The Gap into Madness: Chaos and Order (34 page)

“He sounds
like a traitor, doesn’t he?”

Sixten
stared back at Igensard as if the Special Counsel were a kaze who might go off
at any moment.

“But
here’s the interesting part, Captain Vertigus — the part that should make you
rethink your intransigence. If Milos Taverner was receiving illicit payments,
they didn’t come from Angus Thermopyle. He had no money. The evidence of his
datacore is irrefutable on this point.
He had no money.
Despite his
legendary reputation, he wasn’t even able to accumulate enough credit to repair
his ship.

“We’re
left with a fascinating question, Captain Vertigus. Who paid Taverner to help
Thermopyle?” Maxim nearly spat the words. “Who
benefited?

“When I
get Council authorisation to req the UMCP’s financial records — especially
Hashi Lebwohl’s — I believe I’ll learn the answer.

. “Think
about ‘functional details,’ Captain Vertigus. Think about ‘worse fates.’ Call
me if you change your mind.”

As if
he were a juggernaut, massive and unstoppable, Igensard hauled open the door
and left.

Sixten
continued to stare at the door after his visitor was gone. At the moment he
couldn’t imagine — or perhaps merely couldn’t remember — what he’d hoped to
gain by frustrating the Special Counsel. Who benefited? He didn’t want to know.
All he wanted was sleep. Everything else was muffled by the precipitous
drowsiness of the old.

Warden
Dios, what are you
doing?

With an
effort, he remained awake long enough to lean over his private intercom and
mutter, “You might as well come out of hiding. He’s gone.”

A voice
replied promptly, “I’m on my way.”

She’s
paying attention, he observed to no one in particular. That’s good. One of us
ought to.

Consoling
himself with that thought, he let himself fall into the dark without Maxim
Igensard’s provocation.

 _

 _

Once again the sound of
his intercom pulled him out of dreams he couldn’t recollect and didn’t care
about.

“Captain
Vertigus?” Marthe’s replacement was barely thirty — only a kid. To his ears,
confused by sleep, she sounded like she’d just crawled out of her crib. “UMCP
Director of Protocol Koina Hannish is here to see you.”

He
sighed. “Send her in.”

Warden
Dios had paid Milos Taverner to frame Angus Thermopyle. So that the Preempt Act
would pass.

Where
does Personnel get these damn children? he muttered to himself while he
straightened his clothes. Does she think I don’t know who Koina Hannish is?

For a
moment or two he missed Marthe so acutely that tears came to his eyes. She’d
been his aide — executive assistant and personal secretary in one — for as long
as he’d sat on the GCES; and for at least the last fifteen years, ever since
his wife died, she’d been his only real companion. The knowledge that she could
be blown to bits just because someone somewhere with access to kazes and no
heart had taken it into his head to wish death on an old man made Sixten feel
bitter and brittle.

My
position doesn’t depend on such functional details as honour or malfeasance.
Show me the Number of the Beast etched on Warden Dios’ forehead, and I’ll say
the same.

Bullshit.

Koina
Hannish came into his office while he was still trying to rub the tears off his
cheeks.

She
stopped when she saw him. “I’m sorry,” she murmured quickly, “I’m intruding. I’ll
wait outside.”

He made
a gesture of denial. “Don’t bother.” Then he beckoned her in, flapped one hand
to tell her to close the door. “Take my advice,” he growled thinly while he
blinked his eyes clear. “Don’t get old. It makes you soppy.”

Koina
did him the courtesy of taking him at his word. Radiating kindness despite her
immaculate professional manner, she shut the door, crossed to the chair
Igensard had recently vacated, and sat down.

“Captain
Vertigus, you can be as soppy as you want with me,” she said softly. “I don’t
mind. In fact, I like being reminded that there are still people in the world
who can be touched.”

