Priestess was quiet for awhile. I took her hand. Finally she spoke. "I never told you I was from a Legion world. How did you know that?"
"I know everything," Tara said carelessly, "except what happened to my exec."
Chapter 15:
Biergart
"Take you bag." He was a short, nasty looking creature with dark leathery skin, filthy greased hair, yellow eyes and dirty hands with long jagged fingernails.
"No, you don't." Dragon maneuvered the bag away from him. It was Nine's bag, an elegant plum-colored armorite creation that shrieked privilege and expense. We were out of Customs and heading for the aircar bay. I was on my comset to the hotel.
"The Lady Arbell does not appreciate waiting!" I shouted into the set. "Why is your aircar not here yet?" I was having a little trouble breathing. There didn't seem to be enough oxygen in the air, and the grav was too damned heavy.
"Take you bag!"
"You touch that bag and I'll remove your arm!" Dragon growled to the persistent porter. We were attracting a crowd. Several dusky, silent men drifted over to our vicinity, glowering. They appeared to be the same race, dark skin, yellow eyes, and thick matted hair.
"They say the aircar is on the way," I reported.
"You give the bag!" one of them demanded, pointing at Dragon. He was tall, with a wild, greasy head of hair. "We are porters—federal porters! You must give the bag!" The others growled in agreement. The short one reached out for the bag with a dirty hand.
Dragon hit him with a hard right to the face that came at him from above like a falling tree. I heard the cartilage in his nose crack. The porter bounced off the floor once and lay there stunned, blood smearing his face.
The tall greasy one snarled and came at Dragon with a metal pipe. I hauled out my vac gun and shot him in the face. It knocked him off his feet, and his head hit the dirty floor with a dull thud. The rest of them screamed in outrage, circling us like a pack of swarmers but now at a respectful distance. A policeman came running up to investigate the disturbance.
"Nice start," Priestess said. She was clothed in elegant civvie casuals, and she was a vision of heart-stopping beauty. I could tell she was upset. It was, indeed, a poor way to begin our clandestine mission on Katag.
"Why they have guns?" one of the porters shouted at the policeman. "Guns are illegal! Why they have guns!"
"What's the trouble, Cits?" The policeman was an Outworlder, eying us warily. He did not know whom to address. I stepped forward.
"This gang of savages attacked the Lady Arbell, and attempted to steal its luggage." I said, gasping in the thin air. "There's no trouble. They did not succeed." The porters howled in indignation, but still kept their distance.
"They are porters, Cit," the policeman replied. "We are required by law to allow them to carry the luggage. Please do not use derogatory terms—we are all equal here on Katag, under the laws of the System. Derogatory terms are highly illegal if applied to the historically oppressed."
"We can understand why they've been oppressed," I said. "Still, we meant no harm. We were merely defending ourselves. Is that illegal, too?"
"Yes, it is. Where did we get the vac gun?"
"We brought it with us. We are employed by the Lady Arbell to defend its interests and its person. We have System Interworld permits for private weapons, fully cleared by Katag customs." Three of them, actually, with hundred-C Systie credmarks slipped into each of the permits for luck.
"That may be, but it's a legal matter when weapons are used and people are injured."
"We think that's our aircar," Dragon said. He was glaring at the porters and they were glaring back.
"The Lady Arbell must not be inconvenienced," I said. "It is here to investigate business prospects, and plans to invest heavily in this world if the circumstances are favorable. We'll be happy to pay for any medical expenses suffered by the injured." I handed him my bogus Systie ID. He examined it carefully, and when he handed it back another hundred credits was gone.
"Very well, Cit. Our compliments to the Lady. Please go gently with the Originals—they were here before we were, and deserve our respect under law."
"Respect—under law, right. Thanks!" We entered the hotel aircar to the howls of the porters.
###
"We want that bitch alive!" Priestess was insistent.
"Yes, Lady—we'll get it!" I assured her. We were in the Nebula Towers, the Princess suite. It was a stunningly luxurious series of rooms done in green marble and soft pink carpeting. My skin crawled to see such waste.
"And if it's already dead, we want its skin!"
"Yes, Lady," I said.
"We want proof it's dead! We want its head! If it's buried, we want the corpse!"
"We'll get it, Lady—dead or alive!"
"If it's alive, we will personally torture it until it begs us to kill it. Then we're going to roast it alive—slowly!"
"Yes, Lady."
"And we record it all!"
"Of course."
"And exhibit its skull in the entry hall of Regulus Octo!"
"That might not be wise, Lady."
"No! It would be a warning—don't cheat Regulus Octo! We'll bill it as an archaeological find—but send the truth through the criminal community. That rotten bitch is going to pay! Nobody steals from us!"
"Yes, Lady."
"Secretary, we want to start on this immediately."
"Immediately, Lady."
"We will authorize all reasonable expenses. If someone is holding it, pay them. Enough so there's no trouble. But reasonable expenses, we repeat. If someone demands too much, we go over its head."
"Understood, Lady."
"What's that?" Priestess asked. Dragon had just unpacked something.
"The suppressor, Lady," Dragon replied.
"Do you mean you haven't activated it yet?" Her voice was edged in ice.
"Ah…not yet, Lady. We have just unpacked it."
"You stupid fools! Why do we employ you? What good are you? Turn it on, idiot! Turn it on!"
Dragon turned it on. It was a powerful commercial unit—nobody could hear or see us with it on. The hotel tapes would record only static.
"How did I do?" Priestess asked.
"Not bad, Lady," I replied.
"That was great," Dragon said. "A nasty, spoiled bitch! It was really kind of scary."
"I think that should do it," I said. "The System will conclude from our conversation that Lady Arbell is not here looking for investment opportunities, as stated, but is searching for someone who burned her badly on a business deal. And is willing to pay well for access to her target. If the Systies have her, the information should flow naturally to whoever has the power to release her. The story should make sense—it certainly fits in with Whit's background."
"And if it's the governor?" Dragon asked.
"Hopefully the lower echelons won't let the info get that high. But if he's the one, we can only pray he buys our story. We know he takes money, and that's half the battle."
"He might be just waiting for us, grinning."
"The Systies may not have her at all," Priestess said. "It may be the crims—but even if the Systies don't have her, they will have a financial interest in locating her and presenting her to us."
"But they don't know who it is yet," Dragon objected.
"We'll let them know that after we pay a visit to Cit Biergart of ProScan—assuming it's then necessary." I said.
"Let's get back in character," Priestess said. "I find it difficult…that is, we find it difficult, using Systie terminology, if we're constantly switching back."
"Yes, Lady."
"Turn on the local networks, Security."
"Yes, Magnifico." The wall screen lit up. A gang of Originals were screaming and gesturing at the vidmon, clutching primitive weapons. They were almost naked, smeared with yellow powder.