This Day All Gods Die (26 page)

"There's a question you haven't asked me," he went on before she could demand, cry out, What good? "You haven't asked if I know why the Amnion are so intent on killing Trumpet. They must be terrified of something. They wouldn't risk an act of war if they didn't think the alternatives were worse."

He was right. She'd been so taken aback by the things he'd explained earlier that she hadn't pursued this obvious point.

"Angus has given us several answers," he grated. "I'll tell you one.

"Nick Succorso had a mutagen immunity drug. Hashi gave it to him. But the Amnion don't know that's where he got it. I think they want to destroy it before he makes it public.

And I think—

or Min thinks—

Trumpet went to Massif-5 to

find a bootleg lab so Vector Shaheed could analyze the drug."

"Wait a minute," Koina protested in shock and chagrin.

Wait a minute. "A mutagen immunity drug?" Hashi gave it to him? "Are you saying we have the formula for a mutagen immunity drug"—

the idea was too horrific for words—

"and

we've been suppressing it?"

Hints of ferocity glinted in Warden's tone. "On direct orders from Holt Fasner, yes. In fact, he would have destroyed the research completely if I hadn't agreed to keep it secret. For the covert use of DA.

"But ever since Trumpet left that asteroid swarm, she's been broadcasting the formula. That's something else I've kept from Holt. If he finds out before you talk to the Council, he'll get rid of me so fast you won't see it happen."

Oh, Warden, Koina moaned. Her heart trembled in her chest: it seemed as fragile as a goblet which was about to shatter on the floor. Fasner ordered you to do that, betray your .

entire species—

and you went along with it?

But he wasn't done yet. "Don't you think that should be made public?" he challenged as if he wanted her to pass sentence. "Don't you think Igensard needs to know about it?" He might have been asking, Don't you think that's more important than what happens to me? "What else is PR for, Koina?"

She couldn't answer. What was PR for, if not for this?

Her duty was obvious: to tell the truth about the organization she served—

and to hold that organization accountable for its actions. Why else had she come to work here in the first place?

After a moment she pulled herself together long enough to say, "I'll be on that shuttle, Director Dios. I'll do my job."

Just make damn sure you do yours.

Then she silenced her intercom so that she wouldn't have to hear him thank her for agreeing to ruin him. But she didn't move to get ready. Instead she put her head down on her arms and let herself grieve.

sard was an ambitious man.

Behind his carefully nurtured appearance of nondescript diffidence, he burned with an incandescent hunger. Everything he did, he did for one reason, and one reason only: to satisfy that blaze.

Scruples and doubts rarely troubled him.

His goals seemed so right and necessary to him that he never questioned them. In fact, he seldom thought about them: they were too essential to require consideration. Nevertheless he labored to achieve them with a relentless and single-minded determination which endured no obstacles. Waking or sleeping

—

although by the standards of his underlings and colleagues he slept little—

he worked for what he wanted.

To put what he wanted into words oversimplified it to the point of falsehood. Mere language gave short shrift to the intensity of his desires, as well as to the prospective glory of achieving them. However, if he could have been lured or persuaded to name his goals, he would have said that he meant to become the director of the United Mining Companies Police.

He belonged in that position: it was his natural place.

He'd been born to enforce the future of humankind—

the vast

majority of whom were nothing more than a clot of stupid sheep. And to supplant Warden Dios seemed the finest accomplishment to which a human mind could aspire.

Unfortunately he was still a long way—

a long way—

from

attaining his ambition. For that reason his energies were focused exclusively on the how rather than the why of his goals.

His appointment as the Special Counsel charged with investigating the Thermopyle case on Com-Mine Station was an important step in the right direction: it gave him leverage. Now he could proceed to larger matters.

