Read Ghosts of Columbia Online
Authors: L.E. Modesitt Jr.
Tags: #Science Fiction, #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Alternate History, #United States, #Literature & Fiction
Ghosts of Columbia (25 page)
I walked slowly back to the house. My gut reaction was to run, but that was
clearly what Warbeck or Waetjen or vanBecton had in mind. Somehow I had to put the light back on them—get suspicions raised about the watch.
clearly what Warbeck or Waetjen or vanBecton had in mind. Somehow I had to put the light back on them—get suspicions raised about the watch.
I smiled grimly. Perhaps I could plant a rumor or two, get their pot boiling and force them to act hastily. In the meantime, I had a lot to wind up—one hell of a lot.
The first thing I did was polish my prints off the two nuts and put them into the false drawer in the bedroom, the one containing miscellaneous “evidence.”
I needed to get my geese in order, so to speak, because I doubted there was much time left before the rotten grain hit the mill wheel. Part of dealing with a problem lies in how you set things up before everything starts flying, and some of that is hard evidence, and some is how you handle the paperwork—and the truth. I decided that my approach would have to be truthful lying, so to speak.
It was late by the time I had finished and printed all four memoranda. After flicking off the difference engine, I began to reread the copies I had printed.
I studied the first memo. Not so polished as I would have liked, but, given the contents, and its accuracy, I doubted that the press would balk too much.
| FROM: | Ralston McGuiness |
| TO: | WLA |
| SUBJECT: | Psychic Research Budget Reviews |
| DATE: | October 10, 1993 |
Background
The Budget Review Office has identified more than a dozen concealed university-based psychic research projects, including those which have already been compromised by some form of public disclosure, such as St. Louis …
The majority have been funded under Babbage-related research lines within the Defense Ministry budget …
This research has identified clear potential for implementing deghosting techniques …
Despite public denials, Speaker Hartpence receives regular reports on major projects …
Leaders of virtually all major religious orders, but particularly those of the Anglican-Baptists, the Roman Catholic Church, the Spirit of God, the Unified Congregation of the Holy Spirit, and the Latter Day Saints, have taken positions firmly opposing such research …
International Considerations
Similar psychic research is ongoing in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, as reported in both international media and by the Spazi …
To date, Spazi reports (attached) indicate that agents of Japan, Austro-Hungary, and New France have been definitely identified in conjunction with espionage surrounding Columbian psychic research …
Several unsolved murders, including the Vanderbraak State University incident, appear associated with such espionage … clear indications that Speaker Hartpence’s staff has begun efforts to divert inquiries onto either New French sources or even former government personnel …
Recommendations
Since the presidency has no power over the actual composition and disbursement of Defense Ministry funds and since the Speaker has publicly avoided any comment on psychic research, bringing the matter before the national media would probably prove counterproductive at this time. Some media favorable to the Speaker would attribute any exposure of the Speaker’s covert psychic research program to pure political motivations.
Likewise, attempting to meet with the Speaker could also prove counterproductive …
Recommend that you continue to use budgetary analyses and disclosure in areas where a greater public sympathy and understanding exist, and where the Speaker’s policies run counter to that public sympathy, such as the size of naval forces and the need for totally free transoceanic trade …
Also recommend that you avoid any discussions or comments about psychic phenomena and research funding. This one is a loser!
I grinned. While it certainly wasn’t perfect, it had just the right feel. It even sounded like Ralston, and the twist was, of course, that the disclosure of the memorandum would be totally against its contents, which would reinforce its validity with the press. Even the sensationalist videolink reporters would appreciate that.
The second memo I had composed dealt with the upcoming presidential budget review of the Defense Ministry outlays.
| TO: | GDvB |
| FROM: | Elrik vanFlaam |
| Budget Controller | |
| SUBJECT: | Psychic Research Budget Reviews |
| DATE: | October 12, 1993 |
The new Babbage engines being used by the president’s budget examiners have greater integrative capabilities than the earlier models. In addition, the president’s budget task force on program funding distribution now has the capability to cross-index disbursements by program category and amount, and such analyses are proceeding.
