The Crown Jewels by Walter Jon Williams Page B

we— are in danger from the same source. Within a matter of hours, this container will be legally mine, and I may dispose of it. Naturally, I would prefer to give it to Miss Jensen— that is my contract. But—” He held up a hand, and Pietro’s face darkened. “If this object will bring me unwanted attention, I may have to get rid of it quickly,”
    “But,” Pietro said, “you can’t.” He looked for support to Gregor. “He can’t,” Pietro asked. “Can he?” Gregor only grinned.
    “On the contrary, sir.” Maijstral was firm. “If Miss Jensen is not available, she cannot fulfill her part in the contract. I assume that whoever abducted her knows that, and will keep her incommunicado until such time as I have either left Peleng or disposed of the object in some other way. It is likely, if they find me, they will make an offer of their own. I may be compelled by circumstances to accept.”
    Pietro goggled at him. “Look,” he said, “I’m the treasurer. I can pay you in Amalia’s place.”
    “It may be,” Maijstral said, “that I could place your bid among others in any auction taking place after Miss Jensen fails to reappear. But you will be bidding against others, Mr. Quijano.”
    Pietro appeared to cave in. He glanced toward Gregor again, then at Roman.
    “I’ll tell you,” he said. “But your Khosalikh will have to leave.”
    Irritation snapped into Maijstral. A display of racism at this point was more than annoying. He glanced up at Roman’s stolid, unmoving countenance. “Roman may stay,” Maijstral said. “He is my oldest associate, and perfectly in my confidence.”
    Pietro shook his head. “This issue transcends mere personal loyalties, Mr. Maijstral.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice, as if trying to keep Roman from overhearing. His tone was earnest. “The Fate of the Human Constellation,” he said, “is in the balance.”
    Maijstral raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.” This puppy was getting more annoying by the minute.
    “Please,” Pietro said.
    Maijstral tossed the relic from one hand to the next. “And here I am asking a mere sixty. For the Fate of the Constellation.”
    Pietro was indignant. “You agreed to sixty!” Then he seemed to recover himself. “Trust me on this, Mr. Maijstral.”
    Maijstral sighed. There was a short silence, relieved only by Gregor’s tapping on his knees. Finally Pietro spoke.
    “Very well, sir. If you vouch for him. But I wish you would reconsider.”
    Maijstral glanced at Roman. “I will not.” Another bout of irritation gripped Maijstral at the sight of Roman’s stolid countenance. Roman was concealing some great anger, that was clear, and Maijstral assumed it was on account of this tactless young man. He leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. “What’s in the jug, Mr. Quijano? The truth, now.”
    Pietro bit his lip. When he spoke it was a whisper. “That container,” he said, “is a cryonic reliquary containing the sperm of the heirless Pendjalli Emperor, Nnis CVI.”
    Maijstral looked at the object in his hands. He perceived Gregor’s stunned look, Roman’s jaw dropping, and he wished he had sent them both away, far out of earshot, far off the planet even.
    The thing hummed in Maijstral’s hand, a cold, impossible weight.
    “Oh,” Maijstral said. “The Fate of the Constellation really is at stake, then.”

CHAPTER SIX

    The cryonic reliquary sat on the table. It gleamed in the soft light of the room. Maijstral reached out his glass and accepted another fill of champagne. The group was on its second bottle. Maijstral told the robot to chill a third. He was going to need it.
    He wanted nothing so much as to get rid of the reliquary without further delay. Drop it off a speeding flier into the nearest bottomless lake. Toss it into the heart of the first fusion furnace he stumbled across. Fire it into the heart of Peleng’s sun.
    It had come true, he thought. The worst nightmare of every