UMMIR, MINISTER OF POLICE .
Sula felt an electric hum in her nerves. Brilliant, she thought.
She would try to remember to give PJ something very nice on his birthday.
“I found out at the club that Sidney was closing,” PJ said as he took them down an alley behind the building. “I stopped by yesterday to chat with Sidney and reconnoiter, and since then I’ve been waiting for you.”
PJ stopped by a door of greenish metal and banged on it. Sula stood for a moment in the hot silence and gazed at the fragrant corpse of a kanamid, probably killed by a cat, that lay between two gray resin waste bins with its six limbs pointing crookedly to the sky.
The metal door rolled open with a subdued electric hum. She shaded her sun-dazzled eyes to see the man standing in shadow on the far side of the door: he was white-haired and thin and had a goatee with a waxed, curled mustache, much like those worn by petty officers of the Fleet. Sula tasted a smoky scent that drifted from the open door.
“My lord,” the man said. His voice was grainy. “These are your friends?”
“Yes, Mr. Sidney.” PJ’s tone was a little smug. “This is Miss Lucy, Miss Ardelion, and Mr. Starling.”
The man’s eyes, pupils broad as the barrels of a shotgun, scanned Sula and her companions. “Come in then,” he said, and stood back.
The back of the shop was a marvelously compact workroom, computer-guided lathes, tools gleaming in their racks, magnifiers and manipulators on shelves, racks of exotic, cured woods and ivories, gun barrels gleaming on shelves. Sula’s heart warmed to the meticulous orderliness of it all.
The heavy scent of hashish, however, made her less certain, as did the curl of smoke from a gleaming metal pipe that Sidney picked up from one of the workbenches as he passed.
“Let me take you up front,” he said. They passed through a door into the shop’s narrow front. Weapons gleamed softly in the racks on the walls, in polished wood cabinets. Sidney stopped before a coal-black metal carrying case that held a long-barreled hunting weapon. He picked it up, held it in the air. The barrel was a damascened concoction of contrasting metals beautifully wrought together, silver and black chasing each other down its length like serpents. The stock was a deep red wood polished and inlaid with a floral pattern in ebony. There was a magnifying scope with a deep amber display that would prove easy on the eye at night, and iron sights for the classically inclined.
“I built this for Lord Richard Li,” he said, speaking around the pipe clenched between his teeth.
Sula gave a start at the name. Lord Richard had been her captain, killed bringing hisDauntless into action at Magaria. He had been engaged to Terza Chen, the woman—no, theconniving bitch —who had married Martinez.
She fought her way back through the curtain of memory that had draped across her mind. “The Naxids have shut you down?” she asked.
Not the brightest thing she could have said, admittedly, but at least she’d gotten the words out.
“I’m surprised it’s taken them this long,” Sidney said. “I suppose they’ve had other things to think about, being a new government. I wouldn’t know.” He replaced the rifle in its case and took a meditative sip on his pipe. “I could apply to reopen the business if I agreed to sell exclusively to Naxids, but I don’t want to think about those bastards using one of my guns to kill hostages, and all the weapons configured for other species are still unsellable no matter what I do.”
He locked the rifle case and turned around. His eyes were hard. “The thing is, I can’t sell these weapons. But there’s nothing in the new regulations about mygiving them away.”
Sula stared at Sidney in stunned surprise. A self-conscious look crossed his face, and he took his pipe from his mouth. “I’ve been remiss,” he said. “Would any of you care for a smoke?”
“Umm,” PJ began, on the verge of accepting, but Sula answered for them all.
“Not right now, thanks,” she said. She looked at Sidney. “You’re going togive us all these guns?”
He gave her a hard look. “If you’ll makegood use of them.”
Sula’s mouth went dry. “That’s …very generous.”
Sidney shrugged. “They’re worthless now. I can’t return them to the manufacturers—the makers have been forbidden to do business too. I’ll have to break my lease; I can’t afford to keep this place and I can’t afford to store the weapons. I could sit here waiting for the government to confiscate them, but why?” He shrugged again. “I’d rather see them put to use.” He began to say something, then shook his head and clamped the pipe between his teeth again. “Not that I want to know what you’re going to use them for, of course.” He turned again and laid a hand on the metal case beside him on the counter. “There are only a few pieces I can’t let go—the true custom work. If any of them were found after a…misadventure, the trail would lead straight to me.”
He stepped back a pace and swept a hand along the glass of the counter, indicating a row of gleaming pistols, each adapted to the Lai-own hand. “All sporting weapons, of course,” he said. “Of limited use for military purposes. But in the right hands…”
He sipped on his pipe, and exhaled a dense cloud of smoke. Sula made the mistake of inhaling, and burst out coughing.
“Sorry,” Sidney said politely.
After the coughing ceased, Sula made an effort to collect her thoughts from the mist that swirled through her head. She knew she was going to need fresh air very soon.
“Mr. Sidney,” she managed, “do I understand that youdesign guns ?”
“That’s right,” Sidney said. He puffed another cloud of smoke, and Sula took a step back.
“Perhaps you can help me,” she said, and had to cough again. Tears dazzled her eyes as she recovered her voice. “I’ve been looking for a particular kind of firearm.”
Interest glittered in Sidney’s eyes. “Yes?”
“Not at all the kind of work you usually do. The opposite, in fact. Something that could be put together without great expense out of components that could be acquired very easily.”
Sidney gave a snort of amusement, then affected to consider the problem. “Computer-operated lathes can do some amazing things, given the right programming.”
“Let’s just say that my own lathe-programming skills are limited.”
Sidney smiled. “I seem to have a lot of free time at present. Let me put my mind to it, then, Miss…Lucy, was it?”
“Lucy. Yes.”
“Well,” Sidney said. “If you’ll give me a call in a few days, perhaps I’ll have something for you.”
“Fantastic!” Spence said as they took the first of several truckloads of firearms from Sidney’s place, on their way to store them in PJ’s basement. “I can’t believe he’s giving us all this stuff! And the ammunition too!”
“He’s quite brave, isn’t he?” PJ asked. His smile was sillier than usual after an hour of hauling crates through Sidney’s smoke cloud.
“He’s not brave,” Sula said. “He’s suicidal.”
The silly smile faded from PJ’s face. “My lady?” he said. “I mean, my Lucy. I mean—” His mouth opened fishlike for words but failed to find any.
“Do you think the manufacturers haven’t kept a record of the serial numbers of all these weapons?” Sula asked. “Not to mention the ballistics tests they’re required to do before the weapons even leave the factory? The first time we use one of these, they’ll track it to Sidney and tear his ribs out trying to find out who he gave them to. And that would lead toyou, PJ.”
PJ turned pale. “Oh,” he said.
“Maybe Sidney hopes he’ll take a few Naxids with him when he goes. Maybe he doesn’t care about himselfor about you. Or maybe he thinks he’ll be able to hide. But until we know what he means to do, we’re going to store these guns in your basement and never use them, not unless we know Sidney is safe.” She contemplated the road and the overcareful driving undertaken by Macnamara, who was no less affected by hashish fumes than anyone else.
“Besides,” Sula said, “I’ve got other plans for our Mr. Sidney, and they’d be spoiled by his committing suicide.”
By the end of the day, she’d talked Sidney into reopening his gun shop exclusive to a Naxid clientele. “Only the
