The level of spirits steadily decreased as Tal outlined her plan for the release of the technology and answered any number of discerning questions. By the time the last drop was poured, Darzen was smiling and shaking her head.
“You’re wasted as a warrior. You’d be far better used as an economist. Perhaps the Lancer gave you these ideas, but you’ve obviously expanded on them yourself. I can feel your involvement with this issue.”
“I am involved. That’s what I wanted to tell you, before we—”
A sharp knock startled her. She had been so focused on Darzen that she hadn’t sensed an approach. Extending her senses, she was dismayed to feel one of her Guards outside, and in an agitated mood.
“Excuse me,” she said as she rose.
Senshalon was standing stiffly at attention on her porch. “Forgive me, Lancer Tal,” he said breathlessly. “I know you asked not to be disturbed, but Lead Guard Gehrain ordered me to alert you. There’s been a containment failure at the Redmoon fusion test facility.”
Great Mother, she had actually forgotten. They were testing the prototype today. It was only a one-fifth scale reactor, but it if had been up to full pressure when it failed…
“When did it happen?” she asked.
“Half a hantick ago.”
“Fatalities?”
“Yes, but I don’t know any details.”
“Tell Gehrain to get everyone ready to go. Is Colonel Micah on the grounds?”
“He was in town, but he’s on his way back now.”
“Then we’ll leave when he gets here. Thank you, Senshalon.”
He brought his fists together against his chest, bowed briefly, and ran off the porch.
She closed the door and took a moment to gather herself before turning back to her guest. Darzen’s gray eyes were as wide open as her emotions, and Tal winced at her mingled hurt and shock.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “This is not how I wanted you to find out.”
Darzen stared wordlessly for several pipticks, searching Tal’s face. “Lancer Tal?” she whispered. “You’re Lancer Tal? Oh, Fahla—” A sudden understanding colored her emotions. “Lancer Andira Tal.”
“Dira was my childhood nickname, and Shaldone is my mother’s family name. I took my father’s name when I chose his caste.” Tal pulled a small neutralizer out of her kit and deactivated the colorizers. In a moment she was stripped of her anonymity, looking into Darzen’s eyes and hoping for understanding. “You would have known tonight. I had to tell you before we could Share. There’s so much I wanted to tell you, to show you, but—”
Darzen held up one hand, her lips tightening as her emotions hardened. “This was your secret. Not some sad past history or an act you thought I might disapprove of. You were hiding your very identity from me.”
“No, I wasn’t. I mean—you’ve seen more of my real identity than most people. I hid my hair and eye color, not myself. You have seen me.”
“That is not true.” Darzen’s voice rose. “You showed me only the tiniest part of yourself. What was this, some sort of game? Was I the prize? I was falling for you, Dira.” She stopped and shook her head. “Andira. Goddess above, I didn’t even know your name. You let me fall for a shadow.”
“Wait, please—”
But Darzen was already pulling on her jacket. She zipped it up and pinned Tal with a glare, her anger fueled by the hurt and betrayal right at the surface of her emotions.
“You’re not the woman I knew. Dira wouldn’t deceive me this way. She wouldn’t stand by while I made a fool of myself!” Her frown intensified. “No wonder you had such a grasp of matter printer economics.”
“I deceived you because I was afraid of exactly this! And you have been anything but a fool. Will you please just take one tick and think about what we’ve had together? Everything has been true and real. Everything except my title.”
Darzen yanked open the door. “There’s just one problem with that, Lancer Tal. Your title is everything.” With a rustle of fabric she was gone, leaving the door open behind her.
“Shek!” Tal took a step toward the door and stopped. She couldn’t chase after Darzen; there was no time. Her responsibilities had reappeared, and there was nothing she could do now. She had barely enough time to throw a few clothes into her bag as it was.
Quietly, she closed the door and began to pack. Darzen would have to wait.
CHAPTER 12
Rumors and fact
There were four fatalities. A small number considering what might have been, but still four too many.
The initial tests had gone perfectly. Based on the results and a system analysis, Chief Kameha had authorized a sustained test of two hanticks. This, too, had gone well—until the reaction powered past its established safe limit. No one knew how it happened. One moment the sensor readings were normal, the next they indicated a runaway reaction. Kameha initiated the shutdown procedure, and all of the personnel evacuated to wait in a safe zone.
When the readouts indicated that the reactor was sufficiently cool, a team of four RadCon technicians suited up in radiation containment gear and entered the facility. Their job was to assess the damage and determine what would be needed for a full recovery before the next test. When they reached the control room, they found that the shutdown had not been completed and the reaction was approaching critical overload. They reported their findings as they raced for the doors, but the containment chamber failed twelve pipticks after their com call, releasing the extreme high pressures and heat of the fusion reaction.
The resulting explosion flattened half of the facility.
