Back at the Guardian hideout, the cerebral robot had left a full backup copy of himself, and instructions that if he didn’t return within three hours, this copy would be inserted into a new body, and the one he occupied now (including its internal programming) would be automatically deactivated. With respect to Gio, whom he did not yet entirely trust, this was an important test, sanctioned by Noah Watanabe himself.
Using his advanced programming, Thinker had taken preparations to send an electronic signal that would wipe out Gio’s memory of the headquarters location if he even started to utter the wrong words, or if any attempt was made to separate the two of them. Additional memory-wiping signals, though designed for robots, would be sent to all sentient machines within hearing range, if necessary. The robot had made adjustments to his own programming to set it up. Normally Thinker could not harm Humans or meddle with their minds, but he was able to tweak that by placing Noah’s safety, and the security of the entire Guardian organization, above all other concerns.
“You’re on the wrong side, old friend,” Thinker said to Jimu. Around the perimeter of Thinker’s face plate, orange lights blinked on. They began to pulse slowly and hypnotically, with the light receding and returning like the tide, dimming and brightening, dimming and brightening.
“But we both work for Humans,” Jimu said. “How can that possibly be wrong?”
Abruptly, an interface probe shot out of Thinker’s torso and locked into a port on Jimu’s body, which now bore the cardinal-red markings of the Doge’s elite force. It took only seconds to transfer the data to the wayward robot, after which Thinker withdrew the probe.
“Now do you understand?” Thinker asked.
“All Humans are not worthy of our loyalty and devotion,” Jimu intoned. “But Master Noah is.”
“Welcome to the Guardians,” Thinker said. He clasped metal hands with Jimu.
Jimu, instilled with sudden fervor, now issued new commands to the robot force in the warehouse. “We will not fight our own kind, especially not the revered Thinker. We all owe him a duty, for what he began in the White Sun Solar System where your brethren were first renovated, after having been discarded as worthless by the merchant princes.”
“Giovanni Nehr knows the way,” Thinker said.
Moments later, the motley group filed out of the warehouse, with Jimu ostensibly at the head of a Red Beret squadron. But an armored Human right behind him provided directions.
In ensuing weeks, Thinker and Jimu worked together from Noah’s headquarters to decimate the robotic ranks of the Red Berets. During what looked like typical patrols or troop exercises, a number of the Doge’s machines began to slip away and go over to Noah’s side—a trickle at first that would gradually increase.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
The concept of voting is like a pebble in a pond, enlarging outward from personal decision points concerning small matters to larger and larger matters.
—Anonymous, perhaps from a politician of Lost Earth
Despite his vices and extreme avarice, Doge Lorenzo had attempted to coordinate an effective military defense system on all planets in the Merchant Prince Alliance. As a matter of routine, he left most of the details to the professionals such as General Jacopo Nehr, but the Doge had his own ideas and concerns about such important matters. Sometimes he went into Nehr’s office on the orb iter and discussed military issues with him, but usually Lorenzo passed his orders through his attaché, Pimyt, who in turn relayed them down to the nehrcom transmitting station on the surface of Canopa for dissemination to other planets.
Lorenzo had also continued to reward scientific and business achievements by appointing commoners to princely positions. But he had failed to keep abreast of changing political tides, and failed to see the strength of the opposition to him until it surfaced in a big way. Now his political opponents—while concealing their identities—were lobbying for a vote of no-confidence in the Hall of Princes, and had garnered enough support to make it happen.
Today was the day of the vote.
Accompanied by his guards, the self-proclaimed Lorenzo the Magnificent took a shuttle down to the surface, and then a groundcar to the government complex in Rainbow City. At one time these buildings had been devoted to Canopan affairs, but now they served a larger purpose because of the destruction of Timian One and the merchant prince capital there.
His car crossed the city’s central square and stopped at the largest building, a domed structure that was now the Hall of Princes. The vote would be taken inside during a nehrcom conference session.
