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Authors: Walter Jon Williams
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broadcasts, the exploits of the Human Diadem, biographies of Elvis . . . if only, she’d thought, if only she had the chance, she’d show Geoff Fu George or Baron Drago a thing or two.
Her career as a burglar, unfortunately, had not been graced with success. Two standards ago, she’d had the misfortune to get caught on her first job, and her only refuge from Imperial law had been the Secret Dragoons.
As she had contemplated the service from her prison cell on Letharb and listened to the reproaches of her parents, the new work had sounded interesting, even attractive— the chance to visit far-flung worlds, participate in intrigue intended to further the designs of the Empire, find Romance, Excitement, Danger. Instead, however, she’d been assigned as a junior security officer at various consulates in the Human Constellation, a job that consisted for the most part in dealing with various human cranks. Imperialists mainly, who insisted they knew of plots against the Empire and exactly what she should do about them. Countess Anastasia was yet another in a long line of maladjusted human contacts, and Tvi had begun to despair of the whole race. Were these the same people who had produced Mad Julius and the incomparable Soderberg Vampyre?
After Baron Sinn had claimed her for a special mission, her chances had seemed a bit brighter. The situation had been promising. She would be engaged in a race against the clock with the Fate of the Empire at stake, and her competition was none other than Drake Maijstral— he was in the top half of the standings, and furthermore had style and promise. And now it appeared that Tvi had arrived too late.
Damnation. Now things would most likely be turned over to that unspeakable mug Khotvinn, and she’d find herself playing second fiddle in some sordid job of skull-tapping or breaking-and-bashing.
Drat. Peleng was no fun at all.
*
Behind Sergeant Tvi, Paavo Kuusinen’s matte-black speedster rose into the sky. The Khosali commando’s flier was a clear blip on his screens.
Kuusinen had followed Nichole’s advice and got a new jacket cut in the local style, the better to blend in. He was, as he had told Nichole, a student of human nature; he was also, as he told Maijstral, visiting Peleng on business.
That afternoon he had been combining both occupations— he was trying to follow Maijstral. To his surprise he’d discovered that Maijstral was being followed by someone else, the Khosali female. Maijstral had dutifully given her the slip earlier that evening, losing Kuusinen at the same time, and Kuusinen had since been following the Khosali in hopes she’d locate Maijstral again. Instead, the small female had gone off on a pointless excursion into the outback only to turn around abruptly and head back to Peleng City.
Did these people have any idea what they were doing? Kuusinen was beginning to suspect not.
The whole situation was quite bewildering. All he wanted to do was keep an eye on Maijstral, and to his amazement half the Imperial Diplomatic Service seemed to be engaged in the same errand.
There was clearly a mystery here. And, Kuusinen decided, he was just the man to unravel it.
*
Countess Anastasia contemplated her stiff-shouldered image in the reflection of her apartment window. She was dressed in a soft black dress that left her shoulders bare, and billowed around her ankles in a cascading wave of darkness. She touched the skirt, picked at an imaginary bit of lint— how dare common detritus adhere to her clothing. Neuralgia danced in her spine, and consequent irritation whispered in her mind. Maijstral , the whisper said, and her ears flicked downward. She really did disapprove of the man.
“That Gregor person was asking about Jensen and her cohort. Maijstral’s given us the slip. Your burglar Tvi reports that alarms are going off all over the Scholder house. How much more do you need in order to act?”
Baron Sinn’s sharp-faced silhouette appeared next to hers in
Her career as a burglar, unfortunately, had not been graced with success. Two standards ago, she’d had the misfortune to get caught on her first job, and her only refuge from Imperial law had been the Secret Dragoons.
As she had contemplated the service from her prison cell on Letharb and listened to the reproaches of her parents, the new work had sounded interesting, even attractive— the chance to visit far-flung worlds, participate in intrigue intended to further the designs of the Empire, find Romance, Excitement, Danger. Instead, however, she’d been assigned as a junior security officer at various consulates in the Human Constellation, a job that consisted for the most part in dealing with various human cranks. Imperialists mainly, who insisted they knew of plots against the Empire and exactly what she should do about them. Countess Anastasia was yet another in a long line of maladjusted human contacts, and Tvi had begun to despair of the whole race. Were these the same people who had produced Mad Julius and the incomparable Soderberg Vampyre?
After Baron Sinn had claimed her for a special mission, her chances had seemed a bit brighter. The situation had been promising. She would be engaged in a race against the clock with the Fate of the Empire at stake, and her competition was none other than Drake Maijstral— he was in the top half of the standings, and furthermore had style and promise. And now it appeared that Tvi had arrived too late.
Damnation. Now things would most likely be turned over to that unspeakable mug Khotvinn, and she’d find herself playing second fiddle in some sordid job of skull-tapping or breaking-and-bashing.
Drat. Peleng was no fun at all.
*
Behind Sergeant Tvi, Paavo Kuusinen’s matte-black speedster rose into the sky. The Khosali commando’s flier was a clear blip on his screens.
Kuusinen had followed Nichole’s advice and got a new jacket cut in the local style, the better to blend in. He was, as he had told Nichole, a student of human nature; he was also, as he told Maijstral, visiting Peleng on business.
That afternoon he had been combining both occupations— he was trying to follow Maijstral. To his surprise he’d discovered that Maijstral was being followed by someone else, the Khosali female. Maijstral had dutifully given her the slip earlier that evening, losing Kuusinen at the same time, and Kuusinen had since been following the Khosali in hopes she’d locate Maijstral again. Instead, the small female had gone off on a pointless excursion into the outback only to turn around abruptly and head back to Peleng City.
Did these people have any idea what they were doing? Kuusinen was beginning to suspect not.
The whole situation was quite bewildering. All he wanted to do was keep an eye on Maijstral, and to his amazement half the Imperial Diplomatic Service seemed to be engaged in the same errand.
There was clearly a mystery here. And, Kuusinen decided, he was just the man to unravel it.
*
Countess Anastasia contemplated her stiff-shouldered image in the reflection of her apartment window. She was dressed in a soft black dress that left her shoulders bare, and billowed around her ankles in a cascading wave of darkness. She touched the skirt, picked at an imaginary bit of lint— how dare common detritus adhere to her clothing. Neuralgia danced in her spine, and consequent irritation whispered in her mind. Maijstral , the whisper said, and her ears flicked downward. She really did disapprove of the man.
“That Gregor person was asking about Jensen and her cohort. Maijstral’s given us the slip. Your burglar Tvi reports that alarms are going off all over the Scholder house. How much more do you need in order to act?”
Baron Sinn’s sharp-faced silhouette appeared next to hers in
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