by Wren, M. K.
“It’s really high time you made plans for the boys’ marriages, Loren, and Coretta is such a well bred young woman and very attractive.”
Eliseer rose and crossed to the comconsole on the wall behind Galia. He managed to keep his pace slow and his attitude casual as he called up a music list.
“I’ll talk to Galen this evening, Galia. I’d like to know how he feels about Coretta before I discuss it with Lazar.”
Her brittle laugh made him stiffen.
“Oh, don’t worry too much about that. Galen’s too young to know how he really feels. It’s an excellent match. Hamid is one of the oldest Houses in the Court of Lords and a Directorate House. And what about Renay? It’s time to be thinking of a wife for him, too.”
Eliseer reached for an earspeaker; his hands were still trembling slightly.
“Renay will be First Lord, Galia. I won’t rush into signing any Contracts of Marriage for him.”
“Of course, but I understand Charles Fallor is looking for a suitable match for his youngest daughter, Charla. Are you going to put on some music, dear? Don’t make it too loud, please.”
He touched out a number sequence, lowering the volume when the music began. Then, as he inserted the tape spool into the earspeaker, he asked, “Do you have a headache?”
She loosed a sigh. “Oh . . . a touch of one. I took something for it. That’s one reason I miss Dr. Perralt. Dr. Hermon really doesn’t seem to take my headaches seriously, but of course his head isn’t aching.”
Eliseer turned, putting his back to the console as he slipped the ’speaker into his ear. Galia’s hands flashed in and out among the colored threads, seemingly independent of her thoughts; the subject of her headaches took her back through Perralt to Adrien, to her illness. She always pronounced the word as if it might start crawling down her back.
This message was short. Only a few words. His eyes squeezed shut, and the trembling was almost out of control.
“. . . I was thinking this would be a good time—Loren? Loren, darling, are you all right? You’re absolutely white.”
He turned his head away and hurriedly slipped the ’speaker out of his ear and into a pocket, then returned to his chair, concentrating on the seemingly insurmountable task of calling up a smile as he seated himself.
“Yes, of course I’m all right, Galia.”
“Are you sure?”
He took time to taste his tea; his throat was dry.
“Yes, I’m sure. dear. Now, you were saying . . . ?”
She studied him a moment longer, then her hands resumed their deft, incessant movements.
“Well, Patricia’s been invited to the Winter Ball at the Robek Estate next week, and it would be such a wonderful opportunity for her to meet some of the young Sers. After all, she’s seventeen. We must be thinking more seriously about her future, too, and it would give me a chance to see Adrien. Surely that Dr. Lassily would let me see her—her own mother—if I’m right there in Concordia.”
He was on the verge of panic, and for a moment he felt lost between roles; he couldn’t find himself among them.
“No, Galia, I don’t want you to go to Concordia. There’s been . . . too much violence there. I don’t want you—you and Patricia going there without me, and I can’t get free to go with you.”
“Violence? Oh, Loren, I’m sure those stories are exaggerated. I mean, if one can’t be safe in Concordia. . . besides, we’ll be staying with the Robek. I’m sure Lord Trevor can provide us adequate protection.”
Eliseer closed his eyes, and he wanted to shout, It doesn’t matter; whatever I say doesn’t matter. But the monitors—the ultimate listener behind them would wonder how he knew it didn’t matter now whether he gave Galia and Patricia permission to go to Concordia.
He said tightly, “Galia, let me think about it. I’ll discuss it with you when I return from Leda.”
Her sigh of concession was clearly audible. “Very well, Loren, we’ll discuss it later, but please remember Patricia has her heart set on the ball, and this sort of thing is so important at her age—the social contacts. Otherwise, we might have another unmarried matron on our hands as we almost did with Adrien.”
Eliseer looked at her sharply, but she was intent on her tribroidery frame; she’d gotten in her last thrust and was satisfied to let the matter rest for now. He picked up his cup and sipped the tea. It was only pallidly warm, its taste flat. He drank it out of habit and to give him something to do with his hands. He watched Galia’s hands in their unceasing motions, and he was beginning to understand.
