Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “We’ll find out before long,” replied Ysella. “It might be soon. So you might finish all that sour-sweet quince.” The hint of a smile crossed her face.

  “I’ll finish it long before you can get through that third mug of café.”

  “Just two this morning.”

  Dekkard didn’t gulp down the remainder of his breakfast, but he didn’t dawdle, either. He left the staff room before Ysella, readied himself, and then went to get the Gresynt.

  Obreduur entered the steamer without a word, but once Dekkard had the Gresynt on Altarama headed for Imperial Boulevard, he said, “You both doubtless know there was a dispatch from the Palace this morning.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Ysella. “Rhosali told us about the messenger.”

  “I’m certain she did. The Imperador has decided not to dissolve the Council. Not at present. He has dismissed Premier Grieg, and requested that the Council choose a successor. He gave no reason for his action.”

  “Is that usual, sir?” asked Dekkard.

  “It is customary to offer perfunctory thanks or a broad reason that could mean anything. The lack of either suggests that he was not pleased with Grieg.”

  “Why didn’t the Premier dismiss Minister Kraffeist?” asked Ysella.

  “He said that there was no evidence that Kraffeist knew anything about the improper lease. That was about the worst thing he could have said. For the moment, you should keep that to yourselves.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Dekkard and Ysella, not quite simultaneously.

  Dekkard could see why Grieg’s statement had been a mistake. What he couldn’t see was why Grieg hadn’t understood that … unless … Unless he wanted to be dismissed.

  Obreduur retreated into reading a sheaf of papers, most likely drafted by Macri, and Dekkard concentrated on driving, taking special care to see if anyone might be following them, but during the entire drive to the Council Office Building, he saw no sign of that.

  The rest of the day was surprisingly uneventful, except for two sets of visitors, one of whom was Sr. Hoddard Caarthart, whose name Dekkard recognized because he was perhaps the most noted legalist in Oersynt, and one Althord Styphen, whose name and profession were unknown to Dekkard, but clearly not to Obreduur. Even so, Dekkard actually got to have a quick lunch in the staff dining room, where he briefly greeted Jaime Minz and had a few words with several other staffers he knew before he returned to the office so that Ysella could eat.

  No one in the dining room or the office said a word about the Imperador’s dismissal of the Premier, although Dekkard suspected that everyone knew and thought everyone else did—and didn’t want to speculate on what might happen next. In the meantime, Dekkard did get caught up on letter and petition responses by the time he left to go to the Council covered parking.

  On the drive home, Obreduur was absorbed in the contents of a large leather folder, so much so that he said nothing, even when he and Ysella stepped out of the Gresynt at the side portico of the house.

  Ysella was waiting for Dekkard as he left the garage. “So far no one’s saying anything.”

  “It’s almost as if the resignation didn’t happen,” said Dekkard.

  “No one wants to say anything until the Commercers choose someone to put up as premier. They may be having trouble finding a candidate who’s willing to step into the mess.”

  “Why did the Imperador send a messenger to Obreduur? He’s not the Craft floor leader.” Dekkard paused, then asked, “Because he’s the political leader? Was sending that information a way of telling the councilor that there will possibly be an election called before long?”

  “That or a hint that whether he does call an election depends on what the Council does about the Kraffeist Affair,” replied Ysella. “Those are my guesses.”

  “Does the Imperador want a real investigation … or a politically tactful resolution?”

  “Why do you think he can’t have both?” asked Ysella, in an amused tone.

  “Do you really think he can?” countered Dekkard.

  “Not any more than you do.”

  As the two walked toward the staff room, thoughts circled through Dekkard’s mind.

  Did the Imperador’s dismissal of Premier Grieg have anything to do with the shots of the previous evening? While he didn’t see the connection, he doubted that the shots were fired at random, although that possibility definitely existed. He also had the feeling that while matters might seem obvious in retrospect, they certainly weren’t at the moment.

