Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “So am I. I enjoyed the day.”

  “So did I.”

  Dekkard almost said that he hoped that she’d invite him again, but didn’t because that would have been presumptuous, and yet, if he wanted to pursue even just a friendly off-duty relationship, the next step was his to take. He also wondered why Ysella had continued to ask him … if infrequently, since she clearly hadn’t hinted at anything beyond friendship. Or is that just caution … or for some other reason? “Perhaps we could do something next endday.”

  “Let’s see what the week brings. We can talk about it later.”

  “Then … later.”

  “That might depend on the councilor.”

  “What do you know that I don’t?”

  “Nothing. It’s just a feeling.” At the side portico, she turned to him and smiled, an expression both warm and slightly enigmatic. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He offered an easy, if well-practiced, grin. “That you will.”

  8

  WHEN Dekkard dropped off Obreduur and Ysella at the west entrance of the Council Office Building on Unadi morning, the clouds were high, thick, and gray, with no touch of green, suggesting that any immediate rain was improbable. After parking the Gresynt and entering the building, before taking the staff staircase up to the office, Dekkard detoured slightly and dropped his letter to his parents into the postbox at the end of the first level, along with a short note of appreciation and thanks to Emrelda and Markell.

  By the time Dekkard reached the office, a stack of letters and petitions awaited him, and Obreduur had already left for a Waterways Committee meeting in the Council Hall, accompanied by Ysella, because, more than a few times, those attempting assassination had stolen or forged newssheet or staff credentials to gain access to the Council Hall and then entered the corridors or rooms reserved for councilors and staffers.

  Dekkard settled in at his desk for a long morning. Even as he looked at the first petition, one from a steward of the Entertainment Guild in Malek about the failure of the local branch of the Corporacion Theatro to supply the proper documentation for the required monthly payments to the guild pension fund, Dekkard’s thoughts drifted back to the Kraffeist Affair. Even if the patrol stations had been told not to say anything about the missing director, it couldn’t be that long before something appeared in the newssheets. Dekkard was more than a little surprised that the morning edition of Gestirn hadn’t already broken the story, but then it was more than clear that some stories or information didn’t get published, likely because the Security Ministry, under Commercer control, had strongly “suggested” against it, justifying the censoring under the provisions of the Great Charter that prohibited the printing of inaccurate or inflammatory language or happenings. Of course, that doesn’t prevent the misleading use of accurate facts.

  Less than a bell later, Dekkard finished sorting through the stack of petitions and letters, handing those that obviously required legalistic or economic expertise to Macri for his delegation, and began to work on responses to those letters he would handle. Before long Obreduur and Ysella returned, but neither offered more than simple pleasantries.

  Just after third bell of the afternoon, right after Macri had left the office, a messenger appeared and presented a large and thick envelope to Karola, for which she had to sign. After taking it to Obreduur, she returned and extended the envelope to Ysella. “It’s from the Sanitation Guild. He said you’d know what to do with it.”

  Ysella looked to Dekkard. “Would you please look at it first? I’d like to finish the draft briefing paper for the talk to the women’s committee of the Machtarn Textile Millworkers Guild.”

  “He’s giving a talk to them?” Dekkard hadn’t seen that anywhere on Obreduur’s schedule, at least not on the one that Karola circulated to the staff.

  “No, he’s not. He can’t accept every invitation, and he thought I’d be better for that than the legalists or Raynaad. Before long, you’ll be representing him in some fashion. It sounds interesting. It’s not. When any of us stand in for him, he tells the one who’ll be the stand-in what he wants said, and then we have to put it in our own words, and he has to approve it.”

  “When are you doing that?”

  “A week from Tridi, but he wants to hear what I’m going to say tomorrow morning.”

  “What if I rough-draft the provisions for the position descriptions, and then you change anything that I’ve missed or made an error on before we submit anything to Macri?”

  “That would be good.”

