"If you've something to say to me, Chojiro, say it."
"You could be head of the Wolfes. Valentine could be removed as insane, Daniel and Stephanie as incompetent. And since they've taken steps down the years to remove all other major players from the game, that would just leave you to take over. Now, alone, you couldn't hope to run the Family. You've only ever been on the fringes of things. But if you were to marry a Chojiro, we could merge the Families through your children. Until then you would rule the Wolfes with our help. Think about it; you'd never have to be alone again. You're young, Constance. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don't throw it all away in loyalty for people who despise you."
"You want something," said Constance steadily. "You all want something. Get to the meat of the matter. What do you want from me?"
"Information," said BB Chojiro. "You're still a prominent Wolfe, with access to areas my people can only reach with difficulty. There are questions we need answers for. In return, we would make you one of us. A valued member of Clan Chojiro, cared for and appreciated. Isn't that all you ever really wanted?"
Constance looked at her thoughtfully, and while she didn't say yes, she didn't say no, either. BB turned and gestured for Razor to come and join them. The Investigator plowed through the snow as though it wasn't there and bowed politely to Constance. She nodded briefly in return, watching him warily. BB gave her a reassuring smile and put a proprietary hand on Razor's arm.
"Investigator, you were there when Jacob Wolfe died. Tell Constance what you saw."
"He did not die at the hand of any Campbell," said Razor flatly. "The Wolfe was stabbed from behind, by his eldest son. By Valentine, current head of your Clan. It was very quick. No one else noticed. But I saw it."
"And you know Investigators never lie," said BB. She was careful not to sound too pleased about it.
Constance pressed her lips together, though whether to keep her mouth from trembling with rage or to hold back tears, she wasn't sure. It had always troubled her that no one had ever claimed the kill for Jacob. It would have been a major triumph for any Campbell, and they'd needed a triumph badly in the bad days after their downfall. But no one ever claimed to have killed the Wolfe. No one even saw how it happened, though she'd questioned enough people. She'd assumed the Campbell himself must have done it before he was killed. Until now. It never occurred to her to doubt Razor's word. He was an Investigator, after all, and lying was beneath him. Besides, it sounded true. Valentine had every reason to kill his father and not a scrap of conscience to stop him. He could have got away with it in the heat of battle. Constance looked steadily at BB Chojiro.
"Tell me more."
Sitting comfortably on her Iron Throne, Lionstone XIV looked interestedly from one face to the other as army and Church argued before her. General Beckett, slow and unperturbed, taking the time to enjoy his cigar between answers, and Cardinal Kassar, his single eye glowing with the unquenchable fire of the true fanatic. Lionstone liked to watch them argue, not least because while they were arguing with each other, they weren't teaming up to dispute with her. Divide and conquer worked just as well in Court politics as it did in wars. It helped that Kassar and Beckett hated each other's guts. Neither was strong enough individually to threaten her authority, but together they would have made a formidable enemy. So Lionstone found it expedient to keep their ire concentrated on each other. It didn't take much. A kind word here, a knowing look there, and they snapped at the bait like hungry sharks. Which was why they stood before her now, bristling at each other like junkyard dogs, blind to everything but the need to score points off each other. Lionstone smiled to herself. Men were so predictable.
"As any fool could see, the alien attack is a direct threat against humanity," said Cardinal Kassar, his voice colder than the air around him. "We can't just sit here and wait for them to attack again. We must hunt them down and wipe them out. Any other way risks the suicide of our species!"
"A really good way to commit suicide," said General Beckett calmly, "is to launch yourself blindly into a situation you know nothing about. You saw what one ship on its own was able to do to us. Silence and the Dauntless were able to handle it, but that was one of our finest ships, with one of our finest crews, against what could after all have been nothing more than a simple probe. We need more information, before committing ourselves to definite plans."
"It's a matter of Faith," said Kassar. "I wouldn't expect you to understand that, Beckett."
"It's a matter of common sense, Cardinal," said Beckett. "I wouldn't expect you to understand that."
