Shadow of the Swan (Book Two of the Phoenix Legacy) (38 page)

All this brought him under the intent scrutiny of his peers in the Court of Lords, and he welcomed it and enlarged his campaign to seek converts among the Elite. In 3098 he published privately a treatise titled grandiosely,
The Future
of Civilization and the Imperative of Emancipation
, which was condemned as subversive by the Board of Censors, but still had wide circulation among upper-class Fesh and the Elite. Most of the latter viewed it with dismay, but some were attracted to its principles. Of course, few Lords were interested in reforms affecting the Fesh and Bonds; they were attracted to the idea of divesting the Directorate of its power. It should be noted that most of Mankeen’s Elite converts were Lords of landed Houses who felt themselves increasingly overshadowed by industrial Houses, and with some justification. On the Directorate at that time, there were only three landed Houses. (And there are only two now.) During the years between his ascendancy to the Lordship in 3090 and 3102, Mankeen established a broad base of support in both the Fesh and Elite, and in the latter year he was joined by 135 Houses in flatly refusing to meet the Confederation tax levy for the year.

The ploy stunned the Confederation, but it didn’t have quite the results Mankeen hoped for. He hoped that a mass show of dissatisfaction would force the Directorate to recognize the error of its ways and consider his reform demands. He asked for a Directorate audience so he could present those demands himself, but his request was pointedly ignored by Chairman Arman Galinin, Benedic’s successor. Instead, Galinin ordered Conpol and Confleet units into the rebellious Houses to take from their granaries, warehouses, and House banks goods or monies equal to the taxes owed, and to remove bodily from their compounds enough Bonds to fill the tax conscript quotas, as well as serving notices on the requisite number of Fesh of allegiance shifts to the Confederation. There was no resistance on the part of the dissident Lords; there wasn’t time to organize any meaningful resistance even if they had had the men and weapons for it.

Mankeen was both humiliated and enraged, but far from crushed. In fact, that bold move on Arman Galinin’s part was in some ways an error because it incensed so many Lords who had previously been neutral or only slightly sympathetic to Mankeen and drove them into his League. But I wonder what else Galinin could have done? If Mankeen’s reform demands had been more reasonable, perhaps Galinin might have considered them; as it was, he couldn’t, nor could he tolerate any Houses escaping their tax obligations.

The confrontation taught Mankeen one lesson: that, as the Bonds put it, “Might makes its own Rightness.” He quoted that maxim in a lettape to his friend and supporter, Lord Alric Berstine. Mankeen realized he needed might for his Rightness, but that was easier said than done. Ships and weapons were manufactured and distributed solely by the Houses of Selasis and Corelis, both staunch Confederationists, and it was unlikely they would sell Mankeen or any of his allies so much as a freight tender or handgun.

But the confrontation also polarized opinion among the Fesh, and one of them was in a position to put the requisite might in Mankeen’s hands. That was the First Commander of Confleet, Scott Cormoroi. He was one of those individuals the Phoenix would give a Critical Potential rating of one—a person in a crucial position at a crucial time.

Ben Venturi was only half listening; he’d heard it all before. Ussher was going into another oration. The Council meetings were sounding more and more like the weekly “general membership assemblies.” The rallies.

Ben sat motionless, eyes shifting from one face to the next, his stomach churning painfully.

It was inconceivable.

The subject under discussion wouldn’t even have been broached six months ago. None of the councilors—except Ussher—would have given it serious consideration. Now they were not only considering it, it was accepted as a foregone conclusion, something inevitable and desirable.

War.

Ussher called it a “full-scale military offensive.”

He kept referring to the General Plan ex seqs, and a military offensive
was
clearly indicated as the most effective way of forcing the Directorate to the bargaining table, but with his usual selectivity, he ignored the equally clear indications that the offensive must be limited to well defined parameters—which he had already exceeded—and that any attempt at bargaining would be futile without the LR-MT.

But Predis Ussher was getting worried.

