I don’t know whether to be frantic or angry, Garth realized as he flicked through the Caesarean version of a Dielaan periodical. I’m an idiot. So the people seem provincial and the trade ships are few and far between — what made me think that meant the culture was simple? Sighing, Garth punched up the editorial section and glanced over it.
Boring. Dielaan’s press was not censored, exactly... rather it was careful. It was very easy to forget that the city-states of Nuala were for the most part absolute monarchies. Only the hot cities of the north varied — the curse of the hot gene made all citizens equal. Yet the Nualan clans were not hasty or abusive... not since the death of Tensar Dielaan ten years earlier. True, his sister seemed just as bloodthirsty as he had been, but she chose her “examples” carefully. All other clans of Nuala appeared subtle in their rule.
Something Lucy had said was finally beginning to make sense. In a world where eighty percent of the population was permanently sterile, the rules were very different. Everyone worked; accordingly, automation was not used for very many things. Where merchandise made by hand was rare in most parts of The Brethren, on Nuala those who chose to pay for, say, handmade furniture, could find it. Clan wealth varied from the unbelievably wealthy Atares to poor Boone, who had scarcely a name site and the surrounding countryside to call its own... and a sister hot city to sum up its problems. Kilgore was also wealthy, thanks to syluan fiber.
No one in Atare paid for utilities or communications... the trust from the mines paid for it. Few paid rent or worried about a mortgage. Those who owned tremendous amounts of mining stock lived in magnificent stone houses; those less fortunate lived in simple, single-family dwellings, or supplemented their dividends. But no one was hungry in Atare; no one lived without a roof over heart and head. No wonder other forms of government had made little inroad. With free press and no sustenance problems, with free lab help for the genetically troubled, Atare had created a strange and wondrous state.
Things were poorer in the deserts. Most of Dielaan herded sheep and hazelles, the latter a genetic construct of horses and native tazelles, or grew low moisture items like olives and adapted grapevines and grains. Seedar lived almost exclusively on the bounty of land and sea, while Andersen exported all manner of luxuries — perfumes, dyes, fine dessert items, and a fledgling silk industry. Next to Amura-By-The-Sea, Atare actually had the greatest variety of industry — animal husbandry, cloth, ship-building, jewelry, and finally specialized hazelle/horse genetics and breeding filled out their extensive mining operations.
Where to put in his wedge? The city-states were amazingly separate, much more so than the entwined economics of the Emerson nations. Genetics and foreign trade... they were the only things he could find that overlapped. Anything else skirted localized treason, and Garth had decided long ago that he wasn’t looking for his own death. Not yet.
Certain possibilities he had dismissed out of hand. He would not simply kill Silver — what would that prove? Threaten her children? No — Nualans were fanatical about their children. Quite apart from Silver’s reaction, Garth suspected that Sheel Atare could keep an assassin looking for him for a hundred years — a thousand years. I want to show skill — verve, even. I’m not sure I want this wergild in hard currency.
Garth had a suspicion he could not embarrass Silver — Darame, he had to start thinking of her as Darame — by revealing her free-trader origins. As best as he could make out, the royal families of Nuala had intermarried with everything from concubines to pirates, from illiterate Gavrielian farmers to erudite Caesareans under suspicion of second degree murder. Free-trading (which was, after all, merely fleecing someone with his or her own greed) fit this place like an interlocking puzzle piece.
If he could make it look as if she had turned against Atare? Had found a scam she simply couldn’t pass up? He would concentrate on either genetics or foreign trade; surely they had potential. The Synod was a touchy subject — the press handled it carefully, as if an explosion was imminent. Is The Synod that important to you?
Important to Nuala... to Atare. Sheel Atare, ruler of his clan, clearly wanted this synod to succeed — his actions of the past ten years bore that out. And it was fragile, so fragile, this thing called The Synod... and perhaps easier to erode than the many genetic labs? A false message here, information volunteered to the wrong people, and...
“Poof,” Garth whispered aloud.
A chime interrupted him. Clearing the RAM function, Garth brought up the outside call. Lucy’s sweet face filled the screen. “Ready to surface?” Apparently his face looked blank, because she immediately continued: “You have been working for days, Garth — I begin to feel neglected.”
Maybe something would occur to him if he didn’t press quite so hard. “What did you have in mind?”
“We are having a small gathering at Dielaan House,” she replied, leaning forward on the console of her unit. “A mixture of people — friends, artistic types, political malcontents... anyone Rex thinks will be amusing. Our uncle is not present,” she added hastily, seeing his reaction.
Her last words brought the invitation into the realm of possibility. He had seen the uncle only from a distance, but the man’s neutral, forbidding gaze had warned him off. Garth was not sure he was an approved “suitor,” as the Nualans seemed to name all new opposite-sex friends.
“The liquor is imported, and there will be food you can eat. Please?”
After all, it had been two days since he’d seen her — Political malcontents? “Sure. How do I get there?”
“Take the shuttle to Embassy Row and wait at Dielaan,” she replied. “I will come get you in a meth’.” Twinkling, she added: “Dress is casual. I will be right there!” The screen went blank.
“Hell’s Bells,” Garth muttered. One thing about Lucy; she was prompt. If she said “right there,” that meant she was walking to wherever they stored their ground transportation even as the thoughts passed through his brain. Quickly pulling on his newest shirt and sealing the pressure points at the cuffs, Garth pocketed his codekey and hurried to the elevator.
