by Timothy Zahn
Or in other words, the governor-general was going to react to this blatant power bid by simply ignoring it. By letting Priesly play out his gambit and hoping he wouldn't bother Chandler himself in the process. "I see," Corwin said, not trying to hide his bitterness. "I presume that if I am able to get some of this proof before the Directorate meeting tomorrow that you'll be more supportive of my position?"
"Of course," Chandler said immediately. "But bear in mind that, whatever happens, we won't be spending a lot of time on this incident. There are more important matters awaiting our discussion."
Corwin took a deep breath. Translation: he'll do what he can to cut Priesly's tirade to a minimum. It was, he supposed, better than nothing. "Understood, sir."
"Well. If that's all...?"
"Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir."
The screen blanked. Corwin leaned back in his chair, stretching muscles aching with tension and fatigue. That was it: he'd talked to all the members of the
Directorate that he had a chance of bringing onto his side in this. Should he move on to the Council and the lower-ranking syndics there? He glanced at his watch, saw to his mild shock that it was already after ten. Far too late to call anyone else now. No wonder, in retrospect, that Chandler had been a little on the frosty side.
A motion off to his side caught his eye, and he looked up as Thena MiGraw put a steaming cup of cahve on his desk. "You about finished for the night?" she asked.
"I don't know if I am, but you sure should be," he told her tiredly. "Seems to me I told you to go home a couple of hours ago."
She shrugged. "There was some busywork I had to do, anyway," she said, seating herself with her usual grace in a chair at the corner of the desk.
"Besides which, you thought I might need some moral support?"
"That and maybe some help screening out crank calls," she said. "I see that wasn't necessary."
Corwin lifted the cup she'd brought him, savoring for a moment the delicate aroma of the cahve. "The Moreau name's been an important one on Aventine for a long time," he reminded her, taking a sip. "Maybe even the more predatory of the newswriters figure the family's earned a little respect."
"And maybe a little rest, too?" Thena suggested quietly.
Corwin gazed at her, eyes tracing her delicate features and slender figure. A pang of melancholy and loss touched his heart, a pang that seemed to be coming more and more often these days. I should have married, he thought tiredly.
Should have had a family.
He shook off the thought with an effort. There had been good and proper reasons behind his decision all those years ago, and none of those reasons had changed.
His father's long immersion in Cobra Worlds' politics had nearly destroyed his mother, and he had sworn that he would never do such a thing to any other human being. Even if he could find a woman who was willing to put up with that kind of life...
Again, he forced his mind away from that often-traveled and futile path of thought. "The Moreaus have never been famous for resting when there was work to be done," he told Thena. "Besides, I can rest next year. You ought to get on home, though."
"Perhaps in a few minutes." Thena nodded at the phone. "How did the calls go?"
"About as expected. Everyone's a little uncertain of how to handle it, at least from the perspective of practical politics. My guess is that for the time being they'll all keep their heads down and wait for more information."
"Giving Priesly free rein to plant his version in their minds tomorrow." She snorted gently. "Uncommonly nice timing for him, having all this happen just before a full Directorate meeting."
Corwin nodded. "Yeah, I noticed that myself. As did, I'm sure, the other governors. Unfortunately, it doesn't exactly count as evidence."
"Unless you can use it to find a connecting thread-" She broke off, head cocked in concentration. "Was that a knock?"
Frowning, Corwin hunched forward and keyed his intercom to a security camera view of the outer corridor. "If it's a newswriter-" Thena began ominously.
"It's Jin," Corwin sighed, tapping the intercom and door release. Probably the last person he felt up to facing at the moment... "Jin? Door's unlocked-come on in."
"You want me to leave?" Thena asked as he switched the intercom off.
"Not really," he admitted, "but it'd probably be better if you did."
A faint smile flickered across Thena's face as she stood up. "I understand. I'll be in the outer office if you need me." Touching him on the shoulder as she passed, she headed toward the door.
"Uncle Corwin?"
"Come in," Corwin called, waving to the girl-no; she's a young woman now-standing in the doorway.
Jin did so, exchanging quiet greetings with Thena as the two women passed each other at the doorway. "Sit down," Corwin invited, gesturing to the chair Thena had just vacated. "How's your dad doing?"
"About as you'd expect," she said, sinking into the chair. "Uncle Joshua came over a while ago and they spent a lot of time talking about other problems the family's had in the past."
Corwin nodded. "I remember similar trips down memory lane. Pretty depressing to listen to?"
She pursed her lips. "A little."
"Try not to let it bother you. It's one of the methods we Moreaus have traditionally used to remind ourselves that things usually wind up working out for the best."
Jin took a deep breath. "Dad told me my application for the Cobra Academy's been rejected."
Corwin's jaw tightened; with a conscious effort he relaxed it. "Did he explain why?" he asked.
