Many other faces were known; but in the silence which his arrival had occasioned, Hashi found his gaze riding a frisson of excitement and apprehension along the table to its end. There he received a nervous shock of his own.
At the same moment Koina murmured, “Hashi,” as if she were warning him.
In the last chair—a position notable for its lack of a data terminal or hardcopies—sat Cleatus Fane.
Holt Fasner’s First Executive Assistant: a man who was said to speak with the voice and hear with the ears of the great worm himself.
He was a rotund figure in any case, but by sheer force of personality he took up so much space that he appeared even fatter. His eyes were the unreadable green of deep seas, and his plump lips smiled mercilessly. Beneath them an expanse of white beard concealed his neck and sternum. His whiskers were wiry rather than soft, however: his beard moved like a blade whenever he spoke or turned his head. Nevertheless he bore more than a passing resemblance—as any number of people had remarked—to Santa Claus.
He met Hashi’s surprised look and smiled benignly, as if he’d come to speak the Dragon’s blessing on this chamber and all who did the work of governing humankind.
Father Christmas, dispenser of the UMC CEO’s gifts.
But Hashi wasn’t misled. Not coincidentally, Cleatus Fane also exacted his lord’s punishments.
What was he doing here? Hashi had no difficulty imagining an answer. Abrim Len, bless his timid, conciliatory heart, may have informed Holt Fasner’s Home Office that this extraordinary session had been called to consider legislation proposed by Captain Sixten Vertigus. Knowing the good captain’s reputation, the Dragon would certainly have guessed that Sixten Vertigus’ bill wasn’t intended for his benefit. Hence he’d dispatched his most practiced and reliable subordinate to witness—and perhaps respond to—whatever the UWB Senior Member did.
The restrained clamor in the hall resumed as abruptly as it’d stopped: all at once everyone present found something compelling to say to his or her neighbors. Some of them were surely wondering what Hashi Lebwohl’s appearance and Cleatus Fane’s had to do with each other.
To cover his momentary lapse of composure, Hashi bowed in Cleatus’ direction. His mouth shaped the words, “My dear First Executive Assistant, how piquant to see you.” Then he leaned toward Koina and whispered, “It appears that the stakes of the game have been raised.” Hidden by the hubbub of the Members and their retinues, he asked, “Do you believe that Captain Vertigus will proceed under these circumstances?”
Koina looked at him, let him see that the corners of her mouth were smiling again—only the corners. Then she moved to descend the tiers toward her honorary place at the end of the half-oval table across from the great worm’s representative.
Hashi followed behind her aides and Forrest Ing, noting as he passed that Abrim Len had begun to put on dignity like a man who meant to assume his duties. However, he had no real interest in the President’s posture, dignified or otherwise. Other questions held him; questions which gathered a new urgency from Fane’s presence. What answer had Chief of Security Mandich given Forrest Ing? And when would Deputy Chief Ing deign to mention it to the DA director? Hashi couldn’t risk expressing either his offended vanity or his legitimate concerns to the deputy chief in front of this assemblage, but his instinct for caution had suddenly become stringent.
He could no longer say accurately that he expected nothing. Therefore his need to be prepared had grown stronger.
As Koina reached her chair, sat down, and commenced the ritual of logging onto the data terminal so that she could open a transmission channel to UMCPHQ in case she needed it, Hashi put his hand on the deputy chiefs arm to detain him.
“I am still waiting for a reply,” he announced just loudly enough to be heard; just sharply enough to threaten Ing. “Sadly I do not wait well.”
The man cocked an uncertain eyebrow as if he couldn’t remember what Hashi was talking about. Then he said quickly, “Forgive me, Director. I’ve been distracted.”
Turning away, he snapped his fingers; and at once a young UMCPED Security ensign came forward from the rear of Koina’s diminished entourage. Hashi hadn’t noticed him earlier: he must have joined the PR director’s retinue outside the hall. Although he must surely have been at least twenty years of age, his fine blond hair and pale skin made him appear almost prepubescent.
