Fearful Symmetry (The Robert Fenaday and Shasti Rainhell Chronicle Book 2)

by Edward McKeown

  There was a sudden stir at the far end of the room; people fell back from the huge brass-covered pressure doors. Fenaday, Telisan, Rask and Mmok turned as one, sensing the disturbance as much as hearing it. Jalgren Pard strode into the room, wearing a dark gray suit and accompanied by his retinue of perfect people. But one did not notice them.

  “Jesus Christ,” Rask said, “he’s big as a tank.”

  It wasn’t far wrong, thought a dismayed Fenaday. He remembered Shasti’s face when he promised his help against Pard. “You would look like a small child next to him,” she said. It was true. Pard dwarfed Fenaday and all the other spacers, even most of the Olympians, not merely in height either. He massed twice Fenaday’s weight and though he had thickened with age, it was a thickness of muscle. He wondered how Shasti, powerful as she was, had ever bested him.

  “He’ll take a lot of killing,” Mmok whispered.

  “Fool,” Telisan hissed, “you, of all people, should beware of listening devices.”

  Fenaday put a hand on Telisan and Mmok’s shoulders, giving them both a little shake. They stopped glaring at each other. With a moment’s surprise, Fenaday realized they were scared. It probably sat ill with them, they who were seldom frightened by anything. Pard had that effect. Fenaday wondered if it was something subtle, designed into the genetic superman. Was it the face, with its large, somber features, like those of some ancient brooding king, provoking the fear? The image of Zeus, cannibal father and random slayer?

  Next to him stood two handsome younger men, probably the aides Mandela speculated on in his briefing, Vaughn and Antebei. A woman, smaller and older than Shasti, but still devastating in her beauty and fitness, stood to his other side. He remembered the name Alexa, another high Denshi official.

  Pard gave no sign of noticing them. Fenaday believed the assassin knew exactly where they were standing before he entered the room. Vice President Narva came toward them. She took Fenaday’s arm. “Captain,” she said, “there are some people you should meet.”

  Fenaday gestured at Fury and Rask to stay at the bar. “Telisan, Mmok, with me.”

  Flanked by his aides, Fenaday walked over to where Pard and a thin-faced man stood in conversation. Behind them stood the two young men. One was almost angelically handsome, but something cold and inhuman looked out of his eyes. It struck Fenaday suddenly, Michelangelo’s David, life, imitating art, imitating life. The other man was lean and tall, with a strong Germanic face and brilliant blue eyes. Both looked like they could put down their drinks and run a marathon. Oh for a Falstaff, a Fezziwig, or Jolly St. Nick, thought Fenaday. People with a broadness of spirit that could only come from some indulgence and the occasional human flaw.

  Fenaday stopped a pace away from Pard, surprising the vice president, whose arm slipped off his. The human took up a wide-legged stance. Pard turned to him, flanked by his aides, consciously or not, mirroring Telisan and Mmok. Tension rippled out from them into the room.

  A fragment of an old poem surfaced unbidden in Fenaday’s consciousness, as he looked up at the man he had come to destroy. Shasti’s enemy and by his sworn word, his.

  ‘Tyger, tyger, burning bright,

  in the forest of the night,

  what immortal hand or eye,

  could frame thy fearful symmetry?’

  Fearful it was. Pard’s arms were bigger than Fenaday’s legs. Just looking at him made Fenaday’s feel like water. Suddenly the memory of Shasti’s face, the pain and shame on it when she told him of the things Pard had done to her, lit a hot space in his chest. Fear slid away to be replaced with anger. Provoke him, he thought, I’ve got to provoke him. Then duck, he added mentally.

  “May I present Prime Minister Hagen of the Order of Geneticists,” Narva said, now showing some nervousness, perspiration beading on her silky, dark skin.

  “Minister,” Fenaday said with a dangerous softness. Several feet away, Hagen raised a glass in acknowledgment, saying nothing.

  “I would also like to present—” Narva began.

  “I know who he is,” Fenaday’s voice rose above the buzz of conversation. With deliberation he put both hands on his hips, ignoring Pard’s outstretched hand. Pard let it drop easily, apparently unperturbed.

  “As I know who you are,” Pard said in a deep, pleasing voice.

  “We share a common interest,” Fenaday said. “She sends you greetings. Despite your best efforts to have her murdered, even after she was a member of my crew, she is in good health. The same cannot be said of the butchers you sent after her.”