Rushing through the cozy lobby to the outside curb and waving his arms wildly produced the proper response — the shuttle, which had been pulling away from the closest pickup point, ground to a halt.
The vehicle moved handily, and he reached Embassy Row before Lucy. Disembarking at Customs, Garth chose to walk the last few steps. He still couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched —
“Right on time!” Startled, Garth turned at the familiar voice. A sunny smile flashed at him through tinted glass. Rounded, winged doors lifted before him, rising above his head, and a delicate hand beckoned.
“Fast,” Garth said, sliding in next to her and nodding to the dark, uniformed man at the wheel.
“We are missing a good party, and you have been practically hooked into that RAM,” Lucy replied, her tone almost — but not quite — scolding. “All that politics and history will give you indigestion.”
“I find it fascinating,” Garth admitted. “You have more variety than Emerson or Gavriel, and they’re pretty diverse people. I can’t figure out why you have so many monarchies — they’re not very common anymore.”
Lucy wrinkled her nose. “You prefer social states? Dictatorships? Theocracies? Corporation facades? The only true democracy left in the Seven Systems is the Sini Alliance.” The vehicle quietly began to move.
“Caesarea is a democracy,” Garth replied.
“It is not. It is a modified republic. People elect representatives, do they not? They do not vote directly upon every issue that is presented to or by them?”
“Of course n- “
“And only certain people can vote — reaching an age of majority on Caesarea does not guarantee the right to vote? And, even stranger — your prime minister is elected for six years, and cannot be removed from office! What if the prime minister turns out to be incompetent, or a crook?” She shook her head. “We call that a modified republic. Caesareans are no more interested in politics than the average Nualan, or Gavrielian. Your people are interested in making money and acquiring power — mine are interested in heirs and the quality of life. And all the clans vary, you know. We even have elements of a social state on Nuala — after all, everyone who is born an Atare or gives birth to an Atare has mining stock, and that means free utilities and infonet service — omni, RAM, communications, everything.”
“All the monarchies differ?” Garth said slowly. He was not eligible to vote back home, owning no property on Caesarea....
“Very much so. I cannot tell you all the differences — there are many clans! I do not know all the variations. When The Synod began, ten or so years ago, Atare started teaching its young everything it knew about each tribal system. Well, Dielaan would not stand for that!”
“You didn’t like others knowing about your ways?”
Lucy chuckled. “No, silly, we did not want Atare to seem more generous when discussing other clans! And we wanted to be sure no erroneous information was taught simply because we could not be bothered to place it on a ring. So all the tribes began teaching about all the other clans — for the first time! Every major city has a net link to the library in Amura, as well, so no one can truly censor anything. If Seedar, say, or Dielaan really wish to keep something about their government structure from the other clans — or something about the other tribes from their own people — they must leave the library net.”
“But that would imply they had something to hide, or to be ashamed of —”
“Exactly!” Seizing his arm, Lucy turned and pointed out the back window. “Oh, we have reached the hills! Is not the view wonderful?” Looking back over his shoulder, Garth saw the Alameda Sea, now a strip of darkness beyond the chain of lights rimming the shore. One slender new moon glittered low in the sky. White street lights twinkled like diamonds, tracing the trail they had followed. “I do love living in the mountains here.” Sighing, she leaned against him slightly. “I never tire of water — here I have real mountains and a real sea!”
“At home you have pretend mountains and a pretend sea?” Garth could not resist asking.
Another chuckle. “Our sea is small, compared to this one — and our mountains very small! The ceaseless wind grinds them away,” she murmured sadly. “Did I answer your question?”
“I think I forgot my question.”
“Different monarchies,” she reminded him, her tone slightly pedantic. Something that sounded suspiciously like a snort came from the young woman. “I said once that if I was not royal Dielaan, just a common, I would want to live in Atare or Kilgore. Rex was so mad when I said it!”
“Why did you say that?”
“Because being a common in Dielaan would not be... pleasant.” The last word was emphasized oddly. “In Atare, if the people feel a judge has handled a case ‘with prejudice’ — letting family or personal feelings interfere — they can appeal to The Atare and The Ragäree. The case then is reviewed on its merits. Although all the judges are Atares, and can serve for life, they must have training and intelligence to reach the bench — not all Atares do, you know. And they can be removed at any time by The Atare or Ragäree, if reason is found to do so.
“Law is made by The Atare and Ragäree, but the judges frame decisions from precedent, or something like that. They have a bill of rights and responsibilities for their citizens, too — you would have to look it up.”
“Then Atare takes the law seriously?”
“Indeed. Now, in Dielaan, The Dielaan not only makes the laws, he enforces them — he is the final and sole authority, able to suspend law at will. He also appoints judges, but he can appoint anyone — Rex could place me on the high court if he chose, just because he wanted to... without training, without inclination — even against my will. I could do nothing but serve, or retire to my father’s estates. In Dielaan, a royal’s main purpose is to produce heirs and to administer any hereditary lands — anything else is at the discretion of The Dielaan. If The Dielaan wanted to appoint a hazelle — or no one — to a post, he could do so! In Dielaan, judges may have many other responsibilities, while in Atare, the heads of sept clans, for example, resign judgeships, in case of conflicts of interest. Am I losing you?” Lucy asked abruptly.
