“I have,” Norah said. “At least so far, the police are staying well clear. We’ve been monitoring their frequencies, and they’ve been keeping themselves busy with the protestors down at the Hall of Government. It looks like they’ve been told to back off and let the Paladin handle it.”
“Too bad it isn’t the right Paladin,” said Hansel. “We should have sent the council a memo.”
“Not funny,” Norah snapped.
“Calm down,” Cullen said. “These things happen. If GioAvanti fails, the demand for someone of greater experience will be that much louder.”
He tapped the red circle on the map that marked the location of the next targeted warehouse. “Write that one off. We’ll have lost three supply caches. Not good, but we can live with it.”
Picking up the grease pencil, he circled the fourth warehouse in the line. “This is where we’ll fight it out. Everyone else, get the supplies out to the cadres. The timetable just got advanced by a few hours.”
He looked at the map again and rethought his strategy. “Hmm. With a hasty defense of that fourth site, we may well lose it as well. Change of plans—how do you feel about an ambush, say, here?”
He indicated a spot halfway between the fourth location and the fifth.
“I feel strongly positive about it, sir,” Hansel said.
“I was hoping you would,” Cullen told him. “You’re going to lead it. Take what you need, and get going. If this plan is going to work, you have to defeat GioAvanti.”
54
Chamber of Paladins, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
20 December 3134
The brief clouds of dawn were passing, and a sapphire sky emerged. The sunlight glinting off the snow-covered Alps was almost blinding. It would have been a beautiful day if it weren’t for the wind riding cold through the streets.
Jonah Levin stood in his private lavatory, spreading lather over his face. It wouldn’t do to show up at an election unshaven.
He’d always believed formal occasions called for a sharp razor and shaving cream, and occasions didn’t get much more formal than this one. He also needed to get his hair in some sort of order, and it wouldn’t hurt to find a press for his uniform. He wasn’t sure the building had one.
If I had a staff, he thought, I could send someone out to get it pressed. Something to think about next time I come back—which I hope isn’t for four more years.
His grooming efforts seemed to be working. Looking at his reflection, he thought he looked quite normal. Except for the eyes. His eyes couldn’t hide the lack of sleep.
Maybe fresh air would help.
The bright sunlight almost blinded him, while the wind cut through his uniform as soon as he stepped outside. It was uncomfortable but beautiful, and Jonah could only think of one thing—if I finish this right, this is a sight Senator Mallowes won’t see for many years.
No more than seven people in Geneva knew Mallowes was in custody, and one of them, Agnes, was in the cell next to him. The others were Jonah, Heather, Burton Horn, Gareth Sinclair, and the two guards who each held a button capable of sending a shock to the collar on Mallowes’ neck. They were under strict orders to only use the device in case of an attempted escape, but part of Jonah wouldn’t be too upset if they forgot their orders.
He immediately remonstrated with himself. That’s a Mallowes thought.
Outside, the expected protesters were already gathering in the open square. Their demonstrations looked orderly for the time being—the protestors in the front ranks, at least, were standing in a straight line and seemed to barely be raising their voices. They held signs and placards, some of them handmade, others professionally printed.CAPELLANS BELONG UNDERFOOT , one said;KEEP THE CLANS OFF TERRA , another; a third,DAVID MCKINNON FOR EXARCH .
Jonah carefully studied each sign, hoping one of them would finally make it clear what he should do with his vote. But he found none of the signs overly convincing. Apparently the persuasive value of a placard was overestimated.
“Paladin Levin!”
The voice came to him from beyond the crowd with unnatural clarity and distinction. Jonah looked for the source, and saw a tri-vid reporter running toward him, her videographer hovering at her elbow. He debated ducking inside, but didn’t.
“Paladin Levin! Can you give us any hint about who’s in the running to be the next Exarch?”
“I’m afraid not. I’ll vote my conscience, but that’s all I know.”
“Can you tell us who you, personally, support?”
“No, I really can’t. And even if I could, I probably shouldn’t. We’ll work out negotiations as a council, rather than passing notes through the media. With all due respect, of course.”
“Surely you’ve heard some of the comments from Anders Kessel regarding the balance of power with the passing of Victor Steiner-Davion?”
Jonah almost laughed. “No. I honestly haven’t. Now I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me.”
He ducked inside, and the reporter turned to look for fresh prey.
Instead of returning to the higher floors, he walked over to the main rotunda. It was echoing and empty, a far cry from the noisy, crowded place that it had been on the day of the opening convocation. Today, spectators and reporters were banned from the building. The proceedings were for Paladins alone.
He continued on through the rotunda into the meeting chamber, and found it almost, but not entirely, empty. The huge windows on the wall opposite the Exarch’s chair admitted streams of sunlight, as well as images of hundreds of protestors shouting soundlessly. To them, the window appeared as a solid wall.
Jonah had to walk some distance before he was close to actual people. Seventeen Paladins didn’t take up much space in a room built to hold several hundred people. Any comments the Paladins were making to each other were swallowed by the room long before they reached Jonah’s ears.
No, Jonah realized. Not even seventeen Paladins. A quick scan told him Heather GioAvanti was not there.
