The Ruins of Power

by Robert E. Vardeman

  “They’d never accept her, even if she managed to give them an entire planet,” Dale said.

  “We know that, but try telling her. She thinks the Wolf blood makes her better than the rest of us. She’s ambitious beyond all reason. She has no love for The Republic and figures that if she can prove her worth by delivering Mirach, she’ll get a better deal with Mirach under Radick’s control.”

  This was too much for Dale.

  “How can you prove she’s responsible for the riots? The people are vulnerable because we’re cut off from the HPG net and every little rumor of invasion or disaster takes on a life of its own, but to dump that at Elora’s door is a big step. Unless she’s ordered you to lie on the air.”

  “She has a select few who will do anything to please her. Elora knows I can’t be trusted, not in that way, because of you.”

  “Me?” scoffed Dale. “If this is true, it’s not because of me. She knows you’re too honest when it comes to reporting the truth.”

  “I knew there was a reason I loved you,” Hanna said, kissing him lightly.

  “Hmm, nice, but not the right time. Do you have concrete proof?”

  “Not enough, but it all fits together. If I could present it to the Baron, it might create enough doubt in his mind that he would remove her.”

  “Papa’s got a full schedule these days, but I’ll see what I can do. Too bad I haven’t transferred to his office staff yet.” Dale fell silent for a moment, then smiled and said, “Nobody’s around.”

  “Dale!” Hanna cried. “You’re incorrigible. Please get me an appointment. Now, I’ve got to go. I’m on-air soon.”

  “Work, work, work,” Dale said in mock horror.

  Dale’s usual buoyant good humor faded as Hanna left. Profound changes were taking place because the HPG net had failed, and he didn’t understand them. He needed to talk with Austin.

  “Lieutenant Ortega,” greeted Manfred Leclerc. “Just in time to help run calibration tests on the battle armor.” The FCL commander tossed Austin a test meter. Austin put it down and sat beside the captain. Manfred was about the same age as the Baron, but constant training kept him fit. If he ever felt any strain, in combat or out, Austin had never noticed. Manfred Leclerc had ice water running in his veins, from the tip of his toes to the sharp brain 190 centimeters away. Like the other FCL soldiers, Manfred wore his sandy hair cut short, but bushy eyebrows that wiggled like the ends of a snapping rope when he spoke made him seem hairier than he was. One thing Austin appreciated about Manfred was the captain’s prominent nose. It had been broken and so poorly set that Austin was less conscious of his own.

  Manfred’s strong hands closed over the test meter.

  “Worried about leaving the FCL?” the captain asked. “No, not entirely,” Manfred went on, answering his own question. “There’s something else.”

  Austin had always felt Manfred could read his mind.

  He looked around the equipment room and took a deep breath. The usual odors of leather, metal, and burning solder were overrun by a sharp ozone tang from a half dozen guardsmen laser-welding armor. Around the large blacktopped science table Austin saw real precision in their work. Many of the First Cossack Lancers had worked their way up through the ranks, technicians before reaching the prestigious position of protecting the Governor. With the Baron considering reassigning the FCL, it seemed as though all that work, all that loyalty, was about to be thrown away.

  The stocky guard captain cracked his knuckles and motioned Austin aside. In a low voice so different from his loud command tone, he asked, “What do you hear about it?”

  “The rioting?”

  “You know what I mean,” Manfred said, impatient. His blue eyes locked with Austin’s. “The transfer. Is it for real?”

  Austin hesitated. The guard captain wasn’t prone to believe scuttlebutt and was as securely grounded in fact as any officer Austin knew, but the rumor carried the ring of truth.

  “I don’t know, Manfred,” he said uncomfortably. “Dale and I were there when my father said he would think about the Legate’s request, but he didn’t promise.” Even if the FCL came under Tortorelli’s command, Austin wanted to remain with the unit.

  “Friends tell me money is already being shifted around, funds we were supposed to get for new battle armor and a lance of Hoverbikes. That means the Governor is going to send us to hell!”

  “Maybe he has something else in mind,” said Austin, grasping at straws. Austin’s eyes widened at the resignation on Manfred’s face.