A leak from the black side of the budget has also been integrated, which will reveal psychic research disbursements by region. Plotting these against the institutions receiving funds will clearly outline the scope and magnitude of the program.
In view of the Speaker’s avowed disavowal of Defense Ministry research on psychic phenomena, the publication of any such analyses could prove somewhat difficult to reconcile.
The budget controller’s memo was almost innocuous, except for the last line. That was the trick—to make each document as innocuous as possible, but to have the composite paint a damning picture. That way, it also gave the reporters away to claim that they had “discovered” the scandal, rather than having it handed to them.
The third memo, to GH (Gerald Hartpence) from CA (Charles Asquith), apparently just dealt with press office support. Again, the implications were almost totally between the lines.
| TO: | GH |
| FROM: | CA |
| SUBJECT: | Press Support Allocations |
| DATE: | October 15, 1993 |
As discussed, we have reassigned another press officer to provide logistical and informational support to the psychic research issue …
The new fact sheets showing a comparative decline in all psychic research will be ready shortly, as will a full briefing book …
We should be ready to brief you on the initiative to assume credit for the Japanese initiative …
“Whither goest thou?” asked Carolynne.
“I’ll make these available to the press.”
“Is there no pity sitting in the clouds?”
No pity? “The time is past for pity—that is, if I want to keep my head somewhere close to my body.”
“With treacherous revolt … this shall slay them both …”
“Probably. Except … is a false document which brings out the truth a forgery or a fraud?”
Carolynne looked at me, and I thought I saw tears in her ghostly eyes, and then she was gone. I wished I could have gone to bed, or held her, or something. But I couldn’t do any of those things. Instead, I began to create another false document. Because it was meant to be crude, it didn’t take that long. I even printed it up in the cheap-looking Courier style.
WHY DO THE NEW HEATHEN RAGE AGAINST THE SPIRITS?
The corrupt government in our federal city has conspired to destroy the spirits of our fathers and forefathers. A man is nothing without his spirit. The haughtiest and the mightiest shall find that their possessions and their worldly attributes shall be for naught, and that their wealth shall avail them nothing …
After reading the diatribe of the “Order of Jeremiah” through, I printed ten copies on draft on my cheapest copy paper, addressed the necessary envelopes, then went up to bed and collapsed.
O
n Thursday morning I awoke alone, as was definitely getting to be even more common, in a cold and silent house, with snowflakes drifting lazily in the darkness outside my window. The snowflakes were sporadic and mostly disappeared even before I started my running.
n Thursday morning I awoke alone, as was definitely getting to be even more common, in a cold and silent house, with snowflakes drifting lazily in the darkness outside my window. The snowflakes were sporadic and mostly disappeared even before I started my running.
I paused by the door, glancing down at the white enamel of the kitchen windowsills, polished virtually every day Marie came. Then I took a deep, cold breath
before jogging down the drive. Running in the dark wasn’t that much fun, and I had to cut my climb to the hillcrest short of the ridge because I needed to drive to Lebanon to meet a train and return well before my eleven o’clock.
before jogging down the drive. Running in the dark wasn’t that much fun, and I had to cut my climb to the hillcrest short of the ridge because I needed to drive to Lebanon to meet a train and return well before my eleven o’clock.
I hurried through making breakfast, deciding to shower and shave after I ate. When I sat down to the hot rolled oats and milk and a strong pot of Russian Imperial tea, I thought about wiring Llysette, but, given her moods in the morning—especially at six o’clock—decided to hold that until later.
After cutting an apple into sections, and slowly chewing, I thought about what else I could do to anticipate whatever disaster would hit, but there’s a time to act, and a time to respond. Unhappily, the situation still required me to respond mostly—at least until I could find a lever to unbalance vanBecton. So far, he’d kept pushing, and I hadn’t responded until now—with my upcoming distribution of the cheap-looking flier from the “Order of Jeremiah” and the letters from Gerald Branston-Hay.
The memos would come later, and vanBecton wouldn’t know that they were from me—assuming everything went as planned, which it wouldn’t. In any case, that meant he’d have to push farther. I just hoped I could dodge the next push, or that it wasn’t fatal.
