You reveal much, Meridian. A few more steps and we’ll have it all.
Gillian kept his own tone neutral, allowing none of his excitement to show.
“And where are Sappho and Theophrastus? I assume your tway has summoned them by now.”
A faint smile touched Meridian’s lips. “You are being observed.”
“Good,” said Gillian. “It’s best that all hear what I have to say. By the way, Theophrastus, my congratulations to you. A faster-than-light transmitter is quite an achievement. I’m fascinated by the way you’ve utilized organic molecules in this invention. It’s truly a magnificent breakthrough.”
Gillian held the smile on his face even while a chill swept through him. And what other breakthroughs have you made? Surely not faster-than-light travel. Not yet, at any rate. You would have had to concentrate your efforts—there were not enough of you to push back the limits in all fields of science. You would have put most of your energies into communications and weaponry.
Meridian’s face suddenly took on a glazed faraway look.
Someone is speaking to his tway, Gillian observed. Sappho or Theophrastus is giving him orders, no doubt.
Awareness returned to Meridian’s features. “If it is truly you, Empedocles, you have much to explain.”
I’ve got to keep them off balance. I need more information. I’ve got to learn which councilor is Codrus’s tway. And I have to find out exactly where this transmission is originating from. We must know how much time we have left.
Gillian laughed arrogantly. “It’s not I who must explain, Meridian. It is you who does not seem to understand that Codrus has badly bungled this entire affair. I was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary for me to become directly involved, but I was left no choice. I’m going to have to kill Reemul. I’m afraid it’s the only solution.”
Again, Meridian betrayed his confusion. “But Codrus said that...”
“Codrus has been lying to you. Two hundred years of living alone in human society has enfeebled him.”
Meridian started to speak, then thought better of it, or else was ordered to keep quiet. His face assumed a hard pose. “We must speak to Codrus. At once!”
“Don’t waste your time giving me orders, Jeek! I’m not a little boy and girl anymore, learning to use my wands by slicing branches off those chestnut trees outside your New Hampshire farmhouse!”
Meridian remembered the occasion. His eyes softened. “Empedocles, we are ... confused.” He hesitated. “Where did you come from?”
Gillian mixed lies with truth. “From stasis, of course. That’s where E-Tech put me before the Apocalypse. They awakened me when Reemul started his rampage. Naturally, they had no idea who I really was.”
Gillian forced a laugh. “They thought they were awakening a pair of programmers who might help them design a probability grid for tracking down the assassin.”
Meridian frowned. Then he burst into a volley of questions. “How did you learn about Codrus? How did you get into the communications room? Why do you say that Codrus is bungling the adjustments? Why won’t you let us speak to Codrus?”
Gillian gave a shrug. “I told you. Codrus is unavailable right now. As for the adjustments, well, for one thing, the bishop does not cover his tracks very well. That’s how I found out about these three communications facilities. And it’s been fairly simple to detect Codrus’s blunt hand behind Reemul’s actions.” Gillian shook his head in mock disgust. “It’s a shame Aristotle perished. He understood the subtleties of manipulation far better than Codrus ever will.”
Meridian was watching Gillian very carefully now.
I’m not going to get much further with this. He’s getting too suspicious.
“Empedocles, if it is indeed you, you must allow us to speak with Codrus.”
“I told you, I don’t know where the bishop is. And it would be too awkward to bring the councilor down to this transmitter right now. He’s too well known.”
Meridian froze. Gillian could have kicked himself.
How stupid can I be! In the back of my mind, I was so sure that Codrus’s tway was Drake that I referred to the councilor as if he were a male!
The look on Meridian’s face told Gillian that he had guessed wrong. It’s not Drake! The councilor-tway is female! Nu-Lin ... or Lady Bonneville!
Gillian tried to gloss over his mistake. “From now on, I’ll be handling this affair. You’ll deal directly with me.”
Meridian said nothing. His face was a mask of complete indifference.
