"The man you might remember as De Wet—no need for you to know his real name—suggested to me that you have some . . . issues . . . with the slave trade."
"I do," Retief agreed.
"Enough for you to strike a blow against it? Before you answer that, you need to know that the primary purpose of the mission on which I am engaged is not to strike such a blow. It has, however, become the price we must pay to succeed in that mission."
Retief thought on that one, before answering, "I hate the trade. I hate my part in it. But I have family back home and they will suffer if I help you. That's what you're getting at, isn't it; you want my help?"
"How will they suffer?" Matheson asked. "Are you talking salary and finances or are you talking reprisal?"
"Both."
"What if I could guarantee you a diplomatic trade for your family, and guaranteed employment in the Empire?"
"You can't guarantee such a trade," Retief answered.
"Watch him," Matheson told the remaining cargo slave guards. He then turned away, walked to the empty copilot's chair, and sat down. His eyes closed.
"What's going on?" Retief asked.
"He's communicating with higher," Lee/Ling answered, while deftly tapping some control or other. "Shut up and let him do so."
Castle Honsvang, Province of Baya, 23 Muharram,
1538 AH (3 November, 2113)
"I'm pulling up to the castle gate," Hans told Hamilton through the earpiece communicator. "Be very still."
"I understand," Hamilton sent back. He felt the brakes bite, heard their screech. The truck slowed and then shuddered to a stop.
"Evening, sir," the gate guard said. "You're back late."
"I was out looking for a place for a night exercise," Hans lied. "I think I found a good one, too."
"Allah help us, sir," the guard answered, rolling his eyes heavenward but then smiling to show it was a friendly joke. He turned around and lifted the crossbar from across the roadway. Without another word, but with a friendly wave, Hans guided the truck into the compound. Before reaching the castle proper, into which the truck would never fit, Hans turned right and drove toward the motor park. There he stopped, put on the emergency brake, but left the engine running for the moment.
"We're here," he whispered into his communicator. "There's a roving guard walking by. I may have to speak to him. I'll let you know when it's clear."
Castle Noisvastei, Province of Baya, 24 Muharram,
1538 AH (4 November, 2113)
Sig the armorer sipped at something clear and cold and not strictly legal. Through a window he looked down at the other castle, brightly lit by security lights. He saw a truck pull in and though it was too far away to make out the driver, Sig thought it was the
The first sergeant stopped by Sig's booth, a young houri in each arm, and said, "Not too much of that, you hear, Sig?"
"Never fear about me,
Interlude
Nuremberg, Federal Republic of Germany,
11 September, 2016
A glass of a clear liquor grasped in one hand, Gabi switched channels from one covering a Moslem march in Paris to another showing a similar celebration in Berlin.
It was all too distasteful. Gabi switched channels yet again, this time to CNN International. That was, in its way, far worse.
The big story on CNN was the rise of a new political party in the United States, Pat Buckman's new Wake Up, America Party was sucking voters and contributors from the Republicans and Democrats like the Sahara would suck moisture from a sponge. Worse, senators, congressmen, and state governors were likewise defecting. CNN's commentators were actually concerned that the lunatic might win the election in a couple of months.
