He was the third son of a neighbor from my own canton of High Island, on the Dorsai. His name was Michael de Sandoval, and little had been heard of him for six years.
“Sir—Ma’m,” he said, stopping in front of us. “Sorry to keep you waiting. There was a problem getting transport.”
“Michael,” I said. “Have you met Amanda Morgan?”
“No, I haven’t.” He turned to her. “An honor to meet you, ma’m. I suppose you’re tired of having everyone say they recognize you from your great-grandmother’s pictures?”
“Never tire of it,” said Amanda cheerfully; and gave
him her hand. “But you already know Corunna El Man?”
“The El Man family are High Island neighbors,” said Michael. He smiled for a second, almost sadly, at me “I remember the Captain from when I was only six years old and he was first home on leave. If you’ll come along with me, please? I’ve already got your luggage in the bus.”
“Bus?” I said, as we followed him toward one of the window-wall exits from the terminal.
“The band bus for Third Regiment. It was all I could get.”
We emerged on to a small parking pad scattered with a number of atmosphere flyers and ground vehicles Michael de Sandoval led us to a stubby-framed, powered lifting body, that looked as if it could hold about thirty passengers. Inside, one person saved the vehicle from being completely empty It was an Exotic in a dark blue robe, an Exotic with white hair and a strangely ageless face. He could have been anywhere between thirty and eighty years of age and he was seated in the lounge area at the front of the bus, just before the compartment wall that divided off the control area in the vehicle’s nose He stood up as we came in.
“Padma, Outbond to Ceta,” said Michael. “Sir, may I introduce Amanda Morgan, Contracts Adjuster, and Corunna El Man, Senior Ship Captain, both from the Dorsai? Captain El Man just brought the Adjuster in by courier.”
“Of course, I know about their coming,” said Padma
He did not offer a hand to either of us. Nor did he
rise. But, like many of the advanced Exotics I have known, he did not seem to need to. As with those others, there was a warmth and peace about him that the rest of us were immediately caught up in, and any behavior on his part seemed natural and expected.
We sat down together. Michael ducked into the control compartment, and a moment later, with a soft vibration, the bus lifted from the parking pad.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Outbond,” said Amanda. “But it’s even more of an honor to have you meet us. What rates us that sort of attention?”
Padma smiled slightly.
“I’m afraid I didn’t come just to meet you,” he said to her. “Although Kensie Graeme’s been telling me all about you; and—“ he looked over at me, “even I’ve heard of Corunna El Man.”
“Is there anything you Exotics don’t hear about?” I said.
“Many things,” he shook his head, gently but seriously.
“What was the other reason that brought you to the spaceport, then?” Amanda asked.
He looked at her thoughtfully.
“Something that has nothing to do with your coming,” he said. “It happens I had a call to make to elsewhere on the planet, and the phones at Gebel Nahar are not as private as I liked. When I heard Michael was coming to get you, I rode along to make my call from the terminal, here.”
“It wasn’t a call on behalf of the Conde of Nahar, then?” I asked.
“If it was—or if it was for anyone but myself—“ he smiled. “I wouldn’t want to betray a confidence by
admitting it. I take it you know about El Conde? The titular ruler of Nahar?”
“I’ve been briefing myself on the Colony and on Gebel Nahar ever since it turned out I needed to come here,” Amanda answered.
I could see her signaling me to leave her alone with him. It showed in the way she sat and the angle at which she held her head. Exotics were perceptive, but I doubted that Padma had picked up that subtle private message.
“Excuse me,” I told them. “I think I’ll go have a word with Michael.”
I got up and went through the door into the control section, closing it behind me. Michael sat relaxed, one hand on the control rod; and I sat down myself in the copilot’s seat.
“How are things at home, sir?” he asked, without turning his head from the sky ahead of us.
“I’ve only been back this once since you’d have left, yourself,” I said. “But it hasn’t changed much. My father died last year.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Your father and mother are well—and I hear your brothers are all right, out among the stars,” I said. “But, of course, you know that.”
“No,” he said, still watching the sky ahead. “I haven’t heard for quite a while.”
A silence threatened.
“How did you happen to end up here?” I asked. It was almost a ritual question between Dorsais away from home.
“I heard about Nahar. I thought I’d take a look at it.”
“Did you know it was as fake Hispanic as it is?” “Not fake,” he said. “Something … but not that.” He was right, of course.
“Yes,” I said, “I guess I shouldn’t use the word fake Situations like the one here come out of natural causes, like all others.”
He looked directly at me I had learned to read such looks since Else died. He was very close in that moment to telling me something more than he would probably have told anyone else. But the moment passed and he looked back out the windshield.
“You know the situation here?” he said.
“No. That’s Amanda’s job,” I said. “I’m just a driver on this trip. Why don’t you fill me in?”
“You must know some of it already,” he said, “and Ian or Kensie Graeme will be telling you the rest. But in any case the Conde’s a figurehead. Literally. His father was set up with that title by the first Naharese immigrants, who’re all now rich ranchers. They had a dream of starting their own hereditary aristocracy here, but that never really worked. Still, on paper, the Conde’s the hereditary sovereign of Nahar; and, in theory, the army belongs to him as Commander-in-Chief. But the army’s always been drawn from the poor of Nahar—the city poor and the campesinos, and they hate the rich first-immigrants. Now there’s a revolution brewing and the army doesn’t know which way it’ll jump.”
“I see,” I said. “So a violent change of government is on the way, and our contract here’s with a government which may be out of power tomorrow. Amanda’s got a problem.”
“It’s everyone’s problem,” Michael said. “The only
reason the army hasn’t declared itself for the revolutionaries is because its parts don’t work together too well. Coming from the outside, the way you have, the ridiculousness of the locals’ attitudes may be what catches your notice first. But actually those attitudes
are all the non-rich have, here, outside of a bare existence—this business of the flags, the uniforms, the music, the duels over one wrong glance and the idea of dying for your regiment—or being ready to go at the throat of any other regiment at the drop of a hat.”
“But,” I said, “what you’re describing isn’t any practical, working sort of military force.”
“No. That’s why Kensie and Ian were contracted in here, to do something about turning the local army into something like an actual defensive force. The other principalities around Nahar all have their eyes on the ranchlands, here. Given a normal situation, the Graemes’d already be making progress—you know Ian’s reputation for training troops. But the way it’s turned out, the common soldiers here think of the Graemes as tools of the ranchers, the revolutionaries preach that they ought to be thrown out, and the regiments are non-cooperating with them. I don’t think they’ve got a hope of doing anything useful with the army under present conditions; and the situation’s been getting more dangerous daily—for them, and now for you and Amanda, as well. The truth is, I think Kensie and Ian’d be wise to take their loss on the contract and get out.”
“If accepting loss and leaving was all there was to it, someone like Amanda wouldn’t be needed here,” I said. “There has to be more than that to involve the Dorsai in general.”
He said nothing.
“How about you?” I said. “What’s your position here? You’re Dorsai too.”
“Am I?” he said to the windshield, in a low voice.
I had at last touched on what had been going un-
spoken between us. There was a name for individuals like Michael, back home. They were called “lost Dorsai.” The name was not used for those who had chosen to do something other than a military vocation. It was reserved for those of Dorsai heritage who seemed to have chosen their life work, whatever it was, and then—suddenly and without explanation—abandoned it. In Michael’s case, as I knew, he had graduated from the Academy with honors; but after graduation he had abruptly withdrawn his name from assignment and left the planet, with no explanation, even to his family.