A low-grade geothermal plume made perfect sense, since St. George was in fact situated in a geothermal basin. What bothered Roget was the lack of water anywhere else in the wash, and the fact that the plume appeared in midstream. Usually nature wasn’t that tidy.
There wasn’t anything that he could do about it, not yet. He’d talk it over with Sung in the morning. Even so, he had the feeling that Parsens had something to do with the situation. He finished up, including copying the data back to his own flash storage, then locked down the system.
A minute or so before quarter to six, he stepped out into the corridor … just in time to encounter Marni Sorensen again. The encounters couldn’t have been coincidental.
“Good afternoon, Marni,” said Roget.
“You did remember my name.” Her smile was disarming.
“How could I forget when we keep meeting this way?”
“Oh … and do you have another way in mind?”
“We could try lunch some day … like tomorrow.”
“You’re never here.”
“That’s because I have no reason to be. If you give me a reason, I certainly will.” He paused. “Lunch tomorrow?”
“I could do that.”
“I’ll meet you here.”
She smiled. “I’ll see you then, Keir.” She stepped back into the office from which she had come. The door closed.
Roget nodded, then walked down the corridor to the security gate. She’d wanted him to initiate something. The question was why, and he was afraid he knew, even if he couldn’t prove it.
After he reached the apartment, he used his other personal monitor to run a search on Delbert Parsens. The results showed nothing out of the ordinary. That was what Roget had expected.
Then, to take his mind off Parsens and Marni, he transferred a copy of Hildegarde in the Sunlight to the image projector. It took almost a quarter hour before he decided on the right location and dimensions. He opted for a life-size image of Hildegarde. He knew it was an illusion, but the sunlight from the image seemed to spill into the apartment, and Hildegarde was better company than most as he ate his replicated dinner.
13
18 MARIS 1811 P. D.
Breakfast was in a small bistro around the corner from the guesthouse. Roget didn’t see the name anywhere, and it wasn’t on the menu. He wore the gray singlesuit, again with his heavy boots. He had French toast, strips of crispy bacon, orange slices, and a flavorful hot tea that any Sinese would have envied. Lyvia gave him a range of information about what was located where in Skeptos and little else. She wore a pale cranberry singlesuit with a deep gray sleeveless vest, one without the flashing light-threads, Roget noted. The faintest hint of a light fragrance drifted about her, but the scent was so light and fleeting that he’d never have noticed had he not been trying to detect it.
When they stepped out of the bistro, Roget was aware that the amber light filtering through the orbital shields seemed noticeably brighter than it had on previous days. “Variable star? Or variable shield translucency, for seasonal purposes?”
“Some of both,” replied Lyvia.
“Did the original settlers know that?”
“They built the shield system with that in mind, I understand.”
That was so like most of her answers, never quite complete or directly responding to his inquiries. Was that his problem in framing questions, her avoiding the thrust of his inquiries, or a little of both?
“We’re headed back toward the central square. MEC is north of there,” Lyvia said. “Just a few blocks.”
As they walked northward, Roget could see a steady flow of pedestrians fanning out from the central square ahead of them. All sorts of differing clothes styles were present, from ancient ankle length skirts and long-sleeved blouses for women to shorts and formfitting shirts that left very little to the imagination. The same range was present on men, although Roget didn’t see any togas or Mandarin-style robes, and more men seemed to opt for singlesuits, although the variety of colors and cuts, not to mention the light-threads, was considerable.
From the southwest corner of the square, Lyvia walked briskly past Dorinique.
“I see they’re not open,” said Roget.
“Just from noon to midnight. That’s always bothered my cousin Clarya. She works nights, and she doesn’t like starting out with a heavy meal. With her schedule, most days that’s her only option if she wants to eat there. Besides, she says, who wants to spoil such exquisite—and expensive—fare with the thought of work to follow?”
Roget laughed. He could understand that.
When they reached the northwest corner of the square, Lyvia turned eastward until she reached the midpoint of the square. There she gestured to her left at the wide walkway north.
Roget had to take three quick steps to catch her, but she did not say more until they reached the end of the block.
“The building on the right holds the Ministry of Transportation, and the one on the left is the Ministry of Finance.”
“Is your space force under transportation?” asked Roget.
“Your question makes assumptions that I can’t really address.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Does it really matter?”
“Not really,” Roget admitted, keeping his voice cheerful, although he couldn’t help but feel frustrated. He was in the middle of the capital city of a planet, and for all the time he’d spent with Lyvia, he felt he didn’t know all that much more than he had a day earlier. That wasn’t entirely true, but it was definitely the way he felt.
As they neared the next corner where the walkways intersected, Lyvia said, “The one on the left is the Ministry of Education and Culture.”
The structure was a full five stories, a story above the others around it. “What other ministries are in buildings that tall?” asked Roget.
“The Ministry of Science has about as much space, and so does the Ministry of Environment.”
“How many ministries are there?”
