“You just said I didn’t,” Lakphro said sourly.
Her face hardened. “Fine—be that way. Just keep it to yourself.” She took a deep breath, some of the stress lines in her face smoothing out. “Go wait in the lounge. I’ll come get you when Haplif’s ready to leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He trudged across the field toward the reception building, his heart thudding, his mind a strange combination of spinning and numb.
What the hell?
Was the brooch poison? Was it dangerous in some other way? Was it evidence of some horrific crime?
Or was it even worse? Was it something so insanely outrageous that he would never in a million years think of it? Could the brooch be a treasure map—or even better, half a treasure map—to some fortune in wealth or technology that had been lost in the millennia since the Ascendancy retreated to its worlds from its ill-advised ventures in Lesser Space? There were rumors of such pieces of alien technology, supposedly buried in secret tombs and research labs only the Patriarchs knew about. Even worse, could the metal strands somehow encode a detailed plan for an alien invasion?
He shook his head in disgust. Right. And with that, it was time to haul himself back from the edge of reality before he fell off.
But if the brooch was gone, the memory of Lakjiip’s intensity remained. Whether this was as important as she’d said, there was no denying that she at least believed it was.
It was a puzzle, but not one he was going to solve today. It would take some thought and some discussion, first with Lakansu, and after that perhaps with trusted friends.
Probably not with Lakris, though, he decided regretfully. His daughter was smart enough, but telling a midager a secret was always a tricky proposition, especially when it was one that would get them all in serious trouble if she slipped up. It was going to be awkward enough explaining to his wife how he’d lost her new jewelry; he didn’t need to set himself up for an equally unpleasant future conversation with Councilor Lakuviv.
Hopefully, he and Lakansu could solve it themselves. If they couldn’t, the critical question would be who they could turn to for advice.
Picking up his pace, wondering what refreshments the Councilor’s people had set out, he began making a mental list of people he trusted.
“So I was right,” Haplif said, nodding sagely as he and Lakuviv gazed up at the side of the Agbui freighter. “I saw this—all the way from over there—and I was right. Battle damage.”
“It is indeed,” Lakuviv confirmed. “A run-in with pirates, the captain said.”
Though from the way the captain had described the incident, Lakuviv had the sense it was less battle damage and more running-like-a-whisker-cub damage. The story had been related with a certain vagueness, but given that Lakuviv couldn’t see a single hull emplacement that looked like a laser, particle beam, or missile tube he wasn’t surprised the captain had chosen to grab for hyperspace at the first hint of trouble.
“Alas,” Haplif said ruefully. “We so often are plagued with such dreadful beings.”
“Yes, there are way too many of them out there,” Lakuviv said. “Have you ever considered arming your ships?”
“A futile effort,” Haplif said, shaking his head. “We are cultural nomads, not warriors. We have no knowledge of weapons or tactics or battle.”
“It still wouldn’t hurt to have a couple of big fat laser turrets visible,” Lakuviv persisted. “Even if you’re not very good at using them, they’d at least warn potential aggressors that you’re not completely helpless.”
“And then what of our voyages of knowledge and learning?” Haplif asked, a hint of sadness in his voice. “Tell me: Would you have permitted an armed vessel of unknown origin to make a temporary home among your people?”
Lakuviv felt his lip twitch. No, he probably wouldn’t, he had to admit. Even if he’d been willing to host them, the Patriel almost certainly wouldn’t have let them land.
And even if she had, she’d have wanted to keep them in Brickwalk, under heightened security, instead of sending them out to the more open Redhill province.
Which would have been disastrous. Lakuviv knew the Patriel, and was pretty sure she would have simply tossed Haplif’s brooch gift into a drawer somewhere instead of having it analyzed. If that had happened, the Xodlak family would never have recognized the incredible wealth and power the Agbui were sitting on.
“The price of wisdom can be high,” Haplif continued in a philosophical tone. “But we have made our choices, as all beings must.” He gestured at the scorched hull. “We can only hope their next journey will end more safely.”
“We can hope,” Lakuviv agreed. “Where are they going next?”
“Our mining world,” Haplif said. “Well, not our world, really. As far as we can tell, no one owns it. We call it ours because it’s where our mines are.”
Lakuviv felt his chest suddenly tighten. “These are the mines where you get the metals for your jewelry?”
“Yes,” Haplif said. “Ironically, we first sought out the world in the hope there would be a location or two with the right climate and soil for our spices. But that dream proved false.” He made a sort of dry chuckling sound. “Imagine our surprise and delight when we accidentally happened on these rich veins of metal, all but exposed on the surface, that would be perfect for jewelry. We knew then that we’d been guided to that world for a purpose.”
“It would certainly seem so,” Lakuviv said, trying to keep his voice even and only politely interested. “Tell me, do all your metals come from there?”
“Most of them,” Haplif said. “The mines are particularly rich in the blue spinpria, but there’s some of all the others in the same area.”
“Sounds very convenient,” Lakuviv said, hearing his heart rate pick up. Blue spinpria: the metal the Chiss called nyix.
A whole mine of it. A mine, moreover, that was rich enough that the Agbui could afford to make the stuff into trinkets.
A mine that was just sitting on an uninhabited and unclaimed world.
“But of course, the more important issue is the safety of your people,” he said. “I sympathize with them, and certainly the Chiss Ascendancy hates pirates.”
“I thank you for your compassion,” Haplif said. “But what can be done?”
“Well …” Lakuviv paused, as if he was working out a brand-new thought that had just occurred to him. “What if I sent along an escort with your freighter? Obviously, it couldn’t go everywhere with them, but at least it could get them safely to their next destination.”
Haplif turned to him, the dark red and white forehead folds going even more wrinkled. “You would do that for us?” he asked. “You would send one of your mighty Chiss warships to protect us?”
Lakuviv suppressed a scowl. A mighty warship. Once, as one of the Ruling Families, the Xodlak had indeed had its own small fleet of genuine warships.
But that fleet, and the right to fly it, had ended fifty years ago. Now all the Xodlak on Celwis had available were a handful of system patrol ships, little more than oversized gunboats, plus the two decommissioned light cruisers with skeleton crews that acted as planetary defense platforms.
None of which Haplif could possibly know, of course. He and his people would have been escorted to the surface past the watchful lasers of one of the cruisers, and the alien would naturally jump to the conclusion that they were fully functioning warships. He’d no doubt have been even more impressed if he’d gotten a glimpse of the abandoned frigate resting beneath the protection of a cliff wall on Celwis’s largest moon, a half-forgotten relic of the old days of glory.