Therefore the number of Members had to be kept small, manageable. And it was necessary to own a significant proportion of the “votes”: it was necessary to guarantee that enough Members would speak for the men they truly represented, rather than for the people who elected them. In some cases, this necessity was easily satisfied. For example, since Com-Mine Station belonged to the United Mining Companies, the Member for Com-Mine Station naturally defended the UMC’s interests. In other cases, pressure was required. And in still other cases, the “votes” had to be frankly purchased.
Regardless of how the “votes” were obtained, however, the purpose of obtaining them remained the same: to ensure that the real power on Earth and in space belonged not to the GCES, but to men like Holt Fasner.
The seriousness with which the Council performed its functions was in direct proportion to its refusal to recognize the realities of its own position.
Therein lay Holt Fasner’s greatest strength—and perhaps his only weakness.
MIN
o more than two hours after Warden Dios’ video conference with the Governing Council for Earth and Space, Min Donner, sometimes called his “executioner,” rode a UMCP shuttle down from UMCPHQ to Earth; to Suka Bator, an island in the Combined Asian Islands and Peninsulas archipelago, where the GCES had built the sprawling complex from which it presumed to defend and govern the human species.
The shuttle’s logs and manifests made no mention that the UMCP Enforcement Division director was aboard. She was recorded as one of a platoon of data clerks and legal advisers sent by Dios to supply substantiation—or obfuscation—for the things he’d revealed during the conference. No one announced her arrival; no one met her. Apparently UMCP officers stationed on the island as support for GCES Security failed to recognize her: certainly they failed to react when they saw her. Instead she was waved through the checkpoints and past the guards as casually as the rest of the platoon.
There was no particular cause for caution. The shuttle had been tracked continuously from the moment it left UMCPHQ to the instant of its touchdown on Suka Bator. The GCES worried about many things, but treachery that arrived by shuttle from UMCPHQ was not among them. Attacks on the Council’s authority, like threats to the Council’s safety, came not from the police, but from disenfranchised political groups on Earth—libertarians who opposed both UMC and UMCP hegemony; genophobes who opposed all dealing with the Amnion; pacificists who opposed the “militarization” of human space; “native Earthers” who opposed the planet’s dependence on space. Any number of those groups were capable of terrorism in the name of their beliefs. On the other hand, the UMCP worked hard to help GCES Security keep violence away from the island.
Apart from her air of command and the coiled readiness of her movements, none of the guards or functionaries had any reason to look twice at Min Donner.
She was known here, of course—any one of the Members, and most of their staffs, would have identified her on sight. But she didn’t give them the chance. From the entrance to the Members’ Offices wing of the complex, she disappeared into a stairwell which led to a fire exit and was therefore virtually never used. Her codes let her through doors which should have set off alarms when they were opened.
If possible, she wanted to get on and off the island in complete secrecy.
No matter how profoundly she’d been shaken by Warden Dios’ recent revelations, she was loyal to him. The same dedication which kept ED almost fanatically clean, free of the taints and ambiguities which clung to Data Acquisition like a miasma, also ensured that she would carry out her director’s personal instructions as purely as she could. The old commandment which had once guided the police in human society—“to serve and protect”—wasn’t written anywhere on her certificates of commission. It didn’t need to be: it was written in her blood.
She wasn’t impervious to doubt, not by any means—especially not now, when the very nature of the organization to which she’d committed herself was being called into question. But she understood with the clarity of pure conviction that doubt and action were fundamentally irrelevant to each other.
She wasn’t responsible for Dios’ integrity, or for the UMCP’s. She was responsible for ED’s and her own. And that was a function of action: she had integrity to the extent that she gave herself wholly and simply to the goals and duties of her position. Doubt was something she set aside in the name of her service to Warden Dios, to Enforcement Division, to the United Mining Companies Police, and to humankind.
This was essential to her. Without it she would have been paralyzed. Doubt by its very nature was omnivorous: it consumed everything. Recent events provided a good example. In his conference with the GCES, Warden Dios had given her reason to doubt his honesty. But other things he said and did—for example, the instructions which brought her to Earth now—cast doubt on the image of himself he’d presented to the Council. Whom should she believe, the private man who had sent her here, or the public figure who had effectively accused himself of selling human beings for tactical gain; of selling Morn Hyland, whose plight made Min Donner’s loyal and uncompromising heart ache like a personal wound?
If she let doubt choose her actions for her, she would be useless. She needed another standard by which to make decisions.
For her that standard was service.
Now she served by making her way with as much stealth as a terrorist up through the Members’ Offices wing to the floor occupied by the United Western Bloc. If she had any say in the matter, no one except the man she’d come to see would ever know that she’d been here.
That man was Captain Sixten Vertigus, Senior Member for the UWB. She’d arranged this meeting with him several hours ago; well before Dios’ video conference. If what he’d heard then hadn’t made him change his mind, he would be waiting for her.
Alone, if he could manage it.
