“Paladin Steiner-Davion?” she asked again. And then she found him.
14
Chamber of Paladins, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
27 November 3134
Jonah Levin, wearing the full-dress uniform of a Paladin of the Sphere, presented himself at the Hall of Government in the early afternoon.
For this trip, Jonah had taken a taxi from the Pension Flambard, rather than traveling on foot or by public transport as was his more usual habit. The streets of Geneva, today and for the next month, were going to be crawling with tri-vid photographers and with news reporters of all stripes. A taxi could deliver him straight to the main entrance of the Hall and into the arms of the security cordon stationed there, while giving the predatory newshounds only a minimal chance to attack.
Jonah was a firm believer in the public’s right to know, but he was an even firmer believer in his own privacy. As far as he was concerned, his opinion of the Exarch’s decision to call for an early election, and his thoughts on which of his fellow Paladins might be suitable for the job, all fell into the category clearly marked as “personal information; nobody else’s business.”
Once past the security barrier, he ignored the shouted questions, the clicking and whirring of tri-vid cameras as operators jostled one another for position, and strode quickly into the Hall. Answering just one question would be worse than answering none. He could look earnest and in a hurry and preoccupied with important Paladin-level thoughts, and get away with saying nothing—but if he said anything at all, he would either have to throw the floor open to questions from all sides, or risk an accusation of playing favorites.
Inside the Hall’s rotunda, a couple of the Exarch’s aides were deftly moving the arriving Paladins off to a small waiting room at one side. The room was crowded, and rapidly growing overheated as well; it wasn’t really meant to hold so many people at once. Tempers were already starting to fray.
The first thing Jonah saw and heard as the door to the rotunda closed behind him was Tyrina Drummond, impressive in the combination of a full Paladin’s uniform and Clan Nova Cat ritual tattoos, complaining sharply to Maya Avellar, “What are we being kept in here for?”
“They want us to cross the rotunda and enter the Chamber of Paladins together, I think,” Paladin Avellar replied in calming tones. “It will look better, this first day, than having us straggle in one at a time.”
Drummond remained unmollified. “Better to whom?”
Jonah felt moved to rescue Avellar, who had never, to his knowledge, meshed well with the Nova Cat Paladin. “For our friends outside with the tri-vid cameras, I suspect.”
“Scavengers,” said Drummond, tight-lipped, and Jonah reflected that none of the Clans had ever dealt easily with or truly understood The Republic’s press. “Voyeurs.”
“Mouthpiece of the people,” Kessel countered. His steel gray hair looked as perfect in person as it did on camera, the location of each strand carefully chosen. “Remember the people? The ones we’re supposed to serve?”
Drummond only glared in return.
“They’re the eyes and ears of all those who can’t be here today,” Jonah said, not entirely comfortable to be agreeing with Kessel. “If they see us do this right, their support will come more easily.”
“We shouldn’t have to keep winning their support,” Drummond grumbled.
“Being seen entering the chamber together in good order will reassure people,” Heather GioAvanti chimed in. “Right now we have their future in our hands; they’ll want to believe we’re not treating it as a casual matter.”
“You trust them too much,” Thaddeus Marik said in a quiet voice that somehow carried across the room. “The people—the media—they thrive on innuendo, on rumor, more than on truth. They will tear us apart sooner than encourage support for us. We’re letting vipers into our home.”
Drummond, GioAvanti and Kessel all started to reply, and Jonah rolled his eyes. They weren’t even going to get into their chambers without an argument.
“Either we take this election seriously, or we do not,” Drummond was saying heatedly. “Feigning for the tri-vids will not change what is within.”
“There’s no harm in showing our dedication,” said Heather GioAvanti, “so long as we’re not simply posing. But if we feel contempt for our people instead of respect”—here her glance flicked to Marik—“that will show.”
Marik opened his mouth, but the opening of the doors behind him stole away his retort. The Exarch’s senior aide stuck her head in through the gap. “Everybody here? Good. We’re all set up for you to enter the chamber now.”
The Paladins fell silent. The door swung all the way open, and they proceeded across the rotunda to the massive double doors of the chamber. Somebody had thoughtfully laid down a strip of deep red carpet to mark the path—nobody wants to risk the Paladins getting lost on the way, Jonah thought; it would look bad for The Republic—and had put up gold barrier cords on either side. Looks like they don’t want us escaping, either.
He knew he was doing the Exarch and his staff at least a partial injustice, out of a dislike for being forced into so much show. The cords would have primarily been set up to keep the spectators and reporters from getting underfoot.
One after another, the Paladins filed into the chamber and took the half circle of seats nearest the Exarch’s podium. Unlike the rest of the tiered rows of seats that filled the Chamber of Paladins and the balcony above, these seventeen places were more like booths. Each one contained a fully equipped desk and two chairs, one for the seat’s official occupant plus another for conversations and conferences.
The rest of the chamber filled up quickly. The rows closest to the Paladins were filled by those Knights of the Sphere who were in attendance, and the aides and staff members of the seventeen Paladins. Beyond that, the seats were packed with commentators and tri-vid reporters and sound and camera operators. As many as there were in attendance, they still didn’t fill the giant, echoing hall.
