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  “You like fish?” Hanne Vogt asked, watching him study the tank. A long-legged, athletic woman of forty, she wore a skirt that showed just enough knee to be mildly scandalous in some quarters of the Zerzura Sector. Only the most reclusive Caliphate worlds imposed any kind of body-covering garments on women; Dahar, as the capital world of the sector, tolerated the normal business attire found throughout the nations that made up the Coalition of Humanity without complaint. On the other hand, Hanne Vogt had the poise and confidence to make even a fairly modest skirt and jacket seem like it pushed cultural boundaries. She also possessed a first-rate brain and a keen eye for opportunity, which made her perfect for her role as one of the Imperial Foreign Office’s leading troubleshooters. “I wouldn’t have taken you for the type.”

  “I hardly noticed the fish,” Bleindel told her. “Yes, they’re pretty enough, but I was thinking about systems and power. Someone went to a great deal of trouble to find just the right conditions and the best mix of species to make this aquarium work. If you walked away and ignored it for just a few days, well, all these little fish would be floating at the top of the tank when you came back. It strikes me as something of a metaphor.”

  “In this metaphor, we’re the tank keepers?”

  “Exactly.” Bleindel turned away from the aquarium and joined Vogt on the comfortable couch. He dressed more conservatively than she did, wearing a plain gray business suit and a steel-blue tie that matched the pale color of his eyes. Where Hanne Vogt’s pose radiated confidence and allure, his posture hinted at discipline and control. Not a particularly imposing figure, Bleindel was a little on the short side and lightly built, although he was more athletic than he looked. But every movement he made was a study in precision and efficiency; he had to make a conscious effort to adopt the relaxed body language or casual ease most people wore throughout their day as a matter of course. “We have a specific set of conditions we’re attempting to create so that the fish that interest us will flourish. Most of our work takes place out of sight and out of mind. If we do it well, the casual observer would never even guess that the work had been done at all.”

  “And if we fail to maintain our investment, a lot of expensive fish die, and the tank starts to stink. I suppose it’s not terrible as far as metaphors go, but I’ve never had much patience for them. Analogies can only get you so far.”

  A stern-looking woman wearing a modest Daharan-style dress approached the sitting area where Vogt and Bleindel waited, her low heels clicking on the marble floor. “Ms. Vogt, Mr. Bleindel, I am Nenet Fakhoury, appointment secretary to Marid Pasha,” she announced in Jadeed-Arabi. Bleindel had studied enough to be comfortable in the language, while Vogt was quite fluent—any diplomat who spent time in the Caliphate worlds had to be, since few Caliphate officials deigned to conduct their business in any other language. “His Excellency will see you now. This way, please.”

  “Of course,” Vogt replied with a warmth that didn’t fool Bleindel at all. After months of working closely with Hanne Vogt, he’d learned that she didn’t waste much sincerity on underlings. The two of them rose and followed the secretary along one of the palace’s grand halls, a beautiful space with five-meter windows lining the left-hand wall to offer a sweeping view of Mersin’s mountaintop towers and the undulating wisps of cloud tops a kilometer or two below. Much of Dahar’s atmosphere was too dense and toxic for humans, but at an elevation of three thousand meters above sea level the air was perfectly breathable and free of the dense low-level clouds that made the true surface a gloomy orange underworld. Fortunately, vast areas of Dahar’s rugged surface consisted of uplands that rose clear of the choking murk, providing plenty of room for a planetary population approaching a billion people to build cities and till farmland in the open air. Bleindel had read that pressurized greenhouses and semisealed habitats extended downslope to within a kilometer or so of the bottomlands—and Dahar’s entirely alien native ecosystem—but no one lived at those elevations by choice, not when the highlands were so near to human ideal. Mersin was a city of islands, but its islands were mountaintops and its canals gorges filled with orange mist. A striking site for a planetary capital but not terribly practical, he decided as he admired the view. Among other things, a lack of level ground in Dahar’s big cities limited spaceport construction.

