Isolate

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

“We’ll just have to see if we can find out more once we get to the office.”

  “From what Ingrella said last night, we’re not going to find out much of anything today.” Avraal took a healthy swallow of café. She did not reach for a croissant.

  “What do you think will come out of the meeting between the Imperador and Ulrich?” asked Dekkard.

  “Who knows,” she replied tiredly. “The Imperador still might back Ulrich, the way things have been going.”

  “You’re worried. More than a little.”

  “The future of Guldor just might depend on what the Imperador does, and I’m not sure I trust him to do the right thing.”

  “He did ask for Grieg’s resignation.”

  “That was just a cover-up.”

  “People weren’t getting shot right in front of the Palace then,” Dekkard pointed out. “Also, if there’s a revolution or if Ulrich remains in power, either way, it’s bad for the Imperador. In the first case, the New Meritorists would do away with him. In the second, he’d become even less important.”

  “That doesn’t mean he’ll do the right thing.”

  Dekkard understood that. “I don’t know that there’s much we can do.”

  “I’m not sure there’s much anyone can do … except the Imperador. That’s why I’m worried.” Avraal forced a smile. “I’m spoiling your breakfast. Go eat your croissants. You’ll need them the way things are looking.”

  Dekkard smiled back. “I’ll do my best, even with tomato jelly.”

  She shook her head, then smiled again, if only briefly.

  Dekkard slowly ate his croissants, then finished his café. “I’m going to get ready.”

  “I’ll be there shortly.”

  After Dekkard took his plate and mug to the kitchen, when he left the staff room, he stepped to one side as Rhosali approached.

  “You’re up early. What happened?”

  “Besides yesterday’s massacre of unarmed people at Heroes Square? Or that the Tribune didn’t mention that they were unarmed? Not too much.”

  “What will happen now?” asked Rhosali.

  Dekkard shrugged. “We don’t know. We don’t even know when we’ll find out. It’s like everything’s stopped until the Premier and Imperador meet.”

  “Won’t there be more demonstrations?”

  “I’d be surprised if there were one today. There hasn’t been the killing of so many protestors in decades, if not longer. I’m guessing there’s a bit of shock. But that will only last a little while.”

  “Last Findi, my uncle said things could get worse.”

  “He’s right. They could. They could also get better, but that will take time, and people are impatient.”

  Rhosali frowned, then said, “Uncle said that, too.” Then she added, “You look like you’re in a hurry. I’d better not keep you.” With that she stepped past Dekkard and into the staff room.

  Dekkard finished getting ready, and then lit off the Gresynt, waited for a bit, and eased it down the drive to the portico, where he waited almost a third of a bell for Obreduur and Avraal.

  The drive to the Council Office Building was quiet, with no signs of protestors near the Square of Heroes, the Palace, or the Council, although, after dropping Obreduur and Avraal off, Dekkard did have to go through three checks of his passcard before he was inside the building. He didn’t see anyone he knew well in the corridors, either.

  The stack of letters and petitions waiting on his desk was about the same, which meant he’d likely be able to finish his draft responses by noon.

  He’d been working on responses for a little more than a bell when Obreduur came out of this inner office. “Craft Floor Leader Haarsfel has called a closed caucus of all the Craft Party councilors at fifth bell in the Waterways Committee Chamber. I’ll need both of you to escort me there and wait.”

  “Do you know what it’s about, sir?” asked Dekkard.

  “Haarsfel didn’t say. I imagine it’s to discuss the current situation, and the options open to the Craft Party, if there are any, given what was in the note I read last night. I’d like to leave at a third before the bell.” Obreduur stepped back into his office and closed the door.

  By the time Dekkard and Avraal left their desks to escort Obreduur to the Waterways Committee Chamber, Dekkard judged he was more than two-thirds of the way through the letters, there being no petitions in the stack.

  When they passed the floor entrance and neared the committee chamber, Dekkard saw Councilor Hasheem standing near the door, talking to Councilor Zerlyon. Near them, but not close enough to overhear, were Erleen Orlov, who still clearly didn’t have a partner, and Zerlyon’s two security aides, Chavyona Leiugan and Tullyt Kamryn.

