Aaron smiled. “One way or the other, I assure you, it will all be taken care of. Any bribes or fines I have to pay will be well worth it. But actually, I don’t think it will come to that.” He grinned slightly. “A Republic-issued Master’s license may be of limited value to you after this, anyway.” He glanced over at Maxton, the first officer, and noticed that she was still clutching the arms of her chair, and looking a little ashen. “Is there a problem, Mate?”
“Low-altitude hover is the most dangerous thing a spherical DropShip can do. If we’d had a thruster problem at that altitude, there would have been no time to recover.”
Clancy made a hissing sound. “Those engines are solid as rock. Anyways, it was worth the risk. If our numbers got called up—well—what a way to go!”
Aaron raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t the first reference that Clancy had made to wanting a suitably spectacular death. He wasn’t sure if it was anything to be concerned about. Probably it was just gallows humor, but Clancy was getting on in years. There was some cause to worry that, if an opportunity presented itself, Clancy might be tempted to go out in a blaze of glory, and take anyone else on the ship along for the ride. Still, Aaron would trade this small worry for more typical political duplicity any day.
Clancy unbuckled his straps and climbed out of his seat. He slapped Maxton on her shoulder as he went past. “Relax, Mate. This is one you can tell your grandkids about.”
“Aye, Captain.” She grinned at him weakly. “Just don’t make a habit of it, or you’ll make a landlubber out of me.”
Aaron had left instructions for a call to be put through to the Governor as soon as they landed. The operator looked up, nodded, and pointed to a nearby communications screen. Aaron stepped up to the screen.
In a moment, the Governor’s face appeared. He looked slightly flustered. “Duke Sandoval, was that air show truly necessary?”
Aaron smiled. “I apologize, Governor. But, as you may have heard, an attempt was made on my life mere weeks ago. The unorthodox approach was part of my security precautions. I would have secured advance authorization, but announcing one’s plans does tend to defeat the purpose.”
The Governor frowned. “Well, I suppose that’s justifiable.”
“I hope this doesn’t get us off on the wrong foot, Governor. I’m here to make a very important proposal to your government—one that will affect the safety and independence of your world. I’d like to discuss it as soon as possible. Perhaps over dinner?”
“I’ve got a dinner meeting scheduled with key members of the Congress.”
“I’ve got no problem including them in our meeting, Governor, if you don’t. In fact, the more the merrier.”
The Governor hesitated. “Well, it’s short notice, but I suppose I can have the chef make room for one more at the table—”
Aaron chuckled and shook his head. “No, Governor, you don’t understand. I wasn’t trying to crash your dinner. I was inviting you to mine. I’d like you and your guests to dine with me here tonight. Have them bring their spouses as well, if you wish. We can slip aside and discuss our business after dessert.”
The Governor was puzzled. “Dinner there? Where? At the spaceport?”
“On my ship, Governor. I’d like you to accept my hospitality on the Tyrannos Rex. ”
The Governor blinked back his surprise. “Really, Lord Governor. If you think I’m going to trade my palace chef for some …mess hall, then—”
“It’s not like that at all, Governor. Let’s see.” He pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “Chef Bellwood has given me a menu. We’ll begin with a Foie Gras Sauté au Framboises and a Tarte d’Escargots de Tomate et l’Estragon. The main course will be Thai Saumon Oriental in a sweet cream ginger sauce—”
The Governor’s eyes widened, and he waved for Aaron to stop. “I apologize, Lord Governor. I would be… fascinated to see what you have to offer.”
Aaron smiled broadly. “Very well, Governor. Would seven, local time, be agreeable?”
“But of course. I look forward to it. Until tonight.”
The screen blanked, and Aaron’s smile became even broader, and perceptibly more genuine. “The opening salvo of our campaign has landed squarely on target.” He turned to Clancy. “I’m headed below. Call Ulysses and tell him I’m ready to meet the press at any time.”
The press conference had been ordered up, catalog-style, by downlink as they were approaching Ningpo. A semicircle of modular risers and seats had been set up near the base of Tyrannos Rex. In the middle of the seating was a raised dais with a podium, positioned so that the speaker would be just, and only just, above the eye level of most of the reporters. A silk SwordSworn banner was draped over the front of the podium, and a larger one was draped from a backdrop behind the speaker. Both were dwarfed by the Tyrannos Rex. with its gigantic version of the symbol looming over everything. Any symbols of The Republic were conspicuously absent.
The orientation of the seating was such that the reporters would be near, but not in, the shadow of the ship. It would be back-lit in a spectacular way that would show off its silver paint to best effect. It was what the press people like to call “good holo.” Aaron fully expected the image to be on almost every home Tri-Vid screen on the planet that night.
Even the reporters had been “ordered” after a fashion, press releases going out to all those news sources likely to be most favorable to the SwordSworns’ proposal, and to only a few who wouldn’t be friendly at all. A few hostile questions would place the Duke in a sympathetic light, while giving the whole thing a stamp of legitimacy.
Aaron stood just inside the Tyrannos Rex. looking through a small window of one-way glass at the jammed seats, and at the podium, which was surrounded by holocams and microphones. The window was located in a small security room off the grand lobby that was the formal entrance to the ship.
To his left was the “hole” Captain Clancy had complained so mightily about—a Greek revival entrance framed by two columns. A stairway and a red carpet led from the door to the podium. Some of the architectural elements were now permanently fixed to the ship’s hull. Others were built in the temporary shops that now filled much of the hold in bay number three, and had been attached after landing.
Aaron stepped into the entrance lobby, inspecting the grand stairway leading up to his quarters in bay number one, the wildly impractical crystal chandelier that hung from the ceiling (and retracted into a padded garage for flight), the paintings on the walls. The effect, he hoped, was not one of hopeless luxury, but rather of classical elegance. The air was perfumed to hide the ever-present mechanical smells of the ship, and soft music issued from hidden speakers.
Aaron smiled. He felt confident, ready to face his public. He turned to Ulysses Paxton, who struck an imposing figure in his gray pin-striped suit and dark shades. “You did an excellent job preparing the news conference, Ulysses.”
Paxton frowned. “You realize this is a security nightmare, don’t you? As for the rest, you really need a press secretary.”
Deena Onan rushed down the stairs, took Aaron by the shoulders, and turned him so she could look. She straightened his collar, ran her fingers down the creases in his pants, and finally produced a handkerchief to polish a spot on his boots. Aaron looked at himself in the mirror, turning his head to inspect his topknot. “You’ve both done an outstanding job, you know—taking roles you were never hired for and doing them well. It will be rewarded.”
Deena glanced up at his face for a moment, and then went back to her preening. “I expect so,” was all she said.