"What's this all about?" the warrant asked as Julian stood up.
"If your captain wants you to know, he'll tell you," Julian replied. "In person, alone. Got it? Repeat it, Warrant." The last was clearly an order.
"The boy who stole the fish is sorry," the warrant officer repeated.
"Do it, on your honor," Julian said, and walked into the crowd.
"How was the run?" Captain Poertena asked. He was looking at data on a holo display and eating a banana. Fresh fruit was a precious rarity in Sixth Fleet these days, even in one of the supply haulers, like Capodista, and he was breaking it into small bites to enjoy it properly.
"Went fine, Sir," Warrant Officer Sims replied. "We got a full load this time, and I spoke with one of the Governor's representatives. They've been trying to fill our parts list, so far with no luck."
"Not surprising," Poertena said. "Well, maybe better luck next week. Sooner or later Admiral Helmut is going to have to fish or cut bait. Any new news from the capital?"
"No, Sir," Sims said. "But I had a very strange conversation on-planet. A guy came up to me and asked me to pass you a message. In person, and alone."
"Oh?" Poertena looked up from the holo display, one cheek bulging with banana while another piece rose towards his mouth.
"The boy who stole the fish is sorry," Sims said.
The hand stopped rising, then began to drop as Poertena's swarthy face went gray.
"What did you say?" the captain snapped, his mouth half-full.
"The boy who stole the fish is sorry," Sims repeated.
The piece of banana was crushed between two fingers, and then flung onto the desk.
"What did he look—No. Did this guy have an accent?"
"No, Sir," the warrant said, coming halfway to attention.
"Did he say anything else?"
"Just something about everything being a lie," Sims said. "Sir, what's this all about?"
"Sims, you do not have the need to know," Poertena said, swallowing and shaking his head. "Modderpocker. I don't have the need to pocking know." The captain had worked hard on his accent, and it only tended to show in times of stress. "I did not pocking need t'is. Where was t'is guy?"
"Well..." Sims hesitated. "In a bar, Captain. I know they're off limits—"
"Forget t'at," Poertena said. "Modderpocker. I've got to t'ink. Sims, you don't tell anyone about t'is, clear?"
"Clear, Sir." It was Sims' turn to swallow hard.
"I'll probably need you in a while. Get some chow and crew rest if you need. I t'ink we're going back to Halliwell."
"Sir, regulations state—"
"Yeah. Well, I t'ink t'e pocking regulations jus' wen' out t'e pocking airlock."
Julian looked up as a sizable shadow loomed over the restaurant table.
"Guy that looks a lot like a Poertena just walked into the bar," Denat said. "He's with that shuttle pilot. Sena's keeping an eye on them."
Julian had gone over to one of the local restaurants that served a really good bitok. He'd missed them on Marduk, and this place did them right—thick, cooked to a light pink in the middle, and with really good barbecue sauce. It was infinitely preferable to the "snacks" served in the bar, and Denat and Sena had remained behind to keep an eye on things while he ate it.
Now he set down the bitok and took a sip of cola.
"Okay, showtime," he said. "Where's Magee?"
"Dunno," the Mardukan said.
"Find him," Julian replied, and tried very hard not to be irritated by the little Pinopan's absence. After all, Julian hadn't expected Captain Poertena to show up this fast, either, and it was late at night by local time. Capodista's skipper must have gotten the message and taken the first available shuttle back.
Julian dropped enough credits on the table to pay for the bitok and a tip and walked out. He glanced around as he stepped out of the restaurant's door. The street was somewhat more animated at night, with groups moving from bar to bar, and he felt mildly uneasy without backup. But there was nothing he could do about that.
He went to the bar and looked around. Despite the hour, the party was still in full roar, and the band had gotten, if anything, worse. At least the stripper was gone.
He moved along the edge of the crowd around the bar until he spotted Sena. She was by the bar, one lower elbow propped nonchalantly on its surface while a true-hand nursed a beer, where she could keep an unobtrusive eye on the two Navy officers who'd taken one of the tables at the back. Lousy trade craft. It was like signaling "Look over here! We're having a Secret Conversation!"
He chose a spot of his own at the bar, out of sight of them but where Sena could flash him a signal if they tried to leave. About ten minutes later, Denat loomed through the door, followed by Poertena.
"Where were you?"
"Taking care of some pocking personal business."
"You know that human who was taking off her clothes?" Denat asked.
"Goddamn it, P... Magee!"
"Hey, a guy's got pocking needs!"
"Well, you're not gonna have the equipment to do anything about them if you just wander off that way again," Julian said ominously, then sighed and shook his head at Poertena's unrepentant look.
"C'mon," he said, and led the way through the crowd towards the Navy officers' table.
"Captain Poertena," he said, sitting down and shifting his chair to a spot from which he could keep an eye on the bar.
"Well, I know he's not Julio," the captain said, pointing at the Mardukan. "And neither is he," he added dryly as Sena wandered over to join them. "And you're too tall," he continued, looking at Julian.
"Hey, Uncle Marciel," Poertena said with a slight catch in his voice. "Long pocking time."
"Goddamn it, Julio," the captain said, shaking his head. "What have you gotten yourself into? I should have had a team of Marines standing by, you know that? I'm putting my balls on the line here for you."
"They're not on the line for him," Julian said. "They're on the line for the Empire."
"Which one are you?" the captain snapped.
"Adib Julian."
"I don't recognize the name," the captain said, regarding him intently.
"You wouldn't. I was just a sergeant in one of the line companies. But get this straight, we've been on Marduk," Julian gestured with a thumb at Denat and Sena, "for the last ten months. Marduk. We can prove that a dozen different ways. We had nothing to do with it."
"This is about the coup!" the pilot blurted. "Holy shit."
"Sergeant—well, Captain, sort of, Adib Julian," Julian said, nodding. "Bronze Battalion of the Empress' Own. Currently, S-2 to Prince Roger Ramius Sergei Alexander Chiang MacClintock. Heir Primus to the Throne of Man."
Despite the racket all around them, a brief bubble of intense silence seemed to surround the barroom table.
"So," Captain Poertena said after a moment, "what's the plan?"
"I need to talk to Helmut," Julian said. "I've got encrypted data chips that prove beyond any reasonable doubt that we were on Marduk when the coup occurred, not Old Earth. This is Adoula's plot, not the Prince's. Helmut needs to know that."
"What's he going to do with it?" Sims asked.
"Warrant, that's between the Admiral and myself," Julian said. "You realize, of course, that you're going to spend the next few weeks, at least, in solitary lockdown. Right?"
"Shit, this is what I get for talking to strangers in bars," the warrant said. "Let me get this straight. The Prince was on Marduk. Which means the whole line about him being behind the attempted coup so much bullshit. Right?"