God help the pilot who succeeded in pissing their ship off. Snowfall in their private quarters was the least an annoyed ship was capable of.
At the appropriate level, the gig’s descent stopped and the small craft’s electro-turbines kicked in to nudge the gig to the side and into its assigned dock. The gig settled gently into its birth. Behind them, the gigantic ramp that led into the pit lifted and closed, cutting off the influence of the gravity field. His men scrambled to prepare for debarking.
Ravnos rose from his seat, straightened his coat, and headed for the pressure door a yeoman held open.
His lieutenant and four of his six-man crew preceded him down the short flight of stairs and assembled at the foot.
He stepped down to the bottom of the staircase. The air was warm and fragrant with flowers, even as deep as they were in the space dock.
As one, his men’s hands rose to the polished bills of their caps in salute. Their black and silver uniforms were pressed to crisp perfection, and their spit-shined knee-boots gleamed under the dock lights. Each carried a live-steel saber at his side, but no sidearm. No soldier walked without a weapon at his side, but in the vacuum of space, where a single pinhole through a ship’s hull could be enough to kill everyone on board, projectile and energy weapons were too dangerous to allow on any ship.
An elegant and crushingly expensive silver anti-grav limousine floated into the dock propelled by nearly silent electro-turbines. It settled only ten paces from the gig’s staircase.
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Ravnos contemplated the sleek vehicle with a frown. “Nav-pilot.” The receiver sensor fastened to his collar vibrated a tiny amount.
The nav-pilot’s voice crackled from his earcom. “Yes, Captain?”
Ravnos folded his hands behind him. “There’s a…vehicle in our berth.”
“Yes, Captain, transportation courtesy of the president.”
Ravnos’s brows lifted. The president? He was only a ship captain, not a royal dignitary. He shook his head. “Thank you, nav-pilot.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
Crap… Ravnos signaled his men to begin loading his belongings and the crate of gifts intended for the president. He didn’t want to chance that he might insult the president by refusing. However, he wasn’t about to leave his escort behind either, not with both an Imperial admiral and a Skeldhi delegation in residence.
He turned to his lieutenant. “Follow me in the Imp. Once we disembark, keep it manned, and within a one-minute range of my signal at all times. Tell the men to stay on alert and in contact with each other through the secure frequency.” He seriously considered telling them to strap on their body armor, but he didn’t think that would make a good impression on his high-ranking host. This called for subtlety. Ravnos lifted his chin. “And have the men wear a deflection scarab.”
When activated, the small oval device projected a nearly invisible energy field around the wearer. It wouldn’t stop a bolt at point-blank range, but it would deflect sword slashes, knife thrusts, and anything fired from beyond two body-lengths away. It was commonly worn by security personnel and street constables, so it shouldn’t be too offensive.
The lieutenant’s brows lifted. “Expecting trouble?”
Ravnos smiled grimly. “Merely a precaution.”
The lieutenant tugged on the polished brim of his hat and bowed briefly. “Aye, aye, Captain.” He turned and hurried back to the gig. The rest of the crew followed on his heels.
Only moments later, a flat black, deflection-plate-armored transporter with heavily tinted, narrow windows along the sides eased out from the rear dock of the gig.
Ravnos lowered himself into the plush backseat of the limousine. The automatic door closed behind him.
The limousine’s spinning turbines powered up, lifting the sleek, expensive vehicle from the pavement. Emitting only a soft hum, it eased from the dock and turned onto the broad, curving roadway that circled the inertial shield wall holding the powerful Meissner field within the central pit. Within minutes, the limousine, followed by the black transport with his crew, sped from the cone-shaped space dock and down the broad roadway that ran along the spectacular coastline.
Ravnos settled back into the seat and sighed. He’d assumed that his rank as a mere ship’s captain meant he’d be granted a short office visit to deliver his papers and 104
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perhaps a private word or two. The limousine was an ominous sign. He rubbed his brow. I hope this doesn’t mean I’m going to have to attend some kind of state dinner or other silly, formal function. His table manners were okay, but chefs tended to get upset when they realized he wouldn’t touch any dish with even a hint of green vegetables.
The gleaming silver limousine rose from the coastline roadway, turned landward, and soared toward the gleaming domes at the heart of the capital city. The plain black transport followed close behind. With smooth precision, they eased into the stream of flight-traffic heading into the city, accompanied by a vast array of streamlined civilian vehicles and bulky utilitarian commercial transports.
Sunlight shimmered in rainbow hues on the plasti-steel windows and gleamed on the metallic domes and marbled pillars of the old-world, classical-style buildings. The windows, balconies, walkways, and arches of every home and shop were overrun with climbing flowers in every conceivable color. The people who walked the winding streets were tanned a golden brown and wore layered robes in as many colors as the flowers that grew everywhere. It made an interesting contrast against ultramodern chrome and smoked-glass corporate districts.
On the far edge of the island, they approached a sprawling palatial complex of domes overrun with trees and flowers. At the very center rose a sleek tower, which appeared to be made of glass. Balconies swathed with flowers and plants dotted the entire structure. As they drew closer, he suddenly realized that what