Public response was immediate and loud. Some commentators declared that since the very first attempt at using Gaian technology had failed so badly, the matter printers were surely going to be a disaster. Others accused the Gaians of sending bad blueprints and went from there to questioning the treaty and the Council’s culpability in accepting it. Tal’s name was frequently brought up as the one who had rammed the treaty through and was now ramming through the changes to Alsean society. The accusation of war criminality, which had died down while she was on vacation, surged back to the front. Still others said it had nothing to do with the Gaians and hinted darkly at sabotage by fission reactor owners who had a vested interest in making sure the fusion technology failed.
When an investigative team led by Chief Kameha found the actual cause, it was both simpler and more infuriating than the rumors: old-fashioned merchant corruption. The failure was due to substandard sensors supplied by a merchant who had listed the highest-grade sensors in his bid. The cheaper sensors had worked perfectly during the first, limited tests, but failed when subjected to the prolonged heat and pressure of the scaled-up test. Their faulty readouts had prevented the shutdown and led Kameha to believe the reactor had cooled, when in fact it was still out of control.
While a few on the fringe insisted that the corruption charge was just a cover-up of Gaian sabotage, the vast majority of the furor that had swirled around differing camps of belief now coalesced into a planet-wide rage against the merchant caste. The corrupt merchant was detained and brought into Blacksun Base, and a team of investigators began tracking the route the sensors had taken from production to final use.
Tal was furious when Kameha’s report came in. She hadn’t fought for the advancement of her people only to see them cut off their own feet, and vowed that every individual involved in this flagrant disregard for the sanctity of Alsean life would be punished to the full extent of the law. The High Tribunal would decide the fate of the merchant and any collaborators, but as Lancer she had the right to petition for lesser or more grave punishments. Though she did not often choose to exercise that right, in this case she would ask for the maximum penalty.
Six days after the destruction of the Redmoon facility, Tal walked through her private entry onto the dais at one end of the Council cham
ber and stood next to the ornate, uncomfortable State Chair. The session was fully attended: all thirty Councilors from each caste plus the six caste Primes were in tiered seating lining the room’s two long sides. Stacked above them were the guest gallery and the visitor’s gallery, and at the other end two enormous and beautifully carved wooden doors gave the Council members entry onto the chamber floor.
While her dais had a clear view of the entire chamber, the Councilors’ best views were of the members sitting across from them. Over the generations, this arrangement had resulted in a seating pattern dictated largely by caste affiliation, with warriors, scholars, and crafters on one side and merchants, builders, and producers on the other. A seat’s location in the tiers was a status symbol, with the lowest seats going to those with the greatest power and strongest connections. Only the elite could walk straight into the chamber and sit, rather than climbing up into the tiers.
Tal picked up the staff that leaned against her chair and struck the large bell hanging from the ceiling, opening the Council meeting. The arguing started before she could even sit down.
“This disaster only clarifies the need to put the matter printer technology to instant use. Why are we still waiting? What is the Council afraid of?”
“You’re insane. If we release that technology now it will make the merchant caste’s corruption worse than it already is!”
“I resent your insinuation. You can’t lay the criminal actions of one person on an entire caste—”
“My colleague wasn’t making an insinuation. That was a statement of fact. The merchants are well known for—”
“Do the warriors have evidence of widespread corruption, or are they just waving their swords around as usual?”
“Yes, of course the merchants are more worried about their tattered reputations than the four warriors who died in the line of duty. If you wanted to badly enough, you could rehabilitate your bad reputation, but we can’t bring back our dead—”
Tal listened in silence, casting frequent glances at the timer built into her chair’s armrest. She was required to allow at least two hanticks of discussion on any matter of general security and was prepared to endure this shouting match for exactly as long as the law mandated. The effort needed to shut out the intense emotions generated by one hundred and eighty-six agitated Alseans was taxing enough; the noise itself was worse. She watched the timer count down the pipticks, and the moment the blessed zero appeared she stood up, signaling that the debate was at an end. When the arguing failed to die down, she struck the bell a bit harder than necessary.
“That is quite sufficient,” she said. “I am appalled at your behavior. We all have reason for anger, but the purpose of this Council is to find solutions to problems, not shout about them. In two hanticks, not one of you has managed to say anything of use.” She turned to the warrior tier. “Prime Warrior Shantu, I am deeply sorry for the loss of four noble warriors, but proud that they gave their lives in service to others. They reflect the best of the warrior caste, and their names will be honored to the highest ability of a grateful people.”
Shantu bowed his head, casting a sidelong look at the Prime Merchant across the chamber.
“However,” Tal continued, “I do not share your opinion that the merchants are more concerned with their reputations than these deaths. Nor do I believe you truly feel that way, though I understand that tempers are high today.”
Put on the spot, Shantu straightened. “I do not believe that all of the merchants feel that way,” he said carefully.
Tal shifted her gaze to the merchant tier. “Prime Merchant Parser, do you not think it possible that there are other members of your caste involved in the type of corruption that led to these deaths?”