The Exarch’s place remained empty; Redburn would enter the chamber last, through a different door. More theater, Jonah thought, to emphasize the Exarch’s separation from the Paladins, despite having been elected from among their number. At least half of Devlin Stone’s genius—the underappreciated half, in Jonah’s opinion—had been for public relations and the language of dramatic symbolism.
Three of the Paladins’ seats were empty today as well. One of them had been largely unoccupied for as long as Levin had been a Paladin, since Victor Steiner-Davion seldom left his semiretirement at the Knights’ headquarters complex in Santa Fe. The second was a more recent emptiness. Until last year, that seat had belonged to the traitor and fallen Paladin Ezekiel Crow. The third was David McKinnon’s; he was involved in the fighting on Skye.
Today the tri-vid cameras—on booms, or on wands, or in the hands of nimble operators standing on chairs or balanced in window embrasures—were focusing on Crow’s empty seat. One of Damien Redburn’s last important decisions as Exarch would be the appointment of a new Paladin to fill it. Speculation about likely candidates had been rife in the newssheets and on the live media, and on the street as well, ever since Jonah’s arrival on Terra.
The small door next to the Exarch’s podium opened. A hush fell over the chamber as Damien Redburn entered and moved to stand behind the podium. Light flashed off a hundred lenses as the myriad cameras changed position to record the Exarch’s words and actions for posterity. Even from his seat among the Paladins, Jonah could see that Redburn looked more tired than usual, as though he had either stayed up all night or had been awakened rudely from sleep.
“Greetings,” said Redburn into the quiet, “and welcome to the Paladins of the Sphere gathered here. I also welcome the members of the media gathered here, and the vast throngs watching our deliberations today. On this solemn occasion . . .”
It had taken years, but Jonah had finally mastered the art of sitting completely still and looking att
entive when the Exarch made a speech. He’d also mastered the other skill crucial to surviving Paladin meetings: reading and typing messages on the desk’s data screen while seeming to pay rapt attention to the Exarch’s words.
What’s the over/under on the time of the intro remarks?—Jorgensson
I had five minutes in the pool.—GioAvanti
If our Exarch can speak for only five minutes, he’s truly tiring of political life.—Mandela
DISRESPECTFUL.—Drummond
Most of Drummond’s contributions to their side conversations were along that line. Jonah thought they would be better served by not including her in the off-topic messages in the first place, but some of the others enjoyed provoking her.
Sooner he ends, sooner we get to the real business: replacement for Crow. Any thoughts?—Kessel
There was a pause before Heather finally responded.
We never got around to taking bets on that.—GioAvanti
Everyone, of course, had some ideas—or at least hopes—of who might be appointed. But no one was willing to share them, especially with Kessel. The sooner Kessel had a name in his head, the more time he’d have to plan how to win them to his side.
“. . . meets the high standards for Paladins set by Devlin Stone. It is my honor to present Lady Janella Lakewood, Knight of the Sphere, as the next Paladin of the Republic.”
Applause swept the chamber, and all fifteen Paladins in attendance rose to their feet to welcome their new colleague. Lakewood was both competent and well liked, and people in the chamber, including some of the Paladins, were still clapping and whistling as she rose from her place with the Knights and came down to take her seat among the Paladins. Lakewood herself appeared nervous but determined, and at the same time happy—not an unexpected combination of emotions, Jonah thought.
As soon as the Paladins were seated, most of them reached for their keyboards to send congratulations to Lakewood and exchange reactions with each other. But a note in Redburn’s voice stopped them.
“I had planned, at this point, to officially commence deliberations on the choice of my successor. I would give anything to be able to follow that course.
“Unfortunately, I must make an unanticipated announcement. This morning . . .”
To the astonishment of everyone in the room, Redburn’s voice broke. He looked down, picked up a piece of paper, and read directly from it.
“At seven-fifteen local time this morning, Paladin Victor Steiner-Davion was found in his office in Santa Fe, dead of an apparent heart attack.”
The collective audience in the chamber gasped as one. At least one reporter dropped his noteputer to the floor, while others dashed out of the room to get the news out as quickly as possible. Others stayed, waiting for any further information Redburn might supply.
“The Republic of the Sphere knew no greater friend or servant than Victor Steiner-Davion. In the course of his long life . . .”
Long live Victor Steiner-Davion!—Owens
The words stood alone on the screen of each Paladin before anyone else responded.
Several Paladins then followed with tribute messages of their own. It didn’t take long, though, for politics to rear its head.
What happens now? Another appointment, or do we deliberate with only fifteen?—Avellar
Jonah’s first impulse was to respond with anger, saying it was too soon to talk about Victor’s successor. Legends are not simply replaced.
But he knew it wasn’t too soon. With the unrest spreading across The Republic and Redburn’s call for an election, the Paladins could not take time to mourn.
