Ruth glanced up at Mercer. "There's more, but here's the tag." She skipped to the end of the file.
They find a lot to worry about in Government House, but in the Fleet there's only one topic of conversation. Will the new Viceroy close down Derry?
"Humpf," Mercer said.
"Sir?" Ruth asked.
"She can't mean that. No columnist could be dumb enough to think my first act would be to close the one thing that makes blockade duty tolerable."
"Not much work for you here," Mercer said. "No Outies anywhere, and I can't see how the Secret Service could learn more about the Mote. Maybe you'll find a plot on New Ireland."
"It may not be that funny. There aren't many active anymore, but the Rebel Alliance still exists, you know."
"They threw a bomb at Governor Smelev. But that was years ago. I think the worst we have to worry about on New would be getting too far behind on our shots."
The intercom saved Ruth from having to answer. "They finally called," said Renner's voice. "All personnel, strap in. Ruth, come forward. You don't know how to steal a spacecraft until you can land it."
The inauguration ceremonies had begun at noon and lasted six hours. The celebrities had gone their own ways. Now trucks were moving between the barricades that lined Skid Street. The sun was still well up.
Kevin and Ruth strolled along the main drag. Here was the Falling Ship, a hotel made up of two-story buildings laid in squares, flowerbeds between, aerial ramps linking the roofs. Kevin wondered what they were charging for rooms with a view of Skid Street. A taller hotel could have made considerably better profits on a day like this...but nothing stood tall on New Ireland, not even the Palace.
The trucks were opening like flowers. Ruth and Kevin stopped to watch one unfold. In minutes it had become a bakery, and merrymakers were swarming to buy fresh bread. Kevin bought a loaf, tore off two pieces, and handed one to Ruth.
They ate. "All right. You don't get this on shipboard," Ruth said. "Let's find some fruit."
"Crudités'?" Renner dropped what remained of the loaf and guided her to a vegetable stand. The trucks had all looked alike; now all the suddenly blooming stands were different, and the trucks within had vanished. They munched carrots and a head sized radish as they walked.
"I smell meat," Kevin said. "That way."
"It's not all sex here," Ruth said.
The sudden market already swarmed with women, young and middle-aged, varying between comely and beautiful, but generally good-looking. Men in Navy uniforms stopped to talk and found ready companionship. "I never did get shore leave on New Ireland," Kevin said. "We all knew it was what we wanted. Family cooking, fresh food, and wholesome sex. Hard to say which a Navy man wants more, after a year eating bioplast and yeast steaks. And marijuana. Even a little borloi. They told me you can get drunk, too, but you have to go looking for liquor, and it isn't in the rituals, if you follow me. No bars."
"And you're finally in Derry, but there's a woman hanging on your arm,"
"I'll tough it out somehow. And there's dinner. What the blazes is it? Or was it?"
A carcass roughly the size of an ox was roasting over a fire. Right here in the street? Yes, but the fire was sitting on ribbed metal, the fold-down side of another truck. New Irish kept things neat. The burly proprietor cut them two slices and sealed them in plastic. They walked on.
"Speaking of sex," Kevin said, "what did you think of Trujillo?"
"I guess that look never goes out of style."
"No makeup. You probably thought she was careless. Look like a mouse, but wear a thin dress and no underwear. It turns men on. Worked on you, didn't it?"
"Point taken."
Ruth sighed. "It only works when you're young. Maybe I will take Bury up on his offer. Look, jugglers."
"Did you like her?"
"Trujillo? I'm not supposed to like her. She's no friend to the Navy. But the real answer is I didn't get much chance to talk to her."
"You will,"
"Kevin?"
"Weeks ago she requested passage to the Crazy Eddie Squadron. We all decided she could ride aboard Sinbad."
"Oh."
"Bury's idea. He wants to convert her into a Motie hater." Renner chuckled. "Fresh blood for His Excellency. Mercer heard Horace's spiel so often he was ready to scream if anyone mentioned the Moties. He already sent a letter of invitation."
"Hmm. And you won't say whether she turns you on. I think I'd better do some shopping. Or should I bother?"
"Meaning?"
"Meaning we both know this doesn't last forever. Getting tired of me?"
"Not yet. Want out?"
"Not yet." She nodded thoughtfully, then smiled. "We'll leave it that way, then."
Renner took out his pocket computer. "According to Ms. Trujillo's article, the Brick Moon serves artichokes eighteen different ways. Room service in the hotel next door. Interested?"
"Mmm. Dammit, you've got me thinking like you."
"How so?"
"I want to see how the clerk acts when he sees you walk in with off-planet competition."
2 The High Commission
The art of putting the right man in the right places is first in the science of government; but that of finding places for the discontented is the most difficult.
Talleyrand
NEW SCOTLAND: Third planet of the New Caledonia system. Originally lifeless with extensive atmosphere of methane and water vapor, New Scotland was terraformed by massive infusions of genetically engineered microbes.
The original colonists lived under domes...
New Scotland's major city was dominated by the Viceregal Palace. It stood in the center of a series of concentric rings; much like medieval cities on Earth, New Scotland's growth was controlled by the city's defense technologies.
Renner sent the small landing craft in a wide circle to dissipate its speed. "There are some changes." He pointed to smaller built up complexes out beyond the final ring. "All that's new since I was here. They must think the war's finally over, to build outside the Field protection."
"The Moties have done that much good," Ruth Cohen said. "They've got New Scotland and New Ireland thinking ‘us' about each other. Except at football games."
"They do get a bit rough, don't they? Better than throwing bombs at each other... well, some better anyway." But Moties wouldn't build like that, he thought. Wouldn't build what they couldn't defend.
The flier completed its circuit of the city. Renner brought it to the landing area outside the black granite complex of Government House. Bored Marine guards noted Ruth Cohen's Navy uniform and Renner's expensive business clothes, perfunctorily took their identity cards and inserted them into computer readers, glanced at the screen, and waved them through into the courtyard. They got inside through an unlocked French door leading into a maze of corridors. Renner tried to lead the way to the Commission meeting rooms, but soon became lost. Finally he stopped looking. "Ah. Here's a guard."
They were directed to a different part of the building. Ruth Cohen giggled.
"The last time I was here it was for a meeting in the Council Chamber," Kevin said. "The big hail with a dome. Anybody could find that. How was I to know they'd put the Commission off here in the Annex?"
In contrast to the Grand Council Chamber, the Commission's meeting room was strictly functional. There was no throne. The Viceroy's place was merely an armchair at the center of the big table. The council table was massive. It might have been wood, but Kevin didn't think so. Chairs for advisers stood behind the table. In front there were seats for an audience of fifty or so. Large view screens, now blank, dominated both side walls.
They had barely got into the room when a tall, balding man dressed in dark, conservative business clothes thrust forward and held out his hand. "Kevin. By God, you look good." He paused to look at Renner. "Colorful, too."