Len Borda's army was now surrounded.
"Fuck," cursed Cheng all of a sudden. "Fuck. Fuck."
"What's the matter?" snapped Rosz.
"The Islanders."
True to the commander's words, the Islanders had crossed the unconnectible curtain in massive force some thirty minutes ago. Their hoverbirds had quickly gained the Australian continent and now they were advancing furiously on Melbourne.
Rosz could feel the frustration building up inside of him. The Islanders, brave warriors though they might be, had never posed a serious threat to Melbourne. They had never shown any interest in expanding beyond their borders, and so had developed a mostly defensive air force. One incapable of penetrating through the Australian continent, or so the Council had always believed. But Magan Kai Lee must have provided them some kind of logistical or materiel support, because they had cut through the continental defenses quite easily. And now they were headed this way-hundreds upon hundreds of hoverbirds' worth.
The war room began to feel cloistered and hot as Rosz and Cheng spent the next two hours wrestling with the problem of the ammunition mix. Magan's troops still seemed remarkably resistant to Borda's black code. There were casualties, to be sure-and the loyalists still significantly outnumbered the rebels-but the trend was a worrisome one. If they couldn't put down Magan's troops before the Islanders arrived, how would they handle a joint connectible-unconnectible force?
"We've got to keep them separated," said Cheng, pinching the flesh on the bridge of his nose. "Once the two forces mingle, we're done for."
Rosz nodded. Unconnectible and connectible enemies required vastly different breeds of black code. The toxins and poisons that would send an Islander swimming in the Null Current were easily metabolized by connectible OCHREs, while the advanced code that deactivated OCHREs or put them in a lethal frenzy was useless on an Islander.
But as two hours turned into three and the Islander hoverbird force drew ever closer, Rosz began to despair. When the first hoverbirds appeared on the horizon and the Islanders started pouring onto the plain, the general knew that the jig was up.
Islanders with shock batons streamed over the hillside and joined the fray at close quarters. Rosz and Cheng watched in despair as Borda's force dwindled by the minute. The general buried his face in his hands. It wasn't that he bore any great love for Len Borda; what he fought for was the rule of law and order, and by taking up arms against the high executive, Magan Kai Lee had violated that rule. A number of his colleagues had argued with him in secret that it was Borda who had violated that rule in the Tul Jabbor Complex, if not far earlier. Rosz could not even entirely say that he disagreed. But firm lines had to be drawn and adhered to somewhere, even if the innocent sometimes found themselves on the wrong side of that line.
And it was then that a realization sparked in Rosz's mind.
"The Islanders, Cheng," he said, slumping down into his chair. "We've been fighting them the whole time."
The commander eyed his superior officer warily. "What do you mean?"
"I mean the entire diplomatic catastrophe in Manila-the refusal to fight with Magan Kai Lee-General Cheronna and Triggendala making demands to the parliament-it was all staged. The army in the white robes and yellow stars that marched against us, those were unconnectibles."
"How could they manage that?" protested Cheng. "We've had Cheronna's army under surveillance the whole time-even in the Islands."
It was a clever subterfuge, Rosz realized. Of course they had Cheronna's army under surveillance. That was exactly what Magan had been counting on. They could see Magan's and Cheronna's armies side by side in the warehouse district-but they couldn't see what was happening in those warehouses. Soldiers suiting up in unfamiliar uniforms. Mechanics painting hoverbirds. Connectibles picking up shock batons and Islanders picking up dartrifles.
Rosz surveyed the battlefield once again. Now that the subterfuge had been uncovered, Len Borda's army was finally firing the correct ammunition at the correct enemy. But they were horribly outnumbered now, and surrounded, and scattered. The tide had already turned, and victory had already been swept out to sea.
"It's a new world, Cheng," lamented Rosz, as he stared dolefully at the carnage on the battlefield. "Unfortunately, we've been playing by the old rules."
Shit, Monck says in encrypted battle language. Borda.
Natch freezes. What about him?
Big fleet of Council hoverbirds headed this way. They're going to try storming the Kordez Thassel Complex.
