Downtime (3 page)

“Now
the seals are unique. Until that moment it was expedient for them to be
identical. One decemvir could act for the entire body on minor matters. A
traitor in our midst was inconceivable.”

“And
you, D’Omaha, never let on to me that you had discovered the traitor’s plan for
establishing a source,” Macduhi said. “You let me think . . .”

“It
doesn’t matter now,” D’Omaha said hastily. What she’d thought had gone beyond
the predictions, and had somehow been more painful for him than predicted, too.

“Still,
I owe you an apology.”

“And
I, you,” he said. “We did manipulate you.”

She
nodded, face impassive, then turned back to Calla.

“And
you’re going to this obscure downtime world, Mutare, to establish the traitor’s
elixir supply. Then you wait for him to come and spring the trap.”

“Something
like that,” Calla said.

“What
makes you so sure he’ll go to Mutare?”

“He
can’t afford not to. He has to be certain of his elixir supply before he
permits the war to escalate. There’s no way to do that except by going. He can’t
very well have messages coming back to the Decemvirate; he can’t guarantee that
he’ll be reviewing the stacks when they arrive, and messages regarding elixir
production don’t fail to get our attention. He will go to Mutare himself to
determine if yields are satisfactory.”

“And
he does that by not permitting the Decemvirate to come to a decision over the
elixir redistribution.” Macduhi sat back in her chair looking pale. “How did
you know it was not me? I’m the latest stumbling block, aren’t I?”

D’Omaha
nodded. “I told you that you were above suspicion. As for delaying the
decision, we’ve all had a turn. I . . . guess you were too angry
to notice how quickly we adjourned for the winter. No discussion, no attempt to
dissuade. It was prearranged. Had you failed us, Bentham was prepared to whine
about due representation for the new worlds, and Koh would have declared recess
out of desperation.”

Macduhi
pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You know, we just might smoke out the traitor
here, Calla. When the Decemvirate officially reconvenes, we could all forestall
another winter recess. The traitor would be in a position of needing recess to
have time to go to this Mutare planet and return, yet would have to be certain
no decision was made until after that recess. He’d get desperate, perhaps
reveal himself.”

“I’d
be very glad to learn my mission was in vain,” Calla said. She smiled for the
first time. “There are five other decemviri. We believe four of them are
innocent, and each of the four could have just reasons for not wanting the
recess.”

Macduhi
smiled, too. “I didn’t say it would be easy, just possible. At least you’ve cut
down the odds by having my cooperation.”

“Koh
pointed that out.”

“You
didn’t agree?”

“For
my mission, the fewer who know, the better. For hers . . .” Calla
shrugged. “It was a tradeoff.”

“Koh’s
very persuasive,” D’Omaha said.

Calla
shook her head. “She didn’t convince me. She bribed me with an offer I couldn’t
refuse.”

“What?”

“I’ll
tell you at dinner. The others don’t know either.” Calla pushed back her chair
and stood up. “I imagine we’ve delayed Stairnon’s dinner long enough. I’ll let
her know we can begin.”

When
Calla had stepped out of the sound shield, Macduhi turned to D’Omaha. “This
must be the first time the Decemvirate is not acting as a unanimous body,” she
said.

D’Omaha
closed his eyes. “Unique decemvir seals, secret meetings of decemviri who are
nothing more than self-appointed patriots, deliberate deception of our peers,
manipulating the innocent. We have not even told our own imperator general what
we are doing. We’ve taken one of his subordinates into our confidence and
excluded Mahdi.” D’Omaha opened one eye. “Pray the Timekeeper we’re never found
out. Our benevolent little subterfuge is indistinguishable from high treason.”

“Highly
irregular,” Macduhi said thoughtfully. “But the better to foul the traitor’s
probability trees, don’t you think?”

“Only
if we’re right.”

“Your
selection of Commander Calla was right. She’s a wily old woman. And the
alternative to this subterfuge is the billions of lives you were talking about
this afternoon. I’m not ready to condemn them.”

“You’re
learning, Macduhi,” D’Omaha said. “You’re learning.”

***

Neither Calla nor Koh disturbed Stairnon’s fine meal with
any hint of business. But the moment the last of the silverberry compote had
been consumed, Macduhi pulled the silk nap from her lap and turned to Calla. “Commander,
you mentioned a change in plans.”

