Scornful Stars Page 32

  “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Morillo,” Vogt said, shaking Omar’s hand. “I must say, I am happy to see you both alive and well after that awful kidnapping attempt a few weeks ago. You must have been terrified.”

  “You heard about that?” Elena asked.

  “You made the evening news. It’s not every day that someone tries to kidnap an heiress.” Vogt led them to a sitting area by the window; gray mist mantled the upper floors of the taller buildings outside.

  “I had no idea,” Elena said. She took one end of a small couch, and Omar sat beside her. Vogt took a seat across from them. “Thank you for seeing me, by the way. I’m sure you must be very busy.”

  “I have a feeling that you wouldn’t call if your business wasn’t something important. What can I do for you, Ms. Pavon?”

  “Are you familiar with the al-Kassar family?”

  “I’ve met Admiral Torgut, but I wouldn’t say that I know him well,” said Vogt. “I understand they’re in the shipping business—competitors of yours, I imagine.”

  “They are,” Elena said. “The admiral’s brother is Hidir al-Kassar. He runs the Suvar United shipping line. Pegasus-Pavon is a bigger operation overall and we service a wider area, but here in Zerzura they’re just as big as we are. In ordinary circumstances, that wouldn’t present any special concern to me: Five major systems is a large market and there’s room for everybody. But these aren’t ordinary circumstances.”

  “How so?”

  “Because the al-Kassars aren’t just competitors, Ms. Vogt. They’re the principal sponsors of piracy in this sector. In fact, Admiral Torgut’s nephew Gadi actually captained the pirate vessel Balina, and I believe the rest of the al-Kassars are involved in other ways.”

  The Dremish diplomat gave a small frown. “That’s quite an accusation. Can you prove it?”

  “The Aquilan navy’s holding Gadi al-Kassar on Neda right now; I saw him there myself. They captured him at the pirate outpost called Fort Jalid.” Elena raised her hand, ticking off points on her fingers. “Gadi, his uncle Hidir, and Admiral Torgut are all shareholders in a holding company called the Rihla Development Corporation. We know that Rihla received large payments from another company, called Venture Salvage, which sold cargo stolen from our freighter Carmela Día and operated the pirate base at the Zafer system. Speaking of Zafer, the pirate ship Qarash—captured there and handed over to the Zerzura Sector Fleet base at Bursa—was immediately released, and turned up again at Jalid. I strongly suspect that the pirates were set free at Admiral Torgut’s order, although we’re still in the process of verifying the details.”

  “That’s audacious,” Vogt observed. “Assuming for the moment that I find your evidence as compelling as you believe it to be, why bring this to me?”

  “Because Marid Pasha is involved, too. He’s one of the principal shareholders of Rihla Development Corporation. He’s made millions from the al-Kassars’ piracy operations.” Elena fixed a hard gaze on Vogt. “The al-Kassars I can handle, Ms. Vogt, but I need Dremark to deal with Marid Pasha. He’s buying Dremish warships and signing fat Dremish contracts. The way I see things, you own him, and that means you’re responsible for what he does.”

  “Zerzura is an autonomous vilayet within the Terran Caliphate. We don’t ‘own’ anybody here.”

  “Oh, bullshit,” said Elena. “Save that for the newscasts. I’m a businesswoman, and I’m here to talk business. If you can’t do anything about the pasha, then I’m wasting my time, and yours.”

  Vogt’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, but she showed no other sign of anger, remaining silent for a long moment. “Go on,” she said coolly.

  “For a couple of years now I’ve been trying to work with the Zerzuran government to suppress piracy in this region. Ten days ago I found out that I’ve been trying to negotiate with the same people who are hijacking my cargoes and killing my employees—and yesterday I found out that it goes all the way to the top. I’m pissed, Ms. Vogt. So is Alonzo Benady over at Grupo Constelación. I’m ready to pull Pegasus-Pavon out of Zerzura completely, and I can get Constelación to follow my lead. Think about what happens to the economy of this sector if two-thirds of its shipping capacity suddenly goes away. Intersystem trade will grind to a halt—we’ll put five worlds into the sort of depression that brings down governments. I don’t know exactly what Dremark hopes to get from Zerzura, but I have to imagine that a sector in economic collapse isn’t on your shopping list.”

