Accepting the Lance, page 18
part #22 of Liaden Universe Series
That was a measure of the seriousness of the situation. Never before had all of the Bosses of Surebleak met together remotely. Even Boss Marriott, who was very nearly a technophobe, was sitting in his place, hands folded before him, eyes grim. Conrad allowed himself to be gratified: Marriott hadn’t broken the unit the Boss of Bosses had sent him, as he had suspected. The other Boss had simply never turned it on.
He ran his eye over those assembled one more time. The mood of the meeting ranged from Marriott’s grim-faced stoicism to Penn Kalhoon’s cool pragmatism. Miri, representing the Road Boss, sat soldier-faced, which he had the privilege to see only twice previously, and very glad he was that it had been no oftener. She gave him a nod when their eyes met, but she did not smile.
The countdown at the bottom of his screen flicked to zero and vanished. The tally box showed twenty in attendance.
Boss Conrad inclined his head.
“As we are all timely and present, I declare this meeting in order. A recording is being made of what we say today; a copy will be sent to each of you, after we have completed our business.”
He paused.
“I trust that you have all read Boss Surebleak’s letter of demand. Has anyone something to say?”
“Boss Surebleak,” Boss Schroeder snorted from midscreen. “S’posed to take this serious, are we?”
“Oh, I think we gotta take it serious,” said Penn Kalhoon. “These riots the Boss is taking credit for did a bit o’damage to my streets, and the fact we didn’t get anything more fatal than a broken arm from it wasn’t necessarily in the Boss’s plan.”
“I don’t think there was any killin’ in the plan,” Ira Gabriel said in his matter-of-fact way. “This was just a demo, See how many turfs I got to sing for me at the same time? I’m the Boss of Surebleak—can you beat that?”
“I agree,” said Conrad. “Yesterday’s riots were to ensure that Boss Surebleak captured our attention, while validating her claim. She was able to mobilize action across five turfs, and specific targets on the port. Clearly, we are meant to take her seriously.”
“Not only the turfs and the port,” Melina Sherton said, shaking a sheet of printout at her screen. The paper snapped and crackled.
“There was more?” asked Boss Engles.
Melina nodded.
“There’s a bunch o’ old machines out by the pit sideways o’my land. Been there since the Agency left an’ before. Yesterday, all of a sudden, after sitting there peaceful for a generation or three, they woke up.”
She glared at them, one by one.
“Woke up,” she repeated. “An’, being awake, they started walking away from the Tapout. If they’d kept on course, they’d’ve crushed Gapton Village, ’cept we got some friendly help from the Road Boss’s head o’security.”
“Doin’ what?” asked Boss Wentworth.
“Got into the command line, long distance, and issued a stop order,” said Melina.
“Somebody’s brighter’n new snow,” said Engles. “How’d the machines get started up?”
Melina shrugged.
“Remote signal, I’m figurin’, just like what stopped ’em. There’s a set o’manual override keys. I know where they are, and I ain’t tellin’ you, just like I ain’t told nobody else. Not been touched since I come Boss, and they were right where they belonged yesterday.”
“Remote signal,” Marriott repeated. “We got so many remote signals flyin’ around late days, there’s no sayin’ but that one of them triggered the machines, accidental.”
“Maybe.” Melina shrugged. “I’ll hold it as a consideration. Might be the Road Boss’s security guy can do a trace as to what zackly did set ’em off. But ’til we hear it was an accident, I’m going with deliberate mischief.”
“Somebody hit the land we bought from Yulie Shaper, yesterday, too,” Miri said quietly. “Air strike. In and out and no IDs. It looks like Boss Surebleak’s got more than streeters and stones in her hand.”
There was silence.
Marriott shifted. “You lose people?”
“No. We thought, yesterday, that it was luck nobody was hurt, but now I’m thinking it was planned. Which not only tells us that Boss Surebleak knows some inneresting things, but makes her threat explicit.”
