If she hadn’t already been atop that heap. Austin saw how Boris Chin deferred to her and even bellicose Benton Nagursky often yielded the microphone to Marta as questions came from the reporters about MBA participation and the hope for new jobs planetwide.
Austin began to wonder about the MBA and what political aspirations its members had. He knew next to nothing about the ancient, translucent-skinned Dr. Chin other than he was a respected, often brilliant plant genetics researcher, but Ben Nagursky had a reputation for ruthlessness and removing anyone who stood in his way. For Marta Kinsolving to run with these wolves, she had to be equally brilliant—and merciless. This thought set off a chain reaction in his head that led back to Dale’s death.
Someone had purposefully mislabeled the deadly missiles, and he doubted it was any of Tortorelli’s command. Gaining control of the FCL was quite a coup for Calvilena Tortorelli, but it had been announced and seemed less of a motive than Marta Kinsolving’s. She, her company, and the MBA were profiting handsomely. The money to finance her Span-net could have been tied up in legislative session for another year if Sergio had not seen fit to push through the appropriations. She, or AWC, certainly profited both mightily and quickly. But Dale’s death had not been linked to this. Austin frowned as he worried over motives.
An angry whisper drew his attention away from Marta to Lady Elora. She chewed out her director for missing some small detail in a camera angle. The Minister of Information had benefited from covering the war games and Dale’s subsequent death. The news had become the top-rated show on the air, and along with the growing audience came Elora’s new and less subtle jibes about the Governor and his ability to rule—his inability to rule. There had been scattered riots in other cities since Dale died, but Austin knew that it was only a matter of time before the cork popped. He felt tensions mounting whenever he went into Cingulum. Elora urged the people to test the boundaries of the law to find out if The Republic and its rulers were still best for the people of Mirach.
Austin couldn’t tell what had sparked Elora’s wrath, but the director wilted under it. Barnaby worked frantically to alter settings, to move cameras around, and finally to send the full transmission back to the Ministry of Information.
Final statements were read and the news conference wound down when his father said, “Thank you, Ms. Kinsolving. We look forward to the near future—the very near future—of virtually instantaneous communication.” The small crowd of reporters erupted with questions, but Sergio said decisively, “We have no further comments. Thank you all.”
Sergio left the impression that Span-net was better than the HPG, although Austin knew that wasn’t possible. But he wondered if the AWC project would bypass Lady Elora and the stranglehold she had gained on the dissemination of news.
“Son,” Sergio said to him as he started toward the door, “I’ve got a cabinet meeting. It’s always the Ventrale Coalition that gives me headaches and this time is no different. See to the matter we discussed, will you?”
Before Austin could do more than nod, his father rushed off, talking earnestly with his Minister of Mining and Energy. Austin stepped back and let Elora’s crew carry their equipment out. They were gone in less than five minutes. Marta remained behind, huddled with Nagursky and Chin.
“My father’s going to be in the cabinet meeting for some time,” Austin told them, thinking they were waiting to see the Governor.
“We have nothing more to do here. Thank you, Baronet,” Dr. Chin said, bowing the barest amount in Austin’s direction. Nagursky grunted as if someone had poked him in the belly, jerked his head in the direction of the door, and left with the aging geneticist. Marta leafed through a stack of papers, put them into a folder, and started to leave.
Austin hesitated, then stepped forward. “Is there any way I can help out?” he asked.
Marta’s eyebrows arched. Her brown eyes fixed on him.
“I can handle my own paperwork, thank you.”
“You promised me a tour of AWC while we waited for Envoy Parsons at the DropShip field.” Austin saw her heave a deep sigh of resignation; then she smiled.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to appear so reluctant. It’s just that my time’s being eaten by the Span-net project. Work piles up when I’m not at my desk digging away at it. And of course, there’s hardly been time for you, has there? I’m sorry for your loss.”
