Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “If the elections go well, we might be able to do something about it.”

  “First we have to win, Guilhohn,” Obreduur said quietly.

  And persuade enough Landors and Commercers to support him. And Dekkard wondered if that that might not be even more difficult.

  In a few more minutes, the limousine came to a stop outside the east entrance to the Council Hall, where Dekkard and Avraal immediately got out and checked the entrance area before Dekkard opened the rear door. But there was no one outside the doors except for the Council Guards, who appeared no more and no less interested than they usually did, although they didn’t ask for passcards, possibly because they recognized Haarsfel.

  Once inside the Council Hall, Avraal asked, “Where are we going?”

  “To the floor office. I need to get the proper stationery to send out those two letters and to notify the lieutenant-at-arms that he’ll need to send two of his messengers to two ministries this afternoon. Then we’ll go to the regular office to prepare them for dispatch.”

  “I’ll walk with you,” said Haarsfel. “I’m certain that Hansaal will be waiting there to see what happened, hoping that he has a chance to be premier, even for two weeks.”

  Just as Haarsfel had predicted, waiting just outside the floor office of the Premier was Hansaal Volkaar, the Commerce Party floor leader. “So you’re the acting Premier now, Axel?”

  “For two weeks and a day or two. Then we’ll see.”

  “You’re going to move in here this moment? Not wasting any time, are you?”

  “No. I’m not moving in at all,” declared Obreduur. “I am going to pick up some stationery and the seals necessary to handle the requirements of a temporary premier, as well as several suggestions from the Imperador. But I’ll be operating out of my own office. The elections will decide who moves into the floor office.”

  “Noble of you.”

  “I’m not trying to be noble or ignoble, just practical.”

  “This is just a brief aberration, Axel. Nothing more.”

  “What’s happened is definitely an aberration, Hansaal, except it’s been anything but brief. After the elections, whatever happens, I hope we can return to the original practices of the Great Charter. I’d look forward to that.” Obreduur smiled warmly.

  Volkaar frowned. “They were too idealistic to last. That’s why they didn’t.”

  “That’s where we’re a little different. I’d like to see if we can make that idealism work again. But we can talk about that later.”

  Volkaar offered an amused smile. “There won’t be any need for that, I’m sure.”

  Then he turned and walked away.

  In less than a sixth after he entered the floor office of the Premier, Obreduur had what he needed. “I’ll carry it all. If anyone should attack, you both need your hands free.”

  The walk back to the Council Office Building was uninterrupted, but when the three reached the top of the staircase and walked toward the office, the door to the office of each of the Craft councilors between the center stairs and Obreduur’s office was open, and a staffer would ask, most politely, “Is it really true?” Or words to that effect.

  Obreduur’s response was largely the same. “That the Imperador accepted me as acting premier? Yes, it is. For two weeks, and then we’ll see what the election brings.”

  All the rest of Obreduur’s staff stood waiting around Karola’s desk.

  Before anyone could ask, Obreduur smiled, then said, “Yes. Temporary or acting premier until the election results are known. All of you are going to be very, very busy. Now … I need just a moment with Avraal and Steffan to discuss security arrangements. Then everyone can join us.”

  Obreduur led the way into the inner office. Dekkard came last and closed the door.

  “Security arrangements?” asked Avraal sardonically.

  “That’s not all, but they’re simple. You two, both of you, will need to be with me everywhere outside of this office or the house, at least until the elections. Also, I can’t ask for Wyath’s and Munchyn’s resignations by letter. I’ll have to invite them here, and you’ll need to screen them and whoever comes with them this afternoon. That’s it. Now … any questions I can answer quickly?”

  “Can you tell us what the Imperador said?” asked Dekkard.

  “If it stays between you two … and Ingrella.”

  “It absolutely will,” replied Dekkard.

  “He said that he had no choice because of what was in the petition sent to him by the High Justiciary and because the STF had been caught planting weapons on dead unarmed protestors.”

  “He didn’t mention the patrollers being against the STF?” asked Dekkard.

  Obreduur smiled faintly. “He didn’t, and it wouldn’t have been wise for me to say anything about it. I have no doubt that he mentioned it to Ulrich and didn’t like what Ulrich said. I doubt he would have even considered asking for a Craft selection for premier otherwise.”

  “Was there anything else,” prompted Avraal.

  “He also said that if whoever wins the election cannot improve the situation, he won’t hesitate to call another election.”

  “You can interpret that at least two ways,” said Avraal sardonically.

  Obreduur shook his head. “Just one. He wants the unrest stopped, and he wants it done quickly and effectively. The problem is that whatever is quick won’t be effective in the long run, and whatever is effective in the long run won’t be quick.”

  “What if you show improvement?” asked Avraal.

  “That might buy time.”

  “What about showing him some of the long-standing problems created by the Commercers?” asked Dekkard.

  “That might give us a little more time. But we have to win the election, or all of that doesn’t matter in the slightest. Now … you’d better open the door.”

  Dekkard did, and for the next sixth Obreduur explained what had happened, then eased everyone out by saying, “I need to write two letters immediately so that I can get them dispatched.”

