Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Obreduur did not quite sigh. “Let’s go to the study.”

  Once there, Dekkard set the package on the table, then took out one of his throwing knives and carefully slit the brown wrapping paper and the paper tape on one side with the sharpened tip of the knife, then eased out a silver and gold cardboard box, one designed to hold fifty sheets of Magnificat stationery, according to the legend on the top. Dekkard lifted the top and set it to the side. Inside was a letter, on top of folded sheets of thin paper.

  Dekkard lifted the letter and read it.

  17 Summerfirst 1266

  Dear Steffan and Avraal—

  I’m sending this to Steffan by Imperial Post while I have the time, and I don’t think anyone here knows his connection to me or to you.

  I’ve enclosed a copy of the main specs for the building as finalized by Engaard Engineering and accepted by the Engineering Division of the Naval Ministry and also a working copy of the specs being used by the construction manager. You can see that while every page of our specs identifies it as an accepted document, the working document is in a different style and the specifications differ significantly.

  I’m supposed to meet with Halaard when he gets here on Unadi, but I thought it best to send copies just in case. I’m probably being slightly paranoid, but it can’t hurt in case Siincleer Engineering and its parent corporacion are even less scrupled than they’ve so far proved to be.

  The signature was that of Markell, and scripted below was the phrase “Tell Emrelda not to worry.”

  Dekkard handed the letter to Ysella, who held it so that she and Obreduur could read it.

  After several moments, Ysella gently replaced the letter on top of the plans.

  Dekkard swallowed, then said, “He actually named Siincleer Engineering.”

  “He did,” agreed Obreduur. “Unfortunately, that doesn’t prove they’re behind it. They could even claim the working prints were forged. But the original specifications will be on file with the Naval Ministry, and I don’t think they’ll dispute that.”

  “What do we do now?” asked Ysella.

  “Nothing, except let your sister know when she returns,” replied Obreduur. “We need to see how the Navy and Siincleer handle the matter.”

  “This confirms that they were behind it,” said Ysella.

  “To us, to Emrelda, but not to anyone else,” said Obreduur. “At best, the letter and the plans confirm that someone tried to sabotage the building. The letter strongly suggests that it wasn’t Markell, because he was the designer and engineer and had everything to lose, and because he disappeared after posting this.”

  “So what do you suggest we do, besides wait?” asked Ysella.

  “Don’t you think we should wait until we hear from your sister?” asked Obreduur. “I assume she planned to appear in full uniform to talk to the Security patrollers in Siincleer. What she discovers or does not should inform what we do next.”

  “Can we do anything else?”

  “I’ll let Hasheem and Mardosh know we have proof that someone subverted the engineer by getting the construction manager to use altered plans and specifications.” After a long pause, Obreduur looked to Dekkard. “Since it was sent to you, what do you plan to do with it?”

  “Find someplace where it will be safe.”

  Obreduur turned to Ysella. “Your thoughts?”

  “Do you have a safe? Neither of us does, and I don’t trust banque safety vaults.”

  “I do have a sufficiently large safe. Bring the package and its wrapping and follow me…”

  Dekkard put the top back on the stationery box, then eased the wrapping back over it and lifted the package.

  As soon as Dekkard finished, Obreduur turned and led the way from the study out to the kitchen then down a narrow staircase to the basement, a basement whose walls, Dekkard knew, had been constructed of underwater concrete, a necessity in the porous damp soils of Machtarn.

  Beside the provisions pantry door was a second door, which Obreduur opened, revealing a set of shelves containing large spice jars. The councilor did something and the spice shelves swung to the side, revealing a solid safe as tall as Obreduur.

  Dekkard stopped and waited, as did Ysella.

  After opening the safe, Obreduur took the box and the wrapping and eased them onto a lower shelf. Then he closed and locked the safe, after which he swung the spice shelves back into place and closed the closet door. “That should keep it secure until we decide how to use it.”