Austin thought she sounded sincere but wasn’t sure he should take her at her word. He moved through dangerous minefields and didn’t know friend from foe.
“Thank you,” he said. “Your earliest convenience would suit me.”
“Is your father assigning you as liaison on the Span-net project?”
“I’m doing all I can to take some of the load off his shoulders,” Austin answered.
“Come along now if you can get away. I have to check the labs to be certain all the fine gadgets I just promised can be manufactured and delivered on time.”
As they walked down the long corridor running the length of the office wing of the Palace of Facets, Austin was aware of eyes on them. Without being too obvious, he caught sight of several soldiers clad in the forest green of Tortorelli’s Home Guard trying not to be seen as they spied. Austin wasn’t sure if he was pleased that the Legate had assigned guards to the Palace. Why were they acting more like snoops than as guards?
Austin and Marta stepped out the west door into the breezy afternoon. The sun was setting, a huge gravid red blob on the hazy horizon. Clouds had moved in off the ocean and promised rain, but at this time of year Austin knew those clouds probably lied. Cingulum wouldn’t see significant rainfall until the monsoon season began in the fall.
“I’ll order a car and—” he began.
“You can ride with me. It’s a company car,” Marta said.
Austin swallowed. The sleekly aerodynamic white limo looked as if it were a block long with enough room in the rear for everyone in the Palace. A door opened silently and Marta ducked in. Austin followed, to settle down opposite her in a soft leather seat that was almost sinfully comfortable.
“I’m more used to the cockpit of a BattleMech.” He saw her sharp reaction. “I meant the BattleMech simulator,” Austin hurriedly amended. It’s made by AWC, isn’t it?”
“Made by one of our units. There’s not much call for them anymore.” Marta relaxed a little, but Austin saw he had thrown her off stride.
“Tell me about Span-net. Will it really replace the HPG?”
“Of course not,” Marta said, still guarded. “We will gain almost instantaneous person-to-person contact, though. All comm now goes through a few choke points at ground-based relays.”
Austin almost added, “Monitored by the Ministry of Information,” but refrained. He heard this in Marta’s description even if she didn’t say it straightforwardly.
“Span-net will go around those bottlenecks?” he asked.
“To one of the four moon stations, then back. With a network of relays on-world as well as in orbit, we can handle a millionfold more traffic than the current system, permitting personal video comm as well as commercial content, all in a single handset.”
“Will Lady Elora permit this?”
“She might be Minister of Information but she has no say-so over private industry. With your father’s blessing—and funding—the Ministry of Information will be relegated to a lesser role than it enjoys now.”
Austin leaned back and wiggled a little in the soft leather as he considered this. After the announcement today, AWC would become the target of Lady Elora’s propaganda if Marta did not move swiftly to get the necessary equipment in place.
“It will revolutionize communications on Mirach,” Marta said.
“But it’s not HPG,” Austin said.
“No,” Marta said, her tone a little more hostile than before. “Since we can’t depend on The Republic, we’ll rely on our own technology. Span-net will not fail the way the HPG did.”
After such a bold statement and
one reflecting what she thought of The Republic, Marta fell into generalized statements, stolen more from a PR campaign. Austin was glad he had glimpsed, if only for a moment, Marta’s true feelings.
She was no supporter of The Republic. Did that mean she would sell out the Governor, given the chance? Where did her allegiance lie? Austin thought Jacob Bannson was a possible candidate. Bannson would approach entrepreneurs, being one himself, and he had asked Sergio to consider a trading post. Perhaps the Governor moved too slowly and Bannson sought another foothold on Mirach, using the MBA.
Austin knew he was only guessing. But he would find that out, for the good of Mirach, just as he’d find out if Marta Kinsolving had anything to do with Dale’s death, for his own peace of mind.
