Angolin, p.12
Angolin, page 12
“Aremel’s pilot?” Dori asked bemusedly.
“No.”
She looked more closely. “But that’s . . . Oh, Will, you can’t be serious!”
“I am.”
“You’re saying the ambassador’s aide assaulted you on the street?”
“That’s right.” Willem craned his neck just in time to meet Gallin’s eyes. They stared at each other across the distance. “I couldn’t be more sure of it.”
“But why would anyone want to go after you? And why a diplomatic attaché of all people?” Dori asked.
“To get to Dharmen, of course,” Willem said. “He’s become a threat to them. Armetrian and Gallin wanted to use my kidnapping to silence him. That’s how I see it. But I didn’t give them what they wanted.” He moved away from the ivy-covered railing, dodging a leafy tendril reaching for his wrist. “And Dharmen and Theus stopped a major smuggling attempt that same night, so it’ll all get much worse before it gets better.”
“Aside from the conurbs, have you told Dharmen any of this?” Yos asked.
“Of course not! Dharmen would cut him to pieces if he knew. The last thing we need is an international incident, and the last thing I need is my partner in detention.”
“Will, how the blazes are you going to handle this?” Dori asked.
“Don’t know yet.” Willem massaged the slit healing across his neck. “I’ll leap that abyss when I come to it.”
Heads turned, startled. Dharmen mounted the steps, went to Willem. “We’ll leap it together, love.”
Dharmen’s deep, strained thought rooted him to his seat like saaryl pines on the heights above. The scene beyond the dining hall’s high windows helped calm it. Lothnë had retired, leaving Rior to bathe the estate’s rear gardens in cool, pretwilight shades. Evening’s serene approach came in stark contrast to the dinner table’s forced manners degrading to revelry.
Aremel had spent the last half hour laughing at Lord Balaneth’s recital of a cleverly comedic but long Lenan folkloric tale. Her latest guffaw wrenched Dharmen back to reality. Ten were present, including the ambassador as expected, Gallin unfortunately, and Princess Nien, the youngest daughter of the Lenan king: an acerbic little creature wearing a jarringly bright, gender-inappropriate green gown and an apparently permanent sneer. She dismissed anyone who tried to engage her; even Willem gave up. Dharmen watched him. Willem smiled back, and then, when he thought Dharmen wasn’t looking, he glared at Gallin for the fourth or fifth time that evening.
“I’m so glad to have only the best of company here for a change!” Aremel said, breaking Dharmen’s musings a second time. “Such a pleasant alteration to the usual mass-unwashed that tramp into my engagements. And, my dear Willem, you were so brave in fending off that animal the way you did. Imagine such a thing happening in Angolin of all places! Just what in the Realm is wrong with our youth nowadays?”
“It was no youth, Mel.” Willem cut Gallin another hard eye.
It was returned with equal frost.
“Oh, really! Well, it was courageous of you just the same, cousin. And you, Dharmen—dear Dharmen—I must say what a fearless man you are, going after those thieves down at the space station.”
“That incident’s classified, Aremel.” Dharmen was surprised at her knowledge and chagrined at having it spoken before a traitor, though the man likely knew of it. “And I did what had to be done, courageous or not.” He nodded to Theus. “We both did.”
“He’s being incredibly modest, Aremel. Forgive him,” Dori beamed. “These boys brought down the stolen ships and destroyed their cargo before the enemy could collect it. And I’m proud of them both.”
Dharmen shot her an alarmed look. “Commander!”
“The Bemin events are common knowledge to this group, Dharm. Don’t worry,” Dori said.
“Well, you don’t say,” Aremel fluttered in astonishment toward Theus. “How commendable of you also, Lieutenant! And may I compliment you on your choice of dinner attire. Never realized you knew such fashion, dear.”
Theus smiled, glanced down at his dark-blue jacket’s neatly pressed sleeves.
Dharmen hoped the ensemble’s synth generator would hold its signal through dessert.
“My word! Three honorable, heroic men at one little table, including a most prominent officer of the Lenan Diplomatic Corps.” Aremel moved loving eyes from Balaneth to the irascible slip of a woman opposite him. “Princess, we are in excellent hands tonight.”
