Fortress of Lies

by J. Steven York

  She seemed to sense his concern. She grabbed his hand. “Come with me. I know someplace where we can be alone.”

  He had a flash of guilt, and his sense of duty tugged at him. “Kinston said he had people he wanted me to meet.”

  She leaned close against his chest, and looked up into his eyes. “It’s early for one of these things. The real business won’t happen until nearly dawn, when half the guests have already left.” She stepped back and tugged at his hand.

  She led him past the bar, through a servant’s passage and down a narrow staircase that led underground. They passed through a heavy iron door at the bottom and into a large room lined with utilitarian bunk beds, and doors leading to other passages.

  He looked around. “What is this place?”

  “Catacombs. Kind of a defensive shelter. All the older buildings here have them. Shensi hasn’t been attacked in a long time, but it’s a strong local tradition.”

  “Cozy,” he said.

  She reached up with one hand and quickly opened the top button of his uniform. Her fingers brushed his chest, and then hooked into the front of his jacket, pulling him down with her onto one of the beds. “Fully equipped,” she said softly, “with everything needed in an emergency.”

  9

  GOFF: “SHENSI SAFE FROM LIAO”—Hereditary House Lord Speaker Goff is quoted as saying that his personal belief is that House Liao is, “no threat to Shensi. I’m confident that their advance will bypass our world. This is no time for a dubious alliance with a rogue Lord Governor who doesn’t know his place.”

  —Shensi NewsNet exclusive

  Fairview Tower Hotel

  Whitehorse, Shensi

  Prefecture V, The Republic

  21 November 3134

  Erik awoke in an unfamiliar place, and it took him a moment to recognize his hotel room. He was disappointed to discover that Elsa was gone. He rolled over to smell her perfume on the pillow, and spotted a note on the night table. He read it. She had an early class, and promised to meet him for lunch.

  Erik had his own appointment with Ozark Kinston, to review the previous evening’s events. He smiled.

  The official ones, anyway.

  He and Elsa had emerged from their hideaway in time for the appointed meetings. Erik had pleaded his case to several men and women, all of whom Kinston swore were important, and all of whom showed, or at least feigned, some degree of interest in what he had to say.

  Erik had expected that Elsa would excuse herself when the meetings started, but she was there till the end—listening, yes, but also working the room quietly to help win people to his cause. In the end, Kinston assured him that they had swayed critical votes, but Erik had only his word to prove it. As was usual with the local politics, he was never sure what he was accomplishing.

  Instead, his thoughts flashed back to before the meetings, when he and Elsa had been curled together in the bomb-shelter cot. There had been an exchange. At the time it had seemed like a trifle, casual pillow talk, the sort of random thoughts that sometimes surfaced at such moments.

  In retrospect, it was the most candid moment Elsa had allowed him. It had started when she’d asked a simple but unexpected question, “Have you ever been to the circus?”

  “There are still circuses? I thought they were only in old books and fairy tales.”

  “There’s at least one, Captain Rose’s Traveling Extravaganza. No reason you should have ever seen it, or even heard of it. For all I know, that’s the only one left, and it’s a big galaxy. For that matter, maybe even it’s gone now. It was a long time ago.

  “But they used to travel from planet to planet in a couple of ancient Leopard DropShips, stripped of their weapons—so old they looked like they’d crumble if you touched them. They were painted in gaudy colors, and had murals and billboards of the acts on the sides.

  “My parents took me to the show. I might have been eight or nine years old. The star act was a family of high-wire acrobats, and the ringmaster announced that this was to be the debut of their youngest member as a soloist. I was so excited. She was a girl, and I identified with her at once. She seemed like she wasn’t much older than me, though I now suspect she was probably a smallish teenager. She got up on the wire, high over our heads, all alone, with only a pole to help her keep her balance.

  “She was so graceful, so beautiful, so confident—and I felt like I was up there with her. Every eye was on her, and I wanted to be just like her: the star of the show.”

  “You are a star,” he’d said, but she had ignored the compliment, as though eager to get on with the story.

  “Things were fine, until she got to the middle of the wire. Then something went wrong. I never knew what. Perhaps she just looked down. But she stumbled, staggered—and I remember that she dropped the pole. It fell for a long time, and as it clattered to the arena floor, I realized that there was no net.

  “I looked back to the girl. She had fallen—one knee on the wire, arms out, desperately trying to keep her balance. I could see her family on a platform at the end of the wire, wanting to go to her, but afraid they’d just make her fall. And it was so far back. So far to the other side. She looked very small.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. My parents grabbed me, kept me from seeing, and whisked us out the nearest exit. They never spoke of it again. Later, when I was older, I wondered. I knew I could go look it up in the old news databases, see if a girl fell that day. See if she was hurt. See if she was killed.”

  “Did you?”

  “I never had the courage. As long as I don’t look it up, she’s the way I last saw her: all alone on the wire. But she’s okay. Maybe she’ll stand up. Maybe she’ll find her balance, and walk back to safety. Maybe.”

  And then the moment was over. They’d dressed and gone back upstairs and to their meetings. She’d returned with him to the hotel, but after that she was guarded.

