by Timothy Zahn
He dug the angel pendant out of his pocket and started to get up. Just put it down there, Forsythe signed quickly. Underneath the cushion in that chair will do.
Ronyon looked at him, eyebrows raised in astonishment. It’s the last place, Forsythe added, that a thief would think to look for something as valuable as an angel. Right?
I don’t know, Ronyon said, his face still puzzled. But he dutifully stuffed the pendant down the side of the cushion, poking several times before the entire length of chain disappeared.
Thank you. Forsythe eyed him. There’s still something bothering you.
Ronyon hunched another shrug. People are going to think I’m clumsy.
Forsythe hid a smile. That wonderfully simple mind of Ronyon’s—straightforward, uncalculating, concerned only with the surface effects of human interaction. Probably incapable of grasping the idea, even if Forsythe had wanted to try and explain it, that it was often a tactical advantage to be underestimated. Some of them might, he conceded. But not the people whose opinions really matter. People like Mr. Pirbazari, for example, will just think you were nervous. They know things like that just happen sometimes. No one remembers them for long. Really.
Ronyon swallowed. I guess.
Then let’s put it behind us and get to work, Forsythe told him, putting some executive firmness into his face and fingers. There’s supposed to be a studio somewhere around here for my use. I want you to go find it and see what it’s like. Okay?
Okay. Ronyon levered himself out of the chair, already looking happier. I’ll go find out everything. Should I tell Mr. Mils, then?
That’s a good idea, Forsythe agreed. And then you can come and tell me, too.
Okay.
Forsythe watched him hurry out of the office, marveling at how easy it was to cheer up the big man. A little praise, a little job, and all worries were as good as forgotten.
He looked down at the chair Ronyon had been sitting in, and his smile faded.
He’d done it. In plain view of the entire High Senate he’d switched a real angel pendant for a masterfully constructed fake one. And, for good measure, he had worn the fake in public long enough for everyone to be absolutely convinced he was properly under its influence.
The charade had gotten off to an excellent start. Now all he had to do was make sure it didn’t come crashing down around his ears.
Which meant, for starters, that he was going to have to find a better hiding place for the real pendant than under a chair cushion. Far enough away from him, but at the same time not too far. There were stories of people who could sense the presence of angels from as far as two meters away, and he couldn’t risk having one of them sitting there wondering what had gone wrong with his personal radar.
But there would be time for all that later. The important goal, that he stay uncontaminated, had been achieved.
There was a tap at the door. “Come,” Forsythe called.
Pirbazari poked his head into the office. “You have time for a quick item from the skeeter?”
Forsythe waved him in. “Let me guess. Another intrusion by the Pax.”
“Yes, sir,” Pirbazari said grimly, crossing the room and handing Forsythe a cyl. “From the configuration, looks like another mid-sized warship.”
“Any shooting?” Forsythe asked, plugging the cyl into his reader.
“Not this time,” Pirbazari said. “Of course, it was only in the net for about forty seconds before they ’pulted it out.”
“Forty seconds is plenty of time to shoot if they’d wanted to.”
“Agreed,” Pirbazari nodded. “Which implies they didn’t want to.”
The record of the encounter came up on the screen, and Forsythe took a minute to watch it. The Pax ship came in, moved around a little as if trying to get out of the focus, then disappeared as it was catapulted out of the system.
Exactly the same thing that had happened to the last Pax ship. And the one before that. “That makes, what, three ships in two weeks?” he asked, backing up to the best view of the Pax ship and freezing the image.
“Right,” Pirbazari said. “Counting that big monstrosity, the Komitadji.”
Forsythe glared at the display. “One ship might just be harassment. But not three. What do you suppose they’re up to?”
“I’m not sure.” Pirbazari leaned over the desk to tap at Forsythe’s keyboard. “But this may be significant: the ships all went to different nets.”
Forsythe frowned at the display. “Coincidence?” he asked, though he was pretty sure what the answer would be.