14
Ministry of Information, Cingulum
Mirach
25 April 3133
Lady Elora’s face glowed in phosphorescent green light as she hunched over her desk in the windowless office. Half a dozen monitors winked on and off around her, each responsive to her silent command. There was space on the desktop for writing or spreading out documents, but the rest was a gently banked surface covered with vidscreens and controls that allowed her to tap into any feed from any camera sent out by the Ministry, to observe and edit or spy. Her long, bony fingers danced over the controls, shifting restlessly from one view to the next. Nothing transpired in the Ministry of Information without her approval and overview.
In spite of such tight control, Elora still felt neglected, out of the loop, talked about behind her back by her inferiors. Sitting in her sparse room, she could toil over her spy equipment and compile a list of those who opposed her. And it was such a long list.
She hesitated when a screen showed Legate Tortorelli with three aides—she knew they were bodyguards rather than advisers because Ministry sensors revealed their sheathed weapons as surely as if they were carried in plain sight—bustling along the hallway two levels below her office. The Legate had breezed through security at street level and was on his way to see her, reaching the foot of the restricted-access escalator coming directly to the top floor of the Ministry Tower, where Elora built her electronic nest.
“Let the Legate in,” she said, her index finger lightly brushing across a pressure switch. “Keep his guards in the reception area.”
She received no response and had expected none. Her staff was capable, except when it came to complex tasks. She still fumed that Hanna Leong had gone missing for the better part of two days before she had been permanently removed. Where had she been? Or did it matter, now that Dale Ortega was gone, too?
Such thorny questions stalked her waking moments.
Elora took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. It was time to prepare for the Legate’s unannounced visit.
Quick fingers worked over the controls, causing screens to vanish silently into the surface of her desk, leaving behind only faint seams to betray the hidden monitors. A single vidscreen showing the current Ministry newscast remained visible at one side of her desk. Elora leaned back in her chair, pushing aside the feeling of nakedness. So much happened when she wasn’t personally monitoring it, guiding it, exploiting it.
This was the price of dealing with Calvilena Tortorelli. He was a bothersome but necessary evil.
Her office door whispered open, and the portly Legate bustled in.
“Calvy!” she greeted with false bonhomie. “So glad you stopped by.”
“Elora,” the Legate said, sounding frightened. She guessed he was not happy having his bodyguards detained two stories below. “Forgive me for not calling ahead, but matters have been churning about me so. Terrible things, simply terrible!”
“Please, sit down. I—” Lady Elora recoiled when Tortorelli interrupted her.
“Is this room secure?”
“Yes, it is,” she said carefully. “What’s wrong?”
“No windows?” he asked. “You’re on the top floor of a fifty-story building and you don’t have any windows?”
“Security risks, Calvy. You know that. A laser shining against a glass pane turns the window into a microphone transmitting for everyone to hear.”
“What I wish to discuss is highly sensitive. Highly.”
“I live by the credo that walls have ears, Calvy,” she said, beginning to wonder what was so important. Whatever it was, it clearly frightened him.
“What I have stumbled across must be kept in the strictest confidence. If anyone else learned what I have uncovered, well, let’s say Mirach would be damaged severely.”
Elora considered what this might be and decided she had to divert him, if the Legate brought her the information she suspected from his behavior.
“Tell me, Calvy. You know I can keep a secret.”
“Baronet Dale’s death,” he said in a husky whisper. “It wasn’t accidental.”
“Calvy, you assassinated the Baronet?” she said with mock surprise.
“What are you saying, woman? No, no, not me. But I found the man who substituted the live missiles. A security camera recorded him. He wasn’t in my service and he certainly was not in the FCL.”
Elora said nothing about the haphazard way Tortorelli had planned the war games and how he had spread authority over too many junior commanders. What bothered her was how the assassin had been caught in the act on camera.
“You’ve arrested him? Turned him over to the Baron? No, he should go to the civil authorities,” she said.
“He vanished, Elora. Gone. Like smoke. But the Baron will think I knew about it.”
“Who else knows?” she asked. “Of the pictures and the assassin?”
