The pounding of the heart under the stylish, dusky-rose suit transmitted itself to the man still pressing the curvaceous body against his chest. His mouth closed over his wife's. When he freed her lips, he kissed her brow, and smiled into the eyes brimming with tears.
Running her hands up both of his arms, Karyn whispered, "I love you!" with passionate vehemence.
"I love you." Gently, Arlen released his hold, and stepped back. Turning to the boy of nine who had said no word upon finding his parents locked in each other's arms, he embraced the child who bore a remarkable likeness to his father. "Tiryll, you'll escort your mother to the lifeboat lock, and watch over her until I see you both again. Hear?" Arlen issued that injunction with the same gravity with which he would have addressed an adult.
"I hear, Father. I'll take good care of Mother." Standing tall, the boy met piercing eyes the identical color of his own, squarely.
"Karyn, direct Oliver to raise Dahl as soon as he completes his liftoff, and report the time of your departure."
Having seen his wife and son into an autocab, the military dictator withdrew a holster and belt from a closet, and strapped to his person a unique weapon of his own devising. The hatched butt of a black-glass electronic stun-pistol--a device capable of rendering an opponent unconscious for a range of times from a minute to six hours, or of delivering instant death--protruded from the holster that now rode low on the hip of the warrior highly adept in the use of his invention.
Thus armed, the Commander-in-Chief crossed the congested corridor to reenter Ministry Main Habitat. Glancing up from the board at the man returning at the exact time he had specified, the aide nervously geared to handle a crisis in the dictator's absence smiled as his body visibly relaxed. "No premature action of any sort, sir," he reported. "Everything seems normal. I brought back a package of sandwiches and a flask of coffee. Would you care to eat?"
"I'd better. That was thoughtful of you, Dahl."
Seating himself next to his subordinate, the autocrat dined in leisurely fashion, chatting with his aide between calls, and giving no intimation to any casual observer that he just took a daring, irrevocable step that conceivably could cost him his life, and plunge his world into civil war.
For sheer cold nerve, Arlen surpasses even Norman , the spacer-fighter reflected admiringly. Damned if he isn't a leader I'll find it a pleasure to serve. Captain of a ship again. I never thought … Who else would ever have … You owe this man, Dahl.
At 0945, the Commander-in-Chief dismissed his aide, seated himself at the board, and waited for the first chessman in his game to appear. Carey should arrive an hour from now, if all goes well , Arlen mused. His charge won't cause him any problem. I strongly suspect that Marcel will welcome a chance to serve you instead of Dexter, and that he'll prove astute enough to realize that you'll keep him on as captain of the ship you seize. A few of your detainees might accept such an invitation, of those to whom you'd consider tendering an offer.
Even so, you'll probably end with more first-class ships than captains you feel able to trust with command of so priceless a prize. Why not reserve one of those vessels for your personal use? The height of autocratic arrogance, such a move, but an Earth-armed ship kept continually at your disposal might prove an indispensable asset at some point in the future. Debating courses, the instigator of a bold strike leveled against ruthless, self-serving rivals waited the seemingly interminable time preceding his entry into action.
Carey arrived in Arlen's office at 1040, relief written large on his open countenance. "No problem, sir. My men are outside in the corridor. Marcel offered no resistance. It seemed almost as if he expected such a move."
Briskly, Arlen commended the subordinate whom he now ordered to accompany him to the lock on which Brant's vessel rested.
At that exact moment, Brant sat in the office of the Commander of Fourth Corps, facing his superior in an attitude not nearly so relaxed as Courtney's. The latter, a burly figure whose lightly freckled and rather handsome face did indeed project the quality Adrienne had described as bluff heartiness, raked with pale blue eyes the tall, limber swordsman whose muscles rippled beneath his superbly tailored black uniform. Straight hair as golden as the dry wine Brant favored over spirits framed a face set in lines etched by habitual pride of caste.
Warily, the aristocratic officer returned the piercing glance, as he tried to calculate just what weighed today on Courtney's mind. He suspected that the same fear that had deprived him of a considerable measure of sleep lately also goaded his superior. Possessed of no illusions that the officer under whom he served would place the interests of his captains above his own, Brant, ambitious and career-conscious, expected that such would be the case, but he considered his brusque Commander to be a man governed by a sense of honor as sterling as his own.