  Obreduur moved to join the other two councilors, while Dekkard and Avraal moved toward the three aides.

  “We ought to move back a bit,” suggested Avraal.

  “Since you two are here,” said Leiugan with a light tone, “do you think the rest of us could leave?”

  “If you want to hand over your pay for the day, Chavyona,” returned Dekkard dryly.

  Kamryn and Orlov both grinned.

  “How do you put up with him?” teased Leiugan.

  “She doesn’t,” countered Dekkard. “I just do whatever she tells me.”

  All five aides stopped talking as three more Craft councilors neared—Haarsfel, Mardosh, and Safaell.

  Obreduur turned. “Avraal, Steffan … if you’d check the chamber. If there are clerks inside, have them leave.”

  Avraal led the way, but slowed as she neared the chamber door. “There are two inside. I don’t sense anything unusual.”

  Dekkard moved ahead, opening the door and stepping inside the committee room set up in the same way as all the large committee rooms, with a long desk on a raised dais extending almost the width of the chamber and places for up to nine councilors.

  The two clerks at the rear corner desks looked up.

  “It’s time for the Craft Party caucus,” Dekkard said. “You’ll have to leave until it’s over.”

  “This is our office,” protested one.

  “Not for the next bell or so,” said Dekkard cheerfully.

  Avraal must have projected something, Dekkard felt, because the older clerk stood and said, “If we must. It’s most irregular.”

  “Now, please,” said Dekkard firmly.

  In moments, the two clerks were out, and Dekkard and Ysella moved to just outside the double doors. “The committee chamber is empty, sir.”

  “Thank you,” replied Obreduur, moving toward the pair. “Since Floor Leader Haarsfel has no security aides, I’m going to have to ask you two to guard the door. Once everyone is here, you’re not to allow anyone to enter, until either Councilor Haarsfel or I tell you otherwise. I’ll stay here with you until it’s time to start.”

  Perhaps two minutes before fifth bell, Councilor Waarfel arrived, the last of the twenty-three Craft councilors. Obreduur followed Waarfel into the committee room, closing the door as he did.

  Dekkard glanced to the far side of the corridor where more than thirty Craft security aides stood or milled around. He couldn’t help smiling slightly. They were the far greater deterrent to interruption. He and Avraal were largely symbolic. “Those two clerks were rather annoyed.” His eyes scanned the main corridor. “They must not be asked to leave very often.”

  “Almost never. Haarsfel doesn’t believe in caucusing except when it’s absolutely necessary, and usually he can use the main Council chamber.”

  “If he can’t now,” said Dekkard, “then the Commerce Party must be using it, and that means something happened at Ulrich’s meeting with the Imperador.”

  “Don’t get your hopes up,” said Avraal dryly. “It could be that the Imperador just called for a replacement of Ulrich without elections. Despite what you said last night, I wouldn’t put it past Ulrich to have weaseled that out of Laureous.”

  “If that’s the case, Machtarn is going to be a very unsettled ci
ty for some time,” predicted Dekkard.

  In the quiet that followed, Dekkard tried to discern what might be going on in the committee chamber, but the doors and walls were thick enough and well-insulated enough that he could hear nothing. “Can you sense anything?”

  “Through those doors? Hardly.”

  Each minute that passed felt like a sixth or third to Dekkard, even as he wondered what had happened between the Imperador and the Premier … and how that would spool out for the Craft Party, the Council, and, indeed, all of Guldor. And how the New Meritorists will respond to whatever has happened … and will occur.

  Surprisingly to Dekkard, little more than a third of a bell had passed when one of the doors eased open slightly and Obreduur stood there. “Most of the councilors will be leaving. Open the doors and step just inside and wait there.”

  Much as Dekkard wanted to ask what had happened, he didn’t, especially given the seriousness in Obreduur’s voice. Instead, he and Avraal did exactly as ordered.

  Dekkard watched as two or three small groups of councilors briefly formed and then began to disperse. He studied each councilor who passed as he or she left. From what he could see, none of them appeared depressed, although several definitely appeared worried. Finally, the chamber was empty, except for Haarsfel and Obreduur, who then walked to where Dekkard and Avraal waited.