As he took his seat on the central stage, he wondered how many princes were aligned against him, and which of those who claimed to support him were actually working against him behind his back. He sighed. His grandfather had told him to be wary of political alliances, since they could blow away like leaves in the wind. Lorenzo realized now with a sinking sensation that he had forgotten that admonition, and had let his guard down while his enemies massed against him. He felt tears of sadness and rage welling up inside, and fought them back.
Many of his questions would be answered soon, when the princes placed their anonymous votes. For years he had been able to avoid even having a vote of confidence, since he had so many supporters who opposed it. But now, with the increasing opposition, the vote would be taken. He did not expect to lose, but the mere fact of the vote troubled him.
A handful of Canopan princes filed into the chamber and took their seats, along with a number of princes who had been visiting when podship travel was cut off. Gradually the other seats filled with holo-images, projections from other worlds. The transmitted images were so realistic that Lorenzo had to look closely to see the difference: they had a slight, almost imperceptible lack of sharpness. He nodded to some of his friends and long-time allies, including Anese Eng of Siriki and Nebba Kami of Salducia. They nodded back, most of them from far across the galaxy.
With a worried scowl, Lorenzo folded his arms across his chest and waited. He cast his own vote with a control panel on the arm of his chair, and saw the princes doing the same out in the chamber. They had an hour to complete the process, and many of the dignitaries whispered and murmured among themselves, making last-minute decisions and deals.
He didn’t like the facial expressions he saw on many in the chamber, including noblemen he had long considered his friends and allies. Stony countenances that seemed to look completely through him, as if he wasn’t even there. Could the vote possibly go against him? He wished he could say something here on his own behalf, but by long tradition that was impossible. All of the politicking had been done before this, with secret deals and payoffs. But it might not be enough.
Nervously, Lorenzo summoned an aide. “I’m not feeling well,” he said. “Perhaps I should go to an anteroom.”
The aide, a small but powerfully built black man, spoke in a confidential tone. Dib Venkins had always been outspoken, but his advice was consistently good. “Couldn’t that be seen as a sign of weakness, Sire?”
“It would look worse if I fall over.”
Nodding, Venkins helped him to his feet and escorted him through a side doorway, while the whispering and murmuring increased. Maybe this would garner him some sympathy votes, the Doge thought. Pimyt hurried to lend assistance.
In the anteroom, Lorenzo refused to sit, eat, or drink. “Leave me,” he said to the aide.
After the black man left, Lorenzo told Pimyt why he’d had to leave, then said, “How can they even call for this vote, after all I’ve done for the MPA? I’ve put money in the pockets of everyone in that chamber, and this is how I’m rewarded?”
“All ballots are not in yet,” Pimyt said. “I have people making last-minute deals, pressing for the support of anyone who’s on the fence. It is difficult to do, however, since so many princes are keeping their cards close to the vest. As you know, Francella has her people doing their best on our behalf, too. I just spoke with her this morning.”
He nodded. “You�
�re doing the best you possibly can, and I appreciate it.”
Lorenzo heard a rap at the anteroom door, and Pimyt let Francella in. She wore a long white dress, with a pale blue sash and a gold broach bearing her initials on her lapel. He saw the unmistakable aging on her face (despite the attempts to cover it with makeup), and a slight stoop to her posture. He felt a deep concern for her welfare. It was good of her to come when she was not feeling well.
“May I come in?” she asked, looking over the top of the much shorter Hibbil and smiling at Lorenzo.
Feeling the need for emotional support, Lorenzo nodded. He rested his hand on a copy of the Scienscroll that lay open on a stand, and this gave him some comfort, as if a higher power was watching over him.
Hurrying to his side, Francella placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’re doing everything we can,” she said, “but it doesn’t look good.”
In disbelief, he looked at her. “I’m going to lose?”
“The revelation about Princess Meghina is too large to overcome, it seems.”
“I didn’t know she was a Mutati!”