Courtney's acute awareness of Brant's assumption, coupled with his own well-concealed but total lack of any regard for honor, prompted the Commander of Fourth Corps to view the notoriously touchy duelist as a tool inviting manipulation. "We live in interesting times, Brant," he remarked with elaborate casualness. "Space is ours, now that we're no longer involved in a war that a dictator new to the wielding of political power chose not to prosecute with the vigor--not to mention the men and the ships--which would have turned the tide in our favor.
"I nonetheless foresee ominous developments: changes that will adversely affect Fourth Corps' handling of its traditional responsibility. Those may lead to our finding ourselves hard-pressed to guard all the cargo vessels lifting and descending in remote municipal units in Columbia effectively enough that our world forfeits none in a strike by renegades--or worse yet, loses a priceless shipment of water ice. Too bad the Commander-in-Chief doesn't believe, as I do, that ability should form the first qualification of a captain entrusted with an Earth-armed ship."
"What do you mean by that remark, sir?" He's mounting a devious verbal campaign aimed at gaining some sort of an edge, the listener warned himself. Keep your guard up, Brant.
"Perhaps I spoke too bluntly. Not a good policy, these times, saying outright what one thinks. A man does well to watch his tongue, especially here in the capital. Of course, I can trust my senior captain to keep what I say in the privacy of my office confidential. Can I not?"
"You know you can, or you'd not have said what you just did, sir."
That rejoinder, delivered just a shade sardonically, evoked a seemingly hearty laugh. In a characteristic gesture, Courtney smoothed back the thick, reddish hair he wore a trifle longer than current fashions dictated. "You're right. Well, to be frank, I'd have done some juggling, seniority or no seniority, before I gave Simon or Carey an Earth-armed ship--or even Gordon. None of those three men begins to approach you either in all-around ability, or in resourcefulness. I imagine that when Arlen assumed command of Fifth Corps, Simon and Gordon ingratiated themselves--went to any length so as to keep their ships.
"They succeeded--which suggests that the Commander-in-Chief rates obsequiousness above skill. You don't catch Arlen's subordinates addressing him by his name. He doesn't welcome the least informality--never joins his officers when they enjoy sociable dinners or even more pleasant company afterwards. He welcomes boot-licking--only he calls it loyalty."
Brant raised a sardonic eyebrow, but passed no comment. Courtney assuredly generates no loyalty , he groused disdainfully. He'd not hesitate to shaft my career to win a power struggle. But he does value skill--recognizes it, and in ordinary times rewards the exercise of it. He also occasionally joins officers off duty, for a night out. Pleasant company, the Commander can be. Arlen's coldly formal in his dealings with the men under him, from what I can judge--a stickler for protocol. He keeps a distance from those who serve him, and most certainly never joins them in their pleasures.
Courtney's right. Simon's too cautious, Gordon's too predictable, and Carey's too inexperienced to rank in all-round ability anywhere close to the three of us who command Fourth Corps' first-class ships. I wond
er why Arlen didn't juggle assignments--find some pretext to ignore the seniority list? Well, his dealings with his men form no business of mine.
"You know, Brant, it wouldn't surprise me to find that the Commander-in-Chief employs his considerable power of persuasion to talk each of his commanders out of another Earth-armed military ship--or even all of them. If he succeeds in gaining control of those presently assigned to Fourth Corps, you'll find yourself forced to captain a second-class vessel--essentially demoted--while men even less well qualified than Carey command the ships armed with the irreproducible weaponry."
A black frown greeted that galling assertion. "No one's that persuasive, sir."
"The Commander-in-Chief might try, though."
Arlen more likely would use force , Brant conjectured dourly. At some time in the near future, I just might find myself relegated to a less challenging command that will render promotion far more difficult to gain. Well, I've thus far managed to avoid getting caught in a power play between commanders. If Arlen makes a grab for my ship, could I come out on his side without earning Courtney's enmity? Or on Galt's side, if he succeeds in overthrowing Arlen? Could I shift sides--perhaps twice--without compromising my honor? I wonder.
