"Speak frankly in this matter," said Nostawniek. "You have seen Reqwar politics at work. You might be an alien here, but in some ways you understand the locals far better than I ever will. Why does this information matter so much?"
"In the short run, I doubt it does. If--or, so it would now seem, when--the High Thelek ascends to the Thelmship, no one is going to dare question him on this matter. But, you tell me. Suppose he had killed these three foolish drones. Suppose there was some proof of his guilt--or even, a suspicious absence of proof that it was accidental?"
"That's my point. I don't see how it could matter."
Brox gestured out at the world of Reqwar. "Somewhere out there is the infant son of the son of the widowed daughter of the uncle of some noble family or another. Or perhaps the infant I am talking about isn't even born yet. It almost doesn't matter. In the time between the death of Irvtuk and his brothers, and--if I dare to whisper a treasonous phrase--the eventual death of the present Thelm, just the right sequence of people will be born, live, and die in just the right order to make that infant, and no other, the person with the best claim to the Thelmship.
"Perhaps in law that child's claim will be stronger than the Thelek's--quite likely, as the Thelek's claim to the Thelmship is a rather weak one, if one considers the technical rules of inheritance rather than political reality. Or perhaps this imaginary heir will have a claim that is only relevant if the Thelek is disbarred from the succession--for example, for committing the crimes of murder and treason."
"Treason?"
"What else would you call killing the heirs to the throne?" Brox asked. "Suppose a month, a year, five years after his ascent to the Thelmship, our High Thelek becomes unpopular?"
Nostawniek nodded. "Then once your hypothetical heir grows up he could dust off the proof against the High Thelek, claim to be the legitimate Thelm, and start a civil war."
"Read your Reqwar history," Brox said. "There's no need for the hypothetical heir to grow up, or even approve of the attempt to overthrow the new Thelm. Seven times out of eight, it's been someone else who stirred up rebellion on behalf of the alternate heir. There are lots of ways it can get very nasty very fast.
"The Kendari Inquiries Service would not wish to be involved in such matters. Beyond all that, I will tell you quite frankly that there are many in my service who feel that, as a matter of policy, and of morality, we should have nothing to do with such political murders."
"But now you know it wasn't murder."
"Precisely. This will make it vastly easier for my superiors to maintain their support for the High--"
There was a sudden low, beeping noise from a device on Brox's utility harness. He glanced at the device and cursed in eloquent Kendari Maximum. "A QuickBeam message," he said briefly.
He put away the signaler, stood up on all four legs, and made for the entrance to the hidden passage. "No one sends QuickBeam messages without a strong reason," he said. "We must meet again, tomorrow, in the same manner and at the same time, in case this message involves matters we must deal with," he said.
Nostawniek bowed again and fanned his ears. "We can talk more of blasphemy, murder, and treason then," he said. "I look forward to it."
* * *
Eight hours later, after an all-but-sleepless night, Brox found himself in a familiar situation: The High Thelek was keeping him waiting.
One brief shining moment, he told himself. For one brief shining moment, after he knew the High Thelek had no part in the death of the three heirs, but before he had unbuttoned the QuickBeam message, all had been well. For those few golden minutes, the way ahead had been clear.
But perhaps all will still be well. This was a complication, not a disaster. But where the dark devils was the Thelek? The waiting was unendurable.
Brox had, thus far, managed to avoid pacing up and down the length of the Thelek's large and grand private office, and was pleased with himself for that. But then he caught himself in the act of slapping his tail on the floor--a far-too-obvious sign of impatience. He set his tail down on the floor and willed it to stillness, planted all four feet square and motionless, folded his arms, pulled his neck back, and brought his jaw down. It was the stance of watchful and alert readiness. Brox had no difficulty in being watchful, alert, and ready. Patience was the difficulty. Patience with High Thelek Caldon Saffeer and his endless plots and intrigues--and with the endless delays they caused. That was the challenging part.
