Wilm Bardry, one of the younger men present, spoke up unbidden at this.
“What about the ‘recognition-code’—as you call it, Colonel? Don’t you know what it is?”
Pertinax flushed even darker.
Hallen quirked an eyebrow, inquiringly. “What is it, Wilm?”
Bardry shrugged, and laughed. “Nothing! Just the ordinary Rilké politeness-formula, as used between two strangers of different Clans.”
(General laughter.)
Dykon Mather, unhappily present, thought things were getting out of hand. He spoke up, sharply:
“But this Sharl of the Yellow Eyes is generally known to be an agent of the ex-Kahani of Valadon! There’s no doubt about that. And it is also fact that Pertinax’s pinhead transceiver went off as soon as Linton entered the tent with the Rilké.”
Bardry shrugged, and exchanged glances with the other members who lounged casually about in the huge, curved chairs, smoking or doodling on pads.
“Well, I don’t know, Mather—half the natives on Omphale are acting for this or that Prince, Kahan or Chief. Financial agents, investment brokers, procurers, spies, assassins, Temple delegates, heralds, oracle-consulters, machinery purchasing agents, shipping—”
“Does that mean you condone—”
Mather fumed, breaking off as Administrator Hallen rapped the table loudly with the bowl of his aquapipe.
“All right, boys, calm down. Let’s hear the rest of what Colonel Pertinax has to report, before we get in a boil. Out with it, Pertinax.”
Clasping his hands behind his back, and wringing them furiously, the Colonel twisted his wry mouth in a sour smirk.
“I didn’t come here to report opinions and interpretations—but facts. It’s a fact that Linton has an unsavory and untrustworthy Navy reputation—”
“The Order of Arion Imperator (second class), the Gold Star of Valiance (with cluster), the Silver Comet for Extraordinary Heroism in Battle, three campaign Citations —” Wilm Bardry muttered, sotto voce, ticking them off on his fingers one by one.
Pertinax raised his voice.
“It’s also a fact that since returning to the Hercules Stars, he’s been reported in very questionable and seditious company on several occasions—” he continued.
“—Such as Border Administrator Dykon Mather’s—” Wilm added, chuckling.
“He has been officially questioned and cautioned, for his own good—”
“For which uninvited and uncalled-for snooping into his private business, he got very properly mad, lost his head, and gave some unflattering opinions air!” Bardry finished.
Pertinax seethed. “Administrator, if I am to be constantly interrupted and made mock of—”
“All right, all right, stop it, Wilm. Now, Pertinax, is that the sum and whole of it?” Hallen demanded.
“In skeletal outline, yes, sir. Poor Naval record, consorting with seditious and dubious natives, insulting to official inquiry, ignoring warnings issued by a government official, and deliberate and brutal maltreatment of an official police investigator in the course of his duties—”
Wilm Bardry broke in:
“I haven’t heard about that one—who was the unlucky Monitor who got maltreated?”
Hallen snorted into his pipe, and choked down a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. He waved a heavy hand toward Pertinax.
“Linton’s servant caught the Colonel, here, snooping and sniffing about outside the tent and grabbed him; Pertinax pulled out a knife, so the Barnassian promptly cut him up with a riding-whip.”
Wilm began laughing and couldn’t stop, even when Brice Hallen harrumphed and glared.
Pertinax enchanged a gimlet glance with red-faced Dykon Mather, who bubbled impotently, writhing in his chair.
“I—” Pertinax raised his voice above Bardry’s hilarity. “I am convinced ex-Commander Linton is up to some little game or other. And under the proviso of the Sedition-Prevention Clause in Common Law 114, sub-section D, the government has the right to seize his person and hold him for further question on a warrant issued by the Provincial Administrator, acting for the Viceroy. I demand such a warrant be issued!”
Brice Hallen’s glare was freezing.
“You demand—!”
Mather bobbed up. “I second—”
“Shut up. Sit down. You too, Pertinax,” Hallen snapped icily. Then he settled back into his chair and chewed thoughtfully on his pipe for a few moments, during which no one dared speak or even move.
“Who knows this Linton? Anybody?”
“He’s all right. Good family, good background. A bit of an idealist, I guess.”
Wilm Bardry shragged. “Most of us went through that phase. Suddenly discovering the Galaxy is not all pretty pink and white, as it’s painted in school. Finding out that politics is a dirty game, or war is not always run by gentlemen. Lots of my best men came out of the same phase—I did, myself.”
“Just a minute,” Pertinax snapped savagely. “I’ve been wondering who this—young person—is. I don’t recognize him as a Staff member, and wondered what right he had to be here.”
Wilm Bardry grinned, as Administrator Hallen introduced liim casually, with the effect of suddenly producing a time-bomb into the company.
“Let me introduce Senior Inquiry Specialist Wilmon L. Bardry, Chief of the Imperial Investigation Section, here on leave from Meridian to help us out with the Border troubles. Wilm holds eleven Personal Commendations from His Magnificence, and the rank of Captain-General in the Imperial Police Corps. He’s the ace troubleshooter that broke up the computer mutiny on Hardain III two years ago, and also busted up the revolt on Gamma Syron out in the Arch. He’s a good man, with plenty of Border experience. Wilm, you’ll help us out with this Linton problem, won’t you?”
“I sure will,” Bardry said, soberly.
“Then I think that’s all for now, Colonel Pertinax. And thank you,” Brice Hallen said calmly.
“But what about the warrant? The arrest?”
“Not enough factual evidence to make it worthwhile. Nothing but hearsay and interpretation. Thank you—my secretary will show you out. You too, Mather. Out.”
The two left silently, and the Administrator relaxed with a great sigh.
“Relief to have that over. I hate that sneaking spy—what do they call him? ‘Snake.’ Very apt. Hey, Toller, get out a few bottles, will you? All that Mather/Pertinax stuff leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Ah … that’s better. Help yourself, boys. Go ahead, Wilm.”
The Emperor’s ace investigator accepted a hissing glass of chark and a pitcher of water gratefully.
“Fill me in, Brice. What’s the problem about this Kahani of Valadon?”
“Simple enough. She’s a native Princess with a first-class head on her shoulders. Smart. Hard. Intelligent. Well educated in Imperial schools. It was a love-match between herself and the late Kahan of Valadon. Valadon, you know, is a very crucial planet on the Border. It’s on our side of Thunderhawk Nebula, and the Arthon of Pelaire lies across the Nebula, among the Outworlds.”
“I’m following you. Continue.”
“Right. Now. The Arthon is a great fat pig. He ascended to the Dais of Pelaire by poisoning his half-brother. He’s exhausted half the planetary treasury on his collection of gladiators—he loves to watch blood being spilled, just so long as it belongs in somebody else’s veins. Now he’s pretty shaky on the Dais, with lots of minor nobles raising a stink over his habits and pleasures. To get the aristocracy solidly behind him, he’s contemplating war—a major raid over into Imperial territory. I understand he’s promised his troops the loot of Omphale, itself.”