“I doubt it, sir,” Pirbazari shook his head. “You have to come from a particular direction to be caught by a particular net. That, or wait until the one you want has moved around in its orbit.”
Forsythe rubbed his fingers gently on his desktop. Pirbazari was right, of course … and to hit each of three different quadrants from as far away as the Pax would take careful selection of catapult launch sites indeed. “They’re looking for something,” he said. “But what?”
“Wreckage from the Komitadji, maybe?” Pirbazari suggested. “You’ll remember EmDef had to do a fast recalibration on that one. Could be they did it too fast and wound up sending the thing through a star after all.”
“We can always hope,” Forsythe grunted. “But in that case, shouldn’t a single reconnoiter have been enough to show the ship wasn’t destroyed at Lorelei? And shouldn’t the follow-up ship have been sent to the same net?”
“There’s another possibility.” Pirbazari hesitated. “It could be they’re mapping out the system. Defenses, belt mining and refinery centers, comm focal points. Maybe even Lorelei itself; we really don’t know how good their optics are.”
Forsythe stared up at him, a cold knot settling into his stomach. “You realize what you’re saying.”
Pirbazari met his gaze steadily. “Yes, sir. Pre-invasion reconnaissance.”
Forsythe looked back at the display. “And they’ve even turned our own net system against us,” he said. “Using it to get maximum coverage with minimum effort. Clever bastards.”
Pirbazari nodded. “Anyway, I thought it might help you to have this before the joint Resource/Commerce meeting this afternoon.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Forsythe glanced at his watch. “Do me a favor, will you? Pull up the report we wrote and integrate this new material into it. You have a copy?”
“Yes, sir,” Pirbazari said. “Incidentally, I also checked on the media coverage of the ceremony this morning as you asked.”
“My father’s name come up?”
“Inevitably,” the other said dryly. “But they didn’t play on him nearly as much as they could have. The general consensus these days seems to be that his resignation was a reasonable and legitimate act of conscience.”
Forsythe snorted. “Generous of them to allow him his ethics,” he said scornfully. “Maybe they’ve forgotten that was even possible before the angels came along.”
“Sure couldn’t prove it by some of them,” Pirbazari agreed. “Mostly, though, they left your father alone and focused on your own record and prospects in the High Senate.”
Forsythe nodded. “I hope they didn’t dump too much on Ronyon for dropping the angel.”
“Not a bit,” Pirbazari said with a smile. “In fact, I don’t think more than two or three of them even mentioned it. Whatever anyone things of you or your politics, everybody likes Ronyon.”
“He’s an eminently likable person,” Forsythe said. So there went the last potential snag with this whole thing. If the media had been even slightly suspicious, they might picked at it until it came unraveled.
But as Pirbazari said, everyone liked Ronyon.
“At least we’re done with the pomp and ceremony,” he went on. “Let’s get that report ready.”
“Right,” Pirbazari said, moving toward the door. “Maybe it’ll be enough to finally get some action.”
“Let’s hope so,” Forsythe said as the other pulled open the d
oor. Because if it doesn’t, he added darkly to himself, they may not get another chance. Not before there are Pax troops on Lorelei.
“… so the bottom line here,” High Senator Bjani of Uhuru said, slouching back in his chair and stabbing a pair of fingers at the graphs he’d put up on the central display, “is that the decision to move most of the hyperspace nets further out in their respective systems has played more havoc with shipping than we originally thought it would. So much so that if they don’t get some sort of relief the smallest companies are likely to go under within the next few months.” He sent a questioning look around the table. “Suggestions?”
Forsythe looked around the table, too, carefully keeping his mouth shut. As the newest member of the Resource Development Committee it really wasn’t his place to respond first, particularly not in a joint meeting with fifteen other High Senators present But from the graphs the Commerce people had drawn up it was clear that the proper approach would be to strike a deal between the shippers and the various mining interests.
And the psychological leverage, he knew from long experience, would go to whoever first offered the suggestion. He threw a glance at old Mleru Jossarian beside him, hoping the senior Lorelei representative here would be fast enough to jump on it before anyone else did.
