He had a very good idea why he’d been the first one to the portico, but only said, “Beautiful and elegant, as always.”
“You’ve never said that before.”
“I haven’t? I’ve certainly thought it.”
She paused, then studied him. “That looks even better on you than I recall. You could pass for a theatre idol.”
“I doubt anyone would mistake me for Novarte or even Thaller.”
“You’d be surprised.”
Shocked would be more like it. But Dekkard only offered an amused smile.
“No one seems to be observing us,” said Ysella. “Shall we go?”
“We shall,” returned Dekkard amiably.
The two stepped out from the shade of the portico into the steamy light of the early-midmorning sun under a heavy high haze and walked down the drive to the pedestrian gate, which Dekkard opened, then closed. They walked perhaps half a block before Dekkard spoke.
“You said that, in the long run, personal accountability for votes made by councilors would make little difference.”
“You never let go of things, do you?”
“Not when I need to know more. And sometimes, I’m just stubborn.”
“I was paraphrasing Obreduur. Men, and women, may be restrained by laws and force, but they’re governed by their self-image, their vanity, if you will. They seek more of what polishes that image. The New Meritorists think that if individual votes are made public, popular opinion will force councilors to be more accountable. It won’t. It will only make them accountable to the public or whoever can buy the public’s fickle feelings of the moment, rather than to their party. The vast majority of the public doesn’t care about fiscal discipline or consistent policies. That majority wants either to keep what they have … or more … immediately. Those who supply more or promise that have their self-images confirmed by popular approval. Councilors will not become more responsible or better. They’ll just become directly accountable to the fickleness of popular opinion.”
“And what’s just happened with Ulrich is better?”
“All countries have politicians who abuse power. That isn’t the question. The question is what forms of government effectively restrict such abuses without unduly restricting the liberties of their people. No government is inherently good. All governments have to restrict personal freedoms to keep the majority safe, safe from everything from bad food to evil individuals. The question isn’t which form of government is best. It’s which form of government provides the most benefit with the least restrictions.”
“You can justify any government by that standard.”
“You can,” replied Ysella evenly. “But why did your parents leave Argental?”
“What they could do as artists was limited.”
“Why was that?”
“Originally the rationale was that art that was not utilitarian wasted scarce resources.”
“And now?”
“Non-utilitarian art is frivolous and glorifies weakness.”
“So Argental restricts what artists can do and exiles susceptibles because they’re believed weak, instead of killing them as it used to. Guldor merely restricts knowing how individual councilors vote. Both lands have restrictions. Which set of restrictions do you prefer?”
“That’s not the question.” Dekkard managed to keep his voice level. “The question is how much better we can make government.”
“There’s a basic flaw in that statement. You’re assuming that the basic structure of the Great Charter can be improved. Is that assumption valid? Optimists always assume anything can be improved, and pessimists usually believe nothing can be. Can you point out any weakness and explain what improvement is necessary and why? Specifically, is there any proof that making each councilor’s vote public would improve the working of the government?”
“There’s no way of proving that without trying it,” replied Dekkard.
“And if we try it, and it doesn’t work, the way it didn’t work in Teknold, how do we return to the present system? You don’t think that there weren’t leaders in Teknold who didn’t try? Look up Joel Janhus in the Council Library.”
“You’ve studied all of this, haven’t you?”
“How else do you think the daughter of a very conservative Landor ended up working for a progressive Crafter councilor?”
“But … you’ve just said that you don’t want to change the system.”
“I don’t. Like Obreduur, I think we need to use the system to change the conditions. The Commercers and Landors have held power for too long. Any group that holds power for too long gets corrupt. You don’t burn the house down to get rid of the rodents. You concentrate on removing the rodents. What the New Meritorists are suggesting is burning the house down, and that won’t solve the problem. It just leaves you with greater problems. Now … enough of politics. It is a lovely day … if a trifle warm.”
Dekkard realized that they had covered eight blocks during their discussion, except he felt more like a dull pupil who failed his recitation, and they were nearing the white brick gateposts that marked the western border of East Quarter.
When they reached the stop for the omnibus, the sidewalk fronting the various stores on Imperial Boulevard had quite a few shoppers. And, as before, the handful of others waiting for the omnibus edged slightly away from Dekkard and Ysella.
Because we’re dressed a bit less casually … or is it because Ysella’s projecting something that makes people give us some space?
Once they were on the omnibus and seated on the lower level, not close to anyone else, Dekkard said gently, “You don’t like people to get too close to us, do you? People you don’t know, that is.”
“You noticed that?”
“I noticed it the first time, but I didn’t realize that it was you.”
“I don’t really do it consciously.”
Dekkard noted the almost apologetic tone, something he hadn’t heard often from Ysella. “I imagine it’s useful in escorting the councilor through crowds.”
She shook her head. “It takes a moment for people to react, and he doesn’t stand in one place for very long, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“Except in his personal office.”
