Poul Anderson - A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows

Flandry discarded his cigarette, crossed legs and bridged fingers. No grav generator softened the pull of Diomedes. He let his added weight flow into the chair’s crannies of softness, as if already wearied. (In actuality he did his calisthenics under two gees or more, because thus he shortened the dreary daily time he needed for keeping fit.) “Troublemakers afoot,” he said. “Distinct possibility of hostiles taking advantage of the disorganization left by the recent unpleasantness—whether those hostiles be Merseian, Ythrian, barbarian, Imperials who want to break away or even overthrow his Majesty—right? You got hints, various of those troublemakers were active here, fanning flames of discontent and all that sort of nonsense. How’d they get past your security?”

“Not my security, Captain,” Lagard corrected. “I’ve barely had this post five years. I found the sentinel system in wretched condition—expectable, after the Empire’s woes—and did my best to effect repairs. I also found our civil strife was doing much to heighten resentment, particularly in the Great Flock of Lannach. It disrupted offplanet commerce, you see. The migrant societies have become more dependent on that than the sedentary ones like Drak’ho which have industry to produce most of what they consume. But please realize, a new man on a strange world needs time to learn its ins and outs, and develop workable programs.”

“Oh, quite.” Flandry nodded. “At first you’d see no reason to screen visitors from space. Rather, you’d welcome ’em. They might help restore trade, what? Very natural. No discredit to you. At last, however, clues started trickling in. Not every transient was spending his stay in the outback so benignly. Right?

“You asked my Corps to investigate. That likewise takes time. We too can’t come cold onto a planet and hope for instant results, y’ know. Ah, according to my briefing, it was sector HQ you approached. Terra just got your regular reports.”

“Of course,” Lagard said. “Going through there would have meant a delay of months.”

“Right, right. No criticism intended, sir,” Flandry assured him. “Still, we do like to keep tabs at Home. That’s what I’m here for, to find out what was done, in more detail than the official report”— which was almighty sketchy —“could render. Or, you could say, my superiors want a feel of how the operation went.”

Lagard gave the least shrug.

“Well, then,” Flandry proceeded. “The report does say a Commander Bruno Maspes brought an Intelligence team, set up shop in Thursday Landing, and got busy interrogating, collating data, sending people out into the field—the usual intensive job. They worked how long?”

“About six months.”

“Did you see much of them?”

“No. They were always occupied, often all away from here at once, sometimes away from the whole system. Personnel of theirs came and went. Even those who were my guests—” Lagard stopped. “You’ll forgive me, Captain, but I’m under security myself. My entire household is. We’ve been forbidden to reveal certain items. This clearance of yours does not give you power to override that.”

Ah-ha. It tingled in Flandry’s veins. His muscles stayed relaxed. “Yes, yes. Perfectly proper. You and yours were bound to spot details—f’r instance, a xenosophont with odd talents—” Look at his face! Again, ah-ha.—“ which ought not be babbled about. Never fret, I shan’t pry.

“In essence, the team discovered it wasn’t humans of Ythrian allegiance who were inciting to rebellion and giving technical advice about same. It was humans from Dennitza.”

“So I was told,” Lagard said.

“Ah … during this period, didn’t you entertain a Dennitzan scientist?”

“Yes. She and her companion soon left for the Sea of Achan, against my warnings. Later I was informed that they turned out to be subversives themselves.” Lagard sighed. “Pity. She was a delightful person, in her intense fashion.”

“Any idea what became of her?”

“She was captured. I assume she’s still detained.”

“Here?”

“Seems unlikely. Maspes and his team left weeks ago. Why leave her behind?”

What would I have done if they were around yet? Flandry wondered fleetingly. Played that hand in style, I trust. “ They might have decided that was the easiest way to keep the affair under wraps for a bit,” he suggested.

“The Intelligence personnel now on Diomedes are simply those few who’ve been stationed among us for years. I think I’d know if they were hiding anything from me. You’re free to talk to them, Captain, but better not expect much.”

“Hm.” Flandry stroked his mustache. “I s’pose, then, Maspes felt he’d cleaned out the traitors?”

“He said he had a new, more urgent task elsewhere. Doubtless a majority of agents escaped his net, and native sympathizers may well keep any humans among them fed. But, he claimed, if we monitor space traffic carefully, they shouldn’t rouse more unrest than we can handle. I hope he was right.”

“You’re trying to defuse local conflicts, eh?”

“What else?” Lagard sounded impatient. “My staff and I, in consultation with loyal Diomedeans, are hard at work. A fair shake for the migrants is not impossible to achieve, if the damned extremists will let us alone. I’m afraid I’ll be a poor host, Captain. Day after tomorrow—Terran, that is—I’m off for Lannach, to lay certain proposals before the Commander of the Great Flock and his councillors. They feel a telescreen is too impersonal.”

Flandry smiled. “Don’t apologize, sir. I’ll be quite happy. And, I suspect, only on this planet a few days anyhow, before bouncing on to the next You and Maspes seem offhand to’ve put on a jolly good show.”

Gratified, visions of bonuses presumably dancing through his head, the resident beamed at him. “Thank you. I’ll introduce you around tomorrow, and you can question or look through the files as you wish, within the limits of security I mentioned. But first I’m sure you’d like to rest. A servant will show you to your room. We’ll have aperitifs in half an hour. My wife is eager to meet you.”

At dinner Flandry laid on the wit and sophistication he had preprogrammed, until over the liqueurs Susette Kalehua Lagard sighed, “Oh, my, Captain Whaling, how marvelous you’re here! Nobody like you has visited us for ages—they’ve all been provincials, or if not, they’ve been so ghastly serious, no sensitivity in them either, except a single one and he wasn’t human—Oh!” Her husband had frowned and nudged her. She raised fingers to lips. “No, that was naughty of me. Please forget I said it.”

Flandry bowed in his chair. “Impractical, I fear, Donna. How could I forget anything spoken by you? But I’ll set the words aside in my mind and enjoy remembering the music.” Meanwhile alertness went electric through him. This warm, well-furnished, softly lighted room, where a recorded violin sang and from which a butler had just removed the dishes of an admirable rubyfruit souffle, was a very frail bubble to huddle in. He rolled curacao across his tongue and reached for a cigarette.

She fluttered her lashes. “You’re a darling.” She had had a good bit to drink. “Isn’t he, Martin? Must you really leave us in less than a week?”

Flandry shrugged. “Looks as if Distinguished Citizen Lagard hasn’t left me much excuse to linger, alas.”

“Maybe we can find something. I mean, you can exercise judgment in your mission, can’t you? They wouldn’t send a man like you out and keep a leash on him.”

“We’ll see, Donna.” He gave a look of precisely gauged meaningfulness. She returned it in kind. The wine had not affected her control in that respect.