“I believe you, but it has the appearance of concealment on your part, and some people are willing to believe the worst about you. There is this, too. Word has it that my brother spread the story about Meghina and your involvement.”
“Noah did that?”
“It’s in his nature, and he’s out now, back with the Guardians.”
“But how did he find out about Meghina?”
With a shrug, Francella said, “Who knows? But Noah hates you for helping me.”
“I could kill him for this!”
“I already tried that.”
“Just the same, there are still things we can do. If we get our hands on him again, we can seal him in plax and bury him, or drop him in the deepest part of the ocean.”
“My brother’s cells do have some value, so it would be better to seal him up somewhere and stab needles into him to extract blood whenever we need it.”
“A cure for you,” Lorenzo said.
“Precisely.”
A wave of sadness overwhelmed the Doge, and words caught in his throat.
“It’s Noah’s fault that this vote of confidence is going to go against you,” Francella said. “I hoped for a different result, but the polls are clear.” She looked downcast.
“Maybe you’re mistaken,” Lorenzo said, staring at the Scienscroll that still rested under one hand. “I could still pull off a miracle.”
She did not reply.
With a sudden movement, Lorenzo dropped to his knees in front of the Scienscroll stand. He could not hold his emotions back, and tears streamed down his face.
On either side of him, Francella and Pimyt knelt, too, and the three of them prayed silently together for several long minutes.
“I don’t understand how this happened,” Lorenzo finally said, opening his eyes and looking at his most trusted associates. “I just don’t see how this could have possibly happened. Don’t the princes know what I’ve done for them?”
“Maybe there will be a miracle after all,” Pimyt suggested.
But Lorenzo heard otherwise in his tone, and saw hopelessness in his face. He was only going through the motions.
Looking at his long-time lover on the other side, Lorenzo thought she looked dismal, and seemed to age moment by moment. The Doge sensed powerful forces aligned against him, attacking even those closest to him.
“If it does not go well,” Francella said, “we must salvage what we can. Our best hope may lie with our son, Anton.”
“As the next Doge, you mean?”
She nodded. “I have made inquiries through intermediaries. Anton could garner considerable support.”
“Because he’s a del Velli, but does not have my baggage.”
With a tight smile, she said, “And you could still exert a powerful influence over him behind the
scenes.
“I don’t know him well enough to say that.” “But I do, and he’ll do as we say.”
“We must consider the ramifications of this,” Pimyt said, obviously agitated. “It would be a big step, with obvious risks.”
“If it goes badly for you out in the hall,” she said to Lorenzo, “we must move quickly and present Anton to them before anyone can mount an opposition candidate.”
Pimyt did not say anything, and to Lorenzo his attaché seemed unable to keep up with the fast pace of events. At least Francella had considered the possibilities.
Reluctantly, the Doge nodded. “Let’s go back in,” he said. Trying to summon his courage, he rose shakily to his feet.
When he walked back into the large chamber with Pimyt, it was eerily silent. All eyes were turned on Lorenzo.
He saw the tally on a screen that hung from the high ceiling:
For Doge Lorenzo del Velli: 578 Against Doge Lorenzo del Velli: 955
Angrily, he tried to control his shaking. He had lost the vote of confidence. It wasn’t even close.
Just then, Francella Watanabe strode into the chamber and marched down the central aisle toward him, accompanied by their son, Anton Glavine.
The real and the projected princes rose to their feet and the chamber erupted in applause. To Lorenzo’s surprise, he heard a clamor arise in favor of his bastard son.
“Doge Anton!” they chanted. “Doge Anton!”
Francella and Anton mounted the stage and stood in front of him. “This is our miracle,” she said to Lorenzo. “I’ve made all the necessary arrangements, made the payments and promises. The princes will haggle back and forth a bit, but only for the sake of appearances. The vote for Anton will only be a formality.”