“Where he spends every minute either reading or writing.”
Dekkard thought about that for several moments, then nodded. “He does send out quite a number of messages and letters.”
The omnibus turned onto Camelia Avenue, but after two blocks, in the middle of the gentle curve to the south, it slowed almost to a stop before turning right.
Dekkard immediately half stood to see the reason for the change in route. For a moment, all he could see were several Security patrollers directing traffic off the avenue. But then he saw scores of students with signs and banners on the top of the wall that marked the southern end of Imperial University. He also recognized some of the slogans on the signs.
PERSONAL ACCOUNTABILITY, NOT PARTY ACCOUNTABILITY.
OPEN ALL VOTING RECORDS.
JOBS BY ABILITY, NOT PARTY.
PERSONAL REPRESENTATIVES, NOT PARTY HACKS.
HIRE THE BEST, NOT THE BEST-CONNECTED.
ACCOUNTABLE COUNCILORS = GOOD GOVERNMENT.
There were others, but Dekkard couldn’t read them. “University students … with signs and slogans.”
Ysella rose and took a brief look before reseating herself. “No one will care, except other students. There won’t even be a mention in the newssheets.”
Dekkard looked around the omnibus. Of the two handfuls or so of passengers on the lower level perhaps three gave the students more than a passing glance. He saw several of the patrollers move toward the students before he lost sight of them. After traveling another four blocks, the driver turned north and after a block back onto Camelia. Dekkard stood and tried to see what was happening, but only gained an impression of students surging toward the patrollers.
He turned to Ysella. “There might be a brief mentio
n. It looked to me like the students were rushing the patrollers.”
“The newssheets won’t dare to print much more than that. Security will only allow enough to claim that they weren’t covering up whatever happened.”
Dekkard frowned. “The Great Charter allows freedom of factual expression.”
“The second half of that clause reads ‘consistent with the maintenance of order.’ The High Justiciary has held that so long as a factual reporting of actual events appears in print then Security is not exceeding its powers.”
Dekkard had the feeling that she was right about what would appear in Gestirn or even The Machtarn Tribune … or other newssheets across Guldor. “Doesn’t that bother you?”
“At the Council Hall demonstration, the protestors fired first. The idea was to get the Council Guards to fire back and kill and wound people so that New Meritorists could show how brutal the Council was. And if Security allowed such stories to be printed, the people who provoked the fire would be portrayed as victims. That’s what they want, to show the government as unreasonably repressive. Then, the next time, they’ll incite more violence, which will get more people injured or killed, some of them bystanders, and those bystanders and their friends and families will turn against the government. A totally unregulated press would just make the situation worse because sensational reports are like a drug. The more people get, the more they want. Yet they’ll insist that they don’t while they’re rushing to buy the latest sensational story.”
“You have a rather cynical view of people.”
“Look at how everyone wanted to hear and read more and more about the Kraffeist Affair. Didn’t you want to know more? I know I did.”
Dekkard had to admit that he’d been disappointed in not knowing the entire story behind the Naval Coal Reserve leasing scandal. “Is that the same as not reporting people being shot and killed?”
“The newssheets reported that people had been shot and killed. They didn’t name names because names have the power to raise emotions. They just didn’t give newsprint to demagogues who want to use the press as a way to support a revolution.”
“A revolution? Don’t they just want a change in how votes are reported?”
“Steffan…” Ysella’s tone held barely contained exasperation. “The voting procedures are part of the Great Charter. They were designed for a reason. That reason was to keep councilors from building personal political support, particularly support based on what they thought would appeal to people, as opposed to doing what they thought was best for everyone.”
“Or for their party.”
“That’s fair. It’s also a compromise, but at least the entire party has to take credit or blame … and not an individual. Do you honestly think it would be better if every councilor could campaign on the basis of promising to vote for all the popular measures and against all the unpopular ones? For all those that promised something for someone, and against all those that increased taxes and tariffs to pay for the popular promises? How long before government could not fund itself and its programs?”
Dekkard winced at that thought.
“The same thing applies to the newssheets. If they’re not reined in to some extent, they’d publish anything that increased their circulation and advertising fees.”
Dekkard could see that. Just where should a government draw the line between freedom of action and expression and excessive control and repression? Can you draw such a line?
Laureous the Great and the drafters of the Great Charter had thought so, but the Meritorists and the New Meritorists either didn’t like such lines or didn’t like where those lines were drawn … and Dekkard didn’t know which. “Do the New Meritorists even have a statement of their beliefs … or is it all just about opening up the voting process, with no thought about where it might lead?”
“There’s a statement of principles. Obreduur has a copy. He loaned it to me.”
“I’d like to see that … if it’s possible. I’d like to see how they represent themselves … or don’t.”
“You should ask Obreduur yourself. I returned it to him about three years back. When I had some of the same questions you’re asking.”
