CHAPTER 3
Holm on Kronstadt
The vehicle Hogg had found for them was a surface car with friction drive—a roller on a single central strut—but an air-cushion suspension. Adele, in the backseat with Daniel, didn’t know what the advantage or claimed advantage was over vectored thrust like the armored personnel carriers which had become familiar to her, but no doubt there was one.
“It rides very smoothly,” Daniel said approvingly but perhaps with a touch of wonder.
Adele sniffed. Hogg had a remarkable facility for finding vehicles, but they never rode smoothly when he drove them. This car had the logo of the Macotta Regional Authority on its front doors. She doubted that Hogg had simply stolen it, but anything was possible with that old poacher.
“And just in case you was wondering how this happened to show up,” Hogg said, patting the fascia plate with his left hand; they swerved toward but not quite into a heavy truck speeding along the other lane of Dock Street with a load of frozen sheep carcasses. “We’re testing her for the repair depot, and it’s all open and aboveboard.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Hogg,” Daniel said, smiling but definitely sounding as though he meant the words. “And I’m also glad not to have to walk back from headquarters.”
We were apparently all thinking the same thing, Adele realized. Well, by now we know one another well enough to be able to predict certain responses.
“Ah,” said Hogg, this time without turning his head toward his master in the backseat. “Your liquor cabinet’s short of a couple bottles of that apple brandy you picked up on Armagnac. There wasn’t time enough to get into a poker game, but I can find something to replace the booze by tomorrow morning, I figure.”
Adele’s personal data unit balanced on her lap while she sorted the information which she had trolled in squadron headquarters. She shifted to a cultural database with her control wands, then said, “The local liquor is plum brandy. There appear to be better brands and worse ones, but from commentaries I’ve found, I think absolute alcohol from the Power Room would be a better choice than the low end of the spectrum.”
She scrolled farther down and added, “In fact, I think paint stripper would be a better choice than the low end.”
“Perhaps Hogg and I could arrange a taste test,” said Tovera, the first words she had spoken since she arrived beside Hogg. “I’m sure there’s paint stripper we could requisition from squadron stores. Or—”
She paused. Tovera was short, slim, and colorless, a less memorable person to look at than even her mistress.
“—perhaps I could get it by killing the supply clerk and everyone else in the warehouse.”
Hogg guffawed. “Spoiled for choice, aren’t we?” he said.
Daniel grinned also, but Adele noticed that the humor had taken a moment to replace a perfectly blank expression. Tovera was an intelligent sociopath. She had neither conscience nor emotions, but a strong sense of self-preservation made up for those absences.
Tovera had learned to make jokes by studying how normal human beings created humor. Similarly, she functioned in society generally by copying the behavior of those whose judgment she trusted.
Tovera trusted Adele. If Adele told her to slaughter everyone in a warehouse—or anywhere else—the only question Tovera might ask was whether her mistress had any preference for the method she used.
“I’m sure,” Adele said in the present silence, “that if I do ask Tovera to wipe out a nursery school, I’ll have a very good reason for it.”
The men laughed, and Tovera smiled with appreciation.
Hogg thrust the steering yoke hard to the left, sliding neatly between the tail and nose of a pair of heavy trucks in the oncoming lane. Adele blinked. A stranger might have thought that it was a skilled though dangerous maneuver; she had enough experience of Hogg’s driving to know that he’d simply ignored other traffic.
They had pulled onto the quay separating the last two slips—31 and 32—in the Kronstadt Naval Basin. They sped past a squadron repair ship—which was undergoing repair herself; all twelve of her High Drive motors were lined up beside her on the concrete—and pulled to a halt beside the corvette—and sometimes private yacht—Princess Cecile.
“Welcome home, boys and girls!” Hogg said. He gestured toward the ship with the air of a conjurer.
The Sissie lay on her side like a fat, twelve-hundred-tonne cigar. Within, the corvette had five decks parallel to her axis; the bridge was on A—the topmost—Level in the bow, and the Battle Direction Center with its parallel controls and personnel was at the stern end of the corridor.
At present the dorsal turret, near the bow with two 4-inch plasma cannon, was raised to provide more internal volume. The ventral turret, offset toward the stern, was underwater and therefore out of sight.
Adele put her personal data unit away and got out. Instead of going to the catwalk immediately, she stood for a moment looking toward the Princess Cecile over the car’s roof.