“Not
a change so much as an enhancement,” Calla said, folding her own nap into a
neat square. “Marmion here has been studying all the available data on the
successful elixir gardens. As chief of the perfection engineers it will be his
job on Mutare to ensure the success of the new elixir garden. It’s tricky, as
you well know, to get good yields. He tells me we’ll improve our chances if
there’s a decemvir sharing the responsibility with, him. The data shows the
best yields are from the gardens with retired decemvir running them. I want D’Omaha
to come to Mutare.”

“Me?”
D’Omaha said, startled.

“But
we’re your cover here at Aquae Solis,” Stairnon protested. “It’s D’Omaha and I
who must make certain your absence isn’t discovered.”

“I
believe you can manage alone, Stairnon. I have the utmost confidence in you,”
Calla said quietly.

“I
don’t think we have to tell either of you how important this is,” Koh added, “and
that we wouldn’t ask you, D’Omaha, if there were any other way. An elixir
garden with low yield won’t hold much attraction for our traitor. We’ve given
Calla absolute authority for stopping the traitor; she thinks you can help and
I agree with her. We’ve gone too far to refuse her now.”

Macduhi
was looking at him expectantly, no doubt eager to have him out of her way at
last. He looked away from her, away from all of them to stare at the frozen falls.
Snowflakes were coming down again, melting on contact with the transparent
wall. Lives like Stairnon’s were so ephemeral. He’d be downtime, time dilation
favoring him in relation to her, and he’d be taking elixir, as well. He might
just as well be frozen in time while Stairnon . . .

D’Omaha
shook his head. “I could be gone for years,” he said. He looked at Stairnon,
her expression stoic, though she must know it would be too many years for her.
He couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing her again. “I must . . .”

“.
. . do it, of course,” Stairnon broke in. “And of course I must go with you.”

“We’ve
been friends for too long for me to mince words with you,” Calla said to Stairnon.
“It’s an outback, downtime world that isn’t even a frontier world. Nothing but
a few hundred rangers. They live in caves, have to use stellerators to go
outside. It’s much too harsh for you.”

“Nonsense.
If they’re a ranger station, they have a full clinic. I will go with D’Omaha.”

“But
my dear Stairnon,” Bentham said. “What of the subterfuge here? We do need you.
We’re counting on that steel you hide under your mild demeanor.”

Stairnon’s
voice became gentle. The effect was to still everyone and her words came across
with unmistakable clarity. “Please understand that I’m going with D’Omaha.
There’s no good reason for me not to go, at least, there won’t be once there is
no longer an Aquae Solis to draw attention.”

The
decemviri were visibly shocked. Only Calla nodded thoughtfully. D’Omaha knew
all of them realized they couldn’t simply close down Aquae Solis. Stairnon knew
it, too. No one said what was really on their minds, but all of them looked at
Marmion, chief of the perfection engineers, to see if it could be done. Marmion
sighed and nodded.

Only
Macduhi looked pleased. She wouldn’t miss Aquae Solis, nor D’Omaha and Stairnon.
“I’m curious about your plans for the rangers on Mutare,” she said to Calla. “Will
you take over the governorship?”

Calla
shook her head. “I won’t have time to run the planet. There will be too much
else to do. I’ll leave the ranger governor in charge.”

“There’s
a great deal of potential conflict in that,” Macduhi said. “A ranger-governor
is the supreme authority.”

Calla
just smiled. “I outrank him.”

“But
not . . .”

“I
don’t mean to be rude, Decemvir Macduhi, but I’ve been given complete authority
to run the operation my way. I have my superiors’ absolute confidence.” She
gestured to the decemviri at the table. “They have given me their complete
cooperation in organizing the mission in a very short period of time. As much
as possible, I’ve briefed Koh. There isn’t time to go through another entire
briefing before I must leave.”

“I
respect their confidence, but I’m not sure I share it. There’s the matter of
this downtime ranger-governor. Evaluations can’t be very current; he might be a
problem.”

“Not
to me. I knew Anwar Jason D’Estelle quite well.”

“Really?”
D’Omaha said. It was news to him.

“Really,”
Calla said, her accompanying look cutting off further questions, at least for
now. D’Omaha instantly decided to read this Anwar Jason D’Estelle’s personnel
records thoroughly, and Calla’s, too. “Have no doubt of my ability to deal with
him and anything else quite effectively.”

