‘My own twisted mind. Empress Stanley Five started exiling rebels there way back in the late twenty-two hundreds, and that practice has been followed more or less faithfully ever since. A century and a half of rebel mentality is ample breeding ground for treason. What could be a better place for Banion to recruit from?’
‘Khorosho, then here’s what we’ll do. We message the Head tonight to check out the growth curves and financial statements of every planet and sector for the last seventy years. That’ll take manpower, I know, but he’s got it and this case has priority. His computers will work overtime. Then he takes the top six or seven and hands them over to his best financial analysts for detailed scrutiny.’
‘And in the meantime,’ Jules picked up her scheme, ‘we’ll continue on with what we were originally intending tomorrow, until we find out what the Head has learned from these little audits. Then we’ll revise our plans accordingly.’
‘What if we learn more facts tomorrow that point directly to Durward?’
‘Then,’ Jules said slowly, ‘I’d take it as a sign that we were meant to go to Durward, and that the planet is really a trap for us. So we’ll go anywhere but there.’
There was one thought that neither voiced, yet both were thinking. If this new theory was right, and some grand duke or duchess were behind the whole affair, then the trail would lead inevitably right back to Mother Earth itself.
CHAPTER ELEVEN – THE BLINDING FLASH AND THE DEAFENING REPORT
All explored space was divided into thirty-six wedge-shaped sectors, the line common to all sectors being the line through the center of Sol perpendicular to the plane of the Earth’s orbit. Each sector was owned, subject only to the whims of the Throne, by a grand duke. The planets of Sol’s system- and particularly Earth, the most important planet of the Empire – were the private property of the Throne. Each grand duke had a palace, several residences and a Hall of State on Earth. Since most administration was done on the mother planet, it was not uncommon that the grand dukes seldom left it and traveled but rarely into the sectors of space that were their dominions. If t he system encouraged absenteeism, it also kept incompetents happily away from doing any real harm.
(Singh, The Historical Basis of Feudalism, Reel 2, slot 48.)
Midafternoon of the next day they received a call from , their cousin Richard. He and five other men of his wrestling troupe had just gotten in and were awaiting further instructions. Jules told them what their target was to be, but that it wouldn’t be opened until late in the afternoon. Richard grinned at him from the video screen of the communicator hook-up and said that he and his boys would spend the interim preparing for trouble.
The hours dragged by for the impatient d’Alemberts, but eventually the time came to act. Jules was dressed inconspicuously in a beige shirt and brown knee britches, while Yvette settled for a loose, canary yellow blouse and green and yellow plaid slacks. Neither was dressing to be showy, this time; their only concern was how well they would be able to move in what they were wearing. They strapped blasters on in concealed holsters, wanting to be prepared for anything; and, thus attired, they left their hotel for their destination.
The Cobweb Corner was a bar down in the spaceport section of Rollon, Aston’s capital city. It represented a transition point in taste between the brusque vulgarity of the docks and the more delicate sensitivities of the middle class. As a result, it really pleased no one, though it had a regular clientele. The neighborhood was an uncertain one, not knowing whether to appear tough or respectable.
Having just opened for the day, the bar was still nearly empty. A couple of junior grade officers from the new ships in port had stopped by for a quick drink before going on about any other business in town, and one of them had struck up a casual conversation with a dyevka, one of the handful of girls who plied their own trade here. Six bouncers sat in various places around the room, keeping a seemingly casual eye on what took place here; but it was an unusual coincidence that all six of them were DesPlainians. Since that planet is known for the strength and agility of its citizens, a more than casual observer would wonder what was so special here that needed such special guarding.
Rick and his men entered, looking for all the world like spaceship crewmen on leave. Though they were obviously also DesPlainians, no one thought it unusual that they were here. DesPlainians might be allergic to alcohol, but there were plenty of other legal substances available to cloud and relax their minds, and DesPlainians were as fond of bars as most other people.
Rick’s team came in and quickly spread out over the room. A couple of them talked to the girls, who were interested in the possibility of grabbing an early customer before the real rush started, A few others ordered nonalcoholic stimulants and sat at scattered tables, nursing their drinks.
A few minutes later, Jules and Yvette entered, looking just like any ordinary middle-class couple stopping by for a quick drink before going on to a restaurant or play. How could the guards have suspected anything? Or the brains of the outfit, either, since the d’Alemberts had pitched them such a nice curve? There was no evidence that the Velasquez pair had had anything to do with what had happened on Algonia; and even if they had, they were nowhere near here – their ship had already left for Lateesta, a totally unimportant planet as far as the mob was concerned.
As they walked in, Yvette muttered something in Jules’ ear and started toward the back of the bar where the powder rooms were. Jules, meanwhile, strolled casually up to the bar. There was only one bartender on duty at this hour, and he came over to inquire as to Jules’ preferences. ‘I was told,’ Jules said in a quiet but distinct voice, ‘to ask for the Blinding Flash and say that the Deafening Report sent me.’
Within a split second, the room exploded into action. Those words, coming from the lips of a man who had no business to be saying them – or even knowing them – meant a breach of security, something which had to be corrected instantly. The six bouncers sprang to life; but the d’Alembert wrestlers were faster yet. Before any of the guards could get his blaster even halfway into action he was struck by more than a hundred and fifty kilograms of the hardest muscled body he’d ever felt.
At the same instant, the barkeep reached under the counter to grab for his own blaster – but, not being a Des Plainian himself, his reactions were abysmally slow. Jules had vaulted over the bar and wrestled the man quickly to the ground. He crooked his elbow around the bartender’s neck and held it in a vise like grip. That unfortunate gagged weakly, but Jules made sure he could take in enough air to keep him conscious. By this time, too, he had drawn his own blaster and was waving it ominously in the direction of the bystanders – the girls and the ship’s officers who were bewildered by this sudden violent turn of events. They responded to Jules’ gesture with immediate obedience and pacifism, so he did not worry too much about them.
Yvette, too, had not been idle during the fracas. Her supposed jaunt to the powder room had been a ruse to bring her near the door to the downstairs office when the action started. The moment she heard Jules utter the code phrase, she acted. Without even waiting to see how her brother was doing, she slammed her powerfully packed body against the office door. It splintered and broke under her assault, sending her flying into the tiny cubicle where, as their informant had told them, a man sat lazily at a PBX board. He heard, more than saw, her entrance and jerked upright, reaching for a special switch at the top of his panel, but his motion was far too late – Yvette had drawn her blaster and one squeeze of the trigger had left him with just a pile of unrecognizably burned flesh sitting atop his neck.
The man had not even been wearing the headset – a very lax security agent. Yvette picked the earphones off the board and put them on her head. Then she pushed the dead body off the chair and sat down at the board to await further developments.
Back in the bar, the battle raged. It was a short one, but furiously fought. The place was a shambles in less than thirty seconds, as the combatants bowled their way through the furniture and fixtures. When a mass of three hundred kilograms – representing the combined weights of two embattled DesPlainian free- style brawlers – strikes some rather ordinary furniture, it is the furniture that breaks, not the men. In the entire room, only two tables and half a dozen chairs remained intact; one savagely warring pair had gone straight through the heavy yellow-wood bar itself.