by M. K. Wren
“Captain, you’ve got to establish an orbital attitude.”
“The steering vanes are out. I can’t.” The fear was surfacing now. For perhaps thirty seconds, the signal from the Scout was drowned in static, and Todd’s voice became higher pitched with every one of those seconds.
“Captain? Captain Woolf, are you receiving? Captain?” And finally the voice from the Scout. “Yes, I—I’m receiving. Reception weak.”
“The ’chutes! Hit the ’chute lever!”
“No, I’ve tried that. It won’t move!”
There was desperation in his voice now. Still, Erica found herself thinking how much like Rich’s it was. She forced the memories back; they disrupted her concentration. Yet they were hard to put down.
Erica, a death pledge. See to my brother. If he needs an alternative, he must have it. . . .
“. . . ten thousand meters. Commander, the heat shields—they aren’t holding!”
“The auxiliary guidejets, my lord. You must slow your entry speed!”
My lord. The Commander was forgetting himself. But that wasn’t surprising. He was listening helplessly to the death of the first born of Phillip Woolf.
“I can’t! The controls—” A burst of static, then the blurred voice, “The controls—they’re all out. All of them!” There was a chilling hopelessness in his voice, but with it a defiant rage. What came next was a command, not a plea.
“Commander, tell my father—sabotage! I’ve been—”
“My lord!”
“Tell him! Selasis!” The name was vicious in its bitterness. “Selasis did this! Karlis Selasis—” Abruptly, the transmission ended, but not before the beginning of a cry of agony could be heard.
Erica Radek let her breath out in a long sigh. He had cut it off at exactly the right point. That aborted cry left a great deal to the imagination.
Rich’s words echoed in her mind. I promised him a cause, but he could be a key for you, a key to unlock closed doors.
He would be a key.
The objective tests of screening would still be necessary, but she knew that data would only support her conviction. It was rooted in that accusation against Karlis Selasis. That hadn’t been in the script.
Ben Venturi switched off the speakers, his quiet words loud in a stunned silence.
“I’ve got a subtug waiting in the touch-down area. I’ll trans out to it and be back within half an hour.”
No one moved except Andreas, and he only nodded.
“Very good, Ben. Bring him directly here.”
Erica caught Ben’s eye. Another error. But Andreas thought it reasonable to let the councilors question this unusual recruit. And again, it was reasonable—on the surface.
Erica glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes. She wondered if something had gone wrong. The pickup would be difficult in midsea, and the Scout would have to be sunk, but its ejection capsule kept intact in case it was needed, and it would all have to be done quickly to avoid Confleet observation. But she was most concerned about the stunner. Ben insisted on giving Alexand a short-term stunner for the return trans; he refused to risk revealing the MT to any nonmember, even if he professed to have faith in memory blocks. The stunner was safe enough, and the usual recovery period for this particular drug was less than five minutes. But there was always the possibility of allergic reaction.
Then she forced the thought out of her mind. Nothing had gone wrong. Ben would have let them know.
There had been a period of confusion in the Council room after Ben’s departure. The councilors had been caught up in the drama played out in the skies above the Selamin Sea, even knowing it was a ruse, and she had no doubt it would be entirely convincing to the Concord. A spate of almost aimless querying marked the councilors’ recovery. Emeric Garris was especially interested in the fact that Captain Woolf was a Confleet Academy graduate, which didn’t please Ussher, who was cultivating Jan Barret, Emeric’s obvious successor in Fleet Operations. Andreas answered their questions patiently, but when Ussher began dominating the inquiry, he unobtrusively surrendered the floor to Erica.
He had promised her that. She had some leverage; Lord Alexand had asked that only those members who knew Rich’s identity should know his. The only members in Fina who knew about Rich were Andreas, Ben, and herself. Andreas felt a little guilty about revealing Alexand’s identity to the other four councilors, and she’d played on that, forcing on him the demand for contingency conditioning and the promise that he’d let her deal with Predis Ussher.