For a long time they sat in silence, the only sound the soft strains of music. He welcomed the silence, and Galia seemed content with it. They were still capable of comfortable silences.
The tension in his shoulders eased with a regretful sigh. Galia should never have had to leave Terra. He had taken her from her green world, from Paykeen’s ancient, gracious halls, when she was little more than a girl; taken her to a planet she could only regard as a hostile desert, far removed from her family and the social life she thrived upon. Yet she had carried out her duties as Lady of Eliseer with skill and grace, never expressing her loneliness or homesickness by word or attitude, and she loved him to the degree she was capable of loving anyone.
The next few weeks would be hard for Galia.
You always looked good in black, Mother . . .
That had been unkind, but he understood it.
He was startled by the buzz of his pocketcom. He pulled it out of his doublet pocket, nearly dropping it as he opened it. Mils Fendro, his personal secretary.
“Yes, Mils?”
“My lord, I’m sorry to disturb you, but there’s a priority SynchCom call for you. From Concordia.”
So. Here it was. It seemed too soon.
“Concordia? Who’s calling?”
“The Lord Orin Selasis. He says it’s a personal matter and extremely urgent.”
Eliseer rose. “Very well, Mils. I’ll take it in my private office.” He snapped the ’com shut and started for the door. “Excuse me, Galia. I have an important call.”
She frowned questioningly, but didn’t look up from her tribroidery frame.
“Did Mils say it was from Lord Orin?”
“Yes. I’ll have to hurry; I don’t want to keep him waiting.” He paused at the door. “It’s probably just some business matter. I’ll finish my tea with you as soon as I’m through.”
“All right, dear. Ask him about Adrien.”
He touched the doorcon. “I will.”
But he wouldn’t have to ask.
5.
27 Augus. The realization of a hope was at hand. Eight months and ten days after his arrest, Andreas Riis might this day be freed.
He was in Pendino. There was no doubt of that now.
It was exactly one hour before liftoff.
Alex Ransom sat at the comconsole in his black cell: 15:00 Terran Standard Time in the Cave of Springs, in Fina, in Concordia, in Pendino.
And 06:00 Helen Standard, midmorning in Castor’s twenty-hour day. The temperature was rising in the Cave. He had already donned the black shirt, pants, and boots of his SSB uniform. The black jacket, cloak, gloves, and helmet waited on the bed behind him, along with the X2 in its black holster and the face-screen ring.
All the console vis-screens were on and focused on the surface: his windows. But he wasn’t looking at them. On the counter were three tape spools, and they had occupied him for the last hour; they were as much a part of his preparations for this mission as the uniform.
Yet he eyed them now with a sense of mocking irony. On the eve of battle, a good soldier prepares for the obvious contigencies. These tapes would be heard only in the event of his death or total disability.
He had already replayed two of them. Now he took the
last and inserted it into an earspeaker. The tape was addressed to Jael, the voice was his own.
“Jael, seven months ago I appointed you my second-in-command and heir apparent, a dubious honor you’ll probably regard as a burden at this point. The following may be considered an advisory command, a contradictory term popular in Confleet. I can’t argue from the grave with you or the Exile Council, but I ask that the course of action I outline here be accepted as the only viable alternative.
“I base everything on two incredibly optimistic assumptions: that Andreas will be freed, and that the LR-MT will be available, even if it’s still in an experimental stage, to offer the Concord. I have no choice in this, as in so many things, except optimism, since the alternatives are unthinkable.
“With these assumptions understood, I’ll proceed.
“Point one. Accept it as a truth; I haven’t time to defend it. Predis Ussher cannot be negated as the de facto leader of the Phoenix now—not even if you bring Andreas back to Fina—without precipitating a schism. It’s too late; Ussher has built up too much momentum. You can’t call a halt to his war effort without splintering the Phoenix any more than an object moving at high speed can be suddenly stopped without disintegrating.