His gaze drifting out the window, Garth wondered if she was losing him. Interesting, the road was a switchback — the ocean was now before them. “Are you saying that in Atare there are limits to power, while in Dielaan, there may not be?”
“Yes! Thank you. If Rex wanted to make Uncle Tsuga not only the head of his immediate family, not only advisor to the throne, not only administrator of his lands, but a judge as well — simultaneously — he could do it. In Atare, The Atare and Ragäree avoid that. One must put ones’s inheritance in another’s hands while one serves Atare — that I do know. For us, it is a tricky system, because if The Dielaan is conscientious, the judges are very good. But if The Dielaan is lazy, or playing favorites, the judgeships can become a disaster.”
“Your people stand for it?”
“They are Dielaan — they do not want to be anything else. But when we have a good Dielaan, his shadow falls for generations, and that helps in bad times. In very bad times....” A tight chuckle reached his ears. “A knife in the back takes care of all ills.”
“What?” Garth turned back from the setting moon. “Are you saying someone simply kills The Dielaan?”
“Well, not kills. Incapacitates, shall we say,” she said candidly. “That is always in the back of a ruler’s mind. Even now our regent wonders when someone will put a stop to her work. To balance the needs of the people with the wants of the aristocracy — that is the trick. Atare and Kilgore do it better.”
Garth waited, watching an outer stone wall with mounted lights flash by. “In Kilgore,” she said finally, “once every three years, the province is closed to outsiders. In the center of their beautiful city, on a platform of stone and precious wood, erected for the purpose... a forge, a kiln, and a casting machine are set up. There, starting at dawn, The Kilgore and The Ragäree melt down the crowns of clan Kilgore, and make them once again, fabricating and casting, adding fresh gold as needed. No barriers... no guard. During that time, should any citizen have a grievance, they present it to the archpriest or archpriestess of Kilgore. The archpriest and archpriestess then formally offer the grievance to the crowd. If the crowd agrees it merits a new regime, then the succession is proclaimed.” Garth scarcely caught the final words. “If the crowd agrees it merits the death of one or both of the rulers, then the succession is proclaimed.”
A pale dome light flickered on, and a serious black gaze met his own glance. “I do not think I would have the courage to do that... to go among my people totally exposed.”
“You walk in Amura alone,” Garth pointed out gently.
“I walk in Amura with a bodyguard — and Amura is not Dielaan. There are some villages on the fringes of Dielaan I would not dare even enter, and I am both powerless and blameless, merely my father’s daughter.”
“Bodyguard?” Garth felt puzzlement slipping across his face, even as a solution occurred to him.
“Churr.” Lucy gestured toward the driver as they pulled up before the red stone walls of Dielaan House. “He, or another guard, is always somewhere nearby... closer, if he is suspicious of the crowd.” Barely dimpling, she added: “He does not think you a threat to me.”
Movement ceased; the doors lifted, and the driver stepped out and turned to offer his hand to Lucy. Staring, Garth realized it was the man who had followed them to the restaurant.
“Did you not notice we were being followed?” she giggled.
“Of course, but I thought —” he cut himself off abruptly.
After a moment: “Why would someone want to follow you, Garth?”
This time she expected an answer. “My family is a bit like your family,” he said finally, feeling a touch of cold air against the nape of his neck. “You can never be sure who might be at your back... and why.”
Lucy smiled faintly, the expression pulling slightly at one corner of her mouth and promising a dimple. “Indeed. Then you should be right at home.” With that enigmatic statement, she swept off toward the front door.
Everything about Dielaan House was slightly skewed, off-center from what he had seen at the Atare home. The house itself was flopped — instead of long, low, windowed floors, this huge edifice had no windows at all on the first level. It was but three floors, and rambling, traveling up and down the hillside with the dexterity of a mountain goat. Everywhere one saw dusty red stone, blunted with black basalt and a creamy sandstone. But the surprise was the color — it was everywhere. The people of Dielaan worshipped color.
No wonder Lucy prefers vivid green clothes, Garth thought wryly as he followed her up the heavy stone steps. Don’t these people pay their utility bill? A good place for an assassin to hang out...
“I apologize for the lighting — one must become accustomed. It is partly habit; at home the star is always so bright, we need no indoor lighting, except at night. Also, Rex prefers it this way,” Lucy said over her shoulder as she loosened the reddish fur jacket she was wearing. Handing it to a young woman in uniform at the top of the stairs, Lucy turned and indicated with a gesture that they would go to the left.
Blinking rapidly at Lucy’s skinsuit of shocking green and yellow, Garth fell into step at her side. They moved swiftly down a corridor lined with bold, abstract tapestries and all too few lights, entering a large room.
Swirling smoke and babbling voices overwhelmed him. Incense stabbed sharply at his sense of smell, cloaking the odor of several other burning items. Tobacco, cannabis, krystal —”Aren’t depressants and stimulants controlled here?” he murmured into Lucy’s ear.
“Yes, but the artistic types use all of them, except for the Purists — they never do anything Rex thinks of as fun, so you will not meet any tonight. This house is protected by the embassy laws, and Dielaan allows unregulated use of these items — properly taxed, of course,” she replied, tilting her head back to lend privacy to her words.