  At the end of the hall, the secretary showed them into a splendid library that evidently served as a working office. Two palace guards in spotless uniforms kept watch beside the door. Near the floor-to-ceiling windows on the room’s opposite side stood a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dark mandarin-style jacket and military trousers, which he wore bloused into well-shined boots. He wore a flat round cap adorned with gold braid, and silver streaked his close-cropped beard. “Marid Pasha, the representatives from the Empire of Dremark,” Fakhoury announced. “Special Envoy Ms. Hanne Vogt, and attaché Mr. Otto Bleindel. Ms. Vogt and Mr. Bleindel, may I present Pasha Marid al-Zahabi, governor of Zerzura Sector?”

  “Thank you, Nenet.” Marid Pasha came forward to shake Vogt’s hand and then Bleindel’s, while the secretary retreated to a desk by the door. “Welcome to Dahar, Ms. Vogt, Mr. Bleindel. I trust your journey was comfortable?”

  “It was, thank you,” Vogt replied. “A little long, but the warm welcome your government has extended to our mission certainly makes the trip worthwhile.” The home systems of the Empire of Dremark lay almost five hundred light-years away in the neighborhood of the Coalsack Nebula, on the opposite side of the Terran Caliphate from the Zerzura Sector. Even the swiftest courier ships required more than a month for the journey.

  “Think nothing of it. Dremish investment in Zerzura is very important to our development. Your businesses are revitalizing the sector economy after decades of stagnation.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I’m here today, Pasha. My government believes in following up on success; when something is off to a promising start, that’s the best time to double down on your investment. We’re pleased by the results we’ve seen so far, and we have some ideas about expanding our efforts in Zerzura.”

  “I’m anxious to hear more about what you’ve got in mind. Why don’t we have a seat, and perhaps some coffee? Given our unique soil chemistry, Dahar grows some of the best you can find anywhere.” Pasha Marid gestured toward a sitting area by the room’s broad windows. The office faced away from the city proper, and a vast unbroken skyscape stretched away for a hundred kilometers outside.

  “That would be wonderful,” Vogt replied, following Marid and taking one of the seats; Bleindel chose the one beside hers, while the pasha sat opposite them. A palace steward appeared with a coffee service and set it on the low table between them, pouring three small cups.

  “Try it black first before you add anything,” the pasha advised, choosing one of the cups. “You might like a little sugar, but it really doesn’t need much help.”

  Bleindel helped himself to a cup, and took a cautious sip—he’d traveled enough to be wary of local delicacies. To his surprise, the coffee was as good as the pasha claimed. He’d become a connoisseur of Arabian-style coffee during his assignment on the distant planet of Gadira years ago, and time had only sharpened his appreciation. “This is excellent,” he remarked.

  Marid Pasha beamed. “It is, isn’t it? I discovered it soon after I was appointed to this sector.” He sipped his own coffee, savoring the taste for a moment before setting down the cup and fixing the two Dremish with a measuring gaze. “While I’m naturally interested in any opportunities to increase international investment in Zerzura, I confess I am curious why routine economic development requires the attention of a special envoy from your empire’s Foreign Office, especially one with such a mysterious record as you, Ms. Vogt. Your consular offices usually handle this sort of contact.”

  “For routine matters, yes, that’s true. However, we see the opportunities presented by Zerzura as anything but routine.” Vogt sipped at her coffee and nodded in appreciation before quietly reaching for the
sugar. “And, to be frank, we do have a specific concern about the security of increasing investments in this sector—your piracy problem. My superiors sent me to personally assess the situation and discuss steps that could be taken to abate this menace.”

  “I see.” Marid Pasha gave a small shrug. “No one knows better than I do the challenge posed by piracy in my sector. Our intersystem carriers in Zerzura are losing millions to insurance costs even if they manage to avoid attacks on their ships, and some foreign traders are detouring around us altogether. Unfortunately, we’re a long way from Terra, and the Caliphate simply doesn’t have the interest—or the military resources—to sustain an antipiracy campaign in this part of space. My complaints fall on deaf ears.”

