The Scorpion Jar mda-13

by Jason M. Hardy

  “Should I be troubled, Paladin, that your investigation has led to me?” The Senator’s tone was light, but it held a clear message—Mallowes knew why he was there, and there was no reason for Jonah to play any games.

  “No, Senator. I’m currently gathering information on someone you’ve worked with before, a man named Henrik Morten. You’ve sent him on a number of tasks over the past few years.”

  Mallowes nodded. “Yes. A very capable young man. A noble, one of the Mallory’s World Mortens, as I’m sure you know. He crafted more than a few successes for me.” Mallowes paused. “It makes me regret, to a small degree, the fact that I have not been able to utilize him recently.”

  “That’s what I noticed. It seems he was working for you regularly until about half a year ago, then, from everything I’ve been able to find out, your connection to him dried up. He’s been freelancing for about half a dozen others recently, but not you.”

  “Yes.” Mallowes clasped his hands, index fingers extended, and rested his fingertips on his chin. “I assume you’ve heard of some of Morten’s most valuable qualities? His discretion, his ability to deal with highly sensitive matters with a minimum of detection.”

  “People have mentioned that, yes.”

  “I discovered some unfortunate information on how he achieved those ends. I never had enough concrete proof to bring formal charges against him, but suffice it to say he sometimes pays people to keep secrets—” here Mallowes delicately cleared his throat “—and sometimes he makes others pay in advance. If you take my meaning.”

  “I’m guessing the payment he extracts isn’t always monetary.”

  “You have it precisely.”

  “Are you pursuing any of this information? Looking to bring charges?”

  Mallowes sighed. “I intend to. However, with the election and assorted doings, my mind has been focused elsewhere. Hopefully, when the new Exarch is seated, I will be able to pursue a case with more vigor. I assure you, however, that I have done my best to spread the word about the young man’s activities to my colleagues, hoping to dissuade them from employing his services. Possessing noble blood brings with it a responsibility for noble behavior, and this young man seems to have forgotten—or never learned—this principle.”

  “And how have they responded?”

  “Most of them trust me, knowing I do not convey information lightly. A few, though, have noticed the lack of substantial evidence against Morten and choose to ignore my counsel and employ him anyway.”

  Jonah leaned forward. A list of officials willing to use Morten even after hearing about some of his seamier activities could prove valuable. “Who?”

  “Hmmm… actually, there are only two I can think of offhand. Governor Newberry of Dieron seems to believe the young man’s coalition-building capabilities are second only to Devlin Stone, and continues to employ him. And an old friend of mine, your newest colleague—Gareth Sinclair. He actually remains a firm supporter of Morten, from what he has told me.”

  That was the fourth time Sinclair’s name had come up in the course of Jonah’s investigations. He’d already scheduled a meeting with him, and it was shaping up to be an unpleasant conversation.

  “I’m sorry if I haven’t given you the help you sought,” Mallowes said, noticing Jonah’s silence.

  Jonah forced the corners of his mouth into a warm smile. “You’ve been plenty helpful, believe me. I appreciate your time.”

  “And I would appreciate yours, if you’re willing to lend me a few more moments of it.”

  “I’d be happy to. How can I help you?” Jonah asked, even though he knew full well what the Senator wanted to talk about.

  Mallowes stood, pushing his shoulders back slightly, looking for all the world like a man about to deliver an important speech. “As you well know, had Devlin Stone intended the Senate to play an active role in the election of an Exarch, he would have given us a vote.”

  Jonah sighed inaudibly. Why doesn’t he just come out and ask the question he has undoubtedly been thinking about since I first called, Jonah asked himself.

  “But he, in his wisdom, bequeathed sole responsibility in the manner to the Paladins of the Sphere, people who ascended to their lofty position by virtue of their honor, honesty and incorruptibility.”

  Ask the question! Jonah yelled in his head.

  “However, it is abundantly clear that Stone intended his Paladins to be people of wisdom, and it is equally clear that Stone believed a major portion of wisdom to be the ability to hear and receive counsel. And we must not forget that he intentionally allowed only those of noble blood into the Senate, filling that body with individuals whose families have vast experience in matters of government.”

  Here it comes, Jonah said. Either the question, or an hour-long lecture on the role of counselors in Devlin Stone’s life.

  “While I’m sure you’re not surprised to know I have some thoughts on the upcoming election, it would be quite out of turn if I shared my ideas without knowing where you stand in the matter. I was wondering, then, if, given our extensive history, you would be willing to share your thoughts on who will receive your vote in the coming election.”

  Finally! Jonah hoped the Senator could not hear the rush of air escaping his lungs. Since Mallowes had given him plenty of time to prepare a response, he answered quickly.

  “I’ve thought about it a lot, but I haven’t come to a final decision yet. I don’t think it would be proper for me to name names until I’ve made up my mind. I wouldn’t want the others talking about me like that, so I won’t do it to them.”

  Mallowes smiled, though his exposed teeth seemed a bit clenched. “I cannot begin to tell you what a pleasure it is to talk with one who gives such a prominent consideration to honor as do you. It was a trait that greatly impressed me when we first met.”