Tall ceilings, once again, and tiled floors covered by an occasional woven rug of brilliant red, black and white —”Where are we going?” he asked, surveying the crowded room. All kinds of clothes and hairstyles, or lack thereof; the tall bald woman in nothing but a linked metal loincloth could not help but catch his eye. He smelled a familiar odor beneath the eye-level haze... kona? If this group was any indication, Halsey should reconsider that farming scheme.
“Here,” she responded, pushing past several men leaning up against the lintels of a doorway. The second, smaller room had little smoke in it. Garth did not have to ask — Lucy went straight to the open doors leading out to the balcony. “Hooo!” was her first word. “I can see why Sheel Atare forbids that stuff in his home!”
“I hate the way it makes my mouth taste,” Garth offered.
Laughing, Lucy seized two vials off a passing tray and pressed one into his hand. “This will change the taste, I promise you!” Sipping at the tall, narrow, etched glass, Lucy started moving toward an intimate group at the edge of the stone balcony.
The thought of assassins lingered... Garth hesitated, until he saw an empty tray tucked into a dumbwaiter of some type and a fresh tray of drinks lifted from it. We are being served separately from the other rooms. Heartened, Garth sipped his drink.
Sweetness and anise shocked both his tongue and his brain into silence. Maybe I have been poisoned, was his first coherent thought. His feet had continued moving; Lucy had led him up to Rex Dielaan. Meeting an amused black gaze, Garth realized that his face was an open book. Glancing around quickly, he took note of the others seated at the metal mesh table. A tiny, fair-skinned female with curly black hair, whose manner was retiring... Rex had a new woman. Malini was seated to her left, and on Rex’s right was an unfamiliar young man whose hooded features proclaimed a possible family link — a lock of red hair curled out along his jawline. An ever-familiar soldier of Dielaan hovered in the background.
“Too sweet for you?” Rex asked, amusement thick in his soft voice. “Ouzo is definitely an acquired taste.” Waving a hand negligently, The Dielaan indicated that Garth should sit. “Have you met everyone here?”
“Not Silas,” Lucy said quickly, gently wrestling the ouzo away from Garth and offering him a glass of white wine. “Silas reb^Carlotta Dielaan, my brother — hiding in his hood, over there,” she added, her voice poking gently at him. “This is Garth Kristinsson.”
“I do not hide, exactly,” came the response, as the man shifted back the cowl. “There is a breeze tickling my neck.” Ignoring Lucy’s chuckle and Rex’s amusement, Silas gravely rearranged the cowl into a collar.
“Admit it, you hide from our nanny,” Rex said, chortling aloud. “Uncle has retired, rather... miffed. It is the height of decadence to be seen at one of my parties, is it not?” This last was addressed to Malini.
“Only if one is present past matins,” Malini replied, her expression deadpan.
Rex roared with laughter. Taking advantage of the moment, Garth glanced over at Lucy, and saw she seemed amused. So, Malini had intended to poke fun at Rex — and he had allowed it.
“What would you like to eat?” Lucy murmured into his ear.
“Anything except ouzo — thank you,” he added. Throwing him a saucy grin, Lucy leaned back and caught the sleeve of a young wait scurrying past.
“You do not care for the local cheese?” came Rex’s voice.
Did he hear everything? Garth glanced down at the — potentially — deadly cheese and crackers artistically arranged around the candles.
“Garth has yet to take the series,” Lucy said easily.
“There is never a better time than the present,” Rex responded.
Lucy chuckled, shaking a finger at him, but Garth felt his spine stiffen. Didn’t Lucy sense the edge to Rex’s voice?
“You must be careful to avoid offending the natives by implying there is something disgusting about their food,” Rex added, and Lucy’s hand tightened on her glass.
“I like saffra,” Garth offered smoothly. “And I think Caesarea needs a revival of scones and muffins.”
Rex smiled, and Lucy’s grip on her drink loosened. “Imagine paying three times its worth just to sample local delicacies,” he mused. An arriving soldier bent down to speak by his ear. “Please, continue,” Rex added, standing and moving off into the restless crowd.
It was as if a storm had passed. “Well done,” Malini said. “Most people swallow their teeth at that tone.”
“I seem to have offended him,” Garth said tentatively. “I didn’t mean to. It’s just that... I’m not sure how long I’ll be staying, and —”
“You owe us no explanation,” Silas said, brushing away protests with a typically Dielaan wave of hand. “And you did not offend him — you would know for certain if you had! No, I think you pleased him... you have wits and the nerve to use them. Few people speak freely before Rex Dielaan.”
“Come,” Lucy said suddenly, “There is someone I want you to meet, before Rex returns.” Standing, she seized his wrist in a familiar grasp and tugged him toward the opposite side of the balcony.
Connected balconies, it turned out — they were linked, like pearls on a string. The deck Lucy led him to was cozier than either walkway. This gathering had five people grouped around a centered table, and they were all drinking various forms of kona. Garth recognized a tall, striking redhead from the party — not pretty, really, but humor lit her freckled countenance — while the others were unfamiliar.
“I want you to meet my cousin Quen,” she murmured as he moved up behind her. “I think you will like him — he is my favorite of all my cousins.”
“Different tastes... in conversation and in women?” Garth asked.
Lucy shot him a sharp glance. “What brothers share those tastes?” Letting her fingers slide into his hand, she drew him over near the tall, bosomy redhead. Reaching with her other hand, Lucy clasped the shoulder of still another youth with hair as burnished as her own.