He wasn’t. “It seems pretty obvious,” Schmid of Balmoral spoke up. “If those graphs are right, the bulk of the problem lies in the cost of mineral shipments, principally those from the Lorelei asteroid mines. Perhaps the gentlemen from Lorelei could offer some help.”
“I’m sure we can,” Jossarian nodded sagely. “A modest adjustment of profit margins via the tax structure should take care of it. I can have the proper papers drawn up and sent to the entire High Senate for vote by tomorrow morning. Then all it’ll take—”
Forsythe’s tongue unfroze. “Just a minute,” he said.
The entire table looked at him. “You have something, Mr. Forsythe?” Jossarian asked mildly.
Forsythe stared at him, tongue threatening to freeze up again. Couldn’t Jossarian see it? “Sir, we can’t just give away Lorelei’s profits,” he told the other, keeping his voice low. “Certainly not without getting something in exchange. The majority of the shipping companies are headquartered here on Uhuru—we need a solid commitment, in print, from Mr. Bjani and his people before—”
“Please.” Jossarian patted Forsythe’s hand, giving him an indulgent smile. “Excuse us,” he said to the rest of the table. “You’ll have to forgive my colleague; he’s new to how we do things here. As I said, I should be able to get a vote on this by tomorrow afternoon and the orders sent to Lorelei by the next day.” He looked at Bjani. “Will a fifteen percent reduction be acceptable?”
“It should,” the other said, tapping keys on his board. The curves on the display flattened noticeably. “Very acceptable indeed,” he nodded. “It will, of course, put a strain on your mining licensees, particularly the smaller companies. My numbers indicate a five percent reduction in equipment transport fees by our licensed shipping companies should be adequate compensation.”
Jossarian was already busy with his own board. “Looks good,” he said. “Though I’ll need to run the numbers a bit more carefully to be sure.”
Bjani nodded. “Certainly. Call me whenever you’re done and we’ll double-check them together.”
Jossarian looked at Forsythe. “You see?” he said gently. “It all gets done. And in a much more civilized fashion.”
“Indeed,” Forsythe murmured. Yes, the High Senate was indeed civilized. Civilized and peaceful; and if this was a representative example of their work, highly productive besides.
And it chilled him straight to the bone.
Because it wasn’t breeding or smiles or even efficiency that made a good politician. It was, instead, the absolute, single-minded goal of protecting and nurturing his constituents’ interests.
And you never protected those interests by giving something away for free. Never.
It didn’t matter that Bjani had turned around and granted the Lorelei miners a quid pro quo out of the goodness of his heart. It didn’t even matter that the proposed trade-off would probably benefit the Empyrean as a whole. What mattered was that Jossarian had been sent to Uhuru to do a job. And he hadn’t done it.
Forsythe dropped his gaze from Jossarian’s placid face to the sparkling crystal resting against his chest. Once, he knew, Jossarian had been one of the best politicians on Lorelei, a man his father had always talked about with respect and admiration.
But that was before the angels.
“Well,” Bjani said, glancing at his display. “I believe that completes all the old business we had on line for this afternoon. Does anyone have any new business they’d care to bring up?”
Forsythe braced himself. “Yes, sir, I have,” he said. “I’d like to draw the joint committee’s attention to my report on the recent Pax incursions into the Lorelei system. As a Pax invasion would impact rather severely on both commerce and resources,” he added quickly, to forestall the obvious objection, “I feel it’s within the province of this assembly to at least discuss the matter.”
There was a brief shuffle of what might have been discomfort around the table. Bjani remained unperturbed. “I’ve read your report, Mr. Forsythe,” he acknowledged. “As well as your conclusions. Setting aside the question of whether this is, indeed, a proper forum for such a discussion, it seems to me that you’re perhaps taking all of this a little too seriously.”
Forsythe stared at him. “Too seriously? With all due respect, Mr. Bjani, I find it highly unlikely that the Pax is throwing all these ships at Lorelei just for the fun of it.”
