Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Macri and Roostof both explained that to me, but won’t incarcerating or exiling or killing these demonstrators just make matters worse?”

  “If that is all the government does, Steffan, you’d be right. Unfortunately, that’s all that the Commercers and the Landors plan to do. Over time, that also is a path to anarchy and destruction. What we’re trying to do is broaden the appeal of the Craft Party to gain enough seats to change the path of government. It takes time. It takes patience, even when people are angry.”

  Dekkard nodded slowly. “I see.” He wasn’t quite sure he did, but those words were safe enough.

  “Just keep looking. Things are beginning to change.”

  Obreduur’s smile seemed a little sad, Dekkard reflected as he and Ysella walked back to the now-empty staff room. He stopped and looked at her. “I still think shooting the New Meritorists isn’t a good idea.”

  “What did you expect the Council Guards and Security patrollers to do? Just turn the other cheek? Or stand there patiently and get shot?”

  “What if they just let them demonstrate?”

  “Didn’t you hear what he said? They were the ones who shot first. They invaded the Council grounds without permission.”

  Permission the Council would never have granted. “That raises several questions, if not more. I need to think about it.”

  “It’s a lot to take in.”

  Dekkard retreated to his room. Once there, he took out the book on the Council, but his thoughts kept going back to the New Meritorists, and he put aside that book, idly picking up the Springfirst issue of Political Economics that he’d borrowed from Obreduur once the councilor finished reading it.

  As he looked at the journal, he realized something else. In all the issues of Political Economics he’d perused in the time he’d spent in the Obreduur household, he’d never seen an article or commentary involving political dissent in Guldor, nor had he run across any mention of either the Meritorists or the New Meritorists, even in the Journal of History. It was almost as if all Guldor wanted to deny their existence, just like no one liked to mention susceptibles.

  No wonder the New Meritorists shot first.

  Dekkard had the sinking feeling that, no matter how long and hard he thought, he wasn’t going to like where he ended up.

  20

  TRIDI morning dawned dark. The rain that had arrived the evening before remained settled firmly over Machtarn, not a downpour or a deluge, but a steady percussion of raindrops on roofs and other surfaces more intense than merely pleasant. Knowing that traffic on Imperial Boulevard would be slow, Dekkard suggested to Obreduur that they leave earlier, to which the councilor agreed.

  While fewer steamers were out, the water on the roads and the reduced visibility from the rain and windscreen wipers that weren’t that effective just about doubled the travel time to the Council Office Building. But at least the rain didn’t leave an ashy residue the way it almost always did in Oersynt or even sometimes in Veerlyn.

  After he dropped off Obreduur and Ysella, who wore a stylish gray suit because of her meeting with the women’s committee of the Textile Millworkers Guild, and secured the Gresynt in the covered parking, even with an umbrella, Dekkard got damp crossing the street to the Council Office Building.

  He couldn’t help thinking that with all the rain there wouldn’t be any demonstrations. He also realized that he’d have to let the letters and petition responses pile up because he still had to write a short summary on how he would present the fine-art tariff problem.

  As soon as he sat down he started in on writing the summary. In less than a third of a bell, he stopped and looked over what he’d written.

  The problem seems to be that different countries handle art objects in a different fashion and that the customs assessors appear to be accepting the valuation of art objects according to the practices of the country in which they originated …

  Dekkard knew he was missing or overlooking something. What determines value? Was it the price paid for the goods in the first country? Or the estimated price of what it would sell for in Guldor? But how can a customs assessor determine such an estimated price? Should he even try?

  Dekkard crumpled the paper and started again.

  When, just short of noon, Obreduur returned from the Craft Party caucus held in a meeting room on the first floor, Dekkard immediately got up and handed him the draft summary, or rather, the fourth draft of the fine art import problem.

  “I’ll have to look at this later, Steffan.”

  “Yes, sir, but I promised it to you by noon.”

  For a moment, the councilor offered an amused smile. “So you did. Thank you.”

  After the councilor entered the inner office, Dekkard went back Ysella’s desk and handed her the keys to the Gresynt. “You’ll need these.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good fortune with the meeting.” With a smile he headed back to his desk, where he went to work trying to catch up on drafting his responses.

  Then at first bell, because Ysella had left to stand in for Obreduur at the meeting of the women’s committee of the Textile Millworkers Guild, Dekkard escorted Obreduur to one of the committee chambers in the Council Hall for the Workplace Administration Committee meeting.

  “Just get something to eat and come back here. I doubt the meeting will be more than a bell.”

  After that, given Obreduur’s instructions, he stopped by the staff cafeteria to get a quick bite to eat, picking up a Kathaar beef empanada and café. He took an empty table for two, but before he could even start to eat, the bear-like figure of Jaime Minz appeared.

  “Steffan … I heard you’re moving up in the world.”

  “Who told you that? Frieda Livigne?”

  Minz laughed his hearty laugh. “Who else? I’m always asking her for the latest.”

  “How did your councilor’s inspection of the Resolute turn out? Did what he found out have just a little bit to do with the Imperador’s request for Grieg’s resignation?”