“That’s it. We don’t need any more. Some people think that five is five too many. Probably most do, but that’s just my opinion.” Lyvia headed for the main entrance on the south side, pushed open the glass door, and walked into the entry hall. There were no guards—just a series of shimmering consoles as tall as a person, each set a good yard from the adjoining one. She stopped before the one on the right end.
“Lyvia Rholyn and Keir Roget. We have an appointment at eight thirty.”
“Please enter your confirmation code.”
Roget didn’t see Lyvia do anything, but the console replied, “Please take ramp three to the third level. The door there will respond to your code. No other door will.”
Roget accompanied Lyvia as she walked past the console toward the wall that held five doorways, each with a silver number above the stone square stone arch that held a shining steel door. The door slid open as they approached, then closed behind them. Illuminated as it was by amber piped light, the wide ramp with its gentle circular turns allowed them to ascend side by side.
At the third level, beside the door was a screen and keypad. Again, while Lyvia seemed to do nothing, and Roget’s internals detected no energy flows, the door clicked, and she pushed it open. The two stepped out into a small reception area where several chairs were arranged in a semicircle that faced the wide window overlooking the east side of the building. The doors on both the south and north sides of the chamber were closed.
After a moment, Lyvia took one of the chairs in the middle and sat down. “It shouldn’t be long.”
Roget took the chair to her left. He grinned. “Even you organized Thomists make people wait.”
“Not any longer than necessary.” The words were in accented but clear Federation Stenglish. A tall sandy-haired woman stood in the now-open doorway on the south side of the chamber. She wore a silvery green singlesuit with a dark green vest.
Roget stood. So did Lyvia.
“Agents Rholyn a
nd Roget, this way, if you would.”
Roget followed the two women along the corridor that slanted toward the middle of the building, past one closed door to the second door on the left, already open. The space held little more than a small circular wooden table, around which were four wooden armchairs. The window overlooked the north walkway from the central square.
The older woman closed the door and took the seat on the south side of the table.
Lyvia and Roget settled into the chairs facing her.
The woman looked directly at Roget. “I’m Selyni Hillis, and I’ll be interviewing you for the Ministry of Education and Culture. This interview will be recorded.”
“Interviewing? Education and Culture?” asked Roget.
“Why not an interrogation for a Ministry of Defense or War or a Dubietan Ministry of Security? Is that what you mean?” Hillis’s laugh was surprisingly low and rough, yet not harsh. “Interview sounds so much better. Besides, interrogation implies either criminal behavior or a wartime situation, and to date, you’ve committed no crimes on Dubiety, and we’re certainly not aware of a state of war. Should we be?”
“I’m not aware of any hostile action either undertaken or planned by the Federation,” Roget replied.
“You’ll pardon me if I don’t find your words terribly reassuring,” replied Hillis. “Your awareness is most likely ignorance. Not only does the Federation’s left hand not know what the right is doing, but adjoining fingers are unaware of each other’s actions.”
“I can’t help that. I only know what I know.”
“What sort of ship dropped you?”
Roget shrugged. “A Federation ship.”
Hillis shook her head. “You’re not a green agent. You’re probably an agent-captain or an agent-major. You know the class ship. So do we.”
“Then you tell me,” suggested Roget.
“A Federation light battlecruiser of the history class, most probably the WuDing, MengTian, or DeGaulle.”
Much as he had expected some accuracy, the identification of three cruisers of the same class brought Roget up sharply. Her response concerned Roget more than if Hillis had identified the WuDing directly. “Why do you even need to interview me? You know more about Federation naval vessels than I do, and you obviously trained Lyvia to deal with Federation scouts long before I even knew Dubiety existed.”
“That may be, but what happens to you depends on you. That is, of course, true of all individuals in all situations.” Hillis cleared her throat, gently. “When we learned that the Federation had located us, it seemed prudent to train a few individuals who would be able to make the first contact, as necessary.”
“I only knew that Dubiety had been discovered just before I was dropped. You had to have known for years. How long have you known?”
“Two centuries or so.”
Two centuries? “That seems unlikely as well as improbable. You knew the Federation had discovered you, and all you did was train people for contact?”
Hillis smiled. “I don’t believe I ever said or intimated that.”
“So you have a fleet hidden somewhere, ready to smash any Federation forces?”
“Such a fleet would be a terrible waste of energy and resources. We avoid that. We’d prefer just to be left alone. We’re hoping you’ll be as helpful as you can in assuring that outcome. It would certainly be best for all concerned.”
“Why should I?”
“Look at it this way, Agent Roget. We knew that the Federation would attempt to insert an agent through the haze before finalizing its options. They operate according to well-laid plans, and they have for a millennium. We knew those agents would be predominantly male. Federation agents always are.”
Roget frowned but did not speak.
“The Federation is a stable patriarchal culture. Techno-reinforced stability doesn’t allow much change. It’s the high-tech equivalent of the ancient water empires.” Another smile followed.
“That suggests that the Federation has known about Dubiety for a time as well.”
“That is highly likely, but I wouldn’t claim to know what information is available to the Federation.”