With good reason, Ben thought grimly. The enthusiasm of the members wasn’t what it used to be; he didn’t draw the flocks of avid sycophants every time he appeared in an open gathering, and attendance at the rallies had dropped to a little over a thousand last week. With every passing day, more members slipped out of his grasp. A few of the disenchanted joined the still covert opposition, but most moved to neutral territory. He was still chairman of the Council, and no overt challenge had been made to his leadership.

Still, Ussher felt the loosening of his hold, and now he was fighting to regain it, to strengthen it. That was the real reason for his war on the Concord. If he promised victory—a word he had introduced into the Phoenix lexicon—and made the promise convincing enough, the members would forgive him anything.

Erica had predicted this. It was a calculated risk in the war of nerves that had been so successful in goading Ussher into behavior that served to disillusion the undecided and even converts without a word from the opposition.

The risk had been calculated, but what couldn’t be calculated was the fact that Andreas Riis was still—five and a half months after his arrest—a prisoner of the SSB. Ben felt the abrasive ache of frustration, remembering the thousand dead ends he’d explored in the search, the days and weeks that had become months wasted, spent in futility.

And while he searched for Andreas through the labyrinths of the Conpol-SSB bureaucracy, he and Erica were moving targets, constantly patching the chinks in their defensive armor, Alex Ransom paced his stone cage on Castor, testing the limits of his sanity, the Phoenix was slowly dissolving in the acid of uncertainty, and the Concord was one giant
caldera
, smoldering in its core.

And Predis Ussher was planning a full-scale military offensive.

Ben seethed behind an expressionless facade, studying the intent faces of the other councilors, while Ussher’s voice nibbled at his patience with glib banalities and garbled generalities. There should at least be boredom on some of these faces, if not disgust, but Ussher had made believers of them; they looked to him for all their answers. Ben glanced to his right at Erica, her gray eyes cool, detached, fixed on Ussher’s face.

That was part of the war of nerves, and she could make it work; she could drive Ussher into a rage without saying a word, never offering a tangible target for attack. But somehow this seemed a peculiarly feminine ploy. Erica could carry it off, but Ben found it increasingly difficult.

He looked up at Ussher, contemplating him with as much detachment as he could muster. The old vibrancy was still there, but it was becoming an equivocal, hectic thing, as if the energy sources was overloading the circuits. Still, Ben couldn’t deny the power in the compelling confidence in his voice, his posture and gestures.

He thought of Andreas Riis, quiet, methodical, precise, and kind; gentle to his soul. He didn’t have Ussher’s energy, nor did he cut as striking a figure, nor could he use words so well. But he had been loved, and he had guided the Phoenix since the chaos of the Fall, and it had never strayed from its purpose in all that time.

Five and a half months. How long would it be before Ussher could truthfully claim Andreas was dead?

The monologue was coming to a climax, and Ben tuned in mentally for the last few words.

“. . . break the hold of the Concord on the Centauri System. They can’t hope to keep
two
stellar systems in chains. They’ll have no
choice
but to free us!”

There was a moment of respectful silence, then John M’Kim leaned forward, frowning. But that indicated no concern for the general direction of Ussher’s plans, only for the means.

“Predis, you said you’d outlined a multileveled plan of attack. Perhaps you should enlarge on that.”

Ussher had been standing as he delivered his introductory oration, and now he seated himself, his tone businesslike and crisp. It always was with M’Kim.

“Of course, John. First, our operations will be limited to the Centauri System. We won’t make the error the Concord has of spreading ourselves too thin. We’ll reestablish the Peladeen Republic here, and if in the future it can be expanded to include the whole of humankind, our purposes will be served. But for now we must look to that which is possible, and leave to the future that which is desirable. The heart of the plan is a surprise attack, one of brief duration, to be sure—in fact, no more than six hours total—but all the more devastating for its unexpectedness. Our objectives will be primarily of a military nature. We cannot antagonize the Fesh and Bonds; the innocents. They must look to the Phoenix for leadership when they recognize the failure of the Concord.”

