This Day All Gods Die

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  “Well done, Hashi,” he murmured as if no one were listening. “I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

  An elation like pride strained Hashi’s chest until he wondered whether his old heart could bear it.

  “Wait a minute,” Koina put in quickly. “You think Alt went on working for Cleatus Fane after Fane says he was fired. How can he lie about something like that? Even if the records were changed, wouldn’t our people—the designers who worked with Alt—wouldn’t they be able to testify that the records are wrong, that Alt wasn’t fired six weeks ago?”

  Hashi offered no reply. Instead he waited for Chief Mandich to speak.

  The chief chewed bitterness for a moment. Then he said gruffly, “No. I’m afraid not.”

  Warden knew this as well as Hashi did. Like Hashi, however, he left the explanation to Mandich.

  “We take every precaution we can think of to protect that work,” the Chief growled. “It’s all done from remote terminals by secure link to dedicated computers at Anodyne. First the link has to be established. Those are Administration codes. Then the remote terminal has to match the system protocols. DA supplies the codes for that. Then the terminal operator has to gain access. We”—ED Security—“control those codes.

  “It’s not just that the code designers never even see each other. They don’t have any way of knowing who else has access—who they’re working with. Alt could have been fired years ago. He could have been working there yesterday. The design teams wouldn’t know the difference.”

  In disgust he added, “It’s supposed to be safer that way.”

  Koina wasn’t satisfied, however. “But for Fane to tell a lie like that—” she protested. “It’s still too dangerous. He must have known he would be caught.”

  “On the contrary”—at last Hashi turned away from Warden to face the PR director—“from his perspective it must be inconceivable that he would be caught.

  “Where could he have imagined that the evidence against him might be obtained? By their very nature, kazes destroy evidence. He could hardly have predicted that even a tiny fragment of Godsen’s killer’s id would survive for Lane’s detection. Surely he must have assumed—anyone would have assumed—that Nathan Alt’s remains, so thoroughly smashed in such a public place, would leave nothing to be discovered.

  “With Captain Alt himself dead, what remains to expose Cleatus Fane’s falsehood?

  “He did not see me acquire Captain Alt’s credentials.” Hashi suppressed an inclination to congratulate himself. “He could not. I stood between him and his kaze. And I took considerable pains to conceal what I had done.”

  When Hashi had cast himself headlong down the tiers of frightened aides and Members, he had accumulated a number of bruises. His lean frame was unaccustomed to such insults.

  “Finally,” he told Koina, “you must understand that Cleatus Fane had not meant his kaze to be exposed. He intended to apply the signal which would inspire Captain Alt to release the triggering coenzyme while Alt was near enough to be a threat—but not near enough to harm Fane’s own person.

  “If indeed records have been prepared to show that Nathan Alt was fired six weeks ago, they only confirm that the First Executive Assistant is lying.”

  “Damn it.” Chief Mandich was convinced. In two strides he reached the edge of Warden’s desk. Pointing at the intercom, he said, “Director, with your permission, I’ll call GCES Security. Tell them to arrest that oily sonofabitch. Maybe we can’t prove he set Alt off, but we can make damn sure”—Fane’s words again—“he doesn’t cause any more trouble.”

  Warden shook his head decisively. “No.

  “As you say, we can’t prove anything. And if we could, Holt would just disavow it—let us have Fane, and concentrate on looking innocent himself.

  “What we can do,” the UMCP director added, “is avoid telling him we know what he’s done. That might give us an advantage.”

  Hashi noted that Warden didn’t specify what the advantage might be.

  “Yes, sir.” Scowling his frustration, the Chief retreated.

  “I’m sorry.” Koina leaned forward urgently in her seat. Hashi suspected that only her professional poise kept her from rising to her feet. “It still doesn’t make sense. There’s something you seem to have forgotten.

  “You’re telling me Fane did all this to stop the Bill of Severance. You assume he knew Captain Vertigus was going to introduce that Bill. You might as well assume he knew what I was going to say when he asked us to support him.