  “Do you have any idea…?” asked Ysella.

  “Only in a general way. If we can link this to Ulrich and the Commerce Party as another example of what happened in the Kraffeist Affair … and several smaller scandals that were covered up … it might help discredit the Commercers. We’ll have to see what develops in the next week or so … and what Baartol, Hasheem, and Mardosh have come up with. And your sister, of course.” After a pause, he added, “It won’t be quick. Nothing effective ever is. It only seems that way because very few see all the preparation that goes into what appears to be a quick resolution. For those involved, it often seems agonizingly slow.” He gestured toward the stairs up to the kitchen.

  Dekkard led the way.

  Once the three were back in the study, Obreduur said to Ysella, “I hope you will keep me informed of any developments involving your sister or her husband, and anyone who contacts you.”

  “We will,” replied Ysella.

  Dekkard just nodded.

  Then he and Ysella left the study.

  Once they were alone in the back hall, he asked quietly, “The portico?”

  She just nodded.

  Once they reached the portico, Dekkard turned to her. “What do you think? Honestly?”

  “Obreduur doesn’t think Markell’s still alive. He thinks that Markell’s disappearance and what’s behind it can help change things, but he’s not certain. He certainly doesn’t want to cover it up.” She paused, then said, “I never knew about the safe. I supposed he had one, but I never knew.”

  “His way of showing more trust in us, then?”

  “Something like that. He’s very sorry about Markell. Both the package and Markell’s disappearance were surprises to him. He’s much more worried about the Commercers than he was even a week ago.”

  “That could be because of the blatant nature of Siincleer Shipbuilding’s attempt to destroy Engaard and his corporacion.”

  “It might be, but there’s something more.”

  “Do you have any idea?”

  Ysella shook her head.

  “Then it has to be something he heard from Hasheem or Mardosh.”

  “Or something small he noticed that’s indicative of something much larger. You two are alike in that.”

  That surprised Dekkard, since he’d never thought of comparing himself to Obreduur.

  “Well … you are. So perhaps you should think about small things that mean more than they seem on the surface.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” replied Dekkard dryly.

  Ysella reached out and touched his shoulder momentarily. “I wasn’t being critical. You can be so much more, Steffan.”

  The gentleness in her voice melted away anything he might have said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I just never thought…” He shook his head.

  “You should. Why do you think Obreduur pushes you and gives you opportunities? He wouldn’t if you weren’t able.” She looked toward the house. “We can’t do anything more right now, can we?”

  “Not that I can think of. We might be able to persuade Hyelda to find some lager and wine, though.”

  Ysella forced a smile. “Let’s do that.”

  46

  LAGER, followed by a dinner of shrimp basil pasta, and chilled sliced fruit, left Dekkard in a more relaxed mood, enough that he read an issue of Obreduur’s History magazine, which included an article on Joel Janhus, or rather his impact on the government of Argorn in the 1100s, when one Baron Luunh ridiculed
anyone who contradicted him by calling them Janhusans. In one way, Dekkard found it hard to believe, because Janhus had been correct, and so had Luunh’s critics. Yet anyone tarred with Janhus’s name was unpatriotic.

  Are all societies like that, where an accurate prophet of a coming unpleasant and unpopular truth is reviled down through history?

  Even with that question in his mind, he slept decently and felt rested when he woke on Tridi. He still couldn’t help but think there was more than the obvious message conveyed by historical perception of Joel Janhus. Is what they all believe an illusion … or is history the illusion? Or are they both illusions?

  The New Meritorists weren’t an illusion. But were they a real broad-based movement … or only the illusion of such a movement? Are you seeing an illusion of something that isn’t, or does Security have its own illusion, one that portrays a broader movement as the work of a handful of malcontents?

