House of the Wolf (Book Three of the Phoenix Legacy) (23 page)

Still, mortality is a fact of life.

Perhaps he was so much aware of his own mortality because he’d been given in Alexand, and now in his sons, a sense of posterity that had long been absent from his thoughts. And he felt no dread for his mortality now, none of the old, exhausting sense of futility. These two infants, like the fact of Alexand’s living, changed everything, and Galinin was close to tears, so overwhelming was the new sense of hope, a sense of the reality of a meaningful future.

He gazed at the imagraph, then, frowning in preoccupation, rose.

“Excuse me a moment. There’s something I must have Selig do, and he may as well get started on it.” He went to the desk without waiting for any comment Alexand might have made; he was too intent on his purpose. At the desk, he switched on the intercom. “Master Selig, are you alone?”

Selig looked anxiously out at him from the screen. “Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Somewhere in your files there must be a proper documentary form for a Chairman’s decree of amnesty to an envoy of the enemy.”

“Uh . . . why, yes, my lord. I don’t recall ever having need for . . . for such a document, but I’m sure—”

“Find it, and prepare it in quadruplicate, or whatever is necessary. The name of the decreed envoy will be Alex Ransom, First Commander of Fleet Operations, the Society of the Phoenix.”

Selig dutifully wrote it out, but he couldn’t conceal his astonishment. Just as dutifully, he asked no questions, except, “When I have the document prepared, shall I bring it in for your signature, my lord?”

“No, I’ll ’com you when I’m ready. Thank you, Selig.”

Alexand had risen to stand at the windowall. As Galinin returned to his chair, he looked around at him, eyes reflecting amazement, and beyond that, wondering gratitude.

“Grandser, you haven’t even heard the terms yet.”

Galinin shrugged. “Well, then, perhaps we should get to that—unless you have more surprises for me.”

“I do have something else. An offering I make to you personally, not to the Directorate.”

“Something under the table to insure my support?”

“That doesn’t seem to be necessary. It’s more in the nature of something to
free
you to offer support. To free you of Selasis. Grandser, Karlis Selasis
is
sterile. Yes, the rumors are true. I can’t provide proof, however; not the kind acceptable to the Board of Succession. But you don’t need proof; the Chairman can demand a Board investigation without presenting evidence. The proof will present itself in a simple physical examination.”

Galinin felt his pulse quickening, and for a time he could only look up at Alexand, searching his face for an answer that was there, yet he still had to ask the question.

“Alexand, are you
sure
beyond a doubt?”

“I’m sure. I wouldn’t offer it otherwise.”

“No, of course not.” He sagged back into his chair, staring at the imagraph still in his hand. “If only I’d had the courage . . . I came so close to ordering a Board investigation before the wedding.” But that, he reminded himself, was weeping over birds flown. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “The Directorate is meeting tomorrow morning—as you’re no doubt aware. I’ll present you as an envoy then, and I think that would be a very auspicious time for the Board to get my investigation order.” He laughed caustically. “I hope I don’t miss seeing Orin’s face when the news reaches him.”

“And I hope I’m with you.”

“Yes, well, I suppose we must put our grim anticipation aside for now. Is that the last of your surprises?”

“If there are more, they’ll be surprises to me, too. So on to the terms.” He settled himself in his chair again, facing Galinin. “These things generally fall into three categories: threats, offers, and demands.”

“Mm. Well, you may as well begin with the threats.”

“That seems to be the accepted order. First, we threaten a continuation of hostilities. Obviously we can’t maintain hostilities indefinitely on an overt military level, but you don’t know our limits there, and we
can
maintain them indefinitely on a covert subversive level, a far greater threat, since we’re already well entrenched in every branch of the Concord.” Then Alexand turned to the windowall, putting his face in profile to Galinin, and there was an inexplicable transformation, a forbidding coldness in his eyes as unnerving as it was unexpected.

He said, “The second threat is the Brother.”

Galinin stared blankly at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve gone to the trouble of informing yourself about the Brother; you know the extent of his influence among the Bonds.” He looked around, regarding Galinin with chill detachment. “I’ve preached submission and peace to the Bonds all these years, but I can as easily preach resistance and revolt, and I can make it, in their eyes, a holy war.”