In the meantime, delivering my hastily created fliers meant getting them to their destinations without a direct link to Vanderbraak Centre. I did know how to do that. Unfortunately, it meant driving to Lebanon, which was why I had dragged myself up so early.
/ With that cheerful thought, I rinsed the dishes and headed up for the shower. Pausing at the landing window, I watched a few lazy white flakes drift toward the partly covered lawn before shaking myself back into motion.
I took Route Five south through the scattered flakes before I got on the Ragged Mountain Highway west. I passed Alexandria and the biomass power plant just after seven, slowing for only one hauler filled with wood chips.
The rest of the drive to Lebanon was quiet, with only a few haulers and steamers on the road. I was standing trackside at the station a good ten minutes before the express stopped. I’d already posted the first letter from Gerald to Minister Holmbek in the box outside the station. The second would be posted from Styxx on the way back to the university.
The conductor looked for my ticket as I stepped up.
“No ticket. Need to mail these.” I held up the letters.
He smiled, a knowing smile that acknowledged I wasn’t supposed to do it, but that he’d seen more than a few men or women who needed faster post service on some debit payments. “Make it quick, sir.”
I did, smiling at the conductor on the way down the mail car steps, and resting somewhat more easily knowing that the postmark would be from New Amsterdam.
On the drive back to Vanderbraak Centre, I thought a lot, probably too much, but I did drop the second letter from Branston-Hay into the postbox in Styxx. I doubted either would really get to Holmbek, but they might, although that wasn’t
their main purpose. The copies I’d kept were the useful ones. Then I reflected and went inside, almost right after the Styxx post center opened, and bought an inordinate amount of postage, knowing that I would certainly need it. If I didn’t, the money would be immaterial. The clerk shook her head, her white bonnet bobbing as she did.
their main purpose. The copies I’d kept were the useful ones. Then I reflected and went inside, almost right after the Styxx post center opened, and bought an inordinate amount of postage, knowing that I would certainly need it. If I didn’t, the money would be immaterial. The clerk shook her head, her white bonnet bobbing as she did.
With the sun up, I saw a handful more steamers on the way back, mostly battered older farm wagons.
As I finally neared the square in Vanderbraak Centre, I did keep an eye out. A little paranoia never hurts, especially when you know they are out to get you, but there wasn’t a local watch steamer in sight, not even when I pulled up in front of Samaha’s.
Louie Samaha and another white-haired man glanced briefly at me and lowered their voices—another sign promising trouble—as I retrieved my paper. Wonder of wonders: there were actually two papers in mister Derkin’s box, the first time I’d ever seen anything there. Perhaps he did exist.
With a nod to Louie, who nodded back as I left the silver dime on the counter, I scanned the front page of the
Post-Courier
, but the dirigible-turbo fight dominated the ink, and even the charge that Governor vanHasten’s son had forged his father’s signature to a cheque given to a well-known Asten courtesan was but a tiny story below the fold.
Post-Courier
, but the dirigible-turbo fight dominated the ink, and even the charge that Governor vanHasten’s son had forged his father’s signature to a cheque given to a well-known Asten courtesan was but a tiny story below the fold.
Llysette’s Reo was not yet in the car park, but again, that was not especially surprising, not since I was relatively early.
Gilda smiled briefly from the main office.
“Good morning, Gilda. How are you on this wonderfully warm and bright morning?”
“Doktor Eschbach, how kind of you to inquire. Your presence brings light into all of our lives … just like a good forest fire brings warmth to the creatures of the wood and vale.”
“I do so appreciate your kind words.”
“I thought you would. Doktor Doniger is most unhappy, and I think it concerns you, since Dean Er Recchus called him out before he could even finish his coffee, and he was mumbling about former government officials.”
“How absolutely cheering.” I bestowed an exaggerated smile upon her, and she responded in kind. Then I went upstairs, where my breath almost steamed in the cold of the hall that the overhead glow squares did little to relieve, and unlocked my office.
After getting settled behind my desk, I penned a short note to Llysette, wishing her well with her rehearsals and conveying more than mere affection, then slipped it into an envelope.
