Empery (8 page)

“Triad will create a third option—through which we will be able to preserve our several cultures, our beloved home-worlds, and our self-respect. Chancellor Erickson, in the name of our own survival, I ask for a poll of the Committee on this question.”

“Seconded,” Loughridge said quickly.

Four-one or five-zero, Berberon predicted silently.

“Are you convinced that there has been enough discussion?” Erickson asked, her tone oddly cautionary. What are you thinking, Blythe? Berberon wondered apprehensively. This has a greater momentum than you realize—“It’s a simple enough issue,” Wells said. “We can choose to be helpless or choose to be secure.”

“Is that how you want the question worded?” Erickson asked with just a hint of ridicule.

For the first time Berberon saw annoyance on Wells’s face.“I put the question: Should the USS immediately begin development of the Triad Force?”

“Very well,” Erickson said. “We will see what all of us have to say.”

“A poll of the Committee on the question offered by Comité Wells,” said the secretary. “Defense—how do you vote?”

“I vote yes,” said Wells emphatically.

“Defense votes yes,” said the secretary. “Survey—how do you vote?”

Rieke had been silent until that moment, but her feelings about the Defense branch in general were no mystery and her vote, therefore, no surprise.

“I remind the other Directors that half of the Sentinels, all of the Sentinel tenders, and all of the Reconnaissance vessels are former Survey ships,” Rieke said. “I am left with just eleven major vessels to carry out geophysical and archaeological studies of two hundred systems with ten thousand planets. Survey has been emasculated, and Transport and Resource are being bled dry—all to feed the appetite of this war machine Comité Wells is creating. Enough and too much. I say no to this madness.”

Unmoved by Rieke’s impassioned preface, the secretary pressed on. “Survey votes no. Resource—how do you vote?”

“I find merit in the arguments raised by both Comité Wells and Ambassador Bree,” Sujata said slowly. “But my duties within my own branch have kept me from learning as much about Defense matters as I feel I should know before expressing an opinion. Therefore I beg the indulgence of both sides and reluctantly abstain.”

That was unexpected. Interesting, Berberon thought. Are you truly that conscientious or is it merely that you wish to avoid being caught on the losing side?

Transport was next, but Loughridge’s affirmative vote was a foregone conclusion. That left Vandekar to decide whether Wells would win a three-to-one victory, or lose on a two-two null vote.

Vandekar’s eyes were directed downward as he answered the secretary’s call, thereby avoiding both Wells’s and Denzell’s expectant gazes.

“Like Comité Sujata, I do not find the choice as simple as Comité Wells feels I should,” Vandekar said in his reedy voice. “Like my planet-kin Aramir Denzell, I fear that should war come, Liam-Won must inevitably be a battleground. Positioned as we are, we can expect nothing else. Therefore any move that might increase the chance of war—even a war we might eventually win—cannot meet with our approval. For this reason we would oppose any mission to Feghr. To hear Comité Wells say that with Triad such an endeavor might be risked chills me.”

Denzell was smiling confidently at this point, but when Vandekar continued, the smile quickly vanished.

“But I have had to remind myself that I do not sit on the Committee as the representative of Liam-Won,” Vandekar said in a tone appropriate for an apology. “I regret the position in which Comité Rieke finds herself and her branch. I understand fully the suspicion of Prince Denzell that all worlds are not being treated equally. I sympathize with Ambassador Bree’s profound observations on the intrinsic value of each member of our community. But we have limited resources. We cannot do everything worth doing. We must make choices.”

He paused, more for breath than for effect. “And I am persuaded that the better choice for the greater community we serve is to make Comité Wells’s metaphorical sword real. I vote yes on Triad.”

“A report on the question,” said the secretary. “Three in the affirmative, one in the negative, one abstention. The proposal is recommended to the Chancellor.”

Affirm it, Berberon urged Erickson silently from behind. Don’t be foolish. Triad itself means nothing. The compromise of interests is what matters. Don’t upset the balance.

But when Erickson failed to respond to the secretary’s report with her usual businesslike briskness, Berberon knew that she had decided otherwise.

“Perhaps there have been too many words said in the matter already,” she began. “Even so, I will add a few more in the hope that you will understand the action I am about to take.

“First, I believe we have a moral obligation to station a Defender not only at Liam-Won but also at Dzuba and Shinn, Daehne and Muschynka, even Sennifi, our willful isolate. I view this as a service we are extending to the various Worlds, no less than the packet schedules we set or the Kleine nets we manage. Until now we have worked very hard to avoid dividing the Worlds into the haves and the have-nots. If these vessels were worth deploying anywhere, they are worth deploying everywhere.”

