Matthieu arrived at the Zurich shuttle port around 01:00 local time and settled the larger shuttle from the Imperial Goddess beside the SDC-20’s shuttle; Captain Hartford had just arrived and was waiting for Starling. They were assigned two berths down from the original berth, however. Matthieu’s initial desperate take-off had gouged a huge depression throughout three of the mass-rated but not propulsion-rated cerametal pads, propelling two of the 24 shuttle seats through the front of one of the cheap metal buildings that passed for service centers for every ten berths.
Sonderman’s troops had retrieved the nominally-damaged seating and begun reassembly in the Imperial Goddess’s shuttle by the time the cars from the embassy showed up. As Starling appeared out of the darkness into the shuttle’s external work-lights to listen, Sonderman described the scene as he was presented a bill for damages from the shuttle port authority.
Refusing to touch the document, he had listened carefully to some minor supervisor spout numbers while pointing at a paper, and had finally told the irate man to send the bill to the Setian Directorate of Intelligence. Instantly unnerved, the man had fled; Matthieu praised Sonderman for his quick thinking, and even Starling nodded approval.
Matthieu told Starling, “You’ll probably have a chance to sleep on the SDC-20. Stefan is expecting commands from Grandfather. Otherwise, ignore Captain Hartford and just let him do his job.” Starling nodded and boarded the small shuttle as Matthieu found the smallest car in the convoy to take him to the chancery.
When he got to his room, he dismissed the Sentinel on duty. “Get some sleep; we’ll surely need you tomorrow.” He crawled into bed without waking Gerard.
Matthieu woke up starving. Preparing himself for the day, he looked around for any notes from Gerard, but the only thing he found was an empty bottle. Settling his Sentinel equipment around his person, he headed for the dining hall.
It was almost like a party. There was a buffet with both breakfast and lunch items, the tables were full of evaluation team members, embassy staff, and Sonderman’s troops, extra chairs were scattered around, and someone had brought in a video screen for everyone to watch the news.
Gerard’s video conversation with the secretaries and their minister had spread far and wide, the minister had resigned in disgrace, a brief clip was shown of the ambulance dumping the grav-cots at the gate and fleeing, reporters were interviewing every cargo crew in orbit they could contact, and speculations were being made on the demands the Sinclair Demesnes Special Envoy would make of the government.
Matthieu was cheered when he entered the room, and as soon as he began eating, the video of his spectacular emergency docking came on the news, complete with ship and shuttle registrations, velocity, vector, and grav readings along the lower edge, and excited commentary by the Venturian pilot and weapons officers taking the video from their weapons station.
After weathering the many congratulations, Matthieu nodded and asked if he could talk to Vic privately. Vic told him the data they had gathered had been wiped from every palm pad belonging to the task force. “I kept my data, though.” He grinned.
“How so?”
With a sly look, Vic reminded him, “Your paranoia has rubbed off on me. I kept an updated copy on a data card at all times. When they detained us, I popped it in my mouth.
“At the Sequestration Center, they didn’t bother asking for more than our names. Instead of speaking, I produced my identification, they searched us but let us keep our clothes, and I put the card in my pocket. By the time we were released, the card was dry.”
Matthieu congratulated him. “That reminds me, I should be getting access to a palm pad today. Let me make an extra copy, but otherwise I need to find Gerard and get back to work.”
Vic nodded. “I’ll be so glad to get out of here.” Looking around, he mused, “I guess we should quit partying and try to write up a report from memory for the general.”
“Great idea,” Matthieu praised him. “That would be so helpful.” He finished his meal, clapped Vic’s shoulder, and headed for the ambassador’s office.
Gerard and the rest of his retinue minus Starling were in the lounge area with the ambassador and counselor, drawing up lists of demands to be made of the Setians. Ambassador Compton shook his head. “I don’t think it’s going to work. They are in a rage you let that video out. They will expect demands, yes, but not this many.”
Matthieu asked, “When do you expect Starling?”
“In approximately two hours. Why?” Gerard asked.
