Sword of the Lamb (41 page)

“We have nothing else comparable, and we’ve calculated the odds on bargaining successfully
without
the long-range MT. They’re not even worth considering. But we
will
have it. It’s only a matter of time.”

He turned away, looking seaward, but his eyes were unfocused. Erica watched him, listening to the rushing cataracts of the waves.

“So,” he said at length, “you have a powerful tool, potentially, at least; a lethal strategic weapon even in the short-range form, and in the long range, an offering of inestimable value. If the Phoenix succeeds in forcing the Directors to the bargaining table, it could ask a great deal in return.”

She smiled to herself; the unasked question. Then she leaned down to scoop up a handful of sand and let it sift through her fingers.

“What we’ll ask in exchange will also be of inestimable value. We’ll ask for Phase I, for the foothold in the power structure we must have in order to initiate the reforms necessary to keep the Concord alive.”

He waited for her to amplify that, and when she didn’t, he frowned with a hint of annoyance.

“Erica, you and Rich both called me a key. The Phoenix has quite a lot of leverage to put behind that key, and it may open the door to Phase I for you. But I can’t believe the Phoenix has put all this effort into building levers while it waited for a disenchanted Lordling to drop from the heavens—literally, in this case. You must have other alternatives, other candidates for the role of key or foothold.”

“That’s a logical assumption.” She paused, casting another handful of sand into the wind. “We do have another candidate, as you put it; someone who could reasonably be accepted by the Directors and could step into the Concord hierarchy at the level of the Court of Lords. We must begin at that level in order to build an effective power base.”

“Will you tell me more about this candidate of yours, this potential Lord in your ranks?”

“Not yet. Bear with me, please. In time nothing about the Society will be closed to you.”

He hesitated, and she knew acceptance didn’t come easily, but finally he nodded.

“I told you I’m capable of patience.”

“I know, and I’m sorry to try it so.” Then she frowned at her watch as she came to her feet. “And I’m sorry to say our brief taste of untrammeled space and unfiltered air is at an end. I have an appointment with John M’Kim in a few minutes. I’ll try not to let him detain me too long. I’ve another outing planned for you today.”

He fell into step with her as she started back along the bank.

“What kind of outing?”

“A tour of Fina. It’s time you learned your way around. By the way, you’re cleared on the MT memfiles, and you’re also free to enjoy our park at any time.”

He looked out at the plunging breakers and pulled in a deep breath of salt-laden air.

“That’s welcome news.”

Valentin Severin smoothed her tawny hair, an unconscious mannerism indicative of preoccupation or uneasiness. She looked up when she reached HS 1 and touched the doorcon, then frowned absently at the spool case in her hand—the compiled test results on one Jael, an Outsider, and a candidate for membership in the Phoenix—and she was wondering at her own ambivalent reactions. The doubts derived from the fact that Jael was an Outsider, not from the test results, which were impressive, nor the man himself, who was also impressive in his own way. No doubt he’d be very useful to the Society. And she found herself personally impressed with him; she had to admit that.

“Oh—hello.” She expected the work room to be empty, and she was surprised to see Alex Ransom at the holojector. At first, he seemed equally, and atypically, startled.

“Hello, Val.” That reserved smile, the surprise entirely masked now.

She glanced at the closed doorscreens on the office. “Is Erica in?”

“No, she had an appointment with Fer M’Kim.”

Val felt an unexpected tension in him as she walked over and looked curiously at the subject of his interest.

“Boning up on the Council?” she asked. The hologram image was that of Predis Ussher.

He shrugged. “I decided I might as well start at the top. Do you know the councilors, Val?”

“Not really well, except for—what’s this?” She frowned at the reading screen beside the holojector, and her question stopped him from turning it off.

The memfile heading was “History, Centauran: Peladeen Republic. Subfile: Lord Elor Ussher Peladeen.” Her eyes moved automatically across the section framed in the screen.

“. . . Elor Ussher Peladeen and his wife, Lady Manir, had only one child, a son, Predis, who was two years old at the time of the Fall. After the Battle of Helen, Lord Elor was buried in an unsanctioned ceremony at the Leda estate, but the bodies of his wife and son were never . . .”

Val looked up at Alex and knew she’d paled.

“How much did Erica tell you about the Peladeen Alternative? That’s Pri-One information. In fact,
I
know very little about it, and I have access to nearly all the memfiles.”

His laugh was as easy as that smile, reserved and impersonal. “Dr. Radek is very circumspect in what she tells me, Val. You know that. Actually, all I know about it is that Predis Ussher is the key to the Peladeen Alternative.”

