by David Weber
“Compartmentalized in what sense, Sergeant Major?” Edock asked.
“The same way the Palace’s security systems are,” she said. “There are facilities—facilities outside the Palace, outside the entire normal chain of command—dedicated solely to the Imperial Family’s security. Each battalion of the Empress’s Own has its own set of secure facilities, known only to the battalion’s senior members, to be used in case of an emergency. This is the first coup attempt to even come close to success in over half a millennium, Minister. There’s a reason for that.”
“Are you saying that no one from Steel, Silver, or Gold would know about these ‘facilities,’ Eva?” Temu Jin asked. “They’re that secure?”
“Probably not,” she conceded. “Most of the senior members of those battalions came up the ladder, starting with Bronze. So it’s likely at least someone from the more senior outfits knows where just about everything assigned to Bronze is located. But they’re not going to be talking about it, and even if they wanted to, our toots are equipped with security protocols which would make that an . . . unpleasant experience even after we retire. Which means there’s no way anyone working for Adoula could have that information. So once we get to the Sol System, we’ll use one of the Bronze facilities.”
“I think, then, that we are as far along as we can get today,” Sroonday said sibilantly. “Fleshing out the bones we have already put in place is a matter of details best left to staff. It will take some time, a few days at least, to acquire the materials you need. A freighter and a . . . discreet crew. And a captain.”
“We have a captain,” Roger said. “I’ll get a list of the positions we’ll need filled on the freighter. An old freighter, or one that looks old.”
“Done,” Sroonday said, rising. “I will not be directly involved in this further. It was hard enough to find a time when I could conveniently disappear as it is. Sreeetoth will be your liaison with me, and Admiral Ral will liaise with the War Minister.”
“We thank you for your support, Minister Sroonday,” Roger said, rising in turn and bowing across the table.
“As I pointed out, it is in our mutual interest,” the Minister replied. “Alliances are always based upon mutual interest.”
“So I’ve learned,” Roger said with a thin smile.
Despreaux frowned and looked up from the list of stores she’d been accessing when the door beeped at her.
“Enter,” she said, and frowned harder when she saw that it was the sergeant major and Eleanora O’Casey.
“Girl talk time again?” she asked more than a little caustically, swinging her station chair around to face them.
“You see what we meant,” Eleanora said bluntly, without preamble, as she sat down in one of the room’s float chairs and moved it closer to the desk. “I noticed you were really quiet in the meeting, Nimashet,” she continued.
“I didn’t have any contribution to make,” Despreaux replied uncomfortably. “I’m already in way over my pay grade.”
“Bullshit you didn’t have a contribution,” Kosutic said, even more bluntly than O’Casey. “And you know just what that contribution would be.”
“Except that in this case, I halfway agree with him!” Despreaux replied angrily. “I think standing Adoula and his cronies, and everyone else associated with this plot, up against a nice, bead-pocked wall is a dandy idea!”
“And their families, too?” Eleanora asked. “Or are you going to let their relatives continue to have the positions of power their families held before the coup and also a blood feud with the Emperor? The point of courts and laws is to distance the individual from the act. If Roger has Adoula and everyone else summarily executed, everyone who disagrees with the decision will be after his scalp. And let’s not even think about how the news media would play it! If he stands them all up against a wall and has a company of Mardukans shoot them, we will have a civil war on our hands. And a guerrilla war, and every other kind of war you can imagine.”
“So we let them walk?” Despreaux demanded in exasperation. “Just like they always do? Or maybe they should get some quality time in a country-club prison, and then come out to make more minor mischief?”
“No,” Kosutic said. “We arrest them, charge them with treason, and put them in jail. Then the IBI gathers the evidence, the courts do their work, and the guilty get quietly put to death. No passion. No fury. Calmly, efficiently, legally, and justly.”
“And you think they won’t walk with a passel of high-priced Imperial City lawyers?” Despreaux half-sneered. “With as much money as they have to throw at the problem?”
“Roger . . . didn’t see all the data Sroonday had,” Eleanora said uncomfortably. “With the things the Empress will have to say about . . . what’s going on, I’d be very surprised if anyone were willing to be their lawyer, no matter what the fee. The difficulty will be keeping Adoula and New Madrid from being torn limb from limb.”
“And just what,” Despreaux asked carefully, “didn’t Roger see?”
“I think that, for now, that will be kept to the Sergeant Major and myself,” Eleanora said sternly. “You just focus on how to keep Roger from turning into another Dagger Lord. When he finds out, I think you’ll have all you can handle keeping him from gutting New Madrid on the Palace steps.”
“Welcome, Your Highness, to my home,” Sreeetoth said, bowing to the prince as Roger stepped through the door.
“It’s beautiful,” Despreaux said in a hushed voice.
The home was a large plant—not exactly a tree, but more of a very large root. The top of the root-bole towered nearly twenty meters in the air and covered a roughly oval base which measured about thirty meters in its long dimension. Narrow branches clothed in long, fernlike purple leaves extended from the tops and sides, and the brown and gray moss which covered the surface of the root itself formed intricate patterns, something like a Celtic brooch.
