Twenty
years ago when Stairnon first envisioned Aquae Solis, the Counsel of
Antiquities and Downtime Treasures had indulgently permitted her the title of
Personal Curator for the Decemvirate; it was unusual for a decemvir to be as
thoroughly espoused as he and Stairnon were and it seemed to their Honor Guard
commander that Stairnon would be suitably amused by her new office while D’Omaha
was entrenched in his. D’Omaha’s term officially ended a few weeks ago with
Macduhi’s selection, but Stairnon’s office had not. Two decades of innovative
acquiring and cycling everything from a Michelangelo figure in red chalk to a
Sinn Hala carousel out of Aquae Solis to the downtime museums of the New Worlds
was a public relations asset the Counsel couldn’t afford to lose. They
requested she keep her title and continue her work. She agreed. Macduhi must
have known that D’Omaha had nothing to do with it. Her accusation was
laughable. But he tried not to pursue the reasons for not laughing.
Seeing
Stairnon stand by the transparent wall that looked out over the frozen falls,
he could almost believe she’d planned to be here in Aquae Solis forever, D’Omaha
here with her,
really here
, not
distracted from their love by probability trees. But it wouldn’t be forever, he
thought sadly, and then what would he do? The thought terrified him.
“I
can see strobe lights; it must be the windshots,” Stairnon said gesturing for
him to join her in watching the landing.
The
storm had stopped a few hours ago and left the grounds shrouded in sparkling
white. He went over, put his arm around Stairnon and felt her melt against him
like a flame into ice. She tilted her face up to him for the kiss she knew was
coming, then leaned her head against his chest. She was shivering.
“Are
you all right?” he asked her.
“Of
course I’m all right,” she said. “It’s just chilly here by the wall.”
“Come
to the fireplace,” he said.
Stairnon
shook her head. “I want to watch them land. Calla promised me a precision
landing. She said their lights would look like points on a star.”
The
windshots’ lights were still very high above the frozen falls. Stairnon
shivered again and D’Omaha rubbed her arms vigorously to warm her. Her hands
were like ice. She wouldn’t miss the landing, wouldn’t disappoint Calla no
matter how much she shivered. She stepped away to retrieve her shawl from a
stack of cushions, came back and put it around her shoulders. Here by the wall
with only soft light and shadows Stairnon looked as she had when she was young.
Only the hollows beneath her cheekbones reminded him of how much she had aged.
“We
should go back with them to Silvanweel tomorrow,” D’Omaha said.
Stairnon
looked up at him in surprise. “And share you with the Council of Worlds?” She
shook her head. “This winter is ours, my sweet love, just the two of us for the
first time in twenty years. If we get that long together I’ll be grateful.”
“What
do you mean, ‘if we get that long’?” he said. “Is something wrong?”
“With
me? Oh, no, I didn’t mean anything like that. The new heart is working just
fine. I never felt better. I just meant that I can’t believe they’ll let you
stay retired for very long, not in these troubled times.”
She
kissed his chin and leaned her head against his chest to look out again into
the night. The landing field was as smooth as a plate of cream until the
windshots settled and kicked up a maelstrom of snow. D’Omaha and Stairnon
watched until the shiplights went out and the hatches opened. “You’d better
call Macduhi. I’ll send for the hot broth.”
D’Omaha
watched her go to the communication panel by the fireplace. He thought her step
was a trifle slow, her reassuring smile a bit too quick, but none of that made
his passion for her wane.
***
D’Omaha stood with his back to Macduhi watching the others
descend the wooden staircase. Their crier implants were broadcasting
introductions; all were well known to him, even the men and women of the Honor
Escorte, so he silenced the nomenclator after each name.
The
four decemviri came first: “Saint Asteria Hermit . . .
click
, Penthesilea Koh Ambato . . .
click
, Jeremy Bentham Peekskill . . .
click
, Carrey Carmine Cassells . . .
click
.” Behind them was the
Praetorian guard raider commander and her lieutenants: “Eudoxia Calla Dovia . . .
click
, Marmion Andres Clavia . . .
click
, Tam Singh Amritsar . . .
click
.” He listened not at all to the
names of the Honor Escorte; they would stay only long enough to taste some of
Stairnon’s broth, then probably avail themselves of one of the hot baths. His
eyes were on Calla, this short old woman who never ceased to amaze him with her
incredible stature. Even the decemviri waited for her to accept the first mug
from Stairnon. Not that they hung back, but that they simply did not reach
until her hand was full. He’d done it himself on more than one occasion. It had
to do with her demeanor, the way one never consciously remembered that she was
short, only recalled the jut of her jaw, the way she always threw back her
shoulders, and hair so bright only a whore or someone so important that she
could never be thought of as a whore would dare to display.
