Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  … is expected that the Imperador will meet with Premier-select Ulrich this afternoon to discuss matters pending before the Council … likely to include the so-called Kraffeist Affair …

  Dekkard wondered not only which Commerce councilor had opposed Ulrich, but which Craft councilor had supported him … and why there was no story about the demonstration. Then he went through the entire newssheet once more. Finally, he found a short piece buried at the bottom of the fourteenth page, dwarfed by an advertisement for Oostermein’s Sweet Oil.

  A score of rowdy individuals appeared in the central gardens of the Imperial Council grounds on Furdi. Some bore signs advocating political changes in the nature of reporting voting results. When the demonstrators refused to leave the grounds, the Council Guards moved to usher them from the area. Several of the intruders illegally carried firearms and opened fire on the Guards, but the grounds were cleared shortly before noon. The extent and nature of injuries to the intruders and Council Guards is not known at this time, although early reports indicate that there was at least one fatality.

  That’s all? And nothing about jobs by ability and not politics? Dekkard frowned. Then he nodded. The newssheet had likely published what it thought it could, especially the fact that the demonstrators had fired first. Most interesting was the fact that Gestirn hadn’t identified the group behind the demonstration.

  Had the other daily—The Machtarn Tribune, often referred to as the “Trib” or “Tribute” because of its sussie-like fawning over anything Commercer—even printed anything about the Kraffeist Affair? If it had, it likely blamed everything on useless bureaucrats. Dekkard had no doubt that the Tribune’s article on the demonstration portrayed the demonstrators as “communalist scum” or something similar.

  Another question struck him. Was personal accountability on the part of councilors for their votes that dangerous?

  Certainly, Roostof, Macri, and Obreduur thought so. From the provisions of the Great Charter, Laureous the Great had definitely believed that. Yet, from what Dekkard recalled of history lessons, the Grand Democracy of Teknold had collapsed from rampant internal corruption. In the end, the poor and the workers had revolted, and the ensuing chaos had destroyed what had been the most powerful nation in the world, turning it into three separate moderate-sized states and a handful of smaller ones.

  Somehow, Dekkard doubted either version. And he certainly had doubts that the prohibition on knowing how each councilor voted was all that had kept Guldor strong and prosperous for the past four centuries.

  Of immediate concern to him was that the weapons of the demonstrators hadn’t sounded as loud as those of the guards. That meant they had been using semi-automatic pistols. The guards outnumbered the demonstrators, but some semi-automatics had magazines that held nine or twelve cartridges, while the guard revolvers held but six. More important, the pistols could be reloaded more quickly, especially if the demonstrators carried loaded spare clips.

  Beyond that was the equally disturbing question about the source of those weapons.

  “You look rather preoccupied this morning.”

  Dekkard almost jumped as Ysella appeared at his shoulder. “I was reading about the selection of Councilor Ulrich as the new premier and this story about the demonstrators outside the Council Hall.” He handed her the newssheet and pointed out the story well below the fold.

  She read it and handed the newssheet back. “That’s about what I would have expected.”

  “There’s one aspect of the demonstration that Gestirn didn’t cover. I’m fairly certain that the demonstrators used semi-automatic pistols.”

  Ysella frowned. “You weren’t that close.”

  “They sound different.”

  “You didn’t mention that to the councilor.”

  “You might recall that he was rather absorbed, and that he said anything that wasn’t urgent could wait until this morning.”

  “I’d tell him once we’re in the steamer. We should eat. He’ll be impatient this morning.”

  Dekkard raised his eyebrows.

  “There will be a party leadership meeting this morning, and one Craft councilor voted for Ulrich. Obreduur can’t be looking forward to that.”

  “There’s no way to tell who that was.”

  “Exactly,” replied Ysella dryly.

  Dekkard replaced the newssheet on the side table, and the two entered the staff room and immediately got their café. Hyelda had the staff platter on the table in moments, as if she knew they needed to hurry.

  Dekkard looked to the cook. “Thank you, again, for letting us read your Gestirn. I do appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome, Steffan.”

  Neither Dekkard nor Ysella said more than pleasantries at breakfast, and he ate quickly and had the Gresynt ready at the portico early, but barely before Obreduur appeared.

  Even so, Dekkard waited until he had the steamer headed west on Altarama before speaking. “Last night, sir, you said that anything that wasn’t urgent could wait. I did notice something about those demonstrators. At least one of them was firing a semi-automatic pistol.”

  “How do you know that? You weren’t that close.”

  “They sound different, and pistols have magazines that carry more cartridges and can be reloaded quickly. Also, so far as I know, the only forces that use semi-automatic pistols are the Naval Marines … and possibly Security agents or patrollers.”

  “Who else have you mentioned this to?”

  “Just you and Avraal.”

  “Good. And thank you.”

  Dekkard thought he detected a slight tone of satisfaction in the councilor’s voice. At least he didn’t detect dissatisfaction. He glanced sideways at Ysella.

  She offered the faintest of nods.

  Obreduur concentrated on his papers. As on Furdi, there were more Council Guards around the Council Office Building and at the covered-parking gate.