“Point two follows logically. If his military offensive can’t be stopped, it must be used. The energies he’s set in motion must be directed and controlled. That’s the only way you can, as you would put it, pull him down, and the only way you can hope to achieve Phase I. Ussher rationalizes his offensive with the military confrontation indicated in the General Plan ex seqs, and you can use it as such, but only if you control it, and in some areas subvert it entirely.
“First, the appeal to the ‘enchained masses’ must not reach them. Aborting the preemption of the PubliCom System won’t be difficult; SI will be in charge of that mission. The appeal to the Bonds is a far more difficult problem. Some of the microspeakers have already been planted, and although Ben might slow that program to some degree, it isn’t entirely under his control. An obvious alternative is preventing the activation of the speakers when the offensive begins, but you can’t depend on successful sabotage in Ussher’s own department, and that task will, of course, be entrusted to Communications.
“The Bonds must be forewarned.
“Go to the Shepherds. Anyone will be accepted as the Brother’s ‘acolyte’ by presenting the lamb medallion or one of the facsimiles with the words, ‘I come in the Name of the Lamb. The Brother sends me.’ I suggest the Shepherds simply be given a demonstration with a microspeaker and told that on the day of war, which I’ve been predicting for some time, a man infested with a Dark Spirit will try to goad their flocks into revolt against their Lords by using similar speakers and hoping they will think them voices from the Beyond. Trust the Shepherds to convey the warning to their flocks in a manner that will be effective without arousing suspicion among any Fesh who might overhear their sermons.
“Another phase of Ussher’s offensive that must be aborted is the attack on the Inner Planets power plants. He calls them a military objective, disregarding the catastrophic effects of a possible power outage on vacuum colonies like Castor or the Inner Planets themselves, while piously mouthing his concern for the ‘innocents.’ The real objective in this case is Isador Drakonis or, rather, the House of Drakonis.
“Those planets must be protected. You’ll have to bargain with Amik for a temporary strike force to augment the exile fleet; five Falcons won’t be enough. Yes, I know this means combat engagements with Phoenix ships. And crews.
“The attack on Drakonis betrays an objective of Ussher’s campaign he won’t openly admit, but which is too obvious for you to overlook. He’ll try to destroy the three ruling Houses in Centauri. In light of his real ambition, to force the Concord out of Centauri and make himself its Lord, ridding himself of the present Lords is a logical move. But with the ideals—what’s left of them—of the members in mind, he won’t admit that objective. He’ll simply arrange with some of the convert FO officers for a few ‘accidental’ strikes on the Estates of the Lords. How better to destroy a House than by destroying its First Lord and his heirs?
“Eliseer, Drakonis, Hamid, and their immediate families must be protected, and I think this can only be done by putting them into protective custody of sorts. Kidnap them and keep them in a safe place until after the offensive.
“Jael, I can hear your laughter at that, Ben’s apoplectic protests, Erica’s resigned sigh, and Andreas’s puzzled, ‘But, how?’
“We have agents in every House and we have the MT. It can be done. If you can think of a better way to insure their survival while their Estates are being bombed, I’ll no doubt be applauding from the Beyond.
“With these exceptions, his war can be allowed to run its course. Ben and Jan Barret’s general strat seqs are beautifully designed and the offensive will, as Ussher promises, shake the Concord to its moldering foundations. It will also shake the Phoenix.
“Ussher professes a distrust of the figures spat out of mindless computers; he doesn’t like to look reality in the face unless it agrees with him, and he’s induced the members to ignore the unpleasant truths presented by the computers, too. But we’ve been forced to face those truths, and we’ve calculated the price the Phoenix will pay for this ‘victory.’ Ussher is on a collision course with reality, and the inevitable crash will occur on 1 Januar.
“I’m ever mindful of Erica’s maxim: to negate a leader, one must first consider his followers. They’re riding with him on this collision course. Consider his followers in the aftermath of his offensive.
