Backshot (14 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Room 1007, New Granum DeLuxe Inn, Union of Margelan, Atlas

Sergeant Ivo Gossner came out of the water closet already dressed. Lance Corporal Bella Dwan was in bed still asleep.

Despite what she’d said when they checked in, once Dwan had finished unpacking, she’d moved their bags to the luggage racks and they’d slept side by side, or rather back to back, with no physical barrier between them.

Gossner stifled a groan. While he was in the water closet, Dwan had kicked the covers off. She slept in a lightweight, hip-length pullover and green panties, which peeked out from under the pullover. She stirred in her sleep, and through the pullover, he could clearly see her breasts move. He closed his eyes and took a steadying breath.

Down boy,
he thought.
That’s the Queen of Killers.
When he opened his eyes again, she was looking at him. She smiled and stretched languidly. “Good morning,” she mumbled sleepily.

“Morning,” he mumbled back.

She stopped stretching and lay still, looking at him, her body curved and her near arm curled on the bed with its hand next to her cheek. “What’s the matter, Ivo?” she said in a purr that sounded to him like a happy cat about to pounce on a mouse. “You’ve seen me stretching before.”

“Right. But not dressed like that.” Her pullover had moved up when she stretched, and a narrow strip of belly now showed between its bottom and her panties. To distract himself, he went to the kafe maker and dialed a cup for her. He almost spilled it when he turned around; she was standing barely a meter from him, hands clasped low behind her arched back, chest sticking out. Her nipples made clear bumps in her thin shirt.

“For me, Ivo?” she said sweetly, and took the cup. She continued to look at him as she took her first sip.

That was when he looked into her eyes. Any impression he may have gotten that she was attempting to seduce him, or at least signaling her availability, vanished instantly—her eyes were the cold killer’s eyes he’d always seen, not those of a desirable woman.

“I’m through in the head,” he said gruffly. “Get in there, get cleaned up, and get dressed, Lance Corporal. We’re going out to spend the day making like tourists.”

“Yes, Sergeant. Right away, Sergeant. Whatever you say, Sergeant.” She turned and headed for the water closet.

Gossner stared after her. Had she really winked at him as she turned? Was she
really
twitching her bottom at him?

Government District, New Granum

After breakfast in the hotel dining room, Gossner and Dwan spent the morning in the government district, not because they were tourists, but because they were on a scouting mission. They agreed the government district was the most likely place to find their quarry. Like the governments of most worlds in the Confederation, the Union of Margelan had a tripartite government with executive, legislative, and judicial branches, each of which in New Granum had its own unimaginatively named complex. They started at the Executive Center, a complex of buildings that faced a flagstone-paved plaza some four hundred meters long and one hundred and fifty wide. Gardens filled the spaces between buildings. A helpful, uniformed docent—her nametag said “Becky”—gave them a tour. “That is what some consider the center of gravity of our government,” the young woman said, gracefully pointing at a massive stately building, faced, as were all the other buildings in the Executive Center, in a tightly grained pink limestone. “It’s called Presidential Hall. President Jorge Liberec Lavager’s office is right there.” She pointed at a row of windows on the second floor of the building.

“The five windows in the middle, that’s the president’s office?” Dwan asked, sounding appropriately awed.

“Yes, right there in the very center of the building,” Becky almost chirped. “It’s symbolic of the president’s being the center of the government!”

“Why are the walls blank to the sides of those windows?” Gossner asked. There were no windows on the second floor for a distance of twenty meters on either side of the five into the presidential office.

“Umm. I believe there are storage and office machinery rooms behind the walls there, rooms that don’t need windows.” Becky shook her head. “I don’t know for certain, though. I’ve never been in there. I mean, I
have
been in Presidential Hall, and I’ve even been in President Lavager’s office, I mean I’ve never been in the rooms next to his office.”