Adele had first seen the corvette cruising slowly above Kostroma City, launching skyrockets and Roman candles from her open hatches as part of the Founder’s Day festivities. Then the vessel was merely an object: large, noisy, and unpleasantly bright to look at. Adele now knew that to save spectators’ eyesight, the Sissie’s thruster nozzles had been flared to reduce the intensity of her plasma exhaust, but at the time the light had seemed to stab through her slitted eyelids.
Since then, Adele had spent almost as much time on or about the corvette as she had away from it. With Daniel as captain, they had fought battleships, entered enemy bases, and travelled to the edges of the human universe.
At various times the ship’s rigging had been burned off, it had lost the outriggers on which it floated following a water landing, and portions of its hull had been melted, dented, or holed. After each battle the rebuilt Princess Cecile had arisen as solid as before, ready to take her captain and crew to the next crisis.
Hogg was joking, but the Princess Cecile really was more of a home than Adele had ever had on land.
“Hey, Six?” called a Power Room tech, one of the four spacers in the guard detail at the head of the boarding bridge. “They’ve got a real flap on here. Every bloody ship in the harbor’s working up her thrusters and taking stores aboard.”
Adele instinctively reached for her data unit to check the name of the speaker, a squat, androgynous woman who was cradling a submachine gun. Her face was familiar, but Adele didn’t connect names and faces very well.
Daniel grinned and said, “As well they should be, Damion. Thanks to the fast run that you on the ship side and the riggers both made possible, the Macotta Squadron is able to lift in time to prevent another war.”
Adele’s lips twisted wryly. Though she wasn’t good with flesh-and-blood people, she’d never had a problem keeping authors and their respective documents straight.
The boarding bridge was a twenty-foot aluminum catwalk extending from the concrete quay to the Princess Cecile’s starboard outrigger. There it met the ship’s boarding ramp—the main entry hatch in its fully lowered position.
Three pontoons supported the catwalk. It was wide enough for two people to walk abreast, but Adele knew that Daniel in the lead and Tovera following closely behind were both ready to grab her if she started to topple into the water.
Hogg, at the rear of the short procession, swam like a fish. He would drag Adele up from the bottom of the slip if that were required . . . and would dive down again after her data unit if it somehow had slipped out of its pocket. Every member of the Sissie’s crew knew that Adele would rather be stripped naked than to lose her data unit.
“I was thinking, master,” Hogg called. “If you weren’t going to need the car right away, this might be a good time for me to top off the liquor cabinet.”
Daniel turned and stepped aside for Adele as he reached the ramp. “Officer Mundy?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. She hadn’t spoken of the course of action she had planned while sorting data from the headquarters’ computers.
Adele stepped onto the ramp. It was thick steel and seemed as solid as the continent itself after the queasy flexing of the catwalk.
“I’m sorry, Hogg,” she said over her shoulder. She spoke loud enough for Daniel to hear, but the question was really the servant’s. “Captain Leary and I will be going into town as soon as he’s changed out of his Whites and I’ve briefed Cory and Cazelet. We’re going to visit Bernhard Sattler, the merchant who acts as honorary consul for the Alliance on Kronstadt. I hope that Sattler will give us information that will help with the mission we’ve been assigned.”
And whether or not Sattler is consciously helpful, I expect that the data I draw from his files will prove useful.
* * *
Daniel had changed into a second-class uniform—gray with black piping—because that was the proper garb for visiting a civilian of no particular importance, but it was also a great deal more comfortable than his Dress Whites. At this point Adele was in charge because she had a plan; he was following her orders. He was pleased that she had ordered him to wear his Grays, though.
He wasn’t sure why Tovera was driving while Hogg sat beside her in the front seat; presumably it was something the two of them had worked out. Hogg liked to drive, but nobody—his master included—wanted to ride with him a second time. Driving gave Hogg great pleasure, though, and Daniel loved as well as valued the man. Hogg was his servant, certainly; but he was also Daniel’s father in the non-biological sense.
“Kronstadt doesn’t have formal diplomatic representation with the Alliance,” Adele said, her eyes on the display she was manipulating. Daniel didn’t imagine that what she was looking at had anything to do with what she was saying: the ride to Sattler’s warehouse was simply an opportunity to give him background while she delved much deeper herself. “An honorary consul is a private citizen with an Alliance connection of some sort. He helps Alliance citizens who are having problems. Our External Bureau calls the equivalent official a consular agent.”
