Danice withdrew a hypospray and two vials. Injecting their contents into Jonny's arm, she replaced the hypospray and brought out a full-face oxygen mask. "What's that for?" one of the guards asked as she slipped the milky plastic over Jonny's head.
"He needs a slightly enhanced air supply to compensate for his suppressed circulation," she said. "What room, orderly?"
"Three-oh-seven," the man who'd brought in the floating table told her. "If you'll all get out of the way... thank you."
Danice at his side, Jonny was pushed out into the hospital's corridor maze, arriving eventually at room 307, the numbers barely legible through the mask.
"Wait here until he's settled," Danice told the guards curtly. "There's not enough room to accommodate spectators in there."
Jonny was maneuvered alongside a bed in a crackerbox-sized alcove. Stepping to the far side of his table-the side between him and the guards at the door-Danice and the orderly reached down-
And he was flipped over into total darkness.
The action was so unexpected that it took Jonny several heartbeats to realize exactly what had happened. The flat top of the floating table had apparently rotated a half turn on its long axis, concealing him in a hollowed-out part of the table's upper section. Above him he could hear the faint sounds of something heavy being lifted from the table... felt the table moving away from the bed... indistinct voices holding a short conversation... then moving again, through several turns and a long elevator ride....
When he was finally rotated into the open again, he and Danice were alone in an underground parking garage. "Hurry," she whispered, her hands shaking as she unfastened his restraints. "We've got to get you off-planet before they realize that's not you in that bed."
"Who is there?" Jonny asked as they jogged to a nondescript gray car.
"Fritz-one of the hospital's medical practice robots." She got behind the wheel, took a deep breath. "We had a few minutes to touch up his features a bit, but the minute someone pulls off that mask, it's all over."
"You want me to drive?" Jonny asked, eyeing the tension lines in her face.
A quick shake of the head. "I need to get used to this sometime. It might as well be now."
She drove them through the garage, up a ramp, and out into the bustle of early-evening traffic. Jonny let her drive in silence for a few minutes before asking the obvious question. "Where are we going?"
"There's a freighter leaving for Palm in about two hours," she said, not looking at him. "We've bumped some ungodly number of high-stress plastic whosies to put aboard a yacht and pilot for you-you can tell him exactly where and when to part company with the freighter."
Jonny nodded, feeling slightly dazed by the speed at which this was all happening. "Do I get to ask who I have to thank for all this?"
"Do you really want to know?" she countered.
Jonny thought that one over. It wasn't a trivial question. "Yes," he said at last.
She sighed. "Well. First of all, you can lay your worst fears to rest-we're not in any way a criminal group. In fact, in one sense we're actually an official arm of the Dominion Joint Command." She snorted. "Though that may change after this. We're what's known as the Underground Defense Network, an organization that's supposed to do in this war what you and my parents' underground did in the last one. Except that we won't have any Cobras."
"You sound like one of my guards," Jonny murmured. "He the one who told you about me?"
Danice glanced at him in obvious surprise. "You're as quick as I always remembered you being. Yes, he's one of the handful of quiet liaisons between the military and the UDN, though I don't think his immediate superiors know. He's the one who put word of your arrest on our communications net."
"And convinced all of you I was worth defying the authorities over?"
She smiled bitterly. "Nothing of the kind. Everyone helping us thinks this is just another training exercise. Rescuing Prisoner From Under Enemy's Nose 101; final exam."
"Except you." The question was obvious; he didn't bother to voice it.
"I was just a kid in the last war, Jonny," she said quietly, "but I remember enough about it to haunt two or three lifetimes. I don't want to go through it again... but if the Dominion goes to war I'll have to."
"Maybe not-" Jonny began cautiously.
"What do you mean, 'maybe not'?" she flared. "You think they're going to all this trouble for the fun of it? They know Adirondack's going to be a major Troft target, and they've as good as admitted they won't be able to defend us. The plain, simple truth is that they're writing our world off and preparing us to sink or swim on our own. And for nothing."
She broke off and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Jonny. I'm sure Aventine means a lot to you. But I just can't see sacrificing Adirondack and maybe Silvern and
Iberiand too in what amounts to a war of retribution."
"No need to apologize," he assured her. "No world should have to fight for its life twice in one generation."
Danice shook her head wearily. "You don't know the half of it. The social upheaval alone... There were a lot of books written about us after the war, you know, books that listed a lot of the underground people by name. Well, the Joint
Command decided those people's lives might be in danger when the Trofts came in again, so five years ago they took everybody mentioned in any of the books and gave them new identities somewhere else on the planet. I was just barely able to find my own parents, and they still don't know where half of their oldest friends are."
Ahead, Jonny could see the starfield's control tower silhouetted against the last traces of red in the southwestern sky. "This pilot you've picked out also thinks this is a training exercise?"