“Ensign Crender,” Ing said by way of introduction, “you have your orders. You’re here to do what Director Lebwohl tells you. Whatever he tells you.” The deputy chief smiled coldly. “Within reason, of course.”
“Yes, sir.” The ensign’s voice nearly cracked. He looked frightened, as if he feared that Hashi might instruct him to draw his impact pistol and open fire on the Council.
Within reason? Within reason!
Hashi restrained a rush of anger. Mandich, he swore in silence. Donner. Ing. Be warned. If this whelp fails me, the price will be laid on your heads. I will lay it there.
Brusquely he took the nearest seat at Koina’s back. Then he closed his eyes and spent a moment experiencing the surge and pull of blood in his temples as if his pulse embodied the electron flux; calming himself with metaphors of uncertainty.
He looked up again as the Members and their people grew quiet. The session was about to start.
A last guard entered the hall, and the doors were closed. Seeing this, President Len turned to the table and took up the ceremonial mace—privately Hashi considered it a “cudgel”—which symbolized his office. Now all the Members, advisers, and secretaries sat down, leaving only the President and the guards on their feet. Summoning up his dignity, Len brought his mace down on the tabletop with a thump which somehow conveyed hesitation despite its weight.
“Your attention, Members of the Governing Council for Earth and Space,” he announced sententiously. Again he thumped the surface in front of him. “Today we meet in extraordinary session, and we are ready to begin.”
After a third thump, he set his mace down.
In a less formal tone, he went on, “As you know, this session has been convened to consider a matter which the Senior Member for the United Western Bloc, Captain Sixten Vertigus, wishes to bring before us.” He nodded toward Captain Vertigus, who continued to doze. “This Council has a number of pressing issues to consider”—he may have been asking the old Member to pay attention—“including, but by no means limited to, the recent, appalling terrorist attack on Captain Vertigus himself, the even more recent murder of the UMCP’s then-director of Protocol, Godsen Frik, and the public confirmation of his successor, Koina Hannish.” The President bowed politely in Koina’s direction. “However, Captain Vertigus has claimed Member’s privilege. By virtue of his long service to the Council, as well as to humankind, our charter grants him precedence. Other matters will be raised as time and circumstance permit.
“Are there any objections,” he concluded, “before I ask Captain Vertigus to speak?”
This call for objections was a mere formality, one of the codified courtesies which gave government its illusion of collegiality. Hashi was surprised when Sen Abdullah immediately took his feet.
“President Len”—the EU Senior Member’s voice was unfortunate: it whined like a maladjusted servomechanism—“fellow Members, I must object. Without disrespect to Captain Vertigus, the present situation is too extreme for any of us to claim privilege. A kaze has attacked him, a kaze has killed Godsen Frik. And this occurred only a short time after we conducted a video conference which might mildly be called ‘provocative’ with UMCP Director Warden Dios and Data Acquisition Director Hashi Lebwohl.”
He didn’t glance at Hashi.
Cleatus Fane studied the speaker with a hooded gaze, revealing nothing.
Abdullah cleared his throat as if Fane’s scrutiny made him uncomfortable. “President Len, fellow Members, the Special Counsel appointed by this Council to investigate allegations of malfeasance against Director Dios and the UMCP has uncovered se
veral issues which are cause for grave concern. The UMCP have risked covert operations within forbidden space, employing persons of doubtful character. The Data Acquisition director has admitted delivering one of Enforcement Division’s ensigns into what might be called prostitution—if it is not called enslavement. A notorious illegal, Captain Angus Thermopyle, has escaped from Data Acquisition in the company of a traitor.
“And now”—Abdullah gestured toward Hashi with a chop of his hand—“here sits the same director of Data Acquisition who so horrified us when he spoke for Director Dios. We will be derelict in our duty if we miss this opportunity to question him.
“Captain Vertigus,” the EU Senior Member whined, “I must ask you to yield your privilege. I will use it to provide a forum for Special Counsel Maxim Igensard’s investigation.”
