Vilhjalmsson hadn’t moved.
OneLane picked up a striking latticework in a greenish-brown metal. “What about this? It’s made from pelagatite.”
Nataliya made a face. “Pelagatite’s not rare anymore. Not on the Worlds of the Lesser Gods. They’ve a big mine coming up to production on Hellas, and another one on Pan.”
Hadn’t Emperor Yu offered Michelle’s hand in marriage and a pelagatite mine in exchange for the Factor’s support?
They eventually settled on a small etching by the preline artist Tamas Abbat. Radko conservatively priced it at five hundred thousand credits.
Partner Nataliya left happy.
One of the shop assistants had a quiet word with OneLane. She nodded and came over to Radko.
“Madam Chen. I am so glad you came promptly. Offers like this don’t come on the market every day. I already have other interested parties.”
Did she half glance back at Vilhjalmsson when she said that, or was it a trick of the light when her eyes moved? Vilhjalmsson definitely smiled.
“May I see the merchandise?” Radko asked. And the back door, if they had one. Or would Vilhjalmsson expect that?
OneLane raised her hand to her staff in a discreet signal. “This way,” and started toward the back. Radko, Han, and Chaudry followed. Radko kept her hand close to the knife in her boot.
Vilhjalmsson raised the spear. It was, indeed, a weapon. They were close enough that Radko could see the buttons on the top, and the miniscreen that lifted. Unfortunately, too far away for her to use her knife for anything except throwing.
“I wouldn’t mind sitting in on this,” Vilhjalmsson said.
“Touch my people, and you’re dead,” Radko told him.
“Believe me”—and he sounded fervent—“I have no intention of harming any of your people right now. Not until I know where I stand.”
“I am glad we understand each other.”
Behind them, something heavy thudded to the floor. He was good. She hadn’t seen him move. A second thud.
She knew what it was without looking. OneLane’s assistants.
OneLane glanced back but didn’t move toward them.
Chaudry started toward the fallen salespersons. “Chaudry,” Radko said, “leave them. They’re either dead already, or they’ll be fine.”
“It’s a general anesthetic,” Vilhjalmsson said. “They’ll come out of it in around four hours.” He moved the spear OneLane’s way when she surreptitiously tried to take out her comms. “Drop it on the floor.”
“That weapon is a ceremonial Traaken spear,” OneLane said. “Deadly when it’s loaded, but in my shop it isn’t. You might be able to stab us with it, but you can’t do much else.”
“Now there’s where you’re wrong,” Vilhjalmsson said. “I was in here yesterday.” OneLane nodded at that. “Today, I came prepared. It is fully armed now, even the tip, as you can see by what happened to your staff.” He tapped the small black piece he’d clipped on earlier. “Anesthetic and poison darts,” then tapped the length of the spear farther down. “Voltage here. Drop your comms.”
OneLane complied.
Chaudry moved to do the same.
“Not you, Chaudry. You keep your hands clear and away from your body. All of you. I know how fast you people can get a weapon out.”
She shouldn’t have mentioned Chaudry’s name. It was too late now. Radko kept her arms away from her body and ensured that Han and Chaudry did likewise.
Vilhjalmsson indicated the office door. He waited for them to walk into the office, and Radko thought there might be a hint of sweat on his brow. Maybe he was weaker than he looked. Could she use that?
Chaudry moved alongside Radko. “It’s a rigid lumbar brace,” he said quietly. “He’s recently out of regen. He’s had spinal fusion. He can’t move fast.”
He’d kept his voice low, but the assassin heard him. “It makes me slow, Chaudry, but I don’t need speed for accuracy.”
The Alien Affairs Department had calculated Vilhjalmsson would be out of action for six months after Ean’s inadvertent use of line eight. “You’re walking well for someone who should still be in hospital,” Radko said.
“I am. A new surgery technique. It came from the military hospital at Goed Lutchen. Pioneering work done by Dr. Arnoud and his team. I’m sure you appreciate the irony.”
Appreciate wasn’t the word Radko would have used.
Chaudry lifted his head, almost scenting the air. “Dr. Arnoud’s team specializes in nerve and bone regeneration.”
It wasn’t knowledge Radko would expect a young recruit in Stores to pick up. Or maybe she should have, given Chaudry’s childhood game of doctors and symptoms.
They entered OneLane’s office.
The far wall was covered with screens. Each screen—except the central one—showed a view from the security cameras. The shop; outside the front door; the alley at the back. There was a door in the wall on the left, cleverly hidden in the paneling. Radko had to look twice to be sure it was a door.
The office was dominated by a huge wooden desk—made of the same black timber that Radko’s mother used for displaying her jeweled eggs—so polished they could see their reflections. The desk was bare.
Radko stepped forward, and the spear crackled hot against her cheek.
“No sudden moves,” Vilhjalmsson said.
It was more, she thought, to ensure they all respected the spear than from any worry about her moving. She touched her finger to her face. He’d gone close, but he hadn’t burned her. Even she couldn’t shoot that accurately. Especially not with a weapon that had been on a store shelf fifteen minutes ago.
“You’re very jumpy,” Han said.
“One needs to be with a soldier like her. Especially since, as Chaudry here has noted, I am a little sore at present. Right now, I intend to shoot first, before anyone gets near enough to harm me.”
It was a warning. And a threat. Radko moved back.
Vilhjalmsson glanced over to where Callista OneLane waited. “Let’s see this famous report.”
OneLane was calm. Either she’d been held at weapon point often enough to realize she was in no danger for the moment, or she had a secondary protective system, and backup was already on its way. Radko hoped it was the latter.
“I don’t give things away for free,” she said. “If you want it, you’ll have to pay for it. In fact, I would have preferred you steal it after my client left. Not here. This is bad for business.”
“I did plan on stealing it afterward,” Vilhjalmsson admitted. “Until I recognized Spacer ‘Chen,’ here.” He waved the spear at OneLane, but he spoke to Radko, “You’re not minding people anymore?”
Radko didn’t answer.
OneLane said, “I am taking a comms out of the drawer.” She’d definitely had a weapon trained on her before. “Incidentally, your own comms won’t work in this room. You can’t record. This is the only copy you will get.”
Han moved his hand to scratch his back. He was going for his weapon. Radko caught his eye and shook her head. Not yet. As Stellan Vilhjalmsson had just illustrated, Han wouldn’t stand a chance.
OneLane held up the comms, then turned it on and pushed the data through onto the larger screen in the center of the wall behind her. “The report.”
There were two logos on the title page. Redmond Fleet Military Service and TwoPaths Engineering.
So, a combined military-commercial exercise.
Radko had come across TwoPaths Engineering before. They built spaceships based around the original line ship, the Havortian. They’d had the plans for over ten years now. Line ships. Linesmen. How coincidental was that?
She crossed her arms and watched as OneLane moved the report on to the next page, which contained a list of names associated with the report. She recognized one. “Hold it.”