“You knew how the Federation would approach Dubiety.”
“That was scarcely difficult. The Federation is predictable. We predicted five dropboats, and five were released. You can take my word for that or not.”
Roget stiffened inside. “What about the other scouts?”
“We tracked five dropboats. One other made it through the shields. He’s in Aithan. His landing site was somewhat more remote than yours. Sometime tomorrow morning, local time, he’ll be interviewed, just as you are now.”
“And I have your word for this? I can expect that, sometime tomorrow, I’ll be told that he’s told you everything, and that there’s no reason for me to withhold anything.”
“That would certainly be your expectation. The conventional reasoning—and the Federation is nothing but conventional and oh-so-logical—is that we have no reason to keep you alive once you’re no longer a source of information. Therefore, the less you tell us, the longer you have to live. If … if we were conventional, that might well be true.”
“I’m glad to hear that you recognize that.” Roget didn’t bother to keep the irony out of his voice.
Abruptly, Hillis stood. “That’s all for today. Lyvia will show you more of Skeptos and give you some more information on Dubiety.”
Lyvia rose from the table, and after a moment so did Roget.
“So soon?” Almost before the words were out, Roget wished he hadn’t said them.
“There’s no point in continuing until you see more.” Hillis nodded to Lyvia. “You can leave as you came in. Take him to the second level map room and then down to the new exhibit. Your codes will grant you both access.”
Lyvia nodded.
Hillis smiled, then turned and left.
“What is her position?” asked Roget.
“Director of External Affairs.”
“And what do those duties entail?”
“External Affairs. We need to go to the map room.” Lyvia stepped away from the table and headed back up the corridor toward the reception area.
Roget could sense both displeasure and exasperation … and perhaps resignation. The thought of resignation bothered him.
From the reception area they descended one level. After passing through another door, another reception area, and then into a corridor that appeared identical to the one on the third level, they walked almost to the end, passing two men and a woman in singlesuits. All three nodded politely but did not address either Lyvia or Roget.
The map room appeared to be little more than a blank-walled, semicircular conference room with a table set forward of the flat rear wall and four chairs behind it. On the table was a small console roughly forty centimeters by twenty. Lyvia settled herself behind the console and touched it. The room darkened, and a map appeared on the circular wall.
Roget turned and began to study the map.
“This is the southern hemisphere, centered on the continent of Socrates,” began Lyvia. “The area highlighted in the brighter golden light is the capital district … Skeptos in the center … to the left you can see the Machiavelli Peninsula.” A point of light appeared. “That’s about where you landed your dropboat and where I met you … there’s Avespoir.… The next map is a topographic view of Socrates … next is Thula … northern hemisphere and farther to the west than Socrates … and to the east along the equator is the continent of Verite…”
“It’s rather small.”
“So is the truth.”
Roget glanced sideways at Lyvia.
“Great illusions are always spun out of the smallest grains of truth,” she said. “All empires and bureaucracies know that.”
Roget continued to study the maps. From the planetary gravity—so close to T-norm as not to be that easily distinguishable, except at the end of a long day—and the maps, it appeared that Dubi
ety had slightly more land area than most Federation water-worlds and that it was older, with less tectonic activity and lower mountains and shallower seas.
After the maps came a series of real-time images of cities and towns. At least Lyvia assured him that they were real-time current images.
“… Petra … in the hills of Cammora … Aknotan, overlooking Lake Theban … Solipsis … Zweifein … that’s where Northern University is…”
Finally, the lighting came up, and the curved front wall blanked. Lyvia stood. “Now for the exhibit area.”
“I can hardly wait.” Roget’s tone was ironic. “What exhibit are we going to view?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Whatever it is, you clearly want a reaction.”
“Of course. We’re providing you with information. It’s only fair that you provide some for us.”
“I’d be delighted.”
Lyvia ignored his words and stepped from the map room and back out into the corridor.
Once more Roget accompanied Lyvia to the ramp, where they headed down, all the way to the level below the ground floor, although the ramp looked to descend two more levels below the one where they walked off. There was no reception area beyond the ramp door, just an antechamber with two corridors branching from it. Lyvia went right. They only walked ten meters before they reached another door, which opened as they approached.
Roget managed to keep abreast of Lyvia, even as he caught sight of his dropboat, or a remarkable reproduction. It sat on a low black dais in the middle of a large chamber.
Roget glanced around. He saw no obvious bay doors large enough to afford the dropboat passage. He also saw a simple placard in a stand before the dented and battered nose. He walked toward it and read:
Federation Dropboat [Model 3B, developed circa 6699 F. E. (1760 P. D.)] Used for dropping agents or couriers onto planetary surfaces in unfriendly locales or those without orbital elevators or normal orbital-attaining conveyances.
He turned to Lyvia. “How did you get it in here?”
“There are doors in the south wall, and the freight lifts are beyond that.” She pointed her belt-tube, and the wall split and recessed on both sides, leaving a blackness beyond.
Haze and the Hammer of Darkness Page 11