Breach of Peace Read online

  And speaking of the Trade Minister, Henry would have to arrange a car. Vitorino would want a face-to-face meeting to have Henry's report on the trip delivered to him personally.

  "I'll go make sure the port office has all of our paperwork and re-supply orders in order," he said. "And I'll find out when we can expect the unloading."

  "We'll be waiting, sir," Tia pledged.

  Henry ultimately opted to get a taxi instead of a rented vehicle. His driver was an older, gray-haired Moroccan man who identified himself amiably as Muammar. Henry returned the greeting in what Arabic he knew from his education and directed Muammar to the Ministry of Trade building.

  Built at the edge of Gamavilla's government district, along the Rua Marrakech across from several high-rise bank towers, the Ministry of Trade building seemed small. Only three stories high, the building was at least a sight for those looking for something more aesthetically pleasing than a tower of glass and steel. It was built in classical Iberian style that made it look like it might have been lifted from Lisbon or Coruna back on Earth. Glass doors opened to a grand foyer of granite and marble construction. Armed men and women in the uniforms of the Republic Security Service stood watch over the hall from both visible levels.

  Henry approached the man currently on duty at the main desk. He knew this would be an issue when he didn't recognize him; clearly, he was new to the job. "James Henry, here for Minister Vitorino," he said in passable Portuguese.

  "Appointment?" The look on the receptionist's face made clear how little he thought of Henry. Given Henry's brown spacer's jacket, pressed-but-plain polo shirt, and black trousers, he was not a government official or someone who merited the best treatment by the Ministry.

  "None. But he was expecting my return today or tomorrow."

  The look of the suited man told Henry he was going to have to wait. Indeed, that the man here saw him as some troublesome offworlder who thought himself above appointments and whom he, the guardian to the Ministry of Trade's officialdom, would do nothing for if he could help it.

  Nevertheless, Henry took a seat and waited for the receptionist to clear him. During the next half hour, the man was utterly devoid of duties to perform for about eighteen minutes, during which he made no move whatsoever to contact the Minister's office. Finally, Henry got back up and asked him, "Have you gotten in touch with the Minister's office yet?"

  A small sneer crossed his face. "I am afraid that without an appointment, it is difficult to work you into Minister Vitorino's tight schedule," he said innocently. "I can do nothing for you."

  "Alright. Let me see if I can help." Henry ignored the contemptuous, bewildered look on the receptionist's face while he activated his commlink and linked it to Vitorino's office. He made sure to hit the speaker function before he was answered. "This is Minister Vitorino's office," a woman's voice said.

  "Rita, this is Captain Henry." Henry rather enjoyed seeing the color seep from the receptionist's face. His haughty expression was frozen in place by disbelief and growing fear. "I'm having a few issues at the reception desk—"

  "Let me speak to the receptionist."

  "You're on speaker."

  "Senora Serrano—" began the man, still clearly troubled at the way this was developing.

  "Listen to me, you jumped-up little toad. Captain Henry is one of Minister Vitorino's most reliable couriers. You will let him come up whenever he arrives unless otherwise instructed by myself or the Minister. Send him up immediately, or I will personally inform Minister Vitorino of your treatment of the Captain. I assure you, he will make his displeasure known swiftly. Am I clear?"

  "Yes. I understand." His frown hadn't disappeared, but the fear was new. He swiftly gave Henry's ID card the necessary accesses—temporary as they were by the security regulations—to reach the Minister's office. Henry gave the man his kindest smile before walking to the nearest lift. He scanned his ID card to gain access. The door opened to reveal a gravlift with beautiful wood paneling. Reading his ID card's permissions, the lift controls permitted him access to the third floor, the exclusive preserve of the Minister of Trade, and his highest subordinates.

  From there, Henry walked quietly to the Minister's office. He received few looks, not that there were many people on the level to give any. Once he arrived at the Minister's office, he stepped up to the elegant desk of Rita Serrano, Minister Vitorino's assistant. She spoke Portuguese with the particular accent of a Galician-speaker, distinct but reflecting the close relation of the two languages. "Captain, the Minister will see you shortly."