  Bleindel sipped at his coffee, studying the pasha’s expression. On paper, the Terran Caliphate was one of the largest powers in the Coalition of Humanity, home to dozens of long-settled worlds that had been colonized by humans during the First Expansion from Sol—and, of course, Terra itself. In fact, though, the Caliphate was a power in decline, eclipsed centuries ago by Second Expansion star nations founded outside its stifling and reactionary culture. The Caliphate had never developed the sinews of a modern multistellar state, and was better understood as a collection of poorly organized sectors and virtually independent worlds than a cohesive nation. The only reasons the more advanced states ringing the Caliphate—say, the Aquilan Commonwealth, the Republic of Montréal, or the Empire of Dremark—hadn’t already started to carve away the outlying portions of the decrepit Caliphate were the fears that some other power might come away with more of the spoils once the looting began, and that squabbles over choice territory could spark a major war. For the moment, everybody seemed happy to maintain the polite fiction that what Earth said mattered.

  “I can imagine,” Vogt said to Marid. “The Caliphate is huge, and Zerzura is only one sector. Given the difficulty in securing more action from Terra, we’d like to provide direct assistance to Zerzura and help you deal with the piracy problem yourself.”

  “What sort of help do you have in mind?” said Marid.

  Vogt glanced at Bleindel; he recognized his cue. “You need warships, Pasha,” he said. “The only thing that will deter pirates is a fleet based in the area to escort trade vessels through dangerous systems and suppress pirate activity with vigorous patrolling.”

  “That may be true, but turning my sector over to the Dremish Navy is the sort of thing that will bring me the Caliphate’s attention in a hurry,” Marid Pasha said in a dry tone. “Trade and economic development are one thing, Mr. Bleindel. Basing rights are another thing altogether.”

  “We’re not interested in basing rights, Pasha,” said Bleindel. “We’re talking about providing the Zerzura Sector Fleet with Dremish-built warships. They’re hand-me-downs, of course—ships that we’re replacing in our own fleet—but they have been meticulously maintained. We Dremish enjoy something of a reputation for superior workmanship, you know. And any fighting ship, even one with a few years on it, is nothing a pirate would want to tangle with. You find the crews, and we’ll provide the hulls and refurbish them for service at a nominal cost.”

  “That strikes me as very generous. What are you going to want in return?”

  Hanne Vogt answered. “Not as much as you might think. We see this as a way to protect our investments in Zerzura, and perhaps create the conditions for more cooperation in the future. A friendly fleet in Zerzura would relieve some of our concerns about potential troubles in the Velar Electorate or the Principality of Bolívar, after all. Like you, we’re becoming frustrated with Terra’s inattention to the problems in this region of space.” She shrugged her graceful shoulders. “We see no reason for our investments here to suffer from Terran apathy if there’s a responsible local partner who can address the security questions.”

  “I doubt that Terra will approve my purchase of a Zerzuran fleet at any price.”

  “Then why get Terra involved?” Vogt replied. “You have a reputation as an independent thinker, Marid Pasha. Five major worlds and a dozen smaller outposts represent enough of tax base to support a modest fleet. If you need one and Terra isn’t able or willing to provide it, I’d say you’re within your rights to look after your sector’s security needs by other means.”

  “That is an interesting proposition.” The pasha stood up and paced over toward the window, gazing out over the colorful clouds below with his hands clasped behind his back. “I should probably tell you that I’ve had similar conversations with other parties who are also concerned with Zerzura’s security. It seems that my troubles are worrisome to quite a lot of foreigners these days … although I must admit that nobody has yet offered me a navy of my own.”

  “Sometimes the simplest solutions are best. You need a fleet. We have some ships we can spare, and we’d like to help out a friend.”

  The pasha allowed himself a single bark of laughter, and turned back to face his guests. “I’m just an old soldier, Ms. Vogt, but I know that nothing is quite that simple.”

  Nenet, the pasha’s secretary, chose that moment to break in on the conversation. “Marid Pasha, the Velaran consul and the commander of the Vashaoth Teh are here. You are scheduled to meet with them at the top of the hour.”

