by Wren, M. K.
It didn’t make for pleasant meals, but she refused the alternative of eating in her apartment. She found the company people chose to keep as informative as Ussher did, and probably more so. The loyals had learned to choose their company carefully to protect each other, but the converts tended to group together with increasing exclusivity.
She stepped into a crowded lift shaft, found an empty hand-loop, and exchanged brief smiles with its occupants as she floated to Level 12. The corridor was empty as she approached HS 1, except for the person following her. She didn’t turn to see who it was, but she could hear the footsteps.
Then her step faltered, but only briefly. A faint shock against the skin at her waist like a silent buzz.
Someone was in her office or apartment.
The warning sensor was attached to the waistband of her slacsuit, and like the X1 in the springsheath on her wrist, she never left HS 1 without it.
She glanced at her watch: 19:10. It would be Ben.
The lights were on in the work room, a signal that assured her it was Ben whose presence set off the contact alarm. She locked the ’screens behind her with a lectrikey, then turned on the vis-screen by the door and watched her follower pass. He would turn at the next cross-corridor and wait there out of sight. John Renz, comtech, Communications. He wasn’t new to this duty.
She crossed to the office door, pressed her thumb to the lock, and waited the necessary ten seconds to be sure the security mechanisms were disengaged. The office was lighted, too, but it was empty. She locked the door and reset the sec-system, then repeated the entrance procedure at her apartment door. At this point the knotting resentment always threatened to slip out of control, and she had to concentrate on every move. She lived in an armed fortress, even though no crenellated battlements were visible; it was a pattern of living and thinking that was all bitterly alien to her.
Ben was waiting for her just inside the door. Erica turned with a sigh to the final locking and sec-system reset, and Ben smiled.
“I’m finally getting you trained. How are you, Erica?”
He was still in SSB black, and it emphasized the shadows ringing his eyes, the pallor that seemed so unnatural on his ruddy skin.
She said, “I’m fine, Ben, and I won’t ask how you are. That way you won’t have to tell me you slept like the Blessed—whenever it was you last slept—and the ulcers haven’t given you a twinge for days.”
She went to the comconsole, tried two music bands, and settled for the quieter selection on the third. The music wasn’t for confusing possible monitors; with Ben here she knew this room was safe. Habit; she always turned on a music band when she came into the apartment, and she wondered as she reached into the cabinet above the console for the brandy bottle if this weren’t also becoming a habit.
It would never become a dangerous one. Ben brought the brandy from Leda, and he seldom had time to waste on such trivial errands.
“Will you have some, Ben?”
“Yes, thanks.”
It probably wasn’t good for his ulcers, but then what was? She poured a small amount into two plasex cups, frowning in annoyance. Brandy deserved crystal. Lately, she found herself resenting inconsequential things like this, resenting the three styleless slacsuits that constituted her wardrobe, the sterility of the prefab, modular furniture, and the processed, vitamin/protein-enriched, tasteless meals.
She handed Ben one of the cups. “Any news?”
In their personal code, that question had only one meaning: Any news of Andreas?
“No. We’re still checking classification numbers and trying to trace SSB psychocontrollers.”
She expected that negative response. If there had been news, he wouldn’t have waited so long to tell her. The next inquiry was fast assuming the same ritualistic character.
“Any news about Val?”
He tasted his brandy, but without savoring it.
“Nothing. We’ve about exhausted all the Concord sources; DCs, hospitals, Guild centers. She didn’t have an ident card, so she couldn’t have gone off planet; without an ident, she couldn’t get a ticket to anywhere.”
“The Outside, Ben. That’s the last resort, and that’s probably where she is.” If she’s alive. Neither of them put that into words.
Ben nodded. “Alex said he’d talk to Jael about the protocol for enlisting the Brotherhood hounds. That’s about the only hope if she’s in the Outside.”
“You talked to Alex?”