A small sensor she cupped in her palm informed her that the corridor on the other side of the door was empty. That wasn’t unusual, since the corridor only existed to reach the fire exit. The real test of her planning—and of Captain Vertigus’ cooperation—would occur when she opened the door, walked down the corridor, and turned the corner. Her route so far avoided UWB reception, which was an open hive of secretaries, flunkies, and news-dogs. But no hall in the GCES complex was ever entirely empty. After Min turned that corner, she would have to pass the Senior Member’s squadron of personal and legal aides in order to reach his office.
Captain Vertigus had agreed to clear the area so that Min Donner could visit him unseen.
Well, did he do it, or didn’t he? She couldn’t hear voices; but her sensor’s indications weren’t encouraging. There was at least one person in range—
Secrecy was crucial here. What Warden hoped to accomplish would become impossible if any rumor linking her with Captain Vertigus reached the wrong ears. Personal aides were sometimes trustworthy: legal aides, never. And a stray newsdog would be a disaster.
As silent as oil, she moved along the wall and peered past the corner.
Hashi had promised that she could rely on this small sensor. For once she wasn’t irritated by the discovery that he was right. One person, ten meters down the hall—
All the desks and cubicles were deserted. Alone, Sixten Vertigus sat on the edge of a desk, obviously waiting for her.
As soon as he spotted her, he motioned for her to join him and retreated into his office.
During the heartbeat or two while he crossed to his door, she noticed the frailty of his movements. He was a very old man; and unlike other personages Min could have named, he hadn’t availed himself of rejuvenation techniques which would have muffled the entropy gnawing at his genetic code. That, in fact, was one reason why he was regularly, if otherwise ineffectively, reelected: the UWB’s population included a higher percentage of native Earthers than any Council constituent except Old Europe; and native Earthers considered it a virtue that Captain Vertigus refused to prolong his life artificially.
As the first human being ever to lay eyes on an Amnioni, he was a legendary figure. On that occasion, he had demonstrated his willingness to die for his beliefs. In addition his unfailing support of the UMCP, combined with his unswerving opposition to the UMC, gave him an aura of moral authority. He was the “esteemed elder statesman” of the GCES. As Hashi Lebwohl had once said, with his usual double-edged humor, “If Captain Vertigus didn’t exist, it would have been necessary to invent him.”
Still, for a man his age, he was quick enough to gain the relative seclusion of his office. By the time Min caught up with him and closed the door, he was seated at his desk as if he’d been there all along.
While she took a few compact security devices out of her pocket and attached them to the doors, the intercom, his data terminal, and the vid pickup, he watched her with his hands folded on the crystallized formica desktop. The skin of his hands was so translucent that she seemed to see the bones and veins through it; his eyes were so pale that he looked blind.
When she’d finished her precautions, he asked in a high, thin quaver, “Can we talk now?”
Min nodded. “I think so. As far as the rest of the complex is concerned, this room has ceased to exist.” She grinned bleakly. “If we killed each other, nobody would know about it until someone opened the door to check on you.”
Captain Vertigus leaned back in his chair; with one unsteady hand, he rubbed a wisp of hair off his forehead. “In that case, Director Donner”—if she listened only to his voice, not to what he said, he sounded like an invalid—“I hope you’re not disappointed to find that I’m practically dead already. Hardly worth killing.”
Apparently he’d misunderstood her. “I’m not—” she began.
He dismissed her interjection. “In fact,” he continued, “I’m hardly worth all this secrecy. As you saw, I was able to send my people away”—he fumbled a shrug—“on various pretexts. That shouldn’t have been possible. Not for an important man like the Senior Member for the United Western Bloc, who might reasonably be expected to start raving or froth at the mouth in the absence of his retinue. But I’m sad to say that it was easy.
“I’m a relic here. My time has passed. If you let yourself be seen coming or going, Director Donner, you would give me more status than I’ve had for many a year.”
Min studied his features for a moment. If he already felt this defeated, this useless, he would be difficult to persuade. Suddenly she wondered whether she was the right person for this job. Presumably she’d been chosen because Warden Dios trusted her. Also because she had a reputation for single-minded devotion to her duties: the perception that she was immune to purely political agendas and manipulations enhanced her credibility. But precisely because she was single-minded in her devotion, she couldn’t be sure of her position here. Whose game was she playing? Whose game was Warden playing?
With her ingrained lithe readiness, she took a seat across the desk from the Senior Member. To mask her uncertainty, as well as to learn what she was up against, she asked, “How did that happen, Captain Vertigus? How did you become a relic?”
“I made a political mistake,” he replied frankly. He may have wanted to be sure she had no illusions about him. “One morning I sat here—at this very desk—and realized that I was old.
“For some reason, this struck me as grievous, because it meant that my work would not continue. You probably know what I considered my work to be. One quality I’ve observed in Warden Dios’ people is that they are exceptionally well prepared. You wouldn’t have come here—or wouldn’t have been sent—if you didn’t know what my work, my ‘mission,’ was on the Council.”
“Nobody sent me,” she put in abruptly. “This is my idea.” She was always abrupt when she lied. Honesty was a compulsion which she suppressed with difficulty.
Captain Vertigus put her assertion aside with another shrug and resumed his explanation.
