"D' y' pass, lad?"
"No. I go."
"Ah dinnae think thae's wise. Cannae y' d'velop a case ae clap, or aught?"
Sten just shook his head-both of them knew better. This was part of being an ambassador-even one that was not held in the highest regard by the current government he represented Imperial interests to. Sten would have to appear and lend authenticity to whatever Iskra's scheme was.
"I' y' go," Alex announced with finality, "y dinnae do i' wearin't nae but y'r new spring frock, flowers i' y'r hair, an' ae doofus smile. An' noo Ah'm speakin't ae y'r security adviser. I' y' hae t' play that clot's games, y' dinnae hae t' play by his rules."
Sten grinned. What Alex was evidently proposing was a fairly severe violation of protocol-for an honored diplomat to consider going armed, with backup, to a celebration of the host government.
But considering how events in the Altaic Cluster had been, and the honorable, upright beings Sten had encountered, he thought it very reasonable to consider double-armoring his own privy.
Kilgour's large, horned fist slammed down on the metal bench. Being intended for use as an engine stand for gravlighters' McLean generators, the bench's legs bulged but did not give way.
"If Ah c'n hae y' attention," he bellowed, and the murmur of conversation died away. Kilgour stood in front of an assemblage of Gurkhas and Bhor, in one of the embassy's garages.
"Ah wan' y'r eyeballs hooked t' thae chart ae the wall, there.
"Ah'll keep this brief," he went on. "Y' c'n find y'r own duty assignments up ae they're listed. Thae garage's swept, no more'n an hour ago, by myself an' Cap'n Cind, and it's unbugged. So we dinnae hae t' use circumlocutions.
"Th' skinny is like so—th' boss is goin't twa thae review t'mor-row. I' th' square ae th' late Khookoos. An' we dinnae think the deal's square-up.
"So we'll be i' position, aye?
"Ah wan' you Gurk's i' squad format. Two squads per grav-lighter. Otho, y're pr'moted sarg'nt, an' i' charge ae th' Bhor. Four per gravlighter, plus two heavy-weapons teams. Aye?"
"As you say," Otho rumbled. "But what of our captain?"
"Cap'n Cind hae th' countersniping detail. She's tucked e'er sniper-rated an' expert-qualified rifle shot under her wing. We'll be saltin' them, twa by twa, ae th' rooftops afore dawn.
"Now. Here's th' orders. I' there's aught attempt made ae Sten—Ah wan' thae hitter dead. Dead 'fore he can think ae violence, an' we'll nae consider gie'in th' lad th' chance t' touch th' trigger.
"We'll hae all coms open, so i' there's an attempt, Ah wan' all a' y' t' swarm th' reviewin't stand. Dinnae be worryin't aboot prisoners or such."
"Question?"
"Aye, lad?"
"By my mother's beard," the young Bhor growled, "but you send in the lances just on the suspicion there will be danger."
"Aye?"
"I am not arguing, sir. But what would you do if there was a confirmed threat to the ambassador?''
Alex's face went still, and his eyes glittered. After a pause, he said, "In thae case, Ah'd hae Sten lock't i' th' cellar, an' th' reviewin' stand'd be a nuke ground zero afore th' ceremony'd begin.
"Noo. Thae's all. Y' ken y'r duties, y'r weapons, y'r gear. See to it. Stand-to is one hour before dawn."
"Kilgour, this isn't my tailcoat."
"Aye. Shut y'r lip an' be puttin' i' on. Th' piss i' review'll be nae more'n twa hours away."
"Fits lousy," Sten growled, frowning at his reflection. "Who tailored this? Omarth' Tent Maker?"
"Th' coat's 'flatable, an' thae's inserts t' be put i' place."
"For what? If somebody shoots at me with a cannon?"
"Ah." Kilgour smiled. "Ah always ken y'r noo ae stupid't ae Cind keep't sayin't. Cannon i' th' watchword.