  Jonah remembered the Senator seeming more confused than impressed at that meeting, but he felt it best not to point that out.

  Mallowes, still on his feet, paced around his desk and stood over Jonah, trying to make Jonah crane his neck upward. Instead, Jonah smoothly rose to stand next to him, and Mallowes was forced to raise his eyes to look into the face of the Paladin.

  “Let us not name names, then,” Mallowes said, his voice little more than a raspy whisper. “Let us talk about what should be at the core of all elections—ideas.”

  “What ideas did you have in mind?”

  “Strength. Sovereignty. Tradition.”

  Jonah had heard these words many times in recent weeks, so he filled in the last one for Mallowes. “Vision.”

  Mallowes snapped his fingers. “Precisely! These are difficult times, Paladin Levin. We need an Exarch willing to make hard choices.”

  “We always do.”

  “Yes, yes, we always have the need, but the choices keep being deferred. Compromise. Negotiation. Appeasement. These are tools of delay, not true decisions. We need an Exarch who will finally confront our enemies squarely, deal with them in the only way they understand.”

  “They don’t understand peace?”

  Mallowes snorted. “Look at our borders and ask me that question again.”

  “Senator Mallowes, do you remember when we met after the fight on Kurragin?”

  Mallowes smiled warmly, though it seemed more a reflex than an indication of real feeling. “Of course.”

  “Do you remember the orders I followed on the battlefield?”

  “Yes. You were to hold your line.”

  “And I did. There are many things I’m not good at, Senator, but I’ve always known how to hold a line. When the election comes, that’s what I’ll be thinking about.”

  Mallowes nodded approvingly. “Good, good. But how do you know which is the proper line to hold?”

  “My job is to know.”

  “The job of your entire council is to know. But some of them don’t.” Mallowes paused, and something flickered behind his eyes. Caution? Annoyance? Jonah couldn’t be sure.

  Th
en Mallowes spoke again. “Victor Steiner-Davion did not know.”

  Jonah’s eyes narrowed. “What are you saying?”

  “Please, make no mistake—I greatly admired the man for all he accomplished in his many years. Unfortunately, he believed that life, in the person of his sister, had taught him the importance of governing with a light hand, of erring on the side of indulgence instead of caution.”

  “I believe Victor preferred the term ‘freedom’ to ‘indulgence,’” Jonah said darkly.

  “Quite so. But you see, he took the wrong lesson. The problems he had with his sister, the disaster of the Civil War, were not caused by her grip being too tight. They were caused by his being too loose. We must never forget that his laxity practically handed power to her. He was the cause of his own misfortune.

  “The Republic cannot afford to make similar mistakes at this time,” Mallowes continued. “We cannot let threats build while we turn our heads. Now is the time for strength. Victor’s fate is evidence of what happens to those who are not strong.”

  Anger and suspicion flared in Jonah. “‘Evidence of what happens’?” he said heatedly. “Are you saying Victor’s death was tied to this?”

  Mallowes raised his hands placatingly. “No, no, not his death. I have no idea what caused that. The war, my friend. I meant the Civil War.” He shook his head. “I see your temper has not mellowed with age.”

  Jonah willed himself calm, forcing his fists to unclench. “I… apologize. I thought you were insinuating something else.”

  “No apology necessary. You may be assured that, to a degree, I understand the stress weighing upon you. All of us in government feel it.” Mallowes placed a hand on Jonah’s shoulder. “All the more reason we must show strength. Now.”

  34

  Counterinsurgency Task Force

  Temporary Headquarters, Geneva

  Terra, Prefecture X

  13 December 3134

  Heather had three lists. One named Paladins she was all but certain had nothing to do with the Kittery Renaissance; these were people she did not need to bother speaking with. The second named those of her colleagues who had expressed sympathy with the Founder’s Movement. The third listed Paladins she considered entirely trustworthy and well informed. That list had two names, and since Jonah Levin was otherwise occupied, she started her interviews with Otto Mandela.

  He’d better know something, she thought. She was quickly running out of time before the election.

  She strode quickly down the hallway, and Duncan, a full six inches shorter than she, struggled to keep up. He refused to stop talking.

  “Two members of the Clutch of the Confederacy are in custody, but the police aren’t sure the charges are going to stick. Stone’s Loyalists broke up a march by ’Mechs Into Plowshares, and spotters believe members of Stone’s Vow were working with the Loyalists.”

  Heather stopped and whirled, giving a grateful Duncan a chance to keep up. “Have the police and militia been notified of all this?”

  “Yes, Paladin.”

  “Are they taking care of these situations?”

  “Yes, Paladin.”

  “Then why do you keep telling me about them?”

  “I was tasked to keep you informed,” Duncan said promptly.

  Heather sighed and turned back toward Mandela’s office. She didn’t have time to hash this out with Duncan at the moment.

  Just outside Mandela’s office, Duncan spoke again. “Ma’am?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you really think that one of the Paladins—one of the other Paladins, I mean—might be supporting the Kittery Renaissance?”