  “How did he know? How could he possibly have found out what Captain Vertigus had in mind?”

  A frown concentrated her luminous gaze. “Captain Vertigus didn’t ask for an extraordinary session and Member’s privilege until after he was attacked. Why did Fane send a kaze to try to stop something that for all we know Captain Vertigus didn’t think of until later?”

  Chief Mandich’s eyes widened. He appeared to shudder like a man who was being sickened by uncertainty.

  Hashi pursed his lips as if to say, Good question. In fact, however, the swirl of inferences in his head had left such issues behind a while ago. He strove to appear noncommittal because he wanted to hear how Warden would reply.

  Still the UMCP director exposed nothing; kept his game hidden. He acknowledged the importance of Koina’s question only by leaning back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest.

  “You’re the one with the answers here, Hashi,” he said impersonally. “Go ahead. Tell Koina what you think is going on.”

  Hashi was glad that Warden no longer insisted on calling him “Director Lebwohl.” On the other hand, he would have valued more highly some confirmation that he had indeed plumbed his director’s intentions.

  Obviously no confirmation was forthcoming. That in turn spun new implications which pushed Hashi’s comprehension further.

  Warden Dios needed help. Of course he did. Yet he preserved an essential distance from the very people who would be most inclined to assist him: Koina Hannish; Min Donner; Hashi himself.

  He wished to protect his subordinates from sharing his fate if he failed. Or—Hashi went still further—from suffering the consequences if he succeeded.

  “Hashi?” Koina urged tensely.

  “Ah, your pardon,” the DA director wheezed. He fluttered his hands in front of his face to ward off emotions for which he had no use. “I fear my attention wandered.”

  His elation had gone sour, curdled by an unfamiliar pang of loss. He found that he did not want to lose Warden Dios.

  Nor could he save him.

  “You may have misunderstood me.” He let his voice buzz waspishly. Koina—or Warden—might hear it as anger; but he was ill equipped to express grief in any other way. “I have not told you that ‘Fane did all this to stop the Bill of Severance.’ I have not remarked on his motives at all.

  “Naturally you are concerned that your refusal to support the FEA’s opposition to the Bill prompted that luminary to detonate his kaze.” Koina responded with a troubled nod. “It may be so,” he continued. “But if it is so, you provided only an occasion, not a cause.

  “I do not assume that Cleatus Fane—or his master—possessed some prescient awareness of Captain Vertigus’ intentions. Rather I assume that the purpose of these attacks from the first has been to solidify the special—the dependent—relationship between the UMCP and the UMC. To demonstrate that a relationship which has kept the GCES, if not all human space, secure until now should not be altered. True, a Bill of Severance threatens this relationship. But other threats preceded it, threats which suffice to account for the attacks. And those threats were public.”

  Studying Hashi intently, Koina asked, “What do you mean?”

  “The threats were two,” Hashi rasped. “First in time, if perhaps not in importance, is Special Counsel Maxim Igensard’s investigation of ‘the Thermopyle case’ in all its ramifications.

  “Surely his inquiry threatens the Dragon’s effective hegemony. Among o
ther efforts, he seeks to req DA’s financial records. If he were to obtain them, he would eventually unearth payments made to former Deputy Chief of Com-Mine Security Milos Taverner.” Hashi saw no reason why he should not verify Warden’s earlier revelations. “Conceivably the Preempt Act itself would unravel under such probing.

  “The occasion is apt for some display to support the necessity of our special relationship with the UMC. Thus Maxim Igensard is countered without being directly opposed.”

  Koina may have wished to interpose a question, but Hashi allowed her no opportunity. Wheezing sharply, he continued, “The more recent, but perhaps more critical, threat derives from the often-discussed video conference between Director Dios and the Council.”

  Hashi did not refer to Warden with so much as a glance. He had lost his taste for Warden’s lack of response.

