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Brancusi Tower

and

Regiano’s Restaurant

City of Landing

Planet of Manticore

Manticore Binary System

June 4, 1906


andrew lafollet stepped out of the air limo into the incredible midday heat. He’d known from his research that the City of Landing was far warmer than anything his own homeworld might have inflicted upon him, but it had been an intellectual sort of knowledge. Nothing in his experience had prepared him for the reality, and he wondered how Lady Harrington, whose homeworld was even cooler than Grayson, had put up with Manticore’s sweltering heat during her studies at Saganami Island.

Or now, for that matter.

This was her fourth visit since she’d killed Denver Summervale, and those trips had made the man responsible for keeping her alive nervous. He’d become even more nervous with each, but at least he’d managed to enlist Commander Chandler, HMS Nike’s executive officer, in managing the Steadholder’s shuttle flights. He didn’t think the Steadholder had caught them at it, although he wasn’t positive she hadn’t. But until she said something about it, Commander Chandler was quietly omitting her—and her armsmen—from any passenger manifests submitted to Traffic Control. Those manifests weren’t legally required, although it was customary to provide them, and LaFollet could at least hope that the commander’s creative “oversight” made it more difficult for any unfriendly souls to predict the Steadholder’s movements.

Given that the Earl of North Hollow had already paid for Lady Harrington’s murder once, that struck Andrew LaFollet as a very good idea.

Now the major drew a deep breath of hot, early-afternoon Landing air, grateful for the cooling effect of his uniform’s Manticoran smart fabric, and scanned the rooftop landing pad carefully. Passenger-list misdirection or no, anyone trying to monitor the Steadholder’s whereabouts would be keeping an eye on the Brancusi Tower pad, given that the tower housed the business offices of Willard Neufsteiler, her Manticoran prize agent and financial manager.

Who, at the moment, was managing rather more than Lady Harrington’s money. Which was why he was waiting to greet her this afternoon.

The major completed his examination of the landing pad, then moved forward to clear the Steadholder’s way. She stepped out of the limo behind him, and he didn’t need to actually see her expression to visualize the quizzical resignation in it. Not that he was particularly reassured by it. She might think she’d resigned herself to her armsmens’ permanent presence in her life, but she was still far from developing the proper mindset. She seemed constitutionally incapable of understanding that keeping her alive was the most important thing in those armsmens’ lives.

James Candless and Eddie Howard fell in behind her as Neufsteiler stepped forward to greet her.

“Milady,” he said. He extended his hand, and the Steadholder nodded as she took it.

“Willard,” she replied, and LaFollet saw something flicker in Neufsteiler’s eyes.

The major recognized the Manticoran’s dismay in that flicker. The Steadholder looked better than she had before the duel with Summervale, yet her brown eyes remained bleak, hard and dark with icy, focused purpose that held the pain at bay. Mostly, anyway.

LaFollet approved of Willard Neufsteiler, for several reasons. The banker’s sorrow as he saw that bleakness yet again was one of them.

Now Neufsteiler led the way to a crystoplast-walled lift shaft that ran down the five-hundred-story tower’s flank. He waved the Steadholder—and her armsmen—into the waiting capsule and punched a destination into the control panel, then turned to Lady Harrington and waved a hand at the sunlit city beyond the transparent wall as the capsule sped downward.

“It’s such a lovely day that I thought we might meet in Regiano’s,” he said. “If that’s all right with you, Dame Honor? I reserved an upper section to ensure privacy.”

His tone was almost hopeful, and Lady Harrington cocked her head at him.

“That sounds fine, Willard,” she said.

LaFollet had been afraid she’d say that.

“Excuse me, My Lady, but that’s a security risk,” he said. “We haven’t had time to check out the restaurant.”

“I think we can live with that, Andrew,” she said, eyeing him a bit repressively, but he shook his head.

“My Lady, you’ve warned this North Hollow you’re coming for him. It would solve his problem neatly if something happened to you first.”

LaFollet saw Neufsteiler’s blink of surprise from the corner of his eye, but he never looked away from the Steadholder. She held his gaze with her own for a couple of heartbeats, then her nostrils flared ever so slightly.

“The same idea had occurred to me,” she acknowledged quietly, “but I don’t plan on jumping at shadows. Besides, no one knew we were coming. Even the newsies missed us this time around.”

“The fact that we think no one knows is no proof they don’t, My Lady, and you’re not exactly the hardest person to identify if someone sees you. Please, I’d feel much better if you stuck to your original schedule and met in Mr. Neufsteiler’s offices.”

“Dame Honor, if you think it would be better—” Neufsteiler began, but the Steadholder shook her head.

“I think it might be safer, Willard, but that doesn’t necessarily make it better.” She touched LaFollet’s shoulder. “Major LaFollet is determined to keep me alive. We’re still working on how much veto right that gives him—aren’t we, Andrew?”

