Traitor's Sun (26 page)

“So the matter was settled a long time ago?”

“It was, but not to everyone’s complete satisfaction—particularly not to Javanne Hastur’s. Time has not mellowed her, by all accounts, And she has a few allies on the Comyn Council, so there is likely to be a great deal of shouting and table pounding before the dust settles.”

“But that is not what troubles you.”

“No, it is not. Darkovans are very pragmatic, and they will do the sensible thing eventually. The real problem remains the Federation. We have never had an intelligence agency here—the entire idea is foreign to us. Instead we have depended on a few well-placed people in the Terran Headquarters, plus Lew Alton, who has been keeping his finger on the pulse of the Federation ever since Captain Rafe Scott resigned. Now those people are going to be ‘released from active duty,’ which is a pleasant euphemism for being tossed out on their butts, and we won’t have anyone who can keep an eye on Lyle Belfontaine and his minions. Without a few people in HQ, we won’t know what the Federation is up to, and will be dependent on only the information they permit us to hear. Lew, who is very good at reading between the lines, thinks we will be handed some sort of ultimatum soon. We have managed to keep word of Regis’ death from getting out, thus far, but that cannot last, and once word does get out it is likely that the Federation will try some sort of maneuver. So it is in our best interests to settle the matter quickly, and nothing on Darkover ever happens fast. Mikhail cannot make any unilateral decisions.”

“Why not, if he is Regis’ successor?” Katherine was concentrating very hard on his words, trying to bring her intelligence to bear on the subject, and for a moment, all her fears were pushed into the background.

“He may be the most powerful man on the planet, but he must answer to the Comyn Council, which is divided. We have never had a tyrant on Darkover, and Mik hardly wishes to be the first.”

“This doesn’t make complete sense to me, Herm. I would think that a planet of telepaths would have no trouble penetrating any intelligence agency in a flash.”

“It is not that easy, even setting aside the ethical considerations.”

“Why?”

“Because you can’t just close your eyes and start plundering people’s minds—unless you have the Alton Gift of forced rapport. Proximity is required, as well as some familiarity with the mind you would like to explore. What you get when you don’t know the subject is just a lot of noise—their argument with their lover, or how much they liked the most recent encounter, how much they loathe their work, or just that they have a terrible headache from too much drink the night before. Spying on other people is something that Darkoveans with
laran
learn is unforgivable very early.”

“So you have an advantage, but you don’t use it! That’s a little hard to believe. The temptation must be huge.”

“No, not really. For the most part, you don’t want to know what is in the minds of others, because much of it is too trivial or distasteful. If someone is mentally shouting, you can’t help hearing it, but most of that is emotions and not information. I mean, no one at HQ is going to sit at their desk, reading the most recent orders, broadcasting their thoughts at a roar. Instead they are going to be focused on the impact of those orders on their immediate circumstances—where they will be posted next or whether they can take their Darkovan spouse and children with them.”

“I see. It is kind of a relief to know, Herm. It makes me less anxious.”

“Good. I realize it will take you some time to believe that no one is going to invade your mind in the hall or at dinner. Very few of us can do that at will. Marguerida has the Alton Gift, and so does her father and her son Domenic, but none of them would ever violate you.”

She nodded, as if reassured. “I like Nico, but he certainly is a serious young fellow. And Marguerida seems very nice, the little I have seen of her.”

“She is very busy just now arranging for the funeral rites, but she lived in the Federation for twenty years before she returned to Darkover, so she will probably find interests in common with you. She was at University, a Fellow in Musicology, when she came here, and I understand that she has continued to transmit ethnographic papers for years now. And she can hardly wait to grill you about Amedi Korniel just as soon as she has a free moment.”

“I think Mikhail said something about that, last night at dinner. That, at least, is something I feel I can handle. I know a number of really scandalous tales about him—he was a great musician, but he was not really a very nice person.” Realizing, then, that there were still things of which she was unaware, she brought the discussion back to the original topic. “Is there more, Herm? I have the feeling there is something else bothering you.”

“Yes, dearest. How did you guess?”

“You always twist your fingers into knots when you are uneasy.”

Herm looked down at his hands and discovered that they were indeed interlaced. How had he never noticed that before? “As I said, we don’t have a real intelligence force of our own, but we know the Federation does. I don’t mean those at HQ. Lew suspects that someone is running a covert operation, but he has no idea who or how. We are not even certain it is a Federation agency.”

“What else could it be?”

Herm chuckled. “If I had not spent the last two decades in the Federation I could not even attempt to answer that. The Liberal Party as well as the Expansionists, the New Republicans, the Monarchists, and just about every other political power have spies of various sorts, trying to ferret out the secrets of the others, in order to expose them. How do you think that banking scandal on Coronis Nine got into the media? It was not some eager newshound that sniffed it out, but an agent of New Revelationists who leaked the thing. They love to discredit the Expansionists—it is practically their only form of sport.” They both chuckled, since the New Revelationists were famed for their fundamentalism and their disapproval of play of any sort. “Not that the rest of us did not enjoy it, of course. So, whatever is afoot on Darkover could be anything from Federation to a group I never heard of. Unlikely, in truth, because none of the various groups is likely to be interested in Darkover. Yet it is the not knowing that is disturbing.”

“But why would anyone want to do that? I mean, Darkover is not a very important planet, Herm. Wouldn’t spies be more interested in Aldebaran Five or Wolf? Places with a lot of industry or important resources?”