  Do they expect more demonstrators … or are they just being cautious?

  As Dekkard walked from the Gresynt toward the west entrance, another security aide joined him—Laurenz Korriah, an imposing, if prematurely balding, figure.

  “I heard that you were escorting your councilor to the Hall when the New Meritorists started shooting.”

  “Is that what they’re called?”

  “That’s what the councilor said.”

  Dekkard nodded. Since Korriah worked for Kharl Navione, a Landor councilor who served on the Security Committee, Korriah’s confirmation of the appellation of the demonstrators was doubtless correct. “What were they so upset about that they started shooting?”

  Korriah laughed. “The councilor says it’s about the prohibition on knowing how councilors vote. Me … I think it’s because no one takes them seriously.”

  “At least one had a sign complaining that politics shouldn’t determine jobs.”

  “Steffan … there are other requirements for some jobs besides academic brilliance. That’s something that too many lower-class students will never understand. That’s why it takes a generation or two for families to rise. Some of them get a degree and think they’re immediately owed a higher-paying position. When they don’t get it, they think the system’s corrupt.” Korriah shook his head.

  “In any case,” replied Dekkard, “they’re in serious trouble now.”

  “The ones who survived,” agreed Korriah. “The others don’t have anything at all to worry about. Not now.”

  “How many guards were killed or wounded?”

  “Premier-select Ulrich hasn’t said.”

  “Hasn’t … or won’t.”

  “He can’t keep that secret forever. Two were killed, but I didn’t tell you.”

  “The Council Guards were wearing body armor, I thought.”

  “It doesn’t cover your neck or face.”

  Then some of the demonstrators were either lucky or very good shots, but Dekkard only asked, “And the demonstrators?”

  “More. How many more I don’t k
now. For trash like that it doesn’t matter.”

  “It might. At least one had a semi-automatic pistol, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

  “Can I tell the councilor?”

  “If you say that you overheard a conversation between several security aides and couldn’t discern who said what.”

  “I appreciate that. Commercers don’t tell the other committee members anything they can keep to themselves.” Korriah paused. “Does anyone know which Crafter broke the deadlock … or why?”

  This time Dekkard laughed, a touch of harshness in the sound. “I certainly don’t.” But he’d thought about it since breakfast and realized why a senior councilor who wasn’t either the floor leader or the assistant floor leader might. Because if the Imperador had to dissolve the Council and call for new elections, the two councilors in each party who were the most senior and not in leadership positions could not run for reelection.

  “But you know the possibilities,” Korriah countered.

  “Just as everyone does,” said Dekkard easily. “And I’d wager that two of the ten Landors who voted for Ulrich were senior councilors not in the leadership or someone with a shaky seat.” Like Saarh. But that was just a guess.

  Korriah nodded. “Number-counting isn’t proof, though.”

  “Isn’t that why all votes are secret?”

  “Secrecy is a knife that cuts both ways, Steffan.”

  “And so is openness. The question is which wound is more likely to be fatal.”

  Korriah offered a booming laugh. “You’re quite the philosopher. That’s not the best mindset for security. If you didn’t think so deeply, I’d say you ought to think about becoming a legalist.”

  “I react as fast as anyone. The thinking comes later.”

  “That’s fair.” Korriah laughed again. “I’ll see you later.”

  After the other had left, Dekkard frowned. Should he have told Korriah about the pistols? Then he shrugged. Sooner or later, probably sooner, Navione would find out, while the number of Council Guards killed, and the fact that quite a few more demonstrators had been fatally shot, might not emerge for some time.

  He hurried across the approach drive to the Council Office Building and then inside, taking the staff staircase up to the second level and the office. Once there, he looked to Karola and asked, “Is anyone in with him?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I need a moment.”

  “Just knock.”

  Dekkard knocked and announced himself.

  “Come in, Steffan.”

  Dekkard had barely closed the door when Obreduur asked, “What is it?”

  “I overheard an interesting conversation in the parking area. That’s why I’m a little late. You might have heard this, but two Council Guards were killed by the demonstrators and quite a few more of the demonstrators were fatally shot.”

  “Do you believe what you ‘overheard’ to be accurate?” asked Obreduur evenly.

  “I do.”

  “What did they ‘overhear’?”

  “Just that one of the demonstrators might have had a semi-automatic pistol. That’s something that they’ll know later today, in any event.”

  Obreduur nodded slowly. “Why were you allowed to ‘overhear’ all this?”

  “Because someone was interested in the defecting Craft vote. Obviously, I had no idea.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Oh, I know the seniority implications, but I didn’t mention them.” Korriah did. “They apply to all three parties.”

  “Steffan, just how might they affect each of the parties? Your honest analysis. No political sowshit, please.”

  “If new elections had been required, they would have affected the Commercers the least. Even if the Craft Party gained several seats, it’s likely that enough Landors would back the Commerce candidate for premier. The Landors would suffer the most. Several of their councilors would appear to have difficulty in being reelected—”

  Obreduur held up a hand. “That’s enough. Just keep being very careful with what you ‘overhear’ and allow to be ‘overheard.’”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “By the way, I just received a message from Director Deron. It appears that Guldoran Ironway will be using cherry for their carriage paneling. You were helpful in making that possible. Don’t say anything yet, especially about cherry orchards. One other matter. Premier-select Ulrich has announced an investigation of the coal prices paid by the Navy, particularly the prices paid to Eastern Ironway for coal mined from the Eshbruk Naval Coal Reserve.”