It was placed against the slope of a low hill in a forest. Apparently, it had been positioned directly in the path of what had been a waterfall, for water moved among the twisting branches of the root, pouring out of the front of the “house” in a thousand small brightly sparkling streams. The interior, however, was snug and dry. There were some human chairs, but scattered around the main room were pillows and rugs made of some sort of deep-pile fabric.
“I was fortunate to acquire it while I was still a young officer,” Sreeetoth said. “It is nearly two hundred of your years old. It takes only a decade or so for a po’al root to grow to maximum size, but they . . . improve with age. And this one is remarkably well-placed. May I offer drinks? I have human tea and coffee, beer, wine, and spirits.”
“I’ll take a glass of wine,” Roger said, and Despreaux nodded in agreement.
“Thank you for joining me,” the Phaenur said, reclining on one of the pillows, then widened its eyes as Roger and Despreaux sank down on others.
“Most humans use the chairs,” it noted.
“We’ve been on Marduk for so long that chairs seem strange,” Roger said, taking a sip of the wine. It was excellent. “Very nice,” he complimented.
“A friend keeps a small winery,” Sreeetoth said, bobbing its head in one of the abrupt, lizardlike gestures of its species. “Tool fruit wine is a valuable, though small, export of the Alphane Alliance. Most of it,” it added dryly, “is consumed internally, however. Your health.”
“Thank you,” Roger said, raising his own glass in response.
“You are uneasy about being asked to join me in my home,” the Phaenur said, taking a sip of its own wine. “Especially when I specifically invited the young Sergeant to accompany you, and no others.”
“Yes,” Roger said, simply. “In a human, that would be a guess. In your case, it’s as plain as if I’d said it out loud, right?”
“Correct,” it replied. “The reason for my invitation is simple enough, however. Much of the success of this operation depends upon you—upon your strength and steadiness. I wanted to meet w
ith you in a situation uncluttered by other emotions.”
“Then why not invite me to come alone?” Roger asked, tilting his head to the side.
“Because your own emotions are less cluttered when the Sergeant is near you,” the Phaenur said simply. “When she leaves your side, for even a moment, you become uneasy. Less . . . centered. If you were Phaenur, I would say she was a tsrooto, an anchor. It translates badly. It means . . . one part of a linked pair.”
“Oh.” Roger looked at Despreaux. “We . . . are not so linked.”
“Not in any official form or way,” Sreeetoth agreed. “But you are so linked. The Sergeant, too, is uneasy when away from you. Her agitation does not show on her surface, but it is there. Not the same as yours. You become . . . sharp, edgy. In some circumstances, dangerous. She becomes . . . less focused, unhappy, worried.”
“Are we here for couples counseling, then?” Despreaux asked dryly.
“No, you are here because your Prince is happier when you are around,” it replied, taking another sip of wine. “On the other hand, if this were a matter for counseling, I would point out to both of you that there is nothing whatsoever wrong in requiring—or being—a tsrooto. The fact that the Prince is calmer, more centered, in your presence does not mean that he is weak or ineffectual without you, Sergeant. It simply indicates that he is in some ways still stronger and more effective with you. That the two of you have much strength to give one another, that together you become still more formidable. It is a reminder that—as I believe you humans put it—the whole can be greater than the sum of its two parts, not that either of you becomes somehow weak, or diminished, in the other’s absence.
“But that is not why you are here. The Prince is here because I wanted to taste him, to know what we are wagering our trust upon. You are an odd human, Prince. Did you know that?”
“No,” Roger said. “I mean, I’m quick—probably neural enhancements I didn’t know I had—but . . .”
“I did not refer to any physical oddity,” Sreeetoth said. “I have seen the reports, of course. Your agility and physical good looks, for a human, were noted in the reports we had from before your supposed death. As was your . . . untried but clearly capable mind. Athroo reports, samplings of your emotions, were few, but said that you were childish, disinterested in anything but play. Now we have this . . . other Prince. Before, you were normal; now we have someone who radiates more like an Althari than a human. There is no dissembling in you, none of the constant desire to hide your purpose we find among most humans. Fear of revealing your hidden faults, that overarching miasma of guilt that humans seem to run around in all the time. For the most part, you are as clear and clean as a sword. It is refreshing, but so odd that I was told to sample it fully and make a report.”
It cocked its head to the side as if doing just that.
“There’s no point in lying,” Roger said. “Not with the Phaenur. I’ll admit that was a pleasant change.”
“Yet the Imperial Court is no place for a truly honest man,” the Phaenur suggested.
“Maybe I can change that.” Roger shrugged. “And if I can’t, I have some truly dishonest advisers.”
The Phaenur cocked its head to the side and then bobbed it.
“I sense that was a joke,” it said. “Human and Phaenur concepts of humor are often at odds, alas.”
“One thing I would be interested in,” Roger noted, “to try to make the Court a more . . . honest place, is some Phaenur advisers. Not immediately, but soon after we retake the Palace.”
