She sipped the vodka again. “It’s in the taste of your liquor, you know. I have a thesis.” She lifted the glass to study the clear fluid in the light. “I think a people can be understood by their food and drink as well as their art and literature and dance.”
“And what do you think of Gulagis?”
She squinted at the liquor. “I think they’re a very strong people. Perhaps bitter and hard, unsoftened by the frills of life so common to others. I think they’ve been molded most uniquely—the product of a terrible culling.”
Nikita waited.
Her long fingernails clicked against the glass like talons playing a staccato on the impenetrable. Her brow lined as she frowned at the glass, lost in thought. Lifting her chin, she studied him down the length of her long nose. “Have you given thought to the coming political crisis?”
Here it comes. “First truth learned in any Gulagi station is that political sand makes treacherous footing. Makes for quick, light feet. Person who stands still for moment too long is suddenly buried ... or falls when sand erodes from underfoot.“
Her smile reminded him of the rat-hunting snakes so common to his native Malakova Station. They had that same look as they crawled through the nether regions in the darkness.
“We’re not so different, you know. Gulag Sector is made of rebels. Like the people of Earth, they’ve been harrowed and weeded of the opulent and the soft.” She paused for a second. “I would like to think that peoples stemming from so common an ancestry and ideology could form a united front. Earth consists of so many factions, Kenyans, Free Alaskans, Burmese, Turkese, Latvians, Thais . . . you name it. We’re as anarchical as you. We speak different languages and come from such diversity that we make Gulag look unified. I wonder, Nikita, are our goals so far apart?”
He shrugged. “Hard to say. Never been closer to Earth than a holo machine.”
She nodded, as if to herself. “Perhaps, Nikita, that should be remedied. Earth could do a lot for Gulag. You have considerable resource reserves which haven’t been developed. And Earth, with her teeming billions, is always in need of food and raw materials. We’re always looking for a place to send our restless. Could you use teachers? Engineers? Perhaps less restrictive markets for your foodstuffs? We have the know-how to make your agricultural systems larger, more productive.”
Nikita pulled at his tangle of beard. “Have never met investor who gave for free. A siphon for your restless I can understand, but to develop our resources will take metals—of which Gulag is in short supply so far. Technical innovations, too, generally come with overt or covert restrictions. Terran reactors must use Terran parts—a fact which will be immediately noted and exploited by my cynical constituents.”
Medea narrowed her eyes, thinking again. “Nikita, somewhere along the line, someone is going to have to break Gulag out of its shell. Your Sector is faced with a dilemma. Do you integrate with the rest of the Confederacy and continue to advance? Or do you sequester yourselves—become an island of provincial ignorance amidst a sea of exploding humanity? Assuming the latter, what do you do when, say, New Maine, arrives to mine your nebulae? Kick them out? Without a military? Hardly! And I know Gulag. You won’t build a fleet. In the first place, I doubt you could assemble a majority to support it— Gulag being Gulag and always busy cutting its own throat. You can’t get the financing—or the technical expertise, for that matter.
“So where will you take your people, Nikita? You speak for them. If anyone has the native ability to deal with Gulag, it’s you. As in a primitive band society, you have the power to convince them. Through your charisma and intelligence, you can persuade them to a consensus. If anyone can steer them around the pitfalls of the future, it’s you. You’re their only chance for survival.”
He waved it away. “Bah! You overestimate Nikita’s influence on Gulagis. Part of continued success is that I don’t do that very thing. If major group of unscrupulous and crafty constituents feels threatened, Nikita receives bottle of nice Gulagi rocket fuel like you drink just now. Only thing is, some thoughtful, disgruntled hand has added plutonium to smooth bite, eh?”
“Perhaps. I won’t attempt to lecture you on your own people. But let’s look to a larger forum. You’re also a powerful and persuasive voice in the Confederacy at large—far out of proportion to the clout of your Sector. People in the Council listen to you, respect you.”
“Many are respected. So?”
She drank the last of her vodka and placed the glass to one side. “So, you have many more options than simply returning to Malakova Station to grow potatoes in big vats. Given the right political and military realities, you could rise to heights you’ve never dreamed of. Terran interests could facilitate that advancement. Have you, perhaps, ever thought of the Presidency?”
Nikita laughed. “Who hasn’t. But then, what does Terran support cost me? You see, Vice Consul, is also Gulagi truth that nothing—not even air we breathe—comes for free.”
Her knowing eyes held his. “In the coming trouble, Nikita, I would like to have your backing. Things will be very, very different after we’ve completed this voyage to Star’s Rest. To be honest, I don’t know what we face Several of the delegations aboard have already scrambled their fleets. The Terran Protective Force isn’t going to be caught napping. In the meantime, I ... we want an unallied power bloc on our side.”
To give you credibility when power grab comes? Of course. “It seems that so long as I remain neutral, I shall never be lonely.” He chuckled, reaching through his tangle of beard to scratch at his chiri.