  “Are you threatening me, Ms. Pavon?”

  “That’s one way of looking at it.” Elena leaned forward and met the Dremish envoy’s gaze evenly. “I would prefer to think of this as a friendly effort to make sure you’re aware of the consequences of your new ally’s unsavory habits. It’s to my advantage to make sure the Empire of Dremark knows what it’s buying in Zerzura, Ms. Vogt. I hope you can see it’s to yours, too.”

  Vogt thought for a long moment before replying. “We have a great deal invested in Marid Pasha, Ms. Pavon. We can’t lightly put that relationship at risk—or allow someone else to. If Marid Pasha’s government is as complicit in piracy as you say it is, then yes, we would like our new friend to distance himself from those elements. Allow me to look into this a little more and think about the best way to proceed.”

  “I wouldn’t think for too long,” Elena said. It didn’t escape her that Hanne Vogt hadn’t actually committed to doing anything or even accepted her understanding of the situation. Then again, she’s a professional diplomat. If she lets on that she believes me, she’d have to take action … wouldn’t she? She decided to push just a little more. “The Aquilans know who they’ve got in their brig at Neda, so they’re already aware of the al-Kassars’ role in Zerzuran piracy. When Marid Pasha’s involvement comes to light, I have to imagine that they’ll bring it to Old Terra’s attention … or take more direct action. Your investment in the pasha might be at risk.”

  “I wouldn’t count on the Caliphate taking much of an interest in Zerzura any time soon. We’re a long way from Terra.” Vogt stood, and offered her hand. “Thank you for this frank and refreshing conversation, Ms. Pavon. I’ll be in touch.”

  Elena scowled without reaching for Vogt’s hand. “I need something more than that.”

  “I said I would look into your allegations and take the appropriate action. That’s all I am prepared to say right now,” Vogt countered. “Good afternoon, Ms. Pavon.”

  “I’ll be waiting, Ms. Vogt,” Elena replied. Clearly, there was nothing more to be gained by antagonizing the diplomat, so she forced a small, cold smile and stood. She just couldn’t read Vogt well enough to tell whether she actually saw Marid Pasha’s involvement as something that needed fixing. She glanced over at Omar, and her assistant gave a tiny shrug; he wasn’t sure, either. “Good afternoon.”

  She and Omar collected her security detail in the consulate lobby, and then returned to her waiting flyer on the rooftop. “Well, that was interesting,” Omar remarked as they climbed in. “I have a feeling she’s not terribly surprised by what you told her—not happy, but not surprised. So what now?”

  “Have La Nómada send the orbiter down for me—I think I’d better stay off-planet until we see what the Dremish decide to share with Marid Pasha and how he reacts to it.” At Mount Kesif, Elena’s security could spot anyone coming for her from a hundred kilometers away. In orbit, they’d see trouble coming from ten times as far … and they’d be ready to run, if it came down to it. Nothing in the pasha’s fleet could catch La Nómada from a standing start.

  Omar nodded in approval. “I was going to make that suggestion. I don’t think Vogt would tell Marid to move against you—she’s too smart for that—but if he doesn’t like what she has to say, he might panic and overreact.”

  Sunset painted the hillsides a brilliant golden green by the time Elena’s flyer and its escorts set down in the field beside the plantation house. High overhead, she could already make out the bright curving contrail of her yacht’s orbiter ag
ainst the darkening sky, and the distant roar of its descent echoed through the valley. She trotted up the wide steps of the porch and headed for her bedroom to gather up the materials for the various projects she’d been working on and make sure the household staff had packed up everything she wanted to take with her—Elena had no need to travel light, and never bothered to pretend that she saw any special virtue in being able to do so.

  When she emerged from her room, she found her bags already on the way out to the orbiter, waiting in the dusty field that served as Mount Kesif’s landing pad. She was just about to follow them when she noticed a bold new headline crawl on the living room’s vidscreen, currently tuned to Dahar’s leading business newscast channel: AQUILAN WARSHIP THREATENS ZERZURAN NAVAL BASE AT BODRUM * SECTOR GOVERNMENT LODGES FORMAL PROTEST * CSS DECISIVE ARRIVES IN DAHAR AFTER CONDUCTING ILLEGAL SEARCH. “What in the world?” she murmured, pausing to take in the story.