  "Obrigado." Henry took a seat and quietly took in the view. Works of art lined the walls and much of the surface area of the tables. Henry was not an art student to know who made what, but he wouldn't have been surprised to find out that any of the works were carried from Earth in the Exodus. Or even afterward, given Vitorino's connections.

  After several minutes, the door to the office opened. A young man stepped out. Henry recognized him as Raoul, Vitorino's chief of staff. "He's ready for you, Captain," the man said in accented English.

  "Thanks." Henry entered the office.

  Raoul closed the door behind him. Evidently, he would not be part of their conversation.

  Duarte Vitorino was seated at his desk, tapping away at the comp panel built into the surface. He seemed to come to an end of his work. He dismissed it with a swipe of his hand before looking up at Henry. A soft little smile crossed his face. When he spoke, he used English. "Ah, Captain, welcome back to Gamavilla. I hear you have a hold full of high-quality lithium ore from New Hathwell."

  "We do. My crew should be offloading it now," answered Henry. "Chief Inspector Donner appreciated the wine."

  The soft smile gained an edge, but a bemused one. "Oh, I am quite sure of that." Vitorino chuckled. "The League only permits the barest of staples out here in the Sagittarius Arm. I am told that, back in their home space, every League citizen gets a bottle of whatever fine drink they desire once a month, so long as they've met standards in their work."

  "My ship's medic says otherwise."

  "Does he? How would he… oh, yes." Vitorino chuckled again. "Doctor Kiderlein was League military and born on Earth, wasn't he? Yes, I suppose he should know. I will have to keep that in mind when considering further gifts to Chief Donner and his associates." Vitorino turned his comp back on and hit several keys. "System, transfer the approved amount to the account of the vessel Shadow Wolf."

  "Processing."

  Moments later, Henry's commlink let out a tone indicating it was receiving an update. He quietly lifted it and activated the screen. An account update from the Interstellar Bank of Rand on Galt confirmed the transfer of ten million Interstellar Bank credits worth of Lusitanian escudos into the operating account of the Shadow Wolf. It was an excellent addition to the account, more than sufficient for the time and costs of the contract. Henry put the link back in his pocket. "A pleasure doing business with you again, Minister," Henry said. "Did you have anything else?"

  "A potential contract. This time for cargo to Harron."

  Henry nodded and hid his discomfort. Harron was not one of the nicer worlds in the Trifid Nebula sectors.

  But a contract was a contract, and Vitorino was a well-paying employer. "Well, let me know. We should be on planet for a few days, at least. Give everyone a chance to remember how a normal sun feels."

  "Of course. And before you go…" Vitorino stood from his desk and walked to a nearby cabinet. He pulled out two wine glasses and a bottle of the same port they had employed in their bribery of the League's Chief Donner. "Would you honor me with a drink, Captain?"

  Henry nodded. It was excellent customer relations to accept an offer like that, and a pleasure besides to enjoy the fruits of Vitorino's wealth. "I would be honored to do so, Minister," he said. "Your hospitality is welcome."

  Vitorino smiled. "You do dangerous work, Captain, and I am appreciative of it."

  Henry considered Vitorino's choice of words. "It can be,
yes." He frowned. "You lost a ship?"

  "Not myself. An associate of mine lost a ship he owned. The Star of Coruna under Captain Dominguez. It was due at New Aragon six days ago."

  That made Henry sigh. He didn't know Dominguez personally, but he'd heard good things about him. "That's the tenth ship in two months," he said. He didn't add that going back six months, over three dozen ships had disappeared.

  "Yes." Vitorino's expression darkened. "I've been told it's pirates."

  "They're out there," agreed Henry. "And since there aren't many states with interstellar navies out here, there's plenty of undefended space for them to hide in."

  "That's the nature of space, isn't it? We are but tiny specks in a vast void, where any sort of threat might hide." Vitorino sipped at his wine. "Please take care, Captain. Whatever is causing this escalation of disappearances—it worries me. I would hate to lose your services should you and your vessel be claimed."