Musingly, idly, the canny manipulator remarked as if talking aloud to himself, "Arlen's as persuasive a man as I've ever known--famous for glib charm. That polite front he maintains in public guarantees that he never has to answer for the insults he occasionally lets slip in private. If he did, you'd…"
Breaking off his sentence in well-simulated confusion, Courtney acted to perfection a man absently voicing private thoughts, who suddenly realizes he went too far, and fumbles an attempt to cover a slip. "I want you to know, I'm pleased with the way you've…"
Leaning forward in his chair, his tall body gone suddenly taut, Brant interrupted his superior. "Just what did you start out to say, sir?"
"What I had no business saying. A slip. I recalled one of those chance remarks passed between officers imbibing a shot of brandy on an empty stomach, after a long, tedious meeting. The sort of careless statement the hearer, if he's smart, seeks to forget. I alone know that Otis overheard the words Arlen thought he used in my presence only. Otis reminded me of the incident, today. I guess that's why my reference to it popped out so inappropriately. I told him to bury what he overheard."
"You've gone too far to do that yourself now, sir. An insult that lingered in both your memory and Otis's demands action on my part. Just what did Arlen say about me?" The renowned duelist's high, clear voice quivered with passion.
"Brant, I surely didn't mean to stir up trouble between you and a military dictator who wields supreme power. If you're wise, you'll relax, and trust two men who value your friendship to keep a careless remark Arlen has likely forgotten he ever made, to their own selves. Now, let's get us a cup of coffee, and…"
The Senior Captain rose, radiating cold fury. "Sir, my honor demands that I defend it against careless remarks passed in the presence of my superior and my peer. I intend to confront my detractor, whether or no. If, having gone this far, you refuse to tell me the nature of the remark, you'll put me at a disadvantage."
Rising in his turn to confront the subordinate controlling burgeoning anger, Courtney shrugged in seemingly reluctant capitulation. "All right. We were reminiscing about professors from whom we took classes at the University, and what sort of subjects various officers chose for their majors. I mentioned the name of a classmate who didn't graduate with us, given that he flunked a required course in mathematics. Arlen airily remarked that your professors were too afraid of your sword to fail you."
The blood drained from Brant's cheeks. Hot ire blazed from the eyes of a man who indeed had found certain subjects difficult, but who had earned his degree honestly, by dogged hard work. His pained cognizance that Arlen, physicist, physician, psychologist, inventor, possessed an intellectual brilliance that few men of his Earthcentury could match, rendered the inflammatory affront the more intolerable, just as Courtney had known it would. The thought never once crossed Brant's mind that his commander might prove capable of uttering a barefaced lie.
Exulting inwardly at the success of his ploy, the practiced dissembler laid an arm in comradely fashion over his dupe's shoulders. "You might, on reflection, suspect that I may have exaggerated the provocation, Brant. If you want corroboration, I'll take no offense if you ask Otis to give his version of what happened. He's making certain arrangements for me right now, in the adjoining office."
Wounded to the quick, goaded by a stinging blow to his pride, the victor in a score of duels angrily shook his head. "I don't suspect any such thing! You'd scarcely urge that I ask Otis, unless he indeed heard exactly what you related. No. I'll demand satisfaction!"
"Brant, listen to me. If you feel obliged to act, don't do it rashly. Arlen's slippery-tongued. If you confront him without witnesses, he'll simply refuse to accept a challenge from a subordinate, and might even…"
"You think I don't know how and where to call out a man who offered me a mortal insult, sir?" Brant's impassioned voice now assumed an ominous softness, even as faint lines etched by habitual arrogance into a narrow, fair-skinned face gained suddenly in prominence.
"Let me know where and when, and I'll form an additional witness."
"I'll do that."
"Let's get us a cup of coffee." As he spoke, Courtney turned towards the entry.
