by Eric Thomson
“Good health.” Hecht and Downes replied, the latter much less enthusiastically than the former.
After they’d taken a sip, Hecht asked, “I’m curious. Why didn’t you want to propose the naval toast for a Thursday?”
“Because it goes, to a bloody war or a sickly season.”
Downes sniffed.
“Hardly cheerful. Glad you spared us, Morane.”
“What’s the meaning, if I may ask?”
“People die in a war or from disease, freeing up spots on the promotion ladder, something I’m sure Severin knows only too well from his time at court, though I understand wars and disease aren’t the only way to clear spots in Dendera’s shadow.”
“How, um — macabre.” Hecht took another sip. “Does every day of the week have its toast?”
“Indeed.” Morane rattled them off. “The tradition dates back to the days of sailing ships on Earth, almost two thousand years ago.”
“Fascinating.” Hecht’s eyes roamed over the assembly. “Shall we discuss business here, or perhaps somewhere quieter?”
“Definitely somewhere quieter. Considering the subject, I thought we’d talk in the vault itself, so you can see the progress we’re making. I’ll invite Sister Gwenneth to join us since she’s not only an ex officio oversight commissioner, but her abbey is shouldering the brunt of the work.”
“Is that necessary?” Downes asked in his nasal voice.
“I believe so.”
“Let the man invite who he wants, Severin. It’s still his show.”
Downes gave Morane a hard glance.
“For now.”
With uncanny timing, Gwenneth broke away from the group of officers around her and headed for the back door after giving Morane a quick nod.
“Perhaps we should finish our drinks,” he said before downing the rest of his bitter. After a moment of hesitation, the others imitated him.
Morane led them through a rabbit warren of passageways until they reached a broad staircase shaped from the living rock by laser cutters.
“We’re not taking the lifts like last time?” Downes asked.
“I thought I’d show you a bit more of the base this way. It’s only five stories. We can use lifts on the way back.”
The starship-grade airlock door protecting the knowledge vault was open when they reached the lowest level. Gwenneth was already inside, waiting with a blank expression on her face.
Morane, though a frequent visitor, never lost his awe at the endless rows of gray, armored cabinets, each holding books whose pages were printed on a quasi-indestructible polymer, along with various electronic formats. Though years of work still lay ahead, the amount of human learning represented by the books already stored in the vault boggled the mind.
Once inside, Downes looked around and sniffed.
“I see nothing different.”
Morane pointed at the furthest row.
“We started storing some of the more important works of fiction produced by our species.”
“Since you’re not nearly done with technical subjects, isn’t that premature?”
“Not necessarily,” Morane replied in a pleasant tone. “As you might remember, Sister Gwenneth’s people are preparing and storing texts on many important subjects concurrently, so that if they’re interrupted, we have books covering a broad spectrum of human experience already safeguarded. Seminal works of fiction are part of that experience. For instance, are either of you familiar with Edgar Allan Poe?”
Hecht shook his head in silence though Morane could see growing suspicion in his eyes.
“Of course not. What is this nonsense?” An irritated frown creased Downe’s high forehead.
“Humor me, Severin. It will become clear in a few moments. Poe was one of nineteenth-century Earth’s most important English language writers. Or at least that’s how we came to remember him almost sixteen centuries later. There might have been more prominent ones, but his works are among those that survived to the present day. A collection of Poe’s works even now resides in the cabinets reserved for non-technical books.”
“Please get to the point, Jonas,” Hecht said in the voice of someone slowly losing patience. “We’re here to discuss the vault’s future under the new constitutional framework.”
Morane raised both hands in a placating gesture.