"Sounds like cowardice to me. Staying safe at home here while your men take all the risks out on the Rim. Well, here isn't safe anymore, Beckett. Either we go to them, or they'll come to us."
Beckett took the cigar out of his mouth and looked at it thoughtfully. "Bravery is overrated, Cardinal. I'll settle for competence. If the attack is going to come from anywhere, it'll come from the Rim. Hence the extra patrols I ordered. They're going to be our early-warning system. In my experience, fighting wars is a matter of practicality, not heroics. But, then, you've always been a dreamer, Kassar, with little grasp of the practicalities of life. Comes with the job, I suppose."
Kassar glared at him and then turned his burning gaze on Lionstone. "Put me in charge of your armies, and I'll provide you with an unbeatable force of the faithful, trained in all the martial arts, ready to dare anything in the name of the Church."
"I've always fought in the name of the Empress, myself," said General Beckett, and blew a triumphant puff of smoke in Kassar's direction. The Cardinal hesitated, suddenly aware of the dangerous waters his rhetoric had swept him into. Beckett continued, taking advantage of the pause. "Fanatics can be very useful, when it comes to building a power base, but in my experience they make bloody poor soldiers. Fanatics are fine at getting themselves killed in the name of their cause; I prefer to put my faith in trained professional soldiers who'll put their energies into staying alive long enough to kill the enemy."
Kassar started to splutter, so eager to get back at Beckett that his words were tumbling over themselves. Lionstone sat back on her Throne, openly enjoying his discomposure. Beckett puffed happily on his cigar. And that was when Mother Beatrice emerged from the crowd to join the debate and throw oil on troubled fires. Beatrice Christiana had been due to marry Valentine Wolfe, on Jacob's instructions, but it hadn't happened. Beatrice was a forceful, assured, and occasionally violent woman who knew her own mind and had no intention whatsoever of marrying a notorious drug fiend, degenerate, and general weirdo. She threatened everything up to and including murder to get out of the match, but no one took her seriously. Until the day of the wedding, when she punched out Valentine, kicked the presiding Vicar in the nuts, and made a run for sanctuary with the Sisters of Mercy. The one place no one would follow her. Their nunneries were inviolate by long tradition. The Sisters of Mercy were the only impartial force in the Empire, tied to no one side or cause or class, but offering their help to all impartially. They were much loved and trusted by one and all. Which made them very useful when it came to sorting out Family disputes and brokering truces. Among other things.
Beatrice had risen rapidly through the ranks and was now a Mother Superior, complete with voluminous black robe and starched wimple. It helped that as well as being particularly spiritual, she was also incredibly wealthy. She took her place in Court, defying anyone to say anything, and was rapidly emerging as a sane counter voice to both the military and the established Church. Valentine took it all easily enough, understanding that it had all been entirely personal on Beatrice's part. He sent her a note saying he thought her new outfit was very sexy and enclosed the bill for the wedding. Since then, Beatrice had put a great deal of energy into magnificently ignoring him.
Now she stood before the Iron Throne, eyes sparkling merrily. She bowed to the Empress and looked challengingly at the General and the Cardinal. Beckett smiled and gave her the nod one gives a respected advers
ary. Kassar glared at her. He saw her as a dangerous heretic and made no bones about saying so loudly in public until both the Sisters of Mercy and his own superiors in the Church told him to shut the hell up. This infuriated Kassar even more, luckily to the point of incoherence. Beatrice didn't give a damn. As long as the Sisters remained separate from the established Church, Kassar had no power over her, and they both knew it. She smiled at Lionstone, who acknowledged her with a nod.