  “Captain Fenaday,” Narva, said shocked. In the distance Fenaday could see Pape exchanging urgent words with Ambassador Davis.

  “I’m afraid I do not know what you are talking about,” Pard said dryly.

  “Yes, you do. If you’d had any balls, you’d have gone after her yourself. But I understand she didn’t leave you those in working order.”

  Michelangelo’s David started a move and was instantly grabbed by his blue-eyed companion.

  “Keep hold of pretty boy,” Fenaday added, with a confidence he didn’t feel, “or his designer face won’t look so good.” He gestured with his head. “That her replacement? You’ve traded downward, old boy, just as she traded upward.”

  Pard gave the young man, struggling to break free of his companion, a volcanic glance that stopped him cold. He shuttered the look before turning back to Fenaday, all bland. All around the tableau, people stared.

  Damn it, Fenaday thought, swing at me or something.

  “I’m sure there is some mistake,” Narva said, clearly frightened now.

  “No mistake,” Fenaday said. He glared up at Pard, willing himself not to blink. Hit me, he thought, lose your temper, damn you.

  “Who might this mysterious acquaintance be?” General Dominici asked. She edged into the scene, giving every indication of enjoying it. Pard’s aides shifted from behind him, spreading out. In the background, several Army soldiers put down their drinks, starting a discreet approach.

  “Pard knows,” Fenaday said with a cutting smile, moving closer. Abruptly, he turned away from Pard and moved, managing to shoulder the young hotheaded aide. The man cursed and drew back an arm.

  “Antebei,” Pard growled.

  One word. In a tone that froze the young man and made the hair on Fenaday’s neck stand up. Like being at a real zoo, he thought, and hearing a real tiger, not a recording. Fenaday shivered, suppressing panic. Be mad, stay mad.

  Fenaday looked up into the young man’s rage-filled, perfect eyes, smiled, and barked a laugh.

  “General,” Pard said with an even tone. “Good evening.” He turned slowly, gesturing to Hagen, who stared at Fenaday without expression. Fenaday returned a cold smile. Pard and Hagen moved away, screened by their aides and several naval officers. It cost Pard a retreat, but he ended the confrontation. Not much victory, thought Fenaday bitterly, he retreats over ground he can afford to part with. I can’t follow.

  Fenaday headed for the bar. The natural refuge of the Irish, he thought. He passed Ambassador Davis, busy placating an upset President Pape, without a glance. The band changed tunes and people began talking in a harsh buzz. The looks given Fenaday and his people were a mixture of fear, curiosity and, in some cases, outright hatred. Several faces held something different: respect, interest? Perhaps Denshi weren’t completely popular even here.

  They made the bar without being cut down. A nervous bartender took their orders and retreated to the far end of the bar as quickly as he could.

  “When in doubt go for the balls, huh, Fenaday?” Mmok gave an evil grin.

  “I’ve got to provoke him,” Fenaday muttered. “What provokes a man more than thinking his woman is enjoying another man more?”

  “Good thing it wasn’t a question of size,” Mmok returned.

  “Well, they say it’s not what you got, but how you use it,” Fenaday said. “Not that you would measure up any better.”

  “That’s what you think,” the cyborg
said. “Not all my enhancements are visible.”

  Fenaday snorted a laugh, some of the tension and fear leaving him.

  Telisan looked at them, puzzled. Mmok and Fenaday rarely spoke, when they did it was terse. It seemed Pard had joined them, at least temporarily, in a bond built of hate and fear. “What follows?” he asked of the humans.

  Before Fenaday could answer, he saw General Dominici walking toward them. Several of her aides trailed her a good distance behind, out of earshot, but where they could watch her.

  “Mr. Fenaday,” she said, in a throaty but pleasing voice. “Gentlemen.”

  Telisan acknowledged the courtesy with a half bow. Mmok, as usual, grunted.

  “You have a taste for dangerous games,” Dominici said.

  “As do you,” Fenaday smiled, sipping his whiskey, “or why are you talking to me...”

  “After,” she interrupted, “you insulted the leading assassin of an order of assassins in public?”

  “Exactly.”

  Dominici looked at Mmok and Telisan. “Don’t you boys have somewhere to be?” she asked, smiling. They looked at Fenaday, confused.