Matthieu grinned. “Well, if I’m not mistaken, events are about to catch up to the Setians.” He told of Fidel’s news and that Grandfather was about to make some decisions whether to release the videos. “If I know Grandmother, she’ll prompt Fidel to structure it as tightly as a press release.”
“How in the world did you learn all that?” Ambassador Compton’s amazement was palpable.
“I’m sorry, but I’m not allowed to tell you,” Matthieu said. “As a matter of fact, you should all swear to secrecy you will never divulge that we have the rare capability of transmitting limited information through wormholes.” They all swore to it immediately.
“Speaking of which, where is Christian’s palm pad?”
The counselor strode to the door and asked a staffer to bring the three palm pads to them. They were delivered in less than three minutes, but they were indistinguishable from each other.
He started them up; they all appeared to be working, but all data had been wiped. “It might take some time for this to work. That’s why it’s so limited,” he assured them all. He began typing love letters to Vidya on each one as the men went back to their lists.
Green type appeared on one screen. *I’ll tell V myself. Where is G?* Matthieu set aside the other two palm pads.
*Right here.* he typed. He checked his wrist phone for the time. It took several minutes to see a response.
*My V will be with you shortly. Hand G the palm pad.*
Matthieu handed the palm pad to Gerard. “I believe it’s Grandmother, but she’s getting Grandfather. It appears to take 25 minutes to get a response, so explain thoroughly but shorten words as needed.”
Gerard took over typing to Grandmother as Matthieu asked to see the lists they had come up with. He felt his mind virtually matrixing the situation, so he decided to speak up. “Ambassador Compton, how many Demesnes subjects are there on Seti III?”
“No more than three thousand. Why?”
“What would it take to abandon this embassy?” He listened as Ambassador Compton and the counselor began discussing time frames and berths. Gerard attended and must have typed some of it to Grandfather, because he eventually asked for hard numbers.
Matthieu took the plunge. “If you value my opinion, this is it. Be prepared to abandon the planet with every Demesnes subject who would like to come home if you don’t get every single point on your list. Even if you do; not one single point on the list needs a Demesnian representative to oversee it.
“After Fidel’s videos get here, if you don’t get complete cooperation from the Setians, you will probably have permission to release the videos. At that point, so many planets will send for immediate answers from the Setians that no Demesnes subject will be safe.”
“The Royal Griffin and Royal Asp will be here in approximately seven hours and eighteen hours,” Gerard informed them. He went back to typing.
Starling showed up and reported, verifying every detail Matthieu had given. “Prince Stefan has informed me he has dirty tricks up his sleeve,” he said to Gerard. “I’m only allowed to tell them to you, however.” Gerard typed a few more words into Christian’s palm pad before taking Starling aside.
“Dirty tricks?” Sonderman wondered, eyes gleaming.
“Yes. If no one has told you before, the entirety of this meeting is to be held in eternal confidence,” Matthieu warned. “If one word gets out, being expelled from the Service would be your last worry.”
Sonderman stiffened. “What do you mean by that?”
“Treason, Sonderman. This is diplomacy at the highest level. You may think you’re having an adventure in a secured location with secure people surrounding you, but our lives are in such immediate danger this very instant that we’re doing our best to ignore it.
“We have to plan our every maneuver so carefully just to keep the Setians from simply bombing the chancery in their ire and taking on the war that would follow. People would kill for this information, even once we return home. This is reality; this is how you have to live for the rest of your life.” Matthieu looked at him expectantly.
Sonderman mirrored all the serious faces. “Thank you. I understand, now,” he said humbly.
The ambassador’s vidphone chimed. “Didn’t you tell Minken to refuse all calls?” Ambassador Compton exchanged a puzzled glance with the counselor.
“Yes, sir.”
The ambassador went over to his vidphone as Gerard and Starling took their seats. “We’re ready for any eventuality,” Gerard glimmered, winking at Matthieu. “And I do believe we have to withdraw our embassy. How do you go about it?”
The counselor spoke first of a press release. They were debating on whether the ambassador or Gerard should make it when the ambassador returned to the lounge area. “What’s the word?” Gerard asked.
