Carnifex

Atlantis Base

The small Class One terminal by the landing field was, Unni Wiglan thought, the epitome of good taste, well maintained. More a salon than a transportation facility, the walls were decorated with art from Old Earth, the floor—except where gold-flecked, polished marble showed through—covered with expensive local rugs from Yithrab, Kashmir, Farsia and Pashtia. Rather than even the superior, upholstered seating she was used to in the VIP sections of Tauran Airports invariably reserved for the very rich and officials of the Tauran Union and World League, plus some other select progressive organizations, the seating here was positively homelike, leather sofas and chairs with ottomans, fronted and flanked by coffee and end tables of rare silverwood.

Slightly smiling, blank-faced proles from Old Earth puttered about, sweeping and mopping, dusting and polishing. Unni gave them no thought; they were like the lower classes of the Tauran Union, there to serve and be cared for and not to be overly noticed. The proles were as much furniture as anything else in the terminal.

The years had been kind to Wiglan. She'd kept her slim shape and, if she hadn't quite won the war against gravity, she seemed to have arranged an armistice. She kept her hair shorter now, off her shoulders as befit her age. The few gray streaks detracted not at all from her appearance.

Unni's heart fluttered with excitement. A portion of that was anticipation of the thorough fucking she expected to receive soon at the High Admiral's command. After centuries of practice, he certainly had some technique. Then, too, she was going to be introduced to the Marchioness of Amnesty, said to be a fine looking woman. Unni wriggled with anticipation.

More excitement, though, came from the sheer danger of the enterprise upon which she had, at Robinson's behest, embarked.

It had not been easy for Unni to overcome her personal revulsion with the Tauran Union's military. Moreover, she'd had little personal to trade beyond whatever prestige there might be in association with, and the occasional bedding of, a TU minister. Still, she'd been diligent in her High Admiral's cause and he had funded her lavishly.

The results of that association, those beddings, and that funding waited outside in a Yamato-manufactured truck surrounded by tough looking, armed, UE Marines: from Hangkuk, four nuclear weapons, from Volga, another four, and from certain persons in Kashmir's nuclear program, four more.

A wall speaker chimed thrice and announced in a sexless voice, "Marchioness of Amnesty and High Admiral of United Earth Peace Fleet's launch arriving in five minutes."

Unni looked skyward, expectantly. She was surprised, therefore, when the Marine band outside began to play Earth's Hymn to Peace and she looked down to see the familiar pumpkin seed shaped launch with its blue- and white-enameled symbol of United Earth roll up almost silently to the terminal and stop.

The symbol split to reveal Robinson, in full regalia. He stepped down onto a small staircase that had thrust out simultaneously with the opening of the hatch. Three steps and the High Admiral's feet were firmly planted on the purple carpet that was reserved for Earth's highest and noblest officials. The Marchioness followed.

While Robinson strode the purple carpet the truck pulled around to the far side and a crew of Marines in plain fatigues began to transfer its contents to the shuttle's hold. The other Marines, the armed ones in full dress uniform, marched smoothly at port arms to surround the small ship and line both sides of the purple carpet. They then faced outward on command.

Wiglan shivered to see the Marines march, their bodies stiff and their faces cold, hard and emotionless. How much more pleasant to be surrounded by the blankly smiling proles!

* * *

The High Admiral entered, Arbeit on one arm, lighting the salon with his smile. "Unni, my very dearest," he said, enthusiastically, after introductions, "how can I, how can Earth and Civilization, ever repay you? You're a marvel!"

He swept her into his arms and whirled her in a complete circle before setting her on her feet again.

"It was only my duty," she answered, demurely, once she had regained her balance. "Will you be here long?" she asked, her voice husky and full of hope.

"Sadly not, my dear. I'm off to meet Mustafa as soon as my shuttle is loaded."

Seeing the disappointment written plain across her face, Robinson amended, "But the Marchioness and I will be back in two or three days. In the interim, make yourself at home in my quarters here on Atlantis Base. It's been too long and we have much catching up to do. For now though, Unni, I must leave and deliver our cargo to the forces for progress."