“Thank you. I will.” Although Ysella had had questions, Dekkard sensed she wasn’t entertaining them now. He wondered why, but perhaps the New Meritorists’ statement of principles would shed light on that, and any questions he had could wait until he read it.
After a short silence, Ysella said pleasantly, “You never said much about your sister except that she’s older than you, strong-willed, and a portraitist.”
“I did get some news in my mother’s last letter. Naralta has decided to move away from the studio she and Mother shared and to open her own studio. She thinks their styles are too different and that it’s hurting both of them.”
“I’d think the opposite, that it would give possible patrons a choice of which style they preferred.”
“I’d agree with you, and so does Mother, but Naralta is going to do what she’s going to do.” Dekkard smiled wryly. “It seems to be a family trait.”
“You were always going to be a security isolate?”
He shook his head. “I was determined I wasn’t going to be a fourth- or fifth-rate artisan just because everyone else in the family was an artisan. My father wanted to know why I’d ever want to work for anyone else. I told him that everyone works for someone else in some way, and since that was so, I wanted to do something I was good at. I had no idea what I could be good at. I don’t know that I’m the best security isolate, but I’m better at security than I ever would have been as an artisan.”
“It’s hard to know when you’re young and your talents aren’t what your family expects.”
“I take it that there aren’t any other empaths in your family?” asked Dekkard.
“Not that I know of. There was a great-aunt on my father’s side who mysteriously disappeared. No one who would talk about her knew why, and any who knew why wouldn’t say. I wasn’t skilled enough as an empath then to ask the right questions so that their reactions would tell me what I wanted to know. By the time I was, those who might have known were dead. I have the feeling I might have liked her, but you never know. There’s always so much that gets lost when people die. Do you know that much about your grandparents or their parents?”
“Not really. My father’s father was a plasterer…” By the time Dekkard had laid out what little he knew about his family background, the omnibus attendant announced, “Erslaan. Last stop. Everyone off.”
Dekkard followed Ysella off the omnibus and onto the white marble sidewalk. The two crossed the boulevard and headed north on Jacquez, leaving the stylish shopping area behind as they began the uphill walk. The little traffic on Jacquez lessened further once they passed the gray brick gateposts announcing the Hillside area. When they turned on Florinda Way, Dekkard half wondered if they’d see the susceptible boy who lived next door, but the adjoining house was shuttered, as if already closed for the summer.
Emrelda was at the door before they finished climbing the steps. This time she wore a blouse and skirt of muted rose.
“We’re a little late,” Ysella said. “The omnibus had to detour around a demonstration at the university, something about personal accountability.”
“It can’t have been much, or I’d have been asked to work today to free up others to patrol the demonstration.” Emrelda looked to Dekkard. “She was a few minutes late meeting you, wasn’t she?”
Dekkard grinned. “Just a few.”
Emrelda turned to her sister. “You guessed wrong in what he’d wear, didn’t you?”
Ysella laughed. “I had good odds.”
“Steffan’s not as predictable as you thought.” Emrelda stepped back and motioned toward the hallway. “Come on in. Markell’s on the veranda. It’s already summer, no matter what the calendar says.” She looked to Dekkard. “Chilled Kuhrs?”
“Please.”
“Silverhills white?”<
br />
“That would be very welcome,” replied Ysella.
“You two go say hello to Markell. I’ll be there with your drinks shortly.”
Dekkard followed Ysella out to the covered veranda, which wasn’t that much cooler than the house, except for the slightest hint of a breeze. Markell immediately stood. “Welcome to the not-so-cool coolest place around the house.”
“It’s cooler than staying at the councilor’s would have been. You have more of a breeze here.” Ysella sat in the chair to the right of Markell, who reseated himself.
“How is the Navy facility in Siincleer coming?” Dekkard settled into the upholstered white wicker chair around the low table and to Markell’s left.
“Two weeks further along than the last time you asked. The foundations are cured, and we’re working on the structural walls.”
“Do you have any better idea of what it will be?”
“Hard to say. We’re just constructing the building. I supervise the subcontractors who are and then report directly to Presidente Engaard. We’re still a fairly lean operation.” Markell smiled wryly. “That means I keep checking on the construction manager who’s on site, who in turn makes sure things happen on a day-to-day basis.”
“There aren’t any executives over you?” asked Dekkard. “That’s … rather unusual.”
“It is. It’s also why we don’t cost as much and why we’ve gotten contracts that used to go to Siincleer Engineering or Haasan.”
“Not Siincleer Shipbuilding?”
“Siincleer Engineering is a subsidiary of Siincleer Shipbuilding. In fact, Siincleer Shipbuilding will be the one supplying the equipment that fills the structure.”
“Surely you have a hint of what all that equipment will do, darling.” Emrelda arrived carrying a tray that held two beakers and two wineglasses, offering Dekkard a chilled lager, Markell a warmer lager, and her sister a white wine. She set the last wineglass in front of her wicker chair, and the tray in the middle of the table before seating herself and adding, “You mentioned magnificent mirrors…”
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