Eiron paced, marking the passage of time, his boot heels clicking, his soles shuffling over the bright, blue and gold polished mosaic marble floor. Why he had been summoned to meet with the Fer-innyera’s council? Perhaps they wanted an update on the progress of the spaceship Sukúr, he thought. The prototype now neared completion after four long months, three-quarters of a year. One more month and it would be ready for its maiden flight to the space station Celin.
As he waited in an anteroom outside the council chamber, Eiron remembered the last time he had been to see the council. A few tendays ago he had received a message that Fer-innyera Ezáitur wanted him to attend. It seemed another sighting of the new Orian space Falcon fighters had been reported, and the council wanted to reward him for the warning he’d brought back when he reappeared.
A promotion was the last thing Eiron had been expecting. Perhaps they had believed that they could buy him off with honors; perhaps that was what this interview was all about. Perhaps they had something in mind for him to do in order to live up to his end of the bargain.
Ten minutes later, a guard led Eiron into the chamber where he took the customary position and stepped behind the speaker’s podium. Glancing around, he could see that most of the council was present, including Secretary Icolar Nortinn and Fer-innyera Ezáitur. They addressed him at once, before he could gain his bearings.
“We’ve heard some rumors about you,” the Minister of Agriculture began, coming directly to the point, his deep bass dangerously quiet.
“Yes, we hear you’ve been talking to people,” Security Chief Nals March added suggestively.
“Could you kindly explain yourself, and your misconduct, Miran Vaikyur-Erlenkov.” Ezáitur concluded.
“I don’t understand.” Eiron moistened his lips; an observant aide shuffled over with a glass of water for him.
Secretary Nortinn responded by picking up an electronic page in front of him and adjusting his glasses to read it.
“We have innumerable accounts.” Nortinn began. “Officer Jenaiun reports that on the third day of the month of Gorav, you spoke with him about the nature of the Sukúr prototype. Several other technicians have made reports as well,” he said, laying down the electronic page heavily. However, it clattered too much for the gesture of solidarity to be very effective.
“Sir, of course I had to talk to them about it.” Eiron protested. “They’re a part of the project.”
“Perhaps you should be more careful to stick to instructions, then, instead of wandering into unnecessary suppositions.” Nortinn paused. “There is, of course, another matter. We have reports from Ekasi Kesney and Miran Maindaerik on your grandfather’s staff, and conformation from the crew trainees,” he said condescendingly.
“About what?” Eiron asked, overwhelmed. Nortinn had to admit that Eiron appeared genuinely confused, but that only made Nortinn enjoy the interrogation all the more.
“I am referring to your parley concerning political affairs out of your jurisdiction.” Nortinn said as though the answer were obvious. “We know that you have been suggesting the possibility of negotiations with Orian to colleagues and subordinates, and that some are supporting your ideas. We would like to know directly what set you off on this idea and why you believe we should try to negotiate with a terrorist.
“And, if we decide that your argument is unmerited, you will be required to curtail further discussion on the subject.” Nortinn cautioned.
“Get on with it,” Ezáitur suddenly warned impatiently.
“Yes sir.” Nortinn clipped, glancing nervously at the Fer-innyera. “So, Vaikyur-Erlenkov, speak your peace and we will consider what you have to say.”
“I would like to know why your ship has been designed and built outside Aeronautic Association specifications and why it is costing us so much money.” The Minister of Industry fired another question before Eiron could respond.
“Do hurry and say something Vaikyur-Erlenkov,” Ezáitur advised.
Eiron paused a moment, collecting his thoughts, regaining his composure. “I just think,” he began slowly, “that if we could negotiate with the Orian Leader, we might be able to ascertain what he’s after and why. He hasn’t been trying to destroy us, that much is obvious.”
“Liar.” The Minister of Defense interrupted.
“No, sir, I am not.” Eiron said, and suddenly noticed Forren standing at a distance behind the Fer-innyera, his face studiously blank.
“Go on, Vaikyur-Erlenkov,” the Fer-innyera said, amused.
“Yes sir. I was going to say that it’s clear that he’s not going to leave us alone, either.” Eiron continued. “So, if we took the first step, we might be able to prevent a confrontation.”
“If you feel that way, then why are you building such a formidable warship?” The Minister of Defense felt it was time to even the score.
Whispers broke out across the room.
“Well, Vaikyur-Erlenkov, what have you to say?” Ezáitur asked, effectively hushing the council.
“I was led to believe that you approved a project for a defense prototype,” Eiron said, keeping his gaze steady on the Fer-innyera.
“Yes,” Ezáitur said, unruffled, silencing him. “Well, now that you’ve presented your case, you may leave.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “But do not speak again of negotiations. The consequences will be worse for you since we have given you a warning.”
Another guard escorted Eiron from the room, and the council called a session to order.
“Shall we discuss Vaikyur-Erlenkov’s actions?” Ezáitur began.
“Obviously he’s trying to trick us,” March announced. “We’ll put all of our faith into his flying marvel, and he’ll sabotage the project. I say he’s trying to weaken our defenses just to scoff at us. Let my boys have a moment with him; he’ll never do that again.”
“Please, March.” Ezáitur’s brows wrinkled distastefully. “Anyone else?”
“Yes,” the Minister of Commerce nodded. “I agree. But I think it’s an Orian plot. I would bet they gave him false but believable plans to divert our energies while our other industries, including our own spaceship production, suffers. We’ll be too weak to defend ourselves.” The Minister of Commerce found support as she glanced around the room, until the Minister of Defense spoke again.
“No, no,” he said, shaking his head. “He’s obviously planning on selling out to the Orians. His negotiations jabber is just a cover.”
“Anyone else care to speak?” Ezáitur interrupted with a patient sigh. “Well then, ladies and gentlemen, I suggest we consider what has been said.”
Behind him, Forren suppressed a laugh. Ezáitur was in a hurry. No doubt, the lovely Karina was waiting.
The Last Immortal : Book One of Seeds of a Fallen Empire Page 51
