Empery

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  “They’ll use me against you—you’ll lose influence—”

  Sujata understood the younger woman’s distress. Ba’ar Tell was a world of rigid rules and roles. There was no place for the kind of relationship she and Wyrena had enjoyed, and, in the end, that was what had separated them.

  “That isn’t how things work here,” Sujata said, tracing small circles with her forefinger at the base of Wyrena’s spine.

  “The way that man glared at us—”

  “What, Whitehall? He’s from Liam-Won. There isn’t much he approves of here.”

  Wyrena rolled on her side and propped her head on her hand. “But this isn’t your home, either. Are you sure you really know these people?”

  Sujata sought Wyrena’s hand with her own. “This place is not without its prejudices. But the people who matter understand that who I share my bed with doesn’t affect how I do my job. And the others can’t reach us. No one will pressure you here. No one will judge.”

  Wyrena looked away, and Sujata knew that they had reached a delicate area. “My father was not wrong to do what he did,” Wyrena said at last. “He could not have done otherwise.”

  “What about me?” Sujata asked. “Were you angry with me for agreeing to leave?”

  “No—oh, no. If you didn’t leave, my family’s position would have been damaged terribly.”

  “But no one outside the family knew—”

  “In time they would have,” Wyrena said soberly. “Besides, even if you had stayed, we never could have seen each other. Just as we never got to say good-bye.”

  “You allow him that much power over you, simply because you were living in his house—”

  “You don’t understand. He would have forbidden it, and I would have had to obey him. I was bound just as he was.”

  “You said you loved me.” This was said in a teasing, testing voice.

  “Oh, Janell—I do. But even for you—”

  “Conflict is hard for you to deal with.”

  “Conflict is the consequence of selfishness.”

  It had the sound of an epigram, and it was one. “The Philosopher’s First Canon.”

  “Yes. A very early lesson in my schooling.”

  “So, then, why did you leave?”

  Wyrena was slow to answer, as though there were still some uncertainty in her own mind. “Because I missed you. And because I wanted to know what it was like to live outside the rules, the way you did. A Ba’ar woman’s dreams are for her mate and sons. I wanted to dream for myself.”

  Sujata opened her arms, and Wyrena came to her. They cuddled close, the feel of skin against skin comforting. “Ever since I left, I’ve been afraid,” Wyrena said. “Afraid that I’d waited too long and I’d find you gone, headed for some other world or outpost, and I’d never catch up. Afraid that you wouldn’t want me—that I hadn’t been as important to you as you’d been to me. I never was able to tell you—”

  “Your mouth was otherwise occupied,” Sujata teased. “No, go on, finish.”

  “I had never met anyone like you. No woman on Ba’ar Tell can ever hope to be self-minded the way you are. You know the word they use—”

  “Ka’ila’in.”

  “And it’s not only the men who would call you that but the women too. The reason they curse the ka’ila’in so harshly is that they are afraid of them, for different reasons. But I thought you were wonderful—”

  “I never felt that from them—”

  “You are not Ba’ar. You were allowed to be different,” she said, and kissed the curve of Sujata’s right breast. “No, if I were going to be angry with you, it would be for refusing to understand how great the risk was. Do you see why I’m loath to take your word that neither of us can be hurt for the same thing here? Are we really safe, Janell, or is it just that you wish we were, like on Ba’ar Tell?”

  Sujata’s fingers played in the soft hair streaming down Wyrena’s back. “We’re safe, Wy—from others. We can still hurt each other if we’re cruel or careless or fall out of love.”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  “Nor I,” she said, and kissed her forehead. “But explain, please—how were you able to leave? Surely your father objected—”

  “Oh, but he didn’t—because appearances were maintained. My father knew my feelings but never acknowledged them to me. Still, without a word being said, he saw that everything was taken care of. You see, I left, not in disgrace, but with honor. I came at the invitation of Ambassador Wen, who promised me a place in his office.”

  Sujata wrinkled her nose, puzzled. “But Wen is gone—Elir Ka’in is the Ba’ar Observer now. Surely your father knew how much time would pass. Ba’ar Tell is nearly fifty cees out—”

  “Of course he knew.”

  “So he kicked you out.”

  “But gracefully and with my needs considered.”

  “Amazing, the games you Ba’ar play.”

  Wyrena smiled. “We have an art for compromise and accommodation which you never did understand.”

  “There’s something in the Canons about that, isn’t there?”

  “A great deal of something,” Wyrena said: “I knew you weren’t listening when I explained it.”

  “Because you were distracting me at the same time,” Sujata said playfully. “Now you’ll have more time to teach me.”

  Wyrena laughed in her throaty way. “Especially since there is no place waiting in the Ba’ar Tell Observer’s office.”

  “I shouldn’t have much trouble finding something for you if you want.” Wyrena lifted her head to look into Sujata’s eyes. “Must I?”

  “No. But if not that, then what?”

  “If I could just stay here—be here for you—not have to face them—would that be all right?”

  “There’s no reason to hide from them—you said you wanted to live outside the rules, didn’t you? But if that’s what you want—”

  “It is,” Wyrena said, and snuggled closer.