  “Steffan … how could you possibly think such a thing? You know that so many inspections are pro forma. The Fleet Marshal makes sure the captain has everything working and spotless. Everyone is polite and helpful.”

  Dekkard offered an amused grin. “Since you didn’t answer the question, I take it that he was really pissed at the way the Navy let itself get taken by Eastern. Especially since Gestirn reported that Security is looking for Eastern’s missing director of logistics.”

  “Steffan … directors of logistics go missing all the time. Haven’t you heard?” Minz’s tone remained light and cheerful.

  “Just like premiers get dismissed all the time.”

  “Of course, just like that … what else could you expect? Where’s your other half? Security other half, I mean.”

  “Avraal? The councilor sent her on an errand. She’ll be back before long.”

  “That’s good. I wondered if you were handling security alone. Did you hear about Mathilde Thanne?”

  It took Dekkard a moment to pull up the name. “You mean Councilor Mardosh’s empath?”

  “She’s the one. She’s gone missing. Just heard about it this morning. That’s why I wondered about Avraal.” Minz stepped back. “Anyway, it’s good to hear you’re both in good shape. Talk to you later.”

  After that brief conversation, Dekkard wasn’t quite so hungry. Mardosh was one of the two Craft councilors on the Military Affairs Committee, and had been an assistant guildmeister for the Shipfitters Guild in Siincleer, the guild that built all of the Navy’s warships. And Minz’s quick visit hadn’t been nearly as social as it sounded. First the attack on him … and now another Craft councilor’s security empie was missing?

  Something else to tell Obreduur … and Ysella. Definitely Ysella.

  Dekkard forced himself to finish the empanada and café, then made his way back to wait outside the committee room. Several other security aides waited as well, but none he knew particularly well, and he wasn’t
interested in striking up a conversation just for the sake of talking to someone.

  Dekkard couldn’t help occasionally looking at his watch as close to a third of a bell passed. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Dekkard caught sight of a blond woman, one who seemed vaguely familiar, and when he turned to look more closely, he realized that she was Charmione Lundquist, the junior legalist for Councilor Vhiola Sandegarde, one of the handful of women councilors. That Sandegarde was a councilor was likely due to the fact that her father owned and operated Kathaar Iron & Steel.

  Lundquist smiled broadly and turned toward Dekkard when she saw him looking in her direction. “Steffan … waiting for your councilor?”

  “What else?”

  “I hear you have some additional duties…”

  How many people know … and how? “They’re very new. How did you find out?”

  “I was talking to Lionel … Lionel Ihler, the Council legalist, about tariffs on borax, especially since the deposits near Port Reale are playing out, and he asked me if I knew you. He thought it was … well, strange … that a security type was handling tariffs.”

  “I’ve been recently appointed to duties as an assistant economic specialist.”

  Lundquist offered a warm smile. “Congratulations! I always thought you could do better.”

  “Thank you. I hope the tariffs on borax are more straightforward than those on fine art.”

  She shook her head. “No tariff is simple … and we need the borax for both steel and glassware.”

  Dekkard had no idea that ironworks used borax or that glassworks needed it. “Everything is more complex when you look into it.”

  “How true! I do have to go, but it was good seeing you, if only for a minute.”

  Then she was headed down the corridor toward one of the smaller committee rooms.

  Less than a sixth of a bell passed before Obreduur walked out of the committee room, followed by several other councilors. Dekkard had to hurry to join him, but he didn’t say anything until they were outside and walking under the covered portico toward the Council Office Building with the rain still coming down. Only then did he relay what Minz had said.

  “He actually said that?”

  “In a false-humor fashion, so that if I told anyone else, he could claim he was only joking.”

  Obreduur’s voice hardened as he said, “Avraal should have returned by now. Let her know about this and tell her that you’ve informed me. Both of you need to be even more careful. Once you’ve conveyed that to her, we’ll go over your summary about the fine-art tariffs.”

  Once they were back in the office, and Obreduur stopped to talk to Karola, presumably about appointments or meetings, Dekkard eased over to Ysella’s desk, noting again how stylish she looked in her conservative gray suit, with the silver and gold specialist pin in her left lapel.

  “You look very professional. How did the meeting with the women’s committee go?”

  “As it should have, I thought. We’ll have to see.”

  “Something rather odd, even ominous, happened while I was having lunch waiting for the councilor. I’ve told him, and we both thought you should know…” Dekkard relayed the conversation with Jaime Minz, finishing with, “The councilor said both of us should be more careful than ever.”

  “Then you’d better not be taking night walks alone.”

  “I haven’t, not recently. You shouldn’t be walking to the omnibus alone, either.”

  “Is that a proposition?” Ysella offered a mischievous smile.

  Almost before he recognized the smile, Dekkard had been about to tell her to be serious. He didn’t. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. Do you think I should?” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Go talk to the councilor. He’s looking at you.”

  “Later.”

  “Promises, promises…”

  Dekkard shook his head, then turned back toward Obreduur, following him into the office and closing the door.

  Obreduur didn’t seat himself, but picked up the summary sheet that Dekkard had written, looking at it as if to remind himself of what he previously read, then said, “Your summary suggests that valuing art-object imports at what they might bring here in Guldor is unfair. Why would you conclude that?”

