Arlen detected the caller's uneasiness as Paige replied, "I talked to both men a second time, sir, an hour after Yuri first raised me. I didn't inform you at that point, fearing that I might lose all contact with them. The connection was unsatisfactory both times. I asked that question. Yuri stated flatly that Columbia's history of treacherous actions--our ancestors' plots, which forced Johann into the drastic course he took, as well as Leon's and Norman's violating the Convention--rendered the majority of their associates highly suspicious, sir. Signe reluctantly permitted two men wishful for peace to contact a noncombatant intermediary, so as to relay a message to you, but evidently she intends to keep her guard up.
"Sean declared even more bluntly that Signe's core staff suspects that she risks assassination if she docks on Columbia. Any meeting between you and her would have to occur in a place and a manner that would absolutely assure her high command that no such attempt could succeed. Yuri emphasized that while Sean and himself had secured their commander's permission to meet with you, all they'd be attempting would be to assess whether you really entertained any desire to forge a treaty."
"I see." Haughty sorts, those two. Plainspoken. For self-appointed, would-be envoys, they exhibit no suavity--no finesse--but admit the galling truth, Arlen. The Gaeans abided by the Convention--trusted in it. They adhered to so rigorous a pacifism that they abjured even the use of swords to settle personal quarrels in duels. They maintained an aloof, unyielding isolationism, rebuffing any overtures regarding interworld trade, but the Gaean leadership didn't offer any gross provocation sufficient to justify Norman's legalized plundering of their world--conquest sullied by vicious rapine and callous slaughter of civilians.
Norman talked Leon and his civilian advisers into an act that did indeed cast a foul blot on Columbian honor, and I rose to power as a result of Leon's assassination. Easy to guess what Signe and her captains assume. I can't blame them. Well! This development offers possibilities, but damned if I'll give any impression of blatant eagerness.
Those thoughts racing through Arlen's mind produced no appreciable pause in the conversation. "I find your news intriguing, Paige," he resumed smoothly, "but hardly conducive to the generation of high hopes. I'm not averse to the idea of meeting with Signe's envoys, merely wary. Did these two men seem willing to dock in Columbia, themselves?"
"Most definitely, sir. They feared for Signe's life, not their own. I suppose they figure they're unlikely to form any target for assassination themselves. They're just messengers. They said they'd call me back, and set a time three weeks from today. They plan to fly to Columbia under a symbolic flag of truce--just the two of them, in a military ship. Sean said we'd have to accept that necessity, as would they. He emphasized that no other type of vessel is available to them."
What in hell did Signe do with the cargo ship? Arlen asked himself. Perhaps they crashed it. Given her ingrained distrust of Columbians, she'd surely prefer to risk that vessel, rather than allow a military ship to dock here. Can we risk letting one of her Earth-armed ships dock? "I'll devote profound thought to this matter, Paige," Arlen assured the engineer. "Let me ask you: what impression did you form of these two men?"
"They're tough and dedicated, but sincere, sir. Yuri I know to be extraordinarily gifted. He ought to be doing research. I can see where he'd yearn for peace."
This civilian just spoke what he feels to be the absolute truth , Arlen assured himself, convinced by a set of subtle, nonverbal cues unconsciously exhibited by the engineer. Well! Perhaps a breakthrough's in the offing. Better proceed with infinite caution. "I thank you for coming, Paige," he affirmed with gracious warmth. "I'll be in touch with you. Be sure before you leave that my aide knows where to reach you at any time."
Reseating himself at his desk, Arlen reviewed the intermediary's recital. Perhaps those two officers' very bluntness--their lack of diplomatic polish--offers hope, he mused. I'd enjoy a definite advantage in an encounter with straightforward types unused to devious maneuvers--men unable to conceal their reactions. Besides, if Signe agreed to let them hazard a military ship, she surely must entertain some slim hope of a breakthrough. Negotiating face to face with her would be an entirely different matter than dealing with these youths. Such a confrontation would pose a challenge, but I'd likely still hold an edge.
I'll need to arrange the circumstances surrounding the arrival of my archfoe's envoys with exceeding care--effectively guard both these Gaean officers, and their ship, so as to demonstrate that no assassin could reach Signe, should she agree to a meeting. I admit to entertaining a wish to meet that woman. Formidable foe, she turned out to be. Adrienne's assessment struck right on the mark.