  The press-kit image of Sikander Singh North’s face appeared on the screen, followed by a montage of maps, a short clip of Decisive under way, and a moon or asteroid station she didn’t recognize. Elena stood and watched, her leather working case forgotten at her shoulder as she tried to piece together what exactly had happened. She didn’t think she was so infatuated with Sikander that she’d drop everything at the mere mention of his name—oh, she liked him well enough, and she looked forward to seeing him again. But she hadn’t expected him to turn up in Dahar, or to see him on the news.

  She lingered long enough that Omar came looking for her. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  Elena nodded at the vidscreen. “The Aquilans have apparently decided to start searching Zerzuran naval stations. The Zerzurans are pretty upset, as you might imagine.”

  “Oh, shit,” Omar said, studying the screen. “What were they thinking?”

  “I have no idea, but I bet Marid Pasha isn’t going to take it well,” Elena replied. For that matter, the Dremish aren’t going to like the idea of Aquila pushing around a potential client, either. She could think of nothing that would push Marid al-Zahabi into Dremark’s orbit more effectively than the sort of high-handed contempt for Zerzuran sovereignty the news channel was reporting. Hanne Vogt was probably on her way to Marid’s palace already—and confronting him on corruption and support for piracy was not likely to be on her agenda.

  “I think we just got pushed to the back burner.” Omar could work out the implications just as well as she could. “You realize, of course, that this is exactly the sort of incident that Marid Pasha needs to move ahead with independence?”

  “That’s how it looks to me, too.” Elena shrugged her satchel into a more comfortable position, and turned away from the news. “Let’s get going—I think it’s time to talk to the Aquilans again.”

  19

  Dahar High Port, Dahar II Orbit

  A few hours after Decisive returned to Dahar, Marid Pasha agreed to meet Sikander and Eric Darrow at the Dahar Naval Shipyard, an old facility that orbited twenty thousand kilometers above the Zerzuran capital world. No docking cradles had been available for Decisive at Dahar High Port—a sign of Zerzuran displeasure, Sikander guessed—so he’d directed his bridge team to assume a parking orbit nearby. He took the destroyer’s gig over to the commercial spaceport to pick up Eric Darrow for their appointment with the pasha, accompanied by Amelia Fraser, Michael Girard, and Darvesh Reza.

  The Aquilan diplomat didn’t look angry when Sikander met him in High Port’s public shuttle concourse, but his easy smile was nowhere to be seen this morning, and his manner was direct as he greeted Decisive’s party. “Commander North,” he said. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I say I’m not especially happy to see you under the circumstances. The Navy’s really stepped in it this time.”

  “I can’t say you’re wrong, Mr. Darrow,” Sikander said, shaking the diplomat’s hand. He felt wretched about the situation; not a man or woman aboard Decisive didn’t. Amelia Fraser winced at the diplomat’s remark, while Michael Girard turned beet red and looked down at his shoes. Sikander, however, didn’t have the luxury of remorse. Responsibility for Decisive’s actions ultimately rested with him. Whether the Admiralty found fault with his execution of the orders Captain Broward had given him—or simply decided it might be expedient to do so—was not in his hands. All he could do was move forward and accept the consequences without excuse or evasion, and perhaps provide one final example for the men and women under his command if it came down to that. “I hope I haven’t made things more difficult by bringing Decisive to Dahar. My orders were to inform you of the results of our search as quickly as possible, and I felt that there was at least a chance that a personal apology to Marid Pasha might be helpful.”

  Darrow grimaced. “In all honesty, there’s very little you could do to make the situation worse, so your presence probably doesn’t hurt. Besides, the pasha’s admiration for you gives us an opening we otherwise wouldn’t have. He wasn’t interested in seeing me until I indicated that you wanted to see him. Speaking of which, he’s expecting us shortly—we’d better not keep him waiting.”

  “Our boat is right this way,” Sikander said, nodding to the airlock where the gig was secured; the small group started in that direction. “Do you have any advice on what exactly I should say to Marid Pasha?”