  11

  In a surprising move revealed yesterday morning, Imperador Laureous asked for and received the resignation of Johan Grieg, not only as Premier, but also as a Councilor. The reason for the Imperador’s request was not given, but is considered likely because of Grieg’s failure to remedy matters that led to the so-called Kraffeist Affair.

  At present, the Commerce Party caucus has not indicated who it will put forward as a candidate to replace Sr. Grieg as premier …

  The other development of great interest is that, because Grieg resigned at the request of the Imperador, his replacement cannot be named by the Commerce Party, but must be one of the candidates who stood against him in the last election. Based on the election results, that replacement Councilor must come from the Craft Party. While the Commerce Party will have the same number of seats as the Craft Party, each with twenty-four, followed by the Landor Party with eighteen, it is likely that enough Landor Councilors will support the Commerce candidate …

  Several individuals with signs appeared in the Square of Heroes in front of the gates to the Imperial Palace late yesterday afternoon, but were quickly dispersed. The reason for the public display is not known, but those believed to be behind the disruption were detained and questioned by Security patrollers before being released. Several were thought to be University students. Once the individuals left the square, several were reportedly also detained and questioned by Security patrollers. The Palace has issued no statement on the matter …

  Gestirn, 22 Springend 1266

  12

  WHEN Dekkard eased the Gresynt away from the portico and down the drive on Furdi morning, he could see heavy greenish-gray clouds to the south, out over the ocean, but even if the clouds were moving north, rain wouldn’t arrive until long after he’d reached the Council Office Building.

  Halfway there, when Obreduur offered no more information on the choice of a new premier, Dekkard asked, “Sir, do you think the Commercers have decided not to put up a candidate for premier to force the Imperador to call new elections?”

  Obreduur laughed, a sound harsh rather than amused. “The last thing they want right now is new elections. They’re trying to decide on the best candidate to preclude elections.”

  “Who might that be?” asked Ysella.

  “I can’t say, Avraal. We’ll have to see what the day brings.” With that, Obreduur returned to reading the top sheet on the stack of papers he’d set on his brown leather folder.

  Dekkard couldn’t discern any vehicle following them, but, when he turned off Imperial Boulevard and onto Council Avenue, he did note two gray Realto steamers parked on each side of the avenue. “Sir, there are two gray Realto steamers parked at the intersection, one on each side. Each has at least two men inside.”

  “Thank you, Steffan. I’m not surprised. Avraal, have you felt anything?”

  “Nothing out of the ordinary, sir.”

  “Good.”

  A half score of Council Guards in their pale green uniforms, far more than usual, stood at posts around the entrance to the Council Office Building when Dekkard dropped off Ysella and Obreduur, and another half score guarded the covered parking, several of whom studied Dekkard closely as he drove to Obreduur’s assigned spot.

  Once Dekkard entered the Council Office Building, he glanced around, hoping to see someone he knew well enough to ask if they knew anything, but he saw no one he knew, if only by name. So he took the staff staircase and made his way to the office.
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  “Good morning,” said Karola cheerfully.

  “Good morning to you,” he replied with a wry grin, and then looking to Ysella, he added, “and to you once more.” After those words, he went to Ysella’s table desk, bent down and murmured, “Is he more concerned than usual?”

  She just nodded, if barely, saying immediately, “The petitions and letters haven’t arrived yet this morning.”

  “The Council Guards are sorting through the packages and large envelopes,” explained Karola. “There was some sort of threat against the Council. No one is saying what it was or who made it.”

  “Could it have been made by the same group that demonstrated outside the Palace yesterday?” asked Dekkard.

  “It could be one of the radical groups like the New Meritorists,” said Ysella, “or the new one, something like Foothill Freedom.” She frowned. “They want independence for what used to be the old freehold of Jaykarh.”

  “I’ve never heard of either,” said Dekkard, although he knew the original Meritorists had vanished decades earlier.

  “Do you really think Security would allow anything in print about it?”

