Morgan's Choice (21 page)

It was half true, anyway. And maybe they
did come from the other side of the galaxy. Other questions arose
but many of them Asbarthi answered, giving Morgan a chance to watch
the faces. Most were interested, curious. One fellow in the center,
however, looked skeptical.

“This is all very well, Asbarthi,” he said at
last, “but what can these people do for our cause?”

Asbarthi pounced on him. “An excellent
question,
Hai
Sur
Dargen. We’ve tried
revolution before, in planets throughout the Union. And often we
fail. Why? Because the people do not support us. But now, we can
offer them equality. We have Professor Unwyn’s proof of our claims
and we can show them Orionar.” He waved a dramatic arm to encompass
Jones and Morgan.

Dargen folded his arms, brows lowered.
“You’re not serious, Asbarthi. Freedom for the masses?
Equality?”

Asbarthi smiled. “As much freedom as they
could know and understand. And equality? Even with equals one needs
leaders.”

Dargen inclined his head. “How do you propose
this should happen?”

“We’ve all been sowing the seeds, blaming
Murag and his security police for all that’s wrong. You’ve been
doing the same?” He waited for Dargen’s nod. “The rest of you? Yes?
And what have you heard?”

“That they’d like to rise up but they don’t
trust us,” said an older man at the end of the table.

“Yes,” Asbarthi said. “They’ve heard the
stories from Mohenyo, or Prakash. So we offer them Orionar who will
be their king and queen.”

The room buzzed.

Asbarthi let them mutter, inspecting his
fingernails for a few measured seconds. “Of course, even a king
requires advisors.”

All eyes turned to Jones.

He beamed, turning his head this way and
that. He was loving this charade. “My colleague and I are honored
to be able to assist you in your quest for freedom.”

My Lords, Ladies, join me in a toast.”
Asbarthi poured himself a glass of wine and raised it. “Here’s to
King Tony and Queen Morgan.”

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Asbarthi smoothed down the front of his red
and black striped jacket and flicked a final comb through his hair.
He smiled at himself. Last evening’s meeting had gone well. Dargen
was always going to be the main objector and he’d seemed happy
enough when he left. With the power of the Devagnam name behind
him, this morning’s discussion would be the sealer.

One last flick of his fingers at an imaginary
speck and he went along to the library. Devagnam was already there,
seated in one of the armchairs. A lovely room, this, with its deep
carpets and huge windows overlooking the garden and the distant
mountains. A collection of readers stood along a shelf, next to the
console where one selected and loaded a book. He took a moment to
admire the ceiling, a magnificent dome displaying the descent of
the Orionar down a stairway of cloud to a beautiful planet.

“Lovely piece of work, isn’t it?” Devagnam
said, following his gaze. “I commissioned Irpellan to paint it for
me. Took him a year.”

“
Irpellan? That must have cost you,”
Asbarthi said. The artist’s works hung in galleries in most of the
major centers. He had one himself, in his mansion on Pteriosis.
Until the Mirka government confiscated his assets on that planet.
Never mind. The time was near when he’d have his
revenge.

“Ah, Mellnar, Dargen,” Devagnam said,
striding toward the newcomers, arm outstretched. “Come in, come in.
I’ve ordered refreshment. Please sit down.”

The two men each locked forearms with
Devagnam, then Asbarthi, and sank down into the deep cushions of
chairs surrounding an ornate gilt-covered low table.

“Interesting performance last evening,
Asbarthi,” Dargen said. “Are they real?”

Asbarthi smiled. Trust Dargen to cut to the
chase. “Yes, real. He looks a little like the fellow on the
ceiling, don’t you think?” He pointed a finger upwards to the
figure of a white skinned man with white hair and red eyes in the
mural on the cupola.

A soft-footed servant came in with a tray and
set out mugs, a pot and a plate of delicacies, and withdrew.

“But you’re not trying to tell us they’re
really Orionar?” Mellnar asked as he lifted his cup.

“No. There is some mystery as to where they
came from but for us, it doesn’t matter. They look the part and he
is willing to say the words.”

Dargen stretched out his legs. “What sort of
mystery?”

