Petrus’s emissary arrived at the berth of the Rebellion with a blast proof attache case hovering beside him. Lilliana, accompanied by Regan and Galatea, met him by the side of the great ship. Regan carried her hand spectrolyzer. Galatea had supplemented her one piece coverall with a very unaccustomed accessory, a black visor-like device covering her eyes.
At a touch of the man’s finger, the case turned on its side and opened, displaying ten identical hexagonal cylinders of glittering gold.
Or, at least, of glittering something.
“Regan?” Lilliana asked. “Is it real?”
“Well… accordin’ to this daft little box thing,” Regan said, squinting hazily at the screen of the square, black apparatus in her hand. “I’d say this is… er… that is… well, gold-wise, on a scale o’ one to…”
“Oh, for space’s sake,” Galatea said, pulling it away from her. She made a slow elliptical pass over the rods. “It’s one hundred percent gold, down to the core.”
“Excellent,” Lilliana said. “Regan, get these down to the engine room and…”
“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that just yet,” the man said, holding up a hand. “I can’t risk you taking off with Mr. Petrus’s gold until the cargo is safely stowed.”
“I assumed you had it nearby,” Lilliana asked. “Is it on its way?”
“Not quite,” the man said. “You won’t be taking possession of the painting here.”
“Where, then?” Lilliana asked.
“The museum,” he said.
“You don’t mean to say the hand-off will take place right outside the National Palace?” Lilliana asked incredulously.
“Not quite,” he said. “Inside the National Palace.”
“Where exactly inside the National Palace?” Lilliana asked with a sinking feeling.
“In the, uh… the Donna Stella’s display case,” the man said.
Lilliana stared at him.
“You mean we have to steal the painting,” she said.
“Take possession of it,” the man corrected. “The Donna belongs to Mr. Petrus, whom you represent. Therefore, no actual theft will be taking place.”
“That will be very comforting to know when we’re being obliterated by police laser rifles,” Lilliana said.
“Interesting historical sidenote,” the emissary said. “Did you know that ‘rifles’ are so-called because the original rifles, an ancient variety of kinetic energy gun from Old Earth, had a pattern of grooves, or ‘rifling’, on the inside of the barrel? The spin imparted to the round by these grooves increased the accuracy of shots over long distances. After the first practical beam weapons were developed, it became common to refer to any personal weapon optimized for long range accuracy as a ‘rifle’. It was hardly the first time that a new piece of technology kept the name of the item it had replaced… in fact, a quick perusal of any dictionary will show that a great many of the words we use have outlived their original definitions… but during a period of the late twentieth and early twenty-first century when such weapons were still speculative in nature, there was a vocal minority who would protest any time the words ‘laser rifle’ or ‘plasma rifle’ appeared in fiction.”
“Is that so?” Lilliana asked dryly.
“Indeed,” the man said, nodding. “In fact, at least one twenty-first century writer is known to have inserted completely extraneous paragraphs into her work to demonstrate that her use of such terms came from a forward-looking view of etymology rather than a basic ignorance of it.”
“That’s fascinating,” Lilliana said. “Really. But this little surprise you’ve chosen to spring on us? It counts as a double cross. Therefore, I shall exercise my rights under the principle of ‘fuck you, you cheating bastard,’ and simply take the gold. Regan?”
“Another interesting note about laser rifles,” the man said smoothly, even as Regan’s hand went for her sword hilt. “Several of them are pointed at each of your heads from a dozen different positions scattered around the spaceport.” He smiled. “There’s only one way you’re getting this gold, Ms. Corsair… if you are no longer interested in Mr. Petrus’s offer, I’m afraid you’ll just have to get back inside your little ship and take off with the fuel you do have.”
Lilliana composed her face into a smile, though she was inwardly fuming. The man obviously knew they could do no such thing. Roquelaire, that little rodent, must have guessed their troubles were worse than she’d let on.
“Regan, how’d you make out?” she asked.
“Just one bar, the Gypsy,” Regan said. “But I’ve got a cunning plan to get the rest.”
“Galatea?” Lilliana asked.
“Yes, well, I’m afraid that I only managed to, ah, I believe the term would be ‘break even’,” Galatea replied.
“You had enough money to spend on sunglasses,” Lilliana said… a little waspishly, as she knew the cost of such eyewear would be marginal at best, compared to the amount of money they needed.
“They were necessary,” Galatea said. “My new eyes are still a little photosensitive.”
“Uh, right,” Lilliana said. She sighed. It had been several long shots that anyone would have been able to come up with the money they needed. The Nicks had scratched together several thousand credits’ worth of money… an impressive bit of cash, considering… and she knew that Dick could probably secure a loan of some size with his connections, but it wouldn’t be nearly enough. “It appears that we have no choice, then.”
“Excellent.”
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