  “Even before he meets with the Imperador,” said Dekkard, realizing, if belatedly, that he’d read nothing about the missing logistics director, one Eduard Graffyn, and wondering if Ysella had mentioned that to Obreduur, since he didn’t feel that was information that was his to share. “It will be interesting to see who they investigate and question.”

  “I thought you’d find it intriguing. That’s all for now.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dekkard inclined his head, then turned and left the inner office, closing the door quietly as he made his way to his table desk. He couldn’t help but wonder if Graffyn was still even alive, but that depended on who found the fugitive first.

  The rest of Quindi was like most Quindis, with no surprises, and seemingly endless drafting of responses, interspersed with escorting Obreduur to a Waterways Committee meeting and then back to the office more than a bell later. Dekkard heard nothing more about the Kraffeist Affair, the Guldoran-Woodcrafters dispute, or the Sanitation workers problem, not that he’d expected any differently.

  By the time the fourth afternoon bell neared, he was more than ready for the workweek to be over, even if he wouldn’t be finished until after Trinitarian services.

  14

  THE evening was clear, and Dekkard and Ysella didn’t have to deal with rain in transporting the Obreduur family to and from the East Quarter Trinitarian Chapel. Presider Eschbach’s homily dealt with trust, and the fact that both families and societies required trust to function well, an observation with which Dekkard could not disagree, although it seemed to him that it was also a truth too often ignored or dismissed.

  After a quick dinner, Dekkard thought about reading, then decided he really needed a walk. He was about to go upstairs to change when he saw Ysella waiting in the hallway outside, wearing a tasteful evening suit of dark lavender linen. A near-transparent headscarf of the same color was draped across her shoulders.

  Dekkard was wondering how she’d managed to change so quickly, and especially to look so put-together, when she spoke.

  “Would you mind if I came with you on your walk? It looks like a pleasant evening…”

  Dekkard didn’t hesitate. “I’d like that very much, but I will need to change.”

  “It’s rather warm … perhaps a barong…?”

  “My choice there is limited.”

  “I’m certain you’ll look good in whatever you choose.”

  Knowing her words were as much command as observation, Dekkard smiled wryly. “I’ll be quick.” Then he hurried up the stairs.

  He did wash up some before donning a plain regal-blue barong over light gray trousers, exhausting the dressy but not totally formal outfits that he hadn’t worn around Ysella. He eased the throwing knives into place, then made his way back down to where she waited.

  She nodded. “Tasteful. I doubt you could be otherwise.”

  Not the way I was raised. But he only said, “Shall we go?”

  The two walked to the portico, where, surprisingly, Ingrella Obreduur stood in the late twilight. “You two look very good this evening. Do enjoy yourselves.”

  “Thank you.” Dekkard wondered if the good Ritten Obreduur knew that much about Ysella’s background. While it might have pleased some women to have a Landor’s daughter working for their husband, from what Dekkard had observed, it wouldn’t have mattered one way or the other to Ingrella, who simply seemed to take things as they were. Or perhaps, in her time as a le
galist, she had learned that ability.

  Once they were walking westward on Altarama, Dekkard said, “Obreduur told me that Ulrich is opening an investigation into coal prices, especially those charged by Eastern Ironway.”

  “He mentioned that to me as well.”

  “Did you tell him that Security patrollers were looking for Director Graffyn?”

  “Did you?”

  “No. That was your information to provide, not mine.”

  “I did tell him that I’d heard it from a patroller friend. He was surprised, but whether he was surprised that I knew, surprised that I knew a patroller, or surprised that Graffyn had fled, I couldn’t tell.”

  “There’s still been no mention of even a missing director, not in the newssheets, let alone his name. Also … a Security bulletin wouldn’t have mentioned his position, just his name, and Emrelda knew both.”

  “I thought you might have caught that. She and Markell have a wide range of acquaintances, Markell especially.”

  “She’s not an empath.”

  “No … but she’s close. It’s difficult to deceive her. That’s one reason why she’s a patroller.”

  “What might be the others?”

  “It’s useful for a Security patrol station to have a few women patrollers to deal with certain situations, especially one who can usually sense who’s telling the truth and who’s not.”

  “Assaults on women, for example?”

  “Household violence is a greater problem than rape or attempted rape by unrelated men.”

  “You don’t hear much about that.”

  “It’s much more common than you’d think. Much more.”

  The firmness with which Ysella said the last two words suggested to Dekkard that domestic violence wasn’t just an abstract concept to her. “Sorting that out, for an empath or a near empath, has to be difficult and maybe painful, I’d think.”

  “It is. That’s another reason why I didn’t want to stay as a parole screener. You feel things lurking inside people, but it’s hard to say whether they’ll act on them or not. Yet you have to make a decision. I didn’t like the idea of playing any part of the Trinity.”