"Theoretically. But Don is pretty smart-he may have figured out something else is up. Anyway, you'll have several days to discuss it." She favored him with a thoughtful look. "You really don't like this business of trusting other people with your life, do you? I suppose the habits of being a Cobra die hard."
"Not as hard as you'd think," Jonny shook his head. "You're remembering me with the eyes of a ten-year-old. Even then, I wasn't really any less dependent on other people than you are now."
Which was not, of course, an answer to her question. He didn't like depending on others, especially with so much at stake.
But it was something he could get used to.
"Committ‚ Vanis D'arl's office," the bored face in the phone screen announced.
"Jame Moreau," Jonny told her, watching her closely. If she gave even the slightest indication she recognized him...
"Who's calling, please?" she asked.
"Teague Stillman-I used to be mayor of his home town. Tell him it's important."
Jonny held his breath; but, "Just a minute, please," was all she said before her face was replaced by a stylized dome. The local "hold" symbol, Jonny supposed, automatically starting his nanocomputer clock circuit. He'd give Jame two minutes to answer before assuming the woman had called the cops instead and getting the hell out of the area-
"Hello, Jonny."
Jonny wrenched his gaze back from its survey of possible escape routes. If Jame was surprised to see him, it didn't show. "Hi, Jame," he said cautiously.
"Uh..."
"The line's secure," his brother said. "You all right?"
"I'm fine, but I need your help. I have to-"
"Yeah, I know all about it. Damn it all, Jonny-look, where are you?"
Jonny felt icy fingers closing around his gut. "Why?"
"Why do you think?" Jame waved a hand in irritation. "Never mind-do it your own way. My neck's stuck far enough out as it is."
Jonny gritted his teeth. "I'm at a public phone on V'awter Street, just north of
Carle Park."
Jame sighed. "All right. I'll be there in half an hour or less to get you. And stay put this time-understand?"
"Okay. And-thanks."
Some of the steel seemed to go out of Jame's backbone, and a small, guarded smile
even touched his face. "Yeah. See you soon."
He was there in twenty minutes flat, and even with Jonny's lack of familiarity with current styles, it was obvious the younger Moreau's car was a top-of-the-line model. "Nice," Jonny nodded as he got in beside Jame and sank into the rich cushioning. "A step or two up from Dader's old limper."
"It won't stay that way long if anyone spots us," Jame replied tartly as he pulled into the traffic flow. "We're just lucky the alert on you was limited to the military and not made public. What did you think you were up to, anyway, breaking confinement like that?"
"What did you expect-that I'd just sit there in Wrey's private limbo while the pompous idiot got a war going?"
"Granted Wrey's a self-centered grudge-holder, credit him with at least the intelligence to guard his own skin," Jame growled. "He wouldn't have left you there more than two days at the most-and he'd arranged for a Star Force scoutship to bring you here after you'd been cleared. With the extra speed scouts can make, you'd have been here four days ago-barely a day, if that, behind Wrey."
Jonny's hands curled into fists. Could he really have misread Wrey that badly?
"Damn," he murmured.
Jame sighed. "So instead of being brought before the Committee to have your say, you're right up there on the military's must-find list. I don't think even Wrey really believed his innuendo about you making a private deal with the Trofts, but the ease with which your friends got you loose has a lot of people very nervous. How'd you organize all that, anyway?"
"I didn't." Jonny sighed. "Okay. I admit I crusked up good. But it doesn't change the fact that the Committee needs to hear what I've brought."
Jame shook his head. "Not a chance. You wouldn't get past the first door of the dome."
Abruptly, Jonny realized that they were heading further out of the city instead of inward. "Where are we going?"
"To Committ‚ D'arl's country estate."
Jonny's mouth went dry. "Why?"
Jame frowned at him. "You're the one who just said you wanted to talk to someone. Committ‚ D'arl's agreed to hear you out."
"At his private estate." Where Jonny could quietly and conveniently disappear, if necessary, with no one the wiser.
Jame sighed. "Look, Jonny, I know you don't like the Committ‚, but this is the only way you're going to get a hearing. And I'll tell you flat out that you couldn't find a more receptive audience anywhere in Dome." He glanced at his older brother. "Come on-settle back and relax. I know it probably looks like the whole universe is against you right now, but if you can't trust your old pillow-fight partner, who can you trust?"
Almost unwillingly, Jonny felt a smile touch his lips. "You may be right," he admitted.
"Of course I'm right. Now: we've got just under an hour for you to bring me up-to-date on the Aventine branch of the Moreau family. So start talking."