“I’m not asking for veto right, My Lady. All I want is a little commonsense caution.”

“Which I’m willing to give you, within limits.” She released his shoulder. “I know I’m a trial to you, Andrew, but I’ve spent my entire life going where I wanted without armed guards. I’m willing to admit I can’t get away with that any longer, but there are limits to the precautions I’m willing to take.”

LaFollet opened his mouth to argue, but then he looked into those eyes again and sighed.

“You’re my Steadholder, My Lady,” he said, instead of what he’d actually wanted to say. “If you want to go to a restaurant, we’ll go, and I hope I’m worrying about nothing. But if anything does happen, I expect you to take my orders.”

She gazed back down at him for a moment, and he let her see the stubbornness in his own eyes.

“All right, Andrew,” she said finally. “If something happens, you’re in charge. I’ll even put up with your telling me ‘I told you so.’”

“Thank you, My Lady. I hope you don’t have to.”

She twitched a small smile, patted his shoulder again, then looked back at Neufsteiler.

“In the meantime, Willard, where are we on our Grayson funds transfer?”

“We’re doing fine, Milady,” Neufsteiler said, “though I’m afraid the transaction was a bit more complicated than you apparently assumed. Since you’re a Manticoran subject and your major financial holdings are here, you’re technically subject to Manticoran corporate taxes even on out-system investments. There are ways around that, however, and—”

LaFollet tuned out the banker’s explanation as the lift car continued to slide downward and he focused on just how much he hoped he wouldn’t have to tell the Steadholder he’d told her so.

* * *

Andrew LaFollet was an unhappy man as he stood behind the Steadholder’s chair on one point of the triangular platform. Candless and Howard stood on the other two points, backs turned to him as they gazed out over Regiano’s Restaurant, and he doubted they were any happier than he was.

The restaurant itself was pleasant enough, but it was also high-ceilinged, sprawling up and down a five-story atrium that reminded the major of a picture he’d seen from an ancient, pre-diaspora artist named Escher. It lacked the inverted perspective of the artwork, but its tables floated in midair, accessed by flights of steps that sprang from the restaurant floor or reached out from its walls with no apparent rhyme or reason. And without any visible means of support, either. The architecture wasn’t what made LaFollet less than delighted, however. Indeed, under other circumstances, he would have thoroughly enjoyed the airy sense of spaciousness and the view of Landing’s green belts through its crystoplast walls.

Under the current circumstances, he felt entirely too much like a target. Those walls were like a fishbowl, offering entirely too good a view into the restaurant from the outside. Worse, the table Neufsteiler had reserved was near the very top of the atrium, which provided a direct line of sight—or fire—to it and the people seated at it from almost any place in the entire restaurant. The only good thing, from LaFollet’s perspective, was that those same sightlines made it an excellent lookout post, and he tried to focus on that instead of the Steadholder’s refusal to take basic precautions.

She and Neufsteiler spent the meal discussing her various financial arrangements. When the servers cleared away the dishes, then vanished down the platform stairs, it was time for the real reason she’d come planetside.

“Well?” she asked quietly.

“You can’t get to him, Milady,” Neufsteiler replied, equally quietly. “He’s holed up in his official residence, and he’s only coming out to visit the Lords.”

LaFollet listened to the conversation with only a corner of his attention, never interrupting his methodical eye-sweep of the restaurant. Lady Harrington’s unhappiness with Neufsteiler’s answer was obvious to him, though, and she gathered Nimitz into her lap as she considered it.

“Are you certain he’s not coming out at all?” she asked finally.

“Positive.” Neufsteiler leaned closer to her, his voice even lower. “We’ve gotten someone inside his staff, Milady. He’s only a chauffeur, but he’s in a position to see all their movement schedules.”

“I’ve got to get to him,” the Steadholder murmured. “There has to be some time—even if it’s only for a few minutes—when I can catch him. All I need is long enough to issue the challenge, Willard.” She frowned down into her wine glass. “If he’s going to Parliament, then maybe what we need is someone inside that end of the pipeline. He’s got to be moving around the building. If we can get hold of his schedule, then maybe—”

“Milady, I’ll try, but the odds are mighty long. He knows you’re hunting him, and he’s got the advantage of being planetside all the time. Getting his schedule with enough advance warning for you to get down here and take advantage of it . . . ?” Neufsteiler shook his head.

Below them, three men entered the restaurant through the front entrance and paused just inside the foyer, scanning the tables, obviously looking for someone who’d already been seated. LaFollet’s eyes touched them for a moment, then moved on as the maître d’ started toward them.

“Well, we’re already spending over eighty thousand a day on it,” Neufsteiler said with a crooked smile. “A few more operatives won’t pad the bill by that much.”

“Good man. In that case, I think—”

Three more men came into the restaurant through the side entrance and looked casually around. One of them glanced up at the Steadholder’s table for just a moment, then made eye contact with one of the three talking to the maître d’.