It’s done. I blew it. I’ll get nothing more out of him. But at least we’ve narrowed the identity of Codrus’s other tway down to two possibilities.
There was no point in continuing with the transmission. Meridian would reveal nothing further. And Gillian was liable to give away too much if he kept talking.
“Good-bye for now, Meridian.” He hit the switch. The Jeek’s face dissolved. The suspended bubbles abruptly shrank to their regular size and slowly mutated through the color spectrum until they had assumed their normal shade of pale green.
“Well,” said Nick, “I’ll be a son of a bitch!”
That was putting it mildly. Gillian motioned to the Costeaus. “Let’s get back to the shuttles and get out of here. We don’t have much time.”
It was now vital that Codrus be captured as soon as possible. Under no circumstances could the Ash Ock again be given the opportunity to contact Meridian and the others.
Gillian put his helmet back on and repressurized his suit. He hustled Nick and the Alexanders out into the bedrock cavern and then reseated the heavy door. He glanced at his suit clock. They had about twenty minutes to get off the planet. They would make it under Artwhiler’s deadline. He was not worried about that.
He turned to Nick as they waited in line behind the Costeaus who were starting to climb the spiral staircase.
“Begelman and a research team must be allowed to come down here. They have to figure out this transmitter and calculate how far away Meridian is. We’ve got to learn how long we have before the Paratwa get here.”
Nick shook his head. “Getting Artwhiler to agree to anything right now is going to be difficult.”
“I’m not worried about Artwhiler. He’ll be very cooperative once he learns what we’ve discovered.”
“And what about Codrus?”
Gillian smiled grimly. “When we get back to the shuttle, I want you to call Rome. Tell him we’re coming to his Council meeting.
“Tell him we’re going to expose an Ash Ock.”
O}o{O
Each perceptible movement; every hesitant breath, every sigh and every shrug; each nuance of expression on the faces of the two councilors, however slight, caught Rome’s attention. He sat stiffly upright, frozen in his seat, trying desperately to control the impulse that made him want to gaze unabashedly upon Nu-Lin and Lady Bonneville. He feared that at any moment both of the women would turn on him, outraged by his intrusive stares, demanding an end to such rudeness.
One of them would have a legitimate complaint. The other would know why Rome could not keep his eyes off her.
And soon this Council will learn the truth.
He hoped Nick and Gillian knew what they were doing.
With an effort, he turned away from the women and forced himself to concentrate on Drake and Artwhiler. The shouting match had been going on between the men since the meeting began.
“You cannot do such things!” Drake bellowed. “You cannot!” The huge councilor slammed his fist down on the polished table with such force that his empty soup bowl twirled on its edge and vibrated noisily.
Artwhiler, face and neck flushed, hands gripping the beveled edge of the table as if he were going to rip off a portion of it, rose from his chair.
“You and the rest of the ICN are idiots! You’ve lost all perspective.”
“Perspective!” Drake snapped. “You threaten to blow up a pirate colony—an action that could start an Intercolonial war—and you accuse us
of losing perspective? You’re losing touch with the real world, Councilor.”
“Am I? Costeaus willfully attacked one of our most respected Churches and you wish to treat the incident the way you would treat a banking error. Stick to your ledgers, Drake! Let the Guardians do their jobs.”
Drake wagged his finger at him. “You cannot—I repeat, cannot, threaten the peace and security of these colonies. That is not the function of your Guardians.”
“Don’t tell me the function of my Guardians!” Artwhiler screamed. “We exist to maintain law and order throughout the Colonies! And we will eliminate any pirate criminals who try and disrupt that law and order!”
Drake’s face registered a series of angry expressions. It was as if he were trying each on, searching for one that fit the best, that conveyed the true extent of his rage. He settled on a brutal glare that made the dark flesh above his eyebrows pulsate. When he spoke, his words emerged in a deep growl.
“Councilor Artwhiler, do you have any idea of the repercussions that would have resulted had you attacked the clan of Alexander’s home colony? Do you have any idea as to how the other Costeau clans would have reacted to such an attack? Do you have any real conception of what millions of enraged Costeaus would be capable of doing to our society?”
