Jerry Pournelle - King David's Spaceship

MacKinnie shrugged. “Moderately. I expect the cargo we brought will cover the expedition costs, but there won’t be a lot of profit.”

Jefferson nodded. “I don’t recall seeing much there I’d want to buy, “he said. “Where did you go on Makassar?”

“Well, we landed at the Navy base at Jikar and went from there,” MacKinnie said.

Man’s nervous, Jefferson thought. Is there a special reason? Or does he just dislike Imperial officers? “The report from the Makassar garrison says you went to Batav.”

MacKinnie nodded.

“I was there once. Did you see the temple?”

“Certainly. Most prominent building on the whole planet.”

“It is, isn’t it? Get inside?”

“Not beyond the courtyard,” MacKinnie answered. “It’s a holy place, and the unconsecrated don’t get into the inner buildings.”

Jefferson grinned to himself. “Right.” It had been that way when Jefferson visited. Of course other Navy people had been inside, all the way to the crypt where they kept the remains of the old library. What might this chap have done if he’d known what was in there? Or did he? “Why is the place holy?” Jefferson asked. “I didn’t stay long enough to find out.”

“Relics, they say,” MacKinnie answered. “The building’s very old. We ran into a party of Imperial missionaries in Batav, and they said something about stuff left over from the First Empire.”

Jefferson glanced down at his computer. There it was. A note from the commander at Jikar. ‘Archbishop Casteliano found this group helpful and sent a note of commendation.’ So. They had friends in the Church. Might as well get this over with. “Any injuries or diseases?” he asked. “And I’ll need your cargo manifests. …”

When MacKinnie saw Lieutenant Jefferson waiting for him at the gangway his first reaction was panic. Somehow they must have found out…

But the only armed Marines in evidence were a pair of sentries looking very bored, and there was no evidence of suspicion at all. Jefferson acted as if he’d never seen MacKinnie before. Given his condition the only time they’d been in the same room together that was hardly a surprise. And his greeting was polite. Everything seemed routine.

For all that, it was unnerving. Nathan followed the Imperial officer into the stone warehouse the Imperials had converted into their customs office, and tried to act relaxed about the interview. It seemed to go well enough, and Jefferson’s interest in the Temple was natural. The real test would come when they inspected the cargo. The carefully copied library records were concealed inside handcrafted statuary. It wouldn’t take a lot of ingenuity to find them, but Nathan could think of no other place to conceal them. He’d almost left them behind, but Kleinst had said he couldn’t rely on his memory, and that left few choices.

MacKinnie found he needn’t have worried. The cargo inspection was cursory. Jefferson had a couple of the crates opened, but mostly seemed curious to see what they’d brought.

“Copper statues,” Jefferson commented. “I didn’t see anything like this on Makassar.”

MacKinnie laughed. “Nor did we. But copper is cheap enough there, so we had artists copy their work in it.”

“Clever of you,” Jefferson said. “Should fetch a good price here.” He continued to look through boxes. “Ah. I should have picked up one of these myself,” he said. He held up a tusked sea creature carved in one of Makassar’s ultra-hard woods. “What’s your price for it?”

MacKinnie shrugged. “We’ll have to hold auctions. How else can you establish prices on rare artworks? But that’s yours if you’d like.’’

“I should pay for it—”

MacKinnie shrugged. “Set a price, then.”

“I don’t suppose I could afford what you can get for it here-”

“Probably not. It’s still yours if you want it.”

“I’d better not. Thank you for the offer.” He made notes on his pocket computer. “You’re cleared,” he said.

MacKinnie was surprised and looked it. “Thanks.”

“That’s Navy clearance,” Jefferson said. “You’ll get a customs bill later.” He glanced at the small screen on his pocket computer. “Since this expedition was owned by a sovereign ally, that won’t be very high. May even be waived. Have you arranged for a crew to transport?”

“No, but I expect His Majesty’s government has.”

“Good.”

“What’s next?” MacKinnie asked.

“Immigration,” Jefferson said. “Nothing to that. Just identification. To be sure you’re the same people who left. Are you all here?”

“Not quite. Barstonic and Danvers and Stark were killed on Makassar.” He was surprised at how easy it was to say that. Of course Hal wasn’t dead. Or wasn’t when they left Batav.

“Sorry to hear that.” Jefferson glanced at his pocket computer. “Stark was your guard leader?”

“Yes. Your people there took a full report—”

Lieutenant Jefferson sighed. “They don’t seem to have sent it along,” he said. He did things to his pocket computer and looked at it again. “No, I’m afraid not. You’ll have to tell that story again. Unless — Just a minute.” He used a small stylus to write something else on the machine’s face. “Aha. They did send it after all. Illustrated with satellite photos.” He read for a moment, then looked up at MacKinnie. “You seem to have fought a proper little war at Batav.”

“There were a few barbarians,” Nathan said.

“Yes.” He read more. “No superior weapons—”

“Of course not. Look, we. were inspected when we landed on Makassar.”

“I know.”

What else do you know? MacKinnie wondered. “What’s the problem?”

“Just wondering if tactical innovations come within the limits of the technology transfer laws,” Jefferson said. “Well, that’s not my business. If the Makassar garrison didn’t have a complaint there’s no reason for me to raise the question.” The frown faded and he smiled at MacKinnie. “Forgot to say it. Welcome home.”

There was a large crowd outside, with a dozen reporters in front. They all shouted questions at once. Then, suddenly, they fell silent.

Inspector Solon came through the crowd. His black uniform opened a way as if by magic. “Welcome back, Trader. Freelady. Gentlemen.” His voice was cold even though his smile was broad. He turned to the crowd. “His Majesty requests that he be given the first interview,” Solon said. “Surely that is reasonable? You will all have your opportunities, but I am commanded to bring the members of the expedition to the palace.”

There were murmurs from the reporters, but no one actually protested. Solon led them across the broad avenue to waiting steam cars. “We will go directly to the palace,” he said.

It was as if Stark had come up behind him. Nathan heard him as clearly as if he’d been there. “Bets on our ever gettin’ out of there alive, Colonel? That guy gives me the creeps. So does his boss.”

There were three cars. “Trader, you and Freelady Graham and our scholars will ride in the first car with me,” Solon said. He held open the door.

Nathan and Mary climbed into the vehicle. It was new, a model he hadn’t seen before, and the interior was luxurious. When they were inside, Solon handed each a sheet of paper.

“SPEAK ONLY PLEASANTRIES. DO NOT DISCUSS THE EXPEDITION UNTIL YOU ARE TOLD IT IS SAFE.”

MacKinnie read it and nodded. Solon waited until each one acknowledged the message, then collected the papers and put them in his pouch. “Was it a pleasant journey?” he asked conversationally.

“Return trip was dull,” MacKinnie said.