"If I might interrupt, Your Majesty; it seems to me that both Church and army are too rooted in their positions to see the truth. If the alien ship is representative of the aliens' power, we could be in real trouble when their fleet turns up. We have a whole Empire to protect, while the aliens are free to concentrate their forces at any point they choose. One ship turned our main starport and city into rubble. Imagine what a fleet of them could do to a planet, with or without its defenses. We have to face the fact that for the first time, we find ourselves facing an opponent who may well be stronger than us. Not forgetting, of course, that we already have hard evidence that there may be more than one powerful alien species out there. Your Majesty has been saying this for some time, but I think we're all now more ready to believe it. Our only chance for survival as a species may be to bring all our assets to bear against the enemy. Or enemies. That could include even those who would normally oppose us. I'm talking about the rebels, and the clone and esper undergrounds."
"Are you mad, woman?" exploded Kassar. "Make deals with those scum? They're not even human!"
"They think they are," said Beatrice. "And I think they'd fight to defend humanity against an alien threat, if we asked them nicely. It's in their interest. If the Empire is destroyed, they'd be wiped out along with the rest of us. They have talents and powers and abilities that we're going to need. Does anyone here doubt they'd make excellent attack troops? Just the fact that they're still around despite everything we've done to exterminate them shows they're survivors, if nothing else."
"May I just point out," said Beckett unhurriedly, "that it was the rebels' lowering of Golgotha's defenses that made the aliens' attack possible?"
"They were probably working with the aliens," said Kassar.
"All the more reason to contact them and get them on our side," said Beatrice, unmoved.
"They are guilty of crimes against humanity," Kassar insisted. "The guilty must be punished."
"On the other hand," said Beckett, rolling his cigar sensuously between his fingers to hear the leaves crackle, "if we don't bring the rebels into the fold, they might just take the opportunity to stab us in the back while we're distracted by the alien attack."
"Kill them all," said Kassar. "Clones and espers and non-people. They're as alien to us as anything that might come from beyond the Rim."
"Typical of the Church these days," said Beatrice. "Rather fight than think; rather lose than try diplomacy. Fanatics unite; you have nothing to lose but your mind."
"Well said," said Valentine Wolfe. "I couldn't have put it better myself."
They all looked around to find Valentine had emerged from the crowd and was standing right behind them. Beatrice ostentatiously moved a step away, to put more distance between herself and the Wolfe. Valentine smiled at her dazzlingly. Kassar glared at him.
"What do you want, degenerate?"
"Well, I have a list if you're interested, Kassar, but you're really not my type. I just wanted to agree with everything Beatrice said."
"Thanks a whole bunch," said Beatrice. "If you're on my side, they'll never believe me. You do this to me deliberately, don't you? Just because I wouldn't marry you, you're determined to ruin my life."
"You wound me deeply," said Valentine. "Can't a man speak out for common sense and sanity anymore?"
"And what the hell would you know about sanity?" demanded Beatrice. "There are depressed lemmings on the edges of cliffs who've got a better grasp on reality than you have. And more common sense."
"If you two would like a little privacy," Beckett began, and then decided not to say anymore as Beatrice glared at him.
"I would rather be left in the company of a piranha with an overbite! Don't you move one step, General. That goes for you, too, Kassar. Loathsome though your presence undoubtedly is, it is still preferable to that of the genetic disaster area currently heading the Wolfe Family. I understand there are plans for the Dangerous Chemicals Investigation Board to have him declared a toxic-waste dump. Maybe then we could have him banned from inhabited areas on health grounds."
"Ah," said the Empress from her Throne. "Young love…"
Not all that far away, Gregor Shreck glared at the company before the Iron Throne. By rights he should have been there, too, adding his words and wisdom to whatever they were discussing. He was head of one of the oldest Families in the Empire, and a man to be noticed. But he had been robbed of his true position in society by back-stabbing traitors who refused to admit his true qualities. They smiled at his face, laughed at his back, and whispered against him. They'd pay. They would all pay, one day. But that could wait. For the moment he had little room in himself for anything but rage. Evangeline had left him. The ungrateful little bitch had actually dared to walk out on him. Together with that cow Adrienne, she'd found the courage to outface him, but they'd find out soon enough that no one downed Gregor Shreck and lived to boast of it. Evangeline might think herself safe among the underground and the non-people, but there was bound to be a weak link somewhere, and he had all the time, money, and venom he needed to find it. Someone would respond to money or pressure or the right kind of deal. Someone always did. And then he'd get her.