“ — I still think that Hansun’s intent was to illustrate the state of mind of his protagonist,” someone was saying.
“He could have used a better image,” responded a distinctly Dielaan — and feminine — voice.
“But —”
“Quen,” Lucy murmured, so as to not distract the others. “This is Garth — the one I told you about.”
A turn of the head, and Garth was startled. This young man had eyes as brilliantly green as Malini’s — like chips of emerald. Placed in a slender face of polished bronze, they could be part of a statue. But Quen had warmer eyes than Malini, and his smile seemed genuine. He actually offered his hand, palm-up, as Caesarean natives did. “Welcome to Dielaan House.”
Grateful his hands were dry, Garth accepted the handshake. “Thank you. I’m sorry if I looked surprised, but —”
“The eyes?” Quen laughed. “In my house it is normally the women who have it, but Juana and Pamela had to share with me! I am the first man in generations to have them... my father’s fault, undoubtedly, if we cared to trace it.” Winking carefully with the eye farthest from the bosomy redhead, he added: “I think they set Rebekah on my trail at the first.”
“Quen,” she protested, her expression almost comic in its dismay. Garth noticed that she had huge dark eyes and thick lashes, a pleasing compliment to her flaming red hair.
“You know redheads avoid other redheads,” Quen went on quickly. “My eyes were all that kept her from running the other way.”
This time she knew she was being teased, and tossed a piece of some fresh vegetable at him.
“Broccoli, now. Does this mean I am a dip?” Quen asked seriously, offering her back the floret.
“Quen!”
Well, it is obvious how things stand with them. Glancing at Lucy, Garth knew she was thinking the same thing. Her smile was wistful.
“We must get back — Rex needs an audience,” she murmured.
“Come see me,” Quen said simply, his expression including Garth in the invitation.
“Seri, tell her I am right!” suddenly drew Quen back into the conversation at the table.
“Tell him he is right, so we can talk about something else,” Quen suggested, and the gathering started laughing.
Silently Garth followed Lucy back down the narrow pathway to the main balcony. “I can see why Quen is your favorite,” he said quietly. “I am surprised you do not spend more time with him.”
“What I can,” she responded artlessly. “He understands.”
“Does Rex merely need the audience, or is he jealous of Quen’s...” What? The difference of star and moon.
Lucy threw him a startled look. “Be careful,” she murmured, slowing to a halt. “Rex is Dielaan, and his power is absolute... he has ‘the right.’ I am Dielaan, and would remain so. I am wise enough to keep a foot in each camp. Even Malini knows better than to snub Rex, and she would dearly love to see Livia’s line fall.”
Garth merely tilted a head at her.
“Despite the hopes of the sword side, the distaff side is strong in Dielaan, if one goes back far enough... and Malini has three brothers.” Her look a definite warning, Lucy turned and marched toward the smaller balcony.
Resuming his seat, Garth tried to pay attention to the running conversation, but found it full of Silas and Malini’s plans to go off-world.
“If you could choose an interesting planet to visit, which of The Brethren would you choose?” Malini said abruptly. “But only one.”
“Yes, Garth, give us some words of wisdom,” came Rex’s smooth tones as the man approached once more.
“It depends on what you find interesting,” Garth decided to answer. At their puzzled looks, he amplified. “If you want historical ruins, go to Emerson. If you want varied social life, go to Caesarea; they have the most performing arts, too. If you want things a bit spicier, go to Kiel — but be careful. Slavery is legal there, because their genetic labs produce human stock for certain kinds of labor classes. Some merchants don’t ask questions when they’re offered healthy, attractive, unconscious material. It could take your people years to find you, much less redeem you.”
Rex smiled. “Our personal guards would leave a trail of broken bodies right up to the embassy door, should we be so foolish as to elude them.”
“Fertility and intellect,” Malini said caustically. “We need healthy livestock with brains. I refuse to be saddled with someone like Uncle Elijah. A sweetie, but absolute air between his ears.”
“Aunt Kekona wanted someone she could manage,” Lucy said with her usual shrug. “You get what you ask for, sometimes. Just be careful what you ask for,” she finished, Malini and Silas joining into the chorus. “We hear that a lot,” she added, confirming Garth’s guess about the phrase.
“I don’t know about fertility,” he murmured, “But Caesarea and Kiel are usually thought to have the most progressive universities in the region. Unless you want to go a lot further — CSSI system, or even to Terra.”
“Ha!” was Silas’s response. “If that is required, I will doom my legal line! A few hundred years in Sleep does not appeal. Kiel sounds interesting — all proper and stuffy on top, and a cesspool beneath. Tell us more.”
It was thirsty work, trying to satisfy their desire for firsthand knowledge of The Brethren. Garth kept his wine intake down to sips, but he lost count of how many times his glass was refilled. Somewhere along the line Lucy had a sandwich brought for him, but he didn’t remember what it tasted like... Rex’s earlier comment made his nibbles few and far between.
A wait was bringing fresh candles for the centerpiece when Garth noticed that his audience was smaller... Rex’s new woman had left. The few unnamed individuals sitting near but not at the table had also disappeared. How late was it?
“You have seen everything,” Rex said simply. “Been to every world. Why did you choose to come here? Since you could not have known we had restricted access when you left Caesarea.” The slightest of pauses, and he added: “Lucy says you are looking for someone?”
