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Mirach DropShip Field, Cingulum
Mirach
15 April 3133
“Why isn’t he landing? Didn’t the field controller give priority authorization?” Sergio Ortega paced back and forth on the glass-enclosed platform looking over the DropShip field west of Cingulum. Afternoon heat shimmered above the expanse of reinforced concrete designed to withstand the mass of even the largest DropShip. In the distance rose multistoried towers filled with controllers and their communications equipment monitoring the JumpShip point above the pole of Mirach’s sun and the IR emergence wave.
“The DropShip is coming in now, Baron,” said Manfred Leclerc, listening to a report in his earphone. “The honor guard is ready.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Sergio said, sucking in a deep breath to calm himself. He hated protocol and pomp and the Lord Governor Sandoval’s Envoy came at an inopportune time. Sergio had to speak with the labor leaders and assure them jobs would be forthcoming, to quiet the unemployed and get the rioters off the streets. And commerce? Sergio glanced around the reception platform and ticked off the list of business leaders who had been invited to greet Envoy Parsons.
Marta Kinsolving huddled with the others prominent in the Mirach Business Association. Sergio needed to confer with them all, but had postponed the necessary meetings because of problems dealing with labor organizers intent on disrupting the social fabric for their own gain. Once those rough spots were smoothed over, he could concentrate on the other side of the economic equation.
“He’ll land in a few minutes,” Lady Elora said. Sergio looked over his shoulder. She wore a stu
“Thank you,” Sergio said stiffly. He should have expected his Minister to personally attend, although he had instructed his protocol officer to only issue a general memorandum about Jerome Parsons’ arrival to the Ministry of Information. “You grace us with your presence, Lady Elora,” he said.
Elora bowed slightly in his direction. “The arrival of such an important off-world dignitary, one representing the Lord Governor himself, is the lead story today. My reporters and camera crews are in position to capture every moment, every word, any tidbit of information Envoy Parsons might give about his travels among other worlds of The Republic. I hope you will arrange an interview. It would do much in strengthening public confidence to hear his words.”
“Are you giving a speech, Elora?” Sergio asked. It did no good to antagonize her until he learned more about her off-world contacts. She might have been in touch with Parsons already, in spite of the Envoy’s refusal to accept anything but guidance communications on his way to Mirach. This comm blackout worried Sergio because he had not been informed of the purpose of Parsons’ mission. He knew he would learn the reason for the visit eventually, but Sergio wanted to know now. His own plans might need to be changed if Parsons came to forge new alliances across Mirach.
Sergio looked again at Marta Kinsolving and those with her. He noted that Benton Nagursky, the mining magnate, had not seen fit to come, but the aged agrobiologist Dr. Boris Chin had. Two of the three leaders of the MBA troika would get their chance to meet and greet.
Sergio stepped away from Elora and let his protocol officer engage her while he took Leclerc aside.
“There won’t be an …incident, will there, Captain?”
“Baron, the entire FCL is alert to any threat. Neither exhaust nor bullet can penetrate the ferroglass shields on the reception platform, and Legate Tortorelli has heavier mobile units surrounding the field to keep any protesters away.”
“What of my sons?” Sergio asked. “I want them with me, not in battle armor out on the field.”
“I anticipated that, Baron,” Manfred said. “They’re waiting at the base of the reception platform and will join you on the carpet as you go to greet the Envoy. Both are in uniform, however, not diplomatic attire.”
“That’s all right. They won’t be discharged from the FCL for another two weeks,” Sergio said, his mind leaping ahead to the meeting with Parsons. He turned and gripped Manfred’s arm. “Is everything else all right?”
Manfred hesitated, then nodded. “You can count on me, Baron.”
“I know,” Sergio said. Before he could say more, the platform began to quiver and the air filled with the deep-throated roar of a descending DropShip. Although they were kilometers distant, the rising shriek of the engines made speech impossible. Sergio let Manfred go about his duties and returned to the center of the platform, surrounded by the most powerful people on Mirach.
Sergio couldn’t help reflecting that their power was nothing compared to that of the man who landed in the center of the DropShip field. The Envoy might not command a planetary industry or government but he had the Lord Governor’s ear. While Aaron Sandoval made the decisions, those decisions were formed by trusted advisers like Jerome Parsons. Sergio couldn’t help wondering why Parsons visited Mirach now. It could not be a coincidence.
He settled himself and waited for the thunderous blast to wash past the impact-proof ferroglass shielding on the platform as the spheroidal Union-class DropShip settled down on its four landing struts. A searing blast dwarfing the existing heat waves radiated off the concrete pad, but the arriving dignitaries immediately left the gleaming silver ship using a specially enclosed transport tube impervious to the elevated temperatures. Sergio’s personal armored limousine pulled up at the base of the elevator, heat shielding was brought up automatically to protect those leaving, and then the limousine wheeled about and raced for the reception platform.
Sergio descended the steps and went to the red carpet unrolled to the door of the limo. Both Austin and Dale fell into step behind him, resplendent in their black-and-silver uniforms, but Sergio’s attention focused on the man climbing from the limo.
“Papa,” said Dale, moving closer to his right elbow. “When you saw Ha
“This isn’t the time or place, Dale.” Sergio cut off his son as he stepped forward and greeted, “Your Excellency, welcome to Mirach.”
Parsons reached out with his pudgy hand. It looked as if all the bones in it had turned to jelly. He shook Sergio’s hand, then hastily drew back, clasping his fingers over the bulge of his considerable belly. His thi
But it would have been easy to overlook this intensity. Vibrant pink-and-cobalt-blue patterns on the vest under Parsons’ formal cutaway jacket focused attention on the wrong portions of his anatomy. His trousers were baggy and flared in odd places, emphasizing bandy legs, but Sergio knew a diplomat of Parsons’ stature would not dress like this unless it was the height of current fashion. In spite of his own standard diplomatic coal black coat and pants and heavily starched white formal shirt with diamond studs, Sergio felt just a little like an off-world bumpkin in Parsons’ sartorially precise presence.
Parsons reared back slightly and tilted his head as he looked down his nose at the Governor.
“My dear Baron Ortega, how nice to meet you after all this time. Lord Governor Sandoval has spoken so highly of you and your delightful planet I feel as if I already know you as a friend and confidant.”