A huge brass plaque covered with a velvet drop sheet had been placed on a tripod in the center of the Great Hall. Two young boys stood on either side at rigid attention, waiting for the signal to remove the cover.
"My leader," Shearer began, "the young people assembled here today represent every chapter of the Young Folk League on Kingdom. They have come by express invitation to honor you, our beloved leader." He signaled the two boys, and they pulled the cover off the plaque. On it was a poem entitled, "Honor to Our Leader." Shearer turned to the assembled Young Folk and, like an orchestral conductor, led them in a recitation of the poem, which began, "We live only to hear your ringing voice that strikes deep into our very souls, plunging us into wordless admiration, our very hands tremble in an ecstasy of adoration at every word," and on and on. It was a large plaque.
Gorman, standing beside de Tomas, whispered, "It's from a poem Shearer wrote called ‘The Song of the Loyal Ones.’ The Minister of Propaganda has had it published numerous times in the media and on thousands of broadsides which he's posted all over the country. It's a bit... saccharine, wouldn't you say, my leader?"
"Well, I like it, Herten," de Tomas whispered back.
Gorman flinched. "Well, I am told by respected authorities that it does have great artistic merit, my leader, but what do I, a simple soldier, know of art?"
"What's next, Herten?" de Tomas whispered, trying not to move his lips.
"Labor Service parade at Mars Field, and then lunch with Jayben Spears."
"Spears? Ah, lunch with that dour ambassadorial personage is like dining with the Commendatore in Don Giovanni—Death and Retribution at the dinner table!"
Gorman permitted himself a brief smile. He was familiar with the image from Mozart's opera, the ghost of the murdered man sent to seek the don's repentance. "But after that, I've found a new candidate for you to interview, my leader," Gorman whispered excitedly. "I think you shall find her quite satisfactory."
"Bring this one up on the elevator, Herten. Damned stairs tires them all out. Even those in the best shape arrive cranky and sweaty. Besides, I don't want too many people knowing about that stairway."
The recitation, of which de Tomas did not hear another word, finished at last. Shearer bowed to de Tomas and came to the position of attention. De Tomas stepped forward and held out his arms as if to embrace all the children.
"My dear ones, I thank you most respectfully and most humbly on behalf of the people of Kingdom for this singularly significant testament you have so graciously presented to me on this most auspicious occasion! It shall remain on display here always, as a monument to your love and unfailing loyalty, which I promise to return to you tenfold. The future of Kingdom is here this morning, and that future is you," he continued sonorously.
Gorman, standing respectfully a few paces behind de Tomas, was impressed. The Leader's voice actually did seem to ring throughout the Great Hall. It was the acoustics, of course. Cameras recorded every word, and the ceremony would be the main news of the day, replayed at five, six, seven, and eleven.
De Tomas talked to the children for ten minutes. He had discovered recently that he liked being loved.
The Confederation Kingdom consulate at Interstellar City monitored every newscast—and every other communication they could intercept—on a regular basis. All this information was analyzed by experts, and reports on events were forwarded to Ambassador Spears. He used them, in combination with his own observations and information gathered from a variety of sources, to prepare his own reports to the President of the Confederation Council, which were forwarded through diplomatic channels. His reports were notoriously acerbic.
Ambassador Spears was putting the finishing touches on another report when his secretary informed him of the live feed from Wayvelsberg Castle. "Sir, you've got to see this!" she advised.
He turned on his video monitor just in time to see the boys removing the cover from the plaque. "Look at the sonofabitch!" he blurted. "He and that Gorman aren't even listening to the kids! They're blabbing away back there!" He lapsed into silence, pulling angrily on his beard throughout the rest of the ceremony, both fascinated by the brilliance of the presentation and disgusted because he knew it was all show.
Spears turned the screen off and returned to his report. Before the interruption, he'd been contemplating just the right tone to use. How direct dared he be? He was known throughout the Diplomatic Corps for his lack of diplomacy and the directness of his language, but even for him there were limits. The image of de Tomas cynically ignoring the children and then addressing them in such flatulent language still fresh in his mind, he changed the word he'd originally written to "claptrap," and sat back in his chair.