The Doge sat down. His Human enemies were more subtle and devious than the Mutatis, and had succeeded in pulling out the Doge’s underpinnings of support so suddenly that he was shocked. The situation with Anton was intriguing, but Lorenzo couldn’t accept him too easily, or that would garner opposition to the new Doge.
So, feigning more rage and discontent than he really felt, Lorenzo jumped to his feet. “You haven’t heard the last of me!” he shouted, as he stormed out of the hall.
Even though the princes wanted Lorenzo’s resignation, they could not force it, not even after the vote of no confidence. A number of legal procedures still had to be followed to remove him from office, and that could take years, as it had in the past with other merchant prince leaders. Lorenzo knew something of merchant prince law, and had the best lawyers to represent his interests.
In private, he told her what he had decided to do, and finally she said, “Yes. I see the wisdom in your words.”
The princes and their representatives held meetings far into the night, while Lorenzo conferred with Pimyt and a staff of attorneys. During a meal break on the stage, with tables set up for those who were on Canopa, Francella went over to Lorenzo and said, “I told them you are too stubborn to resign, my dear, but you must be cautious. The noble-born princes are not in a patient mood, and we are at war against the Mutatis and against the Guardians. They are talking about using wartime provisions against you, and.…”
“Don’t try to snow me,” Lorenzo said, raising his voice so that others could see him seeming to argue with her. “My people know the laws better than you do. I can take steps to remain in power for a long time.”
“Some of your opponents are saying that you could be overthrown violently,” Francella said. She glanced back at Anton, who sat at her table but thus far had remained silent.
“Supreme General Jacopo Nehr is totally loyal to me,” Lorenzo countered. “He can bring most of the armed forces to my support on a moment’s notice.” Pausing, the Doge smiled and added, “Nonetheless, for the good of the Alliance, I have decided to take a different course of action. Tell them I will abdicate, but only under certain conditions.”
“And those conditions are?” Francella asked. She sounded irritated, but Lorenzo assumed it was only for show.
“Watch me,” he said.
/> Calling in old favors, Lorenzo and his staff made a flurry of last-minute political arrangements. Despite his bluster, he knew his political opponents could attack him militarily, and the armor on the orbiter wouldn’t stand against a full-scale assault. Still, that would be an unprecedented, egregious act, and might very well lead to civil war all across the Alliance.
Making the best of a bad situation, Lorenzo slipped cleverly out of the noose his opponents had prepared for him. He agreed to abdicate immediately, and accepted exile to his space station, where he would operate The Pleasure Palace Casino, guarded by a contingent of Red Berets. Under the arrangement, he would be permitted to keep his corporate directorships, and would receive the title of Doge Emeritus, along with a generous annual pension.
He also had the new, secret understanding with Francella, which might prove to be more lucrative than the gambling casino. Immediately after the agreement with Lorenzo was signed, the princes conducted a private vote, and Anton del Velli was elected Doge.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Everyone wants to be seen and noticed. It is an aspect of the Human condition. It is also an aspect that we constantly attempt to select and frame the pictures in which we appear.
—Master Noah Watanabe
Anton Glavine, a former maintenance man and later a prisoner, never imagined that he would one day become the highest-ranking official in the Merchant Prince Alliance, the Doge of all humankind. The suddenness of his ascension stunned him. After a midnight vote he felt as if he had been plucked from darkness and lifted into the light, with limitless possibilities for his life. Great riches had been opened for him as the heir to the House of del Velli and the Doge’s share of taxes he would receive, even if they only came from Canopa and the rest was on paper, due to the cessation of podship travel.
In the beginning Anton had to follow a tight course, at least until he gained enough power and influence in his own right to speak out and say what he felt. His concerns ran deep. Principal among them was his enigmatic mother, about whom he had mixed feelings. Anton tried to view her sympathetically for the woman’s mental illness, which seemed obvious. He appreciated the belated attention she had given him, her overtures to make up for the time they had lost between them, more than twenty years. Anton tried to feel love for her, but that was not easy, and he didn’t know if he ever could.
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