Igensard leaned forward in his seat, eager to stand.
Like everyone around him, Hashi turned toward Captain Vertigus. Sen Abdullah’s demand would have been difficult to refuse at the best of times. With Cleatus Fane watching him, the old man might find refusal impossible.
Captain Vertigus still sat with his head back and his eyes closed. His open mouth emitted a small rasp like a snore.
“Captain Vertigus.” President Len disliked rudeness—not to mention assertiveness—and his discomfort made him unnecessarily peremptory. “You must answer. Will you yield your privilege to Senior Member Abdullah?”
The old man twitched. His head came down: he opened his eyes, then gazed blearily around him as if he’d forgotten where he was. “What?” he asked. At once, however, he went on, “Oh, very well.” His voice held a pronounced quaver.
From where he sat, Hashi saw Koina’s shoulders tighten. Several of the Members seemed to have stopped breathing.
“I’ll be glad, delighted, to yield to my esteemed colleague,” Captain Vertigus said thinly.
Igensard started to rise. Fane hid his reaction behind his beard.
“As soon as I’m done,” the UWB Senior Member finished.
Shock jolted the chamber like a static discharge. Hashi allowed himself to smile as Igensard’s face twisted and Abdullah bit back a retort. “Nicely played, Captain,” he murmured, only half aloud. Sixten Vertigus had looked the dotard for so long that most people had forgotten his old courage.
Koina didn’t react; hardly moved. She couldn’t afford to betray the fact that she knew what Sixten intended.
Hurrying to avoid conflict, President Len put in, “You won’t reconsider, Captain? I’m sure we’ll have time for you when Special Counsel Igensard is done.”
Captain Vertigus sighed. “No”—strain showed in his voice as he stood up—“I won’t reconsider. This is too important.” Supporting himself on the tabletop with his arms, he added, “And it’s not irrelevant to all those ‘provocative’ subjects my esteemed colleague mentioned.
“Don’t worry, Abrim,” he muttered with a touch of asperity. “This probably won’t take as long as it should.”
“Very well, Captain Vertigus,” Len sighed. His hand on Sen Abdullah’s shoulder urged the EU Senior Member to sit down. “The session is yours.”
Bowing, the President seated himself.
“This better be good,” Sigurd Carsin murmured to no one in particular. She was Sixten’s Junior Member, but she’d never concealed her impatience at giving precedence to a man she considered “senile.”
“‘Good’?” Captain Vertigus cocked his head at her. “I don’t think so. These days I’m not sure ‘good’ exists anymore. But if you’ll pay attention, I’ll offer you something better than what we have now.”
Carsin glared at him, but didn’t speak again.
Slowly the captain raised his head between his hunched shoulders so that he could address the whole chamber.
“You’re right, of course,” he began. “I was attacked. Poor, pompous Godsen Frik was killed. Warden Dios and Hashi Lebwohl nauseated us—some of us, anyway—with what they said during that conference. Captain Thermopyle has escaped, and what we know about DA’s covert operation in forbidden space stinks. Events are moving too fast for us to control. The Special Counsel probably has good reason to think he’s on the trail of the worst kind of malfeasance.”
His old voice seemed to lack any of the force which would have made it effective. Nevertheless Hashi found himself listening as if he were entranced. Sixten had a quality which counted more than force: he had frailty; the kind of earned human frailty that only grew from long years of valor and probity. He was persuasive because he’d earned the right to be.
“I support the United Mining Companies Police,” he announced as if his quavering were a form of strength. “I always have. I believe in the job they’re supposed to be doing. What’s happened makes me even more nauseous than the rest of you.
“I want to do something about it. All of it—everything you’ve mentioned. And everything Hashi Lebwohl hasn’t bothered to tell us yet. I want to clear the obstacles out of the Special Counsel’s way so he can do his job right.”
Hashi feared that the captain’s voice would crack when he pushed it; but it held firm.
