“I would like to interview the Lady McCormac,” he said.
Snelund jerked upright where he sat.
“My information is that she was arrested together with her husband and has been detained in Your Excellency’s personal custody,” Flandry said with a fatuous smile. “I’m sure she has a good many valuable data. And I’ve speculated about using her as a go-between. A negotiated settlement with her husband—”
“No negotiation with a traitor!” Snelund’s fist smote a chair arm.
How dramatic, Flandry thought. Aloud: “Pardon me, sir. I didn’t mean he should get off scot free, simply that — Well, anyhow, I was surprised to discover no one has questioned the Lady McCormac.”
Snelund said indignantly, “I know what you’ve heard. They gossip around here like a gaggle of dirty-minded old women. I’ve explained the facts to Admiral Pickens’ chief Intelligence officer, and I’ll explain them again to you. She appears to have an unstable personality, worse even than her husband’s. Their arrest threw her into a completely hysterical condition. Or ‘psychotic’ might not be too strong a word. As a humane gesture, I put her in a private room rather than a cell. There was less evidence against her than him. She’s quartered in my residential wing because that’s the sole place where I can guarantee her freedom from bumbling interruptions. My agents were preparing to quiz McCormac in depth when his fellow criminals freed him. His wife heard, and promptly attempted suicide. My medical staff has had to keep her under heavy sedation ever since.”
Flandry had been told otherwise, though no one dared give him more than hearsay. “I beg the governor’s pardon,” he said. “The admiral’s staff suggested perhaps I, with a direct assignment, might be allowed where they aren’t.”
“Their men have met her twice, Commander. In neither case was she able to testify.”
No, it isn’t hard to give a prisoner a shot or a touch of brainshock, when you have an hour or two advance notice. “I see, Your Excellency. And she hasn’t improved?”
“She’s worsened. On medical advice, I’ve banned further visits. What could the poor woman relate, anyway?”
“Probably nothing. Your Excellency. However, you’ll appreciate, sir, I’m supposed to make a full report. And as my ship will soon be leaving with the fleet,” unless I produce my authority to detach her, “this may be my lone chance. Couldn’t I have a few minutes, to satisfy them on Terra?”
Snelund bristled. “Do you doubt my word, Commander?”
“Oh, no, Your Excellency! Never! This is strictly pro forma. To save my, uh, reputation, sir, because they’ll ask why I didn’t check this detail also. I could go there straight from here, sir, and your medics could be on hand to keep me from doing any harm.”
Snelund shook his head. “I happen to know you would. I forbid it.”
Flandry gave him a reproachful stare. Snelund tugged his chin. “Of course, I sympathize with your position,” he said, trading a scowl for a slight smile. “Terra is so far away that our reality can only come through as words, photographs, charts. Um-m-m … Give me a number where you can be contacted on short notice. I’ll have my chief doctor inform you when you can go to her. Some days she’s more nearly sane than others, though at best she’s incoherent. Will that do?”
“Your Excellency is most kind,” Flandry beamed.
“I don’t promise she’ll be available before you depart,” Snelund cautioned. “Small time remains. If not, you can doubtless see her on your return. Though that will hardly be worth the trouble, will it, after McCormac has been put down?”
“Pro forma, Your Excellency,” Flandry repeated.
The governor recorded a memorandum, including a phone exchange which would buck a message on to Asieneuve, and Flandry took his leave with expressions of mutual esteem.
He got a cab outside the palace and made sure he was heard directing it to the shuttleport. It was no secret that he’d been on the ground these past several days; his job required that. But the fainéant impression he wanted to give would be reinforced if he took the first excuse to return to his vessel. Ascetical though his cabin there might be, it was a considerable improvement on the flea circus dormitory which was the best planetside quarters a late arrival like him had been able to obtain. Catawrayannis was overflowing at the hatches with spacemen and marines, as ship after ship made rendezvous.
“Why here?” he had asked Captain Leclerc, the member of Admiral Pickens’ staff to whom he actually reported. “Ifri is HQ.”
Leclerc shrugged. “The governor wants it this way.”
“But he can’t—”
“He can, Flandry. I know, the Naval and civilian provincial commands are supposed to be coordinate. But the governor is the Emperor’s direct representative. As such, he can invoke Imperial authority when he wants. It may get him into the kettle on Terra afterward, but that s afterward. On the spot, the Navy had better heed him.”
“Why the order, though? Ifri has the main facilities. It’s our natural center and starting point.”
“Well, yes, but Llynathawr doesn’t have Ifri’s defenses. By our presence, we guard against any revengeful raids McCormac may plan. It makes a degree of sense, even. Knocking out the sector capital — or preferably occupying it — would put him a long way toward control of the entire region. Once we get started, he’ll be too busy with us to think about that, although naturally we will leave some protection.” Leclerc added cynically: “While they wait, our men on liberty will enjoy a good, expensive last fling. Snelund’s careful to stay popular in Catawrayannis.”
“Do you really think we should charge out for an immediate full-dress battle?”
“Governor’s directive again, I hear. It certainly doesn’t fit Admiral Pickens’ temperament. Left alone, I’m convinced he’d see what could be done first by dickering and small-scale shooting … rather than maybe end up bombarding Imperial worlds into radioactive rubbish. But the word is, we’ve got to blast the infection before it spreads.” Leclerc grimaced. “You’re an insidious one. I’ve no business talking like this. Let’s take up your business!”
When he stopped out at the terminal, Flandry received the not unexpected information that he must wait a couple of hours for a seat on a ferry to Satellite Eight, where he could summon his gig. He phoned the dormitory and had his luggage shunted to him. Since this consisted merely of one handbag, already packed, he didn’t bother to check it, but carried it along into a refresher booth. From there he emerged in drab civvies, with a hooded cloak and slouching gait and bag turned inside out to show a different color. He had no real reason to think he had been followed, but he believed in buying insurance when it was cheap. He took a cab to an unpretentious hotel, thence another into Lowtown. The last few blocks he walked.
Rovian had found a rooming house whose clientele were mostly nonhumans: unchoosy ones. He shared his kennel with a betentacled hulk from an unpronounceable planet. The hulk reeked of exuded hydrogen sulfide but was personally decent enough; among other sterling qualities, it did not know the Eriau language. It rippled on its bunk when Flandry entered, mushed an Anglic greeting, and returned to contemplation of whatever it contemplated.
Rovian stretched all six limbs and yawned alarmingly. “At last!” he said. “I thought I would rot.”
Flandry sat down on the floor, which carried no chairs, and lit a cigaret more against the stench than because he wanted one. “How goes the ship?” he asked in the principal Merseian tongue.
“Satisfactorily,” Rovian answered likewise. “Some were curious at the exec absenting himself before the captain returned. But I passed it off as needful to our supplying and left Valencia in charge. Nothing can really happen while we idle in orbit, so no great comment followed.”