His lips pressed into a thin line of displeasure, Wells shook his head as a father might react when his child disappointed him.

Berberon sank back into his chair and masked his face with a hand. Blythe, you are buying more trouble than you know, he thought sadly. For more than just yourself.

“I am also concerned,” she continued, “that the kind of decision Comité Wells proposes we make is one that a collective; body of the Worlds could justly make, but which we cannot presume to make on their behalf. The shift of strategy embodied in merely creating Triad represents a revision in the Service’s historic role that I cannot endorse.

“By means of the Shield and the Defenders, we presently provide the planetary leaders with the time and security they would require to respond to any threat from the Mizari. In the absence of any preexisting mechanism for consensus among the Worlds, to build and operate an attack force implies that we have arrogated to ourselves the right to decide when and under what circumstances that force should be used. This is something we cannot do.”

A disaster
, Berberon moaned.
Blythe, you have ambushed me
.

“Lastly I reject the sense of urgency with which this proposal is offered,” Erickson said. “There has been no contact between human and Mizari in sixty millennia. The people of Feghr have survived without knowledge of us for an equally long time. I see no reason why we need anticipate or initiate change in either area. We don’t even know that the Sterilizers themselves still exist. We proceed only on the assumption that since we have survived this long, they have as well. But it
is
an assumption, as likely to be wrong as right.”

“Nothing that powerful disappears of its own accord,” Wells said, scowling. “Not without something more powerful coming along to push them off their pedestal.”

“A correct and commendable attitude for one in your position, Comité,” Erickson replied evenly. “It serves us well for you to cast things in the worst possible light. But I am not obliged to share your view. I hereby table the Triad proposal and set aside the Committee’s poll.” She glanced down at her console. “The token has passed from Comité Wells. Comité Rieke, I believe you have some other matters to bring before us?”

Wyrena lay on her stomach at the edge of the tile, resting her chin on her folded arms and watching Janell circle the pool. The first few laps she had been furiously intense, legs thrashing the water, arms slashing down through the surface in a manner that created more spray than speed. The hard walls splashed the sound of her passage around the room such that when Wyrena closed her eyes, it had seemed as though there must be a half dozen other swimmers keeping Janell company.

But she had worked out whatever hateful energy had possessed her, and for the past ten minutes Janell had been gliding and gamboling gracefully. Wyrena watched her dive deep and lost sight of her in the reflections of the lights overhead. A moment later Janell surfaced within arm’s reach and shook her head to spray Wyrena with droplets from her hair.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” Sujata asked, smiling and panting slightly as she clung to the edge with one hand.

“Did you ever see a woman swimming the whole time you were on Ba’ar Tell?” There was a hint of impatience in the question.

“I didn’t see
anyone
swimming. Is there a pool in the entire city of Famax?”

Wyrena shook her head. “There may not be one on the planet.”

“Doesn’t anyone know how to swim?”

“Of course we know how. There is a river-bathing ceremony that is part of the
mala’nat
—the renewal.”

Sujata smiled conspiratorially. “From which we absented ourselves because the house would be empty, as I recall. Is there a reason I wouldn’t have seen women particularly?”

“Because it’s forbidden under the Code of Conduct.”

“Forbidden? Whatever for?”

“Because we poison the water.”

It was said earnestly, so Sujata stilled her initial impulse to laugh. “Just by being women?”

“Yes. When the
fraili
die or the crops grow sick, it can always be traced back to a woman swimming in the river.”

“Really,” Sujata said with a straight face, pushing off backward and coasting away on the power of a slow kick.“May as well come in if that’s the only reason. Undoubtedly I’ve poisoned it pretty well already.”

Wyrena sat up. “I don’t ridicule your faith,” she said indignantly.

“That’s because the Maranit faith isn’t cluttered up with silly rules,” Sujata said, cupping a hand and sending a sheet of water in Wyrena’s direction. Most of it fell short, though the leading edge came close enough to cause Wyrena to jump up and retreat a step.

Laughing, Sujata changed directions and came paddling back. “You really should spend some time in here yourself. It’s the best way to build up your leg strength. When we go downwell to Earth and you feel that full one gee, you’ll wish you had.”

“Are we going to Earth?” Wyrena asked, a note of anxiety in her voice.

“Absolutely and unquestionably, just as soon as I can getaway. Aren’t you curious? I’ve been wanting to go downwell ever since I came here, but there was always something more important—if less fun. Now I’m glad I was too busy, so we can discover it together. It’ll be more fun with you along. If I don’t have to push you in a sedan chair, that is!”