D'arl's country estate was at least as large as the entire city of Capitalia; a rich man's version, Jonny thought once, of the Tyler Mansion and grounds of
Adirondack. With a rich man's version of security, too. The car was stopped six times by pairs of variously armed guards, and at each roadblock Jonny's enhanced vision picked out hidden remotes and backups lurking near trees or oddly-shaped statues. But the Moreaus were clearly expected, and the guards passed them through without question.
The main house was as impressive as the grounds, its exterior magnificent and imposing, its interior carrying the same underplayed sense of luxury Jonny had noticed on the Committ‚'s star ship so long ago. Personal taste, he'd thought then; but with eleven more years of politics behind him he could now recognize the additional subtle warning the decor conveyed: its owner was not a man who could be bought.
D'arl was waiting for them in a small study clearly designed for personal work rather than for public or private audiences. He looked up as they entered, waved them silently to the chairs already pulled up to face his. They sat down, and for a moment the Committ‚ gazed at Jonny. "Well, Governor-it is Governor, isn't it?" he said at last. "You seem to have made a genuine mess of your little diplomatic trip. I presume your brother has already dragged you through the roasting pit over that asinine escape from Adirondack, so I'll dispense with any further remarks about that. So now tell me why you're worth sticking my neck out."
"Because I have information about the Troft Assemblage I think you don't," Jonny said calmly. "And what may be a good chance to prevent a war. The greatest good for the greatest number-wasn't that the criterion you've always followed?"
D'arl's lip twitched in a brief smile. "Your political skills have definitely improved, Governor. All right. Let's start with why you called the Troft Empire an Assemblage a minute ago."
"Because that's what the Trofts call it, and because that's exactly what it is.
There's no centralized government, at least nothing corresponding in authority to Dome or the Committee. The Assemblage is actually nothing more than a loose-knit fraternity of two- to four-planet demesnes."
D'arl frowned. "You'll forgive me if I'm skeptical. A collection of systems working at cross-purposes could hardly have held off the Dominion's military might for three years."
"True-but I never said they always worked at cross-purposes."
D'arl shook his head. "Individual self-interest alone would guarantee disunity among that many demesnes."
"Unless there were some issue of overriding importance to all of them," Jonny said quietly. "Such as an invasion by an alien race. Us."
"Jonny, the Trofts started the war, not us," Jame spoke up. "That's not just an official line, you know-I've personally seen the records."
"Then perhaps you've also seen the records of the 471 Scorpii exploration,"
Jonny said. "That, according to the Trofts, is what started the war."
D'arl started to speak, reached instead for a comboard resting on a low table beside his seat. "I don't think I know the reference," Jame said.
"It was a minor double star system the Dominion thought might be worth a mining development," D'arl told him. "But according to this, the initial probe took place almost ten years before Silvern was hit."
"Yes, sir," Jonny nodded. "It took the affected demesnes that long to convince the others a war was necessary."
For a moment D'arl gazed at the comboard, fingers drumming on the chair arm.
"You're implying the Committee's been blind for the past thirty years." His tone was less accusing than it was thoughtful.
Jonny shrugged. "The Trofts would hardly have advertised what they probably saw as a major military disadvantage. And any dealings since then on a planetary scale or less really would look very similar to how the Dominion does things, too. But the indications were there, if the figures the Troft Ship Commander gave me are correct. Do you have the number of representatives the Trofts sent to the peace talks after the war?"
D'arl busied himself with his comboard. "They had-let's see: twenty-six Senior
Representatives. Another eighty-four aides and support personnel came to
Iberiand with them."
"Twenty-six. What size team did the Dominion send, about ten?"
"Twelve-and I remember Committ‚ H'orme complaining at the time that that seemed top-heavy." D'arl's eyes met Jonny's. "Twenty-six Troft demesnes?"
Jonny nodded. "One each from the border demesnes, the only ones whose territory would be directly affected by any settlement. But then a year later you began negotiations for the rights to the Troft Corridor, which I estimate affected eighty or so additional demesnes."
D'arl was already punching keys. "One hundred six Senior Representatives," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Eighty more, exactly."
"There were other indications, too," Jonny said into the silence that followed.
"The Ship Commander who let us go obviously felt entitled to disobey his orders when he had sufficient reason to do so. And even during the war I was captured by a local officer who kept me alive almost certainly against orders. You may
remember me telling you about that one, Jame."
The younger Moreau was frowning. "I remember... but I don't buy your explanation. This wide-open autonomy between demesnes is bad enough, but if you run it to upper military command level, too, you're going to wind up with complete anarchy."
Jonny shrugged. "I frankly don't understand it myself," he admitted. "The Ship
Commander tried to explain how a graduated system of respect or obedience based on an individual's past record kept their society running smoothly, but it still sounds like magic to me."
"All right," D'arl said abruptly. "Assume for the moment all this is true. Then what?"