Parser looked every bit as uncomfortable as Shantu had. “I know of no—”
“I did not ask if you knew,” she interrupted. “I asked if you thought it possible.”
He hesitated, and her senses vibrated with the intense curiosity of the other Councilors. They couldn’t wait to see what came out of his mouth.
“Yes,” he muttered. “It is possible that some extremely tiny faction of our caste is involved in this type of corruption.”
“But those individuals do not represent your caste as a whole, do they?”
“No,” he said in a firmer voice. “They do not. Our caste takes pride in providing the best in products and services.”
Tal thought that was a debatable generalization, but this was not the time to pursue it.
“No one here questions the pride or honor of the merchant caste,” she said. “I believe the warrior caste was speaking only of those few you mention. Am I correct, Prime Warrior Shantu?”
“Yes, Lancer Tal,” Shantu answered crisply, and she knew he saw her intention. “We respect the merchant caste—”
Parser snorted.
“—but we cannot stand by while members of any caste pose a danger to our own,” Shantu finished with a glare at Parser.
“No caste could stand idly by while members of its own were in danger. Which is why the merchant and warrior castes will make perfect allies in their pursuit of this corruption.” Tal turned back to Parser. “For as long as such corruption persists, your own caste is in danger, Prime Merchant. I do not think the merchant caste will enjoy the results if the Council is forced to legislate means of preventing it.”
The threat was clear, and there wasn’t a soul in the room who missed it.
“You and Counselor Shantu will come to an agreement on a strategy to root out this corruption. It has persisted too long, and though I don’t expect it can ever be eradicated, I can expect a comprehensive plan for its reduction and control. If that plan is not on my desk within the next nineday, I will bring the issue before the Council, complete with my own recommendations.”
She swept her gaze from one end of the room to the other. “The matter printer technology is not a panacea for the ills of our society. We bear the responsibility of guiding Alsea along a path that safeguards the honor, prosperity, and safety of all its citizens. The new technology is but one tool at our disposal and cannot substitute for our own wisdom. I acquired this technology for our people, and I will release it when it is in the best interests of Alsea to do so. And that is not now.”
A few mutters were heard, which she silenced with another strike of the bell. “This Council meeting is ended,” she said, and walked out.
CHAPTER 13
Lying by omission
“Your name is on the lips of every Councilor today,” Micah said, stretching his legs out in front of him. “And many of those lips are twisted in anger.”
Tal had invited him to her quarters for a drink, which he thought she sorely needed. She had stalked out of the Council chamber like a vallcat on the prowl and was still bristling even now.
It was unlike her to be so high-handed. Normally, she employed backroom tactics and artful manipulation, quietly arranging things and letting others think it had been their idea. While he understood her ire, such a blatant flexing of her power was bound to have repercussions.
“Let them be angry,” she said. “They mewl and posture while four good warriors lie dead. They concern themselves with their own advancement at the expense of the very people they’re sworn to guide and protect. I swear, Micah, some days I’m tempted to wipe away the entire Council and start anew.”
“Please notify me in advance if you do. I’ll sell tickets.”
“And even you are concerned with profit.”
“Not at all.” Micah reached for his spirits and took a sip. “I’m concerned with making sure that all interested Alseans have an equal opportunity to see something so wildly entertaining.”
Her mouth twitched just before she gave up and laughed. “You always know how to make me feel better.” She took a healthy gulp of her own spirits and stared at the blue liquid.
; “This is not the only issue making you unhappy,” he said.
“When did you become a high empath?”
“Don’t I wish. But I do have the eyes of a friend.” And the knowledge that in the six days since their precipitous return to Blacksun, Darzen had not answered any of Tal’s calls.
When she didn’t respond, he added, “I could find her and speak with her.”
“Micah…” She sighed. “If she won’t return my calls, I don’t think she’s any more likely to speak with you. Not to mention the fact that your presence will emphasize the title I kept from her.”
“Then she is a fool.”
“You are sitting with the fool.”
He sat up, ready to argue, but stopped when she held up a hand.
“I appreciate your support, truly. But the fact is, I based a relationship on a lie. I have very much earned her disdain.”
“Did you lie, or did you simply not share all the facts?”
“When it comes to matters of the heart, is there a difference?”
They sat in silence, sipping idly, until she put her glass down and said, “Ekatya once told me that I was a master of lying by omission.”
“When was that?”
“Right after we fought our honor challenge.”
“Ah. You mean when you failed to tell her that a projection Sharing might put you in the healing center?”
“No, when I hid the fact that she cracked my rib.”
That made no sense. “She expected you to admit she’d hurt you? They must teach a whole different fighting philosophy in Fleet.”
She chuckled. “I didn’t understand at first either. But that was when she let go of her anger. I’ve thought about it a lot since then, and I think it all came down to power. We’re both used to having it, but she lost most of hers that day. When she realized she’d hurt me, it gave her back some of that power. That was what she needed.”
“And you think you took away Darzen’s power by not telling her who you were?”
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