Ambassador Compton swallowed. “Your Excellency, Your Highness. That was Admiral Renois.” Matthieu knew from the look on his face before he even said the words. “Christian just died.”
As Gerard’s tears began to flow, he immediately began typing into Christian’s palm pad. Matthieu put his elbows to his knees and covered his face with his hands, choking back his grievous sobs with stiff, breathless hitches as he fought to keep from writhing.
◊ ◊ ◊
Ambassador Compton made the first press release. After announcing Colonel Prince Christian Sinclair’s death, despite the desperate flight made by his nephew Lieutenant Prince Matthieu Sinclair to save him, the ambassador blasted the Setian government over their treatment of foreign dignitaries.
“Indeed, such is the Setian disregard for the interstellar community, we suggest every foreign national, not just our Demesnes subjects, should prepare to abandon the planet. To our beloved Demesnes subjects, please send your contact information to the embassy forthwith and begin immediate arrangements to travel to one of these shuttle ports. Find the first berth home, and send us your travel information.” The video ended with a list of five shuttle ports.
Admiral Renois and Commander Jeffries immediately had the Imperial Goddess and the SDC-20 move toward the Darian wormhole. Admiral Renois simply told the trade cargo fleets to go home.
As those fleets demanded information from the Setians, the Setians perforce demanded information from the Demesnes embassy. Compton refused anyone to answer them at all, just as the Setian Ministry of Foreign Affairs had refused pleas for information from Compton and his people for so many days.
Five hours later, the Setians cut off all ground communications to the Demesnes embassy. Since Commodore Breton, Lieutenant Starling, and the Sentinels still had wrist phones programmed to use local commercial quantum transmitters to communicate, it was a bit of a hardship for a while, but Stefan rigged up a method for necessary broadcasts to be made from the Silver Scepter to override the major news outlets at will.
Thus the next day’s entry into Setian space through the Darian wormhole by the SDTE Crystal Crown, Commander Lord Fidel Makov commanding, was broadcast to the galaxy through every jump point beacon in the volume. Commander Makov, however, didn’t broadcast a single word of the situation in the Darian volume, which set the interstellar community thrumming to know what had happened.
Given the responsibility to oversee their Reparations Economic Evaluation Team, Matthieu had half the Sentinels and all of Sonderman’s troops see them to their regularly scheduled shuttle five days later, just as the Royal Griffin and Royal Asp began loading embassy personnel and those Demesnes subjects unable to get commercial berths. Since he had seen that the Reparations Evaluation Team’s report and Vic’s data card were downloaded to Grandfather and Grandmother on Christian’s palm pad, Matthieu told Vic not to worry if anything got confiscated. They had no problems, however, beyond the fact that the shuttle ports were being jammed with travelers.
Fourteen nearby polities had sent one to three war ships each to the Setian volume by the time the last Demesnes subjects were being loaded onto the Silver Scepter, the Crystal Crown, the Royal Griffin, the Royal Asp, and the Imperial Goddess. Five of the fourteen proclaimed themselves to be allies of the Setians, ready to defend the planet from the Demesnes warships. The other nine claimed to be independent observers, awaiting communiqués from their Galactic Assembly Representatives.
Gerard and his retinue had returned to their ships of origin in the middle of the exodus, with Ambassador Compton and his ten most important people housed on the Imperial Goddess. Matthieu’s new duties for the past four days had been to keep track of all communications, for Commander Jeffries simply had the SDC-20 sitting to one side of the Darian wormhole, with the Goddess a third of the distance between them and the planet, clearly guarding the Imperial Special Envoy.
He had only been on shift for one hour when the communication they had all been waiting for popped up. “Oh, Gerard! Look who wants to talk to you,” Matthieu crowed. “Setian President Kenneth Michael Erikson himself!” Gerard, Jeffries, and Stefan crowded onto the flight deck as Captain Bales had Matthieu play the message on the viewscreen.
The president, a pale yet suave elected official for age 55, kept a straight face as he declared every incident a misunderstanding and politely requested a personal meeting with Gerard in order to forestall potential hostilities. This was met with ridicule by the men on SDC-20, for the president had obviously called most of those ships into the volume to counter the five Demesnes warships, despite the fact that six Setian warships were stationed in various areas of their volume.
