Archform Beauty

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  "Everything is under control. They'll have more favorable directors in a month, and a completely favorable board and executive officer in fourteen months. Suggest to them that they take a more aggrieved position and a less combative one. Something along the lines of how they're risking their talented people to supply Earth's raw materials needs and that they shouldn't also have their diplomats being killed as well.”

  "You have a rationale for that? They'll want to know.”

  "They can't keep their plans secret forever. Everyone knows that they could devastate Earth. The only reason they don't is that it would also destroy them. That will change. The more they build a reputation for forbearance, the less the continental legislatures will be forced to posture and threaten.”

  "Makes sense to me. You think they'll buy into it?"

  "They should.”

  "You want me to tell them that?"

  I shook my head. "Suggestions are one thing. Demands are another. Always suggest.”

  "And if they don't buy it?"

  I laughed. "What have we lost? They're the ones who lose. I can always sell back what we've bought—over time. Or I can offer it to the highest bidder.”

  "You plan to make a profit, I assume?"

  "Don't I always?" I paused. "What about the MagSys take-over?"

  "You have to go slow there, Chris. It's going to take another year to get a plurality, and that's a small minority plurality. It might be worth two seats on the board, if that.”

  "Keep at it.” I hadn't expected any more.

  O'Bannon cleared his throat. "What about McCall?"

  "What about him? He's been charged with murder. We've talked about it. What can I add? I don't believe he did it, but you never know about people. That's why I try never to push people into a corner. Cornered cats, rats, dogs, and people all bite.” I didn't corner people when I could avoid it. I dealt with them before they felt cornered. At least, when I could. I'd waited too long with McCall. That was because I had needed him to finish matters.

  "You think he'll reveal anything?"

  "You never know, but I don't think so.”

  After O'Bannon left, I had a few minutes before lunch to go over the Dewey problem. That was one I'd have to resolve quickly. There's nothing more dangerous than a public crook who thinks he's honest. I had some of the details worked out. In my head. Plans were safer there.

  Then Paulina linked in.

  Ashtay Massin is here. He says he doesn't have an appointment, but he won't take long.

  Send him in. I pulsed the door open. Ashtay never wasted my time.

  Ashtay Massin walked into the office. He was the trustee of the KCF trusts. He was built like an ancient weight lifter. He had wavy brown hair and green eyes. He didn't look like an accountant or a solicitor. He was both.

  "What's the problem?" I closed the door, then motioned to the conference table.

  He sat down first, knowing that was my preference. "You know me too well, Mr. Kemal.” Ashtay would never call me Chris. I liked that.

  "Your nephew Stefan. He came to see me early this morning. He's already pledged his interest in his trust as collateral for a loan from Mountain Asset Management. He gave me the papers, so that I'd know.”

  I forced a smile, then shook my head. "You know the young ones. I'll have to talk to him. How much is the loan?"

  "Ten million credits.”

  "He can't pay that. They have to know that. He'll be in default in three months.”

  Ashtay nodded. "If he defaults, we'll have to pay it. If they contend the application was fraudulent, then we may have to divulge the assets.”

  "Unless we pay it off before that happens.” What Stefan had done was blackmail, pure and simple. He knew I didn't like publicity, and a Kemal defaulting on a secured loan was the last thing that needed to be news.

  "I don't have that authority,” he pointed out. "All I can do is obligate the interest and income, and put out a credit block on Stefan. That's why I thought you should know.”

  "I'll have to talk to him. We'll make sure it doesn't go to default.” I sighed. "The young ones. Some of them take a while to understand.”

  Ashtay nodded sympathetically.

  "Since you're here,” I went on, "are we set for the MMSystems annual meeting?"

  "I'll have the slate of officers for you to look at by the end of next week. We'll leave young Martini as president for a year. We'll also leave Bunanev, St. Pierre, and Emin on the board. That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

  "We'll have to handle it that way. The board's terms are staggered. You're sure Martini will propose the slate?"