“Yes. The Concord assumed that Lord Elor’s son died—” She stopped, looking up at him. The words slipped out so easily, as they often did with him. She glanced down at the spool case. “Well, I . . . Erica wanted these tapes; I’ll leave them for her.” She crossed to the office door and inserted the case in the compartment beside it, opening it with her name spoken into the voice lock.

Alex moved to one of the chairs, but didn’t sit down. He was waiting for her to leave. She smiled at that. An introvert, it would seem; totally goal-oriented, Erica called him, a man who wouldn’t permit himself to be distracted, or made vulnerable. Val would leave him to his studies and privacy, but she wouldn’t let him be entirely undistracted by the people around him. She walked toward him, smiling.

“I understand you had your first taste of pure Polluxian air this morning.”

He nodded. “It was refreshing. And surprising.”

“You mean the MT?” She stopped a few paces from him. He wouldn’t retreat if she moved closer, but it would make him uncomfortable; he had a low proximity tolerance. It was curious that Jael, the Outsider, had the same low tolerance.

“Yes, the MT
is
surprising,” she agreed. “We’re so used to it, we hardly give it a second thought. But it’s convenient.” She checked her watch as she asked, “Did Erica say when she’d be back?”

“Only as soon as possible.”

“Mm. Well, if she’s with Fer M’Kim, that may be a while. He believes in putting everything in quadruplicate.” She started for the hall door. “Tell her I’ll be in HS 9. We have another new member, you know.”

One eyebrow came up slightly. “No, I didn’t know.”

“You’ll meet him in a few days. Anyway, you’ll have company in General Training. Goodbye, Alex.” She smiled, not only as a parting gesture, but because she was sure he wasn’t particularly pleased at having company in GT.

But as she walked down the corridor, her preoccupied frown returned. She was wondering how much Erica had told him about the Peladeen Alternative. It wasn’t like her to discuss Pri-One information with a new member.

PERSONAL FILE: E. RADEK CASE NOTES: 29 JULY 3253

SUBJECT: ALEX RANSOM

Alex’s basic conditioning is completed and I’ve nearly finished the initial orientation. He’ll go on to General Training day after tomorrow. Jael will join him there within the week, and I’ll be interested in Alex’s assessment of our Outsider.

I’ve completed the ex seqs on what I call the Ransom Alternative. I’ve been dubious for some time about the Peladeen Alternative, not only because of certain personality patterns I’ve seen in Predis Ussher, but because it would take so many years to achieve an effective power base, and stress factors in the Concord are building faster than the General Plan ex seqs predicted. SocioAnalysis brought me the latest seqs today, and they indicate a crisis period in the Concord in the next five to twenty years.

The time factor in itself makes the Ransom Alternative a better choice, and the personality factors make it our only rational choice. I’ve voiced no objections to the Peladeen Alternative simply because we had no other real choice, but now we do, fortunately.

However, the Ransom Alternative has its dangers. It could very easily catalyze a polarization. The General Plan ex seqs warn of a crisis period within the Society in the next five to ten years, which could coincide with a crisis in the Concord. I’m particularly concerned about certain attitude trends among the Second Gens.

I’m drawing up Alex’s schedule for GT, and it will be demanding. I intend to maintain contact with him, however, at least through GT, even if I can only work with him on conscious levels. The metamorphosis of Lord Alexand into Alex Ransom—without destroying Alexand—is an ego-balancing act that would try anyone’s emotional equilibrium. He’s made the transition seem all too easy, but there are still latent disruptive factors he refuses to recognize. His interest in Rich’s work will give me the necessary rationale to see him while he’s in GT. I’m still doubtful about his motivation on that. He said this much under Level 2 conditioning: Rich opened a door that can’t be allowed to close. There’s more to this than aimless interest, but I haven’t succeeded in uncovering his real purpose.

Our two new recruits have much in common, including this ability to resist mental manipulation under conditioning. Jael has presented me with the first block I’ve ever encountered that isn’t susceptible to Level 3. It isn’t important in itself, but unsettling as a phenomenon. It concerns his mother; specifically, her name. He’s willing to talk about her, but not to reveal her identity. He said she was “uppercaste,” which translates as Elite. No doubt one of the survivors of the Purge who took refuge in the Outside after the Fall of the Republic. I’m sure there’s a lot of blue Elite blood in the Outside in the Centauri System.