“I’m alone,” Garth started slowly, “for the most part. My parents raised me in a rather exclusive living class. They left me with a few things... unresolved, shall we say. I have been simply tidying up.”
“Free-traders.” Rex said it as fact.
Surely Lucy knew.... “Yes, my parents were free-traders.”
“Your mother worked with The Atarae?”
Lucy had asked that before... hadn’t she? How much wine.... Forcing his mind to focus, Garth said: “My mother knew The Atarae long before either of them left Gavriel, back when they were very young. Both of their parents died early on, and they were raised in the major city by non-relatives —” Sweet Saint Peter, Halsey must have been the old man who raised her!
“Yes?” Rex prompted.
“I think The Atarae left after both finished their required education... mother left with my dad, a few years later. I don’t know whether they ever worked together.” Garth managed a smile. “Being raised by free-traders means having absolutely no idea what your parents are doing from one moment to the next! And it’s usually better not to know.”
“Often,” Rex agreed mildly. “What are you, Garth? A child of wealth at loose ends with yourself? You obviously are not an immigrant. You imply you are not a free-trader, although you take time to find out where free-traders congregate. You make a strange merchant — you have nothing visible to buy or sell. You arrived here as crew on one of our own ships.”
A hollow, sick feeling was beginning to form about the location of Garth’s breastbone... was his discomfort visible?
“Maybe I should leave —” Silas began, starting to rise.
“Why?” Rex asked, pinning him with a glance. “You have no intention of babbling Garth’s business to the world, do you?”
“Of course not!”
“I am genuinely interested, Garth,” Rex went on, turning his dark gaze back toward his guest. “You see, I noticed something during the party at Dragonhold. Sheel Atare’s wife frightens you. You hate that... and perhaps her?” Before Garth could say anything, Rex added: “You see, I am not fond of the House of Atare, either.”
This is why you came here.... Excitement was burning away any lingering fumes of alcohol. But is this something I can use? “No, I gathered that Dielaan and Atare have been... competitors... for a long time.”
Rex smiled. “An apt choice of words. Yes, we are competitors. Our foremost means of keeping score involves power. I understand that you have delved deeply into our history, both ancient and recent. So you know that a catastrophe happened here, oh, a dozen years ago Terran. An outsider infiltrated our greatest clans and wreaked havoc among us. More than two dozen died directly from his efforts, and a coup was attempted in Dielaan following my uncle’s death — several more deaths resulted from the riots.” Rex shook his head. “An incredible occurrence, far beyond our comprehension. We dealt with it, finally. The skull of the man responsible still rattles on a pole before my gate. But that was not enough. We had to take measures to insure it would never happen again.”
“The Synod.”
Rex’s nostrils flared, as if something rotting had moved into range. “Yes, The Synod. We closed down all the embassies, and confined them in one city — this one. We created embassies among the clans, something we had never had before. Then we created The Synod, to negotiate foreign trade agreements for the great clans.”
“But The Synod has gone beyond its original boundaries,” Silas continued, rearranging his cowl back into a hood. “Its purpose was to be a breakwater against the corruption of the outside, to protect our people and to improve our bargaining power. But it has had another effect... it erodes clan power when dealing with off-world principalities.”
“What was supposed to be foreign trade only has become everything dealing with off-worlders,” Lucy added. “And most of the clans do not like that.”
“The clans, or their governments?” Garth asked slowly.
“It is the same thing,” Rex stated flatly. “We cannot deny there have been benefits to this system. But the system now erodes the sovereignty of our individual governments.” Rex’s expression seemed to grow momentarily unfocused. “I should be doing as Silas and Lucy and Malini do — looking forward to my trip off-world. But my mother, as Regent, has already weakened the base of my power. If I leave, even for a year, that is twenty-one years Terran when Sleep is considered! I may not have a throne to return to....”
“You see a republic of some —” Rex’s laughter stopped Garth in mid-sentence.
“No, no — our people have the habit of obedience, and they struggle for mere survival. They have little time for politics. But I could become a puppet king under Atare... or have a branch of my house decide that my mother was damaging Dielaan, and wrest my regency from her.”
“And then refuse to return it to you?” Garth finished.
“You begin to see,” Rex said simply.
Garth shuffled subtlety and bluntness in his hands... the sum suggested laying a card face up on the table. “What has all this to do with me?”
“I suppose you could say that I wish to hire a... consultant.”
“Consultant?”
“I know you have been all over the Seven Systems, Garth. You have been studying us. Your choices from the library indicate that you have concentrated a great deal on the last ten years of our existence... and always, you return to the clan of Atare. Now I will add up all that I know of you, Garth Kristinsson, and I will suggest that you came here to find the wife of The Atare. And that you wish to do her a... ‘mischief,’ shall we say?”
Garth remained silent. Carefully, son. This place could be wired to the eaves.
“Well, I, too, have need to do a mischief to Atare.” Once again, Rex emphasized that word in his velvet voice. “I can take my throne now, if necessary. I can pull out of The Synod. But if I leave The Synod otherwise intact, I will damage Dielaan’s ability to gain top price for its interstellar goods. The existence of The Synod might depress domestic prices as well. Perhaps I can draw other clans with me... perhaps not. Some are more extreme than I — they wish to return to individual clans negotiating alone, but from the safety of Amura.” Rex gestured dismissingly. “That would be acceptable, although it would bring about a dip in our finances which might spark dissension in our citizenry. The operative concept is ‘intact,’ Garth. We cannot leave The Synod intact, not in its current form. Sheel Atare and his woman have invested a great deal of time, energy, and personal prestige into this assembly. It would be a blow, to say the least, if it should suddenly fall apart.”