At first there were a few more questions from the others, but finally it became a dialogue. They talked across Ben’s empty chair, Ussher outwardly cool, Erica noting the indices of tension under the facade. She would not reveal Alexand’s entroit into the Phoenix. Ussher probed and pried, but she wouldn’t give him Richard Lamb’s name. Instead, she concentrated on the voluminous data available in the memfiles on Lord Alexand, noting that he had been under close observation for years and given a CP-One rating.
“He asked for an alternative,” she said, meeting Ussher’s direct gaze, “of someone he knew to be a Phoenix member. In fact, he knew of this person’s association with us for the last three years.” She paused to let that sink in. “He didn’t betray this person partly because he hoped the Phoenix did offer an alternative to a third dark age; he wanted to find out if there was any truth in that hope. We aren’t dealing with the usual shallow-minded Lordling here. His attitudes are diametrically opposed to those of most of his peers. In that, he’s very much Galinin’s grandson.”
She left the opening purposely, knowing Ussher would leap into it. He raised an eyebrow, sending Marien Dyce and John M’Kim a faint, almost conspiratorial smile.
“I’m gratified that his attitudes are so liberal, considering he is Galinin’s grandson.” He turned on Erica, the smile gone. “Not only his grandson, but heir to the Chairmanship, as well as the First Lordship of DeKoven Woolf. Why would a First Lord want to join the Phoenix?”
“Because he isn’t yet a First Lord, nor is he Galinin’s heir. Phillip Woolf is Galinin’s heir.”
“Well, it’s the same thing in the end.”
“No, it isn’t. I might note,” she went on, glancing at Marien, who was frowning and on the verge of a question, “that we’ve taken into consideration the fact that Alexand is presently sole heir to DeKoven Woolf. However, Lady Elise is still within her child-bearing years, and we have no evidence that she’s incapable of having more children. We checked that as thoroughly as possible. Otherwise, we couldn’t accept Alexand, nor, judging from his responses to his contacts, would he consider joining us. That ‘dying’ accusation against Karlis Selasis is evidence of his concern for his House. It will put Orin Selasis, the greatest threat to DeKoven Woolf, on the defensive. Woolf and Galinin can keep him reeling for a good year with that. By then the Woolfs can have another heir on the way.”
Marien nodded absently, and Erica turned to Ussher.
“Back to your question. The Lord Alexand is neither First Lord nor heir to the Chairmanship; he’s heir to Phillip Woolf. Unfortunately, he and his father have come to an irreversible parting of the ways. This makes him politically impotent. We knew he wouldn’t accept that. The question we had to consider was how he would establish his political potency. Obviously, if he strikes out on his own, he could be a disastrously disruptive factor.”
A tinge of red moved across Ussher’s face.
“And are we reduced to acting as agents in family vendettas now?”
“That certainly isn’t our intention,” Erica replied soberly. “If Lord Alexand expects that of us, it will be apparent in the screening tests. In that case, we can’t accept him, despite the potentials he offers. We’ll have to find other means of dealing with him as a disruptive factor.”
“What do you mean by the potentials he offers?”
“At this point, we can’t even be sure of his acceptability.” She paused; Ussher was waiting for a more specific answer, but she chose not to oblige him.
It was Emeric Garris who said in an awed tone, “Holy God, an heir to the Chairmanship for Phase I.”
Leave it to Emeric to spell it out. Dyce and M’Kim were equally awed, but made no comment. Nor did Ussher.
Erica smiled. “Emeric, as I said, we can’t even be sure of his acceptability yet.”
“No, of course not. Still . . .”
Ussher didn’t move except to turn his head toward Andreas. He wanted an answer from him, not from Erica.
“Dr. Riis, if this . . . latest recruit does prove to be acceptable, what about the Peladeen Alternative?”
She was amazed he put it so baldly, and so were the others. At this point, the available alternatives for Phase I were never discussed, and few members outside the Council were aware of them; it was too early to focus the hopes of the members on any one plan—or person. Perhaps Ussher hoped to catch Andreas off guard, but he was never on guard, and the question didn’t even seem to surprise him.