“In simple terms, Director Donner, I considered it my duty to oppose Holt Fasner in all his ambitions. And I considered it my work to investigate him—to study what he did and how he did it until I could learn the facts which might persuade other people to oppose him with me.
“I won’t bore you with a long account of my reasons. My only personal contacts with him occurred when he briefed me before Deep Star first went into what is now forbidden space, and when he debriefed me afterward. However, they were enough to set me on the road I’ve followed for the rest of my life.”
Caught by curiosity, Min tried another interruption. “What did he say to you?” She was inherently interested in anything anyone might tell her about the Dragon.
Captain Vertigus squinted at her as if he had trouble focusing his eyes. “Nothing definitive, I’m afraid. Nothing objective enough to sway other people. He’s too cunning for that. All I can tell you is this. He left me with the settled impression that in his own mind nothing larger than himself exists. In his own person he considers himself bigger than the United Mining Companies, bigger than the Governing Council for Earth and Space, perhaps bigger than all humankind.
“This proves nothing, I know. Nevertheless I found it profoundly disturbing.
“But I can’t expect other people to understand that, Director Donner. I can’t expect other people to act on it. So I don’t usually talk about it. Instead I look for objective evidence to back up my fears.”
Min nodded. She felt that she understood perfectly.
“Isn’t Maxim Igensard doing the same job?” she asked.
“Perhaps.” The Senior Member considered the question. “He’s more recent, of course. You might say he’s after my time. And I”—he pursed his mouth—“distrust the quality of his ambitions. Like my own Junior Member, Sigurd Carsin, he appears to have set himself against Warden Dios and the UMCP rather than Holt Fasner and the UMC. I consider that suicidal. In my darker moments, I consider it culpable.”
Then he shook his head. “But it doesn’t matter what I think of him. He came along long after I made my mistake.
“On the day when I realized that I was old, I decided to entrust my investigations to my subordinates. Let younger and more energetic men and women do the work, while I used my position and what I hope I can call my credibility to act on what they learned.
“You probably know the rest. My subordinates turned out to be in Holt Fasner’s pay—directly or indirectly, it doesn’t matter which. My investigations disappeared, never to be heard of again. It’s a sad story, in its way”—the sorrow he conveyed was complex—“but its sadness has to do with the foolishness of old men. I’m afraid you’re wasting your time here.”
“I doubt that.” Min found herself on stronger ground than she’d expected. He may have been trying to warn her against relying on him; in effect, however, he’d identified himself as a kindred spirit. “I think I’ve made an unusually good choice.”
He adjusted the posture of his fragile bones. Trembling slightly, he raised his hands to rub his forehead and cheeks as if to soften the strain of focusing his gaze. “In that case”—his voice was thin with age, but it seemed to carry an odd echo of hope—“maybe you should tell me why you’re here.”
Min Donner wasn’t a woman who hesitated. “It’s a sensitive matter,” she began, “as I told you when we spoke. Too sensitive to be discussed without elaborate precautions.” She gestured at her security devices. “Even the downlink isn’t safe enough.”
In fact, she’d first placed her call to the Senior Member in Godsen’s name rather than her own. The PR director always had public, unquestionable reasons to talk to GCES members: she didn’t. She hadn’t revealed herself until Captain Vertigus had assured her that her call was private.
“The problem is simple,” she explained. “I want you to do something for me. But if anyone ever realizes that I had a hand in it—that you’re doing it for me—you won’t succeed.”
The Senior Member waited without lowering his hands or shifting his gaze.
“I want you to introd
uce a piece of legislation for me. And I want you to do it fast—say tomorrow morning. In case I haven’t already made this clear, I want you to do it entirely in your own name. Keep me out of it. Take the fact that we talked about this to your grave with you. Otherwise it won’t pass.”
As an afterthought, she added, “And don’t trust it to any of your aides.”
“Director Donner,” Captain Vertigus retorted with a hint of asperity, “I’m not stupid. I learn from my own mistakes almost routinely. And”—he shifted forward to face her more closely—“I make my own decisions. Just because I’m old and defeated and would like to end my life—shall we say, on a more positive note?—doesn’t mean I’m willing to be your puppet. If you want me to do something for you, you’ll have to convince me.”
Min permitted herself an iron smile. “I know that, Captain Vertigus. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”
He snorted his disbelief. Nevertheless he sounded mollified as he muttered, “Flattery will get you nowhere.” Leaning back again, he demanded, “Well, what is it? What do you want me to put my name on?”
Frowning because she was suddenly reluctant to carry out her commission, she reached inside the data clerk’s plain worksuit she wore and pulled out a sheaf of hardcopy. The longer she talked to Captain Vertigus, the more she liked him—and the less she wanted to get him into trouble. However, her loyalty to Warden Dios and the UMCP compelled her.
Grimly she tossed the hardcopy onto the desk.
“I want you to introduce a Bill of Severance which will take the police away from the United Mining Companies. Decharter the UMCP completely. Reconstitute it as an arm of the Governing Council for Earth and Space.”
Then she paused to wait for the captain’s reaction.