"Noo. Bolt y'self up.
"I' y' rec'lect, all a' thae silliness Ah been doin't since yesterday's i' y'r cause. C'mon, lad. Ah hae t' put on m' own wee drag. I' y're braw, Ah'll buy y' a pint a'terward."
If, Kilgour thought, there is an afterward...
Sten evaluated the thick crowds on either side of the wide boulevard as his gravlighter approached the palace.
If this is supposed to be a holiday, Dr. Iskra has miscalled it, he thought. The faces were angry, sullen as the darkling skies overhead. At first Sten thought the hostility was pointed at the two Imperial flags fluttering from the gravlighter's stanchions, then corrected himself. The rage was free-form and unprejudiced-Sten saw a man look up as one of the constantly patrolling military gravsleds slid overhead, then spit into the gutter.
Otho grounded the embassy's ceremonial stretch gravlighter just behind the huge reviewing stand that had been special-built to one side of the Square of the Khaqans. The gravlighter looked even worse now-the weapons mounts and most of the jury-rigged armor had been cut away, but there had been no time to refinish the body or repaint. The craft looked as if it had failed to qualify in a demolition derby.
Two Gurkhas in full ceremonial dress, which included kukris and willyguns, snapped out of the lighter and presented arms, first to the Jochi flag to one side of the stand, then to the main riser, where Dr. Iskra's chosen symbol was mounted. Iskra had not yet materialized, but he was the only dignitary not in appearance.
Sten stepped out, Alex slightly to his rear. Kilgour had chosen to wear the full ceremonial rig of his home world: flat shoes, tartan stockings with a dagger tucked in the top, kilt with sporran-containing a pistol-another dagger at his hip, silver-buttoned black velvet and vest, lace jabot at his throat, and lace at his wrists. On his head was his clan's bonnet, and slung over one shoulder was a tartan cloak.
The outfit was not, however, exactly what he would wear on Edinburgh turned out as Laird Kilgour of Kilgour. The flat shoes were strapped on, so as not to come off if
Kilgour had some running to do. The tartan pattern was very dark, which Alex blandly explained was the correct ancient hunting tartan of his clan. Sten had never been sure whether there really was a Clan Kilgour, or whether Alex, and the several thousand people on his estates, were making it up as they went along. The Scots were fully capable of doing something entirely that elaborate just to pull the chain of the Sassenachs.
He was not carrying the usual ceremonial broadsword, again for efficiency. Swords got in the way. And the cloak thumped if banged against—Sten thought that the heavyworlder was likely carrying a full weapons shop in the drape.
Behind Sten came two more Gurkhas. Sten bowed to the Jochi flag and, mentally gritting his teeth, to Iskra's emblem. Otho lifted the gravlighter away—he would keep it ready in a park just behind the palace with the other backup units.
Two of Iskra's Special Duty goons were at the foot of the stairs, with detectors. Alex looked at them once. Even hooligans occasionally were guilty of sense, and the two stepped out of the way, awkwardly saluting.
The Gurkhas remained at the rear of the stand. Sten felt a bit more secure about his back. In front of the stand's base, standing shoulder to shoulder, were more of the Special Duty troops.
"A wee bit of info," Alex whispered. "All th' troopies thae'll pass i' review hae been told i' their weapons point anywhere close t' th' stand, Iskra's murthrers hae orders t' ice 'em wi' no questions. Whidney y' like a wee career i' th' Jochi gruntery?"
Sten was twice surprised at the top of the stand. First he saw Menynder. Interesting. Someone or something had winkled him out of his period of mourning.
The second surprise—and it took him a moment before he recognized the being—was seeing Milhouz the rebel, now in the black uniform of this new "student" movement that Iskra had created and Sten had vaguely noted.
There were two older beings beside Milhouz—his parents, Sten thought. Milhouz met Sten's gaze, started to flinch, then stared boldly.