Ran unspooled a transceiver disk from his commo unit and set it against the doorframe. Thousands of eyes were turned on the man speaking; the building breathed with the crowd’s anticipation.
“I warn you!” the ground-staff supervisor cried. “I’ve disabled the gas dischargers! Using force on a high official of the—”
“—free the universe from racist Grantholm tyranny!” the translator said.
“Block,” Ran ordered the building’s artificial intelligence, a modular unit common to most large-scale Trident facilities throughout the operating area, “give me a feedback loop from the government gentleman’s amp through your own PA sys—”
The screech preceded Ran’s final syllable.
“—tern!”
The crowd bellowed in pain and fear. Ran hadn’t said anything about amplitude, but the AI made the right decision: more is better. Ran winced at the impact, and the Nevasan guards whipped around with their weapons raised.
The squeal stopped. The Nevasan official had dropped his amplifier. He picked it up again, looking around in angry question.
“You can’t do—”the supervisor said to Ran.
“Block,” Ran said. “Keep it up until I countermand the order.”
He grinned at the local woman. Not bad looking at all, though ground-staff uniforms didn’t flatter females. Not that it mattered, of course.
“Sure he can, girlie,” Mohacks said. “This is Mr. Colville!”
Ran realized that he’d just been promoted, in a manner of speaking.
The official must have spoken again with the amp still keyed to his voice, because the PA system shrieked like a horse being disemboweled. Babanguida bent close to the man and spoke into his ear. A Nevasan guard prodded the rating with the muzzle of his submachine gun. Babanguida ignored him.
Babanguida and the official moved toward Ran. The local man protested. Babanguida grinned, and the armed guards fluttered like birds around a blacksnake.
“Block,” Ran said, “give me the PA for a moment. Ladies and gentlemen—”his voice slapped with phase-timed clarity from all the speakers in the Transient Block “—we apologize for this problem. Please return to your sleeping quarters while we sort it out.”
The speech ended with another painful squeal. It might have been a fault in the system, but Ran had noticed that with some AIs, “intelligence” was the operative word rather than “artificial.” In any case, the jagged blade of sound got the keyed-up crowd moving obediently.
“Whose idea was it, I wonder,” Ran said mildly, “to lower the barriers between male and female sections?”
He was looking at the supervisor. There was nothing mild about his eyes.
She grimaced and turned away.
“This man—”snarled the Nevasan official as he waved his amplifier in Ran’s face. Feedback howling through the PA system drove a mass cry from the crowd.
Babanguida took the amp from the stunned local and switched it off. He handed the unit back. His smile could have lighted the building.
The Nevasan swallowed. “This man says you’re responsible for . . . ?” he said. The sonic clawing had cowed him.
Ran saluted. “Yessir,” he said. “Lieutenant Randall Colville, Third Officer of the Empress of Earth—and in charge here unless one of my superiors arrives. And you are . . . ?”
“I’m Level Six Minister Thach,” the official said, regaining some his poise. “I demand that you stop this interference with my duties!”
“Sir,” Ran said, “Trident Starlines is contracted to deliver these passengers to certain destinations. Nobody on board the Empress has the authority to change that. I—”
“The Government of Nevasa, which I represent, has the right to recruit troops on its own soil,” Thach said. “Stop this nonsense!”
“Sir,” Ran repeated, “I don’t question your right, it’s not my business to even discuss your rights. My duties require—”
The Nevasan officer muttered something to his subordinates. Two of them thrust their sub-machine guns into Ran’s ribs.
Ran began to laugh. “Blow me away and your superiors’ll throw you to the sharks so fast your head’ll spin!”
“Stop that!” Thach snarled to his uniformed contingent. “Stop that now!”
The guns jerked away from Ran’s side.
Passengers had paused to watch. The PA system gave a low-frequency growl that moved them on again. Trident ought to give this AI a medal. . . .
“You, ma’am,” Ran said to the ground-staff supervisor. He hadn’t caught her name tape. “Your folks had better help with getting passengers back where they belong. Now.”