Pain swirled up from the depths where the widower strove constantly to keep it locked away, out of his consciousness. I could use … relief. But not … Karyn … I miss you …
Succumbing to a most uncharacteristic impulse, Arlen laid his head on the arms folded on his desk, and fought back despairing, scalding tears.
Chapter Eleven
"So, gentlemen, I intend to receive these two envoys from Signe. This unexpected overture might well open the way for a negotiated end to a costly war. Such an outcome I consider far preferable to the current frustrating stalemate. At this time, I'll apprise you of my plans for handling the situation."
Supremely at ease, Arlen swept an imperious glance over the faces of his five commanders. Coolly, he weighed the reaction of each stunned subordinate to his electrifying announcement. Fulke's phlegmatic countenance registered acceptance bordering on relief. Suppressing a scowl, Norman stiffened the body held tautly erect. Compressing thin lips, Dexter narrowed eyes gone suddenly speculative. Arlen surmised correctly that Orloff experienced no chagrin over the war's ending, but concluded that he did fear the adverse effects a cessation of the conflict might wreak on his career.
Galt's handsome face consciously, skillfully, projected wary hopefulness. Roused to sardonic admiration of the man's capacity to conceal his true feelings, Arlen studied his most dangerous rival. Eyes hard as diamond met his unflinchingly. Once I've neutralized the threat Signe poses, I'll deal with you ¾ never doubt that, the Commander-in-Chief mentally challenged the officer inwardly seething with incandescent anger.
As he strode out of the meeting, Galt took pains to preserve a glacial calm. That demeanor distinguished him until he gained the privacy of his office in Second Corps' Headquarters. Serene features suddenly contorted into an expression of virulent hatred. Like a caged, feline animal, the broad shouldered athlete paced the deck.
Damn and blast this new development! he fumed. This turn upsets all my plans. Just when I see my way clear to augmenting the authority I enjoy as Commander of the Corps entrusted with guarding the space around Columbia from attack by renegades, this happens! Our traditional role--scouring outlaws out of their havens on O'Neill--severely limits me. I need to go on absorbing into that sphere of influence various functions formerly reserved to the Minister of Internal Security! And now this thrice-damned advocate of appeasement proposes to end the state of war that justifies my assumption of new responsibilities!
Damn Arlen to a vile death! A negotiated peace will free him to concentrate the bulk of his energy on destroying me. He'll find ample time in which to eviscerate Second Corps. Look what he did to Third … and to Fourth! Not that I wish that Courtney still survived. No way! But that development foreshadowed other unsettling changes. Norman has been rendered ineffectual. Orloff's Arlen's puppet! So is Fulke! Dexter's plotting some increase in his own power--very likely, a coup. Damn! Why in hell doesn't Dexter find some pretext to challenge Arlen? He'd prevail, master swordsman that he is! That would give me the opening I need--allow me to seize the supreme power that Arlen grabbed for himself after Leon's death. Likely Dexter figures I'd do so, though, and doesn't feel ready, yet, himself. And if I suspect that Dexter's plotting some coup, likely Arlen does, as well. Dexter fails utterly to bind his men to himself with ties of loyalty! Appeals to their greed--
their own lust for power! Fool!
Give Arlen credit where it's due, Galt. He rivals your ability to command loyalty, even if he doesn't match you as a warrior--or Dexter, that superb swordsman, or Norman, that savage, scarred veteran. Damned if you can fault the bastard's nerve, though. Just think back! You savored a most welcome certainty that Arlen's stupidity in walking in to negotiate face to face with that psychotic maniac holding three Fifth Corpsmen hostage--three men not even officers!--would assure his death, but he sweet-talked that insane brute into surrendering the handweapon he held trained on Arlen's chest! Walked out of there unscathed! The slippery sod could beguile a whore into parting with her life's savings! He'll talk that Gaean slut into withdrawing to her blasted rock--to staying home! Peace! A cessation of hostilities will trash the best opportunity ever afforded me, to come out on top!