“That could be arranged,” Sreeetoth said, “but I strongly recommend that you contract with independent counselors. We like and trust the Empire, and you like and trust us. But having representatives of our government in your highest councils would be . . . awkward.”
“I suppose.” Roger sighed. “I’d like to do as much as possible in the open, though. The Court hasn’t been a place for an honest man, and one way to change that might be to make sure that what’s said in Court is honest. Among other things, it would place me in a position where I could work to my strengths, not my weaknesses. I’ve never understood the importance that’s placed upon dishonesty in business and politics.”
“I do,” Despreaux said with a shrug. “I don’t like it, but I understand it.”
“Oh?” the Phaenur said. “There is a point to dishonesty?”
“Certainly. Even the Phaenurs and the Althari don’t wear their thoughts on their sleeves. For example, Roger in command of the Empire will be a very restless neighbor. You have to know that. Surely there are others you’d prefer?”
“Well, yes,” Sreeetoth admitted.
“But you don’t bring it up, don’t emphasize it. In it’s own way, that’s dishonest—or at least dissembling. And I have no doubt that you’re capable of lying by omission, Mr. Minister.” She looked directly into the Phaenur’s eyes. “That there are things you have no intention of revealing, because to do so might evoke reactions which would run counter to the outcomes you’re after.”
“No doubt,” Sreeetoth conceded, bobbing its head respectfully at her. “And you are correct. Roger’s personality, the style of rulership we anticipate out of him, will not be . . . restful under the best of circumstances.”
It made a soft sound their toots interpreted as quiet laughter.
“That may not be so bad a thing, however,” it continued. “His grandfather, for example, was quite soothing. Also an honest man, but surrounded by deceit and virtually unaware of it. His lack of competence precluded the Empire’s becoming a threat to us, which was restful, yet it also created the preconditions for the crisis we all face today.
“Still, that does not mean a restless human ruler is necessarily in our best interests. Roger’s mother, unlike her father, is a very deceitful person, but not at all, as you put it, restless. She was solely concentrated on the internal workings of the Empire and left us essentially alone. From our reports, it is unlikely she will continue very long as Empress. That will leave this . . . restless young man as Emperor. We could prefer someone less restless, but he is the best by far of the choices actually available to us.”
“How badly has Mother been injured?” Roger asked angrily.
“Quite badly, unfortunately,” the Phaenur replied. “Calm yourself, please. Your emotions are distressing in the extreme. It is why we have not brought up the full measure of damage before.”
“I’ll . . . try,” Roger said, as calmly as he could, and inhaled deeply. Then he looked directly at his host. “How damaged?”
“The nature of the reports on her condition we have received—their very existence—means that maintaining security to protect our source is . . . difficult,” Sreeetoth replied. “We have been able to clear only one specialist in human psychology and physiology to take a look at them, but she is among the best the Alliance can offer in her specialty, and I have read her analysis. It would appear that the . . . methods being used are likely to cause irreparable long-term damage. It will not kill her, but she will no longer be . . . at the top of her form. A form of senility is likely.”
Roger closed his eyes, and one jaw muscle worked furiously.
“I apologize for my current . . . feelings,” he said after a moment in a voice like hammered steel.
“They are quite bloody,” Sreeetoth told him.
“We’ll handle it,” Despreaux said, laying a hand on his arm. “We’ll handle it, Roger.”
“Yes.” Roger let out a long, hissing breath. “We’ll handle it.”
He touched the hand on his arm very lightly for just an instant, then returned his attention to Sreeetoth.
“Let’s talk about something else. I love your house. You don’t have neighbors?”
“Phaenurs tend to separate their dwellings,” his host said. “It is quite impossible to fully shield one’s feelings and thoughts. We learn, early on, to control them to a degree, but being in crowds is something like being at a large party for a human. All the thoughts
of other Phaenurs are like a gabble of speech from dozens of people at once. All the emotions of others are like the constant roar of the sea.”
“Must be interesting working in customs,” Despreaux observed.
“It is one of the reasons so much of the direct contact work is handled by humans and Althari males,” Sreeetoth agreed. “Alas, that has been somewhat less successful than we had hoped. Your reports on Caravazan penetration have caused a rather unpleasant stir, with some serious political and social implications.”
“Why?” Roger asked. “I mean, you’re an honest society, but everyone has a few bad apples.”
“Humans have been a part of the Alphane Alliance since its inception,” Sreeetoth explained. “But they have generally been—not a lower class, but something of the sort. Few of them reach the highest levels of Alphane government, which has not sat well with many of them. They know that Altharis and Phaenurs are simply more trustworthy than their own species, but that is not a pleasant admission for them, and whatever the cause, or whatever the justification, for their exclusion, the fact remains that they do not enjoy the full range of rights and opportunity available to Altharis or Phaenurs.
“Althari males, however, most definitely are a lower class. Althari females, until recently, considered them almost subsentient, useful only for breeding and as servants.”
“Barefoot and . . . well, I guess not pregnant,” Despreaux said dryly, and grimaced. “Great.”