Sujata had reached the stairs and came rising out of the water, droplets cascading down her sleek skin and the shiny fabric of her suit. Wyrena met her at the top with a towel and a kiss. “I have so much to learn here yet,” Wyrena said. “The thought of facing a world with that many people on it leaves me breathless.”

“You’ll have time to catch your breath. We won’t be going anytime soon,” Sujata said, toweling off her matted hair. “I have too much catching up to do just now.”

With those words a hint of the inner unrest Sujata had taken into the pool returned to her face. “Why can’t you talk to me about your meeting?” Wyrena asked plaintively. Sujata shook her head. “Because that’s the rule. And because officially nothing happened.”

“You were gone four hours—”

“That’s not unusual for the Committee.”

“Four hours and nothing happened?”

“Only decisions to do something count. There weren’t any.”

“And everything else is a secret?”

“The Directors can tell their aides—the Observers can tell whatever authorities selected them. Everyone else is shut out.” Draping the towel over her shoulders, Sujata inclined her head toward the door. “Come on,” she said with a grin. “I need to shower off the poison.”

With a sheepish smile, Wyrena fell in beside her. “Maybe it’s just our way to avoid getting our long hair wet—”

“Now there’s a reason that makes sense.”

Later, enclosed in the privacy of Sujata’s suite, Wyrena made another attempt to draw her out. “Was it what wasn’t passed at the meeting that upset you?”

“No—”

“Something made you upset. It’s still in your eyes when you’re not using them to lie.”

“I was upset at myself, for being caught unprepared.” She frowned and shook her head. “I should have made time for Farlad.” Noting Wyrena’s puzzlement, she added, “The man who was in the waiting room the day you arrived.”

Wyrena retreated into the comer of the couch, her face suddenly ashen. “Then it’s my fault—that’s why you won’t talk about it with me. Because of me you shamed yourself. You see, I was right—I shouldn’t have come. The third day and already I’ve given you reason to be angry with me.”

“I’m not angry with you!” Sujata said, reaching unsuccessfully for Wyrena’s hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong—”

“If that was so, you’d share your unhappiness with me,“Wyrena said, her small voice brimming with barely contained emotion. “Who could I tell? Who do I even know? You shared with me in Farnax and never heard of any of it from other than me. Isn’t it so? Why have you stopped trusting me?”

Sujata slid along the couch and drew Wyrena into her comforting embrace. “Little one, I haven’t stopped trusting you,” she said soothingly. “But to prove it I’d have to break one of the rules I swore to follow. Unless”—Sujata drew her head back far enough that she could look into Wyrena’s eyes—“unless you were working for me, after all.”

Wyrena’s eyes showed skepticism. “It would only be a fiction of convenience.”

“Why? I need a sounding board. I’m still learning. We’ll learn together.”

“If you think it would work—”

“Of course. And I have an open req for an administrative assistant. Please—you wouldn’t be forced to have contact with a lot of people. The person you’d see the most of would be me.”

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Wyrena smiled, a warm, dazzling, faintly admiring smile. “If you really want me to, I will. When do I start?”

“Officially when I’ve filed all the approvals. Unofficially you start right now.”

In the next ten minutes Sujata outlined the highlights of the meeting, including her own vote and Erickson’s action. Like the well-bred Ba’ar woman she was, Wyrena listened without interruptions.

“I don’t understand why the Chancellor could do that,” she said when Sujata was done. “How can she simply set their decision aside?”

“Don’t think of the USS as a government. Think of it as a corporation with no stockholders. It’s only accountable to itself. And internally everyone is accountable to the Chancellor. The Steering Committee is technically there only to advise. That’s why we use the terms we do—a poll of the Committee, not a vote. A recommendation to the Chancellor, not a decision. She usually takes the recs, of course. But the only thing that we ever do that carries any authority is a Vote of Continuance.”

“The Chancellor is a very powerful person, then,” Wyrena said thoughtfully.

“That she is.”

“I’m surprised the Worlds allow this to continue.”

Sujata chuckled softly. “The thing is, it didn’t used to matter, when all the USS did was run the orbital stations and operate the survey ships. And now that it does matter, no one quite knows how to bell the cat. I’m told there was quite a fuss about forty years back. That’s when the rules were revised to admit the Observers. But that’s as far as reform got. The Service still charts its own course.”

“And the Observers don’t have any real say.”

“Except in a vote of Continuance,” Sujata agreed. “Though I gladly would have traded seats with an Observer today. The thing of it is, I very nearly voted yes. Wells was so persuasive, so confident and professional. But after hearing the Chancellor’s reasons I realized how selective his version of the issue had been.”

“I see now why you were upset.”

“I hate being caught like that. I should have realized when Farlad kept harping on it that it was important to them, even if it wasn’t to me.”

