Liege-Killer

by Christopher Hinz

  Artwhiler had garnered a disturbingly large amount of support for his theory, though not enough to sway the Council into diverting funds to his Office of Intercolonial Guardians. He had apparently given up the campaign three years ago.

  “My sources in-form me that Coun-cil-or Art-whil-er has had a fall-ing out with his lat-est mis-tress.” Her face took on an expression of mock sympathy. “He is feel-ing in-se-cure a-gain.”

  Rome could not help it—he had to laugh. “Do you think this will blow over?”

  “Per-haps. If not, we shall have to come up with a way to de-fuse him.”

  The door opened. Elliot Drake strode into the chamber. He was a six-foot-six, black-skinned giant—a ghost of one of those ancient football linebackers who used to brutalize each other in an effort to move a small object from one end of a field to the other. Rome had seen the videos.

  Angela was somewhat in awe of Drake. She claimed that he possessed élan vital, which was her way of saying that Drake could walk into a room and command attention without having to utter a word. Rome had pointed out to his wife that Drake was usually bigger than everyone else in the room and would naturally command immediate attention. Angela rejected the argument as spurious. Rome found Angela’s awe of Drake more mystifying than the man himself.

  “Battle strategies?” The voice matched Drake’s size—a deep bass that seemed only a few decibels beneath a shout.

  “Na-tur-al-ly. The be-sieged must re-main a-lert.”

  Drake grunted out a laugh. “I’ve word that Artwhiler is going to force a vote today to create his Research Applications Institute.”

  “We’ve been through this before,” Rome said calmly. “Artwhiler has no legal base to stand on. His proposal violates the Irryan constitution.”

  “It did. But he’s engineered a new variation. The Institute he now envisions will become a precursor to E-Tech, will deal strictly in feasibility studies, and will pass along all recommendations to your people.” Drake paused. “He has strong Senate support. And Lady Bonneville is favoring the plan.”

  Another thorn in E-Tech’s side, Rome thought. It was obvious, though, that Drake was going to propose some sort of a deal. With Rome and Nu-Lin firmly on one side of the fence, and Artwhiler and Lady Bonneville generally on the other, Drake, as the fifth councilor, could swing the vote either way.

  Drake lowered his voice. “I’ve got word that the two of you intend cosponsoring a special subsidy fund to renovate Sirak-Brath.”

  So that’s it, Rome thought. “To begin to renovate,” he corrected.

  Drake shook his massive head. “It’s an unwise project.”

  Nu-Lin narrowed her eyes. “A worth-y cause, Coun-cil-or.”

  “Yes, it is. And I do not dispute your motives, merely your business sense. There is a long history of money being spent to rejuvenate that colony and an equally long history of failure. My people compute that less than fifteen percent of the funds targeted for rebuilding are actually spent there for that purpose. Sirak-Brath must be politically cleansed before any real change can occur.”

  “How do you pro-pose to ac-com-plish such change with-out at least some fi-nan-cial in-vest-ment?”

  Drake shrugged, “I believe that we’re on the right track in cracking down on the pirates. Sirak-Brath is a hotbed of Costeau trouble. If we can remove their influence, some real change might be initiated.”

  Nu-Lin nodded. Although she favored renovation, she basically agreed with Drake’s opinions regarding the Costeaus.

  Rome argued, “The pirates have been with us for two hundred years and no one has yet found a way to get rid of them. It’s folly to hinge Sirak-Brath’s restoration on a solution to the Costeau problem.”

  Drake stared down at Rome. His face looked like it had been abruptly turned into black marble. “The ICN does not share your view.”

  ICN—the Intercolonial Credit Net, the banking and finance consortium—was the key to Elliot Drake’s strength. The ICN controlled the monetary-exchange system throughout the Colonies and Drake steered its course within this chamber. In purely financial terms, Drake was one of the most powerful men in the cylinders.

  Rome played out the game. “In the matter of Sirak-Brath, Artwhiler and Lady Bonneville support us.”

  “Yes, it’s a popular cause.” Drake scratched his chin and smiled. “But perhaps the two of you could postpone this subsidy fund idea for a few years.”