“He helps spacers who’ve been rolled and missed their ships?” Daniel said. “That sort of thing?”
Adele shrugged without, Daniel noticed, affecting the way her control wands moved. She claimed the angle and position of the wands provided her with quicker, subtler control of her holographic display than any other form of input device.
Daniel believed her, but the only other people he had seen using wands were Adele’s protégés Cazelet and Cory. From their expressions as they struggled, they didn’t get the results Adele did.
“Yes, usually spacers,” she said toward the blur of light that coalesced at the point where her own eyes focused, “but it can be any Alliance citizen who’s been robbed or has some other kind of legal problem. From information in the regional computers, I believe I can find a great deal more in Master Sattler’s own files.”
Tovera swung the car so wide around dining tables outside a restaurant that Daniel was afraid that they would scrape the front of the shop on the opposite side of the street of segmented paving blocks. Buildings in this older section of Holm—along the river, the original starship harbor—were faced with pastel stucco. Enough of the covering had flaked off to show that the walls beneath were brick or stone, definitely not things to drive into with a plastic-bodied vehicle.
About the best thing one could say about Tovera’s driving was that her collisions were likely to be at much slower speeds than those of Hogg. She was mechanically overcautious instead displaying Hogg’s incompetent verve.
Daniel coughed to clear his throat. Something must have showed in his expression, because Adele glanced toward him and said, “I expected to face danger in the RCN. I hadn’t appreciated how much of it would involve riding in vehicles which my shipmates were driving.”
They had reached a warehouse building with double doors along the front. Tovera pulled the car to a halt abruptly enough to tilt the bow forward. The air-cushion suspension damped the jolt better than Daniel had expected when he braced his hands against the seat ahead of him.
Before he could speak, however, the car hopped forward another twenty feet, putting them about as far beyond the pedestrian door in the center of the facade as they had been short of it on the first try. It looked as though Tovera was trying to shift into reverse.
“Stop!” Daniel said. “That is, thank you, Tovera, but this is quite good enough.”
He slid his door back—it telescoped into the rear body-shell—and got out of the car before Tovera could back up anyway. He was fairly certain that she wouldn’t take direct orders from anyone but Adele, and he wouldn’t have wanted to bet that even Adele could be sure her order would be obeyed.
Tovera was a pale monster. She was a frequently useful monster, but a monster nonetheless.
The legend painted in bright orange letters above the doors of the building was BERNHARD SATTLER AND COMPANY. Tovera had disadvantages as a driver, but her navigation was consistently flawless.
Adele walked around the car to join Daniel. She carried her data unit in her right hand instead of putting it away in its pocket. Tovera followed; Hogg already stood beside the office door.
“Both of you wait in the street,” Adele said crisply to the servants. “You’ll attract too much attention.”
“I—” Tovera said. She held her attaché case before her, closed but unlatched; inside was a small submachine gun.
“I won’t have you jeopardizing the task by turning this into a procession,” Adele said. She didn’t raise her voice, but the words snapped out. “Anything beyond Captain Leary and his aide will make them wonder.”
She glanced at Daniel, who had been waiting for direction. He noticed to his own amusement that his hands were crossed behind his back as though he were At Ease before a superior officer.
“Captain,” Adele said. She nodded to the door.
Daniel, smiling faintly, entered the offices of Bernhard Sattler and Company. Rank didn’t have to be formal to be real, and he had no doubt as to who was in charge here. It wasn’t him.
A clerk looked up from her console on the other side of a wide wooden counter. Another female clerk was talking with animation to a pair of warehousemen wearing leather bandoliers from which tools hung. From the door to the left came the sound of a heavy load clattering along an overhead track.
“I’m Captain Leary,” Daniel said, pitching his voice to be brusque but short of threatening. “I’m here to speak with the honorary consul on RCN business, and I’m in a hurry.”
All four employees were now looking at him—and not at Adele, as he had intended. The clerk at the console flicked a glance at the frosted glass panel in the wall but returned to Daniel and said, “Ah—may I tell him your business? He’s pretty busy and I—”
“I am an RCN officer on a Cinnabar possession,” Daniel said, speaking a hair louder but not shouting yet. “I have RCN business with a resident alien here, and I’m about to stop asking politely.”
The clerk’s jaw dropped, giving her the expression of a gaffed fish. The workmen turned and strode into the warehouse area without looking back. The clerk at the counter started toward the glass door, but it opened before she’d taken a full stride.