"What else on the schedule today, besides lunch with that bastard?" Spears asked his secretary.
"General Lambsblood wants to see you at ten, sir. Then you're free until lunch, and nothing after that."
"Well, have something prepared for my lunch here, after lunch with de Tomas. I won't be able to eat much in his presence, especially not in that medieval torture chamber he calls Wayvelsberg Castle. Where the hell did he ever come up with a name like that?" he muttered.
"Yessir."
"What's Prentiss up to today?"
"He's representing you at Mars Field at ten, sir."
"Better him than me. I'll be ready when the general arrives."
Mars Field, formerly the Field of Martyrs and Saints, was where de Tomas had decreed party rallies should take place. The first one, just the week before, had drawn 100,000, despite the fact that Haven had hardly recovered from the destruction wrought upon it during the Skink invasion. In fact, the Kingdom Labor Service had been formed partly in response to the need to rebuild the cities of Kingdom. Every young man between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five was required to join the KLS, to be ready for construction work whenever called upon. The term of service was set at two years. The motto of the KLS was "Work Ennobles," and its emblem was a spade blade embossed with a silver goshawk, wings spread, under two laurel leaves. The men of the KLS called each other "comrade."
But the real reason the KLS had been formed, under the direction of the Minister of the Interior, was to militarize the young men of Kingdom and to bring them under the control of the party. So far, thousands had eagerly volunteered because, in reality, the KLS did significant public service rebuilding roads and buildings that had been destroyed. And the training and discipline the young men received under the leadership of specially selected officers and noncoms of the Special Group was challenging and gave them a sense of purpose and accomplishment. It was just the kind of program young men are attracted to, a right of passage tantamount to actual military service, which most of them would see once their term of duty with the KLS had expired.
That morning, ten thousand men paraded on the huge field. Prentiss Carlisle, sitting in a place of honor on the reviewing stands, was impressed. The ranks were perfectly aligned. Over each man's right shoulder, carried like a rifle, was the ubiquitous emblem of the KLS—a spade. Their field-gray uniforms with green facings and hobnailed black boots looked at once smart, comfortable, and utilitarian.
An officer gave a command that carried to even the farthest reaches of the enormous field: "Order, spades!" And as one the ten thousand smartly plunged their spades between their feet with a unanimous klang! then spread their legs shoulderwide, hands folded comfortably in front of them, resting on the spade handles.
Prentiss glanced at his watch. The Leader was late. The dignitaries relaxed on the reviewing stand and chatted in low voices among themselves. A car pulled up, and a stir ran across the stands. At once the waiting dignitaries stood, and up the steps came the Leader. He nodded at this man, shook hands with another, spoke a few quick words to a third, and strode to the dais that had been prepared for him.
"A-ten-shun!" an officer shouted. As one, ten thousand men slammed their heels together and plunged their spades into the ground two inches to the left of their righ
t foot in a precise one-two movement. The sound echoed over the vast parade ground.
De Tomas stood immobile until the echo faded at last and total silence prevailed. He stood silent for a long moment, head bowed, as if collecting his thoughts. Twice he stepped to the podium and raised his head as if about to speak, but each time he stepped back and nodded his head at the assembled men before stepping up again. At last he put both hands firmly on each side of the lectern and shouted:
"KINGDOM AWAKE!"
The amplified words engulfed the assembled thousands in a tidal wave of sound.
"Kingdom has awoken! Kingdom is awake! You are the awareness of our awakened people!"
Then de Tomas spoke for an impassioned thirty minutes. Prentiss Carlisle sat entranced. He knew that every word the man said was a lie, but he listened and marveled at how de Tomas manipulated the language and the emotions of the thousands of young men standing before him. He saw in their rapt expressions that de Tomas was reaching out to touch something that had lain long dormant in them. He was promising them freedom at last from the oppressive restrictions of religious custom and dogma. All those men had lived their lives under the sects, where everyday conduct had been regulated by myriad rules of tradition and taboo. He was telling them that was over, now and forever.