  “You yourself said that you felt you were ‘witnessing the collapse of everything we’re supposed to stand for.’ What, then, do you imagine Holt Fasner’s reaction must have been? If you were indignant and dismayed, would he not have been outraged and appalled? The revelations of that conference undermined our appearance of honor, of probity—and our appearance of honor provides an essential validation for our dependence on the UMC.

  “If we are not honorable, who may be held accountable? Why, no one—except our master, the great worm.”

  Warden had played the conference beautifully. He had played Hashi beautifully. And kazes had ensued. Death had ensued. Yet that would be only the first of many extreme consequences.

  “We have been afflicted with bombs and bloodshed in response to the same concerns which may well have inspired Captain Vertigus’ Bill. In themselves, his actions are secondary. Indeed, they may be purely coincidental.” Deliberately Hashi did not look at Warden. “Yet his concerns are shared elsewhere—for differing reasons. Hence these kazes. They are intended to reinforce our subservience to the Dragon.

  “In that they have succeeded.

  “If you doubt me,” he added, although he suspected that no one did, “ask yourself who benefits from our special relationship with the UMC? Who profits? Who is diminished by anything which undermines us? Hardly the native Earthers.

  “Consider the pattern of targets. First Captain Vertigus. Then Godsen Frik. Then—apparently—Cleatus Fane himself. GCES. UMCP. UMC. Thus all are placed beyond suspicion. No one remains to be accused except the native Earthers.

  “But no one profits except Holt Fasner.”

  For a moment Hashi’s explanation held his listeners. Koina frowned like a woman who was so lost in what she’d heard that she could no longer frame questions. Chief Mandich said nothing.

  But then Warden murmured distantly, “Don’t stop now, Hashi. Finish it.

  “Why Captain Vertigus? Why not Igensard? Or someone with more influence than poor old Sixten?”

  Koina turned a grateful look toward the UMCP director, as if he’d restored her capacity for thought. At once, however, she faced Hashi again, awaiting his reply.

  Hashi found that he no longer enjoyed the sound of his own voice. The mechanics of his new comprehension showed that he was doing Warden’s dirty work for him, naming facts and perhaps truths which Warden already knew, and which must be communicated to both PR and UMCPED Security, but which the UMCP director could not articulate himself without compromising his deeper intentions; exposing the nature of his game.

  The bitterness of Hashi’s grief grew more acrid.

  “Who better?” he countered. Koina may have thought he sneered at the old Senior Member. If so, she was mistaken. “Precisely because he has become peripheral to the workings of the Council, he might be presumed to be an easy target. In addition, an attack on him is less bald, less easily interpreted, than an attempt on our fearsome Special Counsel. And, finally, Captain Vertigus is overdue for retribution. The Dragon never forgives. If he withholds his hand from those who trouble him, it is only because he bides his time.

  “Upon occasion Captain Vertigus has both disobeyed and opposed the UMC CEO.”

  Koina nodded. She no longer doubted Hashi: she had already been persuaded; won over. Now she was simply trying to fit the pieces of her new understanding together.

  “But why Godsen, of all people?” she asked. “That’s never made sense to me. If anything, I would have said he was”—she searched for the right word—“irrelevant. A pawn. Killing him is like shooting at the decor. It makes a mess, but it doesn’t change anything.”

  Hashi responded with a shrug of irritation. “His own special relationship with the Dragon was well-known. An attack on him would also appear to be an attack on his master. That is reason enough for his selection as a target.”

  The DA director paused to gather his determination, then continued acidly, “Surely it is obvious that our lamented Godsen was not meant to die? Before he was attacked, he received a summons to attend CEO Fasner. Had he obeyed, he would not have been present for assassination.

  “He did not obey, however. The director had restricted him to UMCPHQ. He died because, and only because, he elected to honor Warden Dios’ instructions rather than the Dragon’s.”

  Against all expectation, Godsen Frik had at last discovered his own honor. And he had acted on it by informing his director of Holt Fasner’s summons.

  Again Koina nodded.

  Is it enough? Hashi asked Warden silently. Must I continue this charade?