Sixten
didn’t want to discuss old grief — or more present despair. Given the choice,
he found his failures easier to contemplate. To deflect Koina’s attention, he
muttered, “I take it you didn’t get the impression that Special Counsel Maxim
Igensard can be touched?”

He didn’t
intend the change of subject as a reproach, however, so he was glad to see that
she didn’t appear to take it as such. In any case she made the adjustment
smoothly.

“Not
really.” Her smile was detached; comradely in an impersonal way. “He seems too
driven for that.” Then she shrugged. “He’s doing his job. These questions have
to be raised. For that matter, they have to be answered.” She hesitated briefly
before remarking, “I’m still not sure I understand why you wanted me to
overhear your conversation.”

Tears
continued burning at the backs of Sixten’s eyes as he faced her. He wanted to
ask nakedly, Is it true? You work there — is it true? Did Warden Dios pay Milos
Taverner to betray Com-Mine Security so the Preempt Act would pass? But he wasn’t
sure that he could bear her response. She might say something that would do his
courage — not to mention his convictions — more damage than he could sustain.

Instead
he did his best to concentrate on her own uncertainty. “Is there a problem?”

“Well”
— she considered the situation as she spoke — “it does put me in a rather
compromising position. I know something I shouldn’t about the Special Counsel’s
investigation. And Warden Dios is my boss. Do I tell him what I’ve heard, or do
I keep it to myself? If he’s corrupt, he should be caught and stopped. But if
he’s honourable, he deserves a chance to defend himself.”

Do you
believe he’s honourable? Sixten wondered. But he didn’t challenge her because
she might not have an answer. She was new to her job, if not to PR: she might
very well not know whether the UMCP director was malign or honest.

“I can’t
help you with that,” he replied more brusquely than he intended: pain and time
left him too fragile to match her kindness. “You’ll have to trust your
conscience.

“But I
wasn’t trying to cause you trouble,” he went on with better composure. “I didn’t
know what Igensard was going to say. As I’ve already told you, I’m afraid you’re
in danger. It can’t be an accident that both Godsen Frik and I were attacked on
the same day. Men like Godsen and me have been safe for decades. His
association with Holt Fasner protected him. And I —” He spread his hands
weakly. “I’ve been safe because I don’t represent any danger.

“I have
to ask myself what’s changed. And I can only come up with two answers. One is
the Special Counsel’s investigation. I don’t know how or why. Frankly, I can’t
imagine how either of us is relevant. But that’s no worse than the other
answer, which is that someone wants to stop me from introducing this Bill of
Severance. Again, I don’t know how or why. And it doesn’t make sense in any
case. Nobody — except you, now — has any idea what I’m about to do.”

Except
Min Donner, he added to himself. If she set me up, she’s crazy, and we’re all
doomed.

“I wish
I could think of some other explanation,” he told Koina thinly. “I’ve tried,
and I can’t. But under the circumstances I can’t ignore the possibility that
you’re next.”

She
frowned as if she were thinking hard. “I appreciate your concern,” she replied
slowly, “more than I can easily explain. I’m new to my position. And until
Director Dios promoted me, I served under Godsen Frik.” She shrugged
delicately. “That taught me a rather jaundiced view of Protocol. In fact, I was
reluctant to be promoted. The prospect of being asked to do the same kind of
job Director Frik did was” — her mouth twisted — “unpleasant. However, since
Director Dios persuaded me to accept the assignment, I’ve begun to feel
differently.

“Your
concern for me — your willingness to take the risk that your efforts might be
opposed because you spoke to me — has given me an interesting litmus test for
the people I serve. My ‘conscience’, as you call it, required me to tell
Director Dios of your concern.”

Trying
to conceal a sudden pang, Sixten assumed his prunelike expression. Oh, God,
what have I done? How many of us have I betrayed?