But then, the death of the three heirs had turned everything so completely upside down that even Brox could scarcely blame the High Thelek for having a lot of details to attend to. Simply canceling all the plots and schemes that had suddenly been rendered meaningless was likely a full-time job. But that did not make the endless waiting any easier.
And there was no doubt he was being watched. Most members of the Reqwar Pavlat nobility disapproved of surveillance on principle, especially in their own homes. Not the High Thelek--quite the contrary, in fact. Brox felt as if he were an actor giving a performance in a show that never closed, never ended. The audience was always there--and often made little effort to conceal itself. It was often embarrassingly easy to spot the cameras. Brox could see two in the room he was in without moving his head.
For all Brox knew, the High Thelek's people had penetrated the misdirection equipment in his suite of rooms, and all of his other covert systems and activities, and they were simply letting him play at spies as part of some deeper game the High Thelek was playing. If so, there was nothing Brox could do about it. He had to have his own sources of information.
But that was a separate matter from the sloppily obvious and arrogant way the Thelek's security service monitored him. If the High Thelek had wished to send the message that he didn't entirely trust Brox, he could not have found a more effective way of doing so.
But turnabout and turn again was justice for all, as the saying went. Brox did not trust the High Thelek in the slightest. Thelek Saffeer always kept his promises. Of that Brox had no doubt. But Thelek Saffeer's promises were always so overburdened with qualifications and loopholes that the promises were not in fact worth keeping.
The only thing that made it all worthwhile was the glittering prospect, the prize, almost in sight, there at the end of it all: the planet itself. A new Kendari world. It would be slow and careful work, of course. Partial and indirect, behind-the-scenes control, limited settlement rights in return for technical and financial assistance. But get one foot in the door, let your tail get a good brace, be ready to work--and sooner or later both hands can pry that door open, fling it wide.
First, however, he had to handle the Thelek and his endless plots. Brox allowed himself a long, low growl and trotted over to the vast glass-walled window and the view of the city of Thelm's Keep, far below.
The High Thelek's home was situated high up on a hillside, looking down into the valley that held the city of Thelm's Keep, and perhaps more significantly, the Keep itself, from which the city derived its name.
Brox had often wondered at the reason Thelek Saffeer had built his home in such a place, with such a view. Was it some need to look down, quite literally, at Thelm's Keep, the home of the lord of all Reqwar? Or was it to give him a convenient view of what he hoped and expected to be his Keep, sooner or later, once this or that of his plots had raised him to the rank he obviously thought was his due?
At long last the door at the far end of the long, wide room slid open. Brox wheeled about to see the High Thelek bustling in, shedding his outer garments, and tossing them off behind him, trusting in his servants to catch them all before they touched the floor--a service they expertly performed. He went straight to his work space and dropped heavily onto his work stool. "Ah, Brox, there you are," said Saffeer, with a casual glance at his visitor. "Won't keep you waiting much longer. Just a few minor details to arrange."
"Take all the time you wish," Brox said in his good, if somewhat ponderous, Reqwar Pavlat. As if the Thelek would do anything else anyway
.
"Thank you," said the Thelek. "Won't be a moment."
They were "alone," Brox noted--aside from the four servants hovering about the Thelek, making any number of small and completely unimportant adjustments to his stool, his desk, his clothing, bringing in unasked-for refreshments for the Thelek--though nothing for Brox--and generally fussing about, trying to look busy themselves in order to make the Thelek look important.
All these shows, all these games, and for what? To impress Brox 231? If so, they had the opposite effect. As Brox's uncle, Brezzen 2234, was fond of saying, anyone who had to try to impress someone else probably wasn't going to succeed.
Which brought Brox back to a question he had been puzzling over for some time. Which of them was the patron, and which the client? On the face of it, a high-ranking noble of an ancient, proud, and powerful race like the Pavlat was clearly in the superior position. The agent from the intelligence service of an upstart race like the Kendari, an agent normally kept well out of the public gaze for fear of causing unrest, was plainly the inferior. Except it was not so.