  Rome glanced at Nu-Lin, caught her nod. “Perhaps we could hold off on the proposal for six months.”

  “The ICN would not like to have to address this matter for at least another year.”

  Again, Rome exchanged looks with Nu-Lin. “Agreed. One year.”

  The black giant smiled. “I no longer believe that I can openly support Artwhiler’s Research Institute ... not this year.”

  “An ab-sten-tion will not suf-fice,” Nu-Lin warned.

  “Absolutely not,” Rome added. If Drake abstained, forcing a tie vote, the matter would be decided by the Irryan Senate. There was little love for E-Tech among the 642 senators. These days, many of them would vote against Rome’s position on principle.

  Drake shrugged his huge shoulders. “Artwhiler’s proposal will be defeated three to two.”

  Another trade-off, Rome thought. From a political standpoint, such deals made sense. But he remembered a time when E-Tech had dictated the terms of such arrangements.

  A beeper sounded beneath Drake’s coat. The councilor excused himself and marched to the door. He ordered it to open. Two young chef-servants entered the chamber, carrying steaming white platters. Drake told them where to place the luncheons.

  Nu-Lin sat down and began to gently pick at her filet. Rome regretted not ordering. The beef derivative smelled good.

  He took his seat and activated his typer-console, automatically opening communication lines to a dozen E-Tech departments. Scrambled teletext appeared on the screen, changing to English as he typed in the current security codes. There were no messages but all departments signaled they were ready for access.

  The fourth councilor strode into the chamber with his head raised and his chin thrust forward. Augustus J. Artwhiler gave the room a regal scan, fastened his gaze on Rome for a long moment, then took his place at the table. His black-and-gold uniform was adorned with medals, including three white cylinders on each collar denoting his rank as Supreme Commander of the Intercolonial Guardians. The blocky face bore the faint trace of a smile. Angela claimed that she had never seen Artwhiler without that expression, whether on television or in person at one of the many banquets or public functions that she and Rome attended. She said that Artwhiler reminded her of a schoolboy who had just gotten away with cheating on a test. Rome wished things were that simple.

  Drake’s voice boomed. “Irryan Council will come to order. Let it be shown that a quorum is present and that Lady Bonneville will not attend today’s meeting. I believe she has contacted us concerning individual proxy votes.”

  Artwhiler smiled.

  “Old business first,” Drake intoned. “We’ll maintain regular order and begin with Nu-Lin.”

  Artwhiler interrupted. “With the Council’s permission, I request that we postpone old business and move right along to new matters.”

  What’s he up to this time? Rome wondered.

  “Objections?” Drake asked, forking a mouthful of filet jaska. The black face panned the table, searching for dissent. No one spoke.

  “That puts E-Tech first. Franco.”

  Rome stood up slowly, gathering his thoughts. There were several new issues he wished to raise, but they all hinged on the conclusion of various pieces of old business. The subsidy proposal for Sirak-Brath would have been the only unfettered item on his agenda.

  “E-Tech has no new business at this time.”

  Artwhiler broke into a wide grin and threw a sharp glance at Drake. The black councilor frowned.

  Rome sat down quickly. Something’s wrong. Artwhiler looked like he had just s
cored perfect grades on an exam.

  The Guardian commander rose to his feet. His tone was triumphant.

  “Fellow councilors,” he began with a sweep of his arms. “It is no great secret that each of us maintains our own little pockets of information, our own sources of data, and that we keep these things hidden from the Council.” He paused. “We are, after all, political animals.” His smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “But to deliberately hide from this Council a matter that could affect the future welfare of some of our citizenry indicates a selfishness that I did not believe Councilor Franco was capable of!”

  He knows about the Paratwa! It was the only possible explanation. Rome typed rapidly, opened a line to Security.

  haddad ready, appeared on the screen.

  Artwhiler leaned back in his seat and smiled. “I suppose that Councilor Franco concluded that the mighty E-Tech could deal with a Paratwa assassin without our help. Pride is a strange vice.”

  Rome typed: artwhiler and drake know about paratwa. Then he half rose, attempting to interject.

  Drake stopped him cold. “Councilor Artwhiler has the floor.”