“As I said, this will become clear momentarily. One of Poe’s short stories is called The Cask of Amontillado. It describes the vengeance wreaked by a man named Montresor on his fellow nobleman Fortunato for what he terms a thousand injuries. Montresor carries out his revenge by playing on Fortunato’s conceit and appetite for fine drink and lures him into his cellar where he gets him inebriated. The Amontillado in the title, a type of wine lost to us, was supposedly the best in Montresor’s collection, and thus bait for his trap. He tricks Fortunato into an alcove, telling him the Amontillado is within. There, Montresor chains his victim to the wall and bricks the alcove shut, leaving him to die of hunger and thirst. At the end of the story, fifty years have elapsed, but Fortunato’s body’s remains entombed where Montresor left him.” At that moment, the knowledge vault’s armored door swung shut with a loud clang, startling Hecht and Downes. “A fascinating tale, don’t you think? Perhaps I’ll forward a copy of Poe’s book to your homes.”
“What are you playing at, Morane?” Hecht growled.
“Can’t you see the parallels with our current situation, Rorik?”
“Meaning?”
“That constitutional framework you forced on the Colonial Council is replete with injuries, many directly aimed at Elenia, me and others who’ve poured their heart and soul into making Lyonesse a last bastion against the collapse.”
An air of exaggerated disbelief transformed Hecht’s expression.
“My opening position in what I hope will be a fruitful negotiation, nothing more. I suppose that concept is foreign to the military mind.”
“Didn’t I tell you and Severin certain things are not negotiable?”
“Everything is negotiable. Besides, you’re not well placed to oppose me publicly.” He studied Morane through narrowed eyes before exhaling like an angry bull. “Please don’t tell me your silly story was a way of threatening us.”
“Very well, then. Here is my opening position, Rorik. Your proposed framework? Gone. The council will vote on what we initially agreed to, before this court jester,” Morane jerked at thumb at Downes, “filled your mind with what he believes are Machiavellian tactics to gain power. No Assembly of the Estates General. That’s an utterly stupid idea. It shows appalling short-sightedness. Did you even stop to think about how thoroughly a legislative chamber filled with people who solely represent special interests can be corrupted? Probably not.”
When Hecht opened his mouth to speak, Morane raised a restraining index finger.
“I have the floor, Rorik. Place of birth will not be a restriction in qualifying for high office. And last but not least, the knowledge vault remains under full defense force and abbey control. Did I say that was my opening position? Sorry, I misspoke. That is my final position. Take it or leave it.”
“You’re mad.”
“And you’re in my cellar. Some say Poe’s Montresor was insane, but he lived to a ripe old age while Fortunato didn’t. Since Severin and you want the knowledge vault so badly you’re willing to mess up Lyonesse’s political institutions, and to hell with its citizens, I’ll let you spend eternity here. I’ve prepared two cabinets as your final resting places.”
Downes, struck speechless by Morane’s matter-of-fact tone while discussing his and Hecht’s murder stared at him with eyes the size of dinner plates.
“Bullshit, Jonas.” Hecht tried to sound dismissive, but Morane could sense fear emanating from his every pore. “How will you convince Severin and me to cooperate with our own murders?”
“Sister?”
Hecht whirled around only to stare at the barrel o
f a large bore needler.
“I’m carrying non-lethal loads, Speaker. If you and Mister Downes are to become the admiral’s Fortunatos, I can’t use lethal ammunition.”
Hecht turned back toward Morane. His face was rapidly taking on an unhealthy puce coloration while spittle foamed at the corners of his mouth.
“You’re both rabid lunatics. I’ll take your stars for this Morane, and your abbey, Sister? Done for. The Order of the Void no longer has a future on Lyonesse. You’re both done for! I’ve been recording this conversation and once it becomes public knowledge…”
— 44 —
“Try not to suffer cardiac arrest, Rorik. I’d rather we finish this cleanly and not with an emergency medical team in attendance.” A cold smile transformed Morane’s face. “And if you’ve been counting on your personal communicators to make a record of our conversation, might I suggest you look at them.”
The speaker of the council retrieved his device from an inner tunic pocket and glanced at it. After a few seconds, an incredulous expression replaced his anger as he touched every control surface with increasing panic.
“What did you do?” The words came out as a low hiss.