The High Thelek glanced at some reports as he sipped his whrenseed tea and tapped at one of the screens. "When you've got a moment, my dear Brox, this is a matter I'd like your opinion on. One of my, ah, business associates is seeking financial advice. You're good with that."
In other words, some nephew of yours has run up some debts--gambling, probably--that you can't or won't cover yourself. "Always happy to oblige, my Thelek." Yes indeed, Brox told himself. Always happy. Because you just about are "my" Thelek, bought and paid for.
The petty little money troubles of Thelek Saffeer and his myriad relations were a symptom of something bigger: The Reqwar Pavlat were poor, not only by Elder Race standards, but even by Kendari standards. Even humans would have considered many aspects of the local economy backward.
The High Thelek, of course, was quite a wealthy person--if one considered his material possessions. But Brox had managed a detailed and covert examination of the Thelek's finances, and come to the conclusion that Saffeer was rich in debts and had gone past the point of merely counting on his expectations. He was absolutely relying on ascending to the Thelmship as the only possible means for him to pay his creditors. He was a long-odds gambler, deep in the hole, betting everything on what had, not so long ago, seemed like the longest possible odds. Not now, of course. Now, insofar as Brox understood the local politics, it was all but inevitable that High Thelek Saffeer would ascend.
But a Thelek with all his debts paid would be a Thelek upon which the IS could apply only limited leverage. The worst the IS might do would be to threaten to expose his financial dealing and reveal that he had in effect mortgaged Reqwar to the Kendari. But that was not merely a double-edged sword, as the human expression put it. It was a sword with a handle made of sharpest thornwood. Even to grasp the weapon would be to do damage to oneself.
When it came to assisting with a client's debt--or, more accurately, manipulating the client by controlling his debts--one had to use care. There was an art to such matters, requiring a sensitivity to the traditions and psychology of the species in question, the local culture, and the individual. In the present case, Brox had judged it best to pretend that the IS had trouble arranging payment of such large amounts, that there was trouble in converting currency, that things had to be done slowly if they were to be done quietly. He paid off just enough to keep the Thelek's various enterprises from collapsing altogether, and enough more to allow him a few extravagances--such as this handsome new house--to ensure that he became and remained dependent on Kendari cash.
By applying light pressure here and there, by agreeing to take on this debt or provide this house or that spaceship or those weapon systems, always in exchange for a little more access, a little more freedom of action, the IS could see to it that the Kendari would become ever more firmly established on this world, even as the outmigration of Pavlat continued and even accelerated.
The High Thelek finished whatever bit of work he was doing--or, just as likely, whatever bit of busywork he was pretending to do--and handed it to one of the quartet of hovering assistants. He made a hand gesture that was a signal for them all to leave and they bustled out as busily as they had bustled in.
"Now then," the High Thelek said, leaning back on his stool into what seemed like a most precarious position to Brox. It always seemed to him that bipeds were on the verging of toppling over. "I am not going to be put off any longer. Before we get to this 'urgent' news of yours, I want to hear some good news as regards the genetics repair plan."
Brox repressed a cringe. It was, of course, precisely the one topic he wished to avoid. He had no news at all, which, in the current circumstances, was the same as very bad news indeed. He had no choice but to keep on stalling. "There has barely been time for messages to go back and forth since the last time you asked, and the last time I sent a query," he said, more or less truthfully.
Of course, since the Thelek had been asking the same question over and over again for months now, it made very little difference how long it had been since the last time he asked, but never mind. The High Thelek was one of that odd breed of mind, the sort that lived by playing fast and loose with the truth himself, yet seeming incapable of catching others when they did the same to him.