“Just signed off a few minutes ago, and to answer your first question, he’s fine; safe and well.”
Erica laughed and sat down at one end of the couch. “Then what’s the answer to my next question? How did he fare in his bargaining session with Amik?”
Ben showed a little animation at that, and even a hint of the old off-balance smile.
“With flags flying. He got everything he asked for, including three Falcons free for six months—he got it all, Erica.”
She tilted her head back against the cushions, smiling, savoring the heady and unfamiliar sensation of success.
“Thank the God. When will he have the equipment?”
“When Amik has the Ivanoi Egg, and that’s set up with Fenn Lacroy and the loyals in the Concordia chapter. Alex gave Fenn all the information he’ll need about the museum alarm systems and made recordings of the code words for the voice locks. They’ll still work; nobody bothers to change voice codes for the dead.”
“Does Alex have any idea how long it will take to get his HQ operational?”
“Two months, but he plans to take up full-time residence in two weeks.”
“In a cave. Poor Alex. He has a tendency to claustrophobia. But he shouldn’t have to tolerate it too long. One of these leads on Andreas has to pay off soon.”
Ben only nodded as he tossed down the rest of his brandy; he put the cup on the console counter, then sat down in a chair near her.
“Erica, there’s more. Amik told Alex another one of his stories today. This one was about Karlis Selasis.”
She refrained from downing her brandy in one nerving swallow like Ben, although she had the feeling she might need it. Ben recounted the story in flat, matter-of-fact tones as she was sure Alex had told it to him. At first, she was too numb with shock to move, then she found herself on her feet, pacing. Just like Alex. The music became nerve-wracking. She went to the console and turned it off. Ben finished his account in a pressing silence.
She asked tightly, “Is it true, Ben?”
His elbows were propped on his knees, and his big hands moved, palms up, then fell limp again.
“Nothing we know about Karlis’s stay in Lima refutes it. Alex believes it. He called this a gift from Amik. I can’t quite swallow that, but he’s right about one thing. Knowledge isn’t proof, but it’s better than ignorance.”
At that, she was hard put not to weep. She didn’t doubt it was very close to an exact quote. So tantalizing, this knowledge—was it better than ignorance for Alex?
“Will the knowledge alone stop this marriage, Ben?”
His head came up, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know, but eventually it could destroy Selasis. Sooner or later we’ll find a chink in his armor, and we’ll have that blade ready to ram in.” “That doesn’t answer my question.”
He rose and went to the console counter to pour more brandy into his cup. She thought of his ulcers, but said nothing, nodding when he offered her a refill.
“Erica, we’ll use this . . . knowledge in every way we can to stop the marriage; you know that.”
“What can you do with it?”
“The old gossip ploy. Get the rumors circulating in Elite circles. Supposedly they’ll come from the Outside, and we’ll feed it out in bits so every few days there’ll be a new piece of the story to be passed around. They’ll love it in th
e Elite.”
“But any concrete action must come from Loren Eliseer.”
“Yes. All we can do is fire up the rumors and hope we produce enough smoke to make Eliseer think he’s justified in asking for a Board of Succession investigation before he trusts his daughter to the Selasids. We can make Orin more uncomfortable by hinting that Monig left some sort of death testament, but in the end it’ll depend on Eliseer.”
“And if he doesn’t have the courage to risk his House on a rumor? If this marriage does take place, Adrien will be in a very dangerous position.”
He went back to his chair, shoulders set tensely. “Don’t you think I know that? We’ve got agents in the House. We’ll protect her as best we can, but Adrien Eliseer isn’t our only problem right now.”
“Ben, don’t you think I know that?” She smiled as he looked up at her, relieved to see him relax slightly.
“Sorry, Erica, I’m just . . .”
“Worried,” she finished for him, “and if you weren’t, I’d be worried about you. And one of the things you’re worried about is Alex’s relationship with Adrien, isn’t it?”
