Temporary Duty (80 page)

"Goodbye, Khurs," Donald almost whispered. Then he held out his hand. "See you, boy."

"See you, Granpap." They exchanged a final hug and handclasp, and Peters boarded and took his seat. He lifted the dli straight up, and his last view of Granpap was cut off by a bank of lowering clouds.

Spring rain lashed the windows, and the wind tossed the branches in Lafayette Square across the street. The trees were starting to bud out, and everybody had told him to look forward to cherry-blossom season, but if the rain and wind didn’t let up soon there wouldn’t be any blossoms to look at.

A disappointing cherry-blossom season made a perfect metaphor for how things were going otherwise. Despite nearly two months of crash course he still had no idea how these people reasoned, if they did. He’d always known about concepts like "sovereignty" somewhere in the mishmash of irrelevancies he’d learned in his lifetime, but the people he’d been dealing with had them so thoroughly ingrained in their thought processes that explaining to them that the Grallt, and the rest of the kree, not only didn’t use them, but didn’t approve of them, was blank-look material. The typical reaction seemed to be a brief stunned expression, a shake of the head, and a return to the original line of thought, as if he’d described a direction as "yellow": Does Not Compute. It didn’t help that it was an election year, and his interlocutors were walking on eggs, fearful of doing or saying something that might disturb the uneasy balance of power between the Democratic-Progressives and the Democratic-Conservatives, thereby bringing the awful wrath of both factions down on their heads.

"Good morning, John," said Ander as she emerged from the bedroom.

"Hello, lovely lady," he told her, and took her in his arms for the first time in at least fifteen minutes, being careful not to push painfully on her swelling belly.

"I don’t feel lovely," she grumped. "I feel swollen and gross, and everything hurts."

"You are a lovely lady," he said firmly. "Your
depa’olze
says so, and the
depa’olze
‘s word is law."

That wasn’t at all how things were managed in the Peters
pa’ol
, but it was enough to make her smile and offer a kiss. He took the kiss, returned it, and gave her another squeeze. "How’s Alper feelin’?"

"As well as can be expected. She’ll be out in a few moments." Ander looked down at herself, expression rueful. "I hate this part. I truly do believe that the reason for it is to make the woman look forward to the pain so it can be over with."

"You’re probably right," Alper agreed as she came out of the bedroom. She snuggled against Peters, and for a moment they stood in their three-way embrace, as best they could with swelling bellies in the way. The blonde woman was taller and seemed less distended in proportion, but the best calculation they had of the due dates amounted to "any time now". Peters had secretly hoped that at least one of the children would share his birthday, but the twelfth had come and gone with no such event. The women had seen doctors, both aboard
Llapaaloapalla
and, reluctantly, here in Washington, and their pregnancies seemed to be progressing normally, but they were extremely uncomfortable and anxious for the process to be over with.

Dzheenis came in, trailed by his new mate, and greeted the group. The blonde Grallt was as tall as Alper but not as slender. She didn’t speak much English yet, but had a dry, deadpan wit in the Trade that had already–more than once, in fact–caused Peters to look up half an hour or so after she’d said something and realize he’d been zinged. Khurs entered only moments later, and Peters wished that Granpap could have been there. His pa’ol was assembled, everyone he could call a close relation bar the old man, and he would have liked to eliminate the exception.

«Attention, everyone,» he said. «The sessions will begin at ten o’clock, so we have a little less than a llor to prepare. No doubt they will be as futile and fruitless as they have been to now, but we must continue to approach them in good faith. Dzheenis, do you have the figures on zifthkakik availability that Assistant Secretary Horowitz asked for?»

«Yes. I’m afraid they’re tentative, but they are the best I can–»

The door flew open with enough force to bang against the entry wall, and a man in head-to-toe bulletproofs with helmet and face shield stepped through and levelled an ugly-looking weapon. "Everybody freeze!" he said sharply. Everyone did, more out of shock than eager compliance, and a slighter figure, a woman by the hair and makeup, also in bulletproofs but without a helmet, stepped up behind him. "Laura Cade, Internal Revenue Service, Enforcement Division," she said, and flashed something shiny in a black folder. "Which of you is John Howland Peters, Taxpayer Identification Number 1457-96-2307?"

"I’m John Peters." He released the women and stepped forward. "What’s this all about?"