  “Avraal … Steffan … you two will be accompanying us to the Palace of the Imperador. He officially requested Ulrich’s resignation as premier and from the Council. He also dissolved the Council, called for new elections, and requested that the Craft Party choose an interim premier.”

  “Your councilor is the choice of the Craft Party,” added Haarsfel. “It’s only temporary, unless we can win more seats and allies in the election.”

  “When is the election?” asked Dekkard.

  “The Imperador sets the dates, within the limits of the Great Charter,” replied Obreduur. “No less than two weeks, no more than four, and always on a Findi. He chose two weeks from tomorrow.”

  “He’s hoping that will minimize Commercer losses,” added Haarsfel.

  While he managed not to blurt anything incoherent, Dekkard found himself having trouble grasping the fact that Obreduur was Premier, even just temporary acting Premier.

  “I’ll fill you both in on the details later. They’re very interesting.” A certain wry humor infused Obreduur’s words.

  “Very interesting indeed,” added Haarsfel. “We need to go to the east entrance to the Council Hall. We’ll be taking one of the Council limousines to the Palace.”

  “What about the Security Ministry?” asked Avraal.

  “Once accepted by the Imperador, even an acting premier can ask for resignations,” declared Haarsfel. “Any appointments as heads of ministries are only temporary, however, until the next government takes office. It’s not usually even worth doing. We need to get moving.” He looked to Avraal. “You two lead the way.”

  Dekkard let Avraal set the pace, which was a fast but not rushed walk, while she concentrated on sensing and he looked ahead for anyone who appeared out of place. He didn’t like the fact that Wyath remained Security Minister for the present, and he hoped that they could get to the Palace before Wyath found out.

  As Haarsfel had promised, a limousine—a black Gresynt with the Council insignia on the front hood—was waiting at the east entrance to the Council Hall. A Council Guard stood beside the steamer and opened the middle and rear doors as the four approached, then seated himself in front beside the driver once Dekkard, Avraal, and the two councilors were seated.

  Dekkard glanced to Avraal as the limousine turned onto Council Avenue.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary … yet,” she said in a low voice.

  Dekkard almost smiled at the incongruity of her words, although she had been referring to security matters. Going to the Palace in a Council limousine, possibly with the first Craft premier of Guldor in centuries, was certainly out of the ordinary.

  In the rear seat, Haarsfel cleared his throat, then said, “You two will stay with us when we enter the Palace until the moment when we’re ushered in to see the Imperador. You will wait there until we return.”

  “Thank you for making that clear to Avraal and Steffan,” said Obreduur quickly.

  The driver turned the limousine onto Imperial Boulevard, heading north, then three blocks later turned right onto the south side of the Square of Heroes. As the driver made his way around the square toward the formal entrance to the Palace of the Imperador opposite the middle of the square on the north side, Dekkard looked closely. The Square of Heroes was empty, the oval of white marble pillars that surrounded the statue of Laureous the Great on his charger somehow looking lonely in the hazy midday sunlight. Then Dekkard saw almost a score of men and women and two small steam lorries—and a handful of Palace Guards. It took him a moment to figure out that they were cleaning up the square—especially the bloodstains—after the previous day’s carnage.

  Only a day ago? That in itself seemed surreal, that just the day before Special Tactical Forces had been shooting unarmed protestors right in front of the Palace and now no one was there but a cleaning crew.

  The driver slowed as he turned in to the entrance drive to the Palace, coming to a complete stop just before the shimmering golden gates—polished brass, Dekkard knew—which stood open, but were guarded by four Palace Guards in their red-and-gold uniforms.

  “The Premier-select to see the Imperador at His Excellency’s request,” announced the driver.

  “He’s expected. Use the east portico entrance.”