Artwhiler threw back his head and laughed. He addressed his remarks to the top of the chandelier. “When a criminal commits a criminal act, the law takes action. The law does not sit back and worry about what that criminal’s friends will do.”
Drake sighed. Abruptly, the anger left his face. “No, Councilor, it’s obvious that you don’t understand the significance of your actions.” He paused. “Perhaps the time has come for the Guardians to have new leadership.”
Artwhiler returned his gaze to the table. Words spluttered out. “How dare you! By what right do you threaten my position? I am a Councilor of Irrya and I am Supreme Commander of the Intercolonial Guardians! And I am beginning to resent these gross attacks on my ability!”
Rome shook his head. Does he understand Drake’s meaning? Does he understand that the ICN can have him removed?
The ICN tolerated Artwhiler’s occasional fanaticism only because the Guardian commander generally supported Drake’s views. But if the ICN directors’ board decided that Artwhiler was no longer serving their cause, they would threaten the Guardians with such severe financial sanctions that Artwhiler’s own people would force him to resign.
Rome felt sorry for Artwhiler. Perhaps he doesn’t even understand the nature of his power. Perhaps he doesn’t see that he’s only a pawn here.
A sudden chill swept through Rome. And we’re all pawns in someone else’s game.
The scrambled communication had arrived from Nick’s shuttle only a few hours earlier. The message had been simple, the implications terrifying.
Make room. Gillian and I are coming to your meeting. The one we seek—she is an Irryan councilor. Happy hunting. Nick.
Artwhiler lurched back into his seat. “This Council is ignoring the fundamental issue—that Franco and E-Tech did willfully order the clan of Alexander to take control of three Church of the Trust burial temples, for reasons we cannot even begin to guess. I’m still waiting to hear Franco’s explanation for these incredible constitutional violations.
“And this other nonsense: hidden underground facilities, the issuing of an arrest warrant for Bishop Vokir...” Artwhiler pounded the table like an outraged schoolboy. “This Council seeks to remain blissfully ignorant of the fact that E-Tech constitutes the real threat here—not the Guardians!”
Rome stopped feeling sorry for Artwhiler.
Drake began calmly. “We are all anxious to hear E-Tech’s explanation, which Franco has promised to provide at this meeting.” The councilor’s voice rose in pitch. “However, explanations will be of little comfort to us if an Intercolonial war breaks out while we sit here!”
“You overestimate these pirates,” Artwhiler muttered.
Drake locked his palms together and lowered his voice. “In that matter, Councilor, you express the minority opinion. The rest of us feel that the pirates, if aroused, do indeed constitute a grave threat. We are pledged to deal with priorities here. And our first priority is the rapid defusing of this situation.
“Now, I understand that your shuttle fleet has not departed from its position around the Alexanders’ colony?”
“Your information is correct,” Artwhiler said bitterly.
“The fleet remains, even though the Alexanders have retreated from the Earth temples?”
“There is no telling what these pirates will do next! We must maintain a club over their heads until we are sure they have been brought back into line.”
Drake nodded, and then spoke as if he were addressing a slow child. “Councilor, here is what I want you to do. I will say this plainly and clearly but I will say it only once. You are to contact Admiral Waterson, who is in command of those shuttles orbiting the Alexanders’ colony. You are to order the Admiral to disperse his fleet. You will give that order from these Council chambers and you will do so immediately.
“If you refuse, then I shall contact Admiral Waterson myself and command him to carry out the wishes of this Council.”
Drake paused. “If you entertain some notion that Admiral Waterson or any of your other ranking officers will remain loyal to you and disobey a direct order from the Council of Irrya, then, by all means, refuse.”
Lady Bonneville jumped in, soothing. “Arty, the crisis is over. The pirates have retreated from the temples. There is no logical reason for us to continue to threaten their home.”