  Still, any group that could create simultaneous demonstrations in a half score cities, recruit empies and others willing to die to make their point, and that had the expertise to destroy the Security Ministry building and cut off water supplies and sewer trunk lines wasn’t an illusion. All that suggested to Dekkard that, before long, the New Meritorists would try something else. With all those thoughts racing through his head, he washed and shaved, then dressed, and headed downstairs.

  Since he was there before Ysella or Rhosali, he looked through Gestirn, but there was nothing mentioning Markell or Engaard, nor any demonstrations or the sewer mess. Dekkard shook his head, set down the newssheet, then poured his café and sat down, wondering if Emrelda had discovered anything and hoping she was safe … and would stay so, as much for Ysella’s sake as for Emrelda’s.

  “You look pensive,” said Ysella when she arrived a few minutes later.

  “I am. Aren’t you?”

  “How could I not be? But we can’t do anything right now.” She poured her café and seated herself.

  “Except our jobs,” replied Dekkard.

  “You’d rather do something else, Steffan?”

  “No. I just wish…” He shook his head.

  “Steffan … I can’t read your mind or emotions. Just what do you wish?”

  “That we could do more.”

  “So do I. We can’t. All we can do is get better at what we do. You can do that by taking advantage of the opportunities Obreduur is giving you.”

  “So can you,” he pointed out.

  “Not so much as you can. I’m an empath, remember? The Great Charter forbids certain things to us.”

  Not that many. But saying that would only have been callous. “You wouldn’t abuse your abilities.” He took a bite of his quince-filled croissant.

  “I might not, but how many empies have you seen who do?”

  “Who do what?” asked Rhosali, almost bouncing into the staff room.

  “We were talking about people who abuse their power,” said Dekkard.

  “Like too many Commercers?” replied Rhosali with an amused tone.

  Ysella smiled briefly, then turned her attention to the single croissant that was her breakfast.

  Before long, Dekkard was back in his room, arming himself with truncheon, gladius, and throwing knives. He also made sure he was wearing his staff pin on his grays, just in case he had to do any research. He still recalled the puzzled and slightly condescending attitude of the Council legalists’ receptionist.

  Then he went to get the Gresynt ready. While the sky was a hazy greenish gray, as it usually was when the wind blew from the north or east, he doubted that it would rain, but he had the steamer under the portico a good five minutes before Obreduur and Ysella arrived.

  Once he dropped Obreduur and Ysella off, he didn’t waste any time in parking the Gresynt. He checked it over before straightening up as he saw a Council Guard walking toward him, with another some fifteen yards away, but not moving. He wondered at the pair of guards, given that there were only a few additional guards outside the Council Office Building.

  “Just a moment, sir. I need to see your passcard.” The nearer Council Guard moved smoothly toward Dekkard.

  Dekkard’s eyes flicked to the black leather holster and immediately back to the face of the man who had to be an imposter. “Of course.”

  The false guard’s hand darted toward the butt of the gun in the holster, but he never completed the draw because Dekkard’s throwing knife went through his throat, and an instant later, Dekkard’s truncheon slammed across his temple.

  At that instant, and only for an instant, Dekkard saw an older and more tired face, yet it was somehow the same man, before it transformed back into the face of the dying man, but thousands of tiny lights comprised that face. Then the light image vanished, and the attacker pitched forward onto the asphalt at Dekkard’s feet.

  Dekkard froze for an instant before he looked around for the other figure in the greens of a guard, but the second man abruptly turned and started to run. Dekkard let him, instead yelling out “Guards! Guards!” before quickly returning his truncheon to his belt.

  He stood very still, his hands open and visible for several minutes as he tried to determine what the face image in tiny, indeed infinitesimal, lights meant, and why he’d seen the same kind of image twice. He called again for guards and waited until two apparently genuine Council Guards approached.

  “What is it?”

  “The man on the asphalt … he’s an imposter. He tried to kill me. There was another one, but he ran off.”

  “Who are you?” demanded the taller guard, his pistol still pointed at Dekkard.