What he intended, in its baldest terms, was to tarnish Warden Dios, either directly or through his subordinates, so thoroughly that Holt Fasner would have no choice but to replace the UMCP director. This, however, would inevitably incur Fasner's wrath—

which would in turn militate against

Maxim's appointment in Dios' place. To diminish Holt Fasner's anger, therefore, as well as to subtly demonstrate his own trustworthiness, Maxim was resolved to attack the UMCP

director in ways which cast no taint on the UMC CEO.

Thus he was outraged by that old fool Sixten Vertigus'

Bill of Severance. It transformed his investigation of the UMCP into an assault on Holt Fasner: it forced him into the position of appearing to support a threat which could only increase the UMC CEO's hostility.

He considered—

and discarded—

the possibility that he

might reach his goal without Holt Fasner's sponsorship. If the UMCP were severed from the UMC, it was of course conceivable that Maxim might find himself selected to replace Warden Dios: conceivable, but unlikely. Taken together, the GCES

Members were as stupid a clot of sheep as Maxim had ever seen. They were perfectly capable of ignoring his superior knowledge of the UMCP—

as well as his superior abilities—

for the sake of investing some fatuous figurehead with Warden Dios' authority and power.

Because of this, he was personally and viscerally furious at Warden Dios and Hashi Lebwohl. Their recent video conference with the Council had dealt him an insidious blow. His ambitions required that he extract evidence of malfeasance or defalcation from reluctant, stonewalling opponents. The importance, the sheer stature, of his investigation was undermined when his opponents voluntarily justified his accusations. That trivialized him. He wanted to ruin Dios in person: he gained nothing by simply allowing the UMCP director to effect his own end.

When the announcement that the Amnion had committed an act of war reached him—

albeit indirectly—

from GCES

President Len's office, his first action was to call Cleatus Fane.

Although such contact was premature, sudden crises required special risks. He wanted to assure Holt Fasner's First Executive Assistant that he would do everything in his considerable power to keep the UMC CEO's reputation clean in the forthcoming emergency session.

To his acute consternation, however, Fane declined to speak with him. Too busy, one of the FEA's aides explained: under the circumstances the Special Counsel surely understood. In other words, Maxim Igensard lacked the significance to gain Fane's notice at a time like this.

Bitterly Maxim queried GCES Communications to learn the truth. But he was informed that for a fact Cleatus Fane was busy: the FEA had reqqed every uplink channel which hadn't been reserved by Security, and—

according to Communica-

tions—

was "emitting enough microwaves to cause sunspots."

Maxim didn't need to ask whom Fane addressed so feverishly. The answer was obvious. UMC Home Office. Holt Fasner.

Regardless of "the circumstances," Special Counsel Maxim Igensard had no intention of diminishing himself by explaining his concerns to a mere aide. Seething like magma beneath an almost featureless surface, he went to see Abrim Len in person.

The GCES President had been cast from a different mold than FEA Fane—

if a man so malleable and apprehensive could be said to have been "cast" at all. "Can't this wait, Maxim?"

he muttered peevishly as he admitted Maxim to his office suite. "I don't have the time. My intercom is flashing like a strobe. Suddenly every constituent on the planet wants to flare his elected representative—

God knows why, the newsdogs

haven't picked up on this yet. I just finished talking to Tel Burnish"—

the Member for Valdor Industrial—

"who has a lot

more at stake than any of the rest of us, but I didn't know what to tell him except what we've heard from Warden Dios. And I haven't even started getting ready. Do you have any idea how rough preparation goes into an emergency session? More than I know how to handle, and that's a fact. We've never had an emergency session. At least not since I became President. Not since Captain Vertigus first made contact with the Amnion.

"This is going to turn out badly, Maxim. Mark my words.

We're in serious trouble." Circuitously he arrived back at his point. "I really have no time to talk to you."

Maxim gave President Len's sense of harassment the attention he thought it deserved: in effect, none. On the whole island the only thing larger than Len's palatial suite of offices was his staff of aides, advisers, secretaries, receptionists, PR

officers, and—

Maxim suspected sourly—

therapists. Neverthe-

less he offered commiseration while he diffidently steered the President toward one of the more private regions of the suite, away from the flashing intercoms and the tense scurry of subordinates.

