The Ruins of Power

by Robert E. Vardeman

  “Including—?” Ryumin pointed to another monitor.

  Marta’s brown eyes misted over for a moment. It had come to this. Inger Ryumin had ordered an IndustrialMech positioned inside an assembly building out of sight of the demonstrators. The hulking ’Mech’s right arm held a razor-edged, meter-long diamond drill bit. Its left hand sported a twenty-kilogram sledgehammer. If it advanced into the crowd, it could smash and cut unimpeded. The carnage would be terrible. And the MBA spoke of converting even this fearsome mechanism, equipping it with autocannon and rockets.

  Marta jumped when alarms sounded and a red light began flashing.

  “A hundred or more have broken down the gate,” Ryumin said, consulting a data display. “The fence shorted out without stopping them.”

  “Use the ’Mech,” Marta said. She turned to stone inside. She owed it to her employees to keep them safe. Those in the crowd might once have worked here, but they should have accepted their layoffs and not resorted to force against former coworkers. “And get me a secure conference link to Nagursky and Chin.”

  Marta hated to admit that the other two senior officers in the Mirach Business Association governing troika had been so right so soon. She had to discuss safety issues with the AWC board of directors, but after this violation of her company’s property, threatening both production and workers, the AWC directors had to go along with the MBA proposal. The IndustrialMechs would be refitted.

  “Will do,” Ryumin said, “but that call you placed before the riot started just came through on comm-link 703.” The security chief pointed to the end of the control console.

  “Order the ’Mech driver out,” Marta said. “Minimal use of force.”

  Ryumin picked up the mic to give the command.

  All trouble saved up to crash down on Marta at once. She donned a headset and flipped on the secure-line baffle so no one could overhear as she focused her optical pickup. A quick security check showed an untapped link, although Marta knew this report was suspect. Especially considering whom she had called. She turned on the screen.

  “Ah, Ms. Kinsolving, so sorry to take this long getting back to you,” said Lady Elora. The redhead smiled insincerely, her grin almost a grimace. “Disturbances throughout the city have taken up my time. The Baron wanted pictures and reports from my staff.” Elora turned slightly and gestured to someone just beyond the photo pickup perimeter. “You don’t mind if Legate Tortorelli listens to what you’ve got to say, do you, my dear?”

  “Go on, make it a party,” Marta said sarcastically. She knew her anger was getting the better of her again. Glancing across the room, she saw that Ryumin had unleashed the IndustrialMech against the mob. There was no way to keep this quiet; she had to pass along the confrontation through official channels immediately. And the Ministry of Information provided as immediate a conduit as she could get.

  “My dear, you are so kind,” Lady Elora said with mock gratitude.

  “I want to file a report for the Governor’s consideration.”

  “This sounds serious. Should I put you on record?” Lady Elora lifted a bony finger, pointed it at a control offscreen, and waited. The spotlight fixed on her caused her rings to flash and glitter, distracting Marta for a moment.

  “Do as you please. I am registering a formal complaint against the Ministry of Information.”

  “As CEO of AllWorldComm?”

  “The company will issue a comprehensive statement later, but I wanted you to know that AWC protests strenuously the so-called news stories you have aired hinting that the company is responsible for the destruction of the Mirach HPG station and that AWC in some way profits by Mirach’s communications blackout. These reports have created unrest at our fabrication plants and necessitated action against rioters attempting to destroy property.”

  “What action is this?” Elora looked wolfish.

  “You’re an expert at innuendo and half-truths,” Marta continued, a cold rage filling her. Monitors showed men and women being injured by the ’Mech as it herded the mob out of AWC grounds. “You’re inciting the people, using AllWorldComm as a scapegoat.”

  “As Minister, I assure you only the strict truth is aired on our official newscasts. We are an arm of the government, concerned with informing the public.”

  “I realize our position is precarious. Never argue with anyone holding the microphone,” Marta said. “You might hold it, but AllWorldComm manufactures it.”

