Starfist: Wings of Hell by David Sherman & Dan Cragg Read Free Book Online

again.
    “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Cheatham,” Kutmoi vowed, “if I lose this election, why, you can call me—you can call me—” The name of a late-twentieth-century American politician whose inept campaigning had become a textbook example of how to lose a sure thing, suddenly sprang to mind. “Why, you can call me George Bush !”

CHAPTER FOUR

    The special envoy’s smile filled the room, and it was a big room.
    President Joen Berg unfolded himself gracefully from his seat and advanced to meet the envoy halfway across the room. “Madam Motlaw, I am pleased and honored by your visit,” he said, bowing slightly and kissing the back of the envoy’s hand; it was smooth and cool in his, the fingers long and tapered, the fingers of a concert pianist, which she had been, with the Brosigville Symphony Orchestra, before joining Ms. Kuetgens’s staff. She was famous among the people of Wanderjahr for her brilliant interpretations of Mozart, Beethoven, and the twenty-third-century composer Hank Scrobbins, particularly his very difficult Etudes in Organdy. “How may I be of assistance to you?” Berg asked as he gestured toward comfortable seats to one side of the room.
    “I’m here to deliver a message, Mr. Berg.”
    “Please, madam, everyone calls me simply J.B.” Berg smiled and shrugged. “I am, after all, merely the president of the Stortinget, not the prime minister,” he added apologetically as they took seats.
    “I am familiar with your parliamentary form of government, J.B.” She gave him that glacier-melting smile again. “And, as a mere envoy, a messenger, in fact, I’m really not exactly that high on my own government’s totem pole. Call me Sonia.”
    “Well, Sonia”—Berg’s face colored slightly with pleasure at the first-name privilege—“one good thing, since all the bigwigs are out of town right now, we two have the pleasure of meeting. How is his excellency, Ambassador Morelles?” Eduardo Morelles, known to everyone as “Big Ed,” was the Wanderjahrian ambassador to Thorsfinni’s World.
    “I’ve never met the man. He was away on a ski trip when I arrived. His secretary made the appointment with you for me. I was given to understand that he was vacationing up in the mountains with your prime minister.”
    Berg chuckled. “Those two? At their age? On a ski trip!” He shook his head. “Oh, excuse me! Refreshments? I have some of our superb Thorsfinni’s World coffee, grown from Earth-descended trees. Uh, do you smoke, madam?”
    “The occasional thule cigarillo. Coffee would be very welcome, though, J.B. It is very cold in this part of your world.” She pretended to shiver and rub her exquisite hands together.
    “Ah! It’s cold everywhere here, Sonia. But coffee will warm you up—and may I offer you a Davidoff Tatiana Night Cap Miniature? Delightfully exquisite smoke.”
    They lit up, smoked, and sipped coffee in silence for a few moments. “Delicious coffee. And these cigarillos are magnificent, J.B. Thank you!”
    Berg’s face colored again with pleasure. “You’re entirely welcome. The way you hold that cigarillo gives you a delicious air of mystery and intrigue.” They laughed. He regarded Sonia carefully but discreetly so as not to give offense. She was tall, very athletic, almost Berg’s height, and she had the most luxurious head of black hair he’d ever seen. It framed her face like a painting by Leonardo da Vinci. “Um, so how may my government help you, Sonia?” he managed to croak at last.
    “I would like to visit the Marines stationed here, J.B. I have a message for one of them.” She gave him that disarming smile again but it said, very clearly, don’t bother to ask me why.
    “Um, certainly, certainly. I believe the protocol calls for you to pay a visit to the Confederation’s ambassador here and then Rear Admiral Blankenboort, who commands the Naval Supply Depot. Camp Major Pete Ellis is where the Marines are stationed. But Blankenboort is the