Jan Barret asked, “What exactly will our objectives in this attack be?”

“Well, Jan, that’s one area in which we’ll have to work out details later.”

“In general, then.”

Ussher hesitated, as if he suspected antagonism in his insistence. But with Barret there never was. Uncertainty, perhaps, but never antagonism.

“In general . . . well, all Confleet bases and arsenals, and as many Conpol and SSB commands as we can hit without undue loss of civilian lives. We’ll close all the IP ports and Planetary Transystems terminals, all major factories and smelters supplying war matériel, take over the power plants on the Inner Planets, and, of course, wreak as much havoc as possible with Confleet and Selasid fleets.”

Barret frowned. “That’s an ambitious program, considering our limited forces.”

“Of course it’s ambitious,” Ussher agreed tolerantly. “Our goals are ambitious; they always have been. To bring freedom to all people. That’s why the Phoenix exists. Perhaps we won’t achieve all of our objectives, even if repeated offensives become necessary. However, you’ve already enlarged our military capability tremendously in the last few months, Jan—showing great skill and courage, I might add—and I’m confident that in the next six months, before our 1 Januar deadline, you’ll expand FO’s striking power even further. Of course, we won’t depend solely on standard military tactics; we’ll use various methods of sabotage, and there the MT will be particularly telling. An explosive transed into an arsenal is as effective as a propulsion bomb from a Falcon. Don’t you agree, Commander Venturi?”

It was a challenge. Sabotage was SI’s specialty and Ussher was asking for a declaration of position.

Ben said flatly, “SI never has and never will let the Phoenix down.”

Ussher considered that, and judging from the subtle cast of triumph in his smile, apparently took it as a concession. Ben felt the heat in his cheeks and knew it betrayed his annoyance.

“Now, this sort of strategy demands careful planning,” Ussher was saying, addressing the other councilors. “Everything must be coordinated to the second. The Concord must think the whole Centauri System is exploding at once, and it must be a total surprise. Let’s be honest with ourselves, we
are
relatively limited in our military capabilities. By coordinating a combined strategy of sabotage and open attack, we can give the impression of greater strength than we actually possess, and the element of surprise will further serve to confuse and demoralize the Lords of the Concord.”

Ben tried to imagine men like Galinin, Woolf, Cameroodo, or Selasis confused and demoralized, but his attention was drawn to Marien Dyce. She was watching Ussher intently, her sharp eyes reflecting a profound inner excitement. Ben recognized it as something he would see in terrifying repetition in the eyes of the other members in the future.

She asked, “Predis, is this what you meant by a multileveled plan, or is there more to it?”

“There’s definitely more to it, Marien. We must look to those we hope to free from enslavement to help us in striking off their chains. We must look to the Fesh and Bonds.”

Ben stared at him. Involving Fesh had been hinted at earlier, but not Bonds. Ussher was talking about organized Bond revolt. Ben was stunned, and even more so when he looked around at the other councilors. Not one of them even seemed surprised. Whatever Erica felt was carefully hidden behind her expressionless features.

“Our problem,” Ussher continued, “is to find ways to let the Fesh and Bonds know who we are and what our purpose is. Once they understand that, once they realize we’re fighting for
their
freedom, that our attack isn’t directed against them, but against their masters, they’ll fall in behind us. The time is right; they’re desperately searching for leadership, for someone to show them how to strike off their chains. We’ll
offer
that leadership.”

Marien nodded. “Yes, but how can we make our purpose clear to them?”

Again, that warm, tolerant smile. “Very simple. We must shut down the PubliCom System facilities as soon as the offensive begins. Shutting down the Woolf systems will be difficult, of course, but I’m convinced that with careful planning we can do it.”

John M’Kim was frowning again, gnawing at feasibility. “That will work very well for getting our message to the Fesh. When the attack begins, they’ll turn on their vidicoms immediately to find out what’s happening. But what about the Bonds? We can’t reach
them
through vidicom.”

