“For what?”
The man spread his hands. “Whatever. I don’t judge.”
Biryar stepped carefully to the window and picked up the token. The resin looked like smoky glass. Obsidian. The old man smiled until Biryar dropped it to the floor, put his heel on it, and ground it against the brick. The one-armed man’s eyes narrowed. The facade of good humor was gone, and Biryar knew he was facing a predator.
“Are you sure about that?” the old man asked.
“Don’t make me raise my voice. This is my house. And there are a lot of armed people in the compound right now,” Biryar said.
The man smiled. “There are. And some of them are probably pretty loyal to you. Others, maybe not as much. You a gambling man?”
In the window, the night’s single, swift dawn was already breaking. Blue sky and high, scudding clouds. The two men stood still as stone for three long breaths, then the old man turned to the door and walked out. Biryar felt the shout swelling in his chest. He didn’t let it out.
He was shaking. Trembling. He picked up the token. The resin was cloudy with scratches now, but he didn’t know whether he’d managed to break whatever mechanism it contained. He told himself that he would not leave the room until he could gather himself again into the man he was supposed to be. He wouldn’t rush out into the reception looking panicked. But then he thought of Mona earlier in the night, listening intently to the one-armed man, and he couldn’t wait any longer.
The one-armed man had vanished. Mona, sitting on a wide sofa with a gin and tonic in her hand, saw him and put her drink down. He hoped it was only the intimacy of their marriage that let her see his distress. When she came to him, he kissed her ear and whispered.
“Find our guards. The ones from the Notus, not the locals. Stay with them.”
She pulled back, smiling like a mask. She spoke without moving her lips. “Are we in danger?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ll find out.”
With Mona warned, he could move to offense. He summoned Major Overstreet to his private office. Sitting at the wide wooden table where he’d never sat before felt like being in a mousetrap.
Overstreet stepped into the room and stood at attention. The only sign of fatigue was a slight darkness in the skin under his eyes. “Sir?”
Biryar kept himself calm, or as calm as he could. When he got to the old man’s threat, Overstreet became almost eerily still. When the full report was given, he put the token on the desk. Overstreet picked it up, considered it, and placed it back down. Biryar leaned forward in his chair. He hadn’t said anything yet that the old man wouldn’t have known from being present when it happened. That was about to change.
“How certain are you that our conversation here is private?” Biryar asked.
Overstreet hesitated. Then, “An hour ago, I would have said I was certain, sir.”
“Now?”
“I’m less certain.”
The silence had weight. “I think it would be very unfortunate to leave the compound so soon after arriving. I will visit the Notus in the morning to finish clearing the diplomatic documents. We can have a conversation there.”
“I will have Laconian guards stationed to assure your safety.”
“And Dr. Rittenaur’s.”
“Yes, sir. And I will begin an investigation as to who this individual was at once, and who allowed him on the property.”
“Thank you,” Biryar said. “This has to be our first priority now.”
“Agreed, sir. I’ll have a preliminary report ready before you reach the Notus. And…” Overstreet pressed his lips together and looked away.
“What’s bothering you, Major?”
“This was either an egregious failure on the part of the local forces or an outright subversion of security protocols. Either way, there will have to be consequences. Before I begin an investigation, it would be good to have some sense of how you would prefer to escalate this. Should that be needed.”
It was a measure of how much the encounter had shaken him that Biryar hadn’t considered this already. On Laconia, a breach of this magnitude would mean someone was executed at the least, and more likely sent to the Pens as a test subject. But on Laconia, a breach like this would never have happened. The first decision of his career would be whether to execute someone and very possibly alienate the planet he’d come to preside over. And the decision was complicated by what had happened with Governor Singh on Medina.
“We both understand the dangers of overreach,” Biryar said, speaking the words gently, as if they were sharp. “If the offending party is a native of Auberon, arrest them and turn them over to the local authorities. The processing of their case will need to be thoroughly and completely monitored. We will respect the laws here to the degree that we safely can. I won’t escalate until Auberon’s legal system has the chance to do this well.”
“And if the issue began with us?”
Biryar smiled. That was easier. “If a Laconian is responsible for breaking protocol and putting our administration at risk, either now or in the future, we will execute them publicly. Laconian standards are absolute.”
“Understood, sir,” Overstreet said, as if Biryar hadn’t simply restated a policy that traced back over thousands of light-years to the desk of High Consul Winston Duarte himself. Overstreet hesitated, then: “One thing, sir? Until this is addressed, I’d be more comfortable if you carried a sidearm.”
Biryar shook his head. “It will be seen as a sign of fear. I trust your security force to make it unnecessary.”
“I appreciate your confidence, but I’m asking you to do it anyway,” Overstreet said. “The man was in your house.”
Biryar sighed, then nodded his agreement. Overstreet left.
Mona was sitting on the edge of the bed when he reached her. Worry etched lines around her mouth. Probably around his as well.
“What happened?” she said. “Is there a problem?”
“The criminal element of Auberon is concerned by our arrival. As they should be,” he said. “There was a threat. We’re looking into it.”
She pulled her knees up, hugging them to her chest, and looked out toward the windows. She looked lost and small. She was right to feel that way. They were one ship full of people to command a system of millions.
Thick shutters were closed against the brightness of the too-fast sun and the heat and stench of the consensus midnight. A line of brightness showed the seam where they met. Biryar sat beside her. A dozen things came to mind that he might say to her. This is our duty or Some pushback had to be expected or We will destroy them.
He kissed her shoulder. “I won’t let anyone hurt us.”
* * *
Agnete scratched her chin to make it seem more like she was thinking and less like she was struggling to keep her temper. The old man sat at the breakfast bar. His bathrobe was a gray that could have been any other color before it faded. His fake arm was going through its diagnostic reboot, shivering and twitching. The old man did it every day even though the documentation said it was a once-a-month thing. The speed and violence of the reboot sequence made her think of insects.
When her outrage had subsided enough that she could be polite, she said, “That was a move, boss. Not sure I would have done that.”