The burly man who strode out was beardless and nearly bald, but his full moustache met fluffy sideburns. He made a quick bow toward Daniel and said, “Sir, will you come through, please? I am Bernhard Sattler, and I am at your service.”
The clerks got in each other’s way as they hopped to lift the gate in the counter. Daniel nodded to them as he stepped through; Adele followed, as silent as a shadow.
Sattler waited to close the office door behind them, then seated himself behind a desk of gray metal with an engine-turned surface. He smiled wryly at Daniel and said, “They’re really good girls, you know; my nieces, both of them. But they were born on Kronstadt, and they don’t appreciate the subtleties of my being a naturalized citizen who was born on Bryce.”
“No harm done,” said Daniel. He appreciated the delicacy with which the merchant had claimed to be a Cinnabar citizen, not a resident alien. They both knew that it was a distinction without a difference when dealing with an RCN officer on a Cinnabar regional capital.
The office was windowless, but large holographic cityscapes gave depth to three walls. The shelves on all sides contained a mixture of hardware and paper—loose, in binders, and as books. Some of the hardware could be samples of warehouse stock, but the lengths of worn chain and greasy pulleys might better be on a scrap pile.
Daniel grinned. The room reminded him of the days he had spent as a child in his Uncle Stacy’s office at Bergen and Associates’ Shipyard. Commander Stacy Bergen had been the finest astrogator in the RCN, then or now. Daniel’s high reputation for slipping through the Matrix in the swiftest and most efficient fashion rested on the training he had received from his uncle before he even dreamed of joining the RCN.
Sattler opened a drawer. Without looking down, he said to Daniel, “If I didn’t think it would insult you, Captain, I would offer you a drink.”
Daniel didn’t move, didn’t even breathe out for a moment. Then he let a slow smile expand across his face.
“I’ve drunk some of the worst rotgut ever brewed in a barracks,” he said. “I don’t guess anything you’ve got in that drawer has the chops to insult me.”
Sattler laughed from deep in his chest and brought out a fat, double-tapered bottle covered by an upturned glass. He set the glass on the desktop, then paused with the bottle lifted. Nodding toward Adele, he said, “Will your aide . . . ?”
Daniel followed his eyes. Adele sat on one of three straight wooden chairs, engrossed in her display. The edge of her seat had been whittled into a procession of cherubs buggering one another, apparently the whimsy of someone with a jackknife and a great deal of raw talent.
“She will not,” Daniel said dismissively. He took the glass and the chair on the other end from Adele’s; it hadn’t been embellished, but one leg was enough shorter than the other three to click on the floor when he moved.
Sattler drank directly from the bottle, watching Daniel as he did so. He lowered the bottle and said, “Angels’ Tears, Captain. A Bryce specialty, as you may know.”
Daniel took a reasonable sip but held it in his mouth for a moment before he swallowed. The straw-colored liquor tasted like wood smoke, but it was as smooth as anything he’d drunk of such high alcohol content: it must run at least 150 proof.
“Very good,” Daniel said. He took three more swallows to lower the contents of the glass by half, then leaned back in his chair. He said, “Tell me about the Sunbright Rebellion, Master Sattler. Who’s backing it?”
Sattler set the bottle on his desk. “Officially,” he said, “interloping traders who bring in weapons and take out loads of rice. You know Sunbright rice?”
Daniel shrugged. “I know of it,” he said. “It’s valuable, I gather.”
“Yes,” the merchant agreed, “but it is delicious beyond even its present high price. As it’s exported farther and farther from Sunbright, the demand will continue to rise, and so will the price.”
Daniel shrugged again. “You said, ‘officially,’” he said. “And the truth?”
“Clan chiefs on Cremona,” Sattler said. “Maybe half a dozen out of thirty-odd, all told. Cremona’s in the Funnel, but it’s independent. As a matter of fact, it’s so independent that it hasn’t been worth the Alliance’s time to take the place over, tempting though I’m sure the idea has looked even before now. The only way to get all the clans to cooperate is to bring in off-planet troops for everybody on Cremona to shoot at.”
“There’s no government?” Daniel said, crossing his ankle over his knee as he sipped his liquor. He wondered what it had been distilled from.
Sattler drank also, then said, “Not one that anybody pays any attention to unless they feel like it. There’s even an army, but it’s barefoot boys and riffraff who’d sell their equipment for a drink—if they had any equipment. The larger clans have private armies that aren’t as much of a joke, though.”