Gerard’s face glowered with intent. “Begin negotiations to set up the video conference at once.” Matthieu sent the previously-prepared message. Captain Bales had Gerard assume his command seat and called a second weapons officer to attend to ship movements in the volume. “What’s the status on the exodus?”
Matthieu checked with each Demesnes ship. “The Royal Asp still has 42 people waiting to be shuttled to them. That should take two hours. The last shuttle is almost to the Imperial Goddess.”
“Make sure the conference happens in three hours. I want the Asp out of parking orbit and headed with the Crystal Crown to the Qixi stargate before we begin. Double-check the permissions of all three jump point beacon crews.” The SDC-20 would travel with the Imperial Goddess through the Varian Optimus wormhole, and the Royal Griffin would partner with the Silver Scepter on the long route necessitated by the Fontainebleu wormhole.
Commander Jeffries suggested, “Let’s have you and Stefan lie down to rest for the next two hours. We’ll send a sergeant to you half an hour before the conference.”
“And you, Commander?” Matthieu dared. “When was your last sleep shift?”
Jeffries snorted. “Still stuck in ‘personal assistant’ mode, I see. I’ve been awake four hours, you’ve been awake two, Captain Bales fourteen, Gerard seventeen, Stefan nine. Shall I go through the entire crew?”
Matthieu grinned. “I guess I should take lessons from the master.” He gave Jeffries a Sinclair half-bow, hand to his chest, causing everyone on the bridge to laugh. Gerard and Stefan left the bridge, and Captain Bales joined them, saying he could stand to rest, too.
Matthieu was glad for the minimal presence on the bridge. He, Jeffries, and the two weapons officers proceeded to snigger and make lewd comments about the Setian pussies as each new message by the Setian government tried to negotiate a face-to-face meeting with Gerard. Jeffries finally had them tone down to connect personally with the president’s chief advisor.
After listening to his spiel, Jeffries simply said, “Mr. Flanagan, not one of us feels safe on your planet. How can you reasonably expect us to meet with your president face-to-face when we are having every last Demesnes subject flee your volume?”
When the advisor suggested a neutral ship as a setting, Jeffries appeared to consider it. “Tell me, Mr. Flanagan, what could your president possibly say, and what documents could he possibly present, that would necessitate our physical presence instead of simply being transmitted?”
“The President would like to make a personal apology and appeasement in order to stave off any warlike maneuvers,” Flanagan began.
“What warlike maneuvers?” Jeffries stared impassively at Flanagan’s frustration. “The only maneuver we publicly considered making was a pinpoint retrieval. That was forestalled, given the delivery of Prince Christian and his ADC to the chancery.”
As Flanagan flushed with the reminder of that embarrassing incident, Jeffries concluded, “We are safe on our ship. Our warships are here exclusively to protect our people. We aren’t responsible for the presence of any other warships in your volume. We haven’t communicated to any other polity any intent beyond personal retrievals.
“If your president has anything to say, General Lord Pierson is willing to hear it. If your president intends to appease us, have him send his appeasement to the Demesnes Representative, Princess Elizabeth Sinclair-Pierson, at the Galactic Assembly. But we plan to leave within one hour. Either schedule the conference in one hour, or leave us alone.” Flanagan agreed to the conference, and Matthieu cut the connection.
“I suppose they’re desperate to make sure no recordings of the conference get out,” Matthieu figured.
“Exactly. They obviously meant to jam all recordings of the proceedings. Since we’re refusing them with all our might, they know whatever gets said will not only be recorded, but sent to select governments. They just don’t know how select.”
Jeffries’ cackle was definitely wicked, Matthieu decided. He wondered what Jeffries and Stefan had set up, because they refused to say.
◊ ◊ ◊
Jeffries had Gerard dress in his Imperial Peerage tunic, with Stefan and Matthieu in their most formal Imperial uniforms, as if this were the face-to-face meeting they had originally expected when presenting their letters of credence to the president on the planet’s surface. Stephanopolous was at the helm with Captain Bales standing to his side. Gerard was in the captain’s chair with Stefan and Matthieu assuming stances behind him.