  “What else can there be? Never mind. Putting us in the Legate’s command might be better for unit morale, since the Governor’s not doing enough to stop the rioting. Call it what it is, Austin: riots. None of this ‘civil unrest.’ That makes it sound too innocent. People are dying in the streets. Maybe if we were assigned to the Legate we could get out there and put an end to the violence.”

  Austin started to speak, then clamped his mouth shut. He agreed with Manfred—up to a point. Sergio Ortega needed a bodyguard more than ever, but his father owed it to the people of Mirach and The Republic to restore order however he could, no matter what personal risks he took.

  “I’ll let you know if I hear anything,” he said.

  “We’re history,” Manfred said. “I feel it in my bones. We’re going to be under Tortorelli’s command, and you’re better off on your father’s staff. It’s been good serving with you.” Manfred unexpectedly thrust out his hand. Austin shook it automatically, then stared in wonder at the captain. This had the feeling of a conclusion about it, a parting neither wanted.

  “Nothing’s definite yet,” he said. “Things might work out so the FCL continues to guard the Governor and I can stay as an officer and—”

  “No,” Manfred Leclerc said firmly. “None of that will happen. It can’t."

  5

  Mirach DropShip Field, Cingulum

  Mirach

  15 April 3133

  “Why isn’t he landing? Didn’t the field controller give priority authorization?” Sergio Ortega paced back and forth on the glass-enclosed platform looking over the DropShip field west of Cingulum. Afternoon heat shimmered above the expanse of reinforced concrete designed to withstand the mass of even the largest DropShip. In the distance rose multistoried towers filled with controllers and their communications equipment monitoring the JumpShip point above the pole of Mirach’s sun and the IR emergence wave.

  “The DropShip is coming in now, Baron,” said Manfred Leclerc, listening to a report in his earphone. “The honor guard is ready.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Sergio said, sucking in a deep breath to calm himself. He hated protocol and pomp and the Lord Governor Sandoval’s Envoy came at an inopportune time. Sergio had to speak with the labor leaders and assure them jobs would be forthcoming, to quiet the unemployed and get the rioters off the streets. And commerce? Sergio glanced around the reception platform and ticked off the list of business leaders who had been invited to greet Envoy Parsons.

  Marta Kinsolving huddled with the others prominent in the Mirach Business Association. Sergio needed to confer with them all, but had postponed the necessary meetings because of problems dealing with labor organizers intent on disrupting the social fabric for their own gain. Once those rough spots were smoothed over, he could concentrate on the other side of the economic equation.

  “He’ll land in a few minutes,” Lady Elora said. Sergio looked over his shoulder. She wore a stunning purple silk dress with a high collar, clothing befitting such an important visitor. “I’ve tapped into the comm-link from the field controller. The central landing pad has been cleared for immediate arrival.”

  “Thank you,” Sergio said stiffly. He should have expected his Minister to personally attend, although he had instructed his protocol officer to only issue a general memorandum about Jerome Parsons’ arrival to the Ministry of Information. “You grace us with your presence, Lady Elora,” he said.

  Elora bowed slightly in his direction.
“The arrival of such an important off-world dignitary, one representing the Lord Governor himself, is the lead story today. My reporters and camera crews are in position to capture every moment, every word, any tidbit of information Envoy Parsons might give about his travels among other worlds of The Republic. I hope you will arrange an interview. It would do much in strengthening public confidence to hear his words.”

  “Are you giving a speech, Elora?” Sergio asked. It did no good to antagonize her until he learned more about her off-world contacts. She might have been in touch with Parsons already, in spite of the Envoy’s refusal to accept anything but guidance communications on his way to Mirach. This comm blackout worried Sergio because he had not been informed of the purpose of Parsons’ mission. He knew he would learn the reason for the visit eventually, but Sergio wanted to know now. His own plans might need to be changed if Parsons came to forge new alliances across Mirach.

  Sergio looked again at Marta Kinsolving and those with her. He noted that Benton Nagursky, the mining magnate, had not seen fit to come, but the aged agrobiologist Dr. Boris Chin had. Two of the three leaders of the MBA troika would get their chance to meet and greet.

