House of the Wolf (Book Three of the Phoenix Legacy)

by Wren, M. K.

  Galinin saw the wistful light in Alexand’s eyes and knew Andreas Riis wasn’t alone in that “romantic” vision.

  “I hope he’s right, Alex. But forgive me for bringing you down from the stars so rudely—what about the matter transmitter for planetside transportation?”

  At that Alexand laughed briefly, his tone brisk as he replied, “The MT’s efficiency drops sharply in comparison to existing modes of transport at distances of less than ten thousand kilometers. It won’t be a threat to Hild Robek.”

  Galinin frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “The term ‘threat’ in this context? There’s a stipulation to this offer, Grandser. The MT will be presented only to the Concord as a whole, to be operated and administered by a Concord agency comparable to Conpol or Conmed. But, because its efficiency is relatively low at short distances, the MT in the Concord’s hands will offer the Robek Planetary Transystems no appreciable competition.”

  “I see.” Galinin frowned on finding himself tugging at his beard again. “But it will offer Badir Selasis competition. I’m surprised you didn’t include this as an under-the-table offer along with Karlis’s sterility. It’s as much a threat to Selasis. Alex, this . . . traitor of whom you warned me, does he know about the matter transmitter and this stipulation?”

  “Yes, and he can tell Selasis about them.”

  Galinin felt the static charge of fear; it seemed to come from the very air around him.

  “Can he tell Orin what you’ve told me about Karlis?”

  Alexand hesitated, then finally nodded. “Yes.”

  Galinin didn’t pursue the potentials in an alliance between Selasis and the traitor, but he was beginning to understand the real dimensions of Alexand’s warning.

  “Well, have you any other offers?”

  “No, Grandser, no more offers. Which brings us to the demands. First, of course, amnesty for all Phoenix members and the immediate release of any now in SSB custody. Second, the Phoenix will be removed from the realm of traitors and thieves. Or enemies. I don’t know what it will eventually become; a working partner of the Concord, ideally, but a kind of silent partner.”

  Galinin nodded. “Legalization is not, I assume, the end of your demands.”

  “No. Our second demand is the reinstatement of the Lord Alexand DeKoven Woolf with full powers intact as of his ‘death.’ ”

  That wasn’t at all surprising; Galinin fully expected it, and yet it brought another frown.

  “That might complicate the Woolf succession.”

  “It will complicate more than the succession. So will our final demand.” His left hand closed into a fist, then opened again. “The existing declaration of succession to the Chairmanship names Lord Woolf as your immediate successor, but I was to be your true successor by virtue of my Galinin genes.”

  “Yes. As a matter of fact, that declaration still stands as written. Some of the Directors found it advantageous to leave the question of Phillip’s successor to the Chairmanship unresolved for the present. But I’m sure you know that, and I’m wandering. Or perhaps I know what you’re going to say, and I’m not sure how to deal with it.”

  “Would you find it unacceptable?”

  “Put it in words so we can both be sure we know what we’re talking about.”

  He smiled at that, but only fleetingly. “The Lord Alexand, fully reinstated, will be made direct successor to the Chairmanship.”

  Galinin could almost have anticipated the choice of words, including that depersonalized use of third person, the same formal mode used in reference to “Lord Woolf.”

  Alexand asked again, “Would you find it unacceptable?”

  “No.” He pulled in a deep breath. “I wanted you in that damnable chair eventually, Alexand, and your genes were only a convenient rationale. Evin should have fallen heir to it; he was trained and had quite a remarkable aptitude for it. But when he was killed . . .” Strange, the memory was still weighted with pain, even after twelve years. “I took a good look at you then. You were only—what? Seventeen. Still, I saw something in you; recognized it, perhaps. No, Alex, I don’t find it unacceptable. The problem is that it means bypassing Phillip. It’s not that he’s so ambitious for that chair. No one in his right mind really wants it, but one must always consider the alternatives. However, if I’m willing to accept you as an alternative, I have no doubt he’ll accept you.”

  “Or will he only accept your decision? I can’t afford to have the Lord Woolf as an enemy on the Directorate.”