Daniel nodded. “And no joke at all if you’re trying to move through a city,” he said. “I can see why the Alliance wouldn’t make the investment, though I suspect the regional government has been pushing for it. And has been overruled from Pleasaunce.”
It was a real pleasure to deal with a man like Sattler, who was willing to be honest when he was sure that he was talking to someone who wanted the truth—and that his listener wasn’t going to be easily fooled.
“I shouldn’t wonder,” Sattler said. “Nobody in the Funnel government has taken me into their confidence, but that’s what I’d be saying in their place. There’s pirates operating out of Cremona too, though they mostly don’t pick on Alliance or Cinnabar-flagged ships.”
He held the bottle out and raised an eyebrow. Daniel looked at his glass—an ounce remaining—and shook his head. “I didn’t get off on the best foot with Admiral Cox this morning,” he said, telling the truth but lying by implication. “The last I need is him claiming that I was drunk while on duty.”
Daniel had needed to drink with the merchant to set the right tone for the interview, but he’d done that. Four ounces, even of strong liquor, wasn’t going to put him under the table or even give him a real buzz, but more wouldn’t improve his job performance.
Sattler thumped the bottle down and said, “It’s not just Cremona, though. Now, before I explain this, you have to understand something. To Cinnabar, the Forty Stars and the Funnel are both ruled—administered, if you’re delicate about words—”
“I’m not,” said Daniel as he emptied his glass.
“Right,” said Sattler. “They’re ruled from here and called the Macotta Region. To the Alliance they’ve got separate governments until you get up to the Seventeenth Diocese on Port Sanlouis. Admiral Jeletsky has the Forty Stars Squadron on Madison. He doesn’t care what happens in the Funnel, and neither does Governor Braun. In fact, if their administrative rivals are having trouble on Sunbright, they both figure that they’re twice to the good. And that’s why—”
He slapped his desktop with the fingers of his left hand. The bottle jumped.
“—quite a lot of the weapons going to the rebels come from Madison. Most of the smuggled rice is sold there too, with no questions asked. You see?”
Daniel grimaced. “All right,” he said. “I’ve seen things not a lot different on Cinnabar protectorates. I can believe it, well enough. But what about this ‘Freedom’ I hear about, the dashing rebel leader?”
“Now there you got me,” Sattler said, glowering. He looked at the wall, then grunted and rapped a control with an index finger like a mallet.
Flickers at the corners of Daniel’s eyes drew his attention: the three holographic wall displays had switched from cityscapes to images of a woman half Sattler’s age with a pair of six-year-old boys.
The previous scenes had meant nothing to Daniel, but the fact that Sattler had changed them certainly did. With only minimal information to go on, Daniel would have made an even-money bet that the images were from the merchant’s home world, Bryce, and that he had realized they weren’t the most politic decorations to be flaunting to an RCN officer.
Sattler would have known better than to call attention to the images, however, if he hadn’t punished the bottle pretty heavily. Though he seemed calm enough, Daniel’s sudden arrival must have been a shock to his system.
“Don’t worry about it,” Daniel said, staring down into his tented fingers. “Unless you’re lying to me, in which case you have worse problems than what you put on your walls.”
The merchant sat still-faced for a moment, then barked a laugh. “You’ve given me no reason to lie,” he said. “But sorry for acting like a prat.”
Sattler cleared his throat, then switched two of the displays back to streetscapes; the woman and children continued to beam from behind his chair. “I don’t know who Freedom is or if he’s one person,” he said. “There’s some who say he must be several people, a junta speaking through one throat. Anyway, he knows things—knows things and knew things. The first attacks, the start of the rebellion, hit every government arms stockpile on Sunbright before they had anything like real security.”
“The rebels would have to be very organized to carry off the timing for that,” Daniel said, frowning. He looked at the glass in his hand. “People on Cremona wouldn’t be able to do it. Nobody off-planet could have.”
Sattler nodded. “And this Freedom was putting out feelers for exchanging rice for equipment at least three months before the shooting started,” he said. “Placing orders on condition of rice being delivered at the time agreed. There’s enough small traders that some of them were willing to chance that the deal would come through. With guns from security-force warehouses in rebel hands, the customs and excise inspectors out in the farms had to run for the cities or have their brains blown out, so there was plenty of rice to trade for more guns and equipment.”
“You say ‘small traders,’” Daniel said. “Do you mean from Cremona, or . . . ?”