  Sergio stepped away from Elora and let his protocol officer engage her while he took Leclerc aside.

  “There won’t be an . . . incident, will there, Captain?”

  “Baron, the entire FCL is alert to any threat. Neither exhaust nor bullet can penetrate the ferroglass shields on the reception platform, and Legate Tortorelli has heavier mobile units surrounding the field to keep any protesters away.”

  “What of my sons?” Sergio asked. “I want them with me, not in battle armor out on the field.”

  “I anticipated that, Baron,” Manfred said. “They’re waiting at the base of the reception platform and will join you on the carpet as you go to greet the Envoy. Both are in uniform, however, not diplomatic attire.”

  “That’s all right. They won’t be discharged from the FCL for another two weeks,” Sergio said, his mind leaping ahead to the meeting with Parsons. He turned and gripped Manfred’s arm. “Is everything else all right?”

  Manfred hesitated, then nodded. “You can count on me, Baron.”

  “I know,” Sergio said. Before he could say more, the platform began to quiver and the air filled with the deep-throated roar of a descending DropShip. Although they were kilometers distant, the rising shriek of the engines made speech impossible. Sergio let Manfred go about his duties and returned to the center of the platform, surrounded by the most powerful people on Mirach.

  Sergio couldn’t help reflecting that their power was nothing compared to that of the man who landed in the center of the DropShip field. The Envoy might not command a planetary industry or government but he had the Lord Governor’s ear. While Aaron Sandoval made the decisions, those decisions were formed by trusted advisers like Jerome Parsons. Sergio couldn’t help wondering why Parsons visited Mirach now. It could not be a coincidence.

  He settled himself and waited for the thunderous blast to wash past the impact-proof ferroglass shielding on the platform as the spheroidal Union-class DropShip settled down on its four landing struts. A searing blast dwarfing the existing heat waves radiated off the concrete pad, but the arriving dignitaries immediately left the gleaming silver ship using a specially enclosed transport tube impervious to the elevated temperatures. Sergio’s personal armored limousine pulled up at the base of the elevator, heat shielding was brought up automatically to protect those leaving, and then the limousine wheeled about and raced for the reception platform.

  Sergio descended the steps and went to the red carpet unrolled to the door of the limo. Both Austin and Dale fell into step behind him, resplendent in their black-and-silver uniforms, but Sergio’s attention focused on the man climbing from the limo.

  “Papa,” said Dale, moving closer to his right elbow. “When you saw Hanna Leong, what did you think? She—”

  “This isn’t the time or place, Dale.” Sergio cut off his son as he stepped forward and greeted, “Your Excellency, welcome to Mirach.”

  Parsons reached out with his pudgy hand. It looked as if all the bones in it had turned to jelly. He shook Sergio’s hand, then hastily drew back, clasping his fingers over the bulge of his considerable belly. His thinning blond hair was long and held in place by small jeweled barrettes, but there was nothing of the dandy in his sharp, clear green eyes. Sergio felt they bored to his soul and missed nothing.

  But it would have been easy to overlook this intensity. Vibrant pink-and-cobalt-blue patterns on the vest under Parsons’ formal cutaway jacket focused attention on the wrong portions of his anatomy. His trousers were baggy and flared in odd places, emphasizing bandy legs, but Sergio knew a diplomat of Parsons’ stature would not dress like this unless it was the height of current fashion. In spite of his own standard diplomatic coal black coat and pants and heavily starched white formal shirt with diamond studs, Sergio felt just a little like an off-world bumpkin in Parsons’ sartorially precise presence.

  Parsons reared back slightly and tilted his head as he looked down his nose at the Governor.

  “My dear Baron Ortega, how nice to meet you after all this time. Lord Governor Sandoval has spoken so highly of you and your delightful planet I feel as if I already know you as a friend and confidant.”

  “Your visit brings great honor to our humble world, Excellency,” Sergio said. “Please come to the reception platform. Everyone is anxious to meet you.”

