"First of all," Adoula said, "taking Catrone out would not have been child's play. He hardly ever leaves that bunker of his. Second, if the Empress' Own start dying off—and there are others, just as dangerous in their own ways as Catrone—then the survivors are going to start getting suspicious. More suspicious than they already are. And we don't want those overpaid retired bodyguards getting out of hand."
"Be that as it may, I'm putting one of my people on him," New Madrid said. "And if he becomes a problem..."
"Then I'll deal with it," Adoula said. "You concentrate on keeping the Empress in line."
"With pleasure," the Earl said, and smirked.
"Indian country," Catrone said as he looked the neighborhood over.
"Not a very nice area for an upscale restaurant," Sheila replied nervously.
"It's not so bad," the airtaxi-driver, an otterlike Seglur, said. "I've dropped other fares here. Those Mardukans that work in the place? Nobody wants to mess with them. You'll be fine. Beam down my card and call me when you want to be picked up."
"Thanks," Catrone said, getting the driver's information and paying the fare—and a small tip—as they landed.
Two of the big Mardukans stood by the entrance, bearing pikes—fully functional ones, Catrone noticed—and wearing some sort of blue harness over what were obviously environment suits. A young human woman, blonde and stocky, with something of a wrestler's build, opened the door.
"Welcome to Marduk House," the blonde said. "Do you have reservations?"
"Catrone, Thomas," Tomcat said.
"Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Catrone," she replied. "Your table is waiting. Right this way."
She led them through the entrance, into the entry room, and on to the dining room. Catrone noticed that there were several people, much better dressed than Sheila and he but having the look of local Imperial staff-pukes, apparently waiting for tables.
A skinny, red-headed woman held down the reception desk, but most of the staff seemed to be Mardukans. The restaurant area had a long bar at one side, on which slabs of some sort of meat were laid out. As they walked through the area, one of the Mardukans took a pair of cleavers—they would have been swords for a human—and began chopping a long section of meat, his hands moving in a blur. The sounds of the blades thunking into flesh and wood brought back unpleasant memories for Catrone, but there was a small ripple of applause as the Mardukan bowed and started throwing the chunks of meat, in another blur, onto a big iron dome. They hit in a star pattern and started sizzling, filling the room with the cooking noise and an odd smell. Not like pork or beef or chicken, or even human. Catrone had smelled them all in his time. Cooking human smelled pretty much like pork, anyway.
The table they were led to was already partially occupied. A big, vaguely Eurasian guy, and the blonde from the call. When he saw her, Tomcat almost stopped, but recovered with only the briefest of pauses.
"There seems to be someone at our table," he said instead to the hostess.
"That's Mr. Chung," she replied quietly. "The owner. He wanted to welcome you as a special guest."
Riiiight, Tomcat thought, then nodded at the two of them as if he'd never seen the blonde in his life.
"Mr. and Mrs. Catrone," the big guy said. "I'm Augustus Chung, the proprietor of these premises, and this is my friend, Ms. Shara Stewart. Welcome to Marduk House."
"It's lovely," Sheila said as he pulled out her chair.
"It was... somewhat less lovely when we acquired it," Chung replied. "Like this fine neighborhood, it had fallen into disrepair. We were able to snap it up quite cheaply. I was glad we could; this is a house with a lot of history."
"Washington," Catrone said with a nod. "This is the old Kenmore House, right?"
"Correct, Mr. Catrone," Chung replied. "It wasn't George Washington's home, but it belonged to one of his family. And he apparently spent considerable time here."
"Good general," Catrone said. "Probably one of the best guerrilla fighters of his day."
"And an honorable man," Chung said. "A patriot."
"Not many of them left," Catrone probed.
"There are a few," Chung said. Then, "I took the liberty of ordering wine. It's a vintage from Marduk; I hope you like it."
"I'm a beer drinker myself."
"What the Mardukans call beer, you would not care for," Chung said definitely. "There are times when you have to trust, and this is one of them. I can get you a Koun?"
"No, wine's fine. Tipple is tipple." Catrone looked at the blonde seated beside his host. "Ms. Stewart, I haven't said how lovely you look tonight."
"Please, call me Shara," the blonde said, dimpling prettily.
"In that case, it's Sheila and Tomcat," Catrone replied.
"Watch him," Sheila added with a grin. "He got the nickname for a reason."
"Oh, I will," Shara said. "Sheila, I need to powder my nose. Care to come along?"
"Absolutely," Sheila said, standing up. "We can trade our war stories while they trade theirs."
"Nice girl," Tomcat said as the two walked toward the powder room.
"Yes, she is," Chung replied, then looked Catrone in the eyes. "And a fine soldier. I'd say Captain Pahner sends his regards, but he is, very unfortunately, dead."
"You're him," Catrone said.
"Yes."
"Which one is she?"
"Nimashet Despreaux. My aide and fiancée."
"Oh great!"
"Look, Sergeant Major," Roger said, correctly interpreting the response. "We were on Marduk for eight months. Completely cut off. Stranded. You don't maintain garrison conditions for eight months. Fraternization? Hell, Kosutic—that's the hostess who led you over here—was carrying on for most of the time with Julian, who's now my S-2. And don't even get me started on the story of Gunny Jin. Nimashet and I at least waited until we were off-planet. And, yes, I'm going to marry her."
"You got any idea how easy it is to monitor in a restaurant?" Catrone asked, changing the subject.
"Yes. Which is why everyone entering and leaving is scanned for any sort of surveillance device. And this table, in particular, is placed by the fire pit for a reason. That sizzling really does a number on audio."
"Shit. Why the hell did you have to get my wife involved in this?"
"Because we're on a very thin margin," Roger pointed out. "Inviting just you would have been truly obvious."
"Well, I'm not getting involved in treason, whatever your reasoning," Catrone said. "You go your way, I'll go mine."
"This is not treason. I wasn't there. I was on Marduk, okay? I've got all the proof of that you could ask for. Marduk. This is all Adoula. He's holding my mother captive, and I am going to free her."
"Fine, you go right ahead." Catrone took a hard pull on the wine; his host was right, it was good. "Look, I did my time. And extra. Now I raise horses, do a little consulting, and watch the grass grow. What there is of it in the Gobi. I'm out of the Empire-saving business. Been there, done that, got really sick and tired of it. You're wrong; there are no patriots any more. Just more and less evil fatcats."
"Including my mother?" Roger demanded angrily.
"Keep your voice down," Catrone said. "No, not including your mother. But it's not about your mother, is it? It's about a throne for Roger. Sure, I believe you weren't in on the coup in the first place. But blood calls to blood, and you're New Madrid's boy. Bad seed. You think we don't talk to each other in the Association? I know you, you little shit. You're not worth a pimple on your brother's ass. You think, even if it were possible, I'm going to walk in and give the Throne to you?"