Jeffries told Matthieu not to break parade rest, but asked Stefan to cross his chest with his arms. “You are the disbelieving scientist. Be sure to frown or cock an eyebrow at everything you suspect is a lie.” Once he had the tableau set to his satisfaction, Jeffries assumed his position beside the two weapons officers and nodded to Captain Bales.
Captain Bales had Stephanopolous set up to receive the call. President Erikson came up on the viewscreen. Matthieu was uncertain if Erikson’s lengthy pause was to catalogue the witnesses as his eyes roamed over them, or if he intended to try to get Gerard to speak first to show he was the weaker person, deferring to Erikson as President. Gerard maintained his silence.
“General Lord Pierson, may I express my sorrow at the death of Colonel Prince Sinclair? The two men were found naked and beaten in an unsavory district. When our local police retrieved them, they discovered that their DNA had never been registered as visitors to Seti III.
“As a result, our intelligence specialists were trying to determine their planet of origin. Their injuries were so grave, they were taken to the clinic I myself would see if I sustained harm.”
“Yet you didn’t think to associate two gravely beaten, unidentifiable men to the two our embassy begged you to find? How many people do you allow to remain unregistered besides people associated with an embassy? And why were they delivered in their uniforms if they were found naked?” Gerard countered immediately, voice rich with sarcasm.
Erikson lifted his chin. “The request by your embassy was made to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, who delivered it to the Government Bureau of Investigation. That agency is dedicated to the welfare of all citizens, domestic and foreign, and has considerable transparency in its activities. They had only recently found the uniforms and delivered them to the ambulance drivers once we knew the men’s identities.
“The Directorate of Intelligence is responsible for internal security matters. Since they were unable to verify their identities, they nursed the two men in hopes they would wake and declare themselves. Until then, they could only assume the men were hostile agents.”
“Indeed? Current medical practices in your topmost clinic include trying to wake unconscious men with interrogation drugs, hypnotics, and sedatives? I’m so glad I don’t live here.” Gerard topped his supercilious tone with an arrogant sniff; Matthieu’s mind boggled, thinking of Grandmother’s declaration that Gerard was exquisitely polite.
Erikson fought to keep his face neutral, as evidenced by his clenching jaw. “We immediately installed new procedures, though I’m sure that is poor consolation to you. Since Colonel Sinclair was here to investigate alleged abuses to the trade cargo fleets, we are willing to offer a secure compound dedicated to all trade fleets involved exclusively in the Demesnes Attican Reparations Treaty, including free room and board, at three shuttle ports on our planet, for the duration of the treaty.”
Gerard leaned forward and tilted his head slightly. “Correct me if I’m wrong. You are saying my brotheril’s life was worth 758,000 Setian francs per year? $522,000 Demesnes dollars?”
As Erikson gaped, Gerard set his head squarely and spewed forth the exact numbers of trade fleet crew members who had landed on Seti III for the past five years, averaged them, and multiplied them by the number of hotel days they stayed and by the average of what they had paid for their accommodations. It came to 757,982 Setian francs.
“Oh, excuse me, I forgot your markets have slipped sharply during this incident. That would place your value of an Imperial Son from Sinclair Demesnes to be $388,629 Demesnes dollars.
“Do you really expect me to say that to my Imperial Majesties? My in-laws? Do you really expect me to tell my lady wife, our Representative to the Galactic Assembly, that is how you value life on Seti III? My motheril charges five times that just to make a preliminary stargate analysis.” After that snotty delivery, Gerard sat back and laced his hands over his abdomen, elbows on the arms of the command seat.
Erikson’s astonishment had warped into wariness. “How do you suggest we resolve this situation, Your Excellency?”
Gerard looked him over for a good minute before assuming a clear, august voice, much like Grandfather’s when addressing the Ducal Assembly. “You have made a terribly misguided assumption with regard to the Demesnes. You and your predecessors have assumed that the entirety of this treaty has been about money. Reparations have never been just about money in the entire history of humankind. Reparations have been about penance.