Natch looks around and sees members of Monck's team hustling as quickly as they can back in the opposite direction, discreetly reaching for dartguns. They seem to be foregoing stealth now in favor of speed-which is drawing the attention of the Thasselians in black robes.
We're going to try to head them off at the docks, says Monck. I think we can keep them busy until reinforcements get here.
And Brone?
We saw Brone pass this way a few minutes ago. Went into those double doors. The operative gestures ahead of them to a short, empty hallway and a grand set of double doors. Natch recognizes this hallway and those doors; it's the same place where Brone met with Merri and Petrucio a few days ago. I've got your back until you get inside.
The entrepreneur gives Jorge Monck a nod. Thanks, Monck, he says. Couldn't have gotten here without you.
Hey, the Council operative replies with a smirk, they pay me to do this. Now go ahead. Get in there and plug the target. Quick, before he hears about the approaching hoverbirds. Give me a signal when the job's done.
And then Natch is walking down the hall to the double doors. He's on his own now.
Silence descended on the waters of the North Sea. Far off in the foam, pixelated French sailors still clung to driftwood and yelled for mercy, but the wind was doing a more than serviceable job of scattering their pleas to digital oblivion. Len Borda surveyed the sea to the north, south, east, and west, but the only vessels still afloat were the battered ships flying the red, white, and blue of the Union Jack. Should he sail from Norway to the Strait of Gibraltar, he knew he would see the same thing. The high executive stood at the prow of his sloop-of-war, inhaling the smell of salt, of gunpowder, of burning wood, of celebra tory rum being broken out of caskets in defiance of regulations, of blood and seared flesh....
And then he was running belowdecks into his cabin, slamming the door shut, barricading it with virtual furniture. He looked around wildly for a hammer and nails, found them, began tacking charts and maps and canvas and whatever else he could find over the porthole. Anything to keep out those desperate voices from the sea pleading in broken English.
Help me! Help me!
Mercy!
All hail ze queen of England! Take me to your prisoner! I beg, I have children ...
Please! Please, let me ... let me see my daughter one last time ... Anything! I'll give you ... anything ... all the money in the world, please....
The charred hand sticking out of the wreckage.
The ruined man lying on the stretcher.
A curse. May you see many more decades. May you live long enough to see exactly what you've done to the world.
Borda slumped to the floor and huddled there with his back to his desk and his knees under his chin. Let the French sailors waft in the spray, calling out for mercy to the black, black sky. The British sailors too. Their doom had been seeking them out ever since they had enlisted in the navy. Let them drift and drown until they had learned the same truths that Len Borda had learned: that time ran in one direction only, that a death sentence once carried out could not be repealed, that the universe had no interest in acclimating itself to the whims and desires of humanity.
"High Executive."
Borda's head shot up in surprise at the voice. He hadn't intended to fall asleep, and he had specifically directed the sentries outside his office to let in no one. No one. Or was it to the virtual soldiers he had given that order? Borda's eyes focused on the hand extended ou
t to him. Then he followed the arm back up to its owner, and he had the source of his dismay.
"Let me help you stand," said Magan Kai Lee. "Let's have this discussion in comfort."
The lieutenant executive was dressed in full ceremonial garb: formfitting white robe, gray smock, dartgun strapped in holster, even the saber that Borda himself had not bothered to wear for decades. Borda took Magan's hand, noting that even sitting down, the high executive was not much shorter than his subordinate. He stood and followed Magan to the pair of faux-leather chairs sitting in the corner of the cabin.
Standing amidst SeeNaRee furniture strewn by the door were four of Magan's loyal officers, each armed with a dartrifle. Their dartrifles were out, and while they were not pointed at Borda, fingers were nestled on the triggers. Borda scanned the four of them; not a turncoat in the bunch.
Slightly removed from the four guards stood the Council's chief solicitor, Rey Gonerev, and the general in charge of the Melbourne defenses, Rosz.
"Traitor!" scowled Borda at his senior general. "You would abandon me too, Rosz?"
