Ric Locke - Temporary Duty

Five minutes. “All right. Ander, Alper, go and get your airsuits and anything else you can grab quickly. Khurs, I’m glad to see you wearing your suit, but I don’t think they’ll let you go back for anything else. Dzheenis, you and Lisi go with the others. Let Prethuvenigis know what’s going on.”

“ Depa’olze ,” Dzheenis said with a half-bow, and Ander and Alper headed for the bedroom.

“What’s going on?” Cade demanded. “These people are in protective custody. They can’t just leave.”

“Miz Cade, there comes a time when self-confident optimism turns into flat reckless stupidity, and in my opinion you done gone a good ways beyond that point.” The woman jerked her head back, face twisted into a scowl, and Peters continued, “I ain’t turnin’ my family over to your tender mercies if I can help it, and in this case I can. You don’t like it, well, you just declared war on more stars than you can see and all the people who live there, and we’re waitin’ for you to open the festivities. I guarantee that you, personally, will not survive.”

The Federal officer didn’t reply, just stood rigid, eyes hot, face a rictus of mixed hatred and rage. Her adviser’s face was the color of skim milk; he murmured urgently into her ear, to no apparent effect.

“Should I be destroying records?” Khurs asked practically.

“We don’t have time—no, wait.” Peters smiled and looked up. “ Lusi Velix, it appears there will be no shooting for the moment. Would a little casual destruction assuage your people’s regret somewhat?”

“It’s always disappointing to go to a party and not dance,” the officer replied gravely.

“I thought you might feel that way. Very well. When my family have finished removing their possessions, search the place. Remove or destroy, at your option, every scrap of writing or other records, including those two objects and their appurtenances.” He indicated the computers. “You should take those, you’ll find them interesting. Also, remove or destroy any and all items of off-world origin, and smash the furniture and fittings in general. Try not to start a fire; the structure is old and highly flammable, and there are many persons not involved in this dispute within it.”

“By your clear direction, ze Peters,” Velix Teeda said, and began barking orders in his own language.

“What’s going on?” Cade demanded as three of the bür soldiers stacked their weapons and began bundling up the computers. “That material’s under a Federal seizure order. You can’t remove it.”

“A cretin to the end.” Peters sighed and made an irritated gesture like swatting a fly. “Miz Cade,” he said with exaggerated patience, “this here’s an embassy, and I’m a diplomat. My embassy has been invaded by hostile forces, and I’m in the process of destroyin’ vital records and evacuatin’ personnel, and I’m gettin’ just a little bit tired of you and your bullshit. You.” He caught the eye of the man who’d been advising. “You seem to have a little sense. There’s thirty-five more of these guys,” a thumb-gesture at the bür, “in the troop carrier outside, and if they go by their normal organization there’s three more troop carriers waitin’, and they’d like nothin’ better than to turn the lot of you into strawberry jam and spread you over the buildin’ behind me. Either get this bitch out of here or shut her up before I get mad enough to tell ‘em to go ahead.”

“Threatening a Federal agent is—” Cade’s expostulation was cut off by the adviser’s hand over her mouth, and he and another agent in bulletproofs seized her by the upper arms and hauled her by main force out the door. The point man, left alone, looked around a little wildly.

“Just stay calm and don’t do nothin’ stupid,” Peters advised him in an undertone; he set the butt of his weapon on the floor, lifted his face shield, and leaned against the wall, watching but doing nothing. The passenger carrier arrived, and the bür ship moved aside to let it match its hatch to the opening, leaving the soldiers obeying their orders enthusiastically, comprehensively trashing the suite. “My love to you all,” Peters said. “I’ll see you when I can.”

“Aren’t you coming?” Ander asked in alarm.

“No. I must go and see if any of these fools can be made to see reason.”

“My depa’olze , I must advise you that I consider that highly dangerous,” Dzheenis said soberly.

“Yes, I know.” He sighed and pulled the two women tightly against him. They were crying, pouring a flood of tears down his chest. Khurs was no less affected; she pushed a little, and Ander and Alper edged aside to permit the little Grallt to participate in the hug. Dzheenis stood erect, but his eyes were wet, and Lisi, the newest of the group and the least able to follow the events of the last few minutes, looked gravely alarmed.

“You’ll miss the babies!” Alper wailed.

“Very probably. You should hurry and get back to the ship before you have them on the trip up.” He looked up at Dzheenis, who stared soberly back, and sighed. “It is just possible that something may still be salvaged from this mess. Go, and let me try.”

“And if not?” Dzheenis asked.

Peters grimaced. “I have no advice, and to give orders would be fatuous. Please go. This does not become less painful for being extended.”

“Yes, my depa’olze .” Dzheenis began urging the others toward the boat, Lisi first. Then he took Khurs and Alper’s hands and tugged gently, and Ander followed, holding on to Peters until compelled to let go, face barely recognizable behind her mask of grief. The hatch closed and the smallship lifted away, allowing rain to lash through the opening.

Peters wiped his eyes and looked around at the remaining human occupant of the suite. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Harold Carstairs.” He was about twenty-five or twenty-six, and added a wary “sir!” as Peters approached.

Peters smiled and turned. “ Lusi Velix, a moment.”

“Yes, ze Peters?”

“I’ll be leaving with this young man. Don’t be alarmed at the events of the next few moments. When you are finished here, return to your other duties with my thanks.”

“My pleasure, ze Peters.” The bür officer saluted and nodded.

Peters nodded back and faced Harold Carstairs. “Does your promotion path include Miz Cade’s job?”

“Yes, sir, eventually, if I’m good enough.”

“Well, congratulations. You just convinced a dangerous criminal to surrender after an armed confrontation in which fortunately nobody got killed. That oughta be good for a couple gold stars, don’t you reckon?”

The man—boy—looked confused. “I suppose so, sir.”

“Then let’s go get you that promotion, hey? I’ll go quiet like, and you can wave your shooter. I’d admire if you didn’t actually shoot me with it, though.”

“Um… “

“Somethin’ wrong?”

The boy looked embarrassed. “I have to wrap you.”

“Heh? Even if I’m cooperatin’?”

“Yes, sir. The regulations say that all detainees have to be restrained, sir.”

Peters sighed. “Then go ahead, but don’t make it too tight.” He turned and presented his hands behind his back. “That about right?”

“Yes, sir, that’s perfect.” Carstairs wrapped Peters’s wrists with a strap, not too tight as specified, and picked up his weapon. “Let’s go, sir.”

Peters smiled to himself and started toward the door. When he reached it Carstairs called out, “Coming out! Open the door!” in a surprisingly strong voice, and the panel swung open to reveal a hall full of bulletproofs, uniforms, and weapons, with Laura Cade in the lead, face flushed. “Mr. Peters has agreed to surrender,” Carstairs commented. “He’s been real cooperative.”