Artwhiler glared at her, then turned his gaze on Nu-Lin.
“The si-tu-a-tion must be de-fused. Lat-er, we can dis-cuss sanc-tions a-gainst the Cos-teaus.”
And Rome thought: Later, sanctions against the Costeaus will be the last thing on anyone’s mind.
Artwhiler started to speak, then changed his mind. He clamped his jaw shut. His face still bubbling with rage, the Guardian commander keyed his terminal and opened an audio link to his headquarters.
“Get me Admiral Waterson—at once!”
It took only a few moments for Artwhiler to contact the Admiral and order the shuttle fleet to pull back.
Lady Bonneville heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. Now perhaps we can turn to the real issue at hand.” She lowered her head and gently rubbed her temples. Her massive beehive hairdo, layers of red streaked with gray, looked like it would drop off if she leaned forward any further.
Drake folded his arms. He stared coldly at Rome. “I believe, Franco, that you are now prepared to offer an explanation for your actions?”
“I am. With the Council’s permission, I would like to have two witnesses brought into these chambers.” He waited for Nu-Lin or Lady Bonneville to object, but it was Artwhiler who raised his voice.
“We should not waste our time listening to E-Tech minions.”
Rome interrupted. “These men have been to one of the raided Church temples. They can explain better than I what this is all about.”
Drake hesitated, then glanced at Nu-Lin and Lady Bonneville. Neither of the women made any objections.
“Bring in your witnesses.”
Rome keyed his terminal. The door opened. Nick and Gillian strode into the chamber.
For once, the midget had dressed conservatively—gray trousers and a black turtleneck shirt. Gillian wore baggy pants and a crinkled maroon leather jacket.
Rome hoped the door had not been programmed to scan for Cohe wands. Although Gillian would have been forced to check his thruster at the security desk, it was entirely possible that the esoteric Cohe had escaped the door’s detection system. He hoped Gillian was still armed.
Rome had one more chore. He addressed Haddad on the terminal and typed in the word-command—secure. A moment later, the Pasha flashed an acknowledgment.
Five hundred E-Tech Security troops had just been given the order to surround the Irryan Council
building and prevent anyone from entering. With Reemul still on the loose, there was no telling what might happen once they exposed Codrus.
“Howdy,” Nick drawled.
Lady Bonneville smiled thinly. “Well, Mr. Nicholas, it would appear that your expertise extends beyond the realm of party jokes.”
“Yeah, you could say that.”
* * *
Codrus had interlaced prior to the start of the Council meeting. Deteriorating affairs had cried out for unity.
But when the door opened and the two men entered, Codrus knew—in one gestalt instant he knew—that the Ash Ock adjustment, that minor correction in the social flow, had backfired. He knew that there was, indeed, a real threat to the Second Coming.
The incredible shock of today’s events: the invasion of the three secret transmission chambers, the fact that E-Tech knew exactly which three temples housed the installations, the knowledge that E-Tech had connected the bishop to Reemul’s violence and that they might even be aware that the bishop was an Ash Ock tway ...
Codrus had been stunned. He had been forced to reappraise the entire sequence of events since that day, years ago, when the bishop had recruited Bob Max. Codrus had been forced to conclude that somehow, perhaps through the careful scrutiny of Church records, E-Tech had managed to link the bishop with Bob Max. He had acknowledged his own possible carelessness in dealing with the smuggler; that admittance, in and of itself, proved a bitter pill to swallow.
But until this moment, Codrus had truly believed that the situation could be saved and that his councilor-tway remained safe.
I should have acted sooner. I should have urged Reemul to capture Haddad without delay and drain the Security chief until I learned the extent of E-Tech’s knowledge. I hesitated because Theophrastus and Sappho warned me not to kill Haddad, that his death could lead to martyrdom, and that martyrs all too often generate unpredictable long-term side effects.
Codrus felt a touch of bitterness. In this, I should have followed my own course. Theophrastus and Sappho were wrong. And I will pay for their error.
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