But
Macduhi persisted. “I know your military record, but absolute power in this
matter seems extreme to me.”

“Then
take comfort in knowing that I’ll be there, too,” D’Omaha said.

“To
assist and advise, but I’m in charge,” Calla said flatly. D’Omaha thought Calla
had gone too far, for even Bentham was frowning.

Calla
reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a scarlet jelly bean. “You gave
me this. It’s your authority to act in your name. You gave it to me because you
know I’m the best commander for this work. I cannot be bribed by elixir. Not
even your imperator general is so immune.” She chuckled almost involuntarily over
her choice of words. “You leave me in charge, or find someone else.”

“An
eleventh hour threat is . . .”

“It’s
not a threat, Koh. It’s the way it is. I knew the question would come up when I
asked for D’Omaha. And I knew what the answer had to be to keep the probability
in favor of success. And you know I’m right. I direct this operation entirely.
D’Omaha assists.”

Koh
rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Stairnon, D’Omaha, you’d better pack right away. The
mission commander has planned a tight schedule.”

D’Omaha
felt Stairnon take his hand underneath the table and give it a squeeze. There
was a touch of color in her cheeks, a trace of a smile. She was probably the
only person at the table who was completely happy with the evening’s outcome.
Not even Calla or her lieutenants could be said to look happy. Leave it to
Stairnon to take one look at these people and know that the obliteration of her
life’s work was nothing compared to what they faced.

The comm wasn’t on in Jason’s room, but he sensed the hush
that came over his rangers down in the staging area. He looked away from the
work on his desk, his glance skipping over the familiar forms of his rangers to
three khaki-clad people as they stepped off the ramp-tunnel. Each wore a
Praetorian crimson stole draped over the left shoulder, arms bare in
shipboard-style shirts that revealed their genetic tattoos. Two of them were
tall and lithe, the body style still in fashion after nearly a century of
made-to-order babies on civilized worlds. The third was remarkably short and
Rubenesque. It was Calla.

Hastily
Jason brightened the lights in his room and stood up so she could see him
easily through the window if she was looking. Apparently she was, for she
stopped, letting her officers walk on, and then she put her hands on her hips
and looked up at his balcony window. Nervously he gestured to the green spiral
staircase that led to the upper-level rooms. Calla nodded, then began walking
again in short, brisk steps.

She
was limping, he noticed with concern, more than the slight unevenness he
remembered as being her normal gait. He watched her pause at the base of the
stairs, as if contemplating their length and height before she put one hand on
the rail and the other on her thigh, then she climbed.

Ten
years since he had seen her, ten years since they had been lovers. She limped
now. What else had changed?

When
she reached the top of the stairs, Jason thought that Calla’s teeth were
gritted in pain, but she disappeared into the shadows of the corridor before he
could be sure.

“Open
the door,” Jason said, turning his back to the window. The room-tender jelly
bean, a light blue one lying on top of the heap in the transparent liquid
nitrogen-filled tank, glowed briefly, and the mitered panel of glass was sucked
into a slot in the green shale wall, opening his room to the corridor. He heard
the pronounced echo of her uneven step. Her hip had deteriorated so much in the
ten years since he’d last seen her that she limped. But what else? So much
could have happened in the thirty years since she had last seen him.

“Gold
Commander Eudoxia Calla Dovia is approaching your open door from the west
corridor,” the voice synthesizer announced.

The
jelly beans had picked up Calla’s identity from the crier all legionnaires were
required to wear. Jason could be listening to the rest of the broadcast if he
were wearing his nomenclator in his ear as he was supposed to be, but it was
lying on the trunk with his stellerator. He hated wearing either of them, and
as usual had shed them at the first possible moment when he had retired to his
room for the evening. Was Calla listening to her own? Did she know the names of
the string of backworlds he had been on these last ten years, the dates of his
promotions, that he had been certified as surveyor and marksman among other
things, and that his fiscal administrative abilities were rated superior? Was
that why she was walking so damn slow, so she could listen to the official legionary
crier? Now he cursed himself for taking off his nomenclator and wondered what
she would think of him if she caught him shoving it into his ear. She would
know he was nervous, he decided, and he let the thing lie.