Free Pirate Sun by Karl Schroeder Page B

change in his purse.” He patted his stomach as if puzzled at how little there was to his waistline. “Alas, I no longer have enough for breakfast. I was hoping some of the children would be forthcoming…”
    Chaison had to laugh. “Quick thinking, Richard.—And the accent—”
    “A close observation of people throughout my life, and a somewhat unhealthy obsession with fitting in,” observed the ambassador, “have over the years given me some useful skills.”
    “Come,” said Antaea. “We have an appointment.”
    “Ah—with a friendly meal, I hope?”
     

    CHAISON HAD NOT missed the prominent posters that festooned every wall in the market. Some were old, and said things like COMPLIANCE BREEDS SECURITY and REPORT STRANGERS . The only reassuring note was sounded by one big poster proclaiming the imminent visit of a circus, featuring Corbus, STRONGEST MAN ALIVE ! This sheet was half-covered, though, with new pictures showing young men with chiseled jaws and perfect biceps holding guns aloft and gazing into some idealized distance. These had captions like JOIN THE FIGHT FOR FREEDOM and IF YOU HESITATE , WE ARE LOST . They suggested several ominous possibilities, so when Antaea rapped on the side door of a tall whitewashed building, he was ready with questions.
    The door was opened by a lean man with sunken cheeks and a buzz-cut. He wore livery, and behind him the space opened out into an airy vista of green fronds and polished stone pillars. “Come in,” said the servant. Then he glanced down, and saw Antaea’s footware. “I’ll have to ask you to remove those. For the sake of the floors…” She grimaced, but complied.
    The first storey of the estate was one open chamber that wrapped around a courtyard garden. The tall arches surrounding the garden let plenty of light into the rest of the space; there were no outside windows. It was clear why the doorman had been leery of Antaea’s heels: the floor was inlaid with mosaics, a sensible decoration for a surface that tended to flex with the town’s rotation. There were stone statues here and there—all tastefully painted. The bustle of the street was completely extinguished.
    The servant didn’t bother to lead them, merely pointing to the garden. A man leaned on one of the pillars, his hands jammed in the pockets of a loose robe. The robe hung over a more conventional manager’s outfit of tan suede.
    He stepped forward as Chaison approached, holding out his hand. “Admiral, welcome. I’m Hugo Ergez. Have no worries, I’m a friend.” He looked drawn and tired, as if he hadn’t slept—and Chaison could see deep lines scored around his eyes and the sides of his mouth, indicators of someone who bore up under a great deal of physical pain. Indeed, as they moved past him Ergez picked up an ornate cane and walked not more than ten feet before easing himself into a high-backed wicker chair.
    “It is useful,” said Ergez as he placed the cane carefully to one side, “for allies of the home guard to be wealthy men and women. We are better placed to use our resources than the poor.”
    Antaea sat near him. Her expression was oddly neutral, as though she felt she needed to not comment on Ergez’s statement.
    “Thanks for the identity papers,” said Chaison. He and the other two men found some benches on the other side of a low drinks table. He sat with relief. “You do know that all we seek is to return to our homes?”
    “So Antaea told me.” Ergez pointed to some cups on the table. “Please…. In truth, your mission, whatever it is, is not my concern. I am merely here to assist.”
    “Can you assist with answers to some questions?”
    Ergez exchanged a minute glance with Antaea. “Insofar as I can, yes.”
    “Is Falcon Formation going to war with Slipstream?”
    Ergez looked surprised, then laughed out loud. “Slipstream? On the contrary! Falcon and Slipstream are fast friends these days. It’s a, oh, what’s the phrase—a ‘new era of