"No, Rosz has remained faithful to you to the last," said Magan. The general stood stiffly at attention, gazing at nowhere and nothing. Borda noticed that he was the only one in Magan's coterie who was not armed.
Magan unbelted his saber and handed it to one of his officers, then settled in to his chair. "We have an honor guard standing by," he said. "Five hoverbirds, ready to escort you back to the North Plains. Your L-PRACG is planning a welcoming ceremony. We've tried to keep the preparations a secret, but someone has already leaked the details to Mah Lo Vertiginous. A number of your supporters are gathered there now. "
Len Borda slumped into his seat and let his elbows flop down onto the armrests. His mind tried to cut through the fog, but it was so difficult, so difficult. The last? No, not yet. "Tell me," he said, his voice acid, "why should I make this easy for you?"
The lieutenant executive was unfazed. "I was under the impression that I was making this easy for you."
"Why should I grant you the crust of legitimacy you crave? A coup d'etat against the high executive of the Defense and Wellness Council should be done by force of arms. You'll need to drag me out of here in chains. Or better yet-" The high executive thrust his chest forward and rubbed a spot on his sternum. "I think three black code darts ought to do the trick, don't you?" He made a motion towards Magan's retinue, which ignored him. Was it Borda's imagination, or did General Rosz look embarrassed?
Magan, by contrast, looked as composed as if he had rehearsed his lines. Which, Borda supposed, he had. "If you think I'd balk at ordering my officers to shoot you down, you're mistaken," said Magan. "I've learned the lessons you taught too well."
"You have, have you?" The high executive stood from his chair and stomped over to the porthole, still covered with the canvas he had nailed there earlier. Borda clawed it off, letting the sun shine into the cabin once more. "Then what are you waiting for? Do it in front of the whole world! Do it before-"
"Before what?" Magan said. "Before the Blade shoots me?"
Len Borda whirled around expectantly. He saw Rey Gonerev standing with pistol at the ready. But his heart sank when he saw that the gun was not aimed at Magan; it was aimed at Borda.
"The high executive's chair in two years is quite a prize," continued the lieutenant executive. "But Rey is perfectly aware that you promised me the exact same thing."
The high executive stared into the defiant eyes of the Blade, looking for some reason to hope that this was one last bluff on her part. He tried to open a ConfidentialWhisper channel to the solicitor, but she would not accept his request. Do it! he commanded silently. Shoot him down! You know that once Magan's gone, his officers will see that they have no alternative. They'll be my officers! The Council will be united once again!
Ten seconds passed. Borda searched his mind for priority messages, looking to see if perhaps his other last-resort effort might pan out. If, against the odds, he should manage to wrest control of MultiReal from that lunatic of a bodhisattva ... But no, he could see now, Magan Kai Lee was a step ahead of him in the Twin Cities as well. The loyalists had not even made it past the hoverbird docks before encountering stiff resistance from the lieutenant executive's officers. There was a fierce firefight raging outside the Kordez Thassel Complex's doors, and Magan's reinforcements were en route.
It was over.
Borda shuffled back and took the seat opposite Magan Kai Lee, suddenly feeling the weight of years hanging like a millstone around his neck. His knees were aflame, but he didn't have the energy to hunt down a bio/logic salve. "I had thought that you would never accept the authority of a brigand," he said to the Blade, his voice cracking with exhaustion. "A common criminal! Isn't that what you told me?"
"I told you what you wanted to hear," said Gonerev.
The lieutenant executive had not moved from his chair. "I may have come from low beginnings, but I offered Rey something better than bribes," he said.
"And what is that?" snapped Borda.
"A clear path of succession, guided by the rule of law. I have assured her that my first act in office will be to petition the Prime Committee to limit the high executive's tenure to a maximum of two five-year terms."
"You will cripple the office."
"It is for the sake of the office that I've done all this." Magan extended his hands over the sides of the chair, as if they could encom pass a whole rebellion. "It is to restore the honor of the office that I'm asking you to step down. Not for me, but for the sake of Tul Jabbor, who founded the Defense and Wellness Council, and for the sake of Toradicus and Par Padron, who turned the Council into an organ of compassion and justice."