  The next morning, Wells found Farlad waiting for him in his office anteroom. The adjutant came to his feet as Wells came through the outer door, then followed him into the inner office.

  “Expected to see you yesterday,” Wells said as he disappeared momentarily into the kitchenette. He reappeared a moment later with a glass of ice water in one hand. “What happened?”

  “Operations was having trouble with the Kleine transmissions—the data didn’t come in clean until just a few hours ago.“Wells’s forehead became creased with concern. “What kind of trouble?”

  “Noise. Interference. Dropped bits. The error algorithms had a busy night.”

  Frowning, Wells settled into his chair. “I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all. Reliable Kleine communications are key to our battle command and control. Were you given any explanation for the problem?”

  “No, sir. According to the senior comtech, they don’t know why it’s been happening.”

  “Been happening? Then this isn’t a one-time problem?”

  “Apparently not, sir. She said it’s been cropping up more and more often, especially in the octants where there’s a lot of ship traffic.”

  “Which means Boötes and Lynx.”

  “Among others.”

  “That’s even more disturbing,” Wells said, his expression grim. “If we were to lose the ability to communicate with the Perimeter—I want a full report on this fast. How often it happens, how long it lasts—everything. If we can’t put an end to it, we may have to revise our C3 procedures.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll put in the request.”

  Wells settled back in his chair. “So what about the Ba’ar Tell exercise? Have you figured out yet why I’m not impressed?”

  “Frankly, sir, no. The Defenders are tough little warships. I’d hate to have to lead an attack against them.”

  “I’m not impressed because that exercise was a fantasy. We weren’t attacking the Mizari, we were attacking ourselves.“Wells touched a contact and activated hi
s terminal. “I’m not the only one that recognizes it, either. Berberon was in here yesterday and got in a few digs about us beating up on straw men.”

  “Berberon? How did he find out about the test?”

  “That’s a separate problem. The point is, he wasn’t impressed.” Wells leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “Teo, my predecessor in this office made a career out of underestimating the Mizari. I wouldn’t like to see you repeating his error.”

  Farlad took a seat across from Wells. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand your thinking. If you’re convinced the Defenders can’t fulfill their mission, why did you continue the program? Why did you accelerate deployment if you don’t believe there’s any strategic value?”

  “Not all strategies are directed against the enemy,” Wells said quietly. With a sideways glance he scanned the columns of numbers that had appeared on the display. “I think perhaps we can carry this off, Berberon notwithstanding.”

  Comprehension dawned on Farlad’s face. “The Committee—”

  “If I were to have come in four years ago and scrapped the Defenders, telling the Committee that they were useless, we would have been forced to spend the next twenty years building something to replace them.”

  “I still don’t see the value—”

  “Consider the deployment of the Defenders. Three for Earth., Two for Journa. One each for Ba’ar Tell and Maranit and Rena-Kiri.”

  “Protecting the five most populous Worlds,” Farlad said slowly. “All of which are represented by Observers. And if the Observers believe that their home worlds are safe—”

  Smiling faintly, Wells interrupted. “Only when they feel safe will they allow us to focus on building a weapons system that would allow us to carry the fight to the Mizari.”

  “Triad.” Farlad shook his head. “I always thought it was a little crazy to base a Defender at Ba’ar Tell, way out in one of the safe octants, before we placed one at Liam-Won, practically in the Mizari’s backyard. Now I see—Liam-Won has sixty-one million inhabitants, while Ba’ar Tell has well over a billion.”

  “That was one consideration,” Wells said, nodding. “Another is that while Ambassador Ka’in is well liked and respected, Prince Denzell is an obnoxious prig who has even alienated Comité Vandekar, his planet-kin.”

  “So while on the one hand we assure enough votes to approve Triad,” Farlad mused, “at the same time we make clear that it’s good to be our friend.”

  “Just so.”

  “The only thing that puzzles me is that Triad can’t have any deterrent value unless we reestablish contact with the Mizari. And even if we do reestablish contact, we don’t know what level of threat would be a deterrent to them.”

  “We can be sure the Defenders would not be,” Wells said, then paused. “But you’re right—we simply have to learn more about the Mizari. We can’t be confident that we’re secure until we do.”

  “Director Lycom was considering a proposal to send drift probes into the quarantine zone—”

  “And then cower behind the Sentinel line for another two hundred years, waiting for them to reach Mizar-Alcor? That might have been fine for Lycom but not for me. Don’t trouble yourself to mention it again.” Wells’s answer was reflexive rather than angry; he was staring past Farlad with an unfocused gaze, most of his attention elsewhere.

  “No, sir,” Farlad said. “Comité, have you read Jiadur’s Wake yet?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Thackery’s book. I told you about it yesterday.”

  “No.”

  “I really urge you to take a look at it soon. There are some perspectives in it we haven’t seen anywhere else in the record—”

  “Suggestion noted,” Wells said, returning from his reverie and straightening up in his chair. “When will the video abstract of the Ba’ar Tell exercise be ready for prescreening?”

  “It’s being edited now. Should be no more than another hour or so.”

  “I’ll want to see it as soon as possible. We need to make it easy for the Committee to say yes to Triad.”