  "Does he have any choice?" Ashtay's smile was grim. He didn't approve of how I'd set Rafael Martini up.

  "No. That was his choice.” Business was business, and the young fool should have known better than to try to play around. His wife's family was old-line, very wealthy and very powerful, with their controlling interest in InterCred. The Fontaines had their own ways of expressing disapproval, and Rafael needed the credit they could provide. Badly.

  Ashtay waited before asking, "Is there anything else, Mr. Kemal?"

  "Not right now.” I smiled. "Thank you for letting me know about Stefan. I'll be talking to him this afternoon. We'll work something out.”

  After Ashtay left, I headed down to Poul Therault's office to have a luncheon meeting.

  We discussed the financial picture for the coming year, and all the contingencies that we needed to consider. I didn't eat that much.

  By one, I was back in my office, working out the details of the Dewey plan.

  Mr. O'Bannon for you, on holo, Mr. Kemal.

  I'll take it.

  O'Bannon's image was as big as he was. He had a somber look. "Have you heard, Chris?"

  "Have I heard what?"

  "About Evan McCall.”

  "I haven't heard anything new. Not since the indictment.”

  "He just committed suicide.”

  "What?" I shook my head. "That's hard to believe.” That certainly was true enough, and a measure of Emile's ability. "How? Why? Does anyone know?"

  "The DPS isn't saying anything. The orbiter mess and the ebol4 outbreak have kept it quieter than it could have been.”

  "Poor bastard.” I felt sorry for McCall. He'd never quite understood—except the law. His wife had been the practical one, until the Cewrigh woman had gotten to her, and that hadn't left me much choice. "Let me know if anything else turns up.”

  "I will.” O'Bannon paused. "What are you going to do about privacy matters?"

  "I don't know.” I gave a rueful smile. "You're my oldest solicitor. If you have a suggestion, let me know.”

  "We might be able to work out something with Caron Hildeo. She understands.”

  O'Bannon was telling me that Marc Oler didn't. "See what you can do.”

  He nodded. "Until later, Chris.”

  I looked out the window. Nothing was simple. It never was.

  Paulina… would you please see if you can find my nephew Stefan?

  Yes. Mr. Kemal.

  I leaned back in the ergorecliner, thinking. There might be a way to solve several of my problems at once.

  I have Stefan for you. Mr. Kemal.

  Thank you, Paulina. I called up the holo display. Stefan was back into a beige singlesuit, with the gold chains.

  "Stefan, you're concerned about money?"

  "I told you I was.”

  "You did.” I nodded understandingly. "Do you have the morning free on Monday? I'm playing golf with Emile Brazelton, but let me stop by before that. We can take a drive. Maybe you can join us. We can work out something. I've thought about it. It could be you're right. Houses and electrals are more expensive than when I was your age. Thirty percent more expensive, Poul tells me.”

  He looked dubious.

  "Look, Stefan. When you collateralized that loan, Ashtay notified me. There are better ways to handle that. If you feel that desperate, we need to talk, and to work out something. Yo
u can't handle that kind of repayment for very long. The trust is a lifetime trust. There's nothing either of us can do about that. I hope you know what that means.”

  He tried to hide a look of defiance.

  "Think about it. This is going to cause your mother a great deal of concern. I'd rather work with you to find a way to work this out.” I smiled. "Have I ever not done what was best for the family?"

  "No.”

  "I'll pick you up at quarter to nine on Monday morning.”

  He looked like he might refuse, but thought the better of it. "All right.”

  "Quarter to nine on Monday,” I said it again. "We'll figure out something.” I broke the connection.

  Now, all I had to do was work out the details with Brazelton. I also had to make sure that the Smythers business was under control.

  Chapter 19

  Cannon

  Canthrop's office was in the complex to the east of the government center, a corner suite on the northwest. It was just before eight forty-five on Friday when I arrived outside his door. I was early, but he'd see me, and that meant less wasted time for both of us.

