyond him. Finally he resolved it by falling back on orders. “I have been told to expect no one and admit no one,” he responded.
“Not even Nathan Brazil?” Marquoz shot back.
The guard blinked. “But—of course, if the Lord God should—”
Marquoz wasn’t even going to let him finish. “Ah, but your orders said none shall pass, and surely you were not told to expect Nathan Brazil—yet you would admit him. Either you make exceptions or you don’t. If you don’t, you’d bar even Brazil; if you do, then please let us in to go about our business.”
That was too much for the guard. He turned to a younger, slightly less imposing Acolyte. “Brother, tell the mistress that there’s a giant lizard out here who says he’s a cop and wants to see her.”
The brother nodded, turned, and left. Marquoz reached into his jerkin and extracted a silver cigar case inlaid with a very odd coat of arms. He removed a cigar and lit it in his customary manner. The guard blinked in fascination. Marquoz composed a grin revealing numerous nasty teeth and held up the case. “Have a cigar?” he asked pleasantly.
The guard just continued to stare, and the Chugach shrugged and put the case away, settling back on his huge tail to wait. Gypsy rolled his eyes and turned to watch the crowd.
Eventually the other Acolyte returned and whispered to the big guard and several others. Finally he sauntered over to them.
“The High Priestess will see you,” he told them, “but not until after the services, which are due to start any minute now. Please wait until then.”
Marquoz sighed. “How long will these services take?”
“Usually two hours,” the Acolyte replied. “They are quite inspiring, and with this crowd should prove an experience that will move mountains.” His eyes shone. “I have been with them since the beginning, you know,” he added proudly.
The dragon snorted, then turned to Gypsy. “I wonder if there’s any place left in this dump to get a drink?”
Gypsy shrugged. “Probably not, but it’s worth a try.”
“We’ll be back,” Marquoz promised, “in two hours or so.”
As it happened they did find a little bar open; the proprietor was a steadfast materialist who kept railing to his only two customers about how the cult was a plot by the ruling classes to further oppress the masses.
In spite of their distaste for the man’s poorly reasoned polemics, the dragon cop and his strange human friend remained in the bar until almost a half-hour after they noted the first crowds departing the square. Finally Marquoz stood up and started for the door. “Well, time to go find out if somebody who asks for favors then cools the heels of the person she wants a favor from likes that treatment herself,” he said cheerfully.
The bartender broke off his discourse. “Hey! Wait a minute, you two! You owe me for the drinks!”
Gypsy turned and smiled. “Why, I’m surprised at you, sir. Oppressing the masses like that by asking for something as common and distasteful as money. The root of all evil, you know.”
“What’re you? Some kinda anarchist creep?” the bartender sneered, reaching under the bar. “Pay up or I seal the door and we wait for the cops.”
The Chugach stopped, reached into his jerkin, and pulled out a folding wallet. “But, dear sir, I am the police,” he pointed out.
They were outside before the bartender could decide whether or not to risk it.
The High Priestess was royally pissed, enough so that her manner betrayed her inner rage even as she strove to keep her features properly impassive. “You were due here long ago,” she accused, like a queen snubbed by commoners. She addressed Gypsy with her opening comments.
Marquoz let her ramble on for a bit, and the unfortunate Gypsy took it, while the little dragon studied her. It was almost impossible to tell if she were the same one he had encountered on the freighter—she had exactly the same coloration and was otherwise a perfect copy. He finally decided that they’d never met. The original would not have mistaken Gypsy for himself.
Finally, when she paused in her tirade, he stepped in. “Citizen Yua, if you are quite through berating my good friend, who otherwise has no connection with the government, I shall be happy to discuss the matter at hand with you.”
The Olympian started, puzzled at first by the sudden turn, then embarrassed—not by her mistake but for being caught in it—and finally once again, this time at the proper target. “How dare you treat me like this?” she fumed, and it seemed as if Gypsy and Marquoz were to be favored with an instant replay of her first assault.
“Shut up and sit down,” Marquoz responded quickly, cutting her off. “What?”
“I said shut up and sit down. It is you who have to impress me, not the other way around. Priestess or whatever, I am not a humble Policeman or a citizen of the Com or a Chugach at this point—Iam the Council and the Com! My time is valuable and has already been wasted too long in foolishness. You have ten seconds to yell, scream, and do whatever stupid and demeaning things you wish. After that, I will walk out this door unless we are discussing things rationally in another ten.”
Four Acolytes would have their minds wiped of the day’s activities for being so unfortunate as to have been within earshot. As for Yua, she had never been spoken to so rudely. Hers was a race born to command and securely in charge of its own destiny. Even outside, she had been drilled on her innate superiority to other humans and found that they were easy to stupefy and control—which, of course, had made Marquoz the perfect choice for this particular job.
The Chugach, observing her carefully while feigning disdain, dared to take a cigar out of his case and light it.
Gypsy, who was an empath, read the fury, rage, and confusion that churned inside the Olympian priestess and admired how she regained her composure. She swallowed hard and said without expression, “Very well, sir. We will talk as equals.” For her, that was quite a compromise, but it didn’t suit Marquoz.
“Oh, no madam, we are not equals. I represent fourteen races on over a thousand worlds; I represent the power that is, and the power that your people have spurned. Your Council seat is ever-vacant, or we wouldn’t be having this meeting. Your own planet came from the Council and your seed money was given by its then President. Now, as with many planets, you wish government services although you appear to contribute nothing to the support of those services. I am the Com, madam—convince me. First tell me what you want, then why I should give it to you.”
To Gypsy, the woman seemed on fire. Had it been within her power, he knew she’d have incinerated them with a glance. But what Marquoz said was true, and it was galling to her.
“Very well, sir. During the recent war the computer files and seals were opened. I know that the weapons locker has already been secured—but, while the seals on other files are still inactive we seek to use them to fulfill the aim of our faith and our life’s work.”
Marquoz nodded thoughtfully, dragged on his cigar, and blew a thick smoke ring in her direction. “Okay, you think you can find Nathan Brazil in there. Let’s say you could—why should we allow it? He’s a citizen of the Com, and if he chooses to bury himself it is none of our concern. We don’t want him, and I’m certain I would not like hordes of people trying to find me if I didn’t want to be found.”