  “And I am eager to meet them,” Parsons said jovially. He paused, smiled ingratiatingly, and asked, “Are these fine officers your sons, Baron? You must be Baronet Dale,” he said, offering his limp handshake to Dale, then turned to Austin and repeated the gesture. “Baronet Austin. A pleasure. Have you attained your citizenship yet?”

  Austin’s mouth opened in surprise; then he managed to get out, “Yes, Your Excellency. Only last week.”

  “Stellar! You have sons to be proud of, Baron.”

  “You honor my family with your greeting, Excellency,” Sergio said, hiding his surprise that the Envoy recognized his sons. No dullard served Aaron Sandoval, but Jerome Parsons showed unexpected preparation for the visit to Mirach. Sergio had not thought it was the idle sojourn of a bored diplomat, but now he knew there was far more purpose than he had expected.

  “Do let’s get on with the introductions,” Parsons said. “I need to freshen up afterward. Then perhaps you can find a few moments for private talk, Baron.”

  “I am at your service, Excellency.”

  The stout Envoy huffed and puffed as he mounted the few steps to the reception platform, then slowly made his way through the assembled dignitaries. Sergio noted that Parsons greeted most by name and spoke intimately with several, as if they were longtime friends. To the best of his information, Sergio doubted Parsons had ever met any of them before.

  “I don’t like the time he’s spending with Elora, Father,” Dale said. “They act like they’ve known each other for years.”

  “He is a personable man,” Sergio said. He had not missed how long the Envoy spent talking to Lady Elora, either.

  “Please, sir, did Hanna—”

  “I said we would talk of it later,” Sergio said sharply.

  Dale stepped back, frustrated. Sergio was glad to see Austin whisper a caution to his brother. This was a public gathering. Not only were Elora’s reporters about, but private newscasters strained to pick up morsels of gossip. Since the net went down, off-world arrivals were lead topics. That a diplomat of Parsons’ stature had come would furnish Cingulum with news and gossip about his travels throughout The Republic for weeks.

  Jerome Parsons moved from Lady Elora and spoke quietly with Marta Kinsolving and Dr. Chin. Sergio wished he had violated diplomatic protocol and installed eavesdropping equipment to monitor every conversation at the reception. He saw the expression on Elora’s face and knew the same thought ran through her mind. Sergio had ordered Manfred to oversee construction of the
platform only hours before Parsons’ arrival, then keep everyone away until the last minute. That might not prevent spy devices from being trained on the gathering, but it kept them from being built into the flooring.

  “Austin,” Sergio said to his younger son. “When the Envoy moves a bit farther down the reception line, go speak to Marta Kinsolving and arrange a tour of the AWC facilities.”

  “For you and Parsons?” asked Austin.

  “For yourself. Tell her whatever you have to. You’ll be a communications protocol officer on my staff.”

  “A trainee, sir,” Austin said.

  “You need not be too specific. Just get the tour and keep your eyes open. Envoy Parsons obviously appreciates Ms. Kinsolving’s company.”

  “Is that a pun, sir?”

  “Find out,” Sergio said. He nodded to Manfred Leclerc as Parsons finished with the last of the assembled dignitaries.

  “We can go directly to the Palace, Your Excellency,” Sergio said. “Perhaps we can talk en route.”

  “Excellent idea, Baron, a stellar notion.” Parsons paused as he saw Manfred drawing in battle-armored FCL guards to surround the limo. He nodded once, as if approving the arrangement, and huffed and puffed his way down the steps.

  Sergio knew he had reached a critical juncture in Parsons’ visit. Protocol demanded that the junior enter the limo ahead of the senior. Sergio hesitated at the door, deciding what to do. Did a Planetary Governor outrank an Ambassador-at-large? The matter resolved itself quickly when Parsons hurried inside ahead of Sergio, settling the issue. Even more puzzled at the Envoy’s behavior and purpose, Sergio settled down on the seat facing Parsons, who looked exhilarated at having met so many people in such a short time.

  “Thank you for inviting so many prominent citizens to the landing field to meet me, Baron. I appreciate the honor you show me.”

  “Your visit honors us, Excellency.” Sergio hesitated, then added, “Whatever the purpose of that visit might be.”