By then it was still only a quarter before ten, and, not wanting to waste too much time, I reluctantly dug into the Environmental Politics 2B papers. My reluctance was indeed warranted, given the dismal quality of what I read. Why was it so
hard for them to understand that, just because a politician claimed he or she was environmentalist, politicians were still politicians? After all, the subsidies for steamers and the fuel taxes weren’t enacted for environmental reasons but strategic ones. Speaker Aspinall never met a tree he didn’t think needed to be turned into lumber or a coal mine that he didn’t love—but he pushed both the subsidies and the taxes through. Why? Because Ferdinand and Maximilian—the father, not the idiot son who was deGaulle’s puppet—would have strangled Columbia if we’d ever become too dependent on foreign oil. Now, the taxes are seen as great environmental initiatives. I tried not to lose my breakfast at the soupy rhetoric asserting such nonsense, and instead contented myself with an excess of red ink.
hard for them to understand that, just because a politician claimed he or she was environmentalist, politicians were still politicians? After all, the subsidies for steamers and the fuel taxes weren’t enacted for environmental reasons but strategic ones. Speaker Aspinall never met a tree he didn’t think needed to be turned into lumber or a coal mine that he didn’t love—but he pushed both the subsidies and the taxes through. Why? Because Ferdinand and Maximilian—the father, not the idiot son who was deGaulle’s puppet—would have strangled Columbia if we’d ever become too dependent on foreign oil. Now, the taxes are seen as great environmental initiatives. I tried not to lose my breakfast at the soupy rhetoric asserting such nonsense, and instead contented myself with an excess of red ink.
At ten-thirty I trotted down to the Music and Theatre Department, since I knew Llysette was teaching Diction then. After putting the envelope in her box, I turned to Martha Philips. “Don’t tell her it’s there. Just let her find it when she will.”
“That’s mean.”
“I hope it’s romantic. We need that around here, especially these days.”
“These days … ? Wasn’t that terrible about Dr. Branston-Hay’s accident? Such a nice man. And his boys, they are so adorable. And then the fire.”
“Fire?”
“Didn’t you hear? Last night, the electrical box shorted. It was terrible. They lost everything—all his years of research, and his own Babbage system. At least they escaped.”
“At least …” I shook my head. “It wasn’t in the paper. I didn’t know.” So much for Branston-Hay’s backup disks. VanBecton wasn’t leaving much to chance.
“It will be. Poor woman.”
“Strange. First Miranda’s murder, then this. The watch hasn’t been able to do much. You know, after her murder, they even called in the Spazi?”
“They did?”
“There was a big gray Spazi steamer parked right next to the watch office for two days.” I shook my head. “Gerald was doing some sort of research for the Ministry of Defense. He didn’t like to talk about it. I wouldn’t either, I suppose, not with all the other fires and accidents happening at Babbage centers at other schools. Still, the feds won’t let on, and probably poor Chief Waetjen will get the blame for not solving the crimes. And another fire.” VanBecton liked fires, or this was a way to pin it on Ferdinand.
“Ah, do you think so, Doktor Eschbach?”
I grinned. “Given the federal government, is there any doubt?” I grinned. “I need to go, and please don’t tell Doktor duBoise. Let her find it when she picks up her messages.”
“I won’t.” She smiled faintly, as well she might, since her husband was on the town council that had hired Chief Waetjen.
That had been one of the purposes of my visit, that and reminding Llysette
that I was still around. She had been reserved, or was it just preoccupied with her opera production coming up? Or was I withdrawing from her?
that I was still around. She had been reserved, or was it just preoccupied with her opera production coming up? Or was I withdrawing from her?
I waved briefly to Hector as he was placing snow shelters over the bushes beside the music building, but didn’t see Gertrude anywhere. Hector waved back, in his somber but friendly manner, and I marched back to the Natural Resources building, where I repeated the same conversation with Gilda, not because she was connected to anyone in particular, but because she talked to almost everyone about everything. Except with Gilda, I added one more twist.
“I wonder if the Spazi have their fingers on the chief.”