Medea stood, priceless gown swirling lightly about her, radiant in color. “Nikita, it won’t be a joking matter.” Her face seemed to thin, the tightness about her mouth unforgiving. “I won’t press you for a decision right now, but, as you so aptly said, the political sands are changing. You’d make too good an asset to see you pick the wrong side.”
He got to his feet, chin lowered as he walked her to the hatch. And there’s the threat. Is old ‘If I can’t have you, no one can’ approach. “Being good Gulagi, I will consider all options, Vice Consul. No one has ever accused Nikita of being fool—except, of course, people who attended wedding. But I was younger then.”
She paused as the hatch slipped open. “No, you’re no fool, Nikita. But be careful. All is not as it seems. Thank you for the . . . rocket fuel.” And she was gone, dress billowing around her as she walked.
Nikita filled his lungs, exhaling loudly.
CHAPTER XXI
As dinner ended, diplomats began to trickle into their little knots of association. Lietov dominated the bar. Archon excused himself, drawing Hitavia and Wan Yang Dow along with him. Dee and Arness congregated around Stokowski and Medea. Joseph Young launched a vigorous assault against Paul and Mary Ben Geller.
“Quite a group,” Sol remarked to Connie who sat beside him, sipping a glass of water.
“A microcosm of Confederate politics.” She watched uneasily. “Not guaranteed to contribute to sleep. The more I see of them, the less sure I am that Father did the right thing.”
“Want to tell me about that?”
“You never give up, do you?”
“If you were in my shoes, what would you do? The more I learn, the more likely I’ll be able to plan ahead and save my ship.”
“You and Jordan.”
“Speaking of which, what will you do when you have to face Fan again? Somehow, I get the feeling that he doesn’t learn very fast.”
She exhaled explosively. “I’m not looking forward to that. Have you heard anything about him?”
“He spent the entire day in his quarters. I understand that at first he thought he’d die ... then he wished he could. You could still press charges.”
“And have him spaced?” She shook her head. “It wouldn’t be worth it, Sol. Too many repercussions. Especially if they have a surprise waiting for us.”
“Well, at least not everyone is unhappy.” Sol jerked his head toward Texahi. Medea’s
husband had moved surreptitiously to the rear of the room, gaze locked with Elvina’s. She nodded slightly, looking carefully around before disappearing into a hallway. Texahi immediately slipped away, walking into a different corridor.
“They’ll meet up at her room,” Sol prophesied. “That’s where those corridors come together.”
“We’re not the only ones to catch it.” Connie indicated Medea, now watching where Texahi had vanished, eyes narrowed to slits, oblivious to whatever Stokowski was telling her. “Myself, I’d rather walk through fire than slight Medea.”
“But she doesn’t seem to stop him.”
“Just wait,” Connie promised.
“On that cheery note, I’d better get back to my reports. See you later.” Sol stood and winked. “Oh, and don’t beat up too many of the virile types around here, gives the ship a bad name.”
She smothered a smile. “You wish.”
Sol made it to the middle of the lounge before Forney Andrews caught up with him. “Captain, I was doing a little reading last night and came across your name.”
“Oh?” Sol stopped. Andrews, who stood only a meter fifty, was clad in his Patrol uniform with the starburst of the Confederacy on the shoulder boards. The rich black tones of his skin contrasted with the blazing white of the uniform. The planes of his broad face gave him a distinguished look. A halo of gray peppercorn hair lay close to his skull.
“You had an assignment in conjunction with the Patrol. I didn’t find the details, just your name in an auxiliary list.”
“Pathos. My first ship did patrol duty there until the Council could decide what to do with the planet.”
“Nasty business, that. I sure pity those poor bastards who were enslaved there. We’ll never know how many died on that wretched sand-blasted rock. If hell exists, Garth has a special place in it.”
“I guess the sociologists are still making hay out of it. Besides the tragedy, I hear the megas are dying off. Their saliva might have made the perfect hallucinogenic for humans, but some xenobacterium vectored through the humans. Where the microorganism couldn’t survive in the atmosphere, it could protected on human skin. With the aircars moving all over the planet’s surface, and more than one mega being milked by a slave, it spread everywhere.”
Andrews shook his head. “Curious that so formidable a beast could be so easily laid low.”
“I guess they’re trying to save them. I hear it’s fifty-fifty.”
Nikita Malakova appeared beside him. “Ah, there you are, Captain. Has been a while since we have seen you at bourgeois dinner for parasitic politicians enjoying life in political body of suffering masses.”
Forney raised his eyes toward the ceiling panels and called, “I’ll see you later, Captain.”
Sol winced. “You know, Nikita, I wonder about you sometimes.”
“Smart man. It’s all a bluff front.” Tayash Niter appeared in Malakova’s wake.
Ignoring Tayash’s satisfied smile, Nikita continued, “Captain, would you have moment? I have questions I have been meaning to ask you.”
Sol considered. “Depends upon the questions.”
“Is about Brotherhood of yours. I assume you know what this incredible junket is all about. What do—”
“You assume wrong. I’m no more aware of what’s happening than anyone else. That seems to be the Speaker’s explicit domain at this point—and from the comments I’ve heard, no one else is any wiser.”