“Beyond the three, not so much,” Willem muttered.
“What was that, Mr. Hanne?” They were Gallin’s first words all evening. “We didn’t quite catch it.”
Willem took a sip of wine and perused him. “I think you did. And may I compliment your dinner attire, Gallin. Such an interesting color. Don’t see many men in red in Angolin. Though I did see one recently. On my own canal two weeks ago, I believe.”
Gallin betrayed no surprise at the implication. “I’m aware of the idiosyncrasies of Angoliner fashion, but we Lenans live in a cold place. We appreciate warmth, even in dress, which is more than I can say for—”
“Angoliner? Wonder where you picked up that term?” Dharmen interjected.
Lord Balaneth stood, wine in hand. “A toast to the valor of Angolin and of Lena. Now that our two cultures are getting to know one another again, may we continue to work in peace and lasting friendship.” He raised his vessel.
The rest, save Princess Nien, followed suit.
With plastiform to lips, Willem and Dharmen exchanged barbed glances with Gallin.
“And to our fine officers here of both lands,” Balaneth continued.
Dharmen did a double take at him.
“You and my aide have something in common, Lieutenant Commander. He also fought on Negara.”
“Oh, is that so?” Dharmen edged eyes to Gallin and retorted. “Running round the jungle with the rest of us, whoever knew?”
“He co-commanded our Tenth Infantry Brigade,” Balaneth said. “And finished up a submajor before resigning his commission and entering my service. My Gallin is a quiet man, but he’s steadfast and full of surprises.”
Dharmen’s eyes bored hot enough into Gallin to redden more than his clothing. “I don’t doubt it!”
The two stared each other down long enough to uncomfortably silence the rest of the table. Clinking flatware was the room’s only sound as server synths busily cleared the course.
Dharmen sat back as his plate was removed.
“By the Norgods, Meester Dharmen, is thees any way to treet a peer,” said the princess in her heavy Lenan accent.
Dharmen postponed his peeve before the dinner guests. “It’s Mr. Tate, Your Highness. Or Lieutenant Commander if it suits you. As for His Lordship’s aide, I’m sure he’s full of interesting talents”—he peered back at Gallin—“which we’ll all discover before long.”
Dori cleared her throat, but Dharmen ignored it.
“It seems you have an ally, my dear Gallin,” Aremel said obliviously.
“Or an adversary. Who can be sure?” snorted the princess.
“I’ll drink to that one!” said Willem.
Aremel rose from her seat. “My, my, what interesting discourse we’ve suddenly fallen into, and I do hope to return to it in just a moment.” She chuckled nervously, fanned her face with a neatly gloved hand. “But right now, I have an important announcement.” She looked to Balaneth, took his hand in hers. “My Lord, we’ve had such a wonderful time these last months. I’ve been so happy, and I know you’ve been as well, and I think the time has come for me to tell everyone—”
“Rubbeesh, indeed!” the princess said with eyes rolled to the ceiling.
“Pardon me, m’dear?” said Aremel.
“You and your tiresome theatreecs, Miss, are plague enough. But these two,” Nien said with a poisonous look at the male couple across from her. “They’ve been most eensulting to our Gallin all evening. Is thees how your realm honors eets guests?”
“What I consider honor, Princess,” Dharmen replied, “is something you wouldn’t understand.”
“Dharmen!” Dori hissed.
“My dear Highness,” said Balaneth, “I am certain that our friends meant no offense to Gallin or to any of us. In my time in Angolin, I’ve experienced only the utmost appreciation for us and our work here.” He squeezed Aremel’s hand affectionately.
“My Lord, how can you be so horribly naive at your age? Do you really mean to attach yourself to her?” the princess cracked.
“Your Highness, I of all people cannot deny the hospitality I’ve received.” Balaneth smiled into Aremel’s eyes. “Particularly here at beautiful Kleve Park.”
“And does hospeetality include bivouacking in thees drab little finca with thees mountain woman? She’s not even royalty. They don’t have royalty in thees gods-forsaken land.” Nien sat back and folded her spindly arms across her tiny chest. “Really, Lord Balaneth, what would your wives think?”
