The functionary turned to the next passenger in line, reaching for identification as at the same time he said, in the same warm tone of greeting, “Welcome to Earth, milady.”
Jonah was not offended by the obviously standard-issue courtesy—although he suspected that some others might be. The man was undoubtedly hired for his ability to exercise patience and maintain a friendly demeanor, no matter how tired and irritable the passengers he dealt with might become. And this was, after all, Terra. Even an out-of-the-way cargo DropPort like Belgorod would see people of importance coming through on a regular basis.
He continued onward as he’d been directed, downstairs and to the right, along a passageway lined with marble and floored with steel. The indirect lighting was pale white and obviously artificial, and the air moaned and clanked in the environmental system, giving out warmth and a mixed smell of industrial-strength floor cleaners and—from what source, he couldn’t imagine—boiled cabbage.
At the end of the passageway, a second rank of port officials stood behind movable barricades. These officials would have been watching the readout repeater screens, and would know exactly who was on the arriving ships. One of them moved forward now, her eyes fixed on Jonah.
“Good evening, Paladin,” the woman said, as soon as she was standing at a correct and polite two-meter distance. “What brings you to Terra?”
“Business,” Jonah replied. “I’ll be continuing on to Geneva as soon as I’ve had a chance to rest here for a few hours. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to make advance arrangements for a place to stay. Perhaps you could recommend someplace—?”
“It would be my pleasure.” The port official turned, snapping her fingers at the same time and pointing to a hoverlimo driver. “A hotel? The Gospodin Manuel O’Kelly is the best in town, Paladin.”
“That will do admirably,” Jonah replied.
He allowed himself to be led to the exit, out under a sky washed clean of stars by the high-intensity lights. The wind smelled of dust and oil, heavy with water vapor—not at all like ship’s air, or like the heated and conditioned atmosphere of the port buildings. He stretched, breathed deeply, and entered the hoverlimo.
The hotel was a grand place, set back behind lawns, hedges, and statuary, with a row of flagpoles lining the drive to the main entrance. Jonah insisted on taking his bag himself, only surrendering it to the concierge inside.
“A room,” Jonah said to the deskman. “And”—he consulted his chronometer—“a wake-up call in six hours.”
Paladins do not lie long in bed, he thought, when The Republic is on fire.
Six hours later, dawn was tinging the eastern sky. Jonah availed himself of room service for breakfast, made an appointment at a twenty-four-hour tailor for clothing suitable for a visit to the Exarch, and turned on the tri-vid to the English language news channel. He’d need to wait until Geneva for the deep briefings, but some time spent watching the generally available news would allow him to catch up on the state of The Republic of the Sphere, as viewed by its oldest and most famous member world.
As soon as he had finished breakfast and the sun was well up, he paid his visit to the custom tailor, then returned to his hotel and used the room’s communications console to call for a messenger from the planet-girdling General Delivery service. Part express couriers and part confidential agents for hire, GenDel’s operatives were bonded and reliable, and an invaluable resource for all those people who needed to do business on Terra, but who didn’t wish—or couldn’t afford—to maintain permanent offices there. Jonah had availed himself of the firm’s services more than once, and had been satisfied with the results.
Half an hour later, a knock on the door heralded the arrival of a messenger in the red-and-blue GenDel uniform.
“I see from the tri-vid news that Paladin Crow is somewhere onplanet,” Jonah told the messenger. “Ezekiel Crow. Find him. Say to him that Paladin Jonah Levin sends his compliments, and wishes to speak with him at the earliest convenient time.”
“Will you be expecting a reply?” the messenger asked, seemingly unsurprised by the latitude of his instructions. GenDel employees prided themselves on handling much more difficult assignments—company legend told of a courier who had searched for ten years, including a stint with a company of mercenaries, in order to deliver a “Come home, all is forgiven” letter to the run-away eldest daughter of a Terran banking house.
“Yes,” Levin said. “Bring it to me in Geneva, at the Pension Flambard. Tell General Delivery to send its bill for your services there as well.”
“As the Paladin commands.”
“One more thing,” Jonah said. “How much is General Delivery paying you?”
“More than enough,” the messenger said. He regarded Jonah with an interested expression. “Although the term of my current contract with them is drawing to an end in the near future.”
“I’m currently expecting to be on Terra for an extended stay,” Jonah said. “If my past experiences here are any guide, I’ll need to hire someone during that period who can handle investigations and legwork for me without attracting unwanted attention.”
“Are you offering me the job?”
“Assuming that your performance in this current assignment is satisfactory,” said Jonah. “Then, yes. I can pay you at the GenDel rate plus expenses and performance bonuses, which should provide you with a financial cushion while you renegotiate your contract.”
“I’ll need to finish this job for GenDel first,” the man said. “But after that—I’ll get back to you, Paladin, and if you’re satisfied with my work, I’ll probably say yes.”
The man bowed respectfully and departed. We’ll see what comes of that, Jonah thought as the door of the hotel room swung closed behind him. At the very least, I may have secured myself a trustworthy legman pro tempore.
He returned to the tri-vid box and the broadcast news. The currently running stories had cycled back to the arrival on Terra of Paladin Ezekiel Crow. The latest information on that subject was that Crow was scheduled to address the Senate in private session tomorrow afternoon. Jonah considered using his prerogative to enter the Senate chamber and hear the presentation, but ultimately decided against it. The full text and video files of Crow’s speech would be made available to those with a Paladin’s level of data access as soon as the meeting was over, and Jonah could go through them in detail without making it obvious to all concerned that he was doing so.
By now the day had advanced well into midmorning, and the windows of the suite in the Gospodin Manuel O’Kelly were flooded with natural sunlight. Jonah Levin looked out over the city and across the rolling plains beyond. The view seemed peaceful enough, and the long row of flagpoles in front of the hotel flew the banners of the worlds that made up The Republic of the Sphere.
Jonah turned again to the communications console. He had many calls to make today before he caught the shuttle-hop to Geneva. But he could not help wondering, as he left the window and the view it gave him, how many of those banners would be missing in a year’s time.
14
Pension Flambard, 14 Rue Simon-Durand
Geneva, Terra
Prefecture X
March 3134; local winter
Jonah Levin didn’t like visiting the Terran capital of Geneva in wintertime, or even early spring. The cold weather made scar tissue ache over old wounds, and broken bones that time had mended and reknitted would remind him again of every long-ago insult.