‘“All these ships’ is a relative term, Mr. Forsythe,” Bjani said soothingly. “Three ships in two weeks hardly qualifies as an invasion fleet.”
“They’re not likely to just keep escalating numbers until they happen to have enough to do the job,” Forsythe countered. “They’re also not going to give up the services of three warships for several months unless they stand to gain something equally valuable from it. They’re up to something … and in my opinion, that something can only be a pre-invasion reconnaissance.”
“Your opinion, and that of former EmDef Commander Pirbazari as well, I note,” Rodrez of Sadhai rumbled, his fingers playing across the scan buttons on his display. “I see he co-authored this report.”
“He did,” Forsythe said. “And I would hope that, given his experience and reputation, his views on military matters would carry even more weight with the High Senate than mine do.”
“None of us means to belittle Commander Pirbazari’s qualifications,” Bjani said. “Nor yours, for that matter. It’s simply that, in our opinion, you’re both missing the point.”
“That point being?”
“That the Pax can’t take over the Empyrean,” Bjani said, his voice quietly confident. “And that they know it.”
Forsythe consciously unclenched his teeth. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten the first ship they sent in two weeks ago, the Komitadji,” he said. “That ship could, in all probability, have taken Lorelei all by itself.”
“And what happened to it?” Bjani shrugged. “It failed to make even a dent in the EmDef forces arrayed against it before being ’pulted.”
“That’s not victory,” Forsythe said bluntly. “That’s a holding action. Read your history, Mr. Bjani—no one has ever given up territorial ambitions just because it looked like it would take some time and effort to achieve them.”
“I have read my history, Mr. Forsythe,” Bjani said, a slight edge creeping into his voice. “And perhaps territory is indeed what the Pax once wanted. But not anymore. What they want now is profit.”
“You’ve never dealt directly with the Pax,” Jossarian murmured from beside Forsythe. “We have; and we understand them. They love money—love it so much, in fact, that their entire political structure is built on that basis. And the leaders are fully aware that to conquer the Empyrean wil
l cost them far more than they stand to gain.”
“Normal military tactics simply can’t handle the existence of hyperspace nets,” Hammura of Seraph put in. “We’re like a pre-aircraft mountain nation with only a handful of roads leading in. Easy to defend, incredibly hard to attack.”
“Certainly the Pax is up to something,” Bjani said. “They’re trying to rattle us, hoping we’ll get nervous enough to negotiate away concessions they can’t win by force.” He locked eyes with Forsythe. “But they won’t succeed, because we have a strength the Pax can never understand. Our unity. We have no cracks for them to drive wedges into; no factions and jealousies for them to split off and exploit. Unity in mind, and purpose, and heart.”
“And all due to the angels,” Forsythe muttered, the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth.
“Indeed,” Bjani nodded, a small smile on his face. “This is a turning point in mankind’s path, Mr. Forsythe. You’ve read history. Now watch it being made.”
He looked around the table. “Now. Any other new business?”
It took until late that night; but by 11:30 Forsythe finally had his computer system set up to search all information nets and official channels for ongoing research work on angels and Angelmass.
Perhaps, he thought more than once during that long evening, the Pax propaganda was in fact true. Perhaps the angels really were robbing the Empyrean’s leaders of their humanity. He didn’t know. What he did know was that, for whatever reason, the members of the High Senate had lost the ability to fight for their people’s best interests. Perhaps for their very survival.
And it was those same leaders who were determined to flood the Empyrean with even more angels.
Leaning back in his chair, Forsythe keyed for a test run-through of his new system. Somewhere out there, buried amid all the studies being done on the angels, there must be something that would give him a handle on stopping this quiet invasion.
He only hoped he could find it before it was too late.
CHAPTER 12
“The first thing you learn out here,” Ornina said, stepping over to the table with the dinner trays, “is that for angel hunters patience isn’t just a virtue. It’s an absolute necessity.”
