Free In the Courts of the Crimson Kings by S.M. Stirling

made available,” Heltaw said. “You will, to a high degree of probability, have a very narrow window of opportunity. When you strike, strike swiftly. You are, of course, not the only resource tasked with this mission.”
    An eyebrow went up. “You have made an open offer, Superior, rather than entrusting the task solely to your permanently affiliated Coercives?”
    “There are several offers concerning this individual, at least one other of which I know simply for delivery of the detached head. It is the reproductive organs that are my optimum target, preferably attached to a living body. Hence, I have let it be known that a larger reward is available for a capture in order to present disincentives for entrepreneurial activity contrary to my interests. I cannot, of course, prevent freelance individuals and groups from contesting the matter.”
    “This is a straightforward and sensible course, Superior.”
    “I will, of course, pay a substantial bonus above the stated open reward if the personnel you lead accomplish this task to my satisfaction,” Heltaw said. “My personally affiliated Coercives justly anticipate treatment more favorable than temporary employees.”
    “As always, you optimize incentives, Superior. As you order, we will endeavor most earnestly to accomplish—subject to event and randomness.”
    When the Coercive had left, Heltaw reached out and took a biscuit from the table with the incense burner, warming and scenting it briefly over the flame before nibbling at it. The time for patience would soon end, but until then . . .
    The Prince smiled slightly to himself as one of his nieces stood, laughing at the half dozen birds that perched on her slender arms and sang counterpoint to each other.
    Until then I must be patient. Or my Lineage will die to the seventh degree .
    That was as far as the Expeditors could push a purge; he was in the eighth degree from the Ruby Throne himself. Officially, there was none closer.
    Mars, City of Zar-tu-Kan
May 1, 2000 AD
    “Do you know anyone who wishes to inflict harm on the Terrans?” Teyud asked as she and the spice merchant turned away from the portal to the inner city.
    “No,” Jelzhau said.
    His ears cocked forward as he turned his head toward her. “Do you suspect malicious conspiracy?”
    She frowned slightly, scanning the crowd in the plaza. It could be compulsive suspicion . . . but then, compulsive suspicion wasa survival characteristic in the greater world as well as in Dvor Il-Adazar.
    “I suspect that we were followed. By relays of very skilled operatives.”
    Jelzhau pursed his lips. “I will have enquiries made. Losing the profits of their trade would grieve me to the point of melancholy.”
    Or perhaps they are on my trail again , Teyud thought.
    It was an unpleasant and surprising speculation, but not one that could be disregarded.
    Randomness has a fortunate configuration in that case; I will be voyaging to the Deep Beyond with the vaz-Terranan. One can see a menace more clearly when away from a city’s crowds .
    “Though,” he went on, “I anticipate with gladness the end of close association with the hideous things.”
    Teyud absently adopted a pose that acknowledged the remark without commenting on it. Sally Yamashita was indeed very strange-looking, at one moment like a dwarf, at another like an aged child. Jeremy Wainman, on the other hand . . .
    One could very nearly call him handsome. And he has a pleasantly effervescent personality .
    The U.S. Consulate had once been a local notable’s city palace. It did duty for the Commonwealth and OAS countries and Japan as well; their flags flew over its front entrance. It wasn’t particularly large , about the size of the White House, and like most buildings under the dome it was built in a light, airy style in total contrast to the blank massiveness of most of Zar-tu-Kan outside, all tall slender columns and translucent window-doors and balconies.
    Robert Holmegard and his wife Dolores,