  Heather considered the question seriously. “I’d like to think not. But anything’s possible.”

  Heather pressed the buzzer. “Paladin GioAvanti to speak with Paladin Mandela.”

  Duncan continued, “What am I supposed to do while you’re talking with him?”

  “Make small talk with his aide or his secretary or whoever else he may keep around the office who’s about your age. Keep your ears open.” She nodded toward his noteputer. “And make sure you keep checking those incoming messages.”

  Duncan nodded seriously as the amplified and transmitted voice of a receptionist spoke from inside Mandela’s office. “Come in, Paladin GioAvanti.”

  The door opened, and they entered the office suite. Soon Heather was in the inner office, where Otto Mandela claimed to be pleased to see her and willing to help her in whatever way he could.

  “I’m glad you can spare me the time, Otto,” Heather said to Mandela. “You’ve been on Sheratan recently, right?”

  “Yes. The election was a bit of a zoo, but nothing compared to what’s going on here.”

  “Plenty of factions at work?”

  “Every third house seemed like it was headquarters for some upstart group.”

  “Did you hear anything about the Kittery Renaissance there?”

  Otto sat straighter in his chair. “Not on Sheratan, no. But I’ve certainly heard of them.”

  “What do you know about them?”

  “Plenty, but that’s not what you’re asking me. You’re asking what I know about them that I may not have shared with everyone yet.”

  Heather flashed one of her charming smiles. “Yes.”

  “Paladin GioAvanti, please don’t take this the wrong way, but if I’ve been sitting on information, holding it from others, why should I give it to you now?”

  Heather tapped her foot as a couple of options ran through her head. Then she decided.

  “Can I show you something on your data screen?” she asked.

  “Be my guest.”

  Logging into her account, Heather played a piece of the riot video showing the Capellan sympathizer who instigated the whole thing. She looped it, and the woman flared into anger again and again and again.

  Mandela watched it at least five times, his face blank. Finally he reached forward and stopped the playback.

  “Norah,” he said.

  Heather almost lunged toward him. “You know her name?”

  “No. I know her alias. The person who shared that information with me had no idea what her real name was.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “We extracted everything that he knew,” Mandela said, with a fierce note Heather hadn’t heard in his voice before. “Believe me.”

  “Who is she?”

  “I wish I could tell you. We have nothing beyond her alias—no background, no world of origin, nothing. We don’t even know if anyone else in the group calls her Norah. But our source believed she was fairly high in the organization. If she’s here, on the street, they’re definitely moving toward something big.”

  “How come this information isn’t in the file?”

  Mandela eyed Heather warily. “Most of it is.”

  “And the rest?”

  “I held out.”

  Heather’s toe started tapping on the floor. She had come to Mandela because she trusted him, yet now even he was acting suspiciously.

  “Why would you hold out anything?”

  “First, because this name is of little consequence. It’s an alias, and for all I know she changes it on a daily basis. Second”—Mandela’s words emerged slowly, as he chose each carefully—“often in these investigations it can be useful to know something no one else knows. Though of little consequence, these bits of information can prove useful in interrogations, or undercover infiltrations. It’s best to keep one or two things away from all other eyes to protect their confidentiality.”

  “You don’t trust a classified file?”

  “Have any Paladins ever given you reason to mistrust them?” he shot back.

  She wanted to say “no,” but she couldn’t. “All right. Why tell me her name now?”

  “As I said, these little pieces can be useful in interrogations, which I hope you will be conducting shortly. And I trust you more than I trust the file.”

  “Thanks. So you say her presence means
they’re moving toward something big. Any ideas on what that might be?”

  Mandela stood, walked to a corner of his office, and began idly spinning a globe as he thought. The rhythmic thud of his hand on the resin was oddly soothing.

  “They don’t want to destroy The Republic,” Mandela said, thinking out loud. “If they act against the government, it wouldn’t be to bring it down entirely; they would just want certain people out, making room for the people they felt they could trust, or who would further their goals.”

  “Assassination?” A thought had struck Heather.

  Mandela’s hand moved faster. “Maybe. In certain cases, they might find it necessary.”

  “Victor?”

  The spinning globe stopped as Mandela’s hand rested flat on it. Then he slowly began spinning it again.

  “Not likely. A movement like Kittery depends on a certain degree of public support. Victor may not have shared their goals, but he was a legend—killing him could do them far more harm than good, in the long run.”

  “How does staging a riot do anything good for their popular support?”

  Otto gave the globe a final spin, then paced back to his chair. His gestures became more and more theatrical as the conversation progressed. There was a reason Mandela was assigned to watch elections so often, besides his honesty. He understood politics as well as any Paladin—with the possible exception of Anders Kessel.

  “First, you have to remember that only a few of us know that Kittery had anything to do with this. They have made no effort to take credit for their effort—to the contrary, they’ve covered their tracks quite well. This is not supposed to be a riot of the Kittery Renaissance. It’s just supposed to be a random occurrence.”

  “Increasing the tension in a city already near the boiling point.”