Pirate Sun by Karl Schroeder

cooperation between our two peoples.’ I believe that’s how your pilot put it in the newspaper article…. Which is around here somewhere…”
    Darius frowned, looking from Ergez to Chaison. “Yeah but I saw all those recruiting posters. The market’s full of them.”
    “Quite.” Ergez lost his smile. Having offered drinks to his guests, he proceeded to take up a cup himself and lean back in the enfolding wings of the chair. He pursed his lips above the cup. “It’s the Gretels that’s the threat, Admiral—our largest neighbor, happily for you on the far side of our country from your own border.”
    “Ah…” This was news. It answered many questions—not least being why Falcon Formation had put together a secret force to invade Slipstream in the first place.
    Darius squinted at him. “Ah, what?”
    Chaison smiled sadly at him. “I’m afraid the attack on us was a sideshow, Darius. They simply wanted to secure their flank before dealing with the Gretels.”
    Darius sat for a while, absorbing this information. “So,” he said eventually, “now that one way of doing it’s failed, they’re trying the other.”
    “I’m afraid that it makes it all the more likely that you and I were sacrificed as pawns. We were never traded back to Slipstream because asking would have been…impolite.”
    Even as he said this, Chaison knew he was playing into Antaea’s hands. She must have known he would see the recruiting posters and have questions, and now he saw how this interview with Ergez was supposed to go. Too late; he had walked right into her trap.
    Darius was scowling off into space. “We can’t go home again, is what you’re saying.”
    “Certainly not under your old names,” said Antaea smoothly.
    Chaison nodded to himself. “But the home guard could help us,” he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Richard Reiss glance sharply at him. Richard had also seen the vise Antaea was applying.
    She thought that he had only two choices: slip back to his home anonymously and build a new life there under an assumed name; or take whatever deal she would propose. That deal would have something to do with his revealing the whereabouts of the key to Candesce. Wherever she was, Venera had it, but Chaison was not about to let anyone know that—not only to keep her safe, but because he knew nothing of this home guard’s real integrity or mission. He believed Antaea was who she said she was, but beyond that all was suspect.
    Chaison had a third alternative, however, and the fact that Antaea didn’t see it marked her as someone whose origin was the lower strata of society. It hadn’t occurred to her that Chaison could publically fight to regain his position. He had allies in the admiralty.
    He would play for time. “We would be grateful for any help you could give us in returning home. As to what we can do for you—”
    A shout interrupted him. The door to the street was open and several men were piling in. One slammed it behind himself and leaned on it, cursing. He was holding his elbow, and Chaison saw blood welling between his fingers.
    Ergez levered himself halfway to his feet. “Sanson! What happened?”
    The man winced. He was short but lean and wiry, the perfect musculature for a town rigger—which he probably was, judging by his toeless shoes and the utility belt around his waist. “So sorry to disturb you, Mr. Ergez, it’s just that you did say, if any of us ever had any trouble with the pols that we should…”
    “Yes, yes, and I meant it.” Ergez made it the rest of the way to his feet. “I just want to know if you’re seriously injured.”
    Sanson shook his head. “Just a cut on my arm and a rap on my head,” he said.
    Ergez turned back to Chaison and the others. “Sanson and his men have my confidence,” he said. “You can speak in front of them.”
    Chaison stood and walked over to the injured man. “Hold it out,” he said in a commanding tone. The rigger obeyed automatically,