“Oh, some nonsense about a strange ship.”
Dargen was such a mean-spirited fellow. Who cared, really? “Which
is how we came up with the story that they came from the other side
of the Galaxy.”

Dargen’s eyebrow twitched.

“We didn’t believe it, either. She’s probably
had some sort of disease and it has been covered up,” Devagnam
reached for another of the small, sweet cakes.

“Disease?” Mellnar said, jerking upright.

“
Settle down, Mellnar. Whatever it was
isn’t contagious,” Asbarthi said. “And before you ask, our contacts
in the Fleet tell me the ship was an experimental new design that
went wrong. It was taken on board
Vidhvansaka
and the two occupants kept under wraps for some
time before they were permitted to interact with the crew at all.
And then only minimally. Personally I think that’s a much more
likely source of their different appearance—some sort of accident
in this experimental ship and they were kept isolated to ensure
they weren’t contagious. It was very hush-hush at the time, so my
informants told me. It’s obvious Ravindra doesn’t think she’s alien
or strange.”

“No?” Dargen said.

Asbarthi smiled. “No. He keeps—kept her in
style, in quarters near his own. But the really important thing
about her is that she has remarkable skills with technology.
Something to do with a computer in her head.”

Dargen put the mug back onto its circular mat
on the table and pulled a face. “A computer in her head? Really,
Asbarthi…”

“Oh, yes. Hard to believe, but true. I have
received reports from Ravindra’s flagship as well as her companion.
I believe she has the knowledge and ability to help us combat the
Fleet.” Asbarthi swallowed his smirk. That had them thinking.
Devagnam, already convinced, selected another sweet from the
tray.

Dargen rubbed a finger across his lips.
“You’re sure of this?”

“I am.”

Mellnar stared out of the window toward the
mountains for a few loaded moments. When he turned back to look at
Asbarthi his eyes held a glitter of excitement. “Do you intend to
take on the Fleet?”

“Yes. Krystor will be just the start. We’ll
take over the planet then move on to the next one.”

“And she will help?”

He’d won them. Asbarthi pushed down his glee;
too early to celebrate yet. “I believe she will. It may cost
us—property, gold, a title.” They all nodded. Material possessions,
paltry within the scheme of things. “You can leave that to me.
First, we must have our people supporting us.”

“True. And I don’t think images will be
enough. I would like you to bring Professor Unwyn and the two
Orionar to a meeting of the Krystor People’s Party in my village,”
Dargen said.

“Of course,” Asbarthi said. “How do you
propose to arrange this?”

“Well, I think we’re agreed it’s time we
began to carefully show our hand?” Dargen exchanged looks with each
of the others, affirming agreement. “I’ll have a word with the
group’s convener, let him drop the word that we are changing
direction and why and then I’ll let him beg me to produce these
people.” He laughed along with the others. “It means an undercover
visit to their worker’s club. That won’t be an issue, will it?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Asbarthi said,
shaking his head. “I shouldn’t think that will be a problem at
all.”

“And from there?” Mellnar asked.

Asbarthi flung his arms out. “We disseminate
the word. Give it a few meetings, take images of the events and get
them out to the towns. Let the word spread that the Orionar are
amongst us.”

He laughed.

****

Morgan felt like one of those animated dolls
that came out of a box, smiled and waved until the power pack ran
out and then went back inside to be recharged. “Where are we going,
again?”

Asbarthi smiled down at her. “To
Hai Sur
Mellnar’s manor. You
remember
Hai
Sur
Mellnar, don’t you?”
He gestured at the open door of the skimmer. “Please…”

Yes, she remembered
Hai Sur
Mellnar. She lifted the skirt so she could
step into the vehicle. His was the first manor they’d visited, when
she was first introduced. That was five meetings ago. Wheeled out
to spout the same rubbish to the people at worker’s clubs and mess
halls all dressed up in this uncomfortable gown and these horrible
shoes. At least Jones did the talking. He loved the whole
nonsense.

“Morgan. So nice to see you again,” Unwyn
said as she slid along the seat next to Jones. “Lakshmi will not be
joining us?”

