11

“Enjoy your visit to Anchorpoint, and thank you again for stopping in to see me,” Senator Foss said.

He shook his visitor’s hand a final time, and the man left, the door to Foss’ office sliding closed. The smile disappeared from Foss’ face, and he strode over to his desk, sitting and turning to face the viewscreen.

“Call Patriarch Rewynn,” he barked.

The call connected several seconds later, and Foss saw Rewynn sitting in his own office, back on Scapa.

“What in the name of Simi Quorn happened?” Foss asked.

Rewynn sighed. “He’s been arrested.”

“I know that, Thomis! It’s all over the news, for God’s sake. We were hoping to avoid publicity, not generate it.”

Rewynn frowned. “None of that publicity is directed at the Church. Or you.”

“Not yet,” Foss pointed out. “But now Contractor 621 knows he has an enemy on Scapa.”

“621 is on trial for murder. I imagine that’s enough to preoccupy him for the time being.”

“He should be dead,” Foss complained.

“There was a police officer dining at the restaurant,” Rewynn explained, with a shrug. “It was unfortunate timing.”

“Your men tried to kidnap him in front of a few dozen witnesses. I’m not sure we can simply blame unfortunate timing.”

Aggravated, Rewynn pointed a finger at the screen. “Gaspar, the Church has many faithful adherents, but those who are willing to kill for us are not … of the highest caliber, shall we say. I sent four men to capture one man, and apparently they were not up to the task. But regardless of what happened, Scapa’s legal system moves quickly, as you know. I’m told there is a great deal of evidence against 621, and he’s facing the death sentence. So he’ll likely be dead within a month.”

“That’s enough time for him to start poking around,” Foss pointed out.

“From inside prison?” Rewynn asked, raising an eyebrow. “I doubt he’ll get very far.”

“He has money, and powerful friends,” Foss persisted. “And the trial’s outcome is no foregone conclusion. Inaction on our part could be a grave mistake.” He eyed the old priest. “We need this problem to go away, once and for all.”

Rewynn sighed. “I would like nothing more than to be able to forget about this.”

“Are any of the faithful in the prison with him?”

“Perhaps,” Rewynn agreed. “I can inquire. And if they’re not, then we can have some incarcerated.”

 

* * *

 

The doors swung open and Foss entered, surveying the room with an appraising eye. The Senate’s private lounge was designed to look like an old law library, with leather-bound tomes lining the shelves, and plush Persian carpets covering parquet wood floors. Foss wondered if the books were real – remnants of a bygone era, imported to add authenticity – or simply fake mockups. He decided the latter was probably true, in keeping with the Senate’s penchant for falsehoods. Then he spotted Senator Tsokel leaning against one of the lounge’s bars, chatting with a bartender. Foss made his way over.

“Senator,” he said. “How are you this evening?”

The head of the Intelligence Committee turned in surprise. “Foss? I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Foss told him, smiling.

“Apparently so,” Tsokel said. “Can I buy you a drink, or is that … frowned on?”

“The Church prohibits the consumption of alcohol,” Foss agreed.

“Soft drink? Water?”

“No, thank you,” Foss demurred.

“I doubt they have any of your ‘lifewater,’ but we can ask,” Tsokel joked.

Foss forced a smile. “I’m fine.”

“Were you looking for me?” Tsokel asked.

“I was, actually,” Foss admitted. “I was hoping for some advice, from someone who has mentored so many of us more junior senators.”

“Bah,” Tsokel scoffed. “You’ll do it, too, once you’ve been here long enough. It’s only fair to pay it forward. What’s troubling you?”

“I’d like to serve the government in a more extensive capacity,” Foss told him. “There’s so much work to be done, to rid our galaxy of corruption. But I only have one vote.”

Tsokel frowned. “I know of a handful of bills that are being drafted, and other projects in play right now … if you’re looking for opportunities to lend a hand, volunteer your time, I can put the word out.”

“No, no,” Foss shook his head. “I was hoping you could help me understand the mechanics of nomination to the committees.”

“Ah,” Tsokel said, his expression souring. “I see. Well the general mechanism is fairly simple, as you probably know. When a member decides he’d like to step down from a committee, he nominates a replacement. On paper, committee heads must approve all nominations, but it’s a rubber stamp – no one’s ever been denied, to my knowledge.”

“That’s certainly how it has been described to me in the past,” Foss agreed. “But how does one go about securing a nomination? Surely a quid pro quo comes into play …?”

Tsokel took a sip from his wine glass. “Not as a rule. Generally the member stepping down picks a replacement – usually from his or her own party – based solely on that new senator’s ability to serve in the role.”

Foss cocked an eyebrow. “Deals are never struck?”

“Perhaps they are,” Tsokel said, sighing. “I’ve never heard of one, but in this day and age … perhaps.” He studied the other man for a minute, and then shook his head. “Senator, if you’re hoping to wrangle a nomination, the more polarizing aspects of your party will likely prevent you. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth. A nomination from another senator would be viewed as tacit approval of the NeoPuritan Church and its activities.”

“And you think that no one should approve of our beliefs?” Foss asked, raising his voice.

Tsokel held up a hand. “Listen, I have no wish to criticize your church, Senator. But you must know that its values clash heavily with those of the established political parties. You’re conservative in the extreme, no offense meant.”

Foss appeared to be ready to debate the point, but then decided against it. “Getting back to the committees – members are sometimes encouraged to step down, no?

“From time to time, it has happened,” Tsokel allowed.

“Are you happy with the constitution of the Intelligence Committee?” Foss asked.

“Quite happy, thank you.”

Foss changed the subject, abruptly. “That was a close call on your last re-election – a narrow margin of victory. It’s become harder and harder to raise campaign funds these days, no?”

“It certainly has,” Tsokel agreed, warily.

“If myself or a member of my party were to be nominated for the Intelligence Committee, would you approve our membership?”

“I would have to think about it,” Tsokel said, carefully.

“Because of our politics?” Foss asked.

“Partially. And your credentials, frankly. The Intel Committee requires discretion and experience. None of the members of your party have much of the latter, as of yet.”

Foss glanced casually around the room. “If you were to approve a potential nomination, I’m sure you could count on generous church donations for your next campaign, Senator,” Foss observed. “More than enough to ensure an easy victory. Especially if you were to facilitate us gaining that role by encouraging another committee member to step down.”

Tsokel’s face hardened. “Your offer is noted. But fortunately, I believe my committee will be fully staffed for some time.”

“As you say,” Foss agreed.

“Foss!”

The two senators turned to see Senator Lask approaching them. “C.J.,” Foss said. “How are you?”

“Foss, what the hell are you bugging old Tsokel about?” Lask asked. “The man just wants to sip his wine and get drunk in peace, for Christ’s sake!”

“Senator Foss and I were discussing the Intelligence Committee,” Tsokel said.

Lask snorted into his lowball glass. “Trying to weasel his way onto the team? Over my dead body. Over all of our dead bodies.”

“That can be arranged,” Foss noted, his face reddening. “Goodnight, gentlemen.”

Lask watched him leave. When the doors closed, he dropped his drunken charade. “He was making a play, wasn’t he?” he asked Tsokel.

The older man nodded. “Mm. Without any pretense of subtlety.”

Lask shook his head in distaste. “These NeoPuritans are starting to piss me off … their crazy cult wins another two seats in the last election, and now they’re acting like a NeoPuritan majority in the Senate is inevitable.”

Tsokel finished his wine and set the glass down on the bar. “It’s enough to make you wonder whether we need to be more concerned about our enemies in the Territories … or our enemies here in Anchorpoint.”