“I don’t—”
Dzheenis held up a finger and interrupted, in a tone that might have been used for instructing third-graders: “First, if you discharge a weapon none of you will survive. Second,” another finger, “if one of us is injured, this building will be destroyed.” Third finger: “Third, if one of us is killed, the site of this city will glow red-hot for some considerable period of time. I hardly see how I could speak more clearly, but I will repeat it again if necessary.”
“It’s a felony to interfere with a Federal law enforcement officer in the performance of her duties!”
“Laura Cade, you are not an officer of any kind here. You are only a dangerous nuisance,” Dzheenis told her, still in the voice used to rebuke a child for mild misbehavior.
Cade was taken slightly aback for the first time in the interchange. Peters had noted, with approval, that the lead gunman had moved his finger away from the trigger of his weapon; he was clutching it so tightly his thumbnail was noticeably pale, but he wasn’t likely to kill someone by reflex. The ex-sailor, sometime diplomat, took half a step forward, palms up and out, and said as levelly as he could manage: “I reckon we ought to try to calm this situation a little before somebody gets hurt.”
The officer turned and snapped, “The way to calm this situation is for you to stop resisting arrest!”
Peters lifted his eyebrows. “Ms. Cade, if you’re stupid enough to think you’ve got the upper hand here I reckon your boss’d thank us for shootin’ you and gettin’ you off the promotion list. The way to cut the fuse on this here bomb is for you to tell your folks to ground arms and stand easy, and I’ll do the same.” He gestured at the bür. “These folks got a ship in orbit that’s armed to the teeth and couldn’t set down in the park yonder, and I recommend that you think real hard about sendin’ a squad or two of cops up against folks who think the difference between a gunshot wound and a ten-kilometer crater is that the flash and smoke’s more fun to watch.”
One of the helmeted men had flipped up his face shield and grasped Cade’s upper arm; he was speaking quietly but urgently into her ear. “Very well,” she said truculently, expression unrepentant. “Troops, ground arms but stay on your toes. This isn’t over yet.” The last phrase was directed at Peters.
“No, it ain’t. Now give me a minute. I’ll get back to you,” he said with a nod as the Federals began easing their stances, and turned to face the bür he thought was the officer. “Pleasant greetings. May I know who you are?”
The Trade phrase was a polite request for name and precedence; the bür brought his right hand up, palm forward, and touched his chin with his forefinger. “My name is Velix Teeda,” he said, accompanying that with a nod. “I am lusi of dekre two and eight, formation six, parade one and eight of Therzin Vee, ship six, eight, and three squares of the Host of All Bür,” he said, the full formal self-introduction. A “dekre”, or “eight-person”, comprised eighty troops—sixteen “hands” of five men—plus officers and noncoms, totalling ninety-five; its CO, or “lusi”, would thus be about lieutenant equivalent, Marine style.
“My name is John Peters. I am depa’olze of the Peters pa’ol, trade ship Llapaaloapalla,” he said with equal formality. “Thank you for your prompt arrival, lusi Velix. May I direct you?”
“I was ordered to obey your directives unless they were clearly demented, ze Peters.”
“Good. Please direct your people to assume nonthreatening postures but remain alert.”
Lusi Velix nodded shortly and barked two short phrases, and the bür soldiers shifted to positions similar to parade rest, weapons at port, cloaks draped over shoulders and upper arms. The movement caused a stir among the Federal officers, but nobody got too excited, and the tension in the room ratcheted down noticeably.
“Will your smallship accommodate my family? Five persons,” Peters asked.
“No, it is fully occupied. A passenger carrier of sufficient size can be here in a few antle.” The lusi tapped an object on his belt, and Peters was startled to note a perfectly ordinary phone, the sort available over the counter with prepaid time included. He’d never had one—they were too expensive, and he hadn’t had anyone to call anyway—and he had never even thought about them. Velix Teeda took his silence as assent, punched a speed-dial combination, and spoke urgently. “Two and eight antle, no more,” he said with a smile, and clipped the gadget back on his belt. “Useful item, that,” he noted with evident satisfaction.
Five minutes. “All right. Ander, Alper, go and get your airsuits and anything else you can grab quickly. Khurs, I’m glad to see you wearing your suit, but I don’t think they’ll let you go back for anything else. Dzheenis, you and Lisi go with the others. Let Prethuvenigis know what’s going on.”
“Depa’olze,” Dzheenis said with a half-bow, and Ander and Alper headed for the bedroom.
“What’s going on?” Cade demanded. “These people are in protective custody. They can’t just leave.”
“Miz Cade, there comes a time when self-confident optimism turns into flat reckless stupidity, and in my opinion you done gone a good ways beyond that point.” The woman jerked her head back, face twisted into a scowl, and Peters continued, “I ain’t turnin’ my family over to your tender mercies if I can help it, and in this case I can. You don’t like it, well, you just declared war on more stars than you can see and all the people who live there, and we’re waitin’ for you to open the festivities. I guarantee that you, personally, will not survive.”
The Federal officer didn’t reply, just stood rigid, eyes hot, face a rictus of mixed hatred and rage. Her adviser’s face was the color of skim milk; he murmured urgently into her ear, to no apparent effect.
“Should I be destroying records?” Khurs asked practically.
“We don’t have time—no, wait.” Peters smiled and looked up. “Lusi Velix, it appears there will be no shooting for the moment. Would a little casual destruction assuage your people’s regret somewhat?”
“It’s always disappointing to go to a party and not dance,” the officer replied gravely.
“I thought you might feel that way. Very well. When my family have finished removing their possessions, search the place. Remove or destroy, at your option, every scrap of writing or other records, including those two objects and their appurtenances.” He indicated the computers. “You should take those, you’ll find them interesting. Also, remove or destroy any and all items of off-world origin, and smash the furniture and fittings in general. Try not to start a fire; the structure is old and highly flammable, and there are many persons not involved in this dispute within it.”
“By your clear direction, ze Peters,” Velix Teeda said, and began barking orders in his own language.
“What’s going on?” Cade demanded as three of the bür soldiers stacked their weapons and began bundling up the computers. “That material’s under a Federal seizure order. You can’t remove it.”
“A cretin to the end.” Peters sighed and made an irritated gesture like swatting a fly. “Miz Cade,” he said with exaggerated patience, “this here’s an embassy, and I’m a diplomat. My embassy has been invaded by hostile forces, and I’m in the process of destroyin’ vital records and evacuatin’ personnel, and I’m gettin’ just a little bit tired of you and your bullshit. You.” He caught the eye of the man who’d been advising. “You seem to have a little sense. There’s thirty-five more of these guys,” a thumb-gesture at the bür, “in the troop carrier outside, and if they go by their normal organization there’s three more troop carriers waitin’, and they’d like nothin’ better than to turn the lot of you into strawberry jam and spread you over the buildin’ behind me. Either get this bitch out of here or shut her up before I get mad enough to tell ‘em to go ahead.”