  "As much as I would hate getting spaced or whatever else they'd do," Henry replied. He took another drink of the wine and said nothing more on the subject.

  Vitorino took the hint. He held up his glass, still over half-full. "A toast then, my dear Captain, to you and your fine ship and crew. You have made me quite a satisfied customer."

  "Thank you, Minister," Henry answered. Their glasses touched. "I'm always happy to find satisfied customers."

  With his meeting with Vitorino concluded, Henry departed the Ministry of Trade. He made it to the street before his commlink went off. He brought it up to his ear. "Henry here."

  "Jim." Felix's voice sounded strained. "Can you come to the mission? It's my brother... he's been hurt."

  Henry frowned at that. "On my way."

  8

  Another taxi—this one driven by an irritable Gamavillero who wouldn't give her name and responded in monosyllabic grunts—took Henry into the outer edge of the city. Some of the residential districts were fine-looking ones, the abodes of the upper and middle class of Gamavilla. But his destination was different; it was one of the barrios along the western edge of Gamavilla. These neighborhoods were the dark underbelly of a lovely city like Gamavilla and a reminder of Humanity's long history of issues with poverty. Multi-storied apartments, some better looking than others, housed the urban poor that worked all across the city, some resigned to their lot, and others still looking for the edge to elevate them to something better. Interspersed among them were small businesses, in strip malls or in the first floors of residential buildings, containing bodegas, stores, cheap eateries, and other shops catering to the local needs and desires, some of which were not so benign or even legal.

  The Faith Outreach Mission catered to a different kind of need, a different form of desire. Instead of meeting material wants, it was there to provide spiritual nourishment along with the physical variety. To give hope that there was something better waiting for others. It was appropriately contained in an old church, the area's former Catholic parish church until the local bishop had acquired a better building in a better area that pleased the middle-class worshippers who attended. Walls of brown with white trim matched the neighborhood, preventing the mission from seeming out-of-place to the locals. Signs in the four languages of Lusitania proclaimed the name of the center.

  Or they had. Once the taxi stopped, Henry noted the sign was defaced. Sprayed paint obscured the name, replacing it with a declaration in Portuguese of "Foreigners GO HOME!" "DEATH TO TRAITORS" was scrawled beside the door, which was busted half off of its hinges. He frowned as he entered the building. His hand went absent-mindedly to his holster as he stepped through the entryway.

  Someone had gone after the pews with an ax, splitting open the seats. The Bibles and hymnals had taken the worst of the abuse, as if the vandals had been offended by their very existence.

  Sitting at the steps to a splintered and wrecked altar was the director and lead pastor of the mission, the Rev. Julian "Jules" Rothbard. Felix was sitting beside his brother, treating a wound on Jules' forehead with a medical kit. Henry stepped up to them. "What the hell happened here?" Henry asked.

  "PdDN thugs," Felix answered. "Coming from a rally." He ran a medicated towelette over Jules' wound. "Fascist bastards."

  "Going to call the police?"

  To that, Jules chuckled. "Jim, the police answer to the Home Ministry. Who do you think runs them?"

  "Right." Henry nodded. He was familiar with the reputation and power of the "She-Wolf" Cristina Caetano. "And they hate you because you're from the Coalition? That's it?"

  "The PdDN party paper accuses Faith Outreach of being a front for Coalition intelligence all of the time," Jules said. "We're part of a vast Coalition conspiracy to undermine the Estado Novo, obviously."

  "I bet they don't do the same thing to the League's stooges in those 'Social Solidarity' groups," Felix muttered. He reached into the medkit for a bandage and gauze roll.

  "Oh, they get it too. One of theirs got killed last month over in Nova Lisboa when the local PdDN enforcers torched their local office." Jules shook his head, drawing a glare from his brother for nearly ruining the bandage. "They're paranoid about both sides."

  "I guess you won't be having services any time soon," Henry said, looking around at the damage.

  "Oh, we have enough local supporters that I can get the help to clean everything up in time for the next service," Jules assured them. "And they didn't mess up the soup kitchen, so at least I can still give my daily meals."