“Well?” snapped Vine. “Tell an ol’ Boss what the wannabe’s sayin’, why not?”
Miri inclined her head.
“The way I read it, she’s saying that she could’ve killed people this time, and if we don’t meet her demands, that’ll be her follow-up. Yesterday’s rocks will be guns; armed drones will take out a work crew—Gapton Village, too, why not? It’s not that hard, flying.”
Silence.
“This list of targets portside,” said Boss Wentworth. “I get why they hit Conrad’s casino, the Road Boss’s office, and the old uncle’s rug store. Mack’s garage—well, he’s pro-Conrad, sure. But—the portmaster? Where’s that make sense?”
“Portmaster’s gotta know who’s boss sooner ’r later,” said Ira. “Might as well sort that, too, while she’s putting everything out in rows.”
“Looking that way, if Boss Miri’s right about the threat—why’s she waitin’? Boss Surebleak, that bein’. If she can kill us all easy as that, why’s she botherin’ with threats? Why not just go in and get it done? Surprise retirements hardly ever go wrong. Just askin’ fer trouble, tellin’ the retiree ’bout the party ahead o’time.”
Vine knew his subject, as did most of the Bosses gathered; there was no disagreement with his observation. The silence grew…long.
Miri cleared her throat.
“What Boss Surebleak wants,” she said, “is to be Boss of all Surebleak. You don’t get that with a couple retirement parties. She needs the streeters doing the heavy lifting. The streeters have got to rise up against the—what’s she got here?—hostile invaders? Demand they pay retribution, and give the planet back. Leastways, it’s gotta look like that.”
She looked at Vine.
“That’s a vary on the old ways,” she said, and he nodded.
“That it is, Boss. So, she’s playing a game. Who for?”
“The survey team,” said Penn Kalhoon, looking to Conrad. “That’s the other threat. That’s the real threat.”
Conrad inclined his head.
“I believe so. TerraTrade will not grant an upgrade to a world under dispute. Boss Surebleak therefore offers a method by which the world is…no longer under dispute, so that the survey and potential upgrade may proceed.”
“And if the world continues to be under dispute?” asked Melina.
Conrad sighed. “It is in TerraTrade’s power to close the port.”
There was another pause as the assembled company thought about this.
“That’d be bad,” said Marriott, breaking the silence.
Conrad nodded at him. “It would be very bad, yes.”
“While we’re all thinking,” Penn Kalhoon said. “I got a prelim report from the Watch. They got three actors who claim to’ve been paid to make a little fun, at a specific place and time. They was all paid in Surebleak cash—handsome pile o’Surebleak cash, which is where they all agree. Two say the hirin’ was done by known jobbers. One says her jobber wasn’t no ’bleaker, might’ve been one of the newbies, and she thought a minute before taking the nice, warm cash, on account she didn’t want to get mixed up in any newbie Balancin’, which she figured might be harmful to her continued good health.”
“They find the jobbers then?” asked Josh Cruthers.
Penn Kalhoon’s normally calm expression turned grim.
“They found one of ’em. She’s in no condition to answer questions, and it’s come to a matter o’Watch ethics, do they go looking for the second, or hope he found a snug hole in the snow, and stays low—and alive.”
“Who was she?” asked Engles. “The one they found.”
“Norene Jimba.”
“She’s one a’mine,” Boss Torin said harshly. “Always dancin’ on thin ice, that woman. I’ll need to tell ’er ma.” He rubbed a hand over his face and shook his head. “Morly Aze, too, dammit. Sweet on ’er since they was kids, is what I been tole.”
He shook his head again.
“I’ll pass you the Watch report,” Penn said quietly. “Might not be what you wanna tell her ma, though.”
“Still gotta know it,” Torin said heavily. “I’m Boss, right? One a’mine gets killed that bad, I gotta take notice.”
“Right you are,” Penn agreed.
There was another silence, as if they all had paused to take a breath and bear honor to the dead woman.