  “Are you suggesting that equipment vital to the public’s need to know might be withheld from the Ministry of Information unless stories sympathetic to your company are aired? Did something similar happen with the Hyperpulse Generator equipment? Would you comment on AWC’s role in the destruction of the HPG station?”

  Whatever she said now would be edited, reedited, and twisted into any statement Elora wanted. It would be bad enough when news of the rioters being injured was aired.

  “The formal statement will be transmitted by the end of the day.”

  “I’ll be waiting to read it,” Elora said. “Oh, one thing before you cut the circuit. What of the disturbance you mentioned? Can you fill me in on that?”

  “The pictures are ever so disheartening,” Tortorelli cut in. “Are you using a ’Mech to quell the disturbance? Eyewitnesses tell of a powerful fighting machine threatening them.”

  Marta motioned to Inger Ryumin and opened her side of the conversation. Either Lady Elora or the Legate had a direct visual feed of the carnage outside, and she wanted her security chief to cut it. Ryumin figured out right away what was needed and called up technicians to track down the cameras and destroy them.

  “The MBA has a private security force to protect its members’ property when necessary,” Marta said carefully. Ryumin gave her a thumbs-up. Elora’s visuals of the mob scene were scrambled now. But the cat was out of the bag.

  “This is a serious matter we need to discuss with Governor Ortega,” Tortorelli said. “As Planetary Legate, I insist use of any ’Mech be halted immediately.”

  “Thank you for your input, Legate Tortorelli,” Marta said. She broke the link, ripped off her headset, and threw it across the room in a fit of pique. She stalked out, leaving Ryumin to restore order. Marta had to contact her directors and the senior officers of the MBA to brief them before they saw the distortions Lady Elora was likely to run on an emergency breaking newscast. Old ways of business had to fall by the wayside. This was a different world, one with Lady Elora’s bony, beringed fingers strangling the flow of information to the masses.

  “My, she seemed so upset,” Calvilena Tortorelli said. “Did my suggestion upset her that much?”

  “Calvy, does it matter?” Elora sneered as her cameras at the AWC plant went off-line in a rush of static. Marta Kinsolving’s security chief was efficient. Elora wondered if Ryumin could be bought off.

  “Of course it matters!” Tortorelli pursed his heavy lips and then pouted. “She can’t flaunt my authority. I’m Legate!”

  “You’re right,” Elora said, reaching out to place a calming hand on his arm. “Domestic peace must be maintained. That’s what we all want, but I’m afraid the Governor isn’t doing a very good job with that and—” She abruptly cut off what she was going to say.

  “What is it, Elora? You’ve found out something, haven’t you? What is it?”

  “It might be nothing,” she said slowly, building the man’s anticipation. “It occurred to me that AllWorldComm might be forging an alliance with Jacob Bannson.”

  “Why’s that? That pirate can’t come onto my planet! I was outraged that the Governor was even considering a trading station here!”

  “No, he shouldn’t be allowed to gain a foothold here, Calvy,” she said. “I think my lord Ortega is grasping at straws, but not AWC. Kinsolving might see Bannson as a way of revitalizing her failing company. If not AWC, then the Mirach Business Association might be responsible. Remember those mercenaries and the attack over in Ventrale last year? They might have been a detachment of
Bannson’s Raiders. I’ve heard rumors that Bannson’s put together a private army. Perhaps that attack was Bannson’s heavy-handed way of attempting to set up shop here. After all, where there’s money and trade to be had, you’ll find Bannson meddling and stealing.”

  “Never! Not on my world!”

  Lady Elora watched as the Legate hurried from her office, face flushed and muttering to himself. He was so easy to manipulate. When she finally contacted Kal Radick and offered him a new world for the Steel Wolves, she could dispense with Tortorelli. And the Baron.

  4

  First Cossack Lancers’ barracks, Governor’s Park

  Mirach

  12 April 3133

  “You’ll go blind doing that so much,” Dale Ortega said to his brother. Dale lounged back, the pneumatic chair sighing softly to conform to his whipcord body, then hiked his booted feet to the table in the common room. The other guardsmen were on patrol or doing maintenance, leaving only Austin and him to stand duty. And his brother was no fun. Austin ignored attempts at conversation, his nose buried in the stacks of reports requiring an officer’s attention.