‘Darkover is a very mysterious place, Kate. Our very policy of information limitation, which Lew put into place and I have continued, was bound to provoke some curiosity somewhere. We just did not see the problem at first. You know—you do something to solve a situation, and then, ten or twenty years down the line, it starts to have consequences you never anticipated. We don’t know anything for certain, but Lew said there have been some disturbances recently that made him suspicious. He hoped I could confirm these, but I had to tell him I don’t know of any specific group that is casting its eye on Darkover. So, we don’t actually know we were being spied on.”

“But you think you might be.”

“Yes, that was our tentative conclusion, for all the good it did us,” he agreed reluctantly. “Let’s eat. All of this will keep.” He felt a profound sense of guilt, mingled with relief and weariness. He had kept his Kate from finding out he might be arrested, but he did not feel happy about his deception. And he knew that when he did finally tell her, there would be hell to pay.

For a brief moment, Herm wished he had never come back to Darkover at all. He felt a kind of dreadful restlessness seize him, a desire to be anywhere in the galaxy except where he was. Kate was upset. He hated that, and he knew it was not going to go away just because it made him squirm. It was as he had said—he had solved one problem, the security of his small family—without imagining clearly the consequences that would follow. And it had not taken years, but only days, to discover that his solution had created fresh trouble.

True, he felt himself born to discord, to deal with it as a cunning fellow should. But it was not supposed to affect those he held dearest in the cosmos—his wife and children. How could he have been so short-sighted not to see this coming. And how was he going to resolve it? His belly grumbled then, and Herm gave up in exhaustion. He had had no choice but to do what he had done. He was not going to fix things soon, or on an empty stomach—so he might as well eat. That, at least, was something he could do without hurting anyone.

D
omenic spent the rest of the afternoon plotting his escape from Comyn Castle, with a kind of glee he had never felt before. His grief and his fears faded into faint shadows, even though finding a way out of the vast building was more complicated than he had imagined. There were servants everywhere, and most of the exits were closely guarded. He would have to do a lot of sneaking, something he had very little practice in. The more he thought about that part the more attractive the entire scheme became. It was odd, really, and he felt possessed by some imp of wickedness in those occasional moments when he allowed himself to reflect.

If only there were not a banquet planned for the evening, it would have been simpler. But the arrival of his grandparents as well as several other members of the Comyn Council demanded such a meal, and Domenic knew he was expected to be present. He could think of nothing he wished for less than to spend several hours with Javanne glaring at him, or worse, pretending he was not even in the room. And Gareth Elhalyn was likely to be there as well. What was it about his cousin that made him so uneasy? On the other hand, it would certainly be an interesting meal, since Herm Aldaran and his family would be present, and perhaps that would distract Javanne from paying too much attention to him.

For several minutes he came close to abandoning his foolish idea. Nico found himself alternating between excitement and despair, fearful of the consequences and yet enthralled at the same time. Then he scolded himself for faint-heartedness. Rory would not hesitate over such minor considerations as duty and good manners. Maybe he should ask Rory to help him. His brother knew all the back ways and little used corridors of the building, and often employed them for his own mischief. But he rejected the idea. Certainly Rory would show him how to escape, but he would insist on coming along. It would not be an adventure if he went with his younger brother, would it? More, his brother was almost always in some sort of trouble, and it would not sit well with his parents if he got his sibling into more. Nico chuckled a little over this, knowing he was making excuses to himself. The plain truth was he wanted to get away with no one being the wiser, including, or perhaps especially, his brother.

But, how was he going to get out of attending the meal? He wracked his brains and could think of nothing immediately. Just when he was almost ready to give it up completely, Ida Davidson came to his rescue. The ancient woman had been a part of his family for as long as he could remember, and Nico felt she should have been his granny, instead of Javanne. He could barely remember Diotima Ridenow, Lew’s late wife, who had died when he was about five. So Ida had filled in the space where he felt a grandmother should be, listening to his small complaints without making him feel like a dolt, giving him music lessons, and when he turned out to be fumble-fingered at the clavier, the guitar, or any other instrument more complex than a drum, she had schooled him in song. Both his parents were very musical, but he and Rory seemed not to be. Ida’s kindness and patience had helped him over his feelings of inadequacy and now he could sing well enough not to disgrace himself. After his voice changed, he had turned into a reasonable tenor, and actually enjoyed the little quartet consisting of himself, Rory, and his uncle Rafael’s two younger children, Gabriel and Damon.

“Nico,” the old lady said, peering at him a bit short sightedly, “are you quite well? You look a bit peaked.”

“Do I?” He considered her remark briefly, and brightened internally. “I am feeling a bit off. Achey, you know?” He did not ache at all, and knew his appearance was the result of his internal struggle. Ida had no
laran
, and was never suspicious of him. Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner? Roderick often played sick when he did not want to do something, but Nico had never employed that ruse. Part of him hated fibbing to Ida, but another was practically bouncing with joy. Maybe Alanna was not the only one who felt she was more than one person.

“With all the furor we have had, I am not surprised. Now, off to bed with you. The last thing you need to do is sit through a long dinner, and if you are getting sick, you will just share your germs with everyone. I’ll have one of the servants bring you a tray.”

His heart sank. The servants! That would ruin everything. “My appetite seems to be gone, Ida.” The lie rolled off his tongue as if he had been doing it for years. “If I get hungry, I’ll ring for something.”