  When I stepped inside, Canthrop's receptionist looked up with a smile. "Senator Cannon. I'll tell him you're here.”

  "Thank you.”

  Her face blanked as she linked, and I studied the office, although I'd certainly been there often enough. All the furniture was neo-Queen Anne, slightly more ornate than I would have chosen, but not overpowering.

  The receptionist was statuesque, redheaded, with a small straight nose, pale blue eyes, and flawless complexion—at first glance, a woman you'd want to get very close to. But she was almost an emtwo. I could see that from the eyes, the very vacant eyes. They were the kind of eyes that followed everything and reported everything, and understood only the most basic of implications of those actions. That she was his receptionist said something about Canthrop as well, but I'd known that about Bill for a long time.

  She looked at me again with those not-quite-vacant eyes. "He said for you to go on in.”

  I nodded and stepped toward the old-fashioned door that I had to open with the bronze lever handle. Canthrop was standing beside his desk, looking westward at the mountains, still snow-covered at the top. "You're early,” he said as he turned.

  "I don't have much choice. It's going to be a long day. They all will be for the next few weeks. Between the orbiter mess and the ebol4 disaster, not to mention the budget appropriations, the increased strain on the PDF because of the carelessness of the Mars Belters two years ago, and, of course, the Southern Diversion…” I laughed. "What do you have?"

  Canthrop gestured toward the folder on the corner of the desk. "There it is. This is the voice-over. We'll use your voice, with rez overtones, but everyone will hear it as your voice. I wanted you to look at it. If you like it, we can go right over and record it. If not, we'll make the changes, and we'll record whenever you can.”

  I picked up the folder and opened it, then began to study the script.

  * * * *

  …I'm Senator Cannon. I'm your senator.

  Every day I'm working to create a better life for you.

  You have dreams for your future, for your family, for your children.

  Those dreams are my goals…

  * * * *

  In its own way, it was classic. Simple and spare, and a direct but positive appeal, with the implications that failure to vote for me would be a victory for the filch and for the greedy who would rob the hardworking people of Deseret of their last credit and laugh while doing it.

  "What do you think?" Canthrop pushed back a wisp of his thin blond hair.

  "I'd like to add a phrase at the end. Something like, 'When we share dreams, there's nothing we can't accomplish together.' I smiled. "We can just add that and record it this morning.”

  Canthrop frowned, then murmured the words. "… When we share dreams…” Abruptly, he nodded. "Good sentiment, good words, and they'll fit.”

  "Fit? Of course they'll fit.”

  "I meant with the rez tags. It's better that they're your words.”

  "You mean my words have to fit with this resonance?"

  "Well… if we want the full effect,” Canthrop admitted. "We're pretty constrained in some ways.”

  "Just so you're not twisting my words into something that's not what I said.”

  "You'll approve every word, like always.”

  "Good.”

  He frowned, then smiled. "Took a minute to find the cue. Here's one of the musical motifs we'll be using as a tag.”

  As the music filled the office, we listened. There was something about the short melody, even though it seemed to ramble, in a way. It was less direct than I would have liked, but Canthrop was right. There was an appealing feel to it. After hearing it, I would have voted for me. Then, that bothered me, because only about half the people in Deseret District were from the same background as I was.

  "What do you think?"

  "It appeals to me. But what about those who aren't like me?"

  Canthrop's smile got wider. "That's the beauty of this approach. Here's the motif for those of the Latin-Hispanic background.”

  The second selection struck me as more emotional, more… overt… but was too direct for me. That was probably a good thing, according to what I'd read up on about rezads.

  "Now… you understand, Senator, that while the words will be the same, the graphics, the music, and the background and resonance will change to match each netband and soshgroup…”

  "That's what the campaign is paying you for, Bill.” I grinned back at him. "Speaking of paying… is this going to break us?"

  He shook his head. "Nope. The production costs are low because we're just using you, the singer, some pretty fundamental graphics, and the tech people—"

  "Tech people? That was pretty costly the last time.”