  Karola walked from Ysella’s table desk to Dekkard’s and set the envelope down. “He wants something by the end of the day tomorrow.”

  Dekkard glanced at Ysella and shook his head. “I should have known.” He grinned. “And don’t tell me that I’ve been here long enough to have expected it.”

  Ysella was about to reply when the office door opened and Councilor Saarh appeared, followed by Eljaan and Maarkham. The two security types stopped short of Karola’s desk.

  Karola had barely announced Saarh when the councilor moved past her and into Obreduur’s office, closing the door firmly, and leaving Eljaan and Maarkham right outside.

  Dekkard glanced to Ysella and raised his eyebrows in inquiry. In return she shook her head. Then Dekkard looked at Karola, who appeared distracted, her eyes going to Eljaan and then to Ysella, and back to Eljaan, suggesting to Dekkard that emping was taking place.

  Less than a sixth passed before Saarh walked out, his face impassive. None of the three said anything as they departed.

  While Dekkard was definitely no empie, it wouldn’t have taken one to see that Saarh was concerned about something. Dekkard looked to Ysella.

  She merely mouthed the single word “Later.”

  He nodded and extracted the papers from the large envelope and began to read the first position description—that of an entry Sanitation shovelman. He hadn’t even finished reading the first page when Macri returned.

  “Did Councilor Saarh just leave?”

  “He did,” replied Karola.

  “Then he wasn’t here very long. I saw him in the corridor. He didn’t look pleased.”

  “He looked a bit drawn when he left,” Dekkard said mildly.

  “That’s not surprising.” Macri eased closer to Dekkard’s desk, glanced around, then lowered his voice. “The word is that Freust didn’t die of heart failure. His heart was as tough as an ox’s.”

  “The newssheets said…”

  “It had to be poison. He was at his estate south of Khuld, hosting a reception. His empie was with him at the time, and another empie was within yards. Neither sensed anything resembling an empath attack.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I just do … leave it at that. If he didn’t die of an emp attack and it wasn’t heart failure, what else could have caused him to collapse in front of his guests? Word is that he was talking to another Landor councilor when he swallowed several times, then just went down, like he’d been needled with frog poison.”

  “Then why did the newssheets write that it was a heart ailment?”

  “Do you really think the editors of Gestirn are going to print that he might have been poisoned because he was trying to gather enough votes to get the Council to look deeper into the Kraffeist scandal? Remember … that was before anything came out in the newssheets and when Eastern Ironway had been able to keep it quiet. And there certainly wasn’t much mention of his death, especially in the Tribune.” Macri paused. “Well, maybe three lines noting he died.”

  “But even some Commerce councilors are asking for a formal inquiry.”

  “Now that they don’t have any choice. The last thing they want is a scandal big enough to get the Imperador to call new elections. It’s meaningless battology. They won’t do more because of corporacion chantage,” muttered Macri, looking toward the door to Obreduur’s inner office. “Think about it. I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, the legalist turned and headed back tow
ard the larger office.

  After several moments, Ysella looked inquiringly at Dekkard.

  “Later.”

  In turn, she nodded.

  “Later” turned out to be well past the first bell of night on the small terrace behind the garage that was tacitly granted to the Obreduurs’ staff, just after Dekkard had finished his walk and evening workout, which included practice with the throwing knives, less conventional weapons often disregarded by many. But the knives were legal, and Dekkard saw no point in not having another option.

  “It’s later now,” said Ysella. “I heard some of what Macri said to you…”

  “What do you think about it?”

  “I told you earlier that I thought Freust’s death was … unusual. But that suggests some of the Commercers—possibly some at Eastern Ironway—are more worried about the leasing scandal than anyone thought.”

  “What about Saarh? Was he as upset as I thought he was?”

  “He was more agitated than he showed,” replied Ysella.

  “And Eljaan? He never said a word to you.”

  “That was because he was shielding … throwing up spurious feelings. Didn’t you see how confused Karola was?”