“Don’t they have their fingers on everyone?”
We both laughed, but Gilda’s laugh died as the good Doktor Doniger marched toward his office.
“Gilda. Where is the memorandum from the dean?”
I went upstairs, actually reading through the text assignments—novel concept—and reviewing my notes for my eleven o’clock before I trudged through the snow flurries to Smythe Hall for Natural Resources 1A.
“I beg your pardon for my breathless arrival, and I do know that you are waiting breathlessly.” I held up my hand. “Unfortunately, a number of matters have retarded my arrival, including a few recent deaths.” I waited. “I assume you have heard about the accident that killed Doktor Branston-Hay? I hope it is not part of the unfortunate pattern of accidents involving professors at university Babbage centers across the country.” I shrugged.
“Accidents?” finally came a whisper.
“You should read the press more closely. However, in answer to your question, there have been explosions and fires at a number of Babbage centers across the country. I do not know if students have been killed, but several professors and staff have died. There was even one incident in Munich. Now, enough of noncurricular speculation! What about solid deposition?”
I looked around the room. “Mister MacLean? What is solid deposition?”
I got a blank look, but eventually, someone got the idea. We didn’t get into carbon, and I had to spend far too much time explaining why it was highly unlikely that significant quantities of VOCs would ever be present in any form of atmospheric deposition, solid or liquid.
A faint glimmer of sunlight graced my departure from Smythe, but it vanished as I entered the bright redbrick walls of the student activities building.
After wolfing down the bowl of bland chicken noodle soup at the counter in the activities building, I returned to my office through another, heavier snow flurry, and finished grading the Environmental Politics 2B papers. The last papers weren’t that much better than the first.
Since I hadn’t heard anything from Llysette, I dialed her number at about quarter to two, but there was no answer. I shrugged and gathered together the papers.
The grass wore a thin sheet of white flakes, but the brick walkways were
merely damp, and the snow had stopped falling before I left the Natural Resources building. Perhaps three students nodded to me as I crossed the green back to Smythe. I nodded in return, but all three looked away. I must have looked grim. Either that or the word was out that Professor Eschbach was flattening all markers, or whatever the current slang on the korfball court was.
merely damp, and the snow had stopped falling before I left the Natural Resources building. Perhaps three students nodded to me as I crossed the green back to Smythe. I nodded in return, but all three looked away. I must have looked grim. Either that or the word was out that Professor Eschbach was flattening all markers, or whatever the current slang on the korfball court was.
My Environmental Politics 2B class almost cowered in their desks, except for one brave soul—Demetri Panos, a Greek exile. What he was doing in New Bruges, I never understood. He shivered more in a classroom under a coat than even Llysette did outside:
“Professor, you will be generous in considering our faults?”
I had to smile.
“If your faults show effort and some minimal degree of perception, Mr. Panos.” I felt safe saying that, since he’d actually gotten a B, a low B but a B, one of the few. Then I began handing back the papers, trying to ignore the winces and the mumbles.
“… not graduate school …”
“… what does he want …”
I did answer the second mumble. “What I want from you is thought. You have brains. You should read the material, make some effort to comprehend it, and then attempt to apply what you have learned to one of the topics. For example, take the second topic, the one dealing with whether real environmental progress has been made, or whether most of the environmental improvements of the past generation occurred for other, less altruistic, reasons. Were the petroleum taxes pushed through by Speaker Aspinall for environmental reasons, or because the Defense Ministry pointed out the need to preserve domestic petroleum supplies with the drawdown of the Oklahoma fields and the difficulties in extracting North Slope oil?”
Other books
Patrick by Stephen R. Lawhead
The Flawed Mistress (The Summerville Journals) by Brazear, Margaret
Mythology Abroad by Jody Lynn Nye
Frontiers Saga 10: Liberation by Ryk Brown
Incarnate by Claire Kent
Scent of the Heart by Parker Williams
Dead on Arrival by Lori Avocato
A Way to Get By by T. Torrest
Ransomed MC Princess #1 by Cove, Vivian
The Sisters Brothers by Patrick Dewitt