“Since I knew you’d try something of the sort, my people installed an electromagnetic disrupter. Any advanced electronics in this room are temporarily inoperative.” He gestured at Downes. “Check yours, Severin.”
“You’ll pay for this outrage. With compound interest.”
“Based on what evidence?” When Hecht didn’t answer, Morane said, “Think about it, Rorik. What’ll happen if you go out there and spin a tale claiming the Chief of the Lyonesse Defense Staff and the head of the Lyonesse Abbey held you at gunpoint in the knowledge vault and threatened to entomb Severin and you in book cabinets? Never mind telling the world a Sister of the Void pointed a needler at you when everyone knows the Brethren never touch weapons. You won’t take my stars or the abbey’s freehold. But since you’ll present evidence of mental derangement, the council will depose you as the speaker, and shortly after that, once Governor Yakin makes her views known, it will dissolve the Knowledge Vault Oversight Committee.”
“Damn you.” Hecht was quivering like a man on the verge of a seizure.
“See, Rorik, this is why we’re preserving the classics. Without knowing about Poe’s Cask of Amontillado, I might not have figured out how to put you between the devil and the cold of deep space. Best we allow future generations to discover the same thing, don’t you think?
“Now then, it’s quite simple. You and your lackey leave this place unharmed, and by the end of the week, the Colonial Council votes on the original framework. You finish your term as speaker and leave politics once Lyonesse elects a senate. Give Severin and the rest of the lordlings sinecures, if that’s what you want, provided Hecht Industries pays their way. None of them will ever be employed in any capacity by the government, nor will they be allowed to stand for elected office above the municipal level. Yes, I know, it contradicts my earlier stricture that there will be no place of birth restrictions in qualifying for high office. But on second thought, we can’t risk them polluting Lyonesse’s body politic.”
“What if I don’t go along?” He growled through clenched teeth.
“Then you won’t leave this place. Someone will drive your car into the wilderness, and by the time you’re reported as missing, it’ll look like the native wildlife did its usual job of cleaning up human garbage. Accidental death. Perhaps in a thousand years, someone will open your tombs and realize we left them not only knowledge but anatomical evidence of thirty-sixth century human males.”
Morane turned his attention on Downes who still wore a stunned expression.
“I think your friend is about to suffer a stroke, Rorik. It won’t save him from eternity in a book cabinet, but still…”
“Original framework?” Hecht’s words came out in a hoarse whisper.
“In every detail. No more attempts to control the vault and you leave political life once the new constitution comes into force.” When Hecht nodded once, Morane said, “If you renege or in any way try to change the deal, I will have you brought back here and entombed, no second chances, no discussions, no mercy. Understood?”
Another grudging nod.
“Understood.”
“Just to keep you honest, I put surveillance teams on your and Severin’s tail weeks ago. That will continue. And at the slightest sign of treachery, those teams will snatch you off the street, and we will meet again right here, for one last time.”
“Got it.”
“Take what you can. Become one of Lyonesse’s founding fathers by sponsoring our original agreement instead of ending as a name in a missing person report.”
“You leave me no choice, Morane, but this isn’t over.”
“It is.” Morane reached into his pocket, and the armored door opened with a soft squeal. “Sergeant, please escort Speaker Hecht and Chief Commissioner Downes back to their car.”
“Sir,” a disembodied voice replied from the corridor.
Morane dipped his head.
“A pleasure to see you, as always, Speaker. Perhaps we could impose on Governor Yakin and discuss our arrangement with her tomorrow. I’ll make sure Chief Administrator Logran joins us.”
“Whatever you say, Admiral.”
Gwenneth and Morane watched them leave. Once they heard the lift doors closing, the sister exhaled.
“I might almost believe you’re blessed with the gift, Jonas. That went better than I expected.”
He nodded at the inoperative replica weapon dangling from her right hand.