“When emotions run high, you cannot make friends without making enemies. You did the right thing by abstaining.”

Sujata shook her head. “This time my conscience demanded I not vote. The next time it will demand I do.”

“Maybe this is the end of it.”

“I don’t think so,” Sujata said forlornly. “This is going to come up again—and I don’t know what I’m going to do when it does.”

The star dome was deserted except for the two shadowy figures near its center. One lay full-length on one of the recliners, his attention focused upward on the tiny nodes of light that seemed to lie just beyond the seamless synglas. The other sat upright on the edge of a nearby chair, his attention focused on the first. Starlight alone betrayed the troubled expressions both men wore.

“She said she doubted they existed,” Wells said. “I could hardly believe I’d heard it. I feel them there, Teo. It’s as though there were a chill in that part of the sky.”

Farlad’s gaze flicked upward briefly and found the familiar outline of Ursa Major. “It’s irresponsible of her, of course. But only two firm yes votes—that isn’t much cause for optimism.”

“I prefer to focus on the fact that there was only one firm no vote.”

“What I meant is that the Chancellor isn’t likely to change her mind if that’s the most support you can muster. We can continue funding the research from other accounts. It’s just not time to build yet.”

“That’s not acceptable.”

“She sits for renewal in less than two years,” Farlad reminded. “She may step aside then. Or we may be able to. lay the groundwork for replacing her.”

“Two more years wasted—two more years vulnerable—”

“It will take a dozen years or more to build Triad once we have the go-ahead, longer than that to deploy the groups to advance bases. Against that—”

“Against that two years is still two years more in which the Mizari could act and we couldn’t. I’m disturbed enough about the window of vulnerability forced on us by the system’s lead time. I won’t tolerate opening it still wider for no good purpose.”

“I understand that, sir. I just don’t see that we have anything to say about it just now.”

To that Wells had no immediate reply. He lay perfectly still on the recliner, folded hands resting on his taut stomach, gazing out at the stars of the Great Bear. Then, in one smooth motion, he swung his legs over the side of the recliner and came to his feet.

“Thank you, Teo. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow,” he said briskly, and started off toward the exit, his long strides carrying him quickly across the floor.

“Where are you going?” Farlad called after, jumping up.

“To see that Comité Sujata is prepared to render a vote the next time,” Wells called back. “It was negligent of me not to see to it sooner.”

“What point is there to that? The Chancellor can set aside a four-to-one vote as easily as a three-to-one.”

Wells paused and looked back. “Why, you said it yourself, she knows our support has some softness. Perhaps she’ll see things differently when she feels more alone.”

Farlad glanced at the faintly glowing face of his watch.“It’s late. Sujata will be in her suite by now, surely.”

Wells waved a hand in the air. “Just as well. Sometimes the surroundings in which something is said affects how it is heard.”

Whenever Janell was away, Wyrena rattled around the apartment aimlessly. There were no rituals or rhythms to the household, no well-defined place for her yet. With a touch of the anxiety that came with custom violated or ignored, she felt a need to be needed, to be useful. But beyond some trivial straightening and putting-away, there was nothing for her to do.

Moreover, Wyrena felt unnaturally alone. Janell’s way of living was machine-dependent and streamlined to a degree that Wyrena, raised in the highly social complexity of a Ba’ar family enclave, could not have previously imagined. The formalized interplay in which she was so skillful, the carefully delineated roles in which she was so comfortable, had been left on Ba’ar Tell. She had failed to realize how much she would miss them.

Now there was only Janell.
I cannot lose her
, was the fearful refrain of her thoughts.
If I lose her, all time will be like these empty hours
. From lovers’ games Wyrena vowed to build them a comfortable web of ritual. From her lover’s cues she would carve out a complementary selfhood, making each necessary to the other, making each complete through the other.

Janell’s concession earlier that day to share what had troubled her was a beginning. The rules and dynamics of the Committee were fascinating, not unlike an undisciplined Ba’ar enclave. It was the aspect of Janell’s life for which Wyrena had felt the greatest immediate affinity, in which she could most readily foresee being useful.

Yet even in this most important task Wyrena had already made errors. She had been clinging, possessive, wanting instead of giving. Janell had said as much when she went off to discharge her responsibilities to words and numbers and machines, though the work center of the apartment surely contained everything she would need.

“Must you leave? Can’t you work here?” Wyrena had pleaded.

“I can—but with you here I won’t,” was the answer. There was no question where it placed the fault for this particular separation.

Janell had showed her how to use the net and fill a wall with light and images, but nothing in her experience had trained her to fill time with passive watching. Her solitude weighed on her, the more so because she did not know how long it would last.