She shook her head. "We didn't really discuss it-he had other things on his mind. That's one reason I came to see you."
"Yeah. Well... to put it bluntly, you were rejected because you're a woman."
He hadn't really expected her to looked surprised, and she didn't. "That's illegal, you know," she said calmly. "I've studied the Academy's charter, the official Cobra Statement of Purpose, and even the original Dominion of Man documents. There's nothing in any of them that specifically excludes women from the Cobras."
"Of course there isn't," he sighed. "There isn't anything that excludes women from the governorship, either, but you'll notice that there aren't very many women who make it to that office. It's a matter of tradition."
"Whose tradition?" Jin countered. "Neither of those unspoken rules started with the Cobra Worlds. We inherited them from the Old Dominion of Man."
"Sure," he nodded. "But these things take time to change. You have to remember that we're barely two generations removed from the Dominion and its influence."
"It took less than one generation for us to give the Cobras their double vote," she pointed out.
"That was different. Tors Challinor's attempted rebellion forced an immediate political acknowledgment of the Cobras' physical power. Your case, unfortunately, doesn't have that kind of urgency to it."
For a long moment Jin just looked at him. "You're not going to fight the Council for me on this, are you?" she asked at last.
He spread his hands helplessly. "It's not a matter of fighting them, Jin. The whole weight of military history is against you. Women just haven't as a rule been welcomed into special military forces. Not official military forces, anyway," he corrected himself. "There've always been women rebels and guerrilla fighters, but I don't think that argument'll go over very well on either the
Council or the Academy."
"You have a lot of influence, though. The Moreau name alone-"
"May still have some force out among Aventine's people," he grunted, "but the aura doesn't carry over into the upper echelons. It never did, really-in many ways your grandfather was a more popular figure than I am, and even in his time we had to fight and scrap and trade for everything we got."
Jin licked her lips. "Uncle Corwin... I have to get into the Academy. I have to.
It's Dad's last chance to have one of the family carry on the Cobra tradition.
Now, more than ever, he needs that to ha
ng onto."
Corwin closed his eyes briefly. "Jin, look... I know how much that tradition means to Justin. Every time one of you girls was born-" He broke off. "The point is that the universe doesn't always work the way we want it to. If he and your mother had had a son-"
"But they didn't," Jin interrupted with a vehemence that startled him. "They didn't; and Mom's gone, and I'm Dad's last chance. His last chance-don't you understand?"
"Jin-" Corwin stopped, mind searching uselessly for something to say... and as he hesitated, he found his eyes probing the face of the young woman before him.
There was a lot of Justin in her face, in her features and her expressions. But as he thought back over the twenty years since her birth he found he could see even more of her father in her manner and personality. How much of that, he wondered vaguely, was due to genes alone and how much was due to the fact that
Justin had been her only parent since she was nine years old? Thoughts of Justin sent a new kaleidoscope of images flurrying past his mind's eye: Justin fresh out of the Cobra Academy, excited by the upcoming mission to what was then the totally mysterious world of Qasama; an older and more sober Justin at his wedding to Aimee Partae, telling Corwin and Joshua about the son he would have someday to carry on the Moreau family's Cobra tradition; Justin and his three daughters, fifteen years later, at Aimee's funeral...
With an effort, he forced his thoughts back to the present. Jin was still sitting before him, the intensity of purpose in her expression balanced by a self-control rarely found among twenty-year-olds. One of the primary factors looked for in all Cobra applicants, he remembered distantly... "Look, Jin," he sighed. "Odds are very high that there's nothing at all I can do to influence the Academy's decision. But... I'll do what I can."
A ghost of a smile brushed Jin's lips. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I wouldn't be asking you to do this if it weren't for Dad."
He looked her straight in the eye. "Yes, you would," he said. "Don't try to con an old politician, girl."
She had the grace to blush. "You're right," she admitted "I want to be a Cobra,
Uncle Corwin. More than anything else I've ever wanted."
"I know," he said softly. "Well. You'd better get back home. Tell your father... just tell him hi for me, and that I'll be in touch on this thing."
"Okay. Goodnight... and thank you."
"Sure."
She left and Corwin sighed to himself. Your basic chicken-egg problem, he thought. Which came first: her desire to be a Cobra, or her love for her father?
And did it really make any difference?
Thena reappeared in the doorway. "Everything all right?" she asked.
"Oh, sure," he growled. "I've just promised to take a running leap at a stone wall, that's all. How do I get myself into these things?"
She smiled. "Must be because you love your family."
He tried to glare at her, just on general principles, but it was too much effort. "Must be," he admitted, returning her smile. "Go on, get out of here."
"If you're sure...?"
"I am. I'm only going to be a few more minutes myself."
"Okay. See you in the morning."
