“Not really,” said Ran. “Traffic’s really screwed up, is all. There’s a rally or something in the middle of the boulevard, so we had to take back streets to the terminal. The trucks don’t have commo, so I played traffic cop at the second corner.”
He glanced ruefully at what had been a white sleeve. “It just looks like I got dragged all the way from Transient Block. Sorry. I’ll go change.”
The clothing and features of the incoming passengers suggested a variety of ethnic backgrounds. Most of them were foreigners leaving Nevasa as the planet teetered above the chasm of war . . . though there were clumps of Nevasan women and children as well.
“Umm,” said Kneale. “Well, I think you’ve earned yourself some sleep. Why—”
The terminal slidewalk brought a party of well-dressed Nevasans toward the Empress of Earth. They were escorted by gray-uniformed guards who jogged beside the slidewalk with weapons in their hands.
“Thach was quicker off the mark than I’d have guessed,” Ran said mildly while his mind raced. If they raised the gangplank—
Useless; the machinery wouldn’t respond fast enough, and half the crew was on leave in Nevasa City besides. Anyway, Commander Kneale was in charge—
Kneale strode to meet the problem at the lower end of the gangway. Ran fell into step at his superior’s heel.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Kneale said in with loud cheerfulness. “Welcome to the Empress of Earth.”
There were nine Nevasan civilians. Eight of them were virtually indistinguishable, though the group included two females and the age spread was about thirty standard years. They all wore rigidly proper clothing—”proper” in higher official circles on any human planet—and they cultivated blank, vaguely disapproving expressions.
The ninth member of the party was odd girl out: probably not as young as her fine bone structure suggested to Ran, but certainly still in her teens. She was dressed in London chic, a black and yellow frock which spiked over the right shoulder and fell off the other. Tights of translucent matching fabric encased the right leg, while the left was bare to her ankle boots.
A nice face, though angry now, and not a bad pair of legs at all. . . .
But the important thing was that if that girl was in the party, it wasn’t an official demand to enroll contract passengers into the armed forces of Nevasa.
“I am Minister Lin,” the eldest of the civilians said to Commander Kneale. “You have a suite booked for me and my staff, I believe?”
“Yes indeed, Minister,” Kneale replied. Only an expert would have caught the relief in his voice. “The Asoka Suite. You’re boarding early?”
He made a gesture behind his back. Several senior stewards stepped toward the cabin luggage arriving on floating carts.
“Father has to arrive early,” the girl said in an overly audible voice. She glared at Kneale. “So that he can be sure that it’s safe for military secrets!”
Mr. Lin coughed. “You’re connected to all ground media while we’re docked, of course?” he said.
“Of course,” Kneale agreed. “Ah—your attendants will have to surrender their weapons before boarding, you know, sir. They’ll be returned—”
“That’s impossible!” snapped one of the civilian aides. “They’re responsible for the minister’s security.”
“Trident Starlines is responsible for the security of all its passengers,” the commander replied calmly.
Ran looked toward the girl. His face was expressionless to hide his anger at this latest problem.
The Nevasans were being deliberately obtuse. Trident Starlines made no attempt to restrict what passengers had in their hold baggage. On Calicheman, pistols were as standard an item of dress as hats against the fierce sunlight, and many of the fringe worlds were harsher places yet
The Nevasan security men could have their submachine guns as soon as they left the ship at any landfall. Nobody but Trident officers had guns aboard the vessel. As for the minister’s safety against a mob of other passengers—given the facilities of the Empress’s imperial suites, there was no need at all for him to leave his quarters during the voyage.
The girl saw Ran looking, she thought, at her. She turned her head in embarrassment. Obviously, she was more inhibited than she wanted her father to think.