“Is there a point to this?” asked Blue.
The king couldn’t think of one. Panic made him dizzy. “My Britons will embrace whoever wishes to be our friends.”
What had he forgotten? Madcar had said something about a short-term something. Why couldn’t he remember? Dead eyes stared at him. Sweat cascaded down his chest.
Aryan stroked her long chin with longer fingers. “Independence could be very expensive.”
“In the short-term, I can mortgage the Windsor for several billion. In addition, my extensive holdings are worth twice that. Generous loans can be floated. My kingdom will be a cash customer.”
“Cash always has friends.” The mayor laughed at his wit.
“If my kingdom diverts resources to Grainer charity, we won’t be able to buy what we need for our citizens. If we defy the TC and refuse to supply the losers, we’ll face economic sanctions. Either way, my subjects’ standard of living will drop, and my reign will be over. I need to know how you arranged the riot and scared away the Grainers. Lend me the mastermind of your riot.”
Aryan tented her hands in front of her face. “The Lunars and factions of the L’s are suffering from the same sociological centrifugal pressures as the EuroUnion. When our alliance flies apart, we, too, will need friends.”
“Governments must confer and debate. A monarch does business with a handshake. I’m prepared to sign a trade agreement right this instant. Granted, the treaty will be with the Crown, not my future kingdom. However, once my people raise me to my rightful station, they must acknowledge my obligations as their own.”
The mayor rose and limped to his side. A powerful arm wrapped the king. A dead eye winked. “There’s a new order coming. Either you embrace it, or you are crushed. For the sake of humanity’s future, we must eliminate the weak and unworthy in order to assume our rightful position in the galaxy. What humanity needs is leadership with vision!”
King Richard IV smiled. “I may not be smart enough to have the kind of vision you do, but I can recognize winners when I see them.”
“I think we can do business.” Blue stood, his fingers brushed Aryan’s shoulders. She shivered. “These leeches have to be taught self-reliance, even if it kills them!” His laughter infected them all, one by one.
“Perhaps we should franchise our system!” declared Aryan.
The guest arrived in the airlock four minutes before the shuttle slipped free from the dock. Captain Jones fired the waste-gas jets, rotating the vessel smoothly. The Grav kicked in. A girder moaned. The shuttle dipped to port before acceleration sent everyone grabbing for an anchor.
The airlock intercom sizzled. “Have you got that damned hatch fixed yet?”
Brigadier Wilfort-Smythe banged the switch. “Give us a few more minutes. Sorry about the inconvenience.”
The king struggled with his tangled restraints, trying to escape his chair. He studied the commando as she inserted the gem from his ring into a reader. When her brow furrowed he cringed. Had he screwed up the recording? She chewed the tip of her braid; he gnawed his nails.
Madcar slapped the royal hand. “A monarch never shows his nervousness. Do this.” He cupped a hand over his jaw and slitted his eyes. Fingers slowly stroked his chin. “That is a thoughtful pose.”
“Yes, Fa—” The king had almost said father.
The elderly ensign smiled broadly. His shaggy mustache trembled. Madcar Pradesh rested his hand on Richard’s shoulder. “You did well, Your Highness.”
“It’s a good start, but hardly enough to convict, even in the press. Who is this clown?” asked the brigadier, pointing at the airlock.
Madcar replied, “His name is Brunner, Alfredo Karl, a retired security operative of the Trade Commission.”
“Spies don’t retire.”
“He is wanted on Mars for the assassination of Senator Miller. The last six years he has been living on Kerrigan. No visible means of support. No visible connection with the riot.”
“Ample leverage,” declared the brigadier as she left.
The king watched the monitor. The airlock hatch opened. Brunner stuck out a muscular arm to shake hands. Whereupon, a kick threw him across the chamber. The last Royal Commando leapt to his side, applying a lead pipe to his knees before grabbing the scruff of his tailored suit and dragging him out of the airlock.
The yerp screamed into the royal cabin. Slamming his stubble-covered head into a bulkhead, the brigadier tore off his clothes in lieu of frisking. She sat on his chest, an ice pick in her hand. Its tip rested on the corner of his left eye. The spy became very still.
“I broke your legs as a professional courtesy. I didn’t want you to entertain any idea of escape. You have two choices: one, I torture you to the verge of death and we turn you over to the Martians; two, you make a full confession about the 980.”
He snarled and tried to punch her. She contorted and allowed his momentum to impale the fist on her ice pick. With the grace of a ballerina, she rose in a flurry of kicks that spun the spy like a top. He came to a stop with her foot on his throat.
“I will not kill you, but there won’t be enough nerve tissue left in your spine for an implant. You’ll be dead from the neck down while you spend the rest of your life in a Martian prison. I’m certain your cellmate will help you in the shower.”
“On the other hand—”
The brigadier hopped off the spy’s throat, glowering at her monarch. “My King, you have nothing to say to this pro-fes-sion-al!” Brown eyes flashed as she kicked the prisoner for each of those last syllables.
Her tone frightened the king, but he continued, “Oh, but I do. Citizen Brunner, if you cooperate, I’ll buy you passage to any colony, world, or poleis outside Sol System. Say yes in the next minute and I shall include one million dollars in pocket money.”
“Look me in the eyes,” commanded the commando. She bent and pierced one of the spy’s nostrils.
“It’s a matter of cut-outs!” sobbed the spy. “You sieve the police database for the right criminals to puppet. A few bucks and they’ll assemble all the rabble you need.”
“Where did the money come from?”
“Three blind mice. I have tapes at a postal drop on Mobil Habitat. I knew if something went wrong, they’d sacrifice me. I can give you the Council on a platter.”
“Citizen Brunner, you’re going to be very rich, and very famous, very soon,” said King Richard IV. He wanted to laugh, but he was too busy trembling.
He sat in a corner of the navigation bubble, watching the ships in the holding lane around L-5. At the top of their arc, they crossed the white-flecked orb of Earth. Their blinking lights brought to mind Christmas trees he’d seen in movies.
The king held his reader, twitching its controls to run the AP story Madcar had pulled off the wire. Was there really a wire? he wondered. Everybody talked about it, so it had to be out there. Did it reel out of the back of the ship? No, that would be silly. Only a poleis or habitat would have the space necessary to store that much wire.