  Galinin sighed, and it was with a little relief that he saw the mask of detachment slip briefly. What Alexand meant was that he didn’t want his father as an enemy.

  “I think he’ll accept you. I don’t mean to say he’ll welcome you immediately. He’ll need time to get past the initial shock and that peculiarly parental reaction of resentment when you’ve suffered grief or fear for a child, then find it well and safe.”

  Alexand said tightly, “He has every right to resent his suffering. And his grief . . . for Mother.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  “Grandser, I didn’t know. I didn’t know about Mother.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t.” Galinin left it at that, saddened by the revelation of the travail of guilt only hinted at with those words. Elise would never have wanted her son to bear such a burden for her. “Let me talk to Phillip, and give him some time, if possible. Once he gets past the shock, he’ll see your resurrection as a miracle, as I do. But back to the Woolf succession. Relegating Justin to the position of second born will serve to antagonize Sandro Omer, and you don’t want him as an enemy on the Directorate, either. However, there’s another possibility. I haven’t made a declaration of House succession yet. Rather foolish at my age, I know, but in looking over the selection of nephews and cousins, it didn’t really seem to matter whom I named. But you would be a logical—and genetically appropriate—choice. And if you were heir to Daro Galinin, that might make it easier for the Lords to accept you as direct heir to the . . .” He frowned, realizing he’d lost Alexand’s attention.

  Alexand held up his hand, asking silence, listening intently to something Galinin couldn’t hear, and it seemed to disturb him profoundly. Finally, he turned, eyes narrowed, looking past him to the desk, then around the room.

  “Grandser, I’m wearing an earceiver. I’ve just been told that the peripheral shock screens have gone on.”

  Galinin became aware again of that prickling sensation of fear that his skin seemed to take up from the air.

  “The shock screens? In this room?”

  “Does Selig have access to the controls?”

  “No one does, except me. Well, there’s the emergency control center for the entire building. But, Alex, why—”

  “I can’t explain now.” He rose, a smooth silent motion; he seemed to emanate a feral alertness that only added to Galinin’s uneasiness. “I’ll leave as I came. We’ll have to continue this—”

  He had taken two steps toward the doors, but now he froze, staring in the direction of the desk, and Galinin didn’t have time to turn and see what fixed his attention in sudden fearful realization.

  A dull thud somewhere behind him.

  And Alexand was leaping toward him.

  “Get down! Grandse—”

  Galinin was hurled to the floor, the chair toppling under him. He saw the window glass, reinforced with strands of flexsteel, cave outward and turn frosty with millions of bound splinters.

  A lightning bolt had struck the room, the thunder of it a crushing blast; his head and ears seemed to explode with it.

  “My lord? My lord? Oh, Holy God—my lord!”

  Selig’s voice was dim and distant against a rumbling whine that wouldn’t stop, that peaked and ebbed with the agonizing pounding of his heart. Shufflings and murmu
rings, shouts and pleas. He couldn’t make sense of them, couldn’t hear.

  On his back. He was lying on his back. The very weight of his body seemed to press the air from his lungs.

  An importunate voice. “Don’t move him! Wait . . . doctor . . . wait . . . doctor coming . . . wait. . . .”

  He couldn’t see.

  “My lord? Oh, my lord, please, don’t try to move.”

  He couldn’t move. No. His left arm, reaching across his body, encountering a hand. Selig’s.

  Be quiet, Selig. Be quiet.

  I must think, remember, understand, I must . . .

  Alexand.

  What happened to Alexand, Selig?

  He turned his head. Lolling like a broken doll’s. But he could turn it, and now he could see. At least there were blurred shadows wavering before him.

  Where is Alexand? Selig, damn you . . .

  He’d forgotten something. Forgotten to make the words into sounds. What if he couldn’t—

  There was Alexand, a blur of blue in a clot of black. Struggling. Guards. Damn fools, didn’t they know about his arm?

  The image came into focus, and chagrin locked in a burning band around his stuttering heart. He reached out toward the dim shapes with his functioning hand.

  “Stop! Let that . . . man . . . go!”