“Boss Surebleak,” Conrad said, when he had judged the moment had passed, “has generously given the planetary population a deadline by which her…orders must be obeyed. This gives us time.”
“Time for what?” asked Vine.
“It gives us time to place a notice in the newspaper.”
“Saying what?” Penn Kalhoon asked, fair brows drawn together.
“Why, that the body duly constituted to speak for the people of Surebleak—which is to say, the Council of Bosses—is in receipt of Boss Surebleak’s letter and have perused her list of suggestions, some of which may have merit. We therefore invite her to come to the Bosses in council, share a light meal, and discuss our best path forward.”
Penn blinked.
“They’ll come in shootin’,” said Vine. “If they come at all.”
“Perhaps. Or perhaps not. We can but make the effort.”
More silence, as each Boss turned the idea over and examined it.
“It’s what we gotta do,” said Ira abruptly. “That’s what people do, they have differences; they try to work ’em out. Give a little, get a little; nobody’s happy, but everybody’s still standing. If we don’t want Surebleak took back to the way it was—if we want Surebleak to be better than it ever was—then we gotta do different from the old Bosses.”
There was a general murmur of agreement. Conrad inclined his head.
“I will draft a notice for the paper, and send it to each of you no later than midafternoon. Comments and suggestions may come back to me before sundown. I will place the approved notice in the paper tonight, and it will run beginning in the morning edition.”
He looked at each face on his screen.
“Does that meet with the approval of the Council?”
Ayes were given, and Conrad stood.
“In that case, I bid you all good-day. Let us be watchful, and stay in touch. If it comes about that there is more mischief, please contact Penn Kalhoon with a detailed report. He will keep a list and share it with council members.”
That, too, gained approval, and one by one the screens went dark as the Bosses signed out of the conference.
Pat Rin sat down again with a long sigh, and met Natesa’s eyes.
“Do you intend to retire Boss Surebleak?” she asked.
He gave her a wry smile.
“No. But before you paint me with virtue, it is only because a retirement will not solve the problem. Retire one Boss Surebleak, and a second will arise, stronger than the first. We must find another way. And also”—he gave her a light, seated, bow—“we need to discover who is giving Boss Surebleak her lessons.”
Surebleak Port
Portmaster’s Office
• • • • • • • • • • • • • • •
Portmaster Liu sat in her office nursing a cup of coffee. It was not her first cup of coffee on the day nor, she suspected, would it be her last. Port Security Chief Lizardi had just left, having stopped by to deliver her report, which consisted mostly of negatives, and which might’ve been disheartening if that hadn’t pretty much been what the portmaster had been expecting.
Surebleak had a history. A history of violence and betrayal, though that started sounding like something right out of your Thrilling Stories of Adventure and Romance.
Regardless, it was true.
Back just a couple generations ago, all the employees of the Gilmour Agency under a certain grade had been left behind when the Agency vacated their Surebleak operations for cheaper-to-mine timonium elsewhere.
The Boss system had evolved naturally, given what those left behind had known in terms of culture. It might even have worked—it might even still work, dammit!
Portmaster Liu drained her coffee.
Conrad and his Council of Bosses were trying to make the system work. A system that was just like the old one, except the New Bosses were, mostly, competent, and understood that it was their job to help everybody get by, not just the Fat Cats; not just the ones who were strong enough to take what they wanted.
The truth was, if the most-down-and-out streeter started doing better in everyday life, then everybody was doing better.
The secret was, that kind of improvement only worked from the bottom up. Conrad knew the secret, whoever’d taught it to him, and he’d taught it to the other Bosses and, dammit, it was working!
Except…
Except there were some who’d liked the old ways. They couldn’t make it on their own merit maybe, or they were afraid they couldn’t.
Or…they just preferred to take what they wanted and got a thrill outta taking it from people who couldn’t fight back.
And those—the local term was slush-for-brains and in Portmaster Liu’s own private opinion, that was a fair description. In her public opinion, though, they were “disaffected citizens” who had been outplaced by the new order.