“Alexand! You—I can’t believe you’d do that. You know what it would mean.”

“Anarchy? A third dark age?” He shrugged negligently. “Well, my lord, we’re already well along that path.”

Galinin was incapable of responding to that, a part of his mind assuring him it couldn’t be true, another reeling with the realization of a monstrous error in judgment. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, that air of casual ruthlessness vanished, and Alexand shook his head slowly, his eyes haunted with memories.

“No, Grandser, the Brother will never preach war. His power is a gift of the Lamb. I’ll admit that to
you
, but to no one else. The other Directors will have to deal with a warmongering Brother as a very real possibility.”

Galinin took a deep breath. “Well, you make it a very convincing possibility.”

“It
must
be convincing. At any rate, that concludes the list of threats. As for the offers, some are the obverse of the threats, of course. A cessation of hostilities on all levels and the pacific influence of the Brother. We also offer the rather abstract potential of the Phoenix as an ally, as a repository of knowledge, a research institute, and a data gathering and interpretation facility. As such, it has no parallel in the Concord. It’s an incalculably valuable tool.”

“Yes, I believe that, but it
is
a rather abstract concept.”

“True. As abstract as the real aims of the Phoenix—something that will not enter into the negotiations. But we have some offerings that will demonstrate the value of our intellectual and technological capabilities in concrete terms.” He reached into a pocket hidden under his belt, took out a tape spool, and handed it to Galinin. “You can scan this at your leisure. It contains descriptions and specifications for various processes and devices ranging from centrifugal ore separators, to power systems amplifiers, to a modified electroharp. In all, there are 1,200 items. They’ll be distributed by the Board of Franchises, and there’s at least one for every House suitable for development under existing franchises.”

“Very politic,” Galinin commented wryly as he pocketed the spool. “That should make the Phoenix a bit more palatable to the Court of Lords.”

“And the Directors. They haven’t been excluded from the largesse. We also have another invention to offer, but it isn’t listed on that spool.” He paused, looking directly at Galinin. “The matter transmitter.”

“Ah. Then it
is
something more than a myth.”

“You know it is. Its potentials as a strategic weapon are obvious—and perhaps it should be listed among our threats.”

Galinin tilted his head to one side, studying Alexand. “And the Phoenix is willing to surrender this weapon to the Concord?”

Alexand smiled coolly. “Not to
surrender
it; to offer it in exchange for what we want. And the MT is much more than a weapon. It’s one of those profound inventions, like nulgrav or SynchShift, that will change the very shape of civilization. It will be a far more practical method of moving goods and passengers over interplanetary or interstellar distances than anything now in existence. And, Grandser . . .” He hesitated, smiling to himself. “Andreas . . . Dr. Riis, who birthed this profound invention, is a man of almost romantic vision. He sees the MT as humankind’s door to the stars.”

Galinin saw the wistful light in Alexand’s eyes and knew Andreas Riis wasn’t alone in that “romantic” vision.

“I hope he’s right, Alex. But forgive me for bringing you down from the stars so rudely—what about the matter transmitter for planetside transportation?”

At that Alexand laughed briefly, his tone brisk as he replied, “The MT’s efficiency drops sharply in comparison to existing modes of transport at distances of less than ten thousand kilometers. It won’t be a threat to Hild Robek.”

Galinin frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“The term ‘threat’ in this context? There’s a stipulation to this offer, Grandser. The MT will be presented
only
to the Concord as a whole, to be operated and administered by a Concord agency comparable to Conpol or Conmed. But, because its efficiency is relatively low at short distances, the MT in the Concord’s hands will offer the Robek Planetary Transystems no appreciable competition.”

“I see.” Galinin frowned on finding himself tugging at his beard again. “But it
will
offer Badir Selasis competition. I’m surprised you didn’t include this as an under-the-table offer along with Karlis’s sterility. It’s as much a threat to Selasis. Alex, this . . . traitor of whom you warned me, does he know about the matter transmitter and this stipulation?”

“Yes, and he can tell Selasis about them.”