  Dekkard forced himself to concentrate on dealing with the letters on his desk that seemed a great deal more mundane. Except they aren’t mundane to the writers. With that thought, concentration became a bit easier.

  In less than half a bell, Obreduur dispatched the two letters by special messenger and then retreated into his office. Within another third, he handed a number of handwritten notes to Karola for dispatch to other councilors. Another third passed, and more notes went out.

  Just about the time that Dekkard finished the last of his drafts and returned to his desk after giving them to Margrit, the office door opened, and a Council Guard stepped inside. “Security Minister Wyath to see the Premier.”

  Both Dekkard and Avraal stood.

  The man who followed the guard was thin, from his long face to his polished black shoes, his hair gray, with watery blue eyes somehow magnified by the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses. His suit was security blue, his shirt white, his cravat a plain rich blue. Wyath walked straight toward the door to the inner office without speaking. A second Council Guard stepped into the office, and the two stood flanking the door.

  Dekkard glanced to Avraal, who nodded. At her nod, Karola opened the inner door and announced, “Security Minister Wyath, sir.”

  “Have him come in.”

  Wyath entered the office silently, and Karola closed the door.

  Dekkard and Avraal moved and took positions on each side of the door.

  Dekkard could hear voices, if barely. After less than five minutes, the voices stopped, and the office door opened. Wyath stepped out and walked to the outer door, where one of the Council Guards opened it, and the three left the office without a word.

  Since Wyath had left the door to Obreduur’s personal office open, Dekkard took the liberty of looking in.

  Obreduur stood by the half-open window, then turned. “You and Avraal can come in. Close the door.”

  Dekkard motioned for Avraal t
o enter, then followed and shut the door.

  “He had a letter of resignation in hand. He didn’t say much, except that he knew the Imperador and the government needed someone to blame. He also said that anyone who followed him wouldn’t have the option of doing much differently from what he’d done.”

  That didn’t surprise Dekkard.

  “What I could feel, besides a certain disgust,” said Avraal, “is that he’s the kind who can’t see anything but what he believes is so, even when there’s evidence to the contrary.”

  “At times, we’re all like that, I think,” replied Obreduur. “That’s why it’s vital to have those around you whom you trust but who don’t think the way you do. I didn’t realize that until I married Ingrella. Too many politicians don’t, and the more power you have, the easier it is to shut out what you don’t want to hear.”

  “Do you think Munchyn will be the same?”

  Obreduur smiled wryly. “I have no idea, because I’ve never met with him. We’ll see.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Avraal. “We’ll leave you to deal with everything.”

  “I do have a few more notes to write, and a letter to the acting Minister of Security directing him not to have STF forces fire on anyone unless they’re attacked with firearms or unless he’s secured permission from me.”

  The two left, and Dekkard closed the door quietly and returned to his desk, taking out the notes he’d been working on in trying to lay out a set of steps to deal with the New Meritorists. A little optimistic, aren’t you? Except that he didn’t see anyone thinking about it, and it was better than just sitting at his desk.

  Just before third bell, and well after Karola had dispatched more notes and at least one letter, another Council Guard opened the office door and announced, “Treasury Minister Munchyn to see the Premier.”

  Unlike Wyath, Munchyn looked more like a rotund chipmunk who barely came to Dekkard’s nose, except that his eyes were small and a cold icy green. Like Wyath, he ignored the staffers in the outer office and walked straight to the door Karola had opened for him as she announced his arrival.

  Dekkard and Avraal once more positioned themselves outside the door.

  “He’s mean,” she murmured. “And angry.”

  “Do we need to—”

  “Not yet.”

  Then abruptly, she opened the door and stepped inside.

  Dekkard followed, truncheon in hand, moving past Avraal, toward Munchyn, who had frozen for an instant, slamming the truncheon down across the minister’s wrist. Something that looked like a wooden pistol dropped to the floor.

  Munchyn started to reach for something else, but he doubled over as Dekkard brought the truncheon up into his celiac plexus.

  Two of the Council Guards burst into the room.

  “He tried to kill the Premier,” said Avraal calmly. “There’s a wooden dart sling on the floor in front of the desk.”

  Obreduur looked totally aghast.

  “You … can’t … make … me…” gasped Munchyn, his hand fumbling something toward his face, as one of the Council Guards straightened him up.

  “No!” snapped Dekkard, but he couldn’t reach Munchyn with hand or truncheon as the guard pulled the Treasury Minister back and upright.

  Munchyn jabbed the short needle-like miniature blade into the side of his own neck. In moments, he was convulsing.

  “Frog poison,” declared one of the guards.

  “Take him to the infirmary and have the Council doctor make sure. I’ll need a report.”

  “Yes, sir.” The younger guard looked stunned. “Sir … the Treasury Minister … we never thought…”

  “Neither did any of us,” replied Obreduur.

  Two thirds later, after the guards had carted off Munchyn’s body, and the Guard Captain had apologized at least several times, and posted two guards outside the office in the corridor, the entire staff stood inside the inner office, while Obreduur related what had happened, ending with “… without Steffan and Avraal you all would be mourning my untimely heart attack … or, given them, possibly my murder by a Treasury Minister distraught by being removed from his position.”