He sagged back, staring unhappily into his cup. “I guess so. I just don’t understand why, after nearly five years, he decided to revive an old . . . romance. Whatever you want to call it.”
“I’d never call it that, and the reasons for reviving it at this particular time are obvious.”
“But, Erica, we all had personal lives and people we loved, but we gave them up when we joined the Phoenix. That’s part of the entrance requirements, and every member knows it.”
“Ben, he knows it, too, but . . .” She paused, searching for words. “For one thing, he met Adrien when they were both little more than children, and it’s a generally accepted principle in psychology that relationships established in childhood or early adolescence tend to create strong and enduring bonds. Their backgrounds and personality matrices are so similar and complementary, it was almost invevitable that the bonds became permanent.”
“All right,” Ben interposed impatiently, “I didn’t say giving her up would be easy, but—”
“What I’m saying, Ben, is that it’s impossible. I’m sure Alex didn’t realize that when he joined us, but I can tell you this: Adrien is as much a part of him psychically as his right arm is physically.”
“So where does that leave us?”
“Where we always were. There’s one thing you must keep in mind. We call him and think of him as Alex Ransom, but Alex Ransom’s value to the Phoenix is limited to his leadership potential and his Confleet training. The man on whom all the plans and hopes of the Phoenix depend isn’t Alex Ransom. Our hopes are built on the Lord Alexand.”
Ben studied her, and it seemed the scrutiny was a long one, but she sat it out. At length, his taut posture relaxed and he nodded acceptance.
“Erica, you always have a way of putting things straight.”
“Psychic splints are my specialty. And now I think you should worry about getting some sleep. When do you have to be back at the Cliff?”
“07:00 tomorrow morning, but I have to be in my office here by 03:00. Well, that gives me about six hours.” He rose and started for the door, glancing in passing at the brandy bottle. “I guess I’d better pick up another bottle tomorrow while I’m in Leda.”
He’d been saying that for the past week, but she didn’t remind him. She went with him to the door and waited while he opened the locks.
“Good night, Ben.” Then she added wearily, “Don’t worry, I’ll raise the drawbridges after you.”
6.
Amik’s summons was a source of annoyance, and a time-consuming one with the two hundred-kilometer ’car flight and the long passage via airscooter through the labyrinths of mine shafts. Alex had almost forgotten to activate his face-screen when he arrived at the shafts lock and met the Brotherhood “blade” sent by Amik to act as his guard and guide, and now his annoyance lengthened his stride as he moved through the arched corridors toward Amik’s sanctum.
A matter of some interest, the Lord of Thieves had said, and refused to amplify that engimatic statement. Amik enjoyed his little games.
But Alex was in no mood for games. He had only three loyal Phoenix techs to oversee the work at the Cave of Springs. The Brothers Amik had assigned him were conditioned, but it still made him uncomfortable to be away when Jael wasn’t there to supervise them, and he was in the Inside today on assignment for the Helen chapter.
Alex wiped a hand across his forehead, and it came away streaked with grime. The work crew was enlarging one of the chambers in the Cave for the hangar. The dust was full of bitter reminders; the Kasai Orongo mines. He wondered how long he could live in a place that continually called up such memories.
He was expected. The blade stopped in Amik’s anteroom, where Yuba glanced up from his desk and casually waved Alex through. Within the sanctum he paused, undecided whether to laugh or swear, finding Amik, as usual, at ease in his lush chair, filling the air with the sweet scent of his tobacco, golden teeth revealed in a languid smile. In the background, a Gariletti Sarbande cast its sinuous strains.
But Amik wasn’t alone.
At first Alex didn’t recognize the young woman who was sitting on one of the couches, tense, wary, and, despite her obvious effort to hide it, frightened. She wore a filmy, tawdry costume designed to enhance her physical attributes in the most blatant manner, and her face was marked with the remains of heavy cosmetics that spoiled her clear skin.