“His
response,” she went on intently, “was just what I was praying for. He told me —
I wish I could quote him as convincingly as he spoke — he said, ‘We shouldn’t
be talking about this. We shouldn’t know about it at all. If and when the
question of a Bill of Severance comes to your attention through normal,
public
channels, our position is one of strict and absolute neutrality. Our only
legal authority for what we do comes from the GCES, and it is the proper
business of the GCES to make decisions about that authority. We accept those
decisions, whatever they might be.’”

Sixten
twitched uncomfortably. “I’m still worried. It’s easy to say things like that.
If you have the voice for it, it’s easy to say them with conviction. I know you
were doing what you thought was right, Director Hannish, and I don’t blame you.”
Warden Dios had paid Miles Taverner to frame Angus Thermopyle. So that the
Preempt Act would pass. “But I’m afraid you’ve given him time to figure out how
to stop me.”

She
shook her head. A complex conviction of her own showed in her eyes. “He also
told me I’m in no danger. He was quite clear about it. He assured me that the
attacks on you and Director Frik had nothing to do with your bill.”

Sixten
forgot to keep his mouth pursed. He stared at her, too full of astonishment or
horror to be careful. “You mean he knows what’s really going on?”

Koina
held his gaze firmly. “He didn’t say that in so many words, but the implication
was unmistakable. And he told me that the next GCES session might shed some
light on it.”

Sixten
could hardly contain himself. His high voice sounded like a yelp. “You mean he
even knows what’s going to happen in the next session?”

She
nodded. After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “That’s when I realised I
believed him.”

“Even
if Igensard is right?” he protested. Even if Dios bribed Milos Taverner to
frame Angus Thermopyle?

She
didn’t falter. “Even then.” Her eyes were as clear as gems. “Somehow I don’t
think the Special Counsel has the whole story.”

Afraid
that he might start to weep again, Sixten raised his hands to his face and
ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. What did it
mean?
For God’s
sake, what was Dios
doing?
The UWB Senior Member was old;
too
old; he’d lost whatever capacity he may once have had for dealing with
conspiracies and crises. Min Donner had —

Abruptly
his heart stopped. In a blaze of inspiration or paranoia he imagined what it
would be like if a kaze went off in the Council hall while the GCES was in
session. With a vividness which appalled him, he felt the carnage; saw bodies
sprawling like scrap among the wrecked furniture; heard the slow, bitter
dripping of blood from the walls.

After
which naturally Warden Dios would have no choice but to declare martial law,
take over the government of all human space himself; answerable only to Holt
Fasner.

That
was exactly the crisis a Bill of Severance would prevent. If it passed.

Sixten’s
pulse began racing to catch up with his fear. He found himself in a cold sweat,
shivering feverishly while perspiration turned to ice on his forehead and ran
down the sides of his jaw.

Min
Donner had set him up. She’d put his life on the line in an attempt to stave
off a future which Warden Dios — if no one else — could see coming.

“Captain
Vertigus?” Koina murmured anxiously. “Are you all right?”

No,
Sixten insisted to himself, groping for sanity. It was too much. Too blatant;
too brutal. No one would go that far. Even Holt Fasner the megalomaniac wouldn’t
go that far —

“Are
you all right?” Koina repeated more urgently.

—
unless he was provoked.

Unless
Igensard’s investigation threatened the Dragon in ways Sixten couldn’t imagine.

Then he
might do anything.

With an
effort, Sixten faced the PR director. “Take my advice.” His voice shook; he
couldn’t control it. “Don’t get old. It gives you nightmares even when you’re
awake.”

“Captain
Vertigus,” she breathed, “Sixten, is there anything I can do? Can I get you
anything? What do you need?”

I need.
I need. He could hardly think of an answer. I need to make up my goddamn mind.
I need to just
face it
and take the consequences.

Or
yield to Igensard. Start running and never stop until this pitiful excuse for a
heart cracks open and lets me go.

Barely
able to form words past the pressure in his chest, he croaked, “Who do you
trust?”

“Trust?”
She stared at him in confusion.

“I mean
besides Dios. Somebody you know — somebody in UMCPHQ. Who do you trust?”