It wouldn't be long before people started noticing that Evangeline wasn't around. People in Tower Shreck would talk. You couldn't stop them. Then people in the Court would spot a potential weakness and start asking questions. Where was she? What had happened to her? What had he done to her? There were always people ready to stick their noses in where they didn't belong. He could always clone another Evangeline; he still had the tissue samples from the original. But it would take months to rear and train her. It had with the last one. And what if the first clone reappeared? There'd be no way to hide what he'd done with two Evangelines walking around. And there was always the possibility the first clone might tell all anyway, from a safe distance, as a kind of revenge. She'd find it hard to prove anything without revealing herself, but just the accusation would be damaging. Mud sticks, particularly when people want it to. Gregor scowled. These days, more than ever, it was vital that he seem above reproach.
In recent months he'd taken steps to publicly become very religious. He attended all the right services at all the right places, moved in all the right circles, backed the currently fashionable charities and pressure groups, and did everything he could to win the established Church's approval. He needed their support if he was to win himself a place up in the rarefied heights where he deserved to be. However, in order to win the Church's backing, he'd had to set up a public reputation as being purer than pure. This had taken some doing. In the past he'd gone his own way, did what he wanted when he wanted, and let his people clean up the mess afterward with money or threats. Typical enough behavior for an aristocrat with money to burn and more hormones than sense. Luckily, the Church didn't care much about your past as long as you repented publicly, made a large donation, and put it all behind you. Gregor didn't care twopence for the first two, but balked at the third. There were limits. Still, there was public, and then there was private. As long as he looked good in the public eye, rumored sins could be forgiven. Even ignored. Gregor had never been any good at public relations, but fortunately there were members of his Family who were. They were currently standing just behind him, waiting for his instructions. If they knew what was good for them. Gregor turned to face them, giving them both his best forbidding stare.
Toby the Troubador was his nephew, loath though he sometimes was to admit it. A short, fat, perspiring fellow with flat blond hair, a ready smile, a mind like a
steel trap, and the morals of a starving sewer rat. His main duties and responsibilities were to write up the Family's doings in the best possible light, and then see to it that those reports appeared in all the right places. Journals, holo shows, gossip columns. He was a public-relations man, spin doctor, damage-limitations expert, and a first-class liar. He had to be. It wasn't easy making Gregor Shreck look good. The rest of the Clan had their moments, bless their black little hearts, but Toby knew how to handle them. If they didn't toe the line when he needed them to, with a prepared speech here and an appearance there, smiling and waving for the cameras, he just left them out of his reports entirely until they did. After all, the only thing worse then being talked about by everyone is not being talked about by everyone. If your face wasn't in all the glossies and the holo shows, you weren't anyone. Toby could make you a celebrity, famous for being famous, if you followed the rules. His rules. Namely, do what you like as long as it's entertaining, but only as long as I get to hear about it first, so I can make sure it's got the right spin on it before it hits the streets. Unfortunately, he couldn't order Gregor about like that. If he'd ever been dumb enough to try, Gregor would have ripped out his vocal cords as a warning.
"Talk to me, boy," said Gregor sharply. "What are you saying about Evangeline at present?"
"The official line is she's resting, after overdoing it," Toby said smoothly. "We haven't specified exactly what she's been overdoing, but the gossips will come up with something. They do so love to speculate. Presumably, you'll let me know when she's rested enough, so I can reintroduce her to society?"
"I'll tell you what you need to know when you need to know it," said Gregor. "How's my current standing with the Church?"
"Reasonable. Though I do wish you'd learn to watch your language, Uncle. Sometimes I think the Church would happily pardon adultery, but not the specific four-letter word used to describe exactly what you were doing. Most people will turn a specifically deaf ear if I pay them enough, whether it concerns obscenities or political malaprops; but sooner or later you're going to say the wrong thing in front of the wrong people, and there won't be a thing I can do to help you."
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