  Inadvertently Chief Mandich spared Hashi. Speaking in a rush, he said, “And Fane made himself look like a target to complete the pattern. Put himself above suspicion. I get it.

  “He could be sure he wasn’t in any real danger because he controlled the trigger.”

  “Exactly so,” Hashi assented. He lacked the energy—or perhaps the will—to give Mandich any other acknowledgment.

  Now that the Chief had finally grasped the thrust of Hashi’s explanations, he seemed unable to contain himself. His blunt nature demanded action. He turned at once to Warden.

  “Director, what do you want me to do? It’s probably a mistake to arrest Fane. If you say so, I accept that. But we can’t just sit on our hands with all this. It’s too much—

  “My God, it’s going to make the Council reconsider that Bill.” He swallowed convulsively as the truth struck him. “I mean, what we have is too much to ignore. But it isn’t enough.” Like all of Min Donner’s ilk, he instantly and passionately favored a Bill of Severance. “We need more.”

  Abruptly Warden surged to his feet. Perhaps Mandich’s assertion had released a spring of decision in him. It was more likely, however, that he had heard all he needed. He had been waiting, not for Hashi’s explanation, but for the Chief’s comprehension of it—and for Koina’s. Now he could move his subordinates to their places in his deep game.

  His manner was all crisp authority as he replied, “Getting ready for a possible war is my job.” Despite Min Donner’s absence, warfare lay outside the Security Chief’s province. “Yours is to find evidence. Anything that counts as proof.

  “You know what you’re looking for now. Was Alt really fired six weeks ago? Who had access to his work? Did he ever leave HO? If he did, where did he go? Who did he see? What happened to Clay Imposs? You can think of other questions Security might be able to answer better than DA could.”

  “Yes, sir.” The Chief snapped a salute, although Warden hadn’t dismissed him.

  Warden ignored the gesture. As a rule, he didn’t respond to salutes. He acknowledged his people in other ways.

  “Anything you find,” he continued, “you’ll report immediately to Director Lebwohl and Director Hannish as well as to me.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chief Mandich repeated.

  Warden turned to the DA director.

  “Hashi, I want Lane’s findings as soon as you get them. Let Koina have them, too. If Lane isn’t already doing it, tell her to backtrack that coenzyme. Somebody must have done some research on it. There must be a record of it somewhere. She might be able to find it. S
et up all the Red Priorities you need. That might lead us to whoever used Alt.”

  Hashi assented with a nod. He was confident that Lane recognized the importance of her discovery, and knew how to pursue it.

  “Other than that”—Warden indicated both Hashi and Koina—“I want the two of you to get ready.

  “Len is going to call an emergency session soon.” So much was predictable. An Amnion incursion into human space would demand action from the GCES. “When he does, I want both of you there. I want the Council to hear you respond in person to”—he spread his hands—“whatever comes up.

  “It’s still tenuous,” he added without transition. “Circumstantial as hell. But it will help. By God, it will help.

  “Koina, when the time comes, add Hashi’s accusation against Holt to the list of things you tell Maxim Igensard.

  “All right?” he asked rhetorically. “Then get out of here.” His brusque dismissal made it clear that he didn’t wish to hear any more questions. “I’m too busy for all this talk.”

  Too busy to grant me five minutes of honesty? Hashi asked with his eyes. Will you not share the truth, even with me?

  Warden shook his head as if he understood the silent inquiry. Whatever happened to him, he meant to face it alone.

  Hashi allowed himself a small grimace of pain as he rose to his feet.

  Mandich reached the door first; headed away charged with his mission. Hashi bowed Koina out of the small office ahead of them. When the door had closed and sealed behind them, however, he walked with her a short distance along the corridor. He had no desire for her company. However, he had known her too long—and had profited too much from her former trust—to treat her as Warden had just treated him.

  As soon as they were beyond earshot of the guards who watched over the director in his office, she put her hand on his arm. “Hashi—” For a moment she actually leaned on him as if she feared her knees might fail. She kept her voice low in an effort to conceal a tremor of distress.