  “Steffan Dekkard, security aide and assistant economic specialist to Councilor Obreduur.”

  The guard’s eyes took in the staff pin. While he lowered his pistol, he didn’t holster it. “What happened here?”

  “I dropped off the councilor and Security Aide Ysella at the main entrance. Then I drove here and parked. I’d just left the steamer…” Dekkard went on to describe what had happened.

  When he finished, the shorter guard asked, “Why did you think he was an imposter?”

  “I couldn’t see the end of the barrel of his gun. Guard revolvers are long and the barrel protrudes. And he reached for the gun when I looked at his holster.”

  “He’s not moving,” said the taller guard.

  “He’s dead. I used a throwing knife on his throat and crushed his temple with my truncheon. The other imposter fled before I could do anything.”

  “Turn him over.” The taller guard gestured to the other.

  The shorter guard turned the corpse faceup, and a small semi-automatic pistol slipped from the dead man’s hand. The throwing knife was still in place, if flattened to the side. There was blood everywhere.

  “Never saw him before,” said the shorter one.

  “That’s not any gun we use. Go get the guard captain. We’ll wait here.” The taller guard holstered his revolver and turned back to Dekkard. “I’ve got lots more questions. There’s no point in asking them because the captain will want to know the same things.” He paused. “I’ve seen you around.”

  “I’ve been with the councilor for two years. I’ve never had anything like this happen.”

  “Beats me,” said the guard. “No offense, but why would anyone attack a security aide. It’s dangerous … and … well…”

  “It’s not as though I’m a councilor or even a senior legalist,” finished Dekkard.

  Almost a sixth passed before the shorter guard returned with an older blond guard officer.

  “This is Guard Captain Trujillo,” said the returning guard.

  “Steffan Dekkard, security aide and assistant economic specialist to Councilor Obreduur.”

  Trujillo nodded and continued to look at the dead man for several moments before he said, “Might I see your passcard?”

  Dekkard handed it over, trying not to appear irritated.

  Trujillo looked at the passcard and frowned, clearly thinking. Then he nodded again. “D
ekkard? You were the one who caught that empie who killed the councilor, weren’t you?”

  “I was, Guard Captain.”

  Trujillo turned to the shorter guard. “Paarken … go on up to the councilor’s office. Councilor Obreduur. Tell them what happened, and that it will be a bit before we finish going through the routine with his security aide.” He returned Dekkard’s passcard, not saying anything until Paarken was on his way toward the entrance to the Council Office Building. “Now … tell me what happened.”

  Dekkard repeated what had occurred.

  When he finished, Trujillo asked, “Where did the other imposter go?”

  “He ran to the northwest corner of the parking portico and then climbed the west wall. I couldn’t see him after that.”

  Trujillo looked to the other guard. “Get Meurys, and the two of you go see what traces they left. Gather any evidence you find, if there is any.”

  Once the taller guard had left, Trujillo looked down at the body. “You’re obviously good with a knife, even as close as you were.”

  “I practice most nights.”

  “Have you ever seen this man before?”

  “Not that I’m aware. I certainly don’t recognize him.”

  “We’ll check him over once the cleanup team arrives. Unless I’m mistaken, there won’t be anything that would identify him or who hired him—except for the pistol.”

  “The pistol?” asked Dekkard, although he had a good idea exactly what the guard captain meant.

  “Certain groups favor certain weapons.”

  “That’s a semi-automatic,” said Dekkard. “That’s how I knew he wasn’t a guard.”

  Trujillo frowned. “Oh?”

  “You all carry longer-barreled revolvers. I couldn’t see the barrel protruding from his holster.”

  “You noticed that?”

  “We’re trained to notice everything, Captain.”

  “Why do you think the other man ran instead of attacking?”

  “I have no idea,” replied Dekkard honestly. “Maybe he was only a lookout. Maybe he left when he saw me take down the first man with a knife…”