Nikita’s huge shoulder rose in a shrug. “Perhaps. But Kraal knows—or at least strongly suspects. I think he knows. Speaker Archon went to Brotherhood first. Now we ride in Brotherhood ship to do sneaky business behind backs of honest people. Draw own conclusions as to who knows what.”
“You said something about questions?”
“Indeed. So far, I have been lobbied by several different factions, seeking political support. Where do you stand in all this?”
Sol lifted his hands. “Mister Representative, I’m completely neutral. To—”
“Bah!” Nikita shook his head. “Look around you, Captain. Is your ship. The reputation of Brotherhood vessels is well known. I have poked and prodded. Tried to see what secrets you hide so well that—“
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” Sol pointed a finger. “Seriously, it took my people a bit of time to recircuit that security hatch you tried to bypass.”
Nikita grinned. “Then maybe you just let me go look at ship? To see what you—”
Sol chuckled. “Suppose I let everyone just wander around? You’ve already borne the brunt of one security breach, if you’ll recall.”
“I know about the comm sabotage,” Tayash added softly. “Nikita and I, we tend to speculate on things together. You can talk about it.”
“Well, Nikita, you were the one suckered. Suppose it had been a bomb? Want just anyone wandering around through places like the reactor room?”
“Perhaps you have point. But consider my perspective. We will planet at Star’s Rest to uncover sacred secret. Allegedly, political riffraff you carry is to deal with problem, eh? And if results are not to Brotherhood liking? Where is your interest? Which way will you go?”
“To my knowledge, our role is to provide a neutral ground—a forum free of the pressures and intrigues of Arcturus for policy decisions to be made. I mean, you, a Gulagi of all people, know the sort of pressure which is brought to bear on Representatives in Council.”
Nikita laughed. “I like you, Captain. Have tongue as sneaky as that of greasy politician yourself. Perhaps you have missed calling, eh? But outside of flowery words, look around you. I do not wish to be antagonistic—”
“That’ll be the day,” Tayash growled, meeting Nikita’s warning scowl.
“—but again, consider things from my point of view. No matter what you say, fact is Brotherhood is most impressive presence here. So, I believe you? You don’t take active part in negotiations over sacred secret? At the same time, presence of Brotherhood looms around us—and, Captain, I remind you, you have biggest of guns.”
“I don’t have yours.”
“Nor will you until Nikita is dead! But you do have ultimate power. Will you use it?” Nikita rocked on his toes.
Sol laughed. “In all likelihood, no.” Sol rubbed his chin. “I see your point and understand your perspective. But consider this. The Craft doesn’t keep a seat on the Council. We’re politically neutral.”
“But everyone listens when Kraal speaks.” Tayash added pointedly. “And, to be honest, not having a political agenda makes you suspect. That fact is inciting distrust and antagonism—which can’t be furthering your goals. Neutral parties always end up disliked by everyone.”
“And because you’re disliked, doesn’t make you wrong either,” Sol countered. “Given our current circumstances, our position becomes extremely hard for most people to understand. We’re not part of the power players like everyone else.”
“Why not?” Nikita demanded. “You selfishly hoard the technology which could free billions from exploitation and—”
“Now wait.” Sol raised a hand. “I’ll answer your question first and your accusation second. To understand why the Brotherhood does what it does, you have to go back to our history. The institution itself is about three thousand years old. It didn’t hit its stride until the eighteenth century when lodges were founded all over the world. By the twentieth century, the Craft was in decline—basically it had become a men’s club and a reflection of social elitism. The true philosophy received lip service and little more. Had the situation remained the same, the Craft would have gone the way of Protestant Christianity. Dried up from lack of interest and forgotten. The rise of the World Soviet changed that. The order was outlawed. Consequently, the lodges went underground and fought for their very survival. They became centers for dissent. In the process, new life was breathed into the teachings of the Craft. To survive took commitment to the ideals of the institution.”
“And I imagine that Rashinkov took
a dim view of that,” Tayash added dryly.
“He did. Members of the Craft were hunted down. Finally, the core of the resistance was captured and shipped off to Frontier. There, the principles flourished. Sweeping changes were made by a series of Grand Masters who had the vision and dedication to keep the philosophies alive. In essence, that’s how we made it—by sticking to those philosophical truths, applying them to everyday life.”
“And what are these truths?” Nikita crossed his arms.
“The betterment of the human being as an individual. The whole thing hinges on a system of secular morality. The study of the concepts of wisdom, strength, and beauty. It’s a little involved, but the philosophical keys are based on truth, fortitude, temperance, prudence, and a sense of justice. Above and beyond all those is a constant quest to improve through knowledge. Education was the most crucial key to our survival.”
“Doesn’t sound so subversive,” Tayash muttered.
“Depends,” Sol smiled. “If you’re a tyrant, do you really want minions who question your actions against the rubric of a philosophical and moral framework? Tyrants tend to take a dim view of proponents of human enlightenment.”
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