At that precise moment, the door opened with a clang, startling the two Fourth Corpsmen, who stiffened as Arlen strode into the cabin. Both men's eyes narrowed as they caught sight of the stun-pistol, still holstered, riding low on his hip. Even as the import of that circumstance struck home, Carey, his right hand crossed in front of his body so as to rest on the hilt of his sheathed sword, entered to flank the Commander-in-Chief. Five of Carey's spacers, also armed with swords, ranged themselves along the wall behind their superiors.
Cold fear gripped the plotter who instantly realized that his archrival, unaccountably spurred out of the complacency that Courtney had scathingly attributed to ignorance of the intrigues of four commanders acutely desirous of overthrowing their former peer, might today succeed in cementing his grip on power. Courtney had counted on that complacency, even as he privately derided it as evidence of its possessor's unfitness to hold power. Automatically, his hand crossed to the hilt of his blade, as did that of his senior captain: twin moves that caused the Commander-in-Chief to draw his stun-pistol with astonishing swiftness, and level the weapon at the Commander of Fourth Corps.
Both men's hands dropped.
Arlen's sardonic smile chilled the blood of the trap-setter cursing the lack of foresight that led to his being caught so badly off guard. "Well, Courtney," the dictator observed, his melodious voice radiating supreme assurance, "you undoubtedly guess that I'm seizing control of the Earth-armed military ships of each of my commanders. My men occupy Otis's, Yukio's, and yours, Brant."
Resting his glance on the blonde swordsman's ice-white, furious face, the Commander-in-Chief saw at once that Adrienne's current lover had administered the final drop of poison.
Desperately hoping to provoke his dupe into issuing a challenge before his rival succeeded in employing his formidable power of persuasion to defuse the man's anger, Courtney murmured to Brant, "What did I tell you?"
Before the irate officer could reply, Arlen impaled him with glittering eyes, projecting the full force of his commanding persona. "Courtney evidently suggested that I covet your vessel, Brant. Well, I do--and I covet you as well. Will you accept my invitation to command your ship, as the first captain I recruit to join the Special Force I'm creating to meet the imminent threat of space war with Gaea?"
Thunderstruck, the recipient of that astounding offer stared at the dictator whose glance met his with perfect directness. Conflicting emotions racked the career-minded officer, as suppositions raced through his mind. That offer's genuine! It has to be, if Arlen made it before Carey and his spacers! To a ma
n he despises--insulted? I can't … The thought drove home to the Senior Captain that the Commander-in-Chief seemed on the verge of winning, hands down, a power struggle that he himself initiated. The careerist's inner agony showed nakedly.
Arlen's smile reappeared, as he inquired, "Did Courtney predict that I'd want you as well as your ship?"
"He informed me that the men you court so glibly in public, you insult in private," Brant hissed, wounded pride prevailing over concern for his career.
"Indeed! No wonder you're angry. I challenge Courtney to a test, Brant, in the presence of these witnesses--a test I'll willingly undergo myself, to secure your service. I'll inject myself with truth compeller, and allow you to ask any question you wish--and urge Courtney to do the same." Turning to the checkmated rival whose ashen face betrayed both fear and guilt, Arlen demanded, "Do you accept? Here, and now, in the presence of these men and any others you choose to act as witnesses?"
"I won't so degrade myself--subject myself to such indignity!" Knowing himself trapped, the plotter managed to infuse that refusal with haughty disdain, even as he knew his response to be far too ineffectual to carry any weight with the witnesses.
"Mm. I will, gladly, with or without your joining me. Carey, send one of your men to the infirmary for a spring-capsule."
A spacer hastened into the corridor in response to his captain's gesture. The man riveting all eyes turned to the stunned Senior Captain, and drawled a provocative query. "Did Courtney try to persuade you to initiate a confrontation the consequence of which would have benefited none but himself, had I chanced to delay making this move for a week or so, Brant?"
Smugly, Arlen savored the expression of outraged comprehension that suddenly overspread Brant's face. Recognizing the hatred in Courtney's as mortal, the canny political infighter determined on a course he knew to be fraught with danger. Interrogate under truth compeller this devious conniver who treasonably sought to encompass your death, and order him court-marshaled. The bastard will draw a death sentence--more for the despicable method he employed, than for his intent to supplant you. You don't dare leave him even as a figurehead, now. He'll hire an assassin.
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