Jael’s mother died several years ago; there was no hint of subterfuge on the brainwave readings or VP analyses on that. My only concern is that he said it was she who first told him about the Phoenix, and I wonder how she knew about it. But of course there are few secrets in the Outside.

No one else could tell him.

Ben had offered to do it, but Erica refused. She called Alex a friend, as she had his brother. There are certain obligations in friendship. But meeting this one was searingly painful.

The Lady Elise Galinin Woolf is dead—by her own hand
.

This was to be his last morning in HS 1; he’d shown more animation than she’d ever seen, asking intent questions about GT, his schedule, the staff. Then the call from Andreas. A private conference. Immediately.

Alex had turned on the reading screen on the table even before she left the room, and she knew what ’files he’d be calling. He wasn’t concerned at her leavetaking. But he hadn’t heard Andreas’s voice or seen his face in her ’com.

No one else could tell him.

Your mother was physically incapable of bearing more children
. . . .

The reading screen was still glowing with the words of Richard Lamb. Erica went to the table and switched it off, noting absently that her hand was trembling. Then she looked around, toward the orchids.

He was standing there, his back to her, his image reflected in a pebbled blur in the wall behind the orchids.

She had told him. It seemed bitterly ironic that it had taken so few words. And he had listened in a terrible, contained silence, finally turning away, drawn to the orchids. Terra was in every leaf and fragile bloom.

She moved closer to him, coming around toward the wall so she could see his face, at least in profile. He might have been thinking of nothing more than the white blossom that provided a point of focus for his gaze. His fingers traced the contours of the petals, his touch so light the flower didn’t move. Such fine manual control would be difficult for anyone at any time, and she found herself chilled. The steadiness of his hand didn’t deceive her. She could also read the beat of his pulse in his throat and the pace of his breathing, and she wondered if he thought he could hold back the tears all his life.

She waited silently, watching him, and when at length he spoke, his voice was as lifeless as his eyes.

“My father, is he . . . all right, Erica?”

“Yes, as far as we know. Ben told Lacroy to stay as close as possible to him.”

He nodded and pulled in a breath that caught in his throat. “Harlequin. Poor Harlequin. This will kill him.”

He almost seemed to lose control, and somehow it sharpened the edge of her own pain that it was an old Bondman’s grief that shook that iron constraint. Then his hand fell away from the orchid and he looked at her.

“What was the official cause of death?”

“Cerebral hemorrhage.”

“Of course. Why didn’t you simply give me the official version? I’d have no way of knowing the truth.”

“Perhaps not. I didn’t think you’d accept anything less than honesty from me, even if it’s more painful.”

“It’s more painful for you, too. I know that.” His hand moved to the orchid, again tracing the petals with that precise, delicate touch. “She was exquisitely beautiful, Erica. The imagraphs never came close to it. Beautiful to the bone; to the soul. It occurred to me that such beauty should be spared the process of aging.” He stared fixedly at the flower. “Of withering. But she would never have been less than beautiful, however old she was. A paradox that I loved her so much, and yet I killed her.”

Erica flinched, clenching her hands unconsciously.

“Alex, if that’s the case, we’re also guilty because we allowed you to join us, to ‘die.’ Even Rich is guilty because he opened your way into the Phoenix.”

“I’m not talking about guilt. Only cause. Regret and guilt are different entities, both equally painful.”

“Oh, Alex, you must believe me—we didn’t
know
.”

“I believe you,” he said softly, “for a number of logical reasons, but more for the illogical ones. I know in my soul you wouldn’t lie to me.” Then his eyes closed, his hand dropped to his side, and she tensed, realizing he was on the fine edge of giving way.

But he didn’t slip over the edge. She watched the struggle behind his closed eyes, and knew the battle had finally been won when he took a deep breath and opened his eyes.

But she wondered who had really won.

He turned and took a few steps toward the table, his hands resting easily on his hips, and she knew the physical movement was possible only because he felt himself fully under control, body and mind. He paused, staring at the blank reading screen, then finally looked around at her.

“Erica, you’re crying.” He seemed vaguely bewildered.

She hadn’t been aware of her tears, and it put her off balance. She wiped her cheeks with shaking hands.

“A feminine prerogative,” she said, trying to smile.

His hand came up as if to reach out to her, then he turned away abruptly, folding his arms across his chest.

“I’d like to go outside; to the beach.”

She nodded numbly. “Would you prefer to be alone?”

“Yes.”

“Alex, you can reach me at any time.”

He went to the doorway, seemingly driven by an overwhelming need for escape, but there he stopped.