“As it happens, I know how. I’ve already done the work. All you have to do is vote on it. Then our situation can start to get ‘better.’ ”
A hundred people watched the old man as if they were as rapt as Hashi; eager for what came next. They all heard Fane remark amiably, “You fascinate me, Captain Vertigus.” A none-too-subtle reminder of his presence—and of the man he represented. “What can you possibly propose that isn’t already being done?”
Sixten ignored the distraction. Still leaning on his arms, still speaking in a high, thin voice which threatened to waver out of control whenever he raised it, he said distinctly, “President Len, fellow Members, I wish to propose legislation which I call a Bill of Severance. This bill will decharter the United Mining Companies Police as a subsidiary unit of the United Mining Companies and reconstitute that organization as an arm of the Governing Council for Earth and Space.”
Decharter—?
Reconstitute—?
The ensuing consternation gave Hashi a keen sense of pleasure. Members gasped. Some of them actually turned pale; others turned to hiss urgently at their aides. Secretaries clutched each other’s arms; advisers floundered. Igensard slumped backward like a man who’d been poleaxed. In contrast, Fane rocked his bulk forward as if he meant to launch it into the air. After a stunned moment fifty or a hundred voices began gabbling at once.
Through the confusion, Hashi heard Koina say softly, “Thank you, Captain,” although her voice wasn’t loud enough to reach Sixten. “Thank you.”
“Please!” President Len was on his feet, shouting to lift his appeal above the noise. “Members, please!” With his mace, he pounded the table as if he were belaboring an assailant. “We must have order!”
After a moment his shout—or perhaps the possibility that he might break his mace—had an effect. Slowly the tumult eased. Flustered Members adjusted their garb, straightened themselves in their seats; aides and advisers stopped talking and started attacking their data terminals; some of the secretaries made shushing sounds which others eventually heeded.
The guard who had entered the chamber last left his post at the doors and took a few steps along the wall across from and above Hashi’s position, then stopped and stood still. Apparently he’d moved in order to improve his view of the chamber.
Hashi thought that Cleatus Fane would demand a chance to speak; but he didn’t. Instead he subsided in his seat, brandishing his beard like a shield.
“That’s better.” The President sounded like a peevish aunt. No doubt he was hard-pressed to manage his own surprise—as well as his congenital fear of consequences. When the noise had sunk to a persistent rustle of hardcopies and whispers, he said, “I think you’d better explain yourself, Captain Vertigus.”
Sixten had stood without moving while confusion poured down the tiers at him; now he gave no indication that he’d hear
d any of it. As if he hadn’t been interrupted, he resumed.
“The entire bill has already been written. It can be enacted as it stands. If you want to look at it, it’s available on your terminals.” In a flurry Members and aides hurried to confront their screens. “Log onto the public files and bulletins of the United Western Bloc, query my name, and enter the code word ‘survival.’ “A sharp rattle of keypads followed, but he ignored it. “My proposed legislation is there, complete.”
The strain of holding his head up showed in a slight wobble, but he didn’t let himself relax.
“While you read, let me answer some of your more obvious questions.
“Because of the crises we’re facing right now, my bill provides that the present resources, personnel, and functions of the Police will be preserved intact. The GCES Police won’t miss a moment in their defense of human space. And funding will be supplied by a proportionate tax on all chartered corporations which operate in space. Procedures for levying the tax are included in the bill. On that score, also, the new Police will have no reason to falter.
“But if so little is going to change, what do we gain by enacting this legislation?”
“My question exactly,” someone put in—Hashi didn’t see who.
“In the short term, obviously,” Captain Vertigus answered, “the primary benefit is that the Police will now be accountable to us, not to the UMC. Special Counsel Igensard will be able to pursue his investigation whether Holt Fasner or Warden Dios approve of it or not. But in the long term that one benefit will produce hundreds of significant improvements.”
He paused, summoning strength or determination, then went on more firmly.
Chaos and Order: The Gap Into Madness Page 59