Silas’s voice came once more from his hood. “But it must fall apart with no hope of resurrection, not for many, many years. Not until we can assure it is but an information network and mouthpiece, with no power building beneath it.”
“Yet we have no thoughts of war, no thoughts of toying with any other clan structure,” Lucy said earnestly. “We want only to place Rex squarely upon his throne with no erosion from a synod. So we must discredit The Synod.”
“To discredit The Synod is to discredit Atare,” Rex reiterated.
They hope to offer you what you want while getting what they want, Garth reminded himself. Well... could they? Silas was crazy if he thought that The Synod could be revived as “merely” an information network. Obviously these people did not bother with their own tribal nets, much less any other group’s. The increase in the past decade of sheer global awareness was astonishing. Do you seek a united confederation of city-states, Sheel Atare? You may get it from the ground up, if your people begin to see themselves as Nualans first and clan second.
“Why do you think I would be interested in this?” Garth began slowly.
“I realize I do not have the free-trader mentality, but I assume the best way to accomplish what you wish to do is to minimize your risks, then go forth with your plan,” Rex said smoothly. “What we seek to accomplish is perfectly legal, as seen from clan law. But surely we will have to cross a line or two... in our quest, if you will. The greatest dangers to an off-worlder are charges of murder and localized treason. We will violate neither of those things.” Pausing for effect, Rex added: “I am The Dielaan, and I can protect you from anything else, should our group be exposed.”
But will you? Of course there really wasn’t any way to ask that question. Garth thought about what he had just heard... and what he had learned that was not volunteered. Anger started to rise. Then he thought about whether or not he wanted The Atarae to know what he had chosen for his wergild. Possibly... but there was plenty of time for that. This way, he could keep a distance for a time, even keep his name out of it completely. First things first. Anger could give strength, when controlled...
Turning slightly toward Lucy, Garth said coolly: “You were quite good. I never guessed you picked me for a purpose.” Aristocrat that she was, Lucy did not blink — but she did glance at Rex.
“My cousin chose you for her own reasons, Garth, as we always choose,” Rex purred. “I was the one who suspected that your reaction to Darame Atare could be useful to us. I was the one who persuaded her to find out if I was correct in my surmise. Please do not be angry with Lucy. After all... this partnership may be just what we both need to accomplish our goals.”
Already you assume I will do it. Well... any reason not to? “As you pointed out, I can have nothing to do with murder or localized treason. All I am interested in is discrediting Darame Daviddottir. If that serves your extended purpose, then good — but even in name, I can have nothing to do with any political actions. My goal is to get everyone in The Synod so angry and mistrustful of each other that the summit falls apart. Sort of a... dare.” At their blank expressions, Garth continued: “On Caesarea, students have been known to arrange collapses within organizations on their campus — just to prove it can be done. Planting false information or rumors on the infonet, gaining access to secrets and publicizing them at the right — or wrong — moments... that sort of thing. On Caesarea, a well-played scam can be so structured that no proof of wrong-doing can be made — privacy laws are different for information stored on net.” Glancing at Rex, Garth decided it was time for him to offer something. “I understand that an oath made on your god’s name is binding. So tell me — do you swear that you are indeed the rightful ruler of Dielaan, merely hastening your accession of your throne because you honestly believe the policies of the current regency will otherwise cause the downfall of your clan? Do you swear that you intend no death in this matter?”
“I am The Dielaan, as of my twenty-first birthday, which is past,” Rex replied somberly. “I am the supreme authority of my people. As I am scheduled to go off-world to seek a spouse, I have not taken up the reins of my office — but in this time of threat, I see no choice but to do so. I intend to murder no one. Mendülay is my witness.”
“In that case, I suggest you examine any contacts you have in the transportation industry... off-world transportation. If The Synod is your goal, the quickest way to upset it is to disrupt the path between your trade goods and their planned departure. And the swiftest way to hurt Atare is to discredit what they have offered to The Synod — the services of the guaard.” Garth decided to smile when he spoke — after all, they were now allies.
“How? We have considered trade as a pressure point,” Silas offered when no one else spoke. “But we have many shipping families who charter for the tribes. We cannot stop them all — some are not... cosmopolitian, shall we say? They would spit in the eye of a Dielaan who asked them to hold off their trade.”
“And we cannot damage the Wheel,” Lucy said firmly. “It is like Amura-By-The-Sea, a neutral thing. To damage it would set back interstellar travel by many years.”
“The source, woman, you need the source,” Garth told her, shaking his head at their obtuseness. “Steal the fuel, hold it hostage — then you call the shots. The guaard patrols the warehouse district. Do you see?”
“How can we steal all the methane or liquid hydrogen —” Lucy began.
“Not the reaction mass! Take the source of the propulsion energy. Steal the antimatter.”
Silence greeted Garth’s words. Only Rex responded... a slight nod.
“Steal antimatter? How?” Lucy sounded genuinely appalled.