The room stilled. With eyes like synth saucers and mouth wide open, Aremel turned sharply on Balaneth, who sat quivering and staring down at the table.
A gasp broke the silence. All eyes went from Aremel to Brona and then to Theus, who sat hunched over the table with shoulders up to his ears and hands covering his bare chest. He looked down, and shot them quickly to his lap. His dinner attire’s synth generator had apparently malfunctioned, and along with his newfound confidence, his illusion of clothing had vanished.
The sobs and wails from Aremel’s apartments drifted shrilly across the courtyard and into Dharmen and Willem’s windows. Dharmen lay across the bed on his back, hands clasped on his stomach and feet lightly brushing the floor. He thought long and hard about dinner and how to handle—
A crash on the terrace below jolted him up. He heard Balaneth try to calm Aremel’s screaming.
“I hope that wasn’t her delftware porcelain vase,” Willem said. “Mother gave her that when she graduated from university. It’s been in our family for generations. The ancients brought it when they settled here. Priceless can’t begin to describe it.”
“Priceless pieces would now,” Dharmen quipped and lay back again.
“Shut up, Dharmen, this is serious! Mel’s seen much worse than Balaneth and Princess Big Mouth. She’ll bounce back soon enough. But regardless, tonight was our fault.”
“I don’t know about that, love.” Dharmen got up and joined Willem at the window. He took his hands and looked deeply into his eyes.
“You knew it was Gallin all along, didn’t you?” Willem said. “You knew it before you overheard me this afternoon.”
“Not completely. I suspected when you told me how he suddenly appeared. Only TimeSpace produces the effect you described. I knew someone with PTS access was involved, but until today, I’d convinced myself that it was another Guardsman.”
Willem sighed.
“Why didn’t you tell me it was him, earlier?”
Willem let go of Dharmen’s hands “I couldn’t bring myself to. I know how you are, and this is supposed to be a peaceful week’s end retreat. I didn’t want to ruin it, at least not before we could even settle in. Though I’m surprised you haven’t torn Gallin apart by now. I’m amazed he made it to the dinner table in one piece.”
“I left my sword at home, like you asked,” Dharmen said with open palms and a thin smirk.
Willem reached down, patted Dharmen’s pant leg, and located the handle of the assault knife he always carried in a hidden pocket. “You didn’t leave this at home.”
“Don’t know how that got there. Netherlords must’ve snuck it in when I wasn’t looking.”
Willem went over to Dharmen’s travel pack, rummaged through its compartments, and carefully pulled out a holstered gun. “I suppose you don’t know how this got in here either?”
“Okay, you’re right! I just might’ve put Gallin down, and still might, though I won’t need weapons for it.” He ignored Willem’s rolling eyes and continued: “We’ve already been bombed once, and you were nearly kidnapped. There are more of them than one Lenan traitor. Don’t you think we need some protection?”
Willem shut his eyes and flinched at Aremel’s latest screaming wails. “Yes, but for defense only, please. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt, even if it is—”
“What I do for a living? It makes you uncomfortable, I know, but I’m not as rough as you think. I can show restraint when I try.” Dharmen looked into disbelieving eyes. “I won’t kill him. I promise.”
Willem lowered his shoulders.
Dharmen smiled, raised an eyebrow. “Not tonight anyway, love.” He kissed Willem deeply. Willem’s arms wrapping around him felt so wonderful that he forgot all else from the night. Barely noticing the noise filtering in from their aggrieved hostess now, he removed his trousers, pulled Willem toward the bed, and commanded the light bots out.
Midmorning shone warm and bright over Kleve Park. The East Ranges’ forested feet had finally shed their purple-black winter foliage for a more cheerful second spring raiment. High above, Condorcet’s summit met the Heaveners with a snow-capped piercing gleam through thin, silver-white clouds.
Willem had taken Dori and Theus skiing with him. Caution warnings from the avalanche sensors simply couldn’t hold him back. That left Dharmen, Yos, and Brona to their own business on tarocback racing upslope. Dharmen had the wind in his hair and, for a few fleeting moments, no cares. I could do this forever. And why don’t I? his mind questioned as the leafy, yellow-green world flew by. The trio found a small clearing and stopped.