  “Probably not,” agreed Dekkard.

  At that moment, the belated arrival of the morning’s post deliveries put an end to speculation, and before long Dekkard was busy reading and sorting letters and petitions.

  Just before the third bell of morning, a Council messenger arrived with a missive, and Karola immediately gave it to Obreduur. In moments, he stepped into the outer office and motioned to Ysella and Dekkard.

  “I’ll need escorts to the Council Hall. We’ll need to go now.”

  Once the three were out in the main corridor, Obreduur said, “The Commerce floor leader will announce the Commerce candidate at fourth bell. It will be followed by debate, of the meaningless sort so dear to those who relish their title of Ritter, and a vote will be taken today … but it will be late. You two will return to the office—there’s no sense in your waiting. Just return for me when you hear the chimes for adjournment. If I need you sooner, I’ll send a messenger.” Obreduur paused to allow a graying councilor and his two security aides to precede him down the steps to the main level.

  Dekkard belatedly recognized Commerce Councilor Palafaux, whose primary patrons were shipyards and cargo lines, one of which was Siincleer Shipbuilding. The three followed Palafaux and his aides down the staircase and out through the east entrance and under the covered portico that ran through the Council gardens and to the Council Hall.

  Almost immediately, Dekkard’s attention was caught by the line of Council Guards—more than he’d ever seen before—advancing beyond the central topiary garden toward a group of people in the grassy area short of the southern hedge bounding the garden. All of the individuals in front of the hedge wore deep blue shirts and trousers.

  True Blue … the color of the old-time Meritorists.

  Some of the demonstrators, for that was what Dekkard thought they must be, rested what looked to be oblong shields on the stone walk, while the others stood behind them holding signs. Dekkard couldn’t make out all the inscriptions on the signs, but the nearest one read, PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY, NOT PARTY ACCOUNTABILITY. Another read, OPEN ALL VOTING RECORDS. A third read, PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES, NOT PARTY HACKS. One near the back read, JOBS BY ABILITY, NOT PARTY.

  Obreduur snorted. “They’re either corporacion shills or idiots. If every vote of every councilor is made public, it’s that much easier for corporacions to buy specific councilors or to oppose others, and it will only open the Council to mob rule. Guldor doesn’t need that.”

  Under the law, Dekkard knew, candidates for councilor could not use or accept funds to campaign for office. Only the three political parties could spend marks on electioneering, and firm rules governed how parties could spend those. Even so, there were definitely ways around the laws. There always are.

  Dekkard’s eyes went back to the south side of the Council grounds, where the Council Guards advanced slowly, if inexorably, and Dekkard realized that all of them wore some sort of body armor. About half of them carried iron-tipped singlesticks. The other half had their long black truncheons out. At least none had their revolvers in hand.

  Obreduur began to walk even more quickly, moving at a fast walk close to a slow run, suggesting to Dekkard that the councilor wanted to reach the Council Hall before the Council Guards reached the demonstrators. Ahead of them, Palafaux and his aides were also hurrying.

  The three were well past the fountain in the middle of the grounds and were nearing the walled area short of the west entry to the Council Hall when several shots echoed through the gardens, shots that didn’t sound as loud as if they had come from the revolvers of Council Guards. Obreduur broke into a run, as did Ysella and Dekkard, and in moments, all three were behind the wall leading to the entrance.

  Behind them, more shots rang out, and most of those were the louder reports from the revolvers of the Council Guards. Dekkard wasn’t about to look back to see what was happening. Their job was to get Obreduur safely inside the Council Hall.

  Ahead of them, one of the duty guards pulled open the heavy bronze door. “Inside, Councilor!”

  Once the three were inside, Obreduur immediately looked to Ysella. “Was anyone killed?”

  “I couldn’t say, sir. From the emotional blasts, several people had to have been wounded, but whether the wounds were fatal I couldn’t tell.”