“Of the Society’s fourteen thousand members, a minimum of eleven percent will be killed, injured, or captured. No one in Fina can escape personal loss. Nearly half the Phoenix fleet will be in a few hours’ time destroyed, and the hangars will be filled with the wreckage of men and machines. Ussher can assure his followers then that they’ve shaken the Concord, that they’ve inflicted a hundred times the damage they’ve sustained, but I doubt they’ll be impressed, because what they’ll see when they look around them will bear no resemblance to the triumphant victory he promised them.
“At this nadir of shock and disillusionment, you can and must return to Fina with Andreas. You’ll be welcomed then, and no schism will result. Ussher will no longer be a contender for their loyalty, and if you show them that the offensive can be used to achieve Phase I as it was originally delineated, that all their sacrifices weren’t in vain, then you can begin to heal the Society’s wounds.
“Jael, when you return to Fina, Andreas will be, as he always has been, the spiritual leader of the Phoenix, but you must become its secular leader. You must also take advantage of the period of shock the Concord will suffer in the wake of the offensive to make the initial approach to the bargaining table. The first move is a private meeting with Galinin. By law, the Chairman may unilaterally recognize an enemy envoy, and that will be your entroit into the Directorate Chamber and negotiations with the Directors. With the Ransom Alternative negated by my death or disability, you must fall back on the Peladeen Alternative, but you will take Ussher’s place as the future Lord of the resurrected House of Peladeen. You must also assume the burden of representing the Society at the bargaining table. Haggling should be left to experts, and as you are your father’s son, no one else in the Phoenix is better qualified.
“So, in the wake of the offensive, you must not only return with Andreas to Fina to reclaim his rightful place in the Phoenix, but immediately afterward embark for Concordia and present yourself to Galinin with the hope of claiming your rightful place in the Court of Lords. You’ll be armed with a statement of authorization from Andreas, whose name will be familiar to Galinin as the Society’s founder, with the Lady Manir Peladeen’s death testament—I’m sure your father will surrender it to you for this purpose—and with what might also be called a death testament from me. That’s the second
tape I’m leaving with you. It’s addressed in my handwriting to Galinin, and my voice can be checked for VP ident. This tape includes an offering of sorts, one that can’t be included in the package the Phoenix will offer the Directors: an assurance that I know the rumors regarding Karlis Selasis’s sterility to be true, even if I can’t offer proof. I hope the assurance will be enough to induce Galinin to demand a Board of Succession inquiry. That’s another legal prerogative of the Chairman. If he still has any faith in my word, he can relieve himself of a threat that has stymied him for decades, and perhaps as a result he’ll look more favorably on you, the Phoenix, and the reforms vital to the survival of the Concord.
“In this tape I’ve also made a personal appeal to the man who was my grandfather and Rich’s, the man who loved us both. I’ve asked him to recognize the Phoenix as a beneficent power, as we did, and to regard it as a useful ally. Galinin is a skeptic, but an open-minded one. And, Jael, above all, be honest with him; trust him. I’ve also asked him not only to support your bid for Lordship of Peladeen, but to regard you as an advisor and liaison with the Phoenix. In this way you might achieve a position of influence, if not actual power, that will facilitate the reforms of Phase I. I’ve also asked Galinin to try to bring Lord Woolf around to a similar understanding. Woolf is still heir to the Chairmanship.
“I’m assuming you’ll let Erica, Ben, and Andreas hear this tape since these ‘advisory commands’ must be considered by the Exile Council. I’ll end with thanks to you who were loving friends to Rich and me, whom I came to love as well.
“And to you, Jael, friend and brother . . . fortune.”
Silence spun out from the final word. For the space of a minute Alex listened to it, watching the veils of sand drifting off yellow dunes against an indigo sky.
Finally, he removed the earspeaker and took out the spool. Under the clear plasex disk on one side he had already written Jael’s name. Now he broke off the switch tab on the rim and waited while the edges melted and sealed themselves, then he put it beside the other spools; they were already marked and sealed. The third had Adrien’s name on it. He picked it up, wondering when, or if, or under what circumstances that seal would be broken.