“I don’t know, Predis, but that decision can’t be made now. First, as Erica pointed out, we aren’t sure of his acceptability. Secondly, we don’t know if the Directorate would reinstate him in his present position even if we force them to the bargaining table. And we can’t begin to bargain until we have the long-range MT. That decision is years in the future, and it’s fruitless to consider it now.”
The voice of reason; that phrase so often came to mind with Andreas. A simple statement of fact spoken with no hint of impatience, and no awareness of the overwhelming importance of that answer to Predis Ussher.
The door chime sounded, and Erica felt her muscles go tight. Ben was back with their latest recruit.
She had to make a choice: whether to concentrate her attention on the reactions of the councilors, or on the new recruit. The latter took precedence. For one thing she was only interested in one councilor’s responses, and when she turned to face the door, Ussher was behind her.
She noted with some relief that there was no hint of adverse reaction to the stunner. She also noted that the Lord Alexand didn’t wait for Ben to lead the way, but walked into the room with no hesitation, as if he were entirely familiar with his surroundings, leaving Ben to follow in his wake. He didn’t stop until he stood less than two meters from the table, then he removed his black, gold-striped helmet and held it under his right arm. Ben moved quietly to his chair, but Erica didn’t turn; like the others, she was too intent on this young Lord. And he was that to his fingertips.
She almost smiled at the uneasy silence of the councilors; undoubtedly, some of them were wondering whether they should rise. But their uneasiness went beyond that. They were seeing the Society’s future in this black-uniformed man; at least a potential beyond their most optimistic imaginings. And most of them were hoping the potential was there.
He waited silently, assessing them as they assessed him, his posture so firmly erect he seemed to be standing at attention. But that regal stance was a product of training, and so well ingrained it was entirely natural to him. He was, by every index, confidently at ease.
Erica’s analytical mindset wavered. There was so much of Rich in his face, particularly in the clear blue of his eyes. She hadn’t considered the reminders of her own grief that she would encounter in Rich’s brother. But he would find reminders of Rich here in Fina, too. It occurred to her that the Confleet black was a symbol of mourning for him, not just a uniform.
Then she frowned. His right hand was bandaged, but that wasn’t what attracted her eye. It was the ruby and black jade ring; the ring given him by Adrien Eliseer.
On his left hand was a star sapphire that she knew to be a gift from his mother. She wondered if he’d brought anything of Phillip Woolf with him into this new life.
The process of mutual assessment occupied only a few seconds. It ended as Andreas rose. Erica remained seated, and perhaps the others took their cue from her; they didn’t rise, but they seemed uncomfortable. Fesh, she thought, again; Fesh at heart. And, as she expected, they were all a little awed in the Lord’s presence.
She glanced at Ussher, finding his eyes veiled to her scrutiny. If this young man represented an unparalleled hope for the Phoenix, he was also a potential catalyst.
Andreas said, “My lord, I’m Andreas Riis. Welcome to Fina.”
There was a subtle tension around his mouth as he replied, “Thank you, Dr. Riis. But my name is Alex Ransom.” He paused, then, “The Lord Alexand is dead.”
2.
Erica Radek led him through the corridors, seeing them, as she always did with a new member, through his eyes. He would note the economy implicit in the lack of moving pedways, and might even deduce Fina’s origin in a series of caves in the winding course of the halls, which conformed to the natural rock passages as much as possible. He would count the levels they ascended and read the signs posted beside the S/V screened doorways. She heard a slight break in his step as they passed the one marked MATTER TRANSMITTER; TERMINAL 1. He would also study the people they passed, but there were few members in the halls at this hour; Fina ran on Terran Standard Time, and it was nearly midnight.
He made no comments, and his only question concerned the gold-and-blue triangle-flame motif emblazoned over the directories at the main corridor junctions. She explained the symbol as that of the Phoenix, the equilateral triangle representing both permanence and equality, the flame symbolizing enlightenment and hope.