“Thanks to you. I wouldn’t have been able to convince Rorik he was facing the real deal. And since no one will ever believe a servant of the Almighty could threaten another with a weapon of war, both Rorik and Severin understand speaking of what just happened would be worse than futile.”
“Perhaps, but please remember, they will carry a grudge against you to the grave. Theirs or yours, whichever comes first. You not only thwarted intricate plans to become this star system’s power brokers, you made them look foolish in their own eyes, and the latter stings worse than anything.”
Morane shrugged.
“Fair enough, since I’ll be carrying a grudge against them as well, perhaps not until death do us part, but something of it will always stay, like a blood stain that just won’t wash out.” When Gwenneth cocked an eyebrow in question, he made a dismissive hand gesture. “Not for what they tried. Just as a fish cannot shed its scales, people like Hecht and Downes cannot stop seeking power because they’re unable to face the emptiness in their souls. No, I resent them for forcing me to threaten murder so I could protect what we built here from the same human folly that caused the empire’s implosion.”
After a few seconds of silence, Gwenneth asked, “Would you have carried out your threat if Speaker Hecht refused to back down?”
A wry smile tugged at Morane’s lips.
“You know I can’t answer that question, Sister.”
“Just checking.”
“Strangely enough, I suddenly feel an irresistible urge to wash out my mouth with strong drink. Can I buy you a dram of something that doesn’t come from a distillery owned by the Hecht family conglomerate?”
“With pleasure.”
Brigid DeCarde intercepted them as they re-entered the officers’ mess main room.
“Please tell me you locked the slimy bastards into their very own Amontillado casks.”
“Of course not. And you’re confusing the title of the story with where Fortunato ended up.”
“But Jonas branded their psyches with the fear of death.”
DeCarde made a face.
“It’ll wear off by sunrise tomorrow.”
“Perhaps some of it, but Speaker Hecht and Chief Commissioner Downes firmly believe Jonas will kill them if the council puts forth anything other than what we previously agreed upon.”
“The admiral is a good actor.” DeCarde eyed her commanding officer with suspicion. “You were acting, right?”
“As I told the sister before we left the vault, you know I can’t answer that question.”
“Hah! I knew it. Remind me to never end up in your gun sights. Too bad the bastards backed off. I’ll wager we haven’t seen the last of their nonsense.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure.” Gwenneth gave DeCarde a beatific smile. “Speaker Hecht knows a losing proposition when he sees one.”
**
The next day, shortly after oh-eight-hundred, while he was scanning the operations center’s overnight log entries, Morane’s personal communicator chimed for attention. Governor Yakin. He placed the device on his desk and tapped its control pad. Almost at once, a small, holographic representation of Yakin’s solemn face materialized in midair above it.
“Good morning, Madame. To what do I owe the honor of such an early call?”
“Good morning, Admiral. I just finished a most puzzling conversation with Rorik Hecht, and I’m hoping you can shed light on the matter.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“Rorik showed up on my doorstep thirty minutes ago, after giving Sanford ten minutes warning of his arrival. He was white as the northern snows and for once without his constant shadow, that creature Severin Downes. Rorik said he’d held a heart-t0-heart discussion with you last night during a social event at the officers’ mess, and that you’d convinced him it would be better to stick with the previously agreed upon constitutional framework. The council will ratify it later today. When I asked how you’d changed his mind, the only thing he would say is you were frighteningly persuasive. He left me with a copy of the proposal he’s putting before the council in a few hours as proof of his intentions.”
“That is good news, Madame. I wasn’t looking forward to protracted arguments with the Estates General.”
“I’ve known Rorik Hecht since I took on my responsibilities as governor of Lyonesse. He has never, in all those years, walked away from something he wanted. He’s a shrewd and tough negotiator. That incredible proposal was just Rorik’s opening bid. He didn’t expect us to concede on every item. Knowing the man, he would have tried to maneuver us into giving in on those important to him while letting us feel relief we didn’t give everything away. And yet we’re back to the original with no discussions, let alone negotiations. What happened last night?”