The Reaches

holdings.

He thought that if Administrator Carstensen appeared in person with the mulct for Tancred-and a very modest amount it would be-he, Stephen Gregg, would chew through Carstensen's neck if no better weapon presented itself.

'No,' said Duneen. He looked around the gathering. Though a passionate man, the councilor's voice was for the moment as cold as chilled steel. 'Governor Halys absolutely will not authorize an act of war against the North American Federation.'

'But all I ask is leave to organize a trading expedition,' Piet Ricimer said quietly. His index finger idly pointed from one point on the chart to another. Prize, Benison, Cauldron; Heartbreak, Rondelet, Umber. Names for a trader to conjure with. The source of the Federation's wealth, and the core of the empire President Pleyal schemed to build.

Damn him, Gregg thought. Only when startled eyes glanced around did he realize he had spoken aloud.

'I beg your pardon, gentlemen.' he said. 'Milady.'

He nodded with cold formality, then continued, 'Mr. Ricimer. Factor Benjamin Gregg, my principal, was extremely pleased on his return from your recent voyage. Despite the difficulty and losses at the end of it. I'm confident that he'll be willing to subscribe a portion of any new venture you plan.'

'What are we talking about precisely?' Capellupo demanded bluntly. 'A fleet? Five ships? Ten?'

'Two,' Piet Ricimer said. 'And they needn't-shouldn't, in fact-be large.'

'Two?' Murillo said in surprise. She looked at Mostert, who sat beside her.

The shipper shrugged and made a wry face. 'It wasn't my, ah, first thought either, madam. But Mr. Ricimer has very settled notions. And he's been on the scene, of course.'

'He hasn't been to the Mirror,' Capellupo said flatly. The agent wasn't precisely hostile, but he obviously regarded it as his duty to press the points that others might be willing to slough. The stories that returned aboard the Peaches made Piet Ricimer a hero in Betaport; and to the local spacefaring community, President Pleyal was Satan's brother if he wasn't the Devil himself.

'My brother's been to the gates of Hell!' Adrien Ricimer burst out angrily. 'That's where-'

'Adrien!' Piet Ricimer said.

'I just. .' Adrien began. He stopped, a syllable before something would have happened-an order to leave, that might or might not have been obeyed; a scuffle, with Stephen Gregg doing what had to be done if the conference were to continue.

'You're quite right, Mr. Capellupo,' Piet Ricimer resumed smoothly. 'Things that are true for other parts of the Reaches don't necessarily hold for Federation outposts on the Mirror. We'll reconnoiter the region before we proceed further, staging out of an undeveloped world Admiral Mostert explored on the voyage just ended.'

Sunrise. . Gregg thought. Which Ricimer and the Peaches had discovered.

'The need to keep a low profile while gathering information along the Mirror is one of the reasons I think a modest force is the best choice for this voyage,' Ricimer continued. 'The Peaches, a featherboat which I own in partnership with Factor Mostert-'

He nodded toward Siddons. Piet must have bought part of the little vessel with his share of the cargo packed aboard her in the last moments on Biruta.

'— and another vessel a little larger, say fifty to a hundred tonnes. That and fifty men should be sufficient.'

Factor Wiley, a stooped man known both for his piety and his ruthlessness in business transactions, frowned. 'Mostert, you could fund a business this small yourself,' he said. 'Why is it you've called this lot together? I thought you must be planning a full-scale expedition to capture some of the planets Pleyal's heathens try to bar us from.'

Councilor Duneen looked at him. 'I don't know that so public a gathering-'

He glanced at the men standing around the walls of the modest room. Gregg knew that many of them or their principals were major shipping figures; in Duneen's terms, they were rabble.

'— is the best place to discuss such matters.'

'This is where we are, Councilor,' Murillo said with unexpected harshness. Gregg's eyes flicked to her from Duneen. There was clearly no love lost between Governor Halys' chief public and personal advisors.

Murillo jerked her chin toward Mostert in a peremptory fashion. 'Go on, say it out loud. You want to compromise as many powerful people as you can, so that you'll be protected when President Pleyal asks the governor for your head.'

'I want as many successful people as possible,' said Piet Ricimer, speaking before Siddons Mostert could frame the answer demanded of him, 'because I intend to make everyone who invests in this voyage extremely wealthy. Wealth even in the governor's terms, milady.'

He flashed Comptroller Murillo a hard smile, not the joyous one Gregg had seen on his friend's face before.

'I want to bring wealth to so many of you,' he continued forcefully, 'because this won't be the last voyage. There'll be scores of others, hundreds of others. Voyages that you send out yourselves, because of the profit you see is waiting beyond Pluto. Voyages that no one here will be concerned in, because others will see the staggering wealth, the inconceivable wealth, and want some for themselves. And they'll find it! It's waiting there, for us and for Venus and for mankind-with the help of God!'

'Venus and God!' Duneen cried, turning toward Murillo to make his words an undeserved slap.

Hear hear/Venus and God crackled through the room. Gregg did not speak.

'And no, milady,' Ricimer said as the cheers faded, 'I don't expect investors on Venus to bring me safety. I saw what safety Admiral Mostert gained by being in the governor's own ship when he met Federation treachery. There'll be no safety beyond Pluto until decent men wrest the universe from President Pleyal and his murderers!'

'Which we will do!' Murillo cried as she rose to her feet, anticipating the cheers that would otherwise have been directed against her. Neither she nor her mistress would have survived in a male-dominated society without knowing how to turn political necessity into a virtue.

'Factor Mostert will discuss shares in the venture with you, milady and gentlemen,' Ricimer said when the applause had settled enough for him to be heard by at least those nearest to him. 'I need to talk over some personal matters with my old shipmate here, Mr. Gregg.'

They stepped together into the public bar. Sailors watched them with open curiosity, while the gentlemen's liveried attendants tried to conceal their interest in the enthusiasm from the back room.

'Marvin?' Ricimer asked the bartender. 'May we use your office?'

'Of course, Mr. Ricimer,' the bartender replied. He lifted the bar leaf to pass them through to the combined office/storeroom behind the rack of ready-use supplies.

Part of Gregg's mind found leisure to be amused. Ricimer had set this meeting not in a townhouse but on ground where he had an advantage over the nobles who were attending.

Ricimer closed the door. 'What do you think, Stephen?' he asked.

Gregg shrugged. 'You have them eating out of your hand,' he said. 'Even though they know you're going as a raider this time, not to trade.'

Ricimer lifted his jaw a millimeter. 'President Pleyal can't be allowed to trap mankind within the solar system again,' he said. 'Nobody can be allowed to do that. Whatever God's will requires shall be done.'

He quirked a wry grin toward Gregg. 'But that isn't what I was asking, Stephen. As you know.'

'Of course Uncle Ben will support this,' Gregg said. As an excuse for not meeting his friend's eyes, he turned to survey the kegs and crates of bottles. The Blue Rose had its beer delivered instead of brewing on-premises, as taverns in less expensive locations normally did.

'I. . was afraid that would be your answer,' Ricimer said quietly. 'When you didn't contact me after we got back. Well, I'm sorry, but I understand.'

Gregg turned. 'Do you understand, Piet?' he demanded. 'Tell me-how many people do you think I've killed since you met me? You don't have to count Molts.'