  Had he really said the words? Oh, God, if he couldn’t make them understand . . .

  Yes, they did understand; the struggle had stopped. But Alexand had fallen.

  “Selig, is he . . . alive?”

  “I . . . uh, yes, my lord. But, please, you shouldn’t—”

  “Listen . . . listen to me. Am-amnesty.” The word seemed so hard to shape. He strained at it, trying to shout it, hearing only a whisper muffled in the shuffling and rumbling.

  Two figures came between him and Alexand. Their faces loomed above him at some incredible distance. Still, he knew them. Did they think he wouldn’t?

  Orin Selasis.

  The waiting vulture.

  The other was coming closer. Trevor Robek. Thank the God for that.

  “Trevor? Can you . . . hear me?”

  “Yes, Mathis. Just rest. You’ll be—”

  “No. Selig, you know. Docu-mm——’’ Oh, damn, he had to get the words out. “Document. I had . . . you draw up—”

  “Yes, my lord. The decree of envoy status. Yes, I did draw it up. But, please, my lord, you must—”

  “Trevor? Where are you?” It was getting dark in the room. Something had blown the lights out.

  “Mathis, I’m here.”

  “I charge you . . . witness . . . I decreed—that man . . . I granted . . .”

  And finally someone was turning off the noise. Well, that was a kindness.

  “. . . amnesty.”

  PHOENIX MEMFILES: DEPT HUMAN SCIENCES:

  BASIC SCHOOL (HS/BS)

  SUBFILE: LECTURE. BASIC SCHOOL 18 AVRIL 3252

  GUEST LECTURER: RICHARD LAMB

  SUBJECT: POST-DISASTERS HISTORY:

  THE WAR OF THE TWIN PLANETS (3208–3210)

  DOC LOC #819/219–1253/1812–1648–1843252

  I’ve always found comparisons between historical figures tempting, and another one I won’t resist is between Lionar Mankeen and Elor Ussher Peladeen. To begin with, they were both the last Lords of their Houses, and both died fighting for the cause of human liberty.

  There is even some physical resemblance. Both were tall and fair-skinned, and both had red hair, although Elor Peladeen’s wasn’t the vibrant color of Mankeen’s. And both came into First Lordship of their Houses at early ages with the premature deaths of their fathers, Mankeen at twenty-five, Elor at twenty-four, and both engaged the Concord in hopeless wars.

  However, there are equally strong contrasts to be drawn.

  Elor Peladeen knew his war to be hopeless even before it began; Mankeen didn’t.

  There is also an obvious contrast between the women they married. Mankeen’s marriage to Lady Lizbeth Lesellen was a House union and could never be described as a loving relationship, nor could Lizbeth be described as a true partner and helpmeet. Peladeen’s marriage to Manir Kalister was from the beginning a union of love, and she was very much a partner in his affairs, and a fervent partisan in his cause. She was a descendant of a Kalister VisLord, one of those stranded in Centauri by the Mankeen Revolt, and through various marriages—which I won’t attempt to unravel—actually carried Peladeen blood herself. Elite marriages in post-Mankeen Centauri involved a great deal of interbreeding simply because so few Elite were available for marriages. But although the Elite generally married within their own class, even after the Republic was well established, those marriages didn’t have to be House unions. In this, at least, the Elite were given the gift of choice.

  Elor and Manir chose each other when he was twenty-one and she was only sixteen, so it’s said. They were married three years later in 3202, the year Elor was so abruptly elevated to First Lordship. They had only one child, a son, Predis, and I doubt his arrival in a world on the verge of collapsing on his parents’ heads was intentional. He was born in 3208, six years after Elor and Manir were married, and only a month after the onset of the War of the Twin Planets. It’s recorded that Lord and Lady Peladeen were especially loving parents, and I believe that. I’m sure they didn’t want a child—not one who would be condemned by his parentage to an early death—but no doubt that made this child, once born, all the more precious to them.