  Dekkard nodded.

  “That was also to keep her from overhearing what Saarh was saying to Obreduur.”

  “Macri seems to think it has something to do with the Kraffeist Affair.”

  “Ivann tends to believe in the conspiracy of the moment. This time he might be right, especially if the Imperador decides to dissolve the present Council and call for new elections.”

  “Just because of the Kraffeist Affair?” Dekkard frowned. “Or … with coal prices increasing, that means gas prices are going up and everything else as well … and with the Minister of Public Resources giving cheap coal to Eastern Ironway…”

  “Exactly. The Commercers don’t want to lose enough seats to give the Landors more say over who the Commercers present as the next premier. The Landors might even have proposed Freust as the price of their support, especially if the Craft Party gains a few more seats.”

  That didn’t strike Dekkard as totally improbable, given that the Commercers only held two more seats than the Crafters. But even if the Crafters gained more seats, they couldn’t name the next premier, since, under the Great Charter, no party was allowed more than thirty seats out of the sixty-six, and there weren’t that many Landors or Commercers who would vote for a Crafter as premier, but he only said, “But why would Saarh…?”

  “Landors hate owing anyone, and Saarh owes Obreduur. Have you forgotten Obreduur’s patron guild? Or whose wife likely inherited cherry orchards?”

  “Oh … Saarh ships his export wines to Sudaen on the Khulor River barges.” Dekkard could see the problems Saarh faced if he angered Obreduur. The Stevedores Guild could “accidently” misplace or drop barrels, or cases of vintages already bottled, and if Saarh went to rail transport the breakage would still be high and the costs would increase. In addition, stevedores and other guild members and friends would make a greater effort against Saarh if an election were to be called. Then, too, Ysella had essentially confirmed Dekkard’s suspicion about whose cherry orchards might resolve the standoff between the Woodcrafters Guild and Guldoran Ironway … and net Saarh a handsome number of marks. “But the Imperador hasn’t decreed dissolution yet.”

  “He’d rather not. Not with the success Obreduur has had in increasing the number of Crafters in the Council. He’d prefer to work with the Commercers and not to anger the corporacions. He may not have a choice.”

  “What do you think will happen?” asked Dekkard.

  Ysella shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  Neither did Dekkard. He did know that he wouldn’t have wanted to be in Saarh’s position.

  9

  AS he drove Obreduur and Ysella to the Council Office Building on Duadi, Dekkard was still thinking over what he’d learned the previous day. He had no doubt that if Premier Grieg and Minister Kraffeist had been Crafters, or even Landors, the Imperador would already have dissolved the present Council.

  The other thing that bothered him was how much information wasn’t appearing in the newssheets, not just about Freust’s death and about the Kraffeist Affair, but in other incidents he’d observed over the past year, and that censorship seemed to him to exceed the provisions of the Great Charter.

  As he eased the Gresynt up to the west entrance to the Council Office Building, he pushed that thought away, concentrating on getting the steamer as close to the doors as possible. Then, after Ysella and Obreduur were safely inside the building, he drove to the parking area, shut down the steamer, and made a quick check, especially of the fittings on the tubing from the acetylene tank to the headlamps, because those tended to loosen, despite all the advertising claims of the manufacturer.

  He’d just straightened up when another figure in gray stopped a yard away. “Steffan … fancy seeing you here.”

  Dekkard immediately recognized Amelya Detauran, one of the few female isolates working as a security staffer. But then, not only was she more muscular and in better condition than many of the older male isolates, but she also worked for Kaliara Bassaana, one of the few female Commerce councilors, and a major shareholder of a number of concerns in the north of Guldor, including Jaykarh Mining & Coal.

  “I thought you’d never talk to me again, except as necessary,” Dekkard replied lightly, recalling all too well the not-quite-acrimonious discussion they’d had over a lunch in the staff cafeteria.

  “I’d like to apologize.”