"John Howland Peters, you are under arrest," the woman said, and smiled, a rictus that only emphasized her hostility. "Regulations require me to inform you that any resistance will be met by force, up to and including deadly force. You are advised to cooperate fully." Peters was too stunned to respond immediately; Laura Cade said over her shoulder, "All right, boys, round ‘em up." She stood aside, and men dressed like the first but armed with handweapons started to push into the suite.

"Stop where you are!" Dzheenis shouted, and the invaders spun to face the big Grallt. He had his hands in the air, palms forward, and the armed man in the lead let out an audible sigh. "I am obliged to inform you that this room is an embassy outside the territory and jurisdiction of the United States of America. If you leave now this regrettable incident can be excused." His phraseology was a little stilted, as if he were delivering the speech from memory; what Peters didn’t know was where and why he’d memorized it.

"I told you, we’re Internal Revenue Service," Cade snapped. "Embassy status doesn’t matter to us when we’re in pursuit of a fugitive."

"I am obliged to inform you," Dzheenis said, still reciting, "that the laws and regulations of this jurisdiction do not recognize differences in status among those brandishing weapons. You are threatening us with deadly force, and nice definitional distinctions are irrelevant. I repeat: if you leave now, this regrettable incident can be excused. If you persist, we will be compelled to recognize this act of war as such."

"Act of war? This is a civil arrest!"

"You have invaded our territory under arms and threatened to carry away our people and sequester our possessions under threat of deadly force; I heard you utter that very phrase yourself," Dzheenis said, sounding as if he were now speaking
ex tempore
, indeed with the tiniest hint of amusement. "By our definitions that’s what a war is. We don’t care what your definitions are, nor do we observe artificial restrictions on the means of self defense."

"But–"

The room darkened as a large object obscured the windows. Glass sprayed inward, and heavy blows smashed window frames and walls to form an aperture about the size of a standard double door. Bür in dull green
kathir
suits began filing through the opening at a lope, cloaks swinging, each armed with a weapon that looked like a carpenter’s level bent slightly in the middle. «The one without a hat is the leader,» Dzheenis said, and the bür in the lead nodded.

Adding six bür to the population of the room made it distinctly crowded. "I am obliged to inform you," Dzheenis said, reciting again, "that you have committed an act of war. We are reserving our reprisal. We have further determined that the following conditions apply: if you discharge a weapon, none of you will survive; if one of us is injured, this building will be destroyed; if one of us is killed, the bür will evacuate the survivors and destroy Washington with meteor strikes. Is this clear to you, or should I repeat it?"

"I don’t–"

Dzheenis held up a finger and interrupted, in a tone that might have been used for instructing third-graders: "First, if you discharge a weapon none of you will survive. Second," another finger, "if one of us is injured, this building will be destroyed." Third finger: "Third, if one of us is killed, the site of this city will glow red-hot for some considerable period of time. I hardly see how I could speak more clearly, but I will repeat it again if necessary."

"It’s a felony to interfere with a Federal law enforcement officer in the performance of her duties!"

"Laura Cade, you are not an officer of any kind here. You are only a dangerous nuisance," Dzheenis told her, still in the voice used to rebuke a child for mild misbehavior.

Cade was taken slightly aback for the first time in the interchange. Peters had noted, with approval, that the lead gunman had moved his finger away from the trigger of his weapon; he was clutching it so tightly his thumbnail was noticeably pale, but he wasn’t likely to kill someone by reflex. The ex-sailor, sometime diplomat, took half a step forward, palms up and out, and said as levelly as he could manage: "I reckon we ought to try to calm this situation a little before somebody gets hurt."

The officer turned and snapped, "The way to calm this situation is for you to stop resisting arrest!"

Peters lifted his eyebrows. "Ms. Cade, if you’re stupid enough to think you’ve got the upper hand here I reckon your boss’d thank us for shootin’ you and gettin’ you off the promotion list. The way to cut the fuse on this here bomb is for you to tell your folks to ground arms and stand easy, and I’ll do the same." He gestured at the bür. "These folks got a ship in orbit that’s armed to the teeth and couldn’t set down in the park yonder, and I recommend that you think real hard about sendin’ a squad or two of cops up against folks who think the difference between a gunshot wound and a ten-kilometer crater is that the flash and smoke’s more fun to watch."