He waited until he heard the outer door close behind her. Then, with a sigh, he leaned back to his reader, keying for the government info net and his own private correlation program. Somewhere, somehow, there had to be a connection between Baram Monse and Governor Harper Priesly.
And he was going to find it.
Chapter 4
The Directorate meeting started at ten sharp the next morning... and it was as bad as Corwin had expected.
Priesly was in fine form, his tirade all the more impressive for being brief. A less gifted politician might have overdone it and wound up boring his audience, but Priesly avoided that trap with ease. In front of the entire Council, where the sheer number of members lent itself to the generation and manipulation of emotional/political winds, the longer-winded speeches were often effective; in front of the nine-member Directorate such ploys were dangerous, not to mention occasionally coming off as downright silly. But Corwin had hoped Priesly would try anyway and hang himself in the process.
He should have known better.
"...and I therefore feel that this body has the duty to reexamine the entire concept of elitism that the Cobras and the Cobra Academy represent," Priesly concluded. "Not only for the sake of the people of Aventine and the other worlds, but even for the Cobras themselves. Before another tragedy like this one occurs. Thank you."
He sat down. Corwin glanced around the table, noting the expressions of the others with the frustration he was feeling more and more these days. They were felling into the standard and predictable pattern: Rolf Atterberry of Palatine firmly on Priesly's side, Fenris Vartanson of Caelian-himself a Cobra-and
Governor Emeritus Lizabet Telek just as firmly against him, the others leaning one way or the other but not yet willing to commit themselves.
At the head of the table Governor-General Chandler cleared his throat. "Mr.
Moreau: any rebuttal?"
Or in other words, had Corwin found any positive link between Priesly and Monse.
"Not specifically, sir," he said, getting briefly to his feet. "I would, though, like to remind the other members of this body of the testimony Justin and I have already put on record... and also to remind them that my brother has spoken here many times in the past in his capacity as an instructor of the Cobra Academy. A position, I'll mention, that requires him to submit to frequent psychological, physical, and emotional testing."
"If I may just insert here, sir," Priesly put in smoothly, "I have no quarrel at all with Cobra Justin Moreau. I agree with Governor Moreau that he is an outstanding and completely stable member of the Aventinian community. It is, in fact, the very fact that such a fine example of Cobra screening could still attack an unarmed man that worries me so."
Chandler grunted. "Mr. Moreau...?"
"No further comments, sir," Corwin said, and sat back down. Priesly had taken a chance with that interruption, he knew, and with a little luck it would wind up working against him. The thrust of his arguments, serious though they were, were still a far cry from the result he and Monse had almost certainly been trying for. If Monse had succeeded in triggering the combat reflexes programmed into
Justin's implanted nanocomputer, Priesly would have had a far stronger bogy to wave in front of both the Directorate and the populace as a whole.
Across the table, Ezer Gavin stirred. "May I ask, Mr. Chandler, what Cobra
Moreau's status is at the moment? I presume he's been suspended from his Academy duties?"
"He has," Chandler nodded. "The investigation is proceeding-much of it at this point into Mr. Monse's background, I may add."
Corwin glanced at Priesly, read no reaction there. Hardly surprising-he already knew that whatever Priesly's connection was with Monse, it was well buried.
"I'd like to also point out, if I may," Lizabet Telek spoke up with an air of impatience, "that for all the fuss we're generating-both here and on the nets," she added with a glance at Priesly, "this Monse character wasn't killed or even seriously injured."
"If he hadn't had that ceramic laminae on his bones he would have been,"
Atterberry put in.
"If he hadn't been trespassing in the first place he wouldn't have been hurt at all," Telek retorted. "Mr. Governor-General, could we possibly move on to some other topic? This whole discussion is turning my stomach."
"As it happens, we do have another topic to tackle today-one which is far more serious," Chandler nodded. "All further discussion on the Monse case to be tabled until further investigations are complete... now, then." He tapped a button next to his reader; a moment later the door across the room opened and a dress-uniformed Cobra ushered a thin academic type into the chamber. "Mr. Pash
Barynson, of the Qasaman Monitor Center," Chandler introduced the newcomer as he walked over to the guest chair at the governor-general's
left. "He's here to brief us on a disturbing pattern that may or may not be-Well, I'll let him sort it all out for you. Mr. Barynson...?"
"Thank you, Governor-General Chandler," Barynson said with a self-conscious bob of his head. Setting a handful of magcards down on the table, he picked one up and inserted it into his reader. "Governors; governors emeritus," he said, glancing around at them all, "I'm going to admit right up front that I'm rather... uncomfortable, shall we say, about being here. As Mr. Chandler has just indicated, there are hints of a pattern emerging on Qasama that we don't like. On the other hand, what that pattern really means-or even if it really exists-are questions we still can't answer."