The down-shuttle to Kurti was almost on time—leaving a mere ten minutes late, but the suite at the Takwar Grande was warm enough that Van had to turn down the temperature before he washed up and left to find the Plaza Dulein.
Even so, he managed to walk into the D’Oro Real at nineteen-fifty.
Emily was waiting at the corner table where the young host escorted Van. She was wearing a loose deep green blouse that set off her skin and hair.
Van couldn’t help but smile as he bowed. “Emily.”
There was the faintest flush as she replied. “I’d…hoped you’d make it back to Meroe before too long, but…it was a while…quite a while, the last time.”
“Two years, more or less,” he replied, sliding into the seat across from her. “I hadn’t thought it would be quite so long.” Then he grinned, and said, “I’ve done better than seven years, though.”
Emily flushed. “You…you are…impossible. I never should have told you.”
“I like your middle name, and it fits.”
Before Emily could respond, beyond a deeper flush, a server dressed in loose white trousers and tunic with a silver-green vest appeared.
“You’re having?” Van asked. “Almaryn?”
“Not tonight.” She looked to the server. “Chellis.”
“A pale ale. Cold.”
The server vanished with a nod.
“I could have met you at the embassy,” Van began, not quite certain where he stood.
“It would be better if you didn’t come to the embassy.”
“Less uncomfortable?” asked Van.
Emily laughed. “These days, I could care less who I make uncomfortable. I’ve been accepted for permanent residence here, and my tour ends in a year. I think I’ve lined up a position as a junior media person with a local multi, and I’m eligible for a deferred diplomatic retirement in another ten years. I could get immediate retirement if I stayed another five, but I wouldn’t last.
“No…it’s for your sake. Mostly, anyway. You’re wanted, supposedly for questioning, but the RSF has let it be known that anyone who gets you into custody in Republic territory will be very highly regarded.”
“And an embassy is Republic territory.”
“I don’t think most staffers would do it. You’re still a hero to most of the diplomats, and the lower staffers, but Commander Omeara—he’s the new military attaché—he follows the RSF line to the last letter and last period.”
“Will you get in trouble for not luring me into the embassy?” asked Van.
Emily shook her head. “The ambassador and the first secretary weren’t pleased with the coup—pardon me, the change in government. They haven’t said much, but I can tell.”
“What do you think about it all?”
“I think my actions say how I feel. I don’t know that Meroe is the ideal place to be, but where else could I afford to go? If I went back to Korkenny…”
“You don’t want to go back there,” Van said gently.
“Oh?”
“I was there several months ago. They’ve fallen in totally behind the new government. They’ve already starting confiscating half the assets and profits of all non-Republic multis under the new Economic Security Act, or whatever it’s called.”
“That allows that? And the Parliament passed that kind of law?”
“Under the…new government. Has anyone said what they want to question me about?”
“No, but there are rumors—” Emily stopped as the woman server returned and slipped a goblet of a silver-white wine before her, then a frosted glass with Van’s pale ale before him.
“We haven’t—” Van began.
“Why don’t you look at the menu while I order,” Emily suggested.
Van called up the projected menu and scanned it.
“I’ll have the house salad, and the herbed flank steak.” Emily looked to Van.
“I’ll have the same.” Van wasn’t totally sure, but the dinner wasn’t about food. He waited until the server departed before continuing. “You were saying…about the rumors…”
“They were saying that you had sneaked into the RSF headquarters and done something horrible…”
“I did,” Van admitted. “I broke into their records.” He paused. “Do you want to know what I found out?”
“I’ve always been an incurable snoop.” The brilliant and warm smile appeared. “But I’m not a gossip.”
Van knew that. He shrugged. “The RSF set up the Fergus to be attacked by the Collyns. I upset their plans by destroying the Collyns. They were going to claim that the Fergus was a Keltyr cruiser that was breaking the Scandyan space restrictions. Oh, and there’s a strong indication that Commander Cruachan was murdered by RSF operatives because he knew too much about what was going on.” He glanced at Emily. “You don’t look surprised.”
“From that group…no. So they sent someone out to kill you?”
“I don’t know about that—not on Scandya, that is. They did send an assassin after me in Bannon after I retired. He was stunned, and I left quickly. But…that wasn’t the worst. They used a clone—stage three, I’d guess—to impersonate an RSF commander. My replacement on the Fergus. You might recall that the Fergus vanished on its return to Tara?”
“I recall that—only because I knew you’d been on the Fergus.”
“I’d been doing some research, and on Weathe I ran across an obituary. It was of a James P. Baile. It even had his picture.”
“Why was that surprising?”
“He was listed as dying of natural causes one month before he relieved me of command.”
Emily offered a wry smile. “In your somewhat skeptical mind, I take it, you find it hard to believe that there are that many James. P. Bailes with the same age, rank, and looks in the RSF who undertook command duties in health after they died.”
“I did find that hard to believe, especially from the same home planet.”
“Couldn’t they just have faked his death?”
“They could have. Either way, it’s wrong. But I have my doubts about a faked death. A clone would be much easier to program to send the ship into a fatal jump.”
“How do you make a fatal jump?”
“Translate into the center of a sun. Change the jump coordinates. There are fail-safes, but the commander has to be able to override them.”
Emily looked down, started to speak, then waited as their salads arrived.