  As he showered and dressed, he phoned his assistant and checked his messages. As he’d instructed, Kinston had been forwarded the latest batch of invitations, which seemed to come in at the rate of two or three a day. Most seemed considerably beneath the power level at which Erik needed to operate, but only Kinston could tell him for sure.

  He had breakfast with his aide in the hotel’s restaurant. On impulse, he had flowers delivered to Elsa’s apartment. Then he called his car around and left for his meeting with Kinston.

  Kinston was working the Capitol Building that morning, so they’d arranged to meet in the rotunda there. As they drove up to the diplomatic entrance, Erik was struck by how attractive the building was. There were three golden domes over the central rotunda, and three long wings projecting outward, each pointing toward a different House of Parliament.

  The whole compound was set on a triangular tree-dotted lot surrounded by a low granite wall; each side of the building seemed to present a flawless public face to the world. Erik wondered where the mechanicals were located—the inevitable service entrances and loading docks. There were also no obvious connections to the Houses of Parliament. He remembered what Elsa had said about catacombs. He suspected that much of the complex was underground, with tunnels—perhaps even subways—connecting the three Houses, and service-tunnel entrances that might be located blocks away from the actual complex.

  He flashed his diplomatic credentials at the entrance, and had the guard direct him to the rotunda. He walked half the length of one wing, passing through only a single security checkpoint before entering the more public rotunda area. The security was amazingly lax to Erik’s eyes, but these people had known peace and safety for a long time. That, of course, was part of Erik’s problem.

  The rotunda was a vast, three-lobed space, symmetrical except for the public entry located at the juncture of the two eastern wings. The three domes overhead were painted with murals of trees and mountains. At the juncture of each wing, a five-story glass wall admitted natural light, and the grand entrance to each wing was marked with a t
hree-story marble arch, carved in beautiful relief, depicting the heroes of some unfamiliar ’Mech battle. The floor was a mosaic inlay of many kinds of stone, representing a somewhat dated star map of the Inner Sphere.

  He spotted Kinston sitting on a bench near the entrance, reading a newspaper. Kinston stood as Erik approached, and greeted him with a handshake. “I’ve got maybe half an hour, then I need to get over to the Hereditary House.” He looked up nervously. “Sound plays tricks under these domes,” he said. “Someone across the room could be listening in on us. Come on, I know somewhere safer.”

  He followed Kinston through one of the archways, past another low-security checkpoint, and into a side corridor. They entered a glass-walled room full of neatly packed bookshelves and small tables. Gold letters on the door said, LAW LIBRARY 1-B. Kinston glanced back into the stacks to make sure they were alone.

  He returned and beckoned Erik to sit across from him at a small reading table. “You did well last night. I’ve scheduled a follow-up meeting tomorrow with Senator Prescott based on the groundwork our little midnight meeting established. If we can revise your accord to his satisfaction, we’ll be a long way toward getting a favorable result next time it’s before the Hereditary House. Who knows? We might even come up with something the Legate likes and shortcut the whole process.” He smiled apologetically. “But probably not.”

  Erik sighed. His initial feeling that he might be able to ram things through and sign Shensi to the coalition was fading. He seemed as mired in the local politics as ever.

  “Chin up, Commander. This is going nearly as well as it could, under the circumstances.” Kinston put his briefcase on the table and opened it. He pulled out an envelope. “I’ve got a new draft of the accord for you to examine here. It removes all the Capellan trade restrictions that were in the original draft.”

  Erik blinked in surprise. “What? No trade restrictions? You expect to go on selling ore to our enemies?”

  “Understand, Commander—that’s at the heart of the accord’s initial failure. This planet has strong historic ties to the Capellans, and they’re important trading partners. The actions of House Liao surely don’t represent the entirety of the Capellan Confederation, and even they are only trying to recover those worlds, historically theirs, that were ceded to The Republic.

  “The conservatives are leery about the current incursion, yes, and might be willing to lend some material support to a stabilizing resistance. But not to the extent of losing a substantial portion of the trade that gives them their power.”

  “That’s unacceptable.”

  “But it may be inevitable, if you want to get this accord accepted.”

  He looked faintly embarrassed. “There’s also one other matter—a technicality, really. The original document never explicitly mentions The Republic. The agreement is worded so that it’s a pact directly with the Duke and ‘his allies, present, and future.’ One might assume that such language refers to him as a representative of The Republic, but it’s not explicit.”

  Despite the many things already troubling him, Erik was able to maintain a proper poker face. The omission of Aaron’s role as a Lord Governor of The Republic had been intentional and carefully calculated. In a way, Erik was surprised it hadn’t been noticed before, but negotiation of treaties usually comes down to small details. Politicians were often so quick to focus on those details that it was possible to miss the big, obvious things. The SwordSworn had gambled that it might work.

  An agreement with the Duke that included The Republic would muddy the waters considerably when they openly pledged themselves to House Davion. It might hold if they were too far down the road to turn back, but it would make it easier for the alliance to be broken. “The Republic,” Erik said, “is implied here. It’s a given. I don’t see why we need to make changes just for the sake of making changes.”