  Dale felt a glow of pride in how fast his little brother had gained citizenship. Austin might think their father had pushed through the paperwork just for him, but Dale knew it hadn’t been that way at all. Austin’s service had been exemplary. He worked hard every instant he was on duty and even harder when he was off. Dale sighed, remembering his own troubles winning full citizenship. A string of petty problems was to be expected from someone with a bent toward practical jokes, but his father had almost disowned him over painting the huge four-tiered fountain in Chekhov Square a bright red.

  “Dale!”

  “What?” He swung about and faced his brother.

  “Wake up. The newscast. It’s starting.”

  “Who cares?” Dale started to sprawl back and then sat up so quickly the pneumatics hissed like a snake to maintain proper support.

  “I thought that would get your attention,” Austin said, coming over. He used the IR-beam remote to turn up the sound. “Riots throughout the capital. Ten dead. It’s bad enough, but the way Elora’s presenting makes it sound worse than it is.”

  “What’s in it for her?” Dale wondered aloud. “She’s stirring up the people for no good reason. She’s supposed to be Minister of Information and presenting the government’s side tactfully in all this trouble. Oil on troubled waters. But listen! Her commentator’s making it out that no one’s safe and how citizens should take up arms. That’s a blatant call to insurrection!”

  “Father should crack down. I know he said he had ordered the police to hang back during demonstrations, but his noninterference policy is turning dangerous.” Austin was as upset as Dale could remember having seen him. On this, they saw eye to eye.

  “Security around the Palace ought to be tightened,” Dale said.

  “Papa said no when Manfred asked to double the guards and station battle armor around the grounds. Governor’s Park is wide-open and vulnerable without stepped-up patrols. Scout cars, Hoverbikes, and battle armor,” Austin said. “The problem is that Father thinks he can talk his way out of anything.”

  “Maybe he can,” said Dale. “After all, can’t I talk my way into things?” Dale laughed and then quieted when he saw Austin wasn’t going to let go of his rant.

  “There’s no way to reason with an angry crowd,” Austin said. “Father should replace Elora if she won’t control on-air content better. I don’t care what she says about avoiding censorship and the public’s increased hunger for information.”

  “For once, she might be right,” Dale said. “Don’t get mad, little brother. Use your head like you usually do. The merest hint of censoring the news would have a terrible impact. We’re all blundering around, wondering what’s going on everywhere else in The Republic. If the people think they can’t find out what’s happening in their own backyard, the cork would really pop.”

  “She’s letting her newscasters incite riots,” Austin said doggedly.

  “Talk about inciting a riot!” Dale exclaimed, pushing out of his chair and hurrying to the door. His long arms engulfed a petite woman.

  “You’ll crack my bones if you keep squeezing so hard, Dale,” complained Hanna Leong.

  “You didn’t complain last night, my darling,” Dale said. He kissed her.

  “Hi, Hanna,” Austin called. He greeted his brother’s sweetheart without looking away from the newscast.

  “What’re you doing right now?” Hanna asked. Dale held her close when she tried to push away. It felt right to him when she was near. He could rest his chin comfortably on top of her head but refrained since she didn’t like it. More than mussing her carefully coiffed black hair, she said it brought back unpleasant memories of her childhood. Dale had wormed the complete story from her about a condescending uncle who patted her on the head at every opportunity, regularly making little of her accomplishments. Part of Hanna’s motivation in going for and getting an on-air newscast with the Ministry of Information was her need to gain respect.

  Dale found her fascinating, though he had to admit it was her slim beauty and ebony eyes that had drawn him to her in the beginning. Hanna was as competent a reporter as she was a newscaster. Dale wondered if he could use his new position on his father’s staff to recommend Hanna for Elora’s job. Austin was right on target with criticism about Lady Elora and her performance as Minister of Information. It was time that their father recognize Elora was more of a subversive than a government representative. What better replacement than Hanna Leong?

