He was quite right. It was Silver-eyes, who was, as usual, tormenting the Leewit. The little vatch gave up the moment the captain arrived and buzzed affectionately around him. Hello, Big Dream Thing. Ooh, did you ever give that big bully a hiding! Can I bring some more big ones? They're scared of you.
The thought was enough to make the captain shudder. Some vatches, like Silver-eyes itself, couldn't be handled. The next big one might be the same—only much more powerful. Not right now. I don't want to frighten them all off.
That seemed to amuse the little vatch. Guess so. That last big one is making a lot of noise about it. The others are mostly laughing, though.
There are a lot of others? Pausert felt weak at the thought.
Oh, sure. Little ones like me, lots and lots. Not so many big ones. But I'll be a big one too, some day. You wait and see! I'm already a little bigger now from eating that dream-candy.
Having seen the Nanites from a vatch perspective, the captain thought that he knew what Silver-eyes was talking about. Lots of it? Inside dream-people?
Yep. But they're dream-not-people. They're not there. Just the candy is. It sorts of thinks together to be a pretend-dream-people.
The vatch, obviously getting bored with all this conversation, went back to tormenting the Leewit. In the interests of peace, tranquility, and the noise levels in deep space, the captain had to tickle the vatch with klatha hooks to get it to go away.
* * *
When they entered the area around the capital planet, Pausert discovered that the new drive fitted on Porlumma had one other serious advantage: The signature of this engine was quite unlike the one that the ISS was hunting for. They passed unmolested through the cordon and went peacefully onward towards the great spaceport at the Empire's heart.
"What's the program, Hantis?" the captain asked, as they drifted in to land along with the thousands and thousands of other ships that were here for the Empire's biggest annual event.
The Sprite made a face. "The witches have cooperated for some time with Hailie. But the Empress is in quite a precarious position, as you know. Something like open contact with the witches of Karres could be the final straw to give her enemies the leverage to insist that she step down. Her stepson would jump at the opportunity. So the contacts are very secret. We have a rendezvous point at the Nenbutal Grill—it's an eatery on the portside of town. I give a certain password, and things will be taken from there."
"Hmm." The captain rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I think we'd better all go along with you."
"An escort will be welcome. We can pretend to be a mere party of diners."
So, once the ship had docked and port formalities and customs had been dealt with, the entire crew of the Venture with her special passengers took a cab into the town, heading for the Nenbutal Grill. Pausert was relieved to think that his responsibilities were almost over. It had been a tougher mission than he'd anticipated when he'd cheerfully taken it on, back on Emris. But it was finally nearing completion.
However, when they stepped out of the cab into the cold evening air, Pul took a deep sniff of the warm steamy aromas coming out of the half-timbered restaurant and suddenly evinced a desire to visit a lamp-post further up the street. Hantis followed him, holding his leash.
Hantis came back a few moments later, trailing the stocky yellow grik-dog. "My dear Captain," she said, coolly, "I'm really not feeling at all well, and the smell of that Nenbutal food has quite put me off. I don't believe I'll dine after all. Will you call me another cab to take me back to my hotel?"
Captain Pausert fumbled for words. "Ah. Certainly ma'am. I think we'll accompany you. To tell the truth, I'm not all that fond of Nenbutal food myself." And he hailed a passing cab.
Back at the huge spaceport, the captain waited until he was sure they were quite alone. "What was wrong?"
"Pul smelled Nanites," said Hantis, worriedly. "I think that the rendezvous must have been discovered."
"Pretty sure, ma'am," said Vezzarn. "Something else smelled about that restaurant, too, and I don't mean the food or these Nanites. I looked in through the window, and those diners just didn't look right. You know why? No wine. You ever been to a Nenbutal place where they haven't served more wine than food?"
"I wonder what effect alcohol, or other drugs, would have on Nanite-controlled people?" said the captain. "I guess it might make those bodies harder to handle."
"Probably," Hantis agreed. "But what do I do now?"
A plump woman with gray hair and a rather frumpish uniform approached them. "Pardon me, sirs and ladies, but your coach has arrived."
The captain was about to point out that they'd not ordered a coach, when the woman continued. "You are the party I am waiting for from Nikkeldepain, I'd venture to guess, sir?"
The captain realized suddenly that it was Hulik do Eldel. Hulik made up as an older woman, and padded out to change her shape.
"Uh. That's us."
"If you would follow me, sir?"
* * *
Ten minutes later, after a series of maneuvers designed to shake off any pursuit, they were sitting in the Thunderbird, with the Daal of Uldune. Or, rather, with two of the six Sedmons.
"Your ship is under surveillance. A large party of ISS operatives went out there shortly after you left. We've been monitoring all incoming ships of the right size-class, as we were pretty sure the vessel's appearance would be subtly altered."
"It took us a little time to get there—and we nearly ran into the ISS ourselves," continued the other. "They were probably mounting the same kind of operation."
"And the restaurant we were supposed to use as a rendezvous is full of Nanites," said Pausert. "I think there was a severe security leak. But the real question is: what do we do now? We've got no way of contacting the Empress."
One of the Sedmons coughed. "We have an official invitation to the Carnival ball. As usual, as part of the entertainment there is to be a cultural display from various planets in the Empire, organized by the Ministry for Arts and Cultures. Folk dances, traditional singing, apparently a display of fire-eating and stilt-fighting."
Goth was the first to catch on. "Is the Petey B in port?"
The Sedmons nodded in unison. "We have certain . . . associates in town. We believe a substitution could be arranged. The Ministry for Arts and Cultures is not terribly well organized."
"In the meanwhile, the ISS is searching for you," said Hulik. "We've arranged that you will disappear. We have a comfortably appointed warehouse on the northern edge of the port. Himbo Petey will be brought to see you. You may leave the arrangements to us."
"Better send Dame Ethulassia too," said Goth, thoughtfully. "We'll need to raid her wardrobe."
CHAPTER 36
So that was how the captain found himself sweating in the uniform of a Slalonican peasant festival dancer. The puffy sleeves would have been ideal to hide a Mark 20 in, but naturally they'd all been thoroughly scanned for weaponry before being allowed into the Imperial complex. Even here they were totally isolated from the actual guests and nobility of the Empire, and of course, the Imperial House themselves. The dances and displays took place on a stage, with an unobtrusive moat separating the mere entertainers from the jeweled and masked butterflies of the Imperial court. That moat, the Sedmons had explained, was actually a kill-zone. It had everything from spikes to detectors connected to sonic fibrilators, to several Imperial household bodyguards with heavy weapons, all to forestall a would-be folk dancer assassin. They were locked into their section—and the only official way out was through a long passage that led to gates outside the main compound. Emperor Koloth was taking no chances that the traditional Winter Carnival would lead to his death, the way it had to the death of his uncle, the Emperor Tarabian. There was, however, a door, which no one was supposed to know about. The Emperor Justino had had a secret way made to the dressing rooms, so that he could visit his mistress, who had been a tsling-dancer from Ambar's World.