More likely at least one of those rooms is a guard room,
Gossner thought.
And the security people
probably have a way of seeing through the walls to the plaza.
Docent Becky pointed out the other buildings around Executive Plaza and told Gossner and Dwan more about the functions of the Commerce, State, War, Communications, and Treasury Ministries—each of which had its own building on the plaza—than either of them wanted to know. The most important building, even bigger than Presidential Hall, was home to the Agriculture Department. It and its attendant gardens occupied the entire length of the plaza opposite Presidential Hall. The gardens were part of the tour. Gossner and Dwan were far more interested in the gardens than they were in the administration department buildings.

“Are all of the gardens between the buildings crops?” Dwan asked.

“Yes!” Docent Becky preened. “Atlas is an agricultural world, and the Union of Margelan is the major food producer in the whole world. Not only do we grow nearly all of our own food, we export huge amounts to the rest of Human Space. So it’s only natural that our government honor farming by having crop gardens in its center.” She waved a hand to indicate the gardens between the buildings.

“Many Earth-native foodstuffs have taken to the soil and climate of Atlas as though they evolved for a place just like this,” Docent Becky told them in a tone and cadence that suggested she was delivering a lecture she’d already given too many times. “They don’t just thrive here, often they prosper better than in their native lands. Wheat and the whole broccoli family grow almost twice as big on Atlas as on Earth, and are even more nutritious, which is why they are major exports, highly regarded and desired imports on longer-settled worlds. Our tubers and legumes are also highly prized on many worlds, as are our nuts.

“Some of the vegetables have made adaptations that are simply amazing. The most amazing adaptation is corn. Ten thousand years ago, hunter-gatherers reached South America on Earth, where they found a grain with a head only slightly larger than wheat. For reasons nobody can even guess at, they cultivated that unassuming grain and over centuries its head grew larger and larger until it became what was called maize. By a thousand years ago, when the first Europeans arrived in what they called the New World, maize had become so totally domesticated it couldn’t grow on its own anymore, it could only grow if it was cultivated—deliberately planted.

“On Atlas,” her voice abruptly became sprightly, “corn is beginning to grow wild again. Not as a small grain like the first hunter-gatherers found, but with the large ears we’ve been used to for the past millennium or longer.”

Bella Dwan
ooohed
and
aaahed
at that. Docent Becky beamed.

“Other worlds are very interested in our strain of corn,” Becky said proudly, “and want to see if it will grow in their farms. They think corn that doesn’t have to be meticulously planted will be more economical to grow and feed their populations!”

“You keep talking about crop-foods,” Gossner asked. “What about meats or fish and fowl?”

“We have all the major Earth-native mammal and avian food animals, but there’s nothing special about them compared to the animals grown on other worlds,” she said. “And we have the Atlas-native rambuck and lambhawk, but they aren’t domesticated enough to have sufficiently large herds and flocks that we can export them. Crops are our main export foods, though some seafood, such as the arthropoid called the dalman, are prized as gourmet foods on other worlds.”

She went on to tell them about the Earth-native fruits and nuts that grew on Atlas, for each pointing out a sample tree or bush growing in the gardens. From there she went on to a brief catalog of Atlas-native fruits, vegetables, and nuts that were suitable for human consumption.

“If you haven’t yet,” she said, “you really must go to a local restaurant and try some dishes made from native foodstuffs. Some of them are really delicious.” Her face briefly saddened as she said,

“Unfortunately, we haven’t had much success in exporting our native foods, other than a few gourmet items.”

Gossner spoke up for only the second time since they entered the gardens. “Maybe that’s because they’re exploiting their own native crops, and aren’t ready to introduce exotic foods from other places.”