  “He’s on duty,” Dale explained. “He’s always on duty. Austin, you’ll make yourself crazy watching that.” Dale felt Hanna tense when she saw that Austin watched the newscast. “I didn’t mean the news would make him crazy, though watching you makes me crazy.” Hanna finally pushed out of his grip. “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

  “I need to talk to you. Right now. Alone.”

  “Austin, you mind getting the ready-report from Manfred? He’s down at Staging Area 5 doing something to the battle armor. Repairing it or adding armament, I don’t know what.”

  “Routine maintenance,” Austin said. “You should check the schedule sometime.” He pushed past his brother and Hanna, grumbling about how the unrest in Cingulum spread to other cities.

  “He’s such a worrier,” Dale said, shaking his head. “And it’s rubbing off on you. No frowns now. Only smiles when you’re with me,” he said sternly. Dale bent to kiss Hanna again, but she stepped back.

  “It’s Lady Elora,” Hanna said.

  “It’s always something,” Dale said in disgust. “What about her? If she’s giving you a hard time, I’ll go over there and mop the floor with her. She’s only a Minister. You’re my lover.”

  “This is important, Dale,” Hanna said, sitting on the couch. He joined her, giving the mechanism a workout adjusting to two forms.

  Dale said, “So tell me what’s wrong and how I can fix it.”

  “There are . . . rumors. How she wants to turn Mirach over to the Steel Wolves. I dismissed them at first, but I think she’s sent couriers to Kal Radick.”

  “Slow down, Hanna. Steel Wolves? What are you talking about?”

  Hanna took a deep breath and began again. “There’s a lot you don’t know. There’s a lot the Governor doesn’t know. Elora’s keeping it all to herself.”

  “You sound as paranoid as Austin. He thinks she’s responsible for the riots.”

  “She is, Dale. I’m sure of it. Elora’s got word that Radick is going out on his own, that he isn’t Prefect any longer. He’s put together a group of Clan warriors loyal to Clan Wolf. They’re calling themselves the Steel Wolves and attacking one world after another. We heard something about an attack on Achernar, but nothing official has come in—”

  “I should say not. My father would never keep anything like this quiet. This is huge.” Dale knew something about the Clans: fierce warriors, they practiced selective br
eeding to emphasize intelligence and strength. He’d heard they were enormous people, and some of the most deadly fighters ever known. But they were history to him, not real, and they lived so far away that they were more myth than reality.

  “He might not say anything if he wasn’t sure, if there are other problems in The Republic.”

  “The HPG going down has given a life to rumors no one would believe for an instant otherwise.” Dale looked into Hanna’s eyes and knew she believed what she was saying. He had never known her to jump to conclusions. She was too good a reporter for that. “So why would Radick want Elora to stir up such trouble here on Mirach? What would he gain?”

  “What would she gain?” Hanna said intensely. “Ever since I got wind of this business, I’ve been doing some digging. Did you know that there’s Clan blood in her veins?”

  This was a surprise to Dale.

  “Go back to the year that Elora was born, and in the society pages you’ll find articles about her mother, a whirlwind romance, and an awfully fast marriage. In civil records—police records—I found something else: the report that Lady Galina Stepanova had been raped by a Clanner. Nine months and that same wedding later . . .”

  “A baby girl named Elora, I’ll bet,” Dale finished for her. “If that’s true, why wouldn’t Elora hate the Clans?”

  “Why should she? She was brought up noble here on Mirach. Between her noble heritage and her Clan paternity, she believes she is just as good as they are. Elora wants to bring down the Baron and then get Tortorelli to quash the rebels. That would leave the planet exposed for the Steel Wolves.”

  “Take a deep breath,” Dale said. “You’re tiring me out with all this.” What Hanna said about Tortorelli gave him pause. He had seen how Elora swayed the Legate.

  “It’s more than rumor, Dale. I know it. I can’t prove all of it, especially Elora trying to contact Radick, but it makes sense. You don’t know her like I do. She resents being a lowly Minister and has built up her status in her own mind—her Clan status.”