It was Valentin Severin, and for a moment Alex was overwhelmed with the old anger, yet behind the fear and degradation in her eyes there was still a spark of defiance. When he saw no hint of recognition, he realized his face-screen was still on. He switched it off and saw her eyes widen, defiance—and fear—dissolving in bewilderment.
“Alex? Is it—oh, dear God . . . Alex—” She rose, started to come to him, then broke into tears, which seemed to anger her and add to her confusion. He eased her back down onto the couch and accepted the linett handkerchief Amik offered with only a brief nod of acknowledgment.
“Val, you’re safe here.” He pulled her clenched hands away from her face and gently wiped away the ugly smears of cosmetics with her tears. “It’s all over.”
She recovered faster than he expected, finally taking the handkerchief to finish the job herself, frowning at the dirtied cloth.
“I’m all right, Alex. Oh, I’m sorry, I never . . . cry.” Then, with a glance at Amik, “But what are you—I mean . . .”
“What am I doing in this den of thieves? I’ll explain that later.” He straightened, noting the glint of laughter behind Amik’s hooded eyes.
“My friend, I hope you’re duly impressed. To find such a one as this is like finding a single grain of sand in the Midhar. And yet . . .” He made a little flourish toward Val with his cigar holder. “You asked, and I have delivered.”
“And I’m sure it will cost me dearly. Where did you find her?”
“In Leda; in the Outside. She had been taken . . . ah, shall we say, under the wing of an associate of mine.”
Val glared at him. “Under the wing! That slimy—”
“I’m duly impressed,” Alex cut in, “with your efficiency, Amik.”
“Ah! I should hope so. It was no easy task—” He stopped as the door slid open, his initial frown quickly restored to a smile. “Jael, you got my message.”
Jael didn’t answer, stopped in his tracks inside the door, his dark eyes fixed on Val. And Val, again taken by surprise, could only stare blankly at him.
Jael asked curtly of Amik, “Where was she?”
“The young woman’s past adventures seem a matter of extraordinary interest.” He puffed at his cigar, regarding his son with patient amusement. “Leda, Jael.”
He glanced at her filmy costume, his
voice betraying his angry disgust.
“In one of Powlo’s serallios?”
“In his main serallio, as a matter of fact. He was quite taken with her and very reluctant to part with her.”
“I’m sure he was.” Jael approached Val, but with uncharacteristic hesitancy. “Val, I’m sorry. If you were . . . harmed in any way . . .”
She blinked at him, still bewildered, then looked down at her clasped hands, cheeks flaming.
“No, I wasn’t . . . I’m all right.”
Alex studied Jael curiously. Val had obviously made a lasting impression on him in Fina. Then he glanced at his watch.
“Amik, I must get back to the Cave. I’m not only impressed, but grateful to you for finding Val, and—”
“Well, my friend, gratitude is always appreciated, but, you understand, some effort was involved . . .”
“And I’ll be responsible,” Alex assured him, “for any expenses incurred in the search. You have my word.”
Amik’s glance went to the curtained niche where the Ivanoi Egg now resided in shining splendor.
“And I value your word, my friend.” Then his eyes slid across to Val, his lips curled in a faint smile. “However, I’m not sure I’ll accept your recompense. I find myself taken with the fair Ferra, too. I always had a weakness for green eyes and blonde hair. Ah, yes, I can understand Powlo’s reluctance to part with her, and I’m not sure I will.”
Val was white, more with anger than fear, and that seemed to add to Amik’s amusement until Jael stepped in. his eyes cold and stone-hard, to cut his game short.
“Father, you do yourself—and me—down with this gim. Now, one off, the ‘fair Ferra’ is uppercaste in all but birth, and she’ll be treated as such. I lay edict for her; blood edict. I call her friend and sister.” A slight pause; Amik’s eyebrows lifted. “And there’ll be no gaffing at Alex’s expense. Powlo owed up on you, to the neck, and there was no tax for you on the gim.”
