by Rachel Ford
Now, here he was, a free man, back on the warm, lush world of Red Central, in the beating heart of Tribari civilization. The gods were capricious, but not entirely without mercy.
“Minister Trigan?” a voice called.
“Brek Trigan?” another added.
Brek glanced up to see a pair of people, a woman and a man. The man he recognized as one of the MP’s, something-Telari. He couldn’t remember his first name. The woman, though, was Nikia Idan. He remembered her well enough from their conferences, back when he’d appealed to the provisional government for supplies. She was young and very pretty, though there was a weariness, and a sadness, too, to her face.
And no wonder. She wore a widow’s plait in memory of her dead husband, and the dark mourning smock traditional for the loss of family. She had lost a lot of that recently. The protectors had tortured and killed Grel Idan for his work with the labor and civil rights movements. Supreme Leader Velk executed her parents, Grand Contributors Luk and Elsa Aldir, on the national broadcasts.
He knew what the death of his own mer had done to him, the winter before. He couldn’t imagine what the loss of so many loved ones in so short a span of time might have done. Yet, here she was, grave and drawn, but on her feet.
“Ministers,” he greeted, “it’s an honor to meet you in person.”
“Brek,” Telari greeted, an effusive smile spreading across his features. “The pleasure is ours. We’re glad to have Theta represented at the table.”
The miner studied the man standing in front of him, proffering a hand. He was tall and youngish, having seen more moons than himself, if he was to judge by the early signs of graying around his temples. But they’d been easier months, too. The smoothness of his skin and softness of his hands made that plain enough.
He was a handsome man, though, with the kind of classical features that might have looked at home among busts from antiquity. He looked every bit a politician, and that rather gave Brek pause. As far as he was concerned, when it came to politicians, smiling lips all too often hid lying eyes.
Still, he accepted the hand he was offered. “Thank you, Minister Telari.”
“Call me Davis, please.”
Nikia, meanwhile, extended her own hand, “Welcome to Central, Minister Trigan.”
“Thank you,” he said. “But you can call me Brek, Minister Idan.”
She offered a soft smile. “Of course. But call me Nikia.”
He nodded. “I will. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nikia. Both of you. And thank you for being here. I admit, I did not expect to be met by an MP, much less two MP’s.” He glanced, now, between them and their raiment, and himself and his own.
She was dressed plainly, as a mourner, but her clothes were well-cut. Davis wore an understated coat, but the quality was unmistakable.
His own clothes were the best he owned, but the best a machine specialist owned was not much. He looked a street urchin by comparison to these two, and he was profoundly embarrassed by the realization. He was here to represent Theta, and already he was off to a poor start.
“Of course,” Davis beamed. “We would think of nothing less, for the newest member of parliament.”
Brek felt his cheeks coloring. He did not feel a parliamentarian at the moment, but rather a fish very much out of water. “Thank you,” he mumbled.
“I have heard something of your election,” Nikia said. “I believe you were chosen unanimously?”
This did nothing to alleviate his embarrassment. “That’s right.”
She smiled again. “Then you have a distinction no one else in parliament can claim.” He didn’t follow, and said as much. “With your election, I mean: you were unopposed.”
“Oh. Well, that was only because of the business with the powerplant. And the supply runs.”
She nodded. “I know a little of that – what was relayed in the initial reports. But they were sparse on detail. I should like to hear more, if you would not object?”
Brek nodded. He’d prefer just about anything to talking about himself, right now. But, it was one thing to read about what had happened to Theta, and another to know the true horror of it: to know what it was like for the men and women of that overworked, underpaid moon to wake to find the Consortium gone, the power off, and themselves abandoned to starvation and cold.
“Yes,” Davis nodded, “we’re all eager to know how things are now that the supply runs are more regular. Our transport is just this way. You can tell us on the way.”
Brek stepped in the direction the other MP indicated, but Nikia drew up short. “You’re injured?” she asked.
“What?”
“Your leg: you’re limping. Do you need assistance?”
He felt his face burn with embarrassment, and he wondered at Dugal and all the rest, in sending him – a shabbily dressed cripple – to represent their home. “No, I’m fine. It’s just something from the collapse.”
“The collapse?” A crease formed across her brow. “But that was a month and a half ago, wasn’t it?”
“Thereabouts,” he acknowledged. “It’s almost healed.”
Davis nodded. “Good. Well, if there’s anything you do need, let us know. We have doctors on staff.”
“I’m fine.”
The other man nodded again. “Good, good. Well, our transport awaits.”
Minister Idan seemed unconvinced, but she made no further comment on the topic, falling in beside the other two men and saying, “We thought you would be hungry after your flight, Brek, so we have breakfast waiting for when we return.”
“And we’ve arranged quarters, by the House of Parliament,” Davis put in. “It’s a nice set of apartments, nothing too ostentatious, but very comfortable. You should want for nothing. And we wanted to welcome you personally, but in future, you’ll have a driver to take you wherever you like.”
“Oh.” This was more than he’d anticipated, again. “Well, uh, that sounds great.”
“And if you need anything, or we’ve missed anything,” Nikia put in, “let us know.”