  “Mingle,” Fenaday said. The two moved off into the crowd toward Fury and Rask. Fury, noted Fenaday, stood at the center of a group of young Olympian officers. Her diminutive good looks were making her a hit with the boys, as predicted.

  Fenaday found himself alone with Dominici. Her aides took up station at the other end of the bar, causing the bartender to flee to the opposite end. Dominici snagged him long enough to secure a glass of champagne.

  “Bartenders have excellent instincts,” she observed.

  “Apparently other people share his concerns,” Fenaday said wryly. “Maybe they think I will spontaneously combust.”

  “Pard has been known to make such things happen. For far less insult than you just dealt him tonight.”

  “Maybe he will try,” Fenaday said. “My death could come with a high price tag.”

  “You’re hoping he’ll try,” Dominici stated.

  Fenaday studied the Olympian. Her eyes, half hidden behind sooty thick lashes, betrayed nothing beyond an ironic sense of humor. She had the Mediterranean features her name suggested, olive skin, large brown eyes, full lips. Her body suffered little from the tailored military uniform.

  “Why would I want that?” he asked, buying time to think.

  “Oh please,” she replied, smiling again. “Reconnaissance by fire is an old technique. As long as Pard doesn’t strike at you, there is no way to press him. No way to force your way downworld, where you want to go, at least with freedom to move.”

  Fenaday looked out over the crowd. He caught a fell glare from the man Pard called Antebei. He stood near the entranceway, staring. Fenaday grinned broadly, and the perfect man’s features spasmed in rage. He spun and stalked out.

  “Pard’s catamite?” he speculated.

  Dominici smiled again, “Pard likes them young, but I never heard of him liking boys. My information is that he likes girls. Young, tall, with green eyes and black hair on ivory skin.”

  He turned quickly, provoking a shift in her aides, quelled by a razor glance from her.

  “You seem to know a great deal about his likes,” he managed.

  “Oh, yes, his and yours,” she replied sweetly. “May I call you Robert?”

  “Where is this going, General?”

  “And you may call me Maria,” she said. “I think you and I should talk, privately.”

  “Yes.”

  “But not here,” she said, “I have already been greatly daring. I have secure quarters on the far side of the station, Army territory. I’ll send an aide to find you a half hour after the reception ends. Denshi Security will not like it, but they dare not interfere.” With that, Dominici gave him a dazzling smile, ran her hand over his upper arm suggestively and slipped away. Her aides filed in behind her.

  Fenaday was not alone at the bar long. Telisan and the others quickly drifted over.

  “What happened?” Telisan asked.

  “An invitation,” Fenaday murmured.

  *****

  Pard’s retinue followed him down the corridor. Once they reached the secured Denshi Area, Pard rounded on Antebei, who’d lagged behind.

  “What idiocy was that?” he growled.

  “Sir,” Antebei said woodenly.

  “You allowed a standard human to control you, to play on you like a musical instrument. Is this superiority?”

  Antebei looked at the floor like a child. It tasked Pard’s patience. “Return to the shuttle,” Pard said. “Await us there.”

  “Yes sir,” Antebei said, his face and voice carefully neutral. Pard saw further and knew the young man was seething. Antebei’s bodyguard followed him out.

  Pard looked at Vaughn, who looked back, his face expressionless for all that he could only be happy with his chief rival’s troubles.

  “Take charge here,” Pard ordered. “Admiral Rissi has already mishandled Fenaday once. Prevent him from doing so again. Minimize friction between Army and Navy Security. Do not allow Dominici to gain further from the incident. You will not succeed in keeping her from Fenaday, but I doubt the dissolute slut’s interest is much beyond adding another notch to her bedpost.”

  “Yes, sir.” Vaughn exited smartly with Misa Tanaka following him.

  “The rest of you have your assignments,” Pard announced. The other Denshi operatives dispersed, leaving only Pard, his personal guard, Salmot and Hagen. A detail of Hagen’s proctors stood a discreet distance away.

  “What do we do about Fenaday?” Hagen demanded.

  Pard gusted a sigh. “Ignore him. He can do nothing against us so long as we give him no opening. Shower him with awards and honors, surround him with dignitaries and vid-stars. Run out his time.