Len Borda could feel the ire rise within him. How dare Magan take such a righteous tone with him? Magan the flexible, Magan the spineless, Magan the dissembler. "And what would Toradicus and Par Padron think of the way you've chosen to take power? Through trickery and deceit? I think perhaps Zetarysis the Mad would be a more appropriate compari-"
"For process' preservation!" thundered the lieutenant executive, slamming his fist down on the armrest of the chair. "Fifty-eight years. For fifty-eight years, you've made a mockery of this institution. There's not a principle of the Council that you haven't subverted for your personal gain. And now you are alone, Borda, and you will step out of this office and into that waiting hoverbird, or I'll have you dragged to one of your own orbital prisons. I'll have you put on trial for all the world to see."
The four officers could not help but twitch in shock, having never heard such a tone from the cool, rational lips of Magan Kai Lee. Rey Gonerev nearly dropped her pistol. General Rosz blinked rapidly and took a step back.
And then, in the space of a breath, Magan had caged his passions once more.
"I was prepared to wait," continued Lee, his voice quiet and hoarse but his jaw still quivering with muted rage. "I was prepared to bargain. You were the one who tried to assassinate me on the floor of the Tul Jabbor Complex. You were the one who refused to abide by your agreements. And you dare talk about making things easy for me?
"Now go. You'll be given your honor guard. You'll be escorted to your hoverbird. There is freshly caught lobster on board. Go before I change my mind."
Gonerev, Rosz, and the four officers turned as one to the high executive to see what he would do.
Len Borda carefully studied the face of his adversary. He could see that the seeds of doubt he had planted in Magan's psyche had taken root. He could hear the defensiveness in Magan's voice. No matter what the man accomplished in the high executive's seat from this moment forward, there would always be that kernel of unease, that niggling doubt growing like an ineradicable weed within him. And Rey Gonerev too! Borda turned his piercing gaze into her eyes. He could see it there too, that crack in the foundation of the regime through which the weed of illegitimacy would always sprout anew, informing all the citizens of the world that nothing had changed, reminding them that underne
ath Magan's high-minded ideals there lay nothing but the base mud of greed and ambition.
Borda had accomplished what he needed to accomplish. Nothing more remained. He rose and gave Magan Kai Lee a mocking, obsequious bow. "As you wish, High Executive."
Magan Kai Lee and Rey Gonerev stood at the base of the observation tower that hung off the bottom of the Defense and Wellness Council Root like a stem. The ancient British naval SeeNaRee was gone. Their view was the entirety of the Earth below-not to mention the departing ships carrying Len Borda and his honor guard.
"Gorda staged that scene for your benefit, you know," said Magan, apropos of nothing. "Why didn't you take the high executive's offer?"
The Blade started, as if he had just read her innermost thoughts. "How long have you known?"
"Long enough."
"And yet you trusted me not to turn the pistol on you instead of Borda?" Gonerev's eyes widened as she lit upon a realization. She took a step back and regarded Magan with a stare that contained more than a little apprehension. "You didn't trust me. Papizon handed me that gun before we left Manila. You had him load it with bogus black code, didn't you?"
The lieutenant executive shook his head. "No. I considered it. But then I decided that I needed you armed more than I needed you muzzled. Does that make sense?"
"Somewhat.... But at least you could have inoculated yourself against the code in my gun."
"I suppose I could have. But I didn't think of it."
The Blade turned to face the window, and the darkened parabola of the planet below. "And to answer your question-about why I didn't take Borda's offer-I think I've had enough of ambition for the time being. I've climbed higher than most people dream during my decade in politics. Is it wrong that I might want to stop here?"
"Not wrong at all. But I'll believe it when I see it."
35
The doors slide open at Natch's touch, and cool air gusts out to meet him. He hangs on the other side of the doorway for just a moment, gun at the ready. Moody lights from the room's interior make a dance of shadows on the floor.
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