  “So I am. Well, we probably shouldn’t keep them waiting. Velarans are prickly about that sort of thing.” Marid offered the Dremish envoys an apologetic smile. “I hope you understand.”

  “I’m familiar with Velaran manners,” Vogt said. She rose to her feet, and Bleindel followed her lead. “By all means, you shouldn’t make them wait. I’ve enjoyed our conversation and the excellent coffee, Marid Pasha, and I look forward to our next meeting.”

  “As do I, Ms. Vogt. You’ve given me a lot to think about this afternoon. You may transmit your proposal with all the details and fine print to my secretary’s office, and I’ll have my people study it carefully.” The pasha walked them to the door. “Will you be in Dahar for a while?”

  “I mean to speak to some of our Zerzuran business contacts and local sources about their views on the piracy problem, but I am otherwise at your disposal. We’re staying aboard the Polarstern.”

  “We’ll be in touch. Ms. Vogt, Mr. Bleindel, enjoy your stay in Dahar.” The pasha shook their hands, and nodded to one of the soldiers by the door. “Major Terzi can show you back to your flyer. Major?”

  “Yes, Excellency,” said Terzi—a compact, battle-scarred veteran with cold, hard eyes. “This way, if you please.”

  Bleindel and Vogt shared a look, but said nothing as they followed the silent officer to the landing pad where Polarstern’s orbital shuttle waited. The day was colder than it looked from inside the palace with its bright sunlit windows, and Bleindel thought he detected a slight hint of something sharp and cinnamon-like in the air—a whiff of the exotic cloudstuff from lower down on the mountainside. It’s toxic, he reminded himself. The palace might be situated in a picturesque spot, but the planet of Dahar was not what it seemed to be from Marid Pasha’s elevation. And there’s another metaphor if I ever heard one!

  Terzi gave them a shallow nod as a farewell, and returned inside. Bleindel waited until the orbiter’s crew sealed the cabin hatch behind them before speaking again. “Well, that was not as productive as I’d hoped,” he observed as they climbed up and away from the palace and its mountaintop city. “‘We’ll be in touch,’ really? Most people are more impressed when you offer them a fleet.”

  “Diplomacy has its own rules,” Hanne Vogt told him. “You’re a spy, Otto. In your line of work, you set objectives and execute missions. My job, on the other hand, is all about the process. Our first meeting with Marid al-Zahabi went more or less as I expected, including the next appointment providing a simple and polite reason to finish up with us for the day.”

  “If you say so.” He glanced out the window to admire the striking scenery, the orbiter’s thrust gently pushing him back into his luxurious seat despite the inertial compensation—without
it, he’d be struggling to remain conscious under ten g or more of acceleration. “What do you think the pasha meant with that remark about conversations with other parties?”

  “He wanted to make sure we understood that we’d better bring him a competitive offer if we want to secure his loyalties. Otherwise, he just might choose to align himself with another power that outbids us.”

  “The Velarans?”

  “Not likely. They have no interest in bringing any more human worlds under their control when they’ve already got serious problems with human separatist movements. And I doubt that they have the money or resources to get involved in a bidding war for the Zerzura Sector even if they did want it.”

  “There’s a Velaran cruiser in orbit right now,” Bleindel observed. He glanced out the window, looking to see if Vashaoth Teh happened to be in sight now that they’d climbed above most of the atmosphere. Dozens of large freighters and transports glittered brightly in low orbits above the shuttle, but he couldn’t tell if one of the distant lights in the blackness ahead of them was the Velaran ship. “It’s the biggest warship in the sector at the moment, last I looked.”

  “And it’s here to remind the Terran Caliphate in general—and Marid Pasha in particular—to keep any separatist sympathies to themselves.” Vogt didn’t bother to look out the window; instead, she opened her dataslate and started jotting down notes to herself as she talked. “The Velar Electorate might not have much of a fleet compared to our own, but it’s light-years ahead of anything the Caliphate could deploy this far from Earth.”