“Well, thank you for the meal,” Captain Elgin said. “It beats the hell out of galley food any day.”
Governor Nees smiled. “I remember those days. There’s plenty I miss about my time in service, but…” She shrugged. “That’s not it, Drake.”
He smiled too. He still wasn’t used to hearing that name in use. He’d never taken to it, even as a child. But it was his name, and they’d developed a strangely casual rapport that wasn’t suited to last names. “So, you’ve brought me in and fed me. You’ve been all politeness, too, which is very worrying.” His tone was light, but he fixed her with a shrewd gaze. “To tell you the truth, Ari, I feel a bit like a fatted calf here, awaiting the slaughter.”
She sat back and nodded. “Nothing quite that dire. But, the truth is, you’re not going to like my answer.”
“I see.”
“I’m not going back, Drake. Not right away, anyway. We’ve gone through too much, and come too far, to risk it on a gamble.”
He considered this for a moment, then asked, “What do you mean, a gamble?”
“I mean, we don’t know what this new government is going to do. We don’t know if it’s going to survive. You mentioned elections. Well, they’re not for another five months or so. We don’t know for sure if there’ll even be a provisional government in five months. Velk is dead, but the loyalists are still out there. Admiral Lenksha and his fleet are still out there. The Consortium’s fleets are out there.”
He nodded, conceding, “All of that is true. But do you think Trapper’s will be any worse for throwing your lot in with the provisional government?”
“No,” she acknowledged. “I have no illusions on that front. There is no playing it safe, or neutral ground here.”
“And we are stronger together, as a united empire, than alone.”
“We didn’t ask for this war.”
“No, but it’s here anyway. And you know war as well as I do, Ari: i
t doesn’t give a damn about what you want.”
“I know. And if that was my only concern, I’d go back. Not happily, but I would go back.”
“Then what else?”
She shook her head, and he could see the uncertainty in her eyes. It was a rare slip of her otherwise guarded exterior. “I don’t know these people. I know you trust them, Drake – and I’m a little more inclined to take them at their word because of that. But I can’t risk our entire colony on a hunch, especially when…” She spread her hands. “It’s half a hunch, at best.”
“What makes you think it’s a risk?” He wanted to know her thought processes, to get her to articulate her concerns, before he spoke his own piece.
“There’s too many unknowns. We don’t know if these people are on the up-and-up. We don’t know if they’re competent enough to run an empire, even if they do mean what they say.”
“There’s unknowns in either direction. What happens if you don’t join the empire, and Lenksha’s ships return? We don’t know where they are now. We assume they’ve fled to the Wastes, but they’ve fallen off our sensors. They could be anywhere. They could be back any day. And Trapper’s is so far out of the way, they could hit you and be gone before Central even knew.”
“They could do that whether we’re part of the empire or not,” she pointed out.
He shook his head. “No. If Trapper’s is a member state, the empire has a vested interest in protecting it. The resources on this world are indispensable.”
She studied him for a long moment. “But not the people, Drake?” She shook her head. “They’ll station ships here to protect their oil, but not the people. Isn’t that the same philosophy Velk held?”
“That’s not what I meant, Ari.” He was trying to keep the frustration out of his tone. She’d been in the military too. She knew how these things worked. She knew that, at some point, high command had to make the tough calls. It wasn’t always a zero-sum game, but sometimes there were clear winners and losers. And there was no way around that. “The strategic importance of-”
“Strategic importance be damned,” she said. Her tones weren’t angry, exactly. They were disappointed, more than anything. “And what if there wasn’t a drop of oil here? Would the empire leave us to fall to Lenksha then, whether we were citizens or not?”
“You’re talking about hypotheticals. You know I don’t know the answer to that.” He shook his head. “I could lie and say, ‘yes, they’d always send the fleet, whatever the cost.’ But you know that’s not true, Ari – you know it can’t be. You know there are times when it’s a question of tens of thousands of lives on one hand or millions on the other. You know there are no-win scenarios.”
“I know,” she sighed. “I know, Drake. But…I’m the governor of Trapper’s. For them, this colony is part of a much broader calculation. But for me? It is the calculation. And that’s why I can’t join: my focus, my allegiance, has to be to these people. Not the empire. Not parliament, or whoever the next Supreme Leader turns out to be. I serve these people, and I have to put their interests first.”
Chapter Four
Tal scowled as he heard his name, and glanced up from his lunch. It was Tig, a broad grin stretched across his features as he stepped into the kitchen. He’d gotten used to seeing the expression on his friend’s face. It meant he’d just met Ari, or he was just about to talk to Ari. Or he was thinking about Ari. The precise sequence didn’t much matter. It just always got back to the governor.
“Hey Tal,” the other man was calling, “there you are. How’s it going?”
The fact that Tig seemed to miss his own expression only set his scowl that much deeper. “Well,” he said, “it would have been a lot better if I didn’t get chewed out by your girlfriend this morning for discussing confidential conversations with you.”
His friend blinked. “What?”
“You told her what I said yesterday.”
“Oh.” Understanding seemed to hit him now. “Oh, she did say you had a big mouth.”