Peace. What if … Arlen emphasized that Signe fears assassination. He looked me straight in the eye as he added, "And with good reason." My accursed rival's morally certain I engineered Leon's death, but he never uncovered a shred of proof. He won't, either, but what an opportunity I lost, right then! The best I ever engineered--only to find that I'd accommodated Arlen ! Shades of the slain!
Neville's the bastard who made the difference--threw his support to my worst enemy. Well, Neville will pay for giving Arlen the edge he needed to outmaneuver me. When I act, our bootlicking First Minister will forfeit his miserable life.
Assassination poses too great a risk of exposure. I'd precipitate civil war--a titanic struggle I'd lose--if the men in the Special Force and Fifth Corps suspected that I engineered Arlen's death. No way could I prevail against the massed might of eleven Earth-armed military ships. No. Leon's demise sprang from a unique, non-reproducible opportunity. But what if I prevent this overture from succeeding? Keep the war going--force Arlen to stay occupied by the conflict, while I solidify my position? Strengthen mine, while weakening his? How could I …
Of course! You blind … Why not? Second Corps' military locks--back-to-back with those where the envoys will descend! My rival's keeping the details secret from the public. Arlen fears for the lives of the Gaeans, and the safety of the ship. He worries that the envoys might make some hostile move, as well, though he won't admit that. So they'll dock directly opposite Fifth Corps' Headquarters, and be met by a guard under Norman himself.
Clever of Arlen, that arrangement. He judges that if some attack were planned, Norman's veterans would most likely be the ones initiating it. So he laid the responsibility for security on Norman personally--placed him in a position where both his pride and his rank as Commander of Third Corps lie squarely on the line. Any attack by present or former Third Corpsmen would destroy what's left of Norman's career.
Well! Those envoys are officers. Veterans of the surface war, I've no doubt. Men who'll bear savage hatred for Norman. Arlen knows that. Is he testing their willingness to look ahead … not back? Right at the start? Understandable. And if they do blast somebody, it'll be a man Arlen coldly sees as expendable. As do I. It surely wouldn't sadden me to see Norman wiped!
So why not … Could I swing that? What a coup, if no one ever suspected! Not sufficient this time to outface lingering suspicions allowing of no verification. I'll require a titanium-steel alibi. I'll need to be standing right next to Arlen himself. So how … Think, Galt. This could be the breakthrough of a lifetime. Think!
The man weighing desperate courses--all equally treasonous--suddenly stopped short in his fevered pacing of the deck, his face a study in malevolent elation. Of course! My manipulation of that crazed genius worked to perfection four Earthyears ago. He's grown steadily more paranoid. They've incarcerated him in his quarters, and retained keepers. But if they still let him tinker …
Why wouldn't they? His mental aberrations don't affect his inventiveness, or cloud his understanding of physical principles. Would he still remember me? He's become considerably worse lately, Marlenn says, but my periodic visits over a span of a half-dozen Earthyears--visits I made so as to bind Marlenn's loyalty all the more firmly to myself while disguising my real interest--should have served to keep my memory fresh in that deranged mind. I had Reinwald figured. Worth a try, that notion. Definitely worth a try!
At 1900 that same evening, Galt stepped out of an autocab in a corridor to the rear of Ministry Main Habitat. Standing before a facade, he braced himself to tackle a ticklish chore, before pressing the buzzer at the entry to a section. A burly man wearing the dark gray uniform of a medical technician in the employ of the Ministry of Health opened the door, and stared in surprise at the caller.
"I'm Galt, Commander, Second Corps," the visitor identified himself in a tone freighted with authority. "Marlenn's my Lieutenant Commander. I've known his uncle for Earthyears. I earned Reinwald's friendship before his malady gained so unfortunate a hold on him. I rather think he'll remember me. I used to visit him often, in happier times. The thought occurred to me that a man shouldn't abandon his friends, no matter how great a misfortune strikes them. I'd like to pay him a visit. You're his keeper?"
"One of six, sir. Jamison, I am. But as for a visit… I'm not sure how Reinwald would react. He's grown deeply paranoid--dangerous. Capable of violence. It takes both my assistant and my own self to handle him, at times. I'd hate to run such a risk to your life, sir."