His uniform attracted no attention from the members they passed, but he’d seen Ben Venturi in his SSB black, and would realize Concord uniforms weren’t entirely out of place here. He wore his helmet, which effectively shadowed his face, and made identification unlikely. She’d advised him against using his face-screen; that would attract more attention than his unscreened face.
He didn’t voice his questions, but she knew he was taking in every detail and formulating questions in his mind. She would have to be careful when he started asking them; he was adept at drawing out information without seeming to make an inquiry.
She looked back on the Council meeting and almost smiled. She’d been concerned about his being subjected to questioning when he was unfamiliar with the situation or the people involved; Rich hadn’t had time to give him any information of that nature. And she’d been concerned because he was so close to Rich’s death. Only yesterday. She expected his reactions to be below optimum. But after a half hour of questioning, she was sure Alexand had learned a great deal more than the councilors, and if they expected to sit in judgment of him, they were made aware, subtly but clearly, that they were also being judged.
At length, they reached the doorway marked HUMAN SCIENCES 1: RADEK. He noted the fact that she held the screen-control switch while he passed through. Once inside, he surveyed the small room, a wary tilt to his head as he looked up at the low ceiling; he would need time to adjust to the confined spaces. Three of the walls were composed of a ripple-textured, mirror-finished plasex used extensively in Fina and designed to reduce the sense of confinement; it made the walls seem less solid. He noted the sparse furnishings, only a low table in the center of the room flanked by two armchairs, and he concentrated for some time on the wall to the left, a wall taken up entirely with screens, memfile, datanalysis, and computer consoles. He studied it with an expert eye, no doubt recognizing the components that were neither of Delai Omer nor DeKoven Woolf origin. Finally, he turned to the space between the console wall and the corridor entrance, to the tiered shelves banked with luxuriant foliage and exotic blossoms: the orchids. He looked around at her, a faint smile relaxing his features.
“You were born on Terra.”
She laughed. “Yes, I was. Is it so obvious?”
“No. Perhaps it’s only the orchids.” He
walked over to examine them. “These are your hobby?”
“Yes. My little bit of Terra.” She joined him by the orchids, but didn’t approach too closely. “I’ve been here for thirty years, and Pollux is beautiful, really; more Terra’s twin than Castor’s. But I still miss Terra.”
He didn’t feel that loss yet; his eyes went cold. She studied him clinically, noting the pallor and the shadows under his eyes, and wondered when he’d last eaten or slept.
“This is HS 1, Alex, your home for the next week while I subject you to my black arts: screening and testing. This I call my work room. My office and apartment are through there.” She pointed to the doorway on the wall opposite the corridor entrance, then indicated the opening on the right-hand wall. “Your quarters will be in there, and perhaps that’s a grandiose term for a single small room and bath, but you’ll find life a little spartan in Fina.”
“No more than in Confleet, I’m sure.”
“Well, that experience might help you adjust to Fina.” She noted his quick glance at the corridor entrance; the typical shimmer of the shock screen was evident against the darkness of the S/V screen. “Yes, that door is equipped with a shock screen, and you’ll be a virtual prisoner here for a few days, but I’m afraid that’s necessary for security reasons. Besides, until you learn the layout of Fina. you might get lost.”
He gave a short laugh. “I quite understand.”
He was on the edge of physical collapse, and yet she wondered if he realized it. She’d seen this often enough in new recruits; all of them reached Fina through some emotional trauma, but there was in this young man a defiant containment that refused to recognize the price he paid to stand in this small, mirror-walled room. Alex Ransom would present problems for her.
Ransom. An interesting choice.
“Sit down, Alex, if you’d like.” As he went to one of the chairs flanking the table, she opened the autospenser compartment by the hall doorway. “This is our source of sustenance here in HS 1; there’s a menu and code numbers on the door. Would you like something to eat?”