  “From what you felt,” pursued Obreduur, continuing to walk toward the councilors’ lobby, “could any of the shots have been fatal?”

  “One of them certainly could have been. And the shooting was continuing.”

  “I hope the guards gave those ungrateful and shortsighted hotheads what they deserved.”

  Given Obreduur’s irritated tone and disgusted expression, Dekkard decided not to mention the details of what he’d observed, not until he’d had a moment to speak with Ysella.

  Obreduur stopped short of the guarded doorway into the councilors’ lobby. “You should remain here until the Council Guards have cleared the grounds.”

  Then Obreduur walked past the guards and through the open door to the councilors’ lobby. Dekkard and Ysella stepped back, then turned and crossed the hallway to the staff waiting area, which was largely filled, mostly with security aides. Ysella pointed to two chairs against the wall, well away from any others, and the two seated themselves.

  “Did you read any of those signs?” asked Dekkard.

  “No. You were closer.” Ysella’s tone wasn’t quite dismissive.

  “I was talking to Roostof and Macri about the prohibition on public information on how individual councilors voted the other day.” Dekkard kept his voice low. “That’s clearly what those signs were advocating. One of them said, ‘Open All Voting Records.’”

  “They’re rebels who want to destroy a system that’s worked well for some four hundred years. No other government in the world has lasted that long, and there’s a reason for it.”

  “There’s also a problem with their demand,” Dekkard pointed out. “Voting records by councilor don’t even exist.”

  “Of course they don’t. That’s the point. If they kept records, then someone would have found out years ago. You can’t find out what doesn’t exist.”

  That’s also why, when new elections are called, the two most senior councilors from each party, excepting the floor leader and the deputy floor leader, cannot stand for reelection. Which meant that with the continual turnover of councilors through elections, only six people really had any idea of how the councilors in their party might have voted.

  “I saw one sign that demanded jobs by ability, not party. Markell hinted at that.”

  “That’s a real problem, especially since more university graduates aren’t from Landor or Commercer families. But … now.”

  “… isn’t the time or place.” Dekkard understood. “Have you heard from Emrelda?”

  “I got a note from her yesterday. Sh
e said that she enjoyed meeting you. She also hoped that she and Markell would have a chance to get to know you better.”

  Dekkard laughed wryly. “The way you put that could be good or not so good.”

  “Probably both. Emrelda is very protective.”

  Dekkard almost said he doubted that Ysella needed much protection, except that wasn’t the kind of protection the sisters were talking about. “You two have always been close, then?”

  “Except for a few years when I was a brat.”

  “I’m afraid I was a bit like that to my sister as well. I thought I knew more than I did.” Before Ysella could reply, he laughed softly and added, “I still do, unfortunately.”

  “You’ve gotten much better this past year.” Ysella grinned, which surprised Dekkard.

  Almost a bell passed before an officer of the Council Guards appeared and announced, “All the demonstrators have been removed. It’s perfectly safe to return to the Council Office Building or to move around the Council complex.”

  “We should go,” said Ysella, immediately standing.

  Dekkard nodded. It would be several bells before a vote, and the work on his desk wouldn’t get done in the Council Hall staff lobby.

  13

  ON Quindi morning Dekkard stood in the archway between the kitchen and the staff room and riffled through the morning edition of Gestirn to see what the newssheet had written about the events of the previous day, since the vote had been late and Obreduur had volunteered very little, and that reluctantly.

  As Dekkard read the front-page story, his eyes widened.

  … following several bells of debate, the Council of Sixty-Six voted on a new Premier to succeed Johan Grieg, who resigned upon the request of the Imperador earlier this week. After three rounds of plaques, Oskaar Ulrich, the Councilor proposed by the Commerce Party, received thirty-four votes, the bare minimum. Of those votes, twenty-three came from Commerce Councilors, ten from Landor Councilors, and one from a Craft Councilor. The Craft vote was unexpected, since no Craft Councilor has voted for a Commerce Premier in several decades …