  “We must keep control of his visit and his itinerary. That fool, Rissi, almost cost us that control by flinging a nuke at an interstellar hero. Those who saw the incident in there will forgive Fenaday’s temper tantrum. Had Antebei or I struck him, regardless of the provocation, neither the public nor our enemies would ignore the outburst. Disgrace is dangerous in politics.”

  “But the accusation, the attack—” Hagen began.

  “Mean nothing,” Pard cut in. “We control both houses of Parliament, the Presidency, and you head the Eugenics Board. Our position cannot be assailed. Only our own mistakes can damage us.”

  “I admire your self-control,” Hagen said, “after the things he said to you.”

  “Then emulate it,” Pard snapped.

  Hagen nodded, lips pursed.

  Pard realized that he’d been too harsh. “Come, Minister, are we going to allow this near monkey to disturb our plans? He’s probably off somewhere struggling with a banana right now.”

  Hagen barked a laugh. “As you say, Lord Pard. I shall see you back on the surface.” He walked toward his escort of proctors.

  Pard turned and headed for the shuttle. Salmot trailed him silently. It pleased Pard to think of Fenaday as a mere monkey. The thought that Fenaday would seek a physical confrontation became almost amusing. Pard could crush a standard human like Fenaday with a single blow. He flexed the powerful muscles of his forearms then calmed himself. I’ve lived for over eighty years and no man has bested me, he thought.

  But one woman has, came the thought, unbidden and unwelcome. Shasti, his most precious possession, turned on him, injured him and fled him. Now she disgraced herself by mating with this monkey. It filled him with disgust.

  How could she? he wondered. Fenaday stood barely six feet tall. His asymmetrical face held neither beauty nor design. There existed no field of physical endeavor in which Fenaday could compete with him. She must be mad, he thought, or else it is a deliberate attempt to get back at me by debasing herself with this random work of nature.

  True, he thought, I put constraints on her, demands, but she lacked for no physical comfort. Her sexual naïveté, assuming that it was all pleasure and no pain, had bee
n an obstacle. Perhaps I brought her along too far, too fast. But I created her for my needs, to my specifications, having no higher purpose. That might have been my mistake, he mused. I made her too strong and too fast. In the end it was like adopting a tiger cub. As the creature grew it became more and more dangerous, requiring more and more controls. Yet controlling her made the pleasures all the sweeter. It proved his dominance and strength.

  I am not to be ruled or controlled by women, he thought. It’s how the weak control the strong, with ties of deference and culture. There is only power. Dominate or be dominated.

  The guards and attendants saluted or stepped out of his path. Pard strode aboard his personal shuttle. Doors sealed behind him. The captain, an Engineered Denshi operative, stood at attention.

  “Everything is ready, Lord,” the young woman said. “We are awaiting your command.”

  “Excellent,” he replied. “Take me back to Marathon, Captain.”

  Minutes later the shuttle kicked free of Hermes' Shield, leaving Pard’s enemy stranded behind him, impotent.

  Chapter Ten

  The reception did not last long after the incident. The president coolly, but appropriately, congratulated Fenaday and his people on their service in the Enshar Expedition. Mercifully, Pape did not actually hang medals on them, simply handing them the boxes to desultory applause. He invited Fenaday and his senior officers to a tour of the Capital in the morning, under a heavy Navy/Denshi escort. A naval attaché offered them quarters, which they accepted for a few hours, announcing their intention to return to Sidhe for the night. The latter seemed to offend their Navy host, but Fenaday insisted on it. The attaché left to inform his superiors. Fenaday’s party found themselves alone again in the large ballroom.

  But not for long, Ambassador Davis stalked over, pushing past Telisan and Fury to seize Fenaday’s arm. “What in Hell were you doing?” he spat. “One diplomatic incident isn’t enough for you? The president is incensed over that scene with Lord Pard.”

  Fenaday casually reached over, placing his thumb on a pressure point in the middle of the ambassador’s forearm. Davis winced as his hand involuntarily opened and Fenaday pushed his arm away. “I told you,” Fenaday said with an elaborate calm he did not feel, “that I needed to get free of Navy and Denshi security. The Navy tried to nuke us coming in. If I could get Pard to lose his temper and pop me, we might have been able to embarrass the government into removing both Denshi and Navy security. You don’t think I was chest-bumping with that monster for ego, do you? It was a slim chance, I’ll grant, but it almost worked. Michelangelo was going to swing. Pard stopped him.”