Galt's hearty laugh plainly conveyed derision. "Reinwald's frail, elderly, and lacks a third of my height," he drawled sardonically. "Both my strength and my training give me an edge in a hand-to-hand encounter with a renegade my size--a man in the prime of life. I hardly think I need fear a physical assault. Not that I'd hurt the old gentleman while fending off an attack¾no way. Now, let me chance a visit, Jamison."
The Commander's imperious manner overawed the still-dubious public employee. "Well…I guess we can see how he'll react, sir, but I advise you to leave your sword here. He might assume you intend to use it on him."
Slipping the carrier off his belt, Galt laid the sheathed blade on a once-plush chair worn threadbare. A swift glance around the fusty premises generated an eerie sense of incipient decay, of brooding malignancy. "Do you still let your charge work at producing new inventions?" the caller inquired with calculated casualness. Focusing on the crisply uniformed, middle-aged attendant, the warrior seldom if ever troubled by morbid imaginings strove to shake off a feeling that he consciously judged irrational.
"We do, sir. Reinwald putters in his workshop for hours at a time. Keeps him calm, that activity, although we found we need to keep a sharp eye on just what he's doing in there. He constructed a most ingenious weapon, once--a crossbow. Norris figured out what it had to be--he'd seen a program on the vid featuring clips from ancient films taken on Earth. But normally, the old man builds electronic devices similar to those he was once famous for inventing. One of his creations starts the oven in the galley by remote, from any cabin in the quarters or the laboratory. We use that outfit all the time, now."
"Brilliant mind, Reinwald's. A pity, what's happened to it. Well. Let's see whether or not he remembers me."
Although still patently dubious, Jamison nonetheless led the way to a sitting area off the corridor that separated the quarters from the laboratory. A second gray-clad attendant rose from a squat metal bench. That individual, younger than Jamison, kept his eyes riveted to the thin, slight, hunched form that sprang with astonishing agility from a frayed chair unpleasantly stained where its occupant's head and hands customarily rested. Combatively, the former inventor confronted the pair arriving. Bright black eyes narrowed as they fixed themselves on the tall, blonde, black-uniformed military figure.
"Ehhhh! Galt!" the old man screeched. "Still in one piece, I see! Well, now! Takes some doing, that! Look at me, would you! Surrounded by sniveling hypocrites trying to ferret out my secrets! They've moved in on me! Damned brutes!"
His face wreathed in a smile, Galt strode forward with hand extended. "Good to see you alive and kicking, Reinwald."
A claw-like memb
er gripped the proffered hand. Now what brings you here, you archplotter? No mere wish to chat, I'll bet my next meal. I used you once … rid myself of an enemy. Kept your secret … and my own. Ahhh … you don't change, Galt. Cold as liquid nitrogen, that shriveled organ that passes as your heart. Dangerous, you are, but I'm a match for you … see through you.
With no warning, the psychopath turned vituperatively on the two attendants, one of whom stood somewhat to the rear of his patient. "Don't sneak around behind my back, you damned prying nuisances! Get out, will you? I'm visiting. I still have one friend left. Get out!"
Jamison and Norris exchanged anxious glances.
"Leave us, gentlemen," Galt commanded. "I'm quite sure I can handle things." Oh, yes. To perfection.
Reluctantly, the two attendants retired into an adjoining cabin. Having slid the door closed, the peppery inventor waved his guest into a chair. "Sit down, Galt. I see no enemy has found your back unguarded, yet." Yours … or mine!
"Not yet, Reinwald. No…I've never encountered so dangerous an enemy as the one from whom you delivered both of us, so long ago. I don't forget what I owe you, either."
The small man glanced furtively over his shoulder. Bright, black, bird-like eyes swept the cluttered environs of the cabin. The reedy voice dropped to a whisper. "I fixed him, didn't I? You need to watch what you say here. These bastards spy on me constantly. Interfere with my work. Pester me beyond bearing. Keep me locked up. Marlenn's behind all of it. My conniving relative has persecuted me for Earthyears. They've locked me out of my old workplace. All I can get into is one small part. So much lost…lost! Damn them!" Could I employ Galt to rid me of Marlenn, if I play this hand with exquisite care?
"Reinwald, I've a new enemy: one dangerous to our world. I need your help. I'd not ask you, given the severity of your own troubles, except that no one else stands able to do for me what you can. You'd need to keep this as secret as the other…"
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