  “Make your apology and then stop talking. Don’t speculate about what went wrong or what the Commonwealth should do to make up for it. To the extent that you can, try to avoid a specific admission that we were in the wrong: I’d rather hear you say ‘I don’t know but I promise we’ll get to the bottom of this’ than admit that you agree that we stepped over a line.”

  Sikander repressed a sigh. He’d never been very good at being evasive. “I have a feeling that the pasha isn’t in the mood for any attempt to downplay the situation.”

  “Let me worry about that,” Darrow told him. “I’ll help you out if I have to. He’s only giving us a few minutes, so I doubt that he’s going to demand any kind of complete accounting of your actions.”

  Sikander hoped that the diplomat was right about that. They reached the airlock where Decisive’s gig was docked, and boarded the tiny craft; five passengers just about filled the cabin. “Dahar Naval Shipyard, Kersey,” Amelia instructed Petty Officer Kersey.

  “Aye, ma’am,” the pilot replied, sealing the hatch. She smoothly accelerated away from the spaceport’s docking ring, bringing the gig’s drive plates to full power once she was clear.

  “Did you see the summary of the Fort Jalid raid?” Sikander asked Darrow—the Commonwealth government’s Neda offices provided regular intelligence reports to the diplomatic mission in Zerzura, as did the Admiralty. “It seems to me that Gadi al-Kassar’s arrest and the mishandling of the impounded pirate Qarash show that we had good reason to mistrust the Zerzura Sector Fleet’s leadership. We might owe the pasha an apology, but Admiral al-Kassar owes us some explanations.”

  “I did read the summary, but today’s not the day to raise those questions,” Darrow replied. “If Torgut al-Kassar is present when we meet with Marid Pasha, don’t bring it up. It’ll look like we’re trying to deflect Marid by going on the offensive over an unconnected issue.”

  The issues seemed connected enough from where Sikander stood. However, he could understand Darrow’s point; he decided to defer to the veteran diplomat. “Very well. I’ll avoid the topic.”

  He fell silent, considering what he intended to say. Ahead of the gig, the Dahar Naval Shipyard steadily grew larger in the gig’s cockpit windows. It was an old Terran Caliphate installation that had been towed into orbit two centuries ago to support Caliphate fleets operating against the Velaran Electorate during the wars of the time. After generations of infrequent work in maintaining Zerzura’s worn-out gunboats and corvettes, its open-space work cradles now housed the largest warships to visit since the long-ago wars for which it had been built: the ex-Dremish cruisers Drachen, Meduse, and Zyklop, plus the repair ship Neu Kiel. Sikander wasn’t sure whether
the pasha had chosen the site of their impromptu meeting to show off his new navy, to make the point that Aquila’s representatives were no longer welcome in his palace, or because he cared to spare only a few minutes from his busy day and the shipyard visit best suited his schedule, but he supposed he should be grateful for any opportunity at all to speak with Marid Pasha given the outrage filling Dahar’s news and opinion channels.

  They docked at the shipyard’s administration module, just a couple of cradles over from a gleaming white orbiter with gold trim that Sikander took to be the governor’s official transport. Inside the airlock, the Aquilan party was met by a handsome, thirtyish Zerzuran in a good business suit: Jahid Saif, one of the pasha’s aides. “Commissioner Darrow, Commander North,” he said, nodding to them. “This way, please. I hope you’ll forgive the setting, but you should understand that this is an informal exchange of views, and we are not prepared to entertain official discussion of any sort at the moment.”

  “We understand,” Darrow replied. “Thank you, Mr. Saif.”

  Generations of infrequent use and short budgets had left their marks on the shipyard’s admin spaces; the lights were out in some of the corridors they passed, and the air had the sharp, oily smell of recyclers in need of maintenance. Saif led them to a small, shabby passenger lounge near the docking rings, where two soldiers in the khaki dress uniforms of the pasha’s personal guard waited. Another sign of official displeasure? Sikander wondered. The pasha’s handlers might want us to know that they don’t care to make this a comfortable discussion. He looked at the dusty plastic seats, considering whether he really wanted to sit down, but as it turned out he didn’t have to decide: The interior door slid open just a moment later, and Marid Pasha entered the room. Torgut al-Kassar and the rest of the pasha’s entourage followed just a pace behind Marid; the admiral glared at the Aquilan officers, but said nothing.