  “Thank you.” The driver eased the limousine through the open gates and up the white stone drive that stretched more than a third of a mille before it reached the Palace proper, a three-level structure of pale golden marble that stretched some three hundred yards end to end. Small oval gardens surrounded by elaborate topiary hedges took up about half the space of the slope, the rest being a meticulously groomed lawn with stone paths and carefully groomed low trees, their size controlled so as not to diminish the visual impact of the Palace as seen from the city. The east wing of the Palace was where the Imperador conducted Imperial business, while the center portico was the entry for Imperial functions, and the west portico was used for personal and familial purposes. A few minutes later, the limousine glided to a stop under the east portico, where a Palace Guard stepped forward and opened the limousine doors. After the four exited the steamer, a naval lieutenant who looked barely older than Dekkard stepped forward.

  “Councilors, the Imperador is expecting you. If you’d come with me.”

  This time, Avraal and Dekkard trailed Haarsfel and Obreduur as they went through the polished bronze doors and into a broad entry hall floored in white marble edged with green marble shot with golden lines. The walls were lined with paintings, which, at a glance, depicted scenes from the history of the Imperium of Gold. One picture portrayed a naval battle involving warships under full sail. Dekkard suspected it was from the Great Trade War of 988. Another depicted the capitulation of Jaykarh, which had occurred far earlier.

  As he and Avraal followed the lieutenant and the councilors along the hall, Dekkard turned his concentration to those few in that part of the Palace—a woman carrying a leather case turning in to a smaller side hall, an older man standing in an alcove talking to a Navy captain, and two men with a ladder working on a bronze wall lamp.

  The lieutenant turned right along an equally broad corridor, walked some fifteen yards, then stopped short of a door with a single, if large and muscular, Palace Guard beside it. “The Premier-select to see His Excellency.”

  “One moment, please.” The guard stepped inside the door and shut it, only to reappear almost instantly. “Councilors, you may enter.”

  As the door opened and the two councilors began to enter, Dekkard saw Avraal concentrating, not that it would have been that noticeable to most people. After the door closed, she gave the smallest nod to Dekkard and
the two moved to the side, next to the lieutenant.

  “Don’t know as you could have done anything anyway,” said the guard quietly.

  Nothing except kill a few people, and that would be too late. Dekkard just nodded.

  The four waited for more than a sixth, but less than a third, before the door opened and Haarsfel stepped out, followed by Obreduur. Both had very sober expressions on their faces.

  “Yes,” said Obreduur to the unasked question, “I’m now the very temporary Premier, for almost exactly two weeks. After that … we’ll have to see.”

  “Congratulations, sir,” said the lieutenant, gesturing back the way they had come.

  “Thank you,” replied Obreduur.

  No one spoke until they reached the limousine, still waiting in the shade of the portico. Then the lieutenant said, “The best of fortune to you, Premier.”

  “We’ll all need it, Lieutenant. I do appreciate your words.”

  Once the four were in the limousine, the driver eased the steamer out of the shade into the sun and headed back down the drive. The cleaning crews were still working hard at scrubbing the stones of the Square of Heroes, and none of the workers even glanced in the direction of the passing limousine.

  Finally, Haarsfel said to Obreduur, “The Premier’s floor office is now yours to use.”

  “I’d rather not use it more than necessary, but we do have to ask for two immediate resignations.”

  Haarsfel’s eyebrows rose. “I understand one.”

  “Treasury. Munchyn’s been instructing tariff assessors to undervalue imports that compete with products made here in Guldor. That’s not exactly good for Imperial revenues. Their deputies should be able to handle their ministries for two weeks, especially if I send a letter to each explaining the Imperador’s concerns for his people.”

  They’ll handle it better than did either Wyath or Munchyn. But that could have been just hope on Dekkard’s part, since he knew nothing of either deputy minister.

  “How do you know Munchyn instructed them?” asked Haarsfel.

  “Because when I inquired about it and pointed out what was happening, he had an underminister write back a stalling letter saying the matter needed to be studied. When a councilor points out that tariff assessors are essentially breaking the law and costing the Treasury marks … and the response is that more study is needed, something’s wrong. Either the junior appointees are doing this on their own, which I doubt, or Munchyn’s in on it.” Obreduur paused, then added, “There’s been far too much of that sort of thing going on.”