“I think we’ll leave it in place, Mr. Pasternak,” Daniel said. “The unit doesn’t seem to be failing, just low output. I wouldn’t trust anything we found here to replace it. Keep an eye on things, and if necessary we’ll take steps when we dock at Radiance or another major port. Out.”
The ship had risen high enough above the palace that its exhaust glittered on the black water of the canal. In Xenos window glass would’ve been flashing also, but most of the houses here made do with lattices and louvers.
“Roger,” Pasternak replied. “Out.”
Birds no bigger than Daniel’s outstretched finger fluttered about the balcony, snapping up crumbs from the snacks other loungers were eating. They had six limbs: four wings, attached at either end of the torso, and a pair of legs in the middle. It’d taken Daniel a moment to realize that the odd fluting he heard wasn’t the wind in the rooftiles but rather the birds themselves; he looked forward to checking . . . well, having Adele check . . . the natural history database in the Princess Cecile’s computer.
Daniel had expected that being rushed to the palace meant he’d be ushered in to Governor Sakama immediately, but when he’d climbed the broad marble staircase to the Governor’s public apartments, the guard at the open door of the Hall of Audience stopped him. He had the choice of standing in the huge circular anteroom which dwarfed the hundred or more military and civilian officials who lounged or strolled in small groups within, or going out onto the balcony which ran the full width of the building.
Daniel went outside and got on with the business of the Princess Cecile. He could oversee Mr. Pasternak as well by spread-band radio as he could looking over the engineer’s shoulder, and he simply wasn’t going to let this silliness bother him. If he’d been an RCN officer on active service, of course, he might have had to take steps. . . .
He felt the presence of someone approaching and turned his head. He expected it was another of the beggars who seemed to be allowed on the balcony but not the anteroom; instead a soldier with a paunch and a spreading white beard said, “Spacer Leary? The Governor will receive you now.”
Daniel raised the visor of his commo helmet as he followed the soldier through the anteroom. If the Governor’d given him time to dress, he’d be wearing more formal headgear than this. Now he wondered whether he should doff it as he would the saucer hat of his Whites, or if it was better to pretend the helmet was just part of his head; which it was, pretty generally, while the Sissie was under weigh. He decided he’d keep the helmet on.
His guide stopped beside the guard at the door to the Hall of Audience. Daniel stopped also. “Go on!” the soldier said with an angry gesture. “The Governor’s waiting!”
Daniel stepped through, smiling faintly. These foreigners got themselves into such a state. . . .
The hall’s arched ceiling was a good thirty feet high in the center and covered to the clerestory windows with florid paintings. Mythology, Daniel supposed: agreeably fleshy women wearing not much, and men of a similar sort—albeit less agreeable. He could’ve studied the figures all day in close-up through his face-shield’s magnification and they wouldn’t have meant any more to him than what he’d gotten with a cursory glance.
He’d bet Adele could tell who the figures were and who painted them besides, though. Quite a remarkable woman, that. He and the RCN—and probably the other people she worked for besides—were damned lucky to have Adele Mundy on their side.
When Daniel looked into the Hall of Audience on his arrival, Governor Sakama had been sitting at the far end of the eighty-foot room, talking with half a dozen locals in uniforms or formal robes. Nothing had changed, save that Sakama and his entourage were all watching Daniel approach at a deliberate pace. Cushioned benches were built into all four sides of the room but save for that group—the Governor seated, his courtiers standing in front of him, and a scattering of servants at a discreet distance—no one else was present.