CHAPTER 2
Lingering over beverages at the end, we chatted about this and that, always deferring to the austere Plet. It had been too long since I had seen them, and I realized how much I had missed the camaraderie. To be among my cousins was to feel at home, but to be with my friends was to open up a new and delightful galaxy the extent of which I had yet to fully explore.
“And where have you been since I last saw you?” I asked. “I keep up with your public Infogrid pages, but I am aware that such things can be fudged when Imperium security demands it.”
“Nothing fancy, my lord,” Nesbitt said, clenching his coffee cup with both hands.
“We are still serving aboard the Shahmat with Captain Calhoun,” Plet said. “He sends his regards to you and your mother.”
“Very good of the captain,” I said, with a polite nod. “I will so inform the maternal unit. She’ll be pleased. Anything to take her mind off my transgressions is a welcome distraction. Is the Shahmat in orbit?”
“No, sir. We were transferred here with some personnel who were going on leave.”
“So you are enjoying a holiday?” I asked.
“Not a chance,” Redius said. “On administrative attachment to the Admiralty until departure. Doing errands, running security shifts, debugging files, cross-referencing Infogrid files.”
“Sounds tedious,” I said.
“Not really,” Oskelev said. “It’s nice to be in the Core Worlds for a change.”
“. . . And what about you, my lord?” Nesbitt asked, after shamefacedly pushing away both plates, well scraped. “What have you been up to since we saw you?”
“Well,” I said, pleased to have a chance to enlarge upon my latest enthusiasm. I leaned forward upon my elbows. “You might already have perceived that I have become interested in how random phenomena impact upon one’s daily life. I am a student of the occult, that which remains hidden to the casual observer.”
I received a fleering snort from Oskelev. “You know all that is a pack of hooey, Thomas?”
“Is it?” I countered, gazing at her enormous, white-furred face. “You have to admit there can be a case made for causality when two phenomena occur at the same time, or one immediately ensuing upon another.”
“Could be. But there’s no proof! Scientific proof.”
“The possibility of proof under scientific rigor is not possible, because a person’s fortune is as individual as one’s genes,” I argued. “What happens to one person, in one lifetime, will likely not correspond to another. Experience is personal and subjective.”
“Then why are there only twelve zodiac signs?” Anstruther asked.
“Oh, that one actually makes a degree of sense,” I said. “Factors that can be associated with the season are something that every baby born during that period have in common. Babies born in winter will perforce have less exposure to sunlight and therefore a lower concentration in their systems of vitamin D.”
“Then why keep paying attention to horoscopes after infancy?” Plet asked, in spite of herself.
“For the fun of it!” I said. “And that sense of belonging which herd animals such as ourselves crave. You might feel a kinship to others born under the sign of the Space Traveler.” As this was Plet, I added, “or perhaps not.”
“Not,” she confirmed.
“But consider this,” I said. “Whether or not one believes the daily horoscope, why does it not add to one’s luck to take its counsel into consideration when planning one’s activities for the day? Suppose your fortune read ‘be cautious with money dealings today.’ Should you approach an unfamiliar situation in which money is involved, you will think back to it, and perhaps give yourself a chance to think more carefully about the details. Chances are, if a good thing happens, you’ll simply disregard what you read, since it didn’t apply. As random as life can be, any fortune you read is only a guidepost, not a command.”
“Those fortunes are purposely vague,” Plet said.
I nodded eagerly. “Of course they are! If you will allow me, I would be willing to tell your fortunes right here and now.” I reached into a concealed breast-pocket pouch for the ancient cards I had brought with me. They felt unusually heavy. I feared I might not be able to lift them or my friends’ hands to read their palms.
“Most fortune tellers are charlatans,” Plet said, dryly.
“And I am the most sincere charlatan of them all,” I said. “I offer my findings for entertainment purposes only. I promise to tell you one thing that makes you feel good about yourself, and two dire warnings that will not come to mind until they are needed.”
