"Always assuming it was the 'dead man's switch,'" Adoula pointed out a bit acidly. "The suicide protocols can also be deliberately activated, you know." And, he thought, given what you were doing to him—in front of his mother—that's a hell of a lot more likely than any "Dead Man's Switch," isn't it, Lazar? I wonder what you'd have done to Alexandra herself by now... if you didn't need her alive even more than I do?
"Always possible, I suppose." New Madrid pursed his lips poutingly for several seconds, then shrugged. "Well, I imagine it was inevitable, actually. And he had to go in the end, anyway, didn't he? It was worth a try, and Alexandra might always have volunteered the information herself, given that he was all she had left by that point. On the other hand, I've sometimes wondered if she could have told us even if she'd wanted to. The security protocols on their toots were quite extraordinary, after all."
"True. True." New Madrid pursed his lips poutingly for several seconds, then shrugged. "I suppose it was inevitable, actually. The security protocols on their toots were quite extraordinary, after all."
The Earl, Adoula reflected, had an absolutely astonishing talent for stating—and restating—the obvious.
"You wanted to see me?" the prince asked.
"Thomas Catrone is taking a trip to the capital."
"Oh?" Adoula leaned back in his float chair.
"Oh," New Madrid said. "He's supposedly won some sort of all-expenses-paid trip. I checked, and there was such a lottery from the Special Operations Association. Admittedly, anyone who won it would be worth being suspicious of. But I'm particularly worried about Catrone. You should have let me take him out."
"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."