  “Because that’s a judgment by the assessor. The only value the object has when assessed is what the importer paid for it. Whether that can accurately be determined is a separate question.”

  “So how would you suggest determining the tariff?”

  “It’s within the law to base the tariff on the purpose for which it is imported, not necessarily the purpose for which it was made in another country.”

  “Then you’re suggesting that such objects be tariffed at the rate for art, but based on their past price?” Obreduur said carefully.

  “No, sir. I’d contend that is a fair reading of the law. That may not be how customs assessors are handling it or what it should be.”

  Surprisingly to Dekkard, Obreduur smiled. “I’d have to agree. You can present that as a reading of the law, and then ask them if that is how they see the tariffs being applied, and if not, if they have any examples that I can use. Then ask them what specifically they recommend.”

  “Is there anything else you’d like me to do?”

  “Just listen. Don’t commit me to anything. Don’t even hint it. Just say that you understand the depth of their concerns and that you’ll convey those concerns, as well as any other suggestions they may have. Ask them if there’s anything else you should know…”

  After another few minutes of suggestions, Obreduur said, “That’s about all I can add. If I think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”

  When Dekkard left the inner office, his thoughts drifted back to what Minz had said, but there wasn’t much he could do at the moment.

  21

  FURDI morning dawned rainy once more, although the intensity was much less than on Tridi and the clouds not so dark, giving Dekkard hope that he might see sunshine by afternoon.

  He had barely seated himself at the staff room table when someone rang the door chimes insistently, and Rhosali hurried off. She returned several minutes later and announced, “It was an urgent message for the councilor. The Ritter took it himself.”

  “Was it a Council or Imperial messenger?” asked Ysella.

  “No. He was one of the private ones. He had a blue uniform with green piping.”

  The hint of a frown crossed Ysella’s face, then vanished. “Thank you.”

  Dekkard looked at Ysella, but she only gave a slight nod, confirming his feeling that urgent messages arriving at breakfast were anything but good. He also knew that Obreduur would inform Ysella and him only if the message affected them. So he just took another bite of his croissant, decidedly less flavorful with the tomato jelly, followed by another swallow of café.

  Then Hyelda appeared in the archway from the kitchen. “The councilor said he’d like to leave in a sixth.”

  “Thank you,” Dekkard replied, then finished his second croissant quickly, followed by the last drops of his café.

  By then Ysella had already left the staff room.

  Seven minutes later, Dekkard drove the Gresynt up under the portico roof. Obreduur and Ysella were waiting, and both entered the steamer quickly.

  “I apologize for having you both hurry,” explained Obreduur as Dekkard started down the drive. “Premier Ulrich decided late last night that the Military Affairs Committee would hold the hearing on the Kraffeist Affair first thing this morning. Notices did not arrive at the offices of Craft councilors until after all of us had departed. Craft Floor Leader Haarsfel sent the message I received when he found out early this morning. Consequently, I need to make some changes in your duties today. Svard will be the official Craft Party observer, and, Avraal, you will be accompanying him.” Obreduur paused, as if expecting a question.

  Dekkard asked, “To make certain there’s no hidden empath interference? Is that because she’s one of the
stronger empaths?”

  “Exactly,” replied Obreduur. “You will have to provide all my security, Steffan. Calling the hearing this way allows Ulrich and the Imperador to claim that they held a hearing open to the newssheets without giving them any time to write about it in advance or to cover it fully. Also, without advance notice, there is less likelihood of New Meritorist demonstrators, but they still might find out.”

  Dekkard did not point out the other obvious reason for not informing the Craft councilors in advance—that the Craft councilors on the Military Affairs Committee would have less time to prepare … or to be the ones informing the newssheets. “Might I ask, sir, if there was advance notice of what witnesses will be testifying?”

  “The official notice only stated that First Marshal Bernotte and other Imperial functionaries were being called to testify.” Obreduur’s voice was seemingly unstressed, although Dekkard doubted he was that calm.

  Calling the First Marshal as a witness was definitely surprising since the First Marshal, as the head of all Guldoran armed forces, was the only Guldoran minister chosen not by the Premier, but by the Imperador, although the Council could vote to remove the First Marshal, or the Fleet Marshal, also appointed by the Imperador, but not both at once. In no case could one be removed within seventy-two days of the other.

  Once Dekkard had the Gresynt on Altarama headed for Imperial Boulevard, Obreduur began to write, using the case that carried his papers as a portable desk. He continued writing until Dekkard pulled up to the covered entrance to the Council Office Building. Then he said, “Avraal will have to leave for the hearing immediately. I’d appreciate it if you’d avoid delays in getting to the office.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  After Dekkard dropped the two off, he quickly drove to the covered parking, secured the Gresynt, and walked swiftly toward the west entrance.

  Another figure hurried to join him—Amelya Detauran. “You’re in more of a hurry than usual, Steffan.”

  “Some days are like that,” he replied, not breaking stride, knowing that the muscular Detauran was more than capable of keeping up with him.