She was going to need to remember that phrase, she thought, because by her calculation, she ought to be receiving another interested visitor real soon now, and she had to be objective, informative, and professional.
Why now? she thought, which—well, it was obvious, wasn’t it? Somebody who wanted the Bad Ol’ Days back had decided that having an upgraded port wasn’t in their best interest. That was prime Old Boss thinking right there, proving one more time, in case she hadn’t been paying attention all those long years before Conrad took it into his head to rescue Surebleak from itself.
If any of the Old Bosses had an ounce o’sense, they’d’ve known that having a full-service port would be good for them. All they’d had to do was get creative with fees and accesses and what have you—but that would’ve taken cooperation, and the Old Bosses didn’t trust anybody, especially not another Boss.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes and thought herself through a couple of focusing exercises. She’d just finished when the intercom beeped.
Portmaster Liu opened her eyes, knowing what was coming next.
“Portmaster,” Carla said, “Survey Team Leader Kasveini is asking to see you. Are you able to accommodate her request?”
Portmaster Liu actually smiled. She’d bet her last snowball that Survey Team Leader Kasveini hadn’t done anything like requesting and had managed to piss off Carla, too. Briefly, she toyed with the notion of allowing as how she was right out straight and could the team leader come back tomorrow.
It was a warming thought, but not practical. If Portmaster Liu knew her woman, and she thought she did by now, Team Leader Kasveini only heated up more when her…requests weren’t met in a prompt fashion.
Well.
Portmaster Liu smoothed her hair, straightened her jacket, and tried to set her face in neutral lines.
“Please send the survey team leader in, Carla,” she said composedly.
* * *
If Team Leader Kasveini was in a towering fury, she was doing a damned good job of hiding it, Portmaster Liu thought a few minutes later. She looked ground down, rumpled, and just plain exhausted. Portmaster Liu felt a flicker of—not pity, exactly, but fellow feeling.
She rose and nodded the other woman toward the chair.
“Coffee?” she asked, moving toward the machine.
“I’m awash with coffee,” said Kasveini, and then—“Yes. Thank you.”
“I’m sloshing myself,” Portmaster Liu said, filling a mug. “Sweetener? Milk?”
“Just black,” Kasveini said. “Why go half measures?”
“My thoughts.”
She came back to the desk, put the guest’s mug by her hand, and settled into her own chair.
For a few minutes, there was only companionable silence in the office as they each sipped coffee.
Then Kasveini put her mug down, reached into her carry bag and pulled out a folded newspaper.
“Have you seen this morning’s city paper?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“Please,” said Kasveini, handing it across the desk. “There is an…item on page one that we need to talk about.”
Portmaster Liu took the paper, unfolded it and stared at the block of text prominently displayed at the top of the front page, bordered in funereal black.
She read the letter.
She read it again.
Then she put the paper down and picked up her coffee mug.
“Boss Surebleak, is it? And we’re supposed to take that serious?”
“I am from off-world and am not privy to private cultural jokes,” Kasveini said, staring down into her mug. “I’m required to take—ah, Boss Surebleak seriously, especially when their actions reach into the port. A city prone to riot and unrest, we can work with, in the reports. There are, as I am sure you’re aware, any number of well-regarded ports the entries for which read ‘do not leave the port; city unsafe.’”
Portmaster Liu sighed.
“And here’s Boss Surebleak with the bad manners to bring his tantrum inside the port.”
“That is one thing.” Kasveini looked up and met the portmaster’s eyes.
“The second thing is that Boss Surebleak alleges that Clan Korval, in the persons of Pat Rin yos’Phelium, Val Con yos’Phelium, and Miri Robertson Tiazan—Boss Conrad and the Road Boss—engineered an invasion and hostile takeover of a sovereign world.”
She sighed and looked down again into her coffee mug.
“I can assure you that TerraTrade will not upgrade a port on a world under dispute. Indeed, the best possible outcome will be that TerraTrade will do nothing.”
She looked up again, her face drawn.