“Christian didn’t rush to this volume to make sure the money kept flowing. Christian rushed to this volume because a serious problem occurred, causing personal hardships to trade fleets from other polities. Christian rushed to the surface of your planet because your people were so greedy about up-front money that you caused personal hardship to our own official economic evaluation team.
“I can spout figures all day long about the treaty, the monies Seti III has skimmed from the auctions, and compare them to the procedures on other planets to demonstrate you have considered the entire treaty nothing more than a cash cow. It ends right here, right now.”
“What do you mean by that?” Matthieu decided Erikson might actually have earned his position, for he didn’t detect a single wince or flinch after Gerard’s powerful speech. Either that, or Erikson had no soul and still thought it would all come down to the money.
“I mean that, if we don’t get every request on my personal list of reparations from Seti III, you will have a war on your hands.”
Erikson nodded. “What is on your list?”
Gerard began. “You will provide furnished compounds for the trade fleets free of charge, built to Class II interstellar standards, cleaned and maintained on a bi-weekly basis, with one barracks per trade fleet and a minimum of six barracks divided between three shuttle ports, each capable of holding a minimum of 120 crew members, with total interior space a minimum of 2000 square meters. Transportation to and from the shuttle port to the barracks and auctions will be provided to them free, health care will be provided to them free, and each member will be provided with a minimum of 2,500 kilocalories of fresh food free for the duration of their stay.
“Next, you will provide a chancery for a minimum of 50 appointed Galactic Assembly observers, though that number can include their retinues, with the exact same specifications as those for the trade fleet compound, including transportation, room and board, and one other thing: the Galactic Assembly Chancery must have its own quantum transmitter.
“Next, we are about to release the evidence collected by the Crystal Crown over the Setian involvement in the destruction of the Belmont Madoc Limited Trade Fleet. You will pay to replace the ships and cargo to the trade fleet shareholders, and you will pay for the decontamination and funerals of all 88 fleet members to their families.
“Since your deadly booby-trap also killed 24 Atticans and contaminated four of their patrol boats, you can negotiate your reparations to them separately. Two of the crewmen were distantly but directly related to the current Hegemon, so have fun with that.” Erikson choked, even as Gerard continued smoothly.
“Last, you will not be allowed to make any money whatsoever off the auctions. Instead, you will provide all services for the direct benefit of the Demesnes Attican Reparations Treaty free of charge, including pure, clean hydrogen fuel to each trade cargo vessel traveling through and Demesnes ship guarding the Darian IV wormhole, safe and well-maintained hangars for the auctions, and logistical assistance in the distribution of cargo from the trade fleet shuttles to the auctions.
“The bidders shall pay their usual costs, namely housing, transportation, and logistics to load their purchases on their own shuttles. If any questions or disputes arise as to whether the duties fall under the terms of the treaty, the people appointed by the Galactic Assembly will be instructed on how to give you their ruling on the matter. This shall be for the duration of the treaty.”
Hyperventilating over this last condition, Erikson blurted, “You’re talking hundreds of billions of francs!”
Gerard shrugged. “If you were to calculate all those goods and services in terms of what you would expect as profits, perhaps. If you were to calculate them in terms of their actual cost to your government, far less.”
He leaned forward, put his hands on the arms of the captain’s chair, and delivered his last remarks with all his will. “That is the minimum we require, that you assist us in every practical way to see the end of this treaty with all honor and no greed. That you pay for all your damages and pay penance in goods, services, and security for the duration of the treaty. That is the minimum price for one Imperial Son. If you refuse to do it, you will undoubtedly discover what the maximum price will be.”
Running a hand through his hair, Erikson’s gaze grew distant. “I must speak to my ministers about these terms.”
Gerard launched out of the captain’s chair and took two paces toward the video pickup. On his toes with fists clenched, he snarled evilly, “By God, if you aren’t qualified to negotiate on behalf of your planet, find me the person who is within five minutes, or we leave and the war is on!”
He turned his back to the gaping man on the screen, and Captain Bales had Stephanopolous cut the connection.