“A handful of technicians. And their commander.”
“Scatter them around the planet, Calvy,” she said. “Transfer them and keep them separated. Promote the officer; make it a staff position where you can watch him. You dare not let a hint of this get out.”
“But I don’t know who he is. Was. Oh, Elora, this is a nightmare!”
“One easily handled by an experienced commander such as yourself,” Elora said soothingly. She considered how difficult it would be to remove all the witnesses, and decided eliminating one careless employee was better than creating questions over the death of half a squad in the Home Guard.
“I should tell the Baron. I had nothing to do with this, he needs to know, and that other son of his keeps asking questions.”
This signed the assassin’s death warrant. Elora didn’t know how it would be done, but it had to be done soon. And it would.
“Would Sergio be better off if you went to him? I think there might be more to the Baronet’s death than you think, Calvy. See what I’ve uncovered?”
She touched a spot on the surface of the desk. The small screen at the corner of her desk turned toward the Legate like a radar unit seeking its target. “This was recorded after the Baron’s news conference by accident and might shed light on whom the assassin works for. We were doing a feature on industries vital to Mirach. Of course, I had to do a significant portion on AllWorldComm.”
“Of course,” Tortorelli said, squinting at the screen, trying to figure out what he was seeing.
“Ms. Kinsolving and Austin Ortega earlier today were touring the AWC assembly area when this was recorded.”
Her Ministry’s best technicians had spent long hours putting this snippet together to garner the maximum effect.
“I’m no expert, mind you,” Elora said slowly, “but it sounds as if they are discussing the political stability of Mirach and that Ms. Kinsolving is disparaging your attempts to maintain order.”
“Why, I—” Tortorelli sputtered a bit. “It does sound that way. She’s almost advocating outright rebellion! And to the Governor’s own son!”
“Austin is a bit naive when it comes to sedition,” Elora said. “Or perhaps not. After all, who has benefited most from Dale Ortega’s death?”
“Baronet Austin is next in line of succession,” Tortorelli said, reaching the conclusion Elo
ra wanted. “But that was his own brother!”
“Ambition knows no bounds,” Elora said. “He was on the battlefield and could have aided the assassin in getting to the LRMs. And he certainly knew where the TacCom was every instant of the exercise.”
“But his own brother!” exclaimed Tortorelli.
“This discussion might be innocent. As I said, this is only a tiny portion of their long conversation.”
“The Governor must be told of this immediately. Send a copy to—”
“Please, Calvy,” Elora said, motioning him to silence. She let him stew a few seconds before continuing. “I’m not sure alerting Baron Ortega is the proper thing to do. If his son hasn’t mentioned how the AWC and probably the MBA are conniving, or at least criticizing, behind his back, I’m not sure it is our place to do so. And we have no proof of anything more. Such as fratricide.”
Elora paused again, as if considering what more to say.
“What is it, Elora? There’s something you’re not telling me.”
“The MBA has refitted IndustrialMechs,” she said bluntly. “To protect their property, they say. Those infernal devices can be turned against the rioters—or legitimate military forces.”
“Then it might be rebellion?” Legate Tortorelli looked stunned. “It all makes sense. The MBA uses their ’Mechs against my forces to gain power. If the Baron resists, they kill him and install the Baronet.”
“But we can’t prove it, and to say a word to the Baron might endanger us all.”
“No! I have the forces to fight even refitted IndustrialMechs. It would be a fearsome battle, but they won’t seize power that way!”
“You’re the commander to do it, Calvy. You have experience fighting against BattleMechs off-world. But the need may not arise. All my guesses might be wrong.” Elora’s mind raced. She had to eliminate her pet assassin, but perhaps not yet. Not until after one final job.
“This will be difficult to keep quiet,” Tortorelli said. “Such a vast conspiracy. The Baron’s own son. The MBA. Who knows where else the threads of sedition stretch?”
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