The Emperor's face clotted with anger, and he started to rise to his feet. Then he stopped, took a deep breath, and sat down again, the anger barely under control. "You're right, Captain. I'm getting ahead of myself." He took another deep breath. "Fine, then. Let me explain.
"This... accident has put all of us in a world of hurt. And if you do believe that it was an accident, then tell me now, because I obviously have the wrong man for the job."
Sten shook his head. "No, sir. I don't think it was an accident."
"Good. Now let me fill you in on the background. And I'm sure I don't have to warn you that not one word I say is to be repeated.
"To begin with, Alain was here to see me."
Sten was surprised. The Eternal Emperor meeting with a terrorist? That was absolutely against Imperial policy. But then Sten remembered who set Imperial policy, and kept his mouth shut.
"He had a proposal—and I'm sure it was a serious one, or I wouldn't have hung myself out like this—to defuse our problems with the Tahn System. Simply put, he wanted to set up a buffer zone, his Fringe Worlds—under my aegis—between the Tahn and the Empire."
"But wouldn't that make him a traitor to his own people?"
The Eternal Emperor gave Sten a grim smile. "One man's traitor is another man's patriot. The way I see it is that it finally got through the thick heads of Alain and his people that they are the ones doing all the bleeding.
"Every time the Tahn act and we retaliate, they're the ones who get it in the neck. And they are also the ones who take all the blame and get nothing in return."
"And so he set up a secret meeting with you?" Sten said, filling in the gaps. "The Tahn found out and short-stopped him."
"Not quite that simple. Yes, he was going to meet with me. Eventually. But first off, there was to be an initial meeting with one of my best diplomatic operatives. A man named Craigwel."
"One of the unidentified bodies in the bar?" Sten guessed.
"Exactly. And he's going to stay unidentified. Officially, that is."
"Any other victims in the bar I should know about?"
There was a long hesitation. And then the emperor shook his head, firmly, no.
"Just worry about Craigwel and Alain. Now, it was supposed to work like this. After exchanging the usual password, Alain and Craigwel were supposed to request Booth C. It had already been reserved for them and secured.
"Alain was then going to lay out his plan, and if he convinced Craigwel of his sincerity, we would have gone to the next step. A personal meeting with me."
"But then the Tahn stepped in," Sten said.
"Maybe. But don't be too sure of that. There are about five sides too many in this thing, each one of them with a reason to prevent any negotiations.
"Perhaps it was the Tahn. Perhaps it was someone from our camp. And who knows—perhaps it was one of Alain's own people. Regardless. That's what I want you to find out."
"But why me, sir? it sounds like a job for a cop. And that I'm not. Clot, I wouldn't even know—"
"No, Captain. This is not a job for the police. It's much too delicate a situation. The police are investigating. And, officially, they will round up a few suspects and those people will be publicly punished."
He leaned closer to Sten to emphasize his next point. "And those people will be scapegoats. I don't even care how guilty they are. Just as long as we have somebody to feed the public lions. Because there is a good chance that what you find out will remain classified for the next hundred years."
He fixed Sten with a cold stare.
"Do I make myself absolutely clear, Captain?"
"Yes, sir." Sten came to his feet. "If that will be all, sir." He snapped a salute.
"Yes, Captain. That's all. For now."
Sten wheeled and was out the door.
CHAPTER NINE
"Drink up, Cheenas," Dynsman shouted. "It's all on me today." He pounded on the table for the bartender's attention and made motions for six more brimming schooners of narcobeer with synthalk backs. His companions hissed their approval. Dynsman watched in fascination as Usige, his best pal in the group, grabbed a liter jug, unhinged his jaws, and poured down the whole thing without a gasp or even breathing hard. "That's it Usige, old buddy. Drink 'em down and make room for another."
Of course, downing a liter of narcobeer at a gulp was not a great accomplishment for Usige or the others. Their scaled abdomens could swell to almost any proportions, and the only visible signs of inebriation the Psaurus ever displayed was to turn a slightly darker shade of purple.
"I tell you, cheenas, today begins a whole new life for yours truly. I hit it lucky for a change. And I'm gonna keep hittin' that way. I can feel it in my bones."
Usige's grin framed serrated rows of needle-sharp teeth. "I don't want to pry, Dynsman dearest," he hissed, "but you've been flashing a wad of credits around that would even choke one of us." He waved at his yellow-eyed companions. "Your obvious good fortune delights us all. But..."
"You wanna know if I can put you in on it," Dynsman broke in.
"That would be lovely, old fellow. Business, as you no doubt know, has been a touch slow."
"Sorry, pal. This was a one-time number. The kind we all dream of. I pick up the rest of my pay in a couple of hours, and then it's party time for the rest of my life."
Usige tried to hide his disappointment, not an easy task; the skin of a Psaurus glows when the creature is disturbed. Dynsman noticed the change and leaned over to pat his friend's claw.
"Don't clottin' worry. Dynsman never forgets his cheenas. Fact, I might make a business of it, now that I'm comin' into all these credits.
"What the clot, you boys come up with somethin' tasty, need a little financing, you can always hit me up. Low interest rates, and maybe a small cut of the action if the deal's really sweet."
Usige's color returned to normal. There was an idea that appealed to him. Rates for the criminal element in Prime World tended to be not only enormous but also more than painful if payment was delayed.
"That is certainly worth considering, friend. We can discuss it later. Now, meanwhile..." Usige rose to his full two-and-a-half-meter height and snaked out his foot-long orange tongue as a signal to the others to follow.
"Unlike you, we still have to pay the rent."
"Anything nice?"
"Not really. Just a little warehouse B&E."
Dynsman sighed his understanding and watched his friends slither out of the bar, their long tails scraping the floor after them. He checked the time: still a little more than two hours before his meeting. He had been hoping that Usige would keep him company, because he hated waiting alone. He was itching with impatience, and although he didn't realize it yet, a tiny warning bell was still tinkling at the back of his mind.
He ordered up another drink, dumped a credit coin in the newsvid, and began scanning the sports menu. He stifled a yawn as he picked through the sparse offerings. Not much happening so soon after Empire Day—especially if you wanted to get a bet down. Bored, he flipped over to the general news section. Dynsman had less than no interest in anything involving the straight workings of Prime World. But what the clot, maybe something juicy was going on in his profession. He scanned the menu, looking for anything involving crime.
He didn't have to scan far. The Covenanter bombing headline jumped out at him like a holovid. Clot! Clot! Clot! His target had been clotting political! Dynsman automatically gulped down his shot of synthalk and then almost equally as automatically found himself gagging on his own bile. He fought to keep it back.