When at last, covered in perspiration, de Tomas ended his speech, an officer shouted, "Hail the future!" and from ten thousand throats, over and over until the effect was stunning, they shouted, "Hail! Hail! Hail!" Tears of joy glistened on the cheeks of many of the men on Mars Field.
Prentiss Carlisle, even knowing far more dangerous rules were soon to impinge on the lives of these young men, could not help feeling moved by the display, so brilliant was de Tomas's rhetoric, so overwhelming the response. Now he came to realize fully the genius and the true danger of the man, who had remained hidden, underrated, in the shadows for so many years. De Tomas had the power to move millions. Those men believed in him, and worse, they took him at his word.
"General." Jayben Spears rose and took General Lambsblood's hand in his. "If at any time I can be of help to you, just let me know. General Banks is my personal representative. Feel free to relay any request to me through him. But General, if at any time you wish to speak to me personally, call me. Any time, day or night." And if you don't, you bloody fool, Spears thought, you're a dead man!
"Mr. Ambassador." General Lambsblood bowed deeply. "I shall do that. Thank you for allowing me the time, and for the excellent coffee as well."
After the general left, Spears reflected on their meeting. Several times during their talk about the operation to discover any remaining Skinks, and while discussing other, more mundane, military matters, Spears had hinted broadly that Lambsblood's future might not be secure under the new regime and perhaps the Confederation could help offset that in some way. He wasn't sure that the general had caught on.
"Well, can't be helped if he didn't," Spears said aloud now. "Time for lunch."
The table de Tomas had laid out in his private rooms at Wayvelsberg was spread with sumptuous viands. Herten Gorman sat there as the third luncheon guest, and he was availing himself of every dish. Spears noted with contempt that the so-called "Deputy Leader" had gained considerable weight. He could see why. Spears dallied with a small salad and ice water, hardly touching either. De Tomas, not to be outdone, sipped occasionally at a beef consommé.
"Mr. Ambassador, you simply must sample this paté!" Gorman gushed.
"Thank you, Deputy Leader, no. I suffer from a very delicate stomach."
Gorman shrugged and spooned a liberal amount of the paté onto a cracker, which he shoved entire into his mouth.
"So we are informed," de Tomas said. "I must tell you, Mr. Ambassador, I am very sorry for that, uh, little ‘misunderstanding’ of ours recently. I do hope your wrist is fully recovered?"
De Tomas was referring to the incident at Mount Temple the day he executed the Convocation of Ecumenical Leaders and bruised Spears's wrist while restraining him. The memory rankled Spears, but he said, "I am fine now. We were all under a bit of strain that day. I believe I'm far better off than the families of the Ecumenical Leaders, which you also executed?"
De Tomas shrugged. "That was a matter of state, Mr. Ambassador, nothing personal in it at all, not on my part anyway. Surely you understand that after years of religious oppression and fiscal improprieties, my long-suffering people could not be restrained." Spears grimaced at the bald-faced lie. The Special Group had summarily murdered the Ecumenical Leaders, and de Tomas had justified the executions by trumped-up charges of malfeasance. The trouble was, many people believed the charges and did not mourn the deaths of the clergymen.
"But under my new government we on Kingdom, no longer conduct government that way." de Tomas continued. "We are very anxious to establish good relations with the Confederation. I wish to ask that you recommend your government formally recognize mine."
"We must have certain assurances," Spears answered stiffly.
"And you shall have them! My Minister of Interstellar Affairs is preparing a formal petition to the President of the Confederation of Worlds that he put before the Congress a proposal to grant us official recognition. You shall have it within the next few days. I sincerely hope you will endorse it."
Spears knew he would not do that. His recommendation would most strongly advise against legitimizing de Tomas's regime. But he knew the Congress would approve it even over the President's recommendation. All he could do was delay it and build a case against de Tomas based on his massive human rights violations.
De Tomas stood. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Ambassador." He bowed from the waist. Spears stood and returned the bow. He was delighted to be released from the disgusting farce. At a signal from de Tomas, an aide entered and escorted Spears out of the room.
