CHAPTER SEVEN
Principal's Quarters, December 4, 2308 14:23:57 (T-Minus 00:21:39:15)
Principal Lissa McDonald strode across the carpeted room that she used as her office. Herman had told her that the Emissary would be coming, but she had not prepared for it. When she had asked how Herman knew he was a target, he had replied that it "was just a hunch".
Herman had gotten her to get the Crimean Protectorate to declare them related, thus granting him immunity from The Letter. While in principle she disagreed with the concept of evading a Letter, it was a small price to pay for Herman's help.
Randy Emery Herman was, after all, a dealer. In seceding from the rest of "Washington's Dream," Crimea was the first province to establish independence. But it had come at a price. The majority of citizens in Crimea were now in the later half of their lives, and the traditional work done by the young and strong was now being done by those in the middle portion of their lives. In fact, there was a gap between the ages of fourteen and twenty-three where the only residents were the infirm.
Herman provided people, specifically breeding stock. Imported by force or lured with promises of wealth and land from other provinces, these young men and women - some as young as seventeen – were brought to Crimea to help re-establish the population. The fact that Crimea had a population of less that half a million inhabitants was the greatest state secret kept since that ancient ruler Clinton hid Monica from the lights and cameras of the news stations.
Herman's latest shipment had arrived by sea entering Azov harbor a few hours ago. Fourteen containers said to contain fourteen individuals apiece were waiting on The Cannon for inspection and approval. This delay by the Emissary would make Herman rather anxious. He didn't get paid for people who died on the trip.
"Can't you just dismiss him, Lissa?" Herman asked. "You are, after all, the Principal."
"I have to accord him the respect due his position, Mr. Herman," she said emphasizing his title and last name. "I can't just make him go away without seeing him. He could file a complaint, and then we'd both be in trouble."
"So then what do we do? We certainly can't let him occupy hours of our time when we have precious cargo in the harbor, now can we?"
"He won't be here long, I assure you."
She stepped behind her desk, and sat at the ornate wooden chair that was there. She pushed a green button on a terminal that sat upon the desk, indicating that she would receive the Emissary. Herman sat in one of two chairs on the opposite side of the desk, steepling his hands in front of him.
"Are you going to stay here? That's rather bold, don't you think?"
"Why should I be scared? I have full diplomatic immunity, don't I? He couldn't lay a Boom Stick on me even if I threw your chair at him. I am completely safe. In fact, I think I might-"
There was a tap at the door.
"Enter." Principal McDonald said, assuming her official air.
Two burly men with salt and pepper hair and mustaches to match escorted Kozel and Slade into the room. Their uniforms may have fit years ago, but bulk had won the fight against buttons, and the men had their jackets open, revealing stained white shirts beneath.
Slade's Boom Stick had been confiscated against protocol, but he remained silent till they approached the desk. Once delivered, the two guards hastily left the room – no doubt to finish their midday meal that had been interrupted.
Principal McDonald was younger than Slade had pictured. She was in her late forties, with auburn hair and flashing green eyes. Her smile as we approached was genuine, indicating the chairs in front of the desk.
"Good afternoon, Emissary. I had heard you were coming, but your presence is a surprise in my borders. I trust that your travels were without incident?"
"Indeed." He lied. "We had the opportunity to speak with a couple of your citizens while we have been here. It seems that your Territory benefits from your rule."
"And what brings you to this tiny corner of the world?"
"Official business, I'm afraid." Slade said, pointing to Herman. "But we seem to have reached a stalemate. I have a Letter that can't be delivered."
"That does seem to be a problem. Have you checked with Control? Seeing as the Letter is issued from their office, surely they can rectify the situation?"
"And there lies the rub. Control has no evidence of your relation to Mr. Herman. It is your word against the iCorps computers. While I'm inclined to believe you, Principal, it has been said that computers are infallible, and the relation seems a touch too coincidental for me."
Her smile vanished instantly, and her easy green eyes became as hard as steel.
"Are you suggesting that I would harbor an individual that is slated to receive a Letter? That's a capital offence! I would lose my Principaldom, not to mention my life. That's a pretty bold suggestion, Emissary."
"No suggestion at all, ma'am. I just find that the fact that a convicted murderer that is slated for a Letter being related to a Principal is a touch coincidental. You drew the conclusion yourself. Feeling a touch of guilt, ma'am?"
She stood, her chair scraping the desk as it was pushed back.
"Emissary, you are pushing the boundaries of decorum. I invited you to an audience at your request, and you have received it. It has finished. You may leave."
Slade stood, and bowed, then dragged Kozel out of the room with him. As soon as they were out of the office, Kozel started to laugh hysterically.
"You've got a pair of stones, Emissary." He said between fits of laughter. "Telling the Principal that she's harboring a fugitive without actually accusing her? You're lucky all she did was throw us out."
"I wasn't worried, Kozel. The same protection that affords Herman the luxury to sit in that office while I have a Letter for him, allows me a little leeway when dealing with officials, and she knew it."
"So what now? Herman's still in that office. He's probably smirking his head off because he knows we can't touch him, and you've still got a deadline."
Slade checked his chronometer.
"I've still got forty-four hours. We'll think of something.