“Maybe later,” Nesbitt said, his cheeks turning red, although I could tell he was interested. Other diners peered around to look at us. The others looked a bit embarrassed, as if I might find out secrets about them they would prefer not to have revealed.
“Fear not,” I said, fanning the cards between my hands. They flew in a twinkling, colorful arc. I had practiced for a month to create that effect. “If I learn anything, it will be as though I was your doctor. All matters remain confidential between us.”
“Not here, my lord,” Plet said. I read urgency in her voice.
I scanned my crew’s faces, and recorded the apprehensive expressions thereon. In my eagerness I was being insensitive. I put the cards back in their silk-lined repository.
“My apologies,” I said, truly chastened. “You’re right. It’s best done in private. When we have the chance, you shall sit in the marvelous silk tent that I have had made, and wait until you see my robes! They were made for me by the imperial tailor. He told me he had not had so much fun in years! I have also considered robes for seekers, those who come to me to have their future foretold. Not much historical documentation is available as to appropriate wear for querents, but there’s little as satisfying as starting a new tradition.”
“Have you read your briefing about the mission to the Autocracy?” Plet said, interrupting me in full spate.
I was not troubled by her abrupt change in subject. Humans born under the sign of the Space Traveler were apt to multitask.
“I fear not,” I said. “At the moment every word seems to spread across my entire field of vision. There wasn’t time to listen to audio transcription before all of you rescued me from my medical cocoon. What does it entail?”
Plet frowned.
“Perhaps you should review it when you can focus.”
“Give me the overview,” I pleaded. “I hate waiting.”
“Reports from the frontier between the Imperium and the Autocracy indicate that the Autocracy is blocking groups of ships from entering the jump points, often for weeks or months, then suddenly granting permission. There is no reason given for the sudden change in policy, though it came only a matter of months after the installation of the new Autocrat, Visoltia, two years ago. Our ambassador consults frequently with the Autocrat, but the impasse remains in place. But there is a more troubling matter. At Way Station 46, the most direct frontier crossing from the Core Worlds, a spate of smuggling was reported. Nine ships that were granted leave to enter were all found to be carrying contraband. Ordnance and ships.”
“Really?” I asked, astonished. “All of them?”
“So it would seem.”
“How very odd that they would not think they would be suspected. They are all incarcerated?”
“Awaiting trial,” Plet said, then hesitated. I picked up on her natural distaste for mentioning the consequences.
“I am aware of the penalties for smuggling weapons of war,” I said. “It is a terrible shame.”
“The traders plead that they are innocent,” Plet said, “although the evidence is overwhelming that they did commit the crime.”
“But how was it that their smuggling was not detected, in spite of their spending months on the customs space station?” I asked.
“If we knew that, there would be no need to investigate,” Plet said.
“How right you are,” I said.
“Speaking of investigations,” Anstruther began, then blushed crimson as we all turned to her.
“Do go on,” I said, gently. “I have been out of touch long enough in my medical confinement!”
She glanced from me to Plet, as if asking permission to continue.
“Well, from the news reports, two crime syndicates that are known to be operating in the outer systems had a gang war right there on Keinolt!”
“Very troubling,” I said, although I fancy my avid expression gave the lie to the austere statement. “What was the outcome?”
“Broken up by law enforcement,” Redius said. “Nothing.”
“But that isn’t terribly interesting,” I said.
“One gang had a run-in with a number of civilians in Taino,” Nesbitt added.
“Tell me everything!” I commanded them.
“Well, it happened on Sparrow Island,” Anstruther said, with the awed expression of someone who had never been there. “Some aristocrats were threatened by the criminals. Alleged criminals,” she corrected herself.