“Do you produce it on Nuala?” Garth asked patiently. When the group made various negative gestures, he continued: “It can travel, in the right kind of container — they call it a trap. How did you think it arrived here?”
“I never thought about it,” Lucy admitted.
“For our purposes, Nualan storage is perfect. Your people are so paranoid they don’t even trust other Nualans! Years ago, a desperate crew who arrived with no cargo tried to steal antimatter from the wheel. It was a mess — bearths gutted, station seals blown, several people killed —” Garth shrugged. “At any rate, the stationmaster said: ‘Get it off the wheel!’ So now it’s all stored in Amura-By-The-Sea. Ships try to avoid transportation costs by buying before it’s sent downworld. Of course, if their trading isn’t complete....” He rubbed his fingers together to illustrate the added costs.
“Antimatter is essential to all our off-world trade?”
“There is no off-world without it,” Silas told her. “It takes ten years Terra to get from here to Caesarea right now, and that is at one-tenth the speed of light. Antimatter is too expensive to think of going faster. But without it? The stars are but lights in the sky.”
“But does not the antimatter arrive at regular intervals?”
“Of course. You cannot corner the trade indefinitely — only slow down or temporarily blackmail the people chartering the starships. I know for a fact that antimatter arrived on the ship I came in on. Determine when a shipment comes in, and then take it. You not only make the Atare guaard look ineffective, you have control for as many days as exist until the next shipment arrives. There is no way for them to call for more, remember,” Garth added, his light gaze watching Rex’s face.
“Could we make them do what we wanted?” Lucy said slowly.
“You must decide what you want in return for the antimatter. You may have to give back part of it, say, if they agree to certain demands, and then wait to return the rest. Or... pretend you are a reactionary group.” Pretend? “You have stolen the antimatter, and if they don’t disband The Synod, or confine its activities to foreign trade only, you’ll destroy the shipment. That would destroy all trade for however long the next shipment takes to arrive. Of course, that is a last measure decision — once you destroy the antimatter, you have lost your hold over the people you’re attempting to control.”
“The power to destroy something is to hold absolute control over it,” Rex said briefly. “You have made a good point.”
“We could take it and simply keep silent,” Silas suggested. “The Synod will be tearing its hair out trying to decide what is going on. But the antimatter is well-guarded... everyone knows that.”
“No one said it would be easy,” Rex said mildly. “But there is plenty of time to decide upon the details. Others aid the guaard in their vigil, and they may be susceptible to bribery.” He smiled slightly at Garth. “Already you have been very useful to our group, Garth Kristinsson. I hope you find our little intrigues useful.”
“Not so little,” Garth responded carefully. “My parents’ vengeance is a small thing next to your throne and the trade agreements of dozens of clans, but together we may accomplish much.”
“Conspiracies weary me,” Malini murmured. “Can we not close for now?”
“An excellent suggestion, Malini. We can do little more this evening.” As Rex spoke, the clear echo of a bell reached their ears. “You must hurry to bed, cousin — that was matins, I believe.” Standing, Rex moved languidly toward the inner doors. “I will call you, Garth, when we need to speak further. Good evening to you.”
The balance of the party had risen when Rex did — now Malini and Silas followed him into the depths of Dielaan House. Remembering his previous irritation, Garth considered ignoring Lucy, and then discarded the idea. Why her little game of spy and counterspy should bother him, he didn’t know. When the relationship had appeared to be based simply on pleasure, it had felt... more equal?
Apparently little had changed on her side; Lucy seized his shirt sleeve and led him back through the smoky maze. Once they reached the antechamber below, she turned to face him. “I did not actually pursue you because Rex needed a free-trader,” she began without preamble.
“But it was convenient, wasn’t it?” Garth suggested easily.
“Well... yes.” Her voice lowered slightly. “It is so important to us, Garth! And we have had months of waiting, of nothing to base our decisions upon... we could not risk contacting any criminal element, you see. We needed people who work independently of all that —”
“The net is always intertwined,” Garth pointed out. An old memory popped out of some obscure synapse, surprising him. “I thought Nualans don’t lie.”
“Not to each other,” she agreed. “We are very sensitive to nuance. You must remember a lie, you see, and that can become complicated —”
“You searched my bag, didn’t you? Even checked my laundry labels, eh?” When she did not speak, he went on: “And reported our outings down to the last crumb on the table. Did you tell him preferred sexual positions, too?” Garth tried to keep heat from his words, but he could hear an edge to them.
“Now you are being silly,” she said firmly. “Of course I did not. When I suspected you might be useful, I introduced you to Rex. When he decided I was correct, he asked me to... investigate certain things. Would you offer such a job to someone you were unsure of?”
Now it was Garth’s turn to be silent.
“I like you, Garth,” Lucy said seriously, intense black eyes flicking upward to meet his hooded gaze. “I am glad you will be helping us. And we will help you, will we not? Surely it is easier to do this type of thing with friends.”
But you are not free-traders. You do not know the code, the rules... we are not being paid in the same coin, are we? Usually monetary gain stood at the end of a free-trader scam, but this was an elusive reward. I guess we each want justice, and are seeking it in the best way open to us. But I think I will study Dielaan a bit more, just to be sure. After all — the mark of a good politician was often the ability to lie convincingly. And if he was nothing else, Garth suspected Rex of being a good politician. And Lucy?
Ah, well. He was warned.