“You’re probably right,” Docent Becky said, resignation in her voice. What Gossner had really been doing during the tour of the gardens, of course, was examining them and the area close behind as possible locations for Dwan to ambush President Lavager—and then make her escape. In chameleons, it would be a snap—provided they could get the unchameleoned maser rifle into and out of the spot he and Dwan picked for her to fire from without raising any suspicions. Dwan had also studied the gardens with a sniper’s eye, but was able to give enough attention to the docent’s presentation to keep Becky happy and feeling fulfilled in her job. They volubly thanked her for the marvelous tour of the gardens and moved on to the Judicial Center. It was a repeat of the Executive Center, though writ smaller and its buildings were faced with orange limestone rather than pink. Crop gardens grew between the buildings there just as they had in the Executive Center. They didn’t bother with a tour. They headed on to the Legislative Center, which was half again as large as the Executive Center. Gossner suddenly stopped in the middle of Legislative Plaza and asked, “Have you ever been in a capital city before, Bella?”

It took a conscious effort for Dwan not to shoot Gossner a glare for asking such an irrelevant question, but she remembered her role in time and simpered at him. “No I haven’t, Ivo. But this one certainly looks very impressive.”

Centered on one side of the six-hundred-meter-long plaza was Congress Hall, which took up nearly half the plaza’s length. The Legislative Gardens flanked the building for most of the rest of that side. Opposite Congress Hall was a row of well-spaced, imposing buildings—separated by more crop-growing gardens—which contained the offices of the legislators and all the staffs of the legislation. The windows of the facing buildings, including Congress Hall itself, began well above ground level, giving them something of a fortress appearance; most of the buildings in the other two governmental centers also had windows that began above ground level. A pyramidal tower was at one end of the plaza and an incongruously globular building, neither with windows, at the other. They were faced with white limestone. Gossner stopped in the center of the plaza and slowly turned about. Dwan, her arm linked in his, of necessity also stopped. When he turned, their linked arms moved her around him like a satellite.

“I’ve been in a few,” he said. “And you know what?”

She gave him a look that to any casual observer looked like admiring expectation, but up close carried a threat. “No, Ivo. What?”

“They all look alike.” He stopped turning and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what architectural style they are in, the buildings are always massively imposing and widely spaced. It’s like they’re trying to impose themselves on all who see them, to impress everybody with their importance and power.”

Dwan’s eyes widened, as though she was thinking how smart and perceptive her new husband was. In reality she was thinking,
You turned me around you like some empty-minded bint to tell me the
obvious?
But she said no such thing. Instead, she looked from him to the buildings and used their linked arms to turn him around her as she had just been turned—the turn was facilitated by her free hand, which she used to grip the thumb of the hand at the end of the arm with which hers was linked and lever it in a modified come-along. She made a show of looking at the buildings with newly enlightened eyes.

“You’re right, Ivo!” she squealed. “They
do
look deliberately impressive and imposing.” She gave his thumb a little extra jerk, then released it and patted his hand before raising hers to flutter at her throat. Gossner managed to not flinch or otherwise show pain. When she released his thumb, he half-turned and leaned close, as though to kiss her cheek. “Sorry, Bella,” he murmured, “I didn’t spin you around on purpose.”

She smiled and nuzzled his cheek. “Don’t do it again,” she whispered. Then more loudly, “Ivo, I’m getting hungry. Let’s go and have lunch someplace. Can we do that?”

“Anything for you, my love,” he said as, under cover of patting the hand linked through his arm, he put her in a wrist-cracking come-along. Leaning close, he whispered, “You may be nasty, Bella, but I’m bigger and stronger. Besides, I outrank you.”

Dwan showed her teeth when she smiled up at him and asked, “How fast can you wake up and defend yourself when somebody crushes your larynx while you’re sleeping?”

Gossner remembered something someone once told him: “The greatest sign of trust you can display in someone is to fall asleep next to that person.” He released the come-along with a murmured apology.

Scott Park, New Granum, Union of Margelan, Atlas

They didn’t head straight toward the entertainment and dining district, but made a brief digression to a small, empty park just off Central Boulevard and sat on a tree-shaded bench. They sat close, with their heads together, looking to any casual observer like lovers.