De Tomas snorted and sat down. He reached for a chocolate eclair and gobbled it hungrily. "Parsimonious, stingy-assed old bastard," he muttered between mouthfuls. "He's going to recommend against recognition, Herten." He licked the chocolate frosting off his fingers and washed what was left of the eclair down with some wine.
"Won't do him any good," Herten replied around the remains of a salami sandwich.
"Well, who's the girl you've set up for the interview?" de Tomas asked.
Gorman swallowed quickly. "Ah, a very comely lass, late of the Order of St. Suplicia. You'll like her, I'm sure."
"Wasn't that nunnery attacked by the invaders? I thought all the nuns had been slaughtered?"
"Yes, my leader, they did us that favor. But some survived. They were an order of the Fathers of Padua, Cardinal O'Lanners's sect. This particular lady, now that the order is defunct, wishes to return to secular life."
"Herten," de Tomas began, setting his wineglass down with a bang. Herten started. The Leader was angry. "Am I going to have to do this myself? I do not want to see this religious fanatic. Once a fanatic, always a fanatic. Send her away. Give her some money and get rid of her. I'll tell you one more time: I want a woman in her early twenties, blond, blue eyes, perhaps a sprinkling—but just a sprinkling—of freckles on her face. Good teeth. Mark that, Herten, good teeth. Comely figure, of course, athletic, sturdy, breasts—um, this size." He made cups out of his hands. "I think a country girl might fit those requirements. But Herten, no cow, you understand? This woman must be intelligent and have a will of her own! But I do not want a whore, some woman who'd sell herself for power. No, no, no! She must have scruples. She must present me with a challenge, Herten. Are you familiar with Shakespeare?"
"Uh, no, I confess not, my leader."
De Tomas rose and took a book off the shelf. "You must read The Tragedy of King Richard the Third sometime, Herten! Very instructive." He flipped through the book. "Here it is, on page 669 of Bevington's edition. It's Richard's wooing of Lady Anne, widow of Edward, Prince of Wales, son of King Edward VI, both of whom Richard has murdered. Fascinating stuff, Herten! Richard marries Anne despite the frank admission he
's murdered her very own husband. The wily bastard says he did it out of love for her. Incredible! He gets her through her vanity, Herten, her vanity! No threats, no promises, he beguiles her most artfully. That is the challenge I am looking for in my consort, Herten.
"Go out and find me a woman who hates me, Herten, and I will do the rest!"
Chapter 13
She had survived for weeks now on the edible aquatic plants and invertebrate creatures she'd found in the streams and bogs as she worked her way gradually southward. She'd been left for dead as her people evacuated the underground bunker in panic. Stunned by an exploding bomb, she awoke to find herself completely alone and defenseless in that hostile alien landscape. Since then she'd traveled mostly at night, and lay quietly in the water during the daylight hours, using her gills to breathe. She had conducted some forays onto land in the night, to reconnoiter, and once had been sent scuttling back into the water by the sudden flashing and banging of weapons. Otherwise, she encountered no threats on her silent odyssey. She had no idea if any of the other True People had survived the final assault on their refuge.
Bred to serve her masters, she knew nothing of the world where she was lost and abandoned, neither of its climate nor of the sentient creatures who inhabited it, except that they had defeated her people and, she assumed, were hunting her kind to death.
Her own survival was of no importance to her. It was the female's duty to sacrifice her life, without question, without remorse, when called upon to do so. But her condition was worsening each day. Soon she would have no choice but to stop, seek refuge, and rest.
Toward dawn one morning after many days travel, she found a streamlet emptying into a creek. It looked inviting. The streamlet was protected on both sides by high limestone walls and was heavily vegetated, so it would be protected from the weather and inquisitive eyes. Near where it emptied into the creek it became marshy and overgrown with water plants, an ideal spot to take refuge. The creek flowed slowly south, a full meter in depth, offering her both cover and forage. She would stay there for a while. She burrowed deep into the comforting mud and rested.
Lazarus Rising Page 13