A lightning bolt shot through Andrew LaFollet, and his right hand flashed to his pulser as two of the new arrivals reached inside their unsealed jackets.

Down!

The fingers of his right hand closed on his pulser butt and his left hand flashed out and fastened on Lady Harrington’s shoulder like a claw even as he barked out the single word.

Her surprise was obvious as he yanked her out of her chair. Her head started to turn in his direction, but he hurled her down—and under the table—with all his strength, then flung himself down on top of her. Nimitz exploded out of the high chair Regiano’s staff had provided for him, and even through the ice-cold focus of his training, LaFollet felt a stab of fear as the newcomers’ hands came out filled with weapons and the treecat bounded toward the stairs. If he started down those stairs in the face of that kind of firepower—

The Steadholder’s hand shot out. Somehow, she got a grip on the ’cat and dragged him back, pinning him down, just as the snarling whine of a pulser filled the restaurant. Explosive darts tore up the stairs Nimitz would have used and shredded the end of the dining platform, and Willard Neufsteiler cried out as a jagged splinter drove into his back.

Candless grabbed the banker, jerking him out of the line of fire with one hand, and a pulser had appeared in his other hand. Lady Harrington tried to rise, reaching out toward Neufsteiler with her free hand even as she fought to keep Nimitz under control with the other.

No, goddamn it!” LaFollet snarled.

He slammed her back down with an elbow even as his pulser tracked onto the killer who’d produced the sawed-off pulse rifle from under his jacket. He squeezed the trigger and hypersonic darts ripped through the would-be assassin in a spray of blood. The pulse rifle flew through the air as the gunman went down, and the screams began as the restaurant’s other patrons realized what was happening.

Candless and Howard were up and firing, too, and LaFollet rolled off the Steadholder, coming up on one knee and laying his pulser barrel over his forearm for steadiness. More exploding darts ripped into the platform, and Eddie Howard grunted in anguish and went down even as Candless’ fire took down a second assassin. LaFollet killed a third, then swore again as at least a dozen panicked diners surged for the exits and into his line of fire.

Candless managed to nail one more of the gunmen before the fugitives blocked his fire, and LaFollet came to his feet, trying to get a bead on the two survivors.

Shit!” he snarled as they vanished into the surge of fleeing customers. He couldn’t fire into that crowd, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t fire out of it.

“Stay down, My Lady!” he barked, as Lady Harrington started to push up to her knees. “There were at least two more of them! I think they’re using the crowd for cover to get out of here, but if they try another shot—”

The Steadholder went flat again, still clutching Nimitz. But the ’cat’s fury was ebbing—a bit, at least—and she released him cautiously. He leapt up onto the damaged table and crouched there, still hissing and ready to attack, but under control, and she turned to crawl toward Eddie Howard.

The armsman was down, trying to staunch the blood spurting from his thigh with one hand, and she whipped her belt purse out from under her tunic. She wrapped the strap around his leg, above the wound, and jerked the crude tourniquet tight. He sighed then and slumped sideways, dropping the pulser he’d clung to until unconsciousness took him. The Steadholder scooped up the fallen weapon and crawled over to the moaning Neufsteiler.

A raw-looking stump of wood, a centimeter across at the base, stuck out of his bloody shoulder, and she caught his head, turning it to look into his eyes. They were dark but clear, and she sighed in relief and patted his cheek.

“Hang on, Willard. Help’s on its way,” she said, and looked back up as the restaurant finished emptying and LaFollet lowered his pulser at last. He surveyed the carnage, the four ripped and torn bodies, and the spreading pools of blood, then looked down at her.

“I think we made it, My Lady.” He went to one knee beside Howard, checking the tourniquet. “Good work with that belt, My Lady. We might have lost him without it.”

“And it would’ve been my fault,” she said quietly. LaFollet turned his head and she looked back at him levelly. “I should have listened to you.”

“Well, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t really think he’d try something this brazen myself,” LaFollet admitted, and she nodded. Clearly, she had no more doubt who’d been behind it than he did. “I was just being cautious,” he continued, “and, for that matter, you’re right, My Lady. He couldn’t have had them waiting for us, or they’d have tried sooner. In fact, it was seeing them come in together and how hard they were scanning the crowd that caught my attention.” He shook his head. “He must’ve had them on standby, just waiting for someone to tell them where to find you. We were lucky, My Lady.”

“No, Major. I was lucky; you were good. Very good, all of you. Remind me to think about raises all around when Willard’s patched up.”

LaFollet snorted. It wasn’t much of a joke, but it was more than most people could have managed, and he waved an index finger at her.

“Don’t worry about raises, My Lady,” he said, as the first LCPD officers charged into the restaurant from the street with weapons ready. “We’re all indecently rich by Grayson standards already. But the next time I give you some advice, promise to spend at least a few minutes considering that I might be right.”


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