"These things take time," Brox said, repeating what he had told the Thelek so often before. "We must not only find persons who seem capable of the work. We must study their technical and professional credentials carefully, before we approach them, to ensure they can do all the required tasks properly. And, of course, it must all be done as quietly as possible, to avoid attracting attention. Obviously, this far from our main operations center, I am not privy to every detail of the process, but I can tell you that every candidate is studied carefully." At least, that would be the case, if we had yet located any candidate organizations at all.
Somehow, sooner or later, he was going to have to start getting the High Thelek used to the idea that it might be Kendari scientists doing the job. Brox couldn't help but wonder how he was going to convince Saffeer that Kendari were wonderfully skilled in deciphering encrypted genetic material.
There were a whole series of crash programs under way on Kendal as Kendari scientists struggled to teach themselves what they needed to know, but it would be better, far better, if it didn't come to that. The IS was doing all it could to find an Elder Race genetics and terraforming concern willing and able to do the job for a sensible price--but it hadn't happened yet, and it would be most awkward for the planet in general and Brox in particular if they failed.
However, it was not yet time to face those worries. And there were a number of surefire ways of distracting the High Thelek from all such awkward issues. "Our technical people back on Kendal are working that side of the problem, sir. Their advice--and mine--is that our time would best be spent getting ready to move in fast and take over the human-Stannlar operation as soon as Georg Hertzmann is, ah, removed from the equation, shall we say." And let's ignore the fact that the operation would be utterly useless without the Stannlar themselves, since they are planning to serve as their own bioreactors and breed their repair organisms in their own bodies.
Brox could see instantly from Saffeer's expression that he had gotten the Thelek's attention with that happy thought. And, more to the point, Brox had distracted him from the awkward question of finding their own genetics team.
"Yes," said the High Thelek. "Getting Hertzmann out of the way. Can't happen soon enough for my tastes."
"Nor mine," said Brox. He hesitated a moment, not wishing to admit ignorance to the High Thelek. But that was foolish. He was, after all, an alien, and if there was one area in which the High Thelek might actually have expert knowledge, rather than merely claiming such, it was regarding the laws of dynastic inheritance and ascendancy. After all, Saffeer had spent most of his adult life studying them with an eye toward how they might be used to his own advantage.
"Sir,"
he began, "forgive me if I walk us back down a length of road we have traveled already, but can it truly be the case that there is no way for Georg Hertzmann to resolve his problem? Does he truly have no direction of escape?"
"Only the way he has sworn not to take," said the Thelek. "And at this point, he has sworn not to take it so loudly and so often that I doubt the people or the nobles would stand for it if he reversed himself." The High Thelek smiled, but it was a cold and unpleasant expression. "I certainly would not stand for it," he said. "No. Herztmann's choices now are down to which way he dooms himself--and, as best I can see, he has already made that choice."
"There is no imaginable unforeseen circumstance that might save him?"
The High Thelek shrugged. "I suppose it's possible that if exactly the right forty-three impossible things happened just the right way--if I died, and all the other heirs presumptive and potential and so on died, and the Thelm outlived us all, that might change things. Outside of that sort of absurd situation, Hertzmann has no hope at all."
"I thank you for that reassurance," said Brox. "However, this brings me to the urgent news I received by QuickBeam last night. The Kendari Inquiries Service has intercepted some interesting messages. It seems the Thelm's office sent a message that was received by a human police agency called the Bureau of Special Investigations, or BSI. You'd call them lawkeepers. The message as received was badly translated and hopelessly garbled, and possibly misdirected. The lawkeepers saw that Hertzmann was a member of Pax Humana and asked the Paxers for information. Pax Humana headquarters included the text of the BSI query, and the message as received by the lawkeepers, on the daily update they send to all their various offices, noting that Pax Humana headquarters had decided 'not to reply to the BSI query, and to maintain policy, as per on-scene advice, of taking no action at this time regarding the Hertzmann case.' "
"Why not? I thought that crowd of busybodies lived to interfere whenever possible."
The Cause of Death Page 8