"This is difficult for you, I know, Mr. President," he murmured. "Your responsibilities must be enormous. That's largely why I came to see you. If you'll give me ten minutes of your time, I may be able to simplify your position slightly.''

From Maxim's perspective, Abrim Len was fatuous to the point of brain-death. He was an intelligent man, however, after his fashion. " 'Simplify'?" he retorted as he and Maxim reached a quieter room. " 'Simplify,' Maxim? You must be joking. In my experience, when a Special Counsel uses a word like 'simplify,' what he means is that he's about to make my life miserable."

Maxim managed a thin smile, although he was in no mood for Abrim Len's sarcasm. "It may seem so at first," he admitted. "But if you'll hear me out, I'm sure you'll appreciate the point I want to make."

"Fine." The President folded himself onto a deep sofa like a man who wasn't sure what to do with his limbs. His teeth seemed to protrude over his weak chin. "I'll listen. At least this way I won't have to take any more calls for a while."

Maxim sat also. As a matter of policy he kept his physical profile low: at times he appeared to compress himself into the smallest possible space. He found he often gained an advantage by giving the impression that no one needed to fear him.

He began at once. A mind like his seldom hesitated.

"Mr. President, you expressed a concern that 'this is going to turn out badly.' As you say, we are in 'serious trouble.'

But you may not yet have had time to grasp just how 'serious'

the trouble is. My overriding motivation is to prevent the situation from growing worse—

within the context of my duties as

Special Counsel, of course."

"Your sentiments do you credit," Len remarked sententiously. Perhaps he knew that such vacuous comments irritated Maxim.

The Special Counsel didn't allow himself to be distracted, however. Instead he became unnecessarily pedantic—

an

oblique form of retribution.

"I have received the full text of Warden Dios' announcement that the Amnion have committed an act of war," he began. The President's office had broadcast it exclusively to the Members; but of course they had all shown it at once to their aides and advisers, just as Sen Abdullah had shared it with Maxim, and someone—

Sigurd Carsin, perhaps—

had for-

warded it to Cleatus Fane. "It's frightening enough as it stands. Yet it omits what I consider to be some salient details.

And the implications of those details—

and of their omission—

are even more frightening.

"Director Dios states that a Behemoth-class Amnion defensive has made an incursion into human space. This did not occur near their own frontier—

which might be excused—

but

rather many light-years beyond the limits of any nonhostile rationale. In fact, the defensive has broached the Massif-5 system, where it was engaged in heavy combat by UMCP cruiser Punisher."

Len fluttered his hands. "I know all that. I can read."

Maxim ignored the interruption.

"Warden Dios offers no explanation for this incursion, other than to suggest that the defensive is—

or was—

hunting

UMCP gap scout Trumpet, presumably seeking to destroy that vessel." The Special Counsel digressed momentarily. "In this he must be correct. There is no conceivable strategic benefit to be gained by an attack on Valdor Industrial. Valdor might well repulse the assault." The Station was massively armed. "The defensive might be lost to no purpose."

Then he resumed. "Fortuitously Trumpet has escaped.

And now Punisher has broken off the engagement, leaving an Amnion defensive alive in human space, in an effort to protect Trumpet further. Again Warden Dios offers no explanation, but he patently considers Trumpet—

or the people aboard her

—

more important than his sworn duty to defend human space."

By degrees a look of nausea seemed to take over Abrim Len's weak face. Maxim smiled inwardly as he continued, although his demeanor gave no hint of satisfaction—

or scorn.

"Still without explanation, Warden Dios reveals that UMCPED director Min Donner is aboard Punisher. No doubt he cites this detail to convince us that Punisher behaved correctly in breaking off her engagement."

"We're lucky." The President made an unsuccessful effort to project confidence. He may have been trying to reassure himself. "Enforcement is her job. And she's good at it. If she couldn't finish that defensive, no one could."