  “I’ll go down and check on it as soon as we’re finished here.”

  “I think we’re finished. Oh—what about Sujata?”

  “I haven’t been able to see her.” Farlad held up his hands as though to fend off criticism. “Not my fault. She hasn’t been in her office since midday yesterday. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have something new to tell you about her. I’m not sure that it’ll be of any practical value, but let me tell you what’s been occupying her…”

  Felithe Berberon frowned to himself and stared down at the hallway floor as he waited, listening to the chimes sound on the far side of the apartment door. Why did the Chancellor want to see me here? he wondered. The last time I was here was the party Chancellor Delkes threw after resigning—was that seven years ago or eight?

  The soft whir of the security camera brought his head up again, and he flashed a vacant smile in its direction. A moment later the lock unlatched with a buzz, and Berberon stepped forward and into the apartment.

  Inside, it was about as he had expected, considering the personality of its occupant: elegant, practical, uncrowded. Unlike some of her predecessors, the Chancellor clearly maintained the suite as a comfortable retreat, not a showplace for entertaining. Other than the sheer size of the suite, the only real touch of luxury was the viewpit, with its cushion sculpture and floor-to-ceiling windows, which occupied the far end of the rectangular greatroom. Arvade had that installed, he recalled fondly. I was young enough to enjoy it then.

  “Hello, Felithe,” said Chancellor Blythe Erickson as she crossed the greatroom toward him, her white silk caftan flowing gracefully with her strides. She locked fingers with him in the formal greeting that said “equal,” stepped close to brush her cheek against his in a gesture that amended it to “friend,“then turned away.

  “Thank you for coming up tonight,” she said, recrossing the room and retrieving a glass half filled with ice and an amber liquid.

  “Is there enough of that for two?”

  She gestured at the bar. “You’re welcome to choice of the house, so long as you promise not to compromise your judgment. I need you at your best tonight.”

  Berberon smiled. “Since alcohol works only on the higher brain functions, I am hardly in any danger.”

  “You are immodest in your modesty.” Pausing, she stared through the bottom of her glass at the floor. “Felithe, I’m about to tell you some things you are not supposed to know, because I need to ask your opinion. Do you have any objection to my doing that?”

  “No—except it may not be necessary. I find I know many things I am not supposed to know.”

  “Does the catalog include something called Triad?”

  “A rather large entry, I am embarrassed to admit.”

  Erickson shook her head and smiled wryly. “I might have expected it. You always know things that no one else does.”

  He bowed in mock ceremony. “One of the few and decidedly minor compensations for having been here thirty-five years.”

  With her drink replenished and his drawn fresh, they settled in the viewpit. The Chancellor settled gracefully on the padded floor near the center window, knees together and bare feet tucked beneath her. Berberon sat uncomfortably cross-legged opposite her.

  “How can I help you, Blythe?”

  “I believe that Wells is planning to bring the Triad proposal before the Committee tomorrow.”

  That rumor was not meant for your ears, Berberon thought. Someone has been indiscreet. “I would not be surprised if that were true,” he said, nodding.

  “Do you know how the vote will go?”

  “How can I say, Madame Chancellor? I am only an Observer, not a Director. I cannot even vote myself.”

  “Now you dissemble too much. Surely you have a sense of their leanings—”

  “No better or worse than your own.” He hesitated, then added, “I must tell you that when it happens, tomorrow or
another day, I will myself speak in favor.”

  “Felithe! Why?”

  He shrugged at her expression of dismay. “You know that Wells has many friends, friends who are in a position to cause the Terran Council a great deal of grief.”

  “It seemed to me that the Nines have been quiet lately. Are they still a problem?”

  “The Nines will be a problem until they grow up or die off,” Berberon said with uncommon depth of feeling. “They are arrogant, self-important elitists who’ve decided they will only tolerate sharing Earth with their inferiors if they themselves are in charge.” Checking his outburst, he smiled sheepishly. “Forgive me. You did not ask me here to listen to me carry on about matters that are outside your concern.”

  “Yet it seems that your problems with the Nines affect us here.”

  “They affect my public posture only. I cast no vote in Committee. It’s your Directors who will decide whether Wells gets what he is asking for, and you after them.”

  “I’d hoped to enlist you to speak against him. Or at least to offer him no support.”

  Berberon lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness.“How can I? My charge is to befriend him, to assist him in obtaining what he wants. Thus the Council hopes to buy off the Nines and focus their attention elsewhere. And there are other considerations as well. Thirty percent of Earth’s industrial product is related to Defense expenditures. Wells’s buildup has helped us considerably.”

  “So to keep the money flowing and the workers busy, you would give a man who feels as Wells does that kind of power—”

  “Alone he is not a threat to our interests,” Berberon said softly. “Collectively the Nines are.”

  Erickson pressed her body back into the cushions and stared out the window, as though seeking to withdraw from him. “I invited Felithe Berberon to my apartment, but it seems I got the Terran Observer to the Committee instead. Can you never speak for yourself?”

  Sighing, Berberon drained his glass and set it aside. “My own thoughts are irrelevant. I’ve survived here this long because I obediently advocate what I am told to advocate.”