“Erica, don’t waste your tears on me. I can’t even offer . . . words. Nothing.”

“I need no words.”

He hesitated a moment longer, then he was gone; the S/V screens snapped on. Erica pressed her hands to her eyes and in the empty silence wept.

PERSONAL FILE: E. RADEK CASE NOTES: 30 JULY 3253

SUBJECT: ALEX RANSOM

This morning I learned of the death of the Lady Elise Galinin Woolf. We’re fortunate in having Fenn Lacroy in the House of Woolf; he had an opportunity to plant a minicorder in Lord Woolf’s clothing, and the information garnered from that explained what would otherwise be inexplicable.

The cause of death as reported on the newscasts was cerebral hemorrhage, but rumors are already rampant that she took her own life out of grief for her sons. It was in fact suicide, but I couldn’t accept grief as her sole motivation, although it was undoubtedly a contributing factor. Elise Woolf was too cognizant of her responsibilities to the House, and too deeply in love with her husband. Fenn found the answer in a conversation between Woolf and Dr. Marton Stel.

Elise Woolf was incapable of bearing more children, but only her husband and Stel knew it. It was understandably a well kept secret. So well kept even Rich and Alex didn’t know about it. The Lady Elise didn’t abdicate her obligations to her husband and House; she took her life so that Phillip Woolf would be free to remarry and sire new heirs.

The bitterest aspect of this for me—and for Alex, I’m sure, although he hasn’t spoken of it—is that it was really custom that killed her, the senseless, intransigent custom dating from Pilgrim’s Holy Confederation that precludes divorce for any reason in Elite marriages. How many Houses have fallen, heirless, because of that custom, and how many barren wives have died, by someone else’s hand or their own, like Lady Elise?

Except for what Alex said when I told him about her death, he has refused to discuss it, even when we had a report this evening on Woolf’s collapse. Alex’s concern for his father was obviously sincere but, once assured of Woolf’s recovery, he would say nothing more about his mother’s death.

I succeeded earlier in learning the meaning of the word “locks” as a verbal symbol in association with Rich’s death, and I assume Alex intends to lock this away, too. I’ve seen too many similar repressive mechanisms fail, and the results are always disastrous, but unfortunately its immediate success tends to sustain it, and I have no hope of unlocking that “steel-barred chamber” under conditions where the beast within can be dealt with sanely.

I’ll send Alex on to GT tomorrow as planned. He needs the emotional diversion, and no purpose would be served in detaining him here. I’ve given out some hints in Psychosociology that he’s shown an aptitude for PS, which will explain my continued interest in him. It’s more imperative than ever that I maintain contact with him the next few weeks.

A light has gone from the Concord with the Lady Elise’s death. She was an extraordinary woman who mothered two extraordinary sons, one a saint, and the other—

But that can’t be predicted now. He’ll make his mark.

PHOENIX MEMFILES: DEPT HUMAN SCIENCES:
BASIC SCHOOL
(HS/BS)

SUBFILE LECTURE, BASIC SCHOOL 23 JANUAR 3252
GUEST LECTURER: RICHARD LAMB
SUBJECT: POST-DISASTERS HISTORY
:
WARS OF CONFEDERATION (2876–2903)

DOC LOC #819/219–1253/1812–1648–2313252

The Wars of Confederation was a time of turmoil and change in every part of Terra, including Conta Austrail, and Lord Patric Eyre Ballarat in the course of his imperial campaign of conquest came very close to breaking down the restrictions of the Holy Confederation’s class system. Bonds were given an opportunity to achieve Fesh status by volunteering for military service, where a minimum of education and training were given them of necessity, and Fesh who demonstrated unusual ability as officers or administrators might be advanced to Lordship of one of the conquered domains. The term “VisLord” was introduced at this time and applied to these new Lords; only when Fesh advancement later became curtailed by custom did the term come to apply simply to any male Elite past Age of Rights who was not a First Lord or the first born of a First Lord.

