“They—the Union Fleet—they’re moving in?”
“I’m to arrange certain things. I’m a consultant, Mr. Lukas. That would be an
apt term. Expendable. A man, a ship or two… small risk against the gain. But I
do want to live, you understand, and I propose not to be expended… without
satisfaction for it. Just so you don’t suffer a change of heart, Mr. Lukas.”
“They’ve sent you in here… with no backing—”
“Backing in plenty when it comes. We’ll talk tonight, in residence. I’m quite in
your hands. I understand there’s no strong bond between yourself and your son.”
Heat flushed his face. “No business of yours, Mr. Jessad.”
“No?” Jessad looked him slowly up and down. “It’s coming, you can be sure of
that. You’ve bid to be on the winning side. To do certain services… in return
for position. I’ll be evaluating you. Very businesslike. You take my meaning.
But you’ll do well to take my orders, to do nothing without my advice. I have a
certain expertise in this situation. I’m advised that you don’t permit domestic
monitoring; that Pell is very adamant on this point; that there’s no apparatus.”
“There isn’t,” Jon said, swallowing heavily. “It’s very much against the law.”
“Convenient. I’d hate to walk in under camera. The clothes, Mr. Lukas.
Acceptable in your corridors?”
Jon turned, searched his desk, found the appropriate form, his heart pounding
all the while. If the man should be stopped, if there were suspicion, his
signature on the document… but it was already too late. If Swan’s Eye were
boarded and searched, if someone noticed that Vittorio failed to leave it before
it undocked… “Here,” he said, tearing off the pass. “This isn’t to show anyone
unless you’re stopped by security.” He pushed the com buttom and leaned over the
mike. “Bran Hale still out there? Get him in here. Alone.”
“Mr. Lukas,” Jessad said, “we don’t need other parties to this.”
“You asked advice about the corridors. Take it. If you’re stopped, your story is
that you’re a merchanter whose papers were stolen. You’re on your way to talk to
administration about it, and Kale’s your escort. Give me Vittorio’s papers. I
can carry them. You daren’t be caught with them, with that story. I’ll
straighten it all out when I get to the apartment this evening.”
Jessad handed them over in return for the pass. “And what do they do with
merchanters whose papers get stolen?”
“They call in their whole ship’s family and it’s a very great deal of commotion.
You could end up in detention and Adjustment if things go that far, Mr. Jessad.
But stolen papers are known here, and it’s a better cover than your plan. If it
happens, go along with everything and trust my judgment. I have ships. I can
arrange something. Claim you’re off Sheba. I know the family.”
The door opened. Bran Hale stood there, and Jessad shut his mouth on whatever he
would have said.
“Trust me,” Jon repeated, relishing his discomfiture. “Bran, you’re useful
already. Walk this man to my apartment.” He fished in his pocket after the
manual guest key.
“See him there and inside and sit with my guest until I come, will you? Could be
a long while. Make yourself free in the place. And if you get stopped, he has a
different story. You just follow his cue, all right?”
Hale’s eyes took in Jessad, flicked back to him. Intelligent man, Hale. He
nodded, without asking questions.
“Mr. Jessad,” Jon murmured, “you can trust this man to see you there.”
Jessad smiled tautly, offered his hand. Jon took it, a dry grip of a man of no
normal nerves. Hale showed him out and Jon stood by his desk, watching both of
them depart. The staff in the outer office were all like Hale, Lukas people,
administrative level and trustworthy. Men and women he had chosen… and not one
of them was likely to be doubling on the Konstantin payroll: he had always seen
to that. He was still anxious. He turned from the view of the door to the
sideboard, poured himself a drink, for however unruffled Jessad was, his own
hands were shaking from the encounter and the possibilities in it. A Unionist