Captain Vorpatril's alliance

For the first time ever, as his two‑seater arrowed out through the wintry margins of the city, she thought that Ivan Xav was driving too slowly. She leaned forward anxiously into her seat straps as the civilian shuttleport at last rose into view. This was her first look at the place, as they’d come downside before via the military shuttleport, where arrangements had been very different. VBS Main looked very much like every other big galactic port she’d ever seen‑under construction. Ivan Xav wove handily around worksite barricades. Fortunately, he seemed to know where he was going, and the place was thinly populated at this dark off‑hour.

His military ID whisked them past the first layer of security like a magic wand, at which point they were met by a man in a customs uniform, a lieutenant in military undress greens with ImpSec Horus‑eyes on his collar, and, hurrying up last, Byerly and Rish, out of breath. The customs man stepped back at the sight of Rish, his lips parting in astonishment, but he glanced at the unreactive ImpSec fellow, swallowed, and carried on.

“I’ve arranged a preliminary look through a monitor for you, Madame Vorpatril,” the customs man told her, and it was a sign of something that Ivan Xav didn’t correct the title. “As it seemed to be thought that there could be some safety and security issue.” Tej wasn’t sure if his irritated glance at the ImpSec officer suggested a conflict of jurisdictions or procedures, or just the accumulated frustrations of trying to get ImpSec to give a straight answer to any question.

The customs man guided them through a code‑locked door labeled Authorized Personnel Only and threaded a maze of office corridors, mostly with doors shut for the night. Down two floors, through some utilitarian tunnels smelling of dry concrete and machine oil, up again, then to an unlabeled door in a broader corridor. Some kind of satellite security office, judging by the consoles; on duty was only a single clerk, who gave way to the customs officer and gestured to the vid. “Nothing of interest so far, sir.”

The plate showed four views of what appeared to be a midsized, private waiting room, brightly lit if a touch shabby, neither luxury lounge nor prison chamber. The ambiguous space was occupied by nine people and many jumbled piles of luggage. The figures were variously sitting up looking very bored, or lying across rearranged chairs and cases, uncomfortably dozing. Three men and six women. Tej’s heart seemed to stop beating altogether.

“Can you pick out this Dr. Dax?” asked the ImpSec lieutenant.

She gulped for breath, for rising joy, for hope unlooked‑for. “I can pick out everybody.”

Rish was staring over the vid display with wide, devouring eyes. “The Baronne…?” she breathed.

“And Dada!” said Tej. “And Star and Pidge and Em and Pearl and…is that Grandmama?”

“What happened to her hair?” said Rish faintly.

Ivan Xav’s brows climbed; Byerly looked suddenly very blank.

Tej grabbed the customs man by the front of his uniform jacket. She really hadn’t meant to lift him off his feet; it just happened. “Take me to them! Take us to them right now!”

Chapter Fourteen

Two armed shuttleport security guards stood alert outside the entrance to the waiting room, Ivan noted at once. The Arqua clan had been sequestered well apart from the usual transients, but, delicately, not yet in criminal detention. That area lay conveniently nearby, though, through those unmarked double doors at the corridor’s end, if he was recalling the labyrinthine layout of this place correctly. Ivan decided not to mention this to the frantic Tej. Or to the jittering Rish. Judging from By’s narrowed glances around, he was making similar estimates.

The guards made way as the Customs amp; Immigration officer, a senior shift supervisor named Mahon, coded open the waiting‑room door. Tej and Rish nearly fell over him, and each other, blasting through.

“My parents, I thought they were dead…” Tej squeaked as she elbowed the man out of her path.

A jerk of By’s chin invited Ivan to note the vid recorder the customs officer clutched in his hand. Mahon regained his balance and murmured to Ivan, “All those names Madame Vorpatril was rattling off…you do realize, none of them match the documentation these people were traveling under.” A thin smile turned his mouth, as of an earnest official contemplating well‑honed instincts rewarded.

“Is that going to be a problem?” said Ivan.

“Definitely. I just don’t know what kind, yet. Or whose.” He and the wary ImpSec lieutenant, Zumboti, exchanged calculating stares.

Ivan twitched, and corrected, “Lady Vorpatril,” for the first time. Just in case. Zumboti took the precaution of unholstering his stunner and easing off the safety, though he held his hand discreetly down at his side, before shouldering in ahead of Ivan. A beat, and his glance back gave permission for Ivan to enter.