  Kinston frowned. “I don’t know how extensive your diplomatic experience actually is, Commander, but nothing is a given in these matters.”

  Erik looked straight ahead, saying nothing.

  Kinston studied Erik’s face, looking for some sign of capitulation. “Look, you have both versions of the agreement here for comparison. Underline where you have problems, cross out what’s totally unacceptable, and we’ll discuss it tomorrow morning.” He pushed the envelope over to Erik’s side of the table.

  He seemed to shake off the previous difficulty almost immediately, and his smile returned. “Now, we need to review last night’s meetings so that I have a better idea of where we stand, and what needs follow-up on my part.”

  “You were there for most of it, other than the mingling and casual introductions. Chitchat, mostly.”

  “Nonsense. You were gone for quite some time early in the evening. I assume you were pulled aside by one of our Senators or senior staffers for a conference. I need to know the details.”

  Erik was silent.

  “You were in a private conference?”

  Despite everything, Erik found himself grinning. He felt like a teenager again, but not in a bad way this time.

  Kinston’s mouth opened, and hung that way for a moment. “Oh.” His eyes widened. “Oh! You were alone with Miss Harrad.”

  Erik felt his grin spread.

  Kinston took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Commander, excuse me for prying into a client’s private affairs, but you have the look about you of a man who is smitten.”

  “Smitten?” He sighed. “I suppose that’s possible.”

  Kinston pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Oh, this is awkward. I assumed you knew. I assumed that this was all part of one of those espionage intrigues that you House Davion types always have in your holovids, that you were just—playing her.”

  He frowned. “Kinston, what the devil are you talking about?” He said it, and yet he knew. At some level, all along, he’d known.

  “Miss Harrad is a Capellan spy.”

  The restaurant where Elsa had arranged to meet him was located just across the street from the Hereditary House. Once he and Kinston had finished their business, he offered the facilitator a ride. There was an awkward silence as they stood waiting for the car.

  The drive was only about a kilometer, but they were quickly snarled in city traffic.

  Erik looked at the thick envelope in his hand, feeling sorry for himself. “You don’t have any real evidence, though?”

  Kinston looked up from where he was sitting, across from Erik. “About what?”

  “Elsa. Being a spy.”

  “Evidence? No, I suppose not. But it’s a well-known fact that she collects information for them. I mean, it’s not like she’s stealing people’s files or breaking into places and photographing our secrets. She really is an art student. She merely has other interests on the side.

  “She’s . . . tolerated. As I said, Shensi has deep historical ties with the Capellans. In a sense, I suspect many people in the government are glad that they’re keeping tabs on us. Perhaps they even consider it their right.”

  Erik shook his head. How was he supposed to turn these people against the Capellans in any way? It was madness, and he had no one to blame but himself. He should have left as soon as he’d seen the Duke’s real intentions regarding this mission. All he wanted to salvage from this now was Elsa, and he couldn’t see how that would be possible.

  One night. How can one night change so much?

  He dropped Kinston near Senator Prescott’s office, where he announced he planned to spend the afternoon reviewing a land-use bill with a top aide.

  Erik arrived at the restaurant early. With a few whispered words to the maître d’ and the exchange of a hundred-C bill, he arranged to change their table to an intimate private dining room in the back. He ordered a bottle of wine, and was already sipping when she arrived.

  He stood as she was escorted in. She took his hands and leaned forward to kiss him passionately. She put her arms around his neck and he held her close, smelling her perf
ume, enjoying the moment despite himself, knowing it could be the last time.

  They sat, and she studied his face, seeming to sense something was amiss.

  He poured her a glass of wine. She took a deep drink. “Erik, what’s wrong? Is it last night? Are you having regrets?”

  He put his hand over hers. “No. It’s not that. Last night was—Last night was something I’ll always cherish.” He licked his lips. “I—I heard some things about you today.”

  She smiled nervously, eyes wide, head shaking. “What?”

  He took a deep breath. Out with it. “Are you a spy for the Capellans?”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Never mind that. It’s true, isn’t it?”

  “I’m not a spy, Erik. It’s not like that at all.”

  He stared straight into her eyes, offering no comfort. This was hurting him more than he could have imagined. “What is it like, then?”

  She hung her head. Took another big drink of wine. Silence. She tipped the glass back and drained it. “Erik, you know what it’s like to depend on others for everything you have, everything you are. I was Daddy’s little girl, and Daddy was a rich and powerful man. He sent me here because they have one of the finest art schools in The Republic, and I loved it so much. That was all I wanted. To paint.” She looked away at nothing. “To paint.”

  “What happened?”

  Her eyes were moist. “I’d been here six months when they sent word. There’d been a scandal at the mining company, and my father was dead. They said it was suicide. I never believed it. Everything we had was tied up with courts, lawyers, and accountants. The rest of the family disowned mother and me—took control of what was left of the business.” She chewed her lip. “I think they were behind it somehow.” She looked at him, her eyes full of shame. “I know. How could people in a family do such things to one another?”