  “You don’t have to. I was a little sharp.”

  “You had a right to be. I didn’t.” Detauran paused. “Your mother … I discovered … she’s considered one of the best portraitists in Oersynt, I found out. She just did the wedding portrait for my youngest sister. Her husband insisted on the best.” The older isolate offered a smile both apologetic and wry. “So I figured you just might know a little about art. Besides, life’s too short.”

  “I’m beginning to discover that. How are things going with you and Councilor Bassaana?”

  “About the same as always. I heard that you got called into a meeting about cabinetry for the ironway.”

  “I did. How did you find out?”

  “Director Deron is a friend of the councilor’s family. She asked me if I knew you.”

  “And you want to know…?”

  “Not a thing. Kaliara respects your councilor, and she’s not exactly fond of Eastern Ironway.”

  “Because of the Kraffeist mess … or does it go further back?”

  Detauran smiled. “Steffan … everything goes further back.”

  Dekkard laughed. “I’d have to agree, but you’d know better than me.” He paused. “Thank you.”

  “The same to you. And I’d better hurry.”

  Dekkard gave the Gresynt a last glance, then headed for the Council Office Building, wondering about the not-so-chance encounter with Detauran. She clearly hadn’t wanted anything, except to smooth things over and to let him know that Deron had told Bassaana about the problem between the Woodcrafters and Guldoran Ironway … and the implication that Bassaana wasn’t getting involved with the Kraffeist Affair.

  That was another thing he’d have to relay to Obreduur.

  Once he reached his desk, he turned his attention to rewriting the position description and required qualifications for a Sanitation shovelman, as well as the requirements to be eligible for promotion. After that, he sorted his share of the letters and then began drafting responses, noting as he did that Ysella had been summoned into Obreduur’s inner office, presumably to go over her talk to the women’s committee of the Textile Millworkers Guild.

  Ysella wasn’t in with Obreduur more than two sixths, and as soon as she left the office, she walked to Dekkard’s desk. “Have you finished your draft of Sanitation qualifications?”

  He handed her the sheets.

  She glanced at the first sheet. “In the old days, you
could have been a scrivener.”

  “Let’s hope what I’ve done is more than readable.”

  “I’m sure it will be.” Ysella’s tone was matter-of-fact, neither encouraging nor sardonic, and she walked back to her desk without saying more.

  By noon, Dekkard had finished his drafts of responses to the latest letters and petitions. So he carried the stack into the side office and handed it to Margrit.

  “You’re getting faster.”

  “The stack was shorter today,” he replied with a smile, before walking over to Roostof’s corner desk.

  The junior legalist looked up. “You have a question?”

  “I do. On censorship. It seems to me that there’s a lot that’s being withheld from the newssheets. On what basis?”

  “There is, and it’s an extension of the section of the Great Charter that prohibits the publication of certain information, particularly the voting records of individual councilors.”

  Dekkard frowned. He knew, as did everyone who followed politics, that the tallies of voting on proposals were recorded, but not by the names of councilors, only by party. In fact, not even the party floor leaders knew the individual votes, because each councilor placed one of two ceramic plaques in the voting box through shielded slots. Each plaque was colored on all sides except one with the color of the party—blue for Landor, red for Crafter, and silver for Commerce—while the remaining side was either light green for approval or black for disapproval. The plaques were tallied by all three floor leaders together. The system had been designed so that enfranchised voters voted on the basis of party, as well as to discourage individual political demagoguery. The one change from the Great Charter had been the result of the Silent Revolution of 1170–71, when the definition of an enfranchised voter had been changed to include employed women, and a husband and wife, if one was employed.

  “How in the world does the prohibition of printing voting records justify not printing information about Eastern Ironway’s illegal coal leases?”

  Roostof grinned sardonically. “Ivann and I have raised the same question. The official answer is that revealing a specific act of a government minister subjects that minister to public pressure which is equivalent—”