He was afraid the answer was going to be, “From Kronstadt and other Cinnabar worlds.” Which would sooner or later mean war.
“Cremona, sure,” Sattler said, “but it’s more than that. They stage through Cremona mostly because it’s a short jump to Sunbright. But it can be anybody who’s got a ship of five hundred or a thousand tonnes and is looking for quick cash.”
“Which is everybody who’s got a small tramp freighter,” Daniel said with a laugh. He let his expression return to neutrally pleasant. He said, “So, you think that Freedom really is somebody—or somebodies?”
Sattler nodded. He touched the bottle but didn’t lift it again. He cocked his head to the side and said, “Look, Captain, you don’t need to lecture me about what my place is with you in the room, but—look, you talked about you being ‘on duty.’ If you told me just what that duty was, I might be able to help more.”
Daniel pursed his lips. He didn’t look toward Adele, but he could see out of the corner of his eye that she was still focused on her display. Sattler was paying no more attention to her than he was to the saucer hat which Dan had tossed on the desk when he sat down.
“The Alliance requests that we remove Freedom from Sunbright because he’s a Cinnabar citizen,” Daniel said. “Admiral Cox has delegated that duty to me. Frankly, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that it was a complete fool’s errand. As I said, the admiral and I didn’t get off on the right foot.”
Sattler tapped the desk three times while staring into the middle distance. He straightened in his chair and picked up the bottle.
“Give me your bloody glass,” he said. Daniel handed it over for another four ounces.
Sattler drank from the bottle, then lowered it and said in a harsh voice, “I’m a trader, you know that. I’ve got ships as well as this—”
He waved generally with his left hand.
“—and other stuff. Before the last war I had six ships.”
Daniel sipped and nodded. He didn’t interrupt.
“Other shippers in the region laid up their hulls right away,” Sattler said. “There’s more pirates than patrols in the Macotta even when things are peaceful, and in a war the pirates all claim to be privateers. I left my ships out because I’m from Bryce. I had to prove that I’m a good Cinnabar citizen. When the third ship got taken, I grounded the three I still had. It was worth that to me not to have questions asked.”
Daniel nodded again as Sattler drank.
“We’ve got peace again,” the merchant said, his voice roughened further by the liquor. “My ships are out. I’m making money.”
He leaned forward and said, “I’m making money out of the revolt on Sunbright. I guess you figured that?”
“Yes,” Daniel said; he sipped. Sattler was a successful businessman, and the biggest business in this region must be the rebellion on Sunbright.
“But I don’t want war again,” Sattler said. “The business might survive, but it might not, and if things got bad enough—well, I’ve seen mobs, and I don’t want to be facing one. The security police are bad enough. If I could help you find Freedom, I would. But I can’t.”
Adele shut down her data unit and straightened. Daniel emptied his glass, set it on the desk, and got up. Grinning at the merchant, he said, “Well, Master Sattler, I believe you. Which is a pity, because I’d certainly welcome a shortcut to the goal I’ve been set. Good day to you and—”
He nodded to the woman and children on the left wall.
“—your family. I’m going to ponder what seems at present to be an intractable problem.”
Adele fell in behind him as he walked into the outer office. Neither niece noticed the visitors were leaving until Daniel had lifted the gate in the counter himself. The girls stared in frozen horror despite Daniel’s pleasant smile to each of them.
“Where to, young master?” asked Hogg, standing at the back of the car; Tovera was at the front.
Daniel smiled faintly. The words were a challenge of sorts—to Adele, who had slapped both servants down without hesitation when they wanted to enter the building.
“To the Sissie, I believe,” he said. He glanced at Adele, but she was already getting into the vehicle. He went around to the other passenger door.
“I entered all of Sattler’s files,” Adele said as Hogg—who was apparently driving back—started the engine. “Though his security was surprisingly good. He’s making quite a lot of money from smuggling rice out of Sunbright—and arms in, of course. But he’s not an Alliance agent, and he’s not involved with the rebellion itself, which is rather a pity.”
The car lifted on its suspension and made a needlessly hard U-turn to head back to the harbor. Traffic was light, but Hogg still came close to broadsiding a truck as he pulled out.
“So this trip didn’t help us after all?” Daniel said when he was sure that Adele had said all she intended to for the moment. Her data unit was live again.
“No, I wouldn’t say that,” she said toward her display. “I think the details of Master Sattler’s smuggling enterprises are very useful indeed.”