“You’re right, John,” Ussher admitted soberly. “We can’t reach them through any written means, either, and we haven’t enough people to give them the message directly. For the answer to this problem, I’ve turned to my research staff in Communications. We’ll plant microspeakers ahead of time in all the Bond compounds. Then, at the onset of the offensive, we can activate them by radio. It won’t be necessary for any of our members to enter the compounds during the offensive.”

Ben almost laughed. Ussher had taken a lesson from the microspeakers that had plagued him the last few months. But it was strange that he could speak of this ploy so freely, as if he recognized no relationship between this method of reaching the Bonds and the disembodied voices that had so often sent him into livid rages.

M’Kim seemed satisfied, even impressed. “Yes, that would be quite effective with the Bonds. Voices from the Beyond, and all that.”

Erica’s quiet voice brought every eye into focus on her.

“I assume, Predis, that you’ve considered the fact that you’ll have to overcome the influence of Saint Richard the Lamb and the Brother?”

Ussher hesitated. He knew it wouldn’t be politic to speak too carelessly of Richard Lamb here.

“With all due respect to Richard Lamb, whom we all loved and admired, his influence with the Bonds obviously hasn’t succeeded in stopping the uprisings, although it may have limited them to some degree; I’d be the first to give him credit. As for this ‘Brother’. . .” He shrugged expressively. “Well, we know the Bonds are apt to confuse the real world with the . . . uh, spiritual. But when it comes to a choice between slavery or freedom, the real world will take precedence. It always has.”

Ben found that puzzling, too, but only because of the suggestion that the Brother was a figment of Bond imagination. Alex had tried to keep his identity as the Brother secret, but Ben had evidence that Ussher knew about it. Certainly, he knew the Brother wasn’t imaginary.

The other councilors were satisfied, and Erica offered no further rebuttal. She never let herself be drawn into an argument.

Ussher was answering a question from Barret now. “After the initial attack, our course of action depends on the Concord’s response. It’s my conviction that a second offensive won’t be necessary; they’ll be ready to bargain with us. The Concord is already suffering too many internal stresses; it can’t
afford
a war with Centauri.”

He was becoming more expansive with every word, and Ben braced himself for another oration.

“My fellow members, the Concord is disintegrating from within. Consider the events of the last week alone. There was the outbreak in one of the new Special Detention compounds, which were the Concord’s only answer to Fesh revolt. Of course, all of us recognized those SD compounds as a dangerous symptom when they were established last year.”

Ben’s jaw clamped tight. It was Erica Radek who had brought the dangers inherent in the SD compounds to the attention of “all of us.”

“To concentrate known extremists and activists is obviously dangerous,” Ussher enlightened them, “and this week the Tokio SD compound erupted. Fifty guards were killed or injured as well as a thousand prisoners. And only yesterday Concordia was the site of another highly indicative incident. An explosive device was thrown into a contingent of Directorate Guards—and the Guard stands as a symbol of the Directorate itself in the minds of the people—killing ten outright, wounding another twenty-five. Add to the week’s events, the month’s events, and the year’s events. Add the staggering number of public executions of so-called agitators—that is, anyone who dares take action against tyranny and brutality. And these are Fesh, not Bonds. Bonds are disposed of without so much judicial ceremony. Add the passage of yet another measure to expand Confleet and Conpol. Add the number of minor Houses that have been bankrupted by crushing tax levies and swallowed up by major Houses. Add the economic recession that has crippled entire industries. Add the 120 Bond uprisings requiring Confleet intervention, the hundreds of ‘minor’ ones quelled by House guards at untold cost in death and suffering. Add the Ganymede uprising, a colossal disaster that took fifty
thousand
lives. Add all these and the hundreds of other indices I haven’t even touched on, and you have a picture of an archaic, stiffnecked, feudal system on the verge of
collapse
. My friends, the time is
right
for us. The Concord won’t take on the added burden of a war with us—a full-scale revolution—if it’s offered an alternative. The Concord
will
come to terms with us!” He rose slowly, and Ben could see the slight trembling of his hands.