Shek Mashet provided the only incident in the imperial campaign even resembling a defeat in its first seven years, and Ballarat accepted that in order to push forward to new victories. His brother Bryan’s Noramerikan campaign was also successful, but less impressive simply because again Bryan had difficulty finding inhabited domains to conquer; so much of the west coast of Noramerika was rendered incapable of supporting any kind of life during the Disasters. He did encounter seafaring-fishing cultures in Alask and south to just below the forty-fifth parallel, and added to Ballarat’s subject territories the holds of Ancorage, Seaward, Victoria Isle, and Coosbay, which proved valuable producers of marine protein and timber, as well as some ores. Bryan continued down the coast (and his meticulously kept journals, as well as those of scientists accompanying him, have since been treasures for historians, archeologists, biologists, and zoologists) past the Coastal Wastes and the ruins of Francisco and Ellay into Mexamerika. He met strong resistance in the domains of Lapaz and Mazelan, and in an inland thrust to the stronghold of Durang, and further south a particularly recalcitrant tribal coalition centered in Ozaca, but none of these appreciably delayed his rather leisurely campaign. He and his officers and scientific staff recorded in photograms Mexamerikan ruins predating not only the Disasters, but the First Dark Age. They also discovered the ruins of the fabled Panam Canal, which—and many ecotechs assure us Terra should be grateful—was not destroyed during the Disasters, but simply silted in afterward and was eventually reclaimed by jungle; the ancient locks held until opening them became impossible.

Patric Ballarat’s campaign was anything but leisurely as he continued westward and found that the strongest rulers in Sahrafrika had united in two alliances, one centered in the Nile cities of Zandria, Aswan, and Kartum, the second in the southern Medit enclaves of Asmar, Tunis, Algir, and Tangir. These two groups later formed an even more imposing alliance with the northern Medit domains of Valenz, Marsay, Napolis, and the ancient cities of Athens and Stanbul. I wonder why some sites seem destined for cities whatever the historical vicissitudes. Another such stubborn site is Zandria, of course, and Hamadan, Mashet’s relinquished city, which under the name of Ecbatana was the capital of the precursors of the ancient Persians.

Ballarat was undoubtedly interested in the history of these sites, but he had more immediate concerns, and he spent five years subduing Sahrafrika and the Medit. At that point, Bryan had reached the northwestern coast of Sudamerika and there in a naval battle off Quador, the Holy Confederation first encountered the Allienza Salvador under the leadership of the Doms Victorio DelCampina and Duardo Iquito, and its first major defeat.

Bryan retreated with the remnants of his fleet across the Pacific to Conta Austrail, and only then did he send a message to his brother informing him of the defeat. Ballarat, it is recorded, flew into a towering rage when the news reached him. The time factor in communication was not appreciably slower than we’re accustomed to, thanks to radio communication, but the time factor in the movement of troops and fleets was very appreciable. Ballarat left the Noreuropan campaign to his second-in-command, Lord Aram Barth Andrasy, and returned via airship to Sidny, but by the time he had marshalled his forces for a renewed assault on Sudamerika, the Allienza—whose Lords (or “Doms”) represented every civilized enclave on the continent, including Lima, Sudlapaz, Rio Dejanero, Sopallo, Bonaires, and Cracas—was ready and waiting for him.

Andrasy meanwhile found a similarly solid front in Noreurope in the Coben Alliance, which included the holds of Dublin, Edboro, Pars. Essn, Bohn, Bergen, Gotberg, and Vaasa. The Coben Alliance, however, had no strong leadership, and those territories so devastated in the Disasters offered scant resources to support the counterassault. The Alliance ultimately splintered before Andrasy’s armies, and one by one its leaders surrendered to him. He then moved into western Ruskasia, where he met no organized resistance in the holds of Varsaw, Karkaw, Rostaw, Astrakan, Taskan, and Samarkan. Andrasy found an ally in the ruler of the domain centered in Mosk, incidentally, and the Holy Confederation demonstrated its gratitude by making Andray Mankeen Lord of a new House, which a few generations later produced Lionar Mankeen.

With Noreurope and western Ruskasia subdued, Andrasy was free to join Ballarat in the Sudamerikan campaign, and finally DelCampina and Iquito were forced to surrender. They did so in 2896 on the twentieth anniversary of Ballarat’s election to the Chairmanship of the Directorate of the Holy Confederation.

Those were a fateful twenty years that changed the course of history and made the Holy Confederation the dominant power in the civilized world. Those years were also the prime of Patric Ballarat’s life, and I wonder if at fifty-seven he wasn’t beginning to feel a little weary. And I wonder if it didn’t occur to him that during his twenty years as Chairman, he had spent very little time in Conta Austrail, instead delegating his duties there to his brother Hugh under the title of VisChairman. His long absences from Conta Austrail were perhaps his greatest error. But the campaign wasn’t over, and the worst was still to come.

Ballarat had yet to meet the Minister-Keffe (as he styled himself, although the “Keffe” is often translated as “Chief”) Tsane Valstaad. And Tsane had had twenty years to prepare his Sudafrikan Union for that encounter.