He spotted David McKinnon’s tall, gray-haired figure, down where the Paladins’ desks were arranged in their open-horseshoe configuration in front of the Exarch’s podium. Jonah decided McKinnon would be as good a place to start as any. The man might be a bit of a political fossil, but at least he was an honest one. After spending too much time recently in the company of men like Geoffrey Mallowes, McKinnon’s straightforwardness would be refreshing.
“Good morning, David.”
“Paladin Levin.” McKinnon was one who stood on ceremony, particularly at a time like this. “It’s an extraordinary morning.”
“Perhaps it will be.”
“Seventeen people are meeting to decide the fate of two hundred fifty planets. It cannot help but be extraordinary.”
“I suppose that’s true. Do you have word on Heather’s whereabouts?”
“No. I was hoping you would know.” McKinnon’s glance turned slightly sideways. “I understand the two of you have been quite busy.”
If it were anyone else, Jonah might think McKinnon was attempting a subtle innuendo. But it was McKinnon—the question was about nothing more than their investigation.
“We have been. Though I imagine the whole council has been.”
“True enough. But word of your activities has traveled, though the reports I hear are conflicting. Would you care to clarify anything about your work?”
“I would.” Jonah saw McKinnon lean forward almost unwillingly, eager for a piece of information most Paladins didn’t have. “I’ll be informing everyone of my progress before we vote.”
McKinnon concealed his disappointment well. “I look forward to your report. Excuse me, please.”
It was a simple game, Jonah thought. I’ve got nothing for him, so he moves on to the next player.
Jonah wondered who he should speak with next, then realized that most of them would ask the same question as McKinnon—everyone except Sinclair. He walked over to the junior Paladin’s seat, where S
inclair chatted idly with Janella Lakewood.
“Good morning, Gareth.”
“Hi, Jonah. Seems like I haven’t seen you in nearly six hours.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“No. But the way things look here, I’ll probably be able to grab a few winks during our deliberations.”
It was an immense relief to talk to Sinclair without the pall of suspicion hanging over his head. His youth and cheerfulness would be a welcome addition to a council that often threatened to become overly grim.
Jonah glanced down at Sinclair’s desk. “Your screen’s not on.”
“Do you think I’ll need it?”
“Definitely.” He tapped the screen. “That’s where the real horse-trading happens.”
“Horse-trading doesn’t strike me as one of your interests.”
“It isn’t,” Jonah admitted. “But that doesn’t keep the rest of them from approaching me.”
Sinclair and Lakewood both palmed the panels near their screens, powering them up and logging them on simultaneously. Meanwhile, the surrounding conversations slowly grew louder. Some of them simply seemed to be getting excited about the election, but other tones were turning heated. Eventually, the strong, bell-like tones of Tyrina Drummond rose above the rest.
“We cannot cast a final ballot without her,” Drummond said. “There is no reason we cannot begin preliminary discussions and ballots. This is the time. I see no reason to delay.”
She stood directly in front of the Exarch’s chair, which Jonah had always found unnecessarily thronelike. The chair was concealed by a large, blank screen. Soon that screen would display the future of The Republic.
“How do we tell which ballots are preliminary and which are final?” asked Janella Lakewood.
Drummond cast her the iron stare that only Clan-born warriors could give. “We announce it. Before each ballot, we announce if it is preliminary or final. Naturally, all ballots before Paladin GioAvanti arrives will be preliminary.”
“Are we locked into voting for the same person each time? How do we change?” Lakewood asked.
If anything, Drummond’s glare became more withering. “You vote for whom you wish each ballot. If you wish to change your vote, change your vote. You may alter it as often as you choose.”
“I’m not sure I understand the purpose of the preliminary ballots, then.”
Anders Kessel, presenting himself with every inch of his noble bearing, stepped forward to answer. “Consider it a time for us all to get acquainted,” he said kindly. “We’ll get to know each other better, learn a little bit more about whom our companions believe is fit to be Exarch. That knowledge will help us move toward the final ballot.”
That was certainly Kessel’s plan, Jonah thought. He knew Kessel wanted as many preliminary ballots as possible. The more time he had, and the better he could gauge the opinions of the other Paladins, the better chance he had to bring others into an alliance to push the candidate of his choice into the position of Exarch. In this election, Jonah was fairly sure that Kessel’s candidate of choice was Kelson Sorenson.
“Is either of you making a motion?” Thaddeus Marik said.
“Yes,” Drummond said. “I move that we commence deliberation and preliminary balloting.”
“We cannot hold deliberations without the entire council!” Mandela insisted.
“Then I move we commence discussion and preliminary balloting,” Drummond said, unruffled—at least for the moment.
“Seconded,” Kessel said.
It was time. “Before we vote on the motion,” Jonah said, “I’d like to clear something up.”
Fifteen heads turned toward him. Jonah’s collected utterances in council meetings could fill a book approximately five pages long. Today, he’d probably double that by the first ballot.
“Yes?” Kessel asked.