Tal’s expression darkened. “What?”
“When I mentioned it. Sorry, Tal, I didn’t mean to get you in the shit.”
“Well, you did.”
“Sorry. I’ll be more careful.”
He rolled his eyes. “Right. And I’m the High Priest of the Grand Temple.”
“But, actually, I came to ask a favor.”
Tig was not one for reading the room. That much was clear. “What do you want?”
“So the meeting, this morning? With that Captain Elgin?”
“What about it?”
“How’d it go?”
“Why the hell should I tell you?” he demanded. He was more incredulous than angry, though. Did his friend really expect him to talk, after his lack of discretion the night before?
“Look, you don’t have to tell me what happened…just, if it went alright.”
“I don’t have to tell you anything,” he corrected.
“Come on, Tal. Please.” Seeing that he was about to respond in the negative, he added, “Ari was really worried about it last night. I need to know if things went alright. If not, I’m going to get some of those sweet apples she likes so much from off world. If it did, well, I’ll probably hold off. I don’t get paid for another two days, and I’d like to eat between now and then.”
The protector groaned. “Good gods. You’re ridiculous.”
“Hey, not all of us make the kind of money the chief of security makes around this place.”
“Not all of us spend half our income on gifts for our girlfriends…”
Tig punched him in the arm, just hard enough to make his point. “Cut it out. She’s not my girlfriend. They’re not gifts.” He shrugged. “And she’s worth missing a few meals for.”
Tal laughed. “Like I say: and I’m the High Priest of the Grand Temple.”
“Look, are you going to tell me or not?”
He sighed, thinking of the conversation he’d overheard that morning. Captain Elgin had tried, and failed, to persuade Nees. He’d rolled out every possible argument and then some, and she’d found objections to all of them. In the end, she’d promised to open trade and revisit the topic in thirty-six months, if the empire proved itself. It wasn’t the answer Elgin wanted, but he’d accepted it. Still, the decision hadn’t been easy, and she was clearly rattled. “I’m not going to tell you a thing, you damned blabbermouth.” Tig started to protest, but he continued, “Except that those apples might not be a bad idea.”
Now, the other man nodded. “Alright. Thanks, Tal. I owe you one.”
The protector waved this away. “Now get out of here. I’m eating my lunch, and all this walking on air is making my stomach turn.”
Brek stood, staring with vague disbelief at his surroundings. He was in some kind of sitting or living room. It was several times bigger than the entire hut he’d been afforded as a Machine Specialist back on Theta. And this was only one room in the apartment.
The furniture, too, confounded him. He was surrounded by seats and divans, and couches piled in high cushions. He didn’t dare to sit on the golden brocade upholstery. In the back of his mind, the idea came to him that some residual dust from home might fall off his person and soil them.
Even the writing desk at the far corner and the end tables were remarkable, with legs carved into ornate patterns of vines and tree limbs to match the wood accents on the seating. They were polished until they shone, and he could almost see his reflection in their surfaces.
He felt, now more than ever, a fish out of water. What was he, a miner from a scrap of a moon, doing here among such finery? He had no more right to this than he did to sit on the Supreme Leader’s throne.
What a pretender – what a fool – those MP’s he’d met earlier must have thought him. How they must have laughed, to deliver him to such a place. He thought of what he knew of Nikia Idan. She might have been married to a revolutionary, but she was the daughter of Grand Contributors. Other than the Supreme
Leader himself and the highest orders of the priestly class, there was no group as revered in Tribari society as Grand Contributors.
And then there was Davis Telari. He’d not been born a Grand Contributor, but his wife was heiress to a comfortable Contributor’s living. His smooth hands had never sorted rock or degreased machinery. He’d never worked all day and night to meet a quota, or to make up lost production when machines went down. He’d never worked his fingers raw and gone to bed hungry. He’d never choked down the polluted tap water Thetan miners drank.
And here he was: Brek Trigan, a broken and battered man from an icy mining world, come to stand among them, as an equal. Come to speak on behalf of his moon. As if these men and women would ever listen to him. As if they could ever respect him as a peer.
Gods. I haven’t even been to parliament, and already I’ve failed. He was still standing in place, shaking with nerves, when a knock sounded at the door. Brek started, putting more pressure on his injured foot than he’d meant to. He clutched a nearby seatback and cursed under his breath, half hoping that whoever was at his door would just go away.
The knock repeated, though. “Coming,” Brek called. And, grunting with every step, he hobbled toward the door.
A few moments later, he drew it back, and found himself face-to-face with a smiling stranger. He was a middle-aged man, on the older side of middle age but not yet old, in crisp, clean clothes of a respectable cut. “Brek Trigan?” the stranger asked.
“That’s right.”
“Ah, good. I was afraid I might have gotten the wrong address. My name is Kel. Doctor Kel. I’m a friend of Nik’s.”
“Nik?”
“Minister Idan.”
“Oh.” That surprised Brek. She hadn’t mentioned that he should expect visitors. As far as he knew, he wasn’t due to the House of Parliament until the first session, which was to convene at noon. “Can I help you?”