“You did tell Will not to go too far up the mountain, right?” Yos asked. “The trees that high up—”
“Are carnivorous. Yes, he knows,” Dharmen said.
“Then he knows to lookout for borbols too,” Brona put in. “The saaryls are deadly enough, but the snow beasts . . . Well, he should avoid the heights. He can’t render himself invisible like a taroc.”
“No, but he has instincts like one. He grew up in these mountains,” Dharmen said. “But he promised me he’d take them cross-country only and keep low. Don’t worry.”
Yos sniffed and looked around. “So how’ve things been on Bemin lately? I haven’t been able to get back down there. Been too busy with midterm exams, though if my students’ grades don’t improve, I may chuck academia and join the Space Commission exclusively.”
“Port’s been strangely quiet. Too quiet,” Dharmen replied, reaching down and stroking his peacefully grazing taroc’s bushy mane while avoiding its sharp, stubby horns. “And I don’t like it one bit. I’d rather be fighting traitors than sitting around waiting for their next move.”
“You may well get that chance,” said Brona, “and if you don’t, I just might. Last week, I caught one of my colleagues with one of your people prowling around my section. I had them removed immediately, but when I accessed my workstation files—my secure partition files—half of them had been opened and sifted through. I told the director. He said he’d look into it. My colleague’s been flitting about since with no apparent action taken. No investigation, no word of one, nothing.”
“I’d like to know who that Guardsman was,” Dharmen said. “Did you get any information on him?”
“Her, actually,” Brona replied. “And no I didn’t, though Ian, my colleague, did call her by name. Something beginning with V.”
Dharmen blinked savagely. “Vara, by chance?”
“That might’ve been it.”
“What did she look like?”
“Hmm, dirty-blond hair, surly expression. She looked at me like she wanted to bash my head in when I asked what they were doing. You know her, I take it?”
“Oh, we’ve met,” said Dharmen. “Back on Negara, with me at the wrong end of her rifle.”
Yos frowned. “Dharm, please don’t tell us—”
“She’s part of the semper knife and trying to get stealthtech secrets to the enemy now.”
Yos kept his frown. “Semper what?”
“Backstabber, Yos. And the absolute worst kind.”
“Dharmen, this is getting dangerous. This and shuttling weapons to the enemy . . .” Brona trailed off, looking troubled.
“More weapons, actually,” Dharmen said. “They succeeded at least a few times down the Vresel. I was shot at with more beams than bullets.”
Brona fiddled with her taroc’s reins as the animal stamped at the mossy turf. “And now they’ve infiltrated PDP, and it hasn’t stopped with that one incident. A few times since, file information on the Cloak has abruptly changed right before my eyes, with time stamps suddenly appearing backward in time and no reasonable explanation for it.”
“You know the cause, Brona. TimeSpace,” said Dharmen, “used while dumping the information onto personal media to not risk detection by sending it through your program mesh. Your traitor would be more expert at that than ours.”
“But he chose the busiest times of day to lift the data. It makes no sense,” said Brona.
“Oh, it makes sense,” Dharmen said. “Ian would’ve had to dodge more bodies, but more activity would help hide visible timespatial distortions.”
“He’s right on that, Bron,” Yos said. “That minor flash here or ripple of shadow there wouldn’t hold your attention for long with lots of people and bustle around to occupy your senses.”
“I know all that, Yos. I know,” Brona said. “I’ve done my share of applied research on light-bending and temporal displacement. I just never expected to see PTS used for this purpose—to steal information literally from under everyone’s noses, including mine. There’s more to this than running guns. The traitors are trying to neutralize the Cloak or help the enemy do it. I think we have an invasion coming from both sides of the Abyss, and if the Carmogen and Dawn Fire are mobilizing, then we have to counter. Yos, were you able to access those schematics we discussed?”
Dharmen narrowed eyes at both of them. “What schematics?”
“Of heavy particle artillery,” answered Yos. “Our most powerful weapons housed on Bemin that the collaborators have been scrambling to get hold of. The Carmogen could never mount a successful invasion with their own primitive weapons. Even our lightest shields would repel them. They’ll come here with energy weapons and lots of them, so we’ll need an effective match.”