“
Not for this visit, no,” Asbarthi said,
settling into the cushions. “She has commercial matters to deal
with at home.”

Morgan wriggled her nose. A faint blossom
fragrance, probably coming from the piles of cushions, overlaid the
smell of leather. Dargen’s limousine was every bit as grand as
Devagnam’s and if anything, a little more ornate. Polished metal
curlicues and gewgaws winked in soft lighting. Totally overdone, as
usual.

No, hardly surprising Lakshmi wasn’t coming.
Asbarthi had brought her along to the last meeting they’d
attended—clearly under sufferance—and he’d only just managed to
keep her from being rude. That woman was so far up in the
stratosphere it was a miracle she could breathe.

“Please bear in mind we’ll be talking to his
Lordship’s workers,” Asbarthi said. “We need these people’s
support.”

She leaned back in the blasted cushions.
This was so wrong. Telling people they’d have a say in government,
knowing they wouldn’t. She was beginning to have serious doubts
about the whole business. But anything had to be better than the
Murag fellow.

“This world will be better off without
Murag,” Unwyn said. “I’ve heard his enforcers have come in and
stolen the harvest at a few places. It’ll be a tough year for
them.”

“Where did you hear that?” Morgan asked.

“
The shop where I buy my supplies. There’s
talk all over town. The people are not happy.”

Asbarthi grunted, a slight smirk on his lips.
Unwyn’s news obviously made him happy.

Stealing people’s harvest… that was low. And
wrong. But the other part, about who governed who; not her problem,
why should she care? After all, could she really say she
understood? The manesa were not humans; they operated under
different rules. She’d always found it remarkable that only Mirka
officers could command ships. But it worked for them. She pushed
away the image of Ravindra that sidled unasked into her mind.

The skimmer slowed and turned up a drive
flanking Mellnar’s manor house, ablaze with lights in the early
evening. The village where the workers lived lay beyond the big
house in a valley. The vehicle breasted a ridge and started down
toward the mosaic of street lights. Like all the other properties
Morgan had visited, the workers’ accommodation was solid and
durable, built of local materials. She preferred the rustic stone
buildings to the ornate confections the ‘landed gentry’ evidently
favored. The skimmer slipped down a side-street away from the
town’s brightly-lit main square and around to the back of a hall.
Asbarthi alighted first, to speak in low tones with the fidgeting
local convener who stood hunched in his dark clothes. The man
nodded and slunk away. She couldn’t imagine what the fellow could
have done to look any more suspicious.

Asbarthi gestured. “Come, quickly.”

She clutched the dark cloak around her body,
hiding the gown as best she could. A white and gold dress wasn’t a
great get-up for an inconspicuous visit, but she’d broached the
subject with Asbarthi before and had been told that the look was
the thing. She stepped out of the skimmer into cool night air that
tingled on her skin. The dress wasn’t designed for warmth,
either.

“This way.”

She followed Asbarthi, Jones and Unwyn behind
her, up a short flight of steps into the backroom of the meeting
hall. By now she knew the layout so well she could have done the
trip blindfold. They were all the same. Large outer hall, set with
rows of chairs facing a stage. The backroom served as a food
preparation area. To the left of the main hall doors gave off to a
passage lined with washrooms and meeting rooms.

As usual, Asbarthi didn’t introduce any of
them to the convener. The man glanced at her, brows furrowed,
taking in her eyes and the color of her skin. This one didn’t seem
so radiantly gob-smacked by her appearance as most of the others;
she could even have thought he was a little bit suspicious.

Asbarthi glowered at the fellow. “Shall we
get on, Brenish?”

He bowed sufficiently deeply. “Of
course,
Hai
Sur
. This
way.”

One last sideways glance at Jones and Morgan
and Brenish led the way to the stage door, Unwyn and Asbarthi in
attendance. A muffled round of applause signaled their arrival.

Jones stood next to the door, obviously eager
to make his big entrance. One of Mellnar’s security guards lounged
against the wall, picking his fingernails; the other waited
outside. Morgan sank onto a chair next to the table against the
side wall. This really was getting tiresome.