Sparrow Island was a favorite haunt of my relatives. This sprawling resort was constructed as a playground for the moneyed and highborn. The management catered in particular to the nobility. Some of the restaurants, bistros, pools and suites were reserved for our especial use. I had most recently secured a season’s pass for a four-room cabana on a rocky promontory overlooking a booming wave pool. Woe betide the interloper who tried to make use of it in my absence, something of which the management was well aware. It occurred to me, though, that it might be fun to bring my crew there—on an evening when none of my cousins were around, of course.
“What exactly happened?” I asked, torn between alarm and delight. “If anything serious had happened, you wouldn’t be so keen to discuss it, would you?”
“Well,” Nesbitt said slowly, but, I believe, honestly, “we might.”
“It wasn’t too serious,” Anstruther said. “There wasn’t a fight.”
“Pish tosh,” I declared, priding myself on an archaicism that I doubted few of them had heard. “Then what? An exchange of fleering glances? A fight over an attractive mate? Some primeval chest-beating? An indecent proposition?”
They looked at one another. At last it was Plet who retrieved the most detailed news item to be had, and forwarded it to my viewpad.
“A Very Refined Brawl,” said the headline.
I read through the brief notice. Some newcomers to the city had reserved a few of the exclusive venues on Sparrow Island, but upon arrival yesterday had found them not as they had hoped. As the management was, as I knew, eager to please its clientele, it attempted to find them something suitable that was unoccupied at the moment. But it seemed words were exchanged among other important guests who shortly thereafter arrived on site, and some maneuvering had to be accomplished to accommodate all of those who arrived. Mr. Sted Banion, the manager of Sparrow Island, was quoted by at least one member of the press.
“We always strive to give our guests the very best experience possible. We did not stop until all parties were satisfied with their visit.”
I rather doubted that all parties were satisfied. The bandied adjective “important” meant relations of the Emperor. It might not be so stated, but was understood by society reporters and those who loved to read them.
I also checked the links to the numerous cross-postings on my cousins’ Infogrid files. It appeared that five of them were among the civilians who were threatened. The intruders in question withdrew immediately, though not without harsh words for the management and the nobility who had confronted them. The nobility, in their turn, harangued the management for ignoring some of their own reservations in favor of the newcomers, thereby putting them into harm’s way. The management apologized in seventeen different positions of increasing humility. I fancy that a good deal of choice food and drink was offered to assuage the injured feelings and twisted limbs of my cousins. I would have expected no less of a venue that wished to remain on our list of favorite haunts.
Those of the ruffians who could be captured were followed to their lairs and taken into custody, pending trial and, I hoped, deportation, though as citizens they were permitted to visit, even live on Keinolt, even if I wished they wouldn’t. The ringleaders had slunk away, not to be seen again. They had not left the planet, as far as law enforcement could detect. I spun a coin on my viewpad screen. No, they were still on-world. Of that I was certain.
I posted my divinitive finding, suggesting that the search continue, and got a derisive message back from my cousin Xanson, who was skeptical about my newfound enthusiasm for superstitions. I sent a suitable pithy retort, which immediately garnered many thumbs up signs and smiles from our various friends and readers, and another sour reply from Xan. I riposted with what I felt was a palpable hit.
“What a pity I was not there,” I said, swiping a hand to silence my viewpad as it tried to display for me all the posts that poured in following my latest entry.
“Just as well you weren’t, sir,” Nesbitt said. “Honor of the force, and all.”
I winced.
“You have hit upon a spot that is still tender, my friend,” I said. “Honor of the force is and heretofore shall be my priority. Now, if anyone will help me to return to the Imperium compound, I shall meditate toward my recovery and prepare for our departure.”
Oskelev rose first.
“I better go, Thomas. No way I’m going to be late for my exam.”
I raised both hands to her in benediction. They seemed slightly smaller already, though as large as leaf rakes compared to their normal size.
“Good fortune follow you.”
The Wichu snorted, the nostrils of her pink nose curled. “The harder I work, the luckier I am. See you later.”
But I noticed that she tucked her lucky circuit carefully away in a chest pouch.