  "Different technology, different company. We're using Crescent Productions. Almost a one-person operation, but good technology and a better price. They've been doing some high-end stuff commercially, and it's plush at a servie price. The biggest cost will still be the net time.”

  "That doesn't change.” I understood that. Getting access was always the most expensive part of anything in a modern society. That was one of the advantages of incumbency.

  "Do you have another hour?" Canthrop asked. "If you do, we can wrap this all up this morning.”

  An hour. That would be tight. Especially with my having to go to St. George at six in the afternoon. But time would get even tighter in the days ahead. Ebol4 would get worse before it got better, and the same was true of the maneuvering and debates on the pending appropriations—and anything could happen with the outfall of the Russe orbiter mess. And I still wondered what might come from the McCall mess. I'd met McCall just once, at a fund-raiser, but he hadn't struck me as the kind of man who would either murder his wife or commit suicide. Some people are professionals at numbers, like Canthrop, and others excel in other things. Politicians are professionals at knowing people, and all my years in dealing with people told me that McCall hadn't committed suicide. Which meant that Kemal was somehow behind it, and that I'd best be very careful.

  It could well affect my campaign before it was all over.

  "Senator?" Canthrop prodded.

  "I was thinking. I can work it in.” I smiled. "Let's go.”

  "It's only up in OldTech,” Canthrop said apologetically.

  "We can take my electral, then, and I'll drop you back here on my way to the Legis building.” Maybe we wouldn't be too late, and I'd been careful to be at most committee meetings on time. Face-time and gratitude—you could never stockpile enough of either. Not in politics.

  Chapter 20

  The ancient Romans understood the danger beauty posed. The word "beauty" comes from Old French (beaute), which in turn derived from the Latin word "bellus,” meaning handsome, fine, or pretty. Yet the Latin word for "war" is "bellum"—a difference of one letter, and at the e
nd of the word, indistinguishable from the neuter form of the adjective (also "bellum"). The Roman goddess of war was Bellona.

  The Romans believed that war had beauty, perhaps a terrible beauty, but a beauty all the same. Why else did Caesar write so movingly about war? And why did the Romans make dying in the service of the Mars a far more honorable and glorious death than did the earlier Greeks, from whom they stole so much?

  Interestingly enough, while Venus was the Roman goddess of love and beauty, studies show that she evolved from a comparatively weak and generally benign goddess in the Greek Iliad to a goddess of both compelling beauty and treachery in later Greek and Roman poems.

  Even the term "belladonna" is Italian for "beautiful lady,” but it refers to the herb from which the poison atropine was extracted. Throughout human history, beauty has been and continues to be regarded with great suspicion. Those who would define it are often called to task, and their efforts dismissed with the old cliche that beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

  Yet… individuals have attempted to describe and define deities. Cultures have striven to create art of great beauty, whether in hard and tangible stone, or in the intangible and fleeting creations of music and song. Beauty is accepted as an attribute of creations or of individuals, but never as an absolute. Religions and cultures have attempted to define other so-called abstracts in hard terms, abstracts such as justice, mercy, compassion. Yet any serious scholar who attempts to define beauty in the same terms runs the risk of ridicule or ostracism…

  Why do people so fear the ideal of beauty that stands by itself, unlinked from creations or individuals? Is it because so few can appreciate it? Understand it? Or because beauty is transcendent, and those who can define it within themselves have climbed an intangible step above the masses who, like the ancient Romans, find their beauty in destruction?

  Exton Land "Paradoxes of Beauty" Etymology Quarterly March, A. D. 2365

  Chapter 21

  Cornett

  I'd almost not checked the news over the weekend. Curiosity had gotten the better of me by Sunday evening. Besides, I'd have to emerge from the cocoon of my con-apt on Monday morning. I had to face both the university and the rest of the world—unless there happened to be a good reason. I was looking for such a reason, but didn't find it.