He must be replaced. We cannot vote without a full seventeen.—Drummond
Wasn’t Victor scheduled to speak today?—Jorgensson
Yes. Anybody know his planned topic?—Mandela
Not as far as I know. He was playing his cards close to his vest.—GioAvanti
The speech. Jonah hadn’t thought about that. He’d been anxious to hear what Victor had to say, hoping that some part of the elder Paladin’s address would help him clarify his own thoughts on voting for Exarch. He didn’t slavishly follow Victor’s direction—not by a long shot—but Jonah knew he’d be foolish to disregard the senior Paladin’s input.
This timing is nightmarish. Poor Victor.—GioAvanti
I had counted on him being here to help us.—Avellar
Something tickled the back of Jonah’s mind. The timing was incredibly bad; suspiciously bad, even. Redburn had mentioned a heart attack, but the timing of Victor’s death could not help but raise suspicion. His remarks would have been pivotal; now they were lost. That might prove convenient for someone.
He glanced at his screen again. Kessel surely had some reaction to the news, but he had sent no comment. Neither had Sorenson, widely known as no friend of Victor’s. Surely they had something to say, and chances were they were saying it only to each other. Kessel, in particular, must have immediately realized that Victor’s death threw the election wide open, and would have immediately moved to take advantage of it. In fact, if anyone had something to gain . . .
Jonah squelched that line of thought before it even started. The political debate was going to be bad enough, and it wouldn’t help to start casting aspersions on his fellow Paladins.
“. . . a decision especially crucial in this time of election,” Redburn was saying. “I cannot, I will not promise you that the new Paladin will take the place of Victor Steiner-Davion. No one could. The new Paladin will make his own place, as all Paladins have done. Paladins of The Republic, officers of the Sphere, ladies and gentlemen of the media, I present to you Knight Gareth Sinclair.”
Sinclair—looking overwhelmed—left the Knights and walked down to Steiner-Davion’s empty desk. The applause this time was more hesitant and muted, not from disapproval of Sinclair, Jonah knew, but because people were still processing the news of his predecessor’s death.
Jonah applauded quietly along with the rest of the Paladins as Gareth Sinclair took his seat. Not until the sound had died away did Jonah happen to look back at his desk screen. A new message had appeared.
Levin: Preliminary reports suggest that Victor Steiner-Davion’s death was not due to natural causes. I want you to conduct the investigation.—Redburn
15
Chamber of Paladins, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
27 November 3134
“In the name of everything, Damien—why me?”
As soon as the brief opening session of the Electoral Conclave had ended, Jonah had cornered Damien Redburn in the small office just off the chamber. The room was little more than a nook for transacting private business, with its interior and exterior doors separated by a desk-and-chairs setup that had plainly come out of the same design box as the Paladins’ seats in the larger room. The main purpose of the space was to connect the Exarch’s side entrance to the Chamber of Paladins with the rest of the Hall of Government. Only the presence of a single narrow window overlooking the street outside kept it from being a well-lit, carpeted closet.
At the moment, neither Jonah nor the Exarch was sitting down. Redburn stood by the window, looking defensive; Jonah faced him from a point barely inside the closed door.
“It’s necessary,” Redburn said.
And again, Jonah demanded, “Why me?”
“I need to assign a Paladin to handle the investigation, and I need to do it immediately.” Redburn’s expression was grave and sincere. “Anything less, and no one will believe that The Republic is taking Victor’s death seriously.”
“I have to question your judgment on this,” Jonah said. “I’m not a political man, and Victor Steiner-Davion’s death, natural or otherwise, can’t possibly be anything except political.”
“That’s exactly why I want you to do it.”
“I must be growing stupid in my old age, Damien. Explain.”
The Exarch sighed. “It’s because you’re not political; or at any rate, you’re about as apolitical as
it’s possible for someone in your position to get. Which isn’t very, so you can stop playing the I’m-not-worthy card. It isn’t going to help.”
Jonah ignored the Exarch’s last comment. There was enough truth in the accusation that replying to it was probably not a good idea. Instead he asked, “What advantage will my supposedly being apolitical bring to the investigation?”
“For one thing,” Redburn said, “you don’t have any ties or obligations to Victor Steiner-Davion beyond the absolute minimum. Given the man’s longevity and his history of involvement in factional struggles, that makes you a rare bird.”
“I’m beginning to think it’s made me a sitting duck.”
Redburn smiled. “No, your personal integrity did that.”
“I’m flattered,” Jonah said dourly.
“You’re also the Exarch’s Special Investigator for this death. I need a preliminary report from you no later than the end of December—before the election.”
Jonah resigned himself to the inevitable. “What resources do I have?”
“Whatever you want, within reason. You can call upon the office of the Exarch to make good any expenditures, or to handle any research and paperwork. And, of course, to back any action that you need to take.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” Now that he had what he wanted, the Exarch favored Jonah with a wry smile. “I’m handing you a hot potato, and it’s undoubtedly going to burn your fingers. I don’t know who is involved in this and I don’t want to guess, but I have my ideas. Follow this however high it may go, even if it leads you to one of your peers.”
“One of my peers? You have a reason to think—”
The Scorpion Jar Page 7