Galinin felt the static charge of fear; it seemed to come from the very air around him.

“Can he tell Orin what you’ve told me about Karlis?”

Alexand hesitated, then finally nodded. “Yes.”

Galinin didn’t pursue the potentials in an alliance between Selasis and the traitor, but he was beginning to understand the real dimensions of Alexand’s warning.

“Well, have you any other offers?”

“No, Grandser, no more offers. Which brings us to the demands. First, of course, amnesty for all Phoenix members and the immediate release of any now in SSB custody. Second, the Phoenix will be removed from the realm of traitors and thieves. Or enemies. I don’t know what it will eventually become; a working partner of the Concord, ideally, but a kind of silent partner.”

Galinin nodded. “Legalization is not, I assume, the end of your demands.”

“No. Our second demand is the reinstatement of the Lord Alexand DeKoven Woolf with full powers intact as of his ‘death.’ ”

That wasn’t at all surprising; Galinin fully expected it, and yet it brought another frown.

“That might complicate the Woolf succession.”

“It will complicate more than the succession. So will our final demand.” His left hand closed into a fist, then opened again. “The existing declaration of succession to the Chairmanship names Lord Woolf as your immediate successor, but
I
was to be your true successor by virtue of my Galinin genes.”

“Yes. As a matter of fact, that declaration still stands as written. Some of the Directors found it advantageous to leave the question of Phillip’s successor to the Chairmanship unresolved for the present. But I’m sure you know that, and I’m wandering. Or perhaps I know what you’re going to say, and I’m not sure how to deal with it.”

“Would you find it unacceptable?”

“Put it in words so we can both be sure we know what we’re talking about.”

He smiled at that, but only fleetingly. “The Lord Alexand, fully reinstated, will be made direct successor to the Chairmanship.”

Galinin could almost have anticipated the choice of words, including that depersonalized use of third person, the same formal mode used in reference to “Lord Woolf.”

Alexand asked again, “Would you find it unacceptable?”

“No.” He pulled in a deep breath. “I wanted you in that damnable chair eventually, Alexand, and your genes were only a convenient rationale. Evin should have fallen heir to it; he was trained and had quite a remarkable aptitude for it. But when he was killed . . .” Strange, the memory was still weighted with pain, even after twelve years. “I took a good look at you then. You were only—what? Seventeen. Still, I saw something in you; recognized it, perhaps. No, Alex,
I
don’t find it unacceptable. The problem is that it means bypassing Phillip. It’s not that he’s so ambitious for that chair. No one in his right mind really wants it, but one must always consider the alternatives. However, if
I’m
willing to accept you as an alternative, I have no doubt he’ll accept you.”

“Or will he only accept your decision? I can’t afford to have the Lord Woolf as an enemy on the Directorate.”

Galinin sighed, and it was with a little relief that he saw the mask of detachment slip briefly. What Alexand meant was that he didn’t want his
father
as an enemy.

“I think he’ll accept
you
. I don’t mean to say he’ll welcome you immediately. He’ll need time to get past the initial shock and that peculiarly parental reaction of resentment when you’ve suffered grief or fear for a child, then find it well and safe.”

Alexand said tightly, “He has every right to resent his suffering. And his grief . . . for Mother.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Grandser, I didn’t know. I didn’t know about Mother.”

“I’m sure you didn’t.” Galinin left it at that, saddened by the revelation of the travail of guilt only hinted at with those words. Elise would never have wanted her son to bear such a burden for her. “Let me talk to Phillip, and give him some time, if possible. Once he gets past the shock, he’ll see your resurrection as a miracle, as I do. But back to the Woolf succession. Relegating Justin to the position of second born will serve to antagonize Sandro Omer, and you don’t want him as an enemy on the Directorate, either. However, there’s another possibility. I haven’t made a declaration of House succession yet. Rather foolish at my age, I know, but in looking over the selection of nephews and cousins, it didn’t really seem to matter whom I named. But you would be a logical—and genetically appropriate—choice. And if you were heir to Daro Galinin, that might make it easier for the Lords to accept you as direct heir to the . . .” He frowned, realizing he’d lost Alexand’s attention.