  The Guardian commander could barely contain himself; the words came out in a rapid jumble. He described last night’s murder of Bob Max and how two witnesses were taken into custody after they contacted E-Tech. Rome listened with amazement, transcribing Artwhiler’s words into the keyboard while keeping an eye on the screen for Haddad’s response.

  Nu-Lin turned to him. “Is this true?”

  Rome nodded. He could offer that he had intended to bring the Paratwa matter to their attention later in the meeting, but no one would believe such a lie. E-Tech’s credibility had just taken a swift kick. Soon, the bruises would start appearing.

  The screen printed: haddad. not likely that leaks came from our own people. suspect the two witnesses of informing artwhiler.

  Artwhiler pointed his finger at Rome. “Security matters of this magnitude are to be brought immediately before this Council.”

  “Agreed,” said Drake. “E-Tech has no right to preclude us.”

  “I be-lieve Rome should be al-lo-wed to of-fer an ex-plan-a-tion.”

  Artwhiler gave Nu-Lin a gracious smile. “I relinquish the floor.”

  Rome remained seated. He spoke with as much calm as he could muster, recounting the chronology of Paratwa events and adding a few facts that the Guardian commander had not touched upon. He addressed the three councilors in turn, but made sure that he was facing Artwhiler whenever he mentioned something new.

  Augustus J. Artwhiler was a shrewd man, but Rome had learned long ago that he did not possess a subtle face. Artwhiler could be read; a flicker of eyebrows, the quiver of jaw muscles—or the lack of such—served to reveal his thoughts.

  Artwhiler’s expressions seemed to bear out Haddad’s theory. The Guardian commander did not know that Bob Max had Costeau contacts, nor did he know about the stasis capsules stolen from Philadelphia several days ago. It was unlikely that the woman and her son knew of those things either. The witnesses could be lying. They might indeed have told someone else about the killing.

  Rome finished his explanation. “E-Tech did not want word of this assassin to spread. Full public disclosure at this time could greatly hinder any efforts to track down the creature.”

  Artwhiler twisted his lips. “You are suggesting that informing this Council is the same as public disclosure?”

  Rome regarded him wryly. “It’s been known to happen that way.”

  “A flimsy excuse, Franco,” said Drake, wolfing down his last strip of beef. “It was your duty, as an Irryan councilor, to inform us without delay.”

  Arthwiler quoted: “Irryan Charter, chapter one, paragraph seven—‘Knowledge of living binary interlinks shall be made available to the Council.’”

  “I’m aware of the law,” Rome said coldly. “I’m also aware, as a sovereign of E-Tech, that a Paratwa assassin in the Colonies constitutes a grave and unique threat.”

  Artwhiler barked laughter. “Let us not lose our sense of proportion. A solitary Paratwa amid a billion people is certainly no cause for serious alarm.”

  “I must differ with you. A Paratwa in the Colonies could prove to be a severe problem.”

  Artwhiler sneered. “The severe problem, as you say, is the manner in which E-Tech has tried to hide this incident. Perhaps you wanted the capture of the Paratwa to be reserved for your own organization. Perhaps you wish to return E-Tech to its former glory.”

  Rome felt his guts tighten. He had let Artwhiler’s previous remark pass. But not this time. “Pride is a weakness usually reserved for the hopelessly vain, Councilor.”

  Artwhiler started to rise in anger. Drake intervened. “Enough. We’ll get nowhere hurling insults. As I see it, there are two matters to be dealt with. One—E-Tech’s breach of an Irryan law. And two—the possible threat of the Paratwa itself.”

  “Ag-reed,” said Nu-Lin, chewing on a morsel of filet. Her ability to eat and talk simultaneously, without violating any rules of etiquette, seemed perfectly natural. “I sug-gest that a-ny dis-ci-pli-nar-y ac-tion a-gainst E-Tech be post-poned un-til La-dy Bonn-e-ville is pre-sent.”

  “I favor that,” said Drake. “Is a vote necessary?”

  Artwhiler scowled. “I believe that E-Tech’s failure to inform is the major issue here. But in the interest of fairness, I’ll agree to a postponement.”