One of the helmeted men had flipped up his face shield and grasped Cade’s upper arm; he was speaking quietly but urgently into her ear. "Very well," she said truculently, expression unrepentant. "Troops, ground arms but stay on your toes. This isn’t over yet." The last phrase was directed at Peters.

"No, it ain’t. Now give me a minute. I’ll get back to you," he said with a nod as the Federals began easing their stances, and turned to face the bür he thought was the officer. «Pleasant greetings. May I know who you are?»

The Trade phrase was a polite request for name and precedence; the bür brought his right hand up, palm forward, and touched his chin with his forefinger. «My name is Velix Teeda,» he said, accompanying that with a nod. «I am
lusi
of
dekre
two and eight, formation six, parade one and eight of
Therzin Vee
, ship six, eight, and three squares of the Host of All Bür,» he said, the full formal self-introduction. A "dekre", or "eight-person", comprised eighty troops–sixteen "hands" of five men–plus officers and noncoms, totalling ninety-five; its CO, or "lusi", would thus be about lieutenant equivalent, Marine style.

«My name is John Peters. I am
depa’olze
of the Peters
pa’ol
, trade ship
Llapaaloapalla
,» he said with equal formality. «Thank you for your prompt arrival,
lusi
Velix. May I direct you?»

«I was ordered to obey your directives unless they were clearly demented, ze Peters.»

«Good. Please direct your people to assume nonthreatening postures but remain alert.»

Lusi Velix nodded shortly and barked two short phrases, and the bür soldiers shifted to positions similar to parade rest, weapons at port, cloaks draped over shoulders and upper arms. The movement caused a stir among the Federal officers, but nobody got too excited, and the tension in the room ratcheted down noticeably.

«Will your smallship accommodate my family? Five persons,» Peters asked.

«No, it is fully occupied. A passenger carrier of sufficient size can be here in a few antle.» The lusi tapped an object on his belt, and Peters was startled to note a perfectly ordinary phone, the sort available over the counter with prepaid time included. He’d never had one–they were too expensive, and he hadn’t had anyone to call anyway–and he had never even thought about them. Velix Teeda took his silence as assent, punched a speed-dial combination, and spoke urgently. «Two and eight antle, no more,» he said with a smile, and clipped the gadget back on his belt. «Useful item, that,» he noted with evident satisfaction.

Five minutes. «All right. Ander, Alper, go and get your airsuits and anything else you can grab quickly. Khurs, I’m glad to see you wearing your suit, but I don’t think they’ll let you go back for anything else. Dzheenis, you and Lisi go with the others. Let Prethuvenigis know what’s going on.»

«
Depa’olze
,» Dzheenis said with a half-bow, and Ander and Alper headed for the bedroom.

"What’s going on?" Cade demanded. "These people are in protective custody. They can’t just leave."

"Miz Cade, there comes a time when self-confident optimism turns into flat reckless stupidity, and in my opinion you done gone a good ways beyond that point." The woman jerked her head back, face twisted into a scowl, and Peters continued, "I ain’t turnin’ my family over to your tender mercies if I can help it, and in this case I can. You don’t like it, well, you just declared war on more stars than you can see and all the people who live there, and we’re waitin’ for you to open the festivities. I guarantee that you, personally, will not survive."

The Federal officer didn’t reply, just stood rigid, eyes hot, face a rictus of mixed hatred and rage. Her adviser’s face was the color of skim milk; he murmured urgently into her ear, to no apparent effect.

"Should I be destroying records?" Khurs asked practically.

"We don’t have time–no, wait." Peters smiled and looked up. «
Lusi
Velix, it appears there will be no shooting for the moment. Would a little casual destruction assuage your people’s regret somewhat?»

«It’s always disappointing to go to a party and not dance,» the officer replied gravely.

«I thought you might feel that way. Very well. When my family have finished removing their possessions, search the place. Remove or destroy, at your option, every scrap of writing or other records, including those two objects and their appurtenances.» He indicated the computers. «You should take those, you’ll find them interesting. Also, remove or destroy any and all items of off-world origin, and smash the furniture and fittings in general. Try not to start a fire; the structure is old and highly flammable, and there are many persons not involved in this dispute within it.»