“I just want to be sure we have time for statements before balloting.” Another murmur ran through the council. Not only was Jonah speaking now, he seemed to want to say more. By now, every Paladin knew what Jonah had been doing recently, and they all had guesses about what he planned to say. The anticipation in the room ratcheted up a notch.
“Of course,” Kessel said. “Now, unless there are any other clarifications or questions? Good. Votes in favor?” The room filled with ayes. “Opposed?” Silence.
Sixteen Paladins walked to their chairs and sat down in almost perfect unison.
“Then let’s begin,” Kessel said.
55
Warehouse District, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
20 December 3134
“Isee people in motion up ahead,” Santangelo reported to Heather GioAvanti over the command link. “They could be armed.”
“Or they could be civilians,” Heather replied. “Remember—the rules of engagement are property damage only, do not fire even if fired upon.”
“Roger, understand no return fire,” Santangelo said. “Can’t say that I like it, though.”
“We’re trying to prevent an insurrection here, not make one,” Heather told him. “Do we have enough demolition charges for all of the targets?”
“We’ll manage.”
“Right. Looks like thirty seconds to contact.”
The third warehouse of the morning—Koss’ revised list of possibilities had a total of ten—was coming up; a turn to the right then a straight run up to the front doors. The streets were narrower in this part of town, and the heavy feet of Heather’s ’Mech weren’t doing the pavement any good. More property damage—but she was sure the new Exarch, whoever he or she turned out to be, would make restitution after the election.
There were definite signs of movement around the target up ahead. Heather wondered exactly how much longer the “don’t shoot” policy was going to work.
She worked her pedals rapidly, spinning her ’Mech around the corner. The Spider was a speedy machine, not a bruiser like the Atlas or a hulking infighter like the Hatchetman, but a lightly armed sprinter designed to get in fast, scout and get out fast. In Heather’s opinion, these qualities made the Spider an excellent model for command and control, since a properly managed battle plan shouldn’t require the commander’s own muscle in order to be effective.
The Fox armored car, the Shandra scout vehicle, and the militia squad’s bikes were all faster than the Spider in the cramped confines of the city streets. Santangelo and Koss peeled out ahead, and Heather scored a laser marker on the front of the building to guide them. The militia troopers stopped in front of the building; Santangelo and Koss, in their vehicles, sped off to take blocking positions.
“Forward by overwatch!” Heather commanded.
The troops moved out. They were good for militia, disciplined and well trained. She made a mental note to look up their regular commander and see that he or she got properly commended when all this was done.
“Command, Shandra scout,” Koss said over the command circuit. “Got a problem on the east face. No way around to the rear. There’s a wall.”
“Back out, take the west side.” She checked her heads-up display. No wall showed on the large-scale map. It looked like Geneva Fire Police and Emergency hadn’t updated their databases recently. That was another thing to bring to somebody’s attention; later, after all of the dust had cleared.
Then the ’Mech’s exterior mikes picked up the sounds of small-arms fire, localized on her heads-up display to the east side of the building. It wasn’t the Sperry-Browning machine guns of the scout car she was hearing, either—it was the heavy crump of armor-piercing ordnance, shoulder-launched penetrators by the sound of them.
“Koss!” she snapped over the command circuit. “Report!”
“Taking fire from my flank,” the junior Knight reported. “Daisy-chain mines behind me. I’m in a sticky place. Request permission to return fire.”
“Negative,” Heather said. “Permission denied. I’m on my way to your location.” Then, over the ’Mech’s external speakers,
to the troops, “Entry force, expedite.”
“Roger, understand expedite,” the corporal in charge of the militia squad responded. A moment later, the breaching charge put a hole in the warehouse wall. Heather saw the militia troops entering through the dust on her side-mount screen as she went past at a lope.
Taking advantage of the Spider’s speed, she was around the corner in a moment and saw Koss’ problem. The heavy but inaccurate fire coming from the Shandra’s right—small arms, mostly—wouldn’t interfere with the mission too much. What would interfere was a group of antitank mines, tied together to form a long chain. They’d been hidden in the trash by the side of the road while the Shandra passed by, then triggered when someone tugged the cord and pulled the line of mines across the Shandra’s only available path of retreat. Koss could abandon her vehicle to remove the mines by pulling the rope the other way—but even with her light battle armor, the intensity of the small-arms fire combined with the shoulder-mounted penetrators fired earlier would cut her to ribbons before she’d gone half a dozen steps.
Heather, though, wouldn’t have the same problem. Putting her trust in her armor, she lightly depressed her pedals while pushing the right joystick to extend the ’Mech’s long arm. The Spider squatted and its arm grabbed the end of the rope closest to the building. She pulled back on her stick, the mines came toward her and the way was clear.
“Back up,” she ordered Koss. “Rejoin with Santangelo.”
The Shandra was already accelerating in reverse. Heather laid down a spray of laser fire just over the heads of the people who were shooting at her troops. The line of pulsing light gouged into the brick wall behind the attackers as the water in the mortar flashed to steam. Heather hoped that she wasn’t violating the spirit of the no-engagement rules by making the defenders keep their heads down.
“Any casualties?” she asked over the net.
“Negative,” Koss answered. “Nothing hurt but my pride.”
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