  "Still, you'll need new pews, books, a door…" Henry looked to Felix, who nodded in unspoken agreement. "Felix and I will chip in some credits."

  "Your donations will be welcome, Jim. But I'll forego them if you'll come to a service."

  Henry chuckled. "Not happening."

  "You can't stay angry forever."

  "It's not anger." Henry crossed his arms. "It's resignation. I suppose the Almighty and I are in agreement on that."

  "This is the part where he tells us that God turned his back on Humanity, and you insist he's wrong," Felix said to Jules. "And there, all done." He pulled his hands away from his brother's new bandage.

  "I know… thanks." Jules turned his head to face his brother. "And you, Felix? Can't I get my own brother to come to a service?"

  "You know me, Jules. You were always the spiritual one in the family. I'm the apostate."

  "More lapsed than an apostate." Jules patted his brother on the shoulder. "Besides, we're Methodists, not Catholics. It's not supposed to work that way."

  "I thought Faith Outreach was non-denominational?" Henry asked.

  "It is, but it doesn't ask us to give up on the churches we're connected to," Jules replied.

  "Fair enough." Henry looked at his old friend with sadness. His simple suit was frayed and ripped from the attack. The white bandage around his head made Jules look like he'd been in a battle, which was not too inaccurate an observation. "There are other worlds where you could run a mission. I mean, worlds where they won't kick your ass and vandalize your church because you're from another planet."

  "I know." Jules smiled and shook his head. "But this is where God wants me. I'm here to spread Christ's message to people who need to hear it, and these people need it."

  "And Caetano and her thugs?"

  "They're the ones who need to hear it the most," Jules said.

  Felix shook his head and suppressed a laugh. "We won't talk him out of this, Jim. My brother's determined to stay, even if it makes him a martyr."

  "Right." Henry sighed and looked around. "Well, let's at least get this stuff picked up. Then you just have to wait for the replacements."

  "Your assistance is welcome," Jules said. "I have faith that I'll get you back to church one of these days."

  Henry shook his head at that but said nothing. In the end, everyone needed hope to hold on to, even if it was one that would never come about.

  9

  PV Morozova

  Harron System, Neutral Space

  6 August 2560r />
  Miri felt her strength coming back gradually. Breathing air that was only slightly stale—the life support system's scrubbers needed work—and eating bowls of borscht, and other typical Russian fare pleased a stomach that had been empty for far too long. The meal was certainly not kosher, but then again, it wasn't the first time she'd had to eat like that.

  With enough time passed since the last jump, Miri was confident they'd arrived at their destination system, although the Morozova hadn't landed yet. She went to sleep wondering where, precisely, they were. There were several worlds in the region she'd prefer not being on, although with their reputation, she could at least be sure they weren’t on a League or League-friendly planet.

  She was awoken by a gentle nudge from Feodor's nurse, the older woman named Yevgenya. "Come," she said. "We are on planet now."

  Miri followed Yevgenya into the dark blue corridors of the Morozova. Their route took them through the crew spaces of the ship and eventually to a cargo bay. Boxes of materials—most stolen, she suspected—were being unloaded.

  Piotr Tokarev was waiting at the bottom of the ramp. With him was an alien about a quarter of a meter taller. The alien's skin had a rubbery look to it. The two eyes on the being's head were set further apart on the face than on a Human. The clothing was of contrasting orange and green hue, with a series of patterns over the chest.

  Miri now understood precisely why the Tokarev brothers hadn't wanted to tell her their destination.

  The alien was a Harr'al, and this was almost certainly their homeworld, Harron.

  The Harr'al were one of the less-advanced species of the galaxy. They were a disunited planet of kingdoms and principalities, a few theocracies, and some enclaves from other species established with the support of local potentates. Between the Harr'al attitudes and the nature of the offworlders who set up the enclaves, everything from gun-running to drug smuggling to sapient-trafficking was permitted, even encouraged. The Harr'al themselves usually practiced slavery as it was. With their position in the Trifid Nebula region being far from worlds with both the power and desire to do something about it, it wouldn't change anytime soon.