“My honor, Trader.”
Her voice was not unpleasant, MacKinnie decided. But her presence annoyed him. There was no need for women in an expedition as important as this, and he was surprised that Dougal would suggest it. In Nathan’s world women were divided into two groups: freeladies to be protected, and camp followers who served no less useful a purpose but who were more or less expendable. Mary Graham did not seem to fit into either category.
He was certain that he was again being tested, because a more unlikely group for saving the state would be hard to imagine. Dougal had explained the night before why MacKinnie himself should command the expedition. The Imperials were likely to know of any of Haven’s really competent officers, yet a military background seemed required if anything were to be accomplished on Makassar. Still, MacKinnie did not look or act exactly like a Trader, and the crew assembled here contained an obvious naval officer, a talkative scholar of uncertain abilities, a weakling of almost effeminate appearance, and a girl. Surely, he thought, the Imperials would suspect — but even if they did not, what would be gained by sending this group to Makassar?
Dougal ushered in two more young men wearing battle dress without insignia. “MacReedy and Todd, guards,” Dougal explained.
MacKinnie looked them over carefully and decided they were the most authentic in appearance of any of his expedition. He indicated Hal. “This is Stark, your guard leader. We’ll have a few more guards for the expedition when we find out precisely how many we can take. Guard Leader, please take your men to your table and get to know them.”
“Yes, Trader.” Stark led the men to the other side of the veranda.
MacKinnie turned back to the policeman. “My lord, I am sure the others will excuse us a moment while we discuss the cargo. There are some difficulties about financing which I am sure would only bore them, so perhaps they can be working on equipment lists while we discuss finances in your office?”
“Certainly, Trader.” The others bowed, and MacKinnie led Dougal through the veranda doors to the office beyond.
Once inside, MacKinnie exploded. “How in hell do you expect the Imperials to be stupid enough to pass that crew? This is a thin enough plan to begin with, Dougal. I can’t begin to accomplish the mission if you saddle me with incompetents. My Saviour! You give me an obvious naval commander itching to learn anything he can about their starships, a weak-eyed little intellectual, and I don’t know, maybe the Academician will do, but where did you find that girl? In your freshman spy classes?”
Dougal held up his palm briefly, stopping Nathan’s tirade. “Sit down, Trader, and have something to drink. Calmly, now.”
Still fuming, Nathan sat and stuffed his pipe. “And another thing. I don’t appreciate murder. How many people did you kill last night, anyway?”
“As many as necessary, Trader,” Dougal said coldly. “Think of them as martyrs to Prince Samual’s World, and we’ll erect statues for them when this is over. If it works. What would you have had me do with them after they heard the most important secret on this planet?”
“Swear them to secrecy-” MacKinnie was stopped by the policeman’s laughter. “I suppose not,” Nathan said. “Hide them? Lock them up—”
“So that if one escaped we would really have lost the secret. Tell me, Colonel Iron MacKinnie, do you recommend that the military do things by half measures?”
“No-”
“Nor can we. I am not proud of what was done last night, but in my judgment it was needed. Tell me, did you ever consider guerrilla war against the Imperials? I know that you did. Would not innocent lives have been lost in your war? How many more will be killed in futile resistance to the Imperial colonists if we fail? I wish to hear no more about it.” He lit a cigarette, calmly inhaled, and continued.
“As to your crew. First, of course MacLean is a naval officer. The Imperials will know we intend to send a spy on the expedition. It might as well be a clumsy try so that they don’t suspect you. They will probably be careful to keep MacLean away from their ships’ engines and controls, but I doubt they will object to his going.
“Academician Longway has been on several expeditions to the Archipelago, and he knows as much about primitives and ancient civilizations as any man on this planet. He has fought his way out of tough situations in the past, too. He may be more use to you than you think.”
“All right,” MacKinnie said. “I didn’t object to him anyway. What about the scholar? A strong wind would blow him away.”
“Kleinst is just what he appears to be, except for one small deception. He’s not an historian, he’s a physicist. The best we have who isn’t prominent enough to be known to the Imperials. The boy is sharp enough to learn Longway’s patter sufficiently well to fool anyone not an expert. I admit his appearance is against him, but we can’t be choosy. You’ll need someone who understands what science we know if only to tell you what to bring back.”
MacKinnie lit his pipe. “And the girl?”
“The daughter of one of my officers. She really is a graduate of the University, she’s reliable, and no one expects a girl to be intelligent. She may have an opportunity to learn something you don’t. Pretty girls often do; they have methods not available to men.”
MacKinnie started to interrupt, but Dougal gestured him to silence. “You may keep your shocked proprieties to yourself,” the policeman said. “She is loyal and reliable, if somewhat young, and secretaries are not that uncommon on trading expeditions. We know that among the Imperials women often accompany men. There are even women officers in the Imperial Navy — oh yes, I’m quite serious.”
MacKinnie tried to digest that thought, but couldn’t. It was just too alien. “And which one is your agent watching me?” he demanded.
“All of them. But you won’t betray us. I have enough information on you to fill a small library. The Service has had you in mind as a possible servant to King David since we took Orleans. When you overhead that conversation, I already had more than enough to act on. I don’t waste good men, MacKinnie. Haven will need everyone we can find for the great task ahead of us. We’re saving a planet from slavery! You won’t violate your oath.”
“Thank you for the confidence.” MacKinnie stood. “Just how much do they know?” he asked, indicating the group on the veranda with a wide sweep of his hand.
Dougal smiled faintly. “Enough. They know this to be an expedition to a primitive world, with the ostensible purpose of establishing a trade mission, and an ostensible secret mission of filling the war chest for planetary conquest. They think the real purpose is to learn all they can about Imperial science, customs, military power, and that sort of thing — that this is a straight intelligence mission. They’ve been ordered not to violate Imperial regulations without specific orders from you, but to keep their eyes open whenever they’re around Imperial ships. You and your sergeant know about the library. You can tell them about it when you’ve reached Makassar.” Dougal lit another cigarette.
“I suppose they’ll have to do,” MacKinnie said. “All right. Now what about my cargo?”
“Primitive weapons, in large quantities. Axes, swords, and the like. Armor. Some gold and platinum, but not much because we can sell those to the Imperials directly. Cloth. Good tartan woven from winter-sheared woolsh. Grua. Spices. Some trinkets. You’ll have the list soon enough, and if you think of something primitive the Makassarians might buy, or something you will need, let me know. But don’t try to smuggle in anything the Imperials would object to.”
“Not likely,” MacKinnie said. He sighed and stared at the ashes in the bowl of his pipe. “Ever head a military force? “he asked.