  Drake nodded. “Good. Then we’ll discuss how to handle this Paratwa problem. Franco has the floor.”

  “Thank you.” Rome typed rapidly, opened a line to E-Tech’s historical section. “May I begin, Councilors, with some basic background information on these creatures?”

  Artwhiler broke into a tight smile. “We do not need a history lesson.”

  “Franco has the floor,” Drake repeated.

  Artwhiler crossed his arms and leaned back with a grim smile. Rome began reading from the screen.

  “The first Paratwa was created in the mid-twenty-first century. Scottish scientists injected a pair of lab-bred human fetuses with cells from another artificially grown life-form, called a McQuade Unity. The McQuade Unity had rocked the scientific establishment several years earlier when it was discovered that two samples from one of these primitive cellular masses were capable of remaining in telepathic contact with each other, even when separated by thousands of miles.

  “Segments of this McQuade Unity were injected into these fetuses in the hope that the two genetically different humans would develop a permanent telepathic link. But what actually occurred was far more significant.

  “The two fetuses metamorphosed into a single consciousness. The McQuade Unity enabled their brain patterns to interlace—to develop as one entity. The result was a creature with one discrete awareness—one mental-emotional consciousness—yet inhabiting two randomly selected physical bodies. The first Paratwa had been born—a creature with four arms, four legs, two sets of eyes and ears, and the incredible ability to exist simultaneously in two separate locations.”

  Rome paused, accessed another page on the screen. “In 2058, the New Jersey division of Intellitech Hydrocomco released the first brood of combat Paratwa onto the world armaments market. From a military standpoint, these combat models were an immediate success. By the year 2070, with the world coming apart at the seams and over a hundred miniwars being fought on any given day, the demand for these Paratwa increased to almost astronomical proportions. By the year 2080, there were over thirty different breeds available from the genetic labs of two dozen countries.

  “Warriors, bodyguards, assassins ... the genetic labs created them and sold them to the highest bidders.

  “Accelerated developmental programs were used to train the Paratwa. The breeding labs utilized drug and neuromuscular enhancers—anything that might give their Paratwa an edge over the competition.

  “By the time a binary interlink reached the age of five, it had already learned to hunt and kill its own food. They were trained
in all methods of hand combat and were given state-of-the-art weaponry. By 2090, there were two breeds—namely the Russian Voshkof Rabbits and the North American Jeek Elementals—that were considered undefeatable in normal combat situations.”

  Artwhiler shook his head and smiled. “Councilors, I must interrupt. Our E-Tech colleague is quite probably correct in his history of these creatures. But undefeatable? Perhaps two hundred years ago that was true, with thousands of them on the loose. There was corporate and national disintegration everywhere and there was biological and nuclear terrorism rampant across the globe. It is only natural that the citizenry of that awful era perceived these Paratwa in the darkest light.”

  He opened his arms expansively. “Fortunately, we are not living under pre-Apocalyptic conditions. We have over a billion citizens spread across two hundred and fourteen colonies and we have one possible Paratwa. Let us not overlook simple arithmetic. I do not believe that any single creature is too awesome for my Guardians to contain.”

  Rome wanted to argue that the Colonies were indeed heading toward a new set of pre-Apocalyptic conditions. It would have been a waste of breath.

  Drake spoke quietly. “Perhaps E-Tech has overreacted. This is quite understandable. After all, Rome, your organization was primarily responsible for containing the original Paratwa threat and you naturally feel duty-bound to handle the current situation. But one wild assassin amid a billion people does not seem particularly frightening.”

  Rome continued reading. “The Paratwa threat was stopped not so much by human intervention, but by the Apocalypse of 2099. The obliteration of our home world succeeded in destroying the assassins, along with most of humanity.” He paused. “Yet during the final days—that thirty-year period preceding the Apocalypse—some seven thousand Paratwa assassins were believed to have been directly responsible for the deaths of over one hundred and fifty million human beings.”

  Artwhiler released a deliberately loud sigh. “Yes, we’re impressed by your figures. It was a terrible time for humanity. But as you said, Rome, the Paratwa were seven thousand strong. And they were organized.”