  Of particular interest to us is Peladeen’s aid and encouragement to the Phoenix. He was a man of extraordinary vision, despite his youth, who recognized in the Phoenix a hope for what he knew he would be dying for. Peladeen bore the title of Lord—and with honor and grace—but he was essentially a Republican and far more a proponent of the human right of choice than any of his predecessors in the House, and even more than many of his Fesh contemporaries in the Republic. You know about his funding of the Phoenix, of his vital role in the building of Fina, and the tight cover of secrecy he maintained to protect it. The nonmembers who assisted in the construction had no idea what they were building—they were told it was a military installation—or even where they were building. Peladeen told only two people about the Phoenix: his wife and the Prime Minister at that time, Lair M’Kenzy, who was also Peladeen’s closest friend, and it’s a measure of his love for Manir and his respect for M’Kenzy that he shared the hope he took in the Phoenix with them.

  But the Phoenix was their only hope; there was nothing else they could rationally take hope in.

  In one lettape to Andreas Riis, Peladeen says, and seems to find it amusing, “We’re giving them a hard run, Andreas, harder than they ever expected.” “They” was Confleet, of course, and the Armed Forces of the Republic did indeed give them a hard run. The formal declaration of war was voted by the Directorate on 2 Januar 3208, and that lettape was sent 20 May 3209, and at that point, incredibly, there was still some room for doubt as to the outcome of the War. The Republic’s Armed Forces fought with intelligence, flexibility, and courage that Confleet couldn’t equal. Ultimately, of course, the brute weight of superior numbers shifted the scales, and in the last six months of 3209, the Republic suffered one disastrous defeat after another. Maxim Drakonis had declared himself an ally of the Concord even before the declaration of war, and the Inner Planets served as advance bases for Confleet that were particularly telling in the campaign, since the Republic couldn’t attack them without risking a power outage that would kill millions on Castor and on the Inner Planets themselves. However, it should be noted that Maxim conscientiously maintained the power beams for Castor, although the survival of its population would have had no bearing on his House’s survival, and there is evidence that he had the backing of Constan Galinin in this, although some Confleet commanders wanted to cut off those umbilicals, callin
g it simply a tactical maneuver.

  Peladeen ordered the evacuation of as much of Castor’s population as possible to Pollux, but he didn’t have ships enough to evacuate more than a quarter of its inhabitants. In the last days of 3209, he concentrated the evacuation on Helen and virtually emptied the city, and on 1 Januar 3210, the New Year Day, he and his top military commanders retreated to his Helen estate. Lair M’Kenzy insisted on accompanying him, as did Lady Manir with their son. After the Battle of Helen—which is a misnomer; it should be called simply the Destruction of Helen—on 12 Januar, Elor Peladeen’s body was found in the ruins of his estate along with M’Kenzy’s. The bodies of Manir and Predis weren’t identified, but then few of the bodies cast into mass graves after the Peladeen Purge were.

  Yes, there was another Purge, and remember, it occurred less than fifty years ago. There are many people here in Fina now who lived through it. I say remember it in order to remind you that the veneer of behavioral codes that make a “civilized” human being is very thin. We are always only the blink of an eye away from bestiality.

  There is so much about the War of the Twin Planets and its aftermath that is unforgivable. Perhaps I feel so strongly because it’s so close to me in time. History has recorded worse atrocities. I can’t forgive them, either.

  And what justification would I have for forgiving the Peladeen Purge? For the systematic execution of nearly every Republic parlementarian and official, and not only the officers, but every enlisted soldier in the Armed Forces, as well as any Elite even distantly related to the Peladeen or a great many who simply happened to be living in Peladeen’s Centauri? How can I forgive the looting and wanton destruction of the Peladeen Estate, and particularly its museum with its collection of rare art, some pieces dating to Pre-Disasters periods, or the purposeful demolition of the Republic University and its great library? And how can I forgive Kozmar Hamid when on his occupation of the Peladeen holdings on Pollux he declared all surviving citizens of the Republic resident on those holdings—which included most of the inhabited areas of Pollux—his Bonds, whatever their former training or rank, condemning people who had been free citizens, educated and skilled, to a life of brute servitude, and their children to ignorant slavery. Any who objected went before execution squads, and hundreds of thousands chose that alternative rather than Bondage.