  “There haven’t even been elections,” said Macri. “Why would he try to kill you now?”

  “They must have figured this would be the one chance where I wouldn’t be heavily guarded.”

  “That means,” said Dekkard, “the Commercers, or some of them, think the Craft Party has a good chance of winning the elections. Otherwise, they wouldn’t bother.”

  “It also means that you two”—Obreduur looked to Dekkard and Avraal, standing side by side—“are going to have to be even closer to me until the elections. If we win, the risk won’t be quite as great. Then the Commercers will shift to trying to sabotage whatever plans we have.” He paused, smiled sardonically, and added, “I don’t know about any of you, but I’ve had enough excitement for the day. It’s time to go home.”

  87

  DESPITE the excitement in the office earlier, Obreduur decided that the family would still attend services at the East Quarter Trinitarian Chapel on Quindi evening. Whether that was to offer thanks or an attempt to maintain a family routine, Dekkard had no idea. Either way, neither he nor Avraal sensed anything wrong before and during the service, and the return to the house went smoothly, as did dinner.

  After eating, Dekkard and Avraal retreated to the portico.

  “With things so unsettled, I don’t know that we can go to Emrelda’s tomorrow,” said Dekkard. “She’d have to come here to see you.”

  “To see us,” corrected Avraal. “But she has the same problem. She sent a note saying that she’ll have to work tomorrow and it’s noon to second night bell.”

  “Did she say why?”

  “Only that the demonstrations had disrupted every station in Machtarn. Can you imagine that?” she added sarcastically.

  “You didn’t sense anything unusual about Wyath, then?”

  “I didn’t say that. He was mostly disgusted that he had to submit his resignation to an acting premier, I suspect particularly to an acting Craft premier.”

  “Obreduur said he couldn’t ask for his resignation by a letter.”

  “He had to know what a letter effectively ordering his presence meant,” Avraal pointed out. “He had the letter of resignation ready. That was just to get it over with as soon as possible.”

  “Do you think he knew what Munchyn would try?”

  “I doubt it. I couldn’t feel enough beyond Munchyn’s anger to sense much more, but Munchyn was prepared.”

  “So he had to be aware Obreduur was looking into the tariff underassessment problem, and there had to have been enough evidence that he couldn’t get rid of it or claim he wasn’t involved. That also means that what Carlos Baartol discovered circumstantially is more than circumstantial, and that some large corporacions and their subsidiaries are involved. Still … to try to murder even an acting premier?”

  “There has to be more there,” concluded Avraal.

  “What exactly did you project to slow Munchyn?”

  “Slobbery dog-like affection, followed by ice. Hate would have bounced right off him, and I had the feeling that nausea might have as well. He’s the type who lives with self-loathing all the time … or lived with it.”

  “There’s a certain benefit to being an isolate,” Dekkard said. “I don’t know how you live amid a swirl of feelings.”

  “I don’t, Steffan,” she replied gently. “I can block all but the strongest emotions without much trouble. I can’t do it when I’m on duty, though, not when I have to be able to sense purpose, anger, or hate from as far away as possible.”

  “Can all empaths do that?”

  “No. Most lower-grade empies can’t. That’s why most people think empaths feel everything. But less sensitive empies don’t need to because they don’t sense as deeply.”

  “How do you feel about being with an isolate whose feelings you can’t ever sense?”

  A
vraal laughed softly. “I love it, just as…” She hesitated. “… just as I love you.”

  “I love you. I hope you, somehow, can feel that.”

  She smiled. “I know that. In Oersynt, at the Fairwind, you weren’t protecting Obreduur so much as me. I could see that.”

  “Don’t tell him,” Dekkard said dryly, feeling both chagrinned that he was so transparent and relieved that she understood.

  “I’m sure he already knows that. That’s another reason why I decided to carry throwing knives. We have to keep him safe.”

  I still have to keep you both safe. But all Dekkard said was, “I know.”

  “Just hold me for a bit. We have a long two weeks ahead.”

  That was something Dekkard already knew, but he was more than willing to comply with her request. More than willing.

  88

  FINDI morning Dekkard woke at his normal weekday time, even though there was no reason to. He washed and shaved, but donned older clothes for breakfast and made his way downstairs to an empty staff room. To his surprise, there was a copy of Gestirn on the side table. He began to read.

  The lines across the top and just below the masthead stated that Gestirn was resuming printing after the interim Premier had lifted the restrictions imposed by the former Minister of Security, who had resigned at the request of the acting Premier. The first article was short.

  Early yesterday morning, Imperador Laureous requested the resignation of Oskaar Ulrich, both as Premier and as a Councilor of the Sixty-Six, and called for new elections to take place on Findi, 12 Fallfirst 1266. No reason was given. The Imperador also requested that the Craft Party present a candidate as acting Premier, since with the resignation of former Premier Ulrich and an unfilled Commerce seat in the Council, the Craft Party presently holds the plurality of seats. That candidate, Axel Obreduur, Councilor from Oersynt District, was accepted by the Imperador.