“Stairnon,
what is this wonderful beverage?” Predictably, Bentham was bubbling as
vigorously as the broth in the tureen.
“Just
a chowder from the last of the fall vegetables,” Stairnon told him, filling the
rest of the escort’s mugs. They filed out of the solarium as Stairnon explained
to Bentham how she’d rescued his soup from a sudden frost with her own hands.
Even Koh smiled at the picture she painted, Koh who felt the weight of all the
known worlds as if it were her shoulders alone on which it was borne.
“I
didn’t think a little snow could ground your windshots,” D’Omaha said to Calla.
A blaze of black navigator silk was fastened at the shoulder of her khakis by
gold worlds of rank. Only the required decorations were pinned onto the silk;
she didn’t need any to know who she was.
“It
was Singh’s decision,” she said. “I think he was being cautious with half the
Decemvirate in the bellies of his ships.”
“Who’s
bringing the other half, Commander Calla?” Macduhi asked. And when Calla looked
at her blankly, she added, “The rest of the Decemvirate.”
The
room silenced. Calla had the good grace not to give D’Omaha a questioning
glance. She answered directly. “They’re not coming.”
“Didn’t
you brief her?” Koh asked D’Omaha.
“Why
would an
in
active decemvir be
expected to brief an active one?” Macduhi asked pointedly.
The
moment was quite predictable in light of his conversation with Macduhi earlier
in the day; it was to have been his moment of triumph. But it didn’t feel at
all like D’Omaha thought it would at the time. Oh, Macduhi was painfully aware
that everyone in the room knew something she didn’t know, but instead of
feeling satisfaction, D’Omaha was only aware that Stairnon was looking at him
with a puzzled frown and that, in a moment, when she pieced it all together,
she would be disappointed in him. Koh had already figured it out and just stood
drumming her fingers on the mantel.
“Just
where is the rest of your raider Praetorian guard, Commander Calla?” Macduhi
said to the one person she knew would not dare to refuse her an answer.
“Aboard
Compania
, falling off Mercury Novus
orbit,” Calla replied promptly.
“Well,
that’s better use of them than shoveling snow off the walks at Aquae Solis, but
not where they were ordered to be. Why have you disobeyed the Decemvirate’s
orders?”
“Prior
orders,” Calla said, “which included publicly appearing to accept the Aquae
Solis Honor Guard Command.”
“Whose
orders?”
“Decemvir
D’Omaha’s.”
“Praetor
D’Omaha,” Macduhi corrected.
“He
was still Decemvir D’Omaha when he gave the order.”
“And
I suppose he also ordered you to provide transportation to only half the
Decemvirate for this little gathering.”
“Less
than half. Originally you were excluded, too. But you couldn’t possibly be the
traitor since you were not decemvir when the plot was discovered.” Macduhi
blinked and raised her brow.
Traitor?
Calla
nodded. “I let Koh include you at the last minute.”
Macduhi
looked from Calla to D’Omaha in disbelief.
“Since
when does the Honor Guard Commander tell a decemvir elder what to do?”
“When
she’s not merely decorating Aquae Solis with her presence these days, Raider
Commander Calla is directing a special mission for the Decemvirate. She’s
charged with identifying and stopping a traitor before he destroys the known
worlds.”
Macduhi
put her empty mug on the mantel, turned away from the fireplace and crossed her
arms over her chest, looking too angry to ask all the questions coming to mind.
“Decemvir
Macduhi, I owe you a briefing. Perhaps the others will excuse us for a while. Macduhi
looked up to see Commander Calla gesture toward the table. Macduhi nodded, and
the two of them went to sit down. As soon as they stepped onto the hearth rug,
they were completely protected from being overheard.
“You
might have warned us,” Koh said to D’Omaha, her brown eyes unforgiving. “We
still have to work with her.”
“There
wasn’t time,” D’Omaha said stiffly, “She can be impossible.”
“I
shouldn’t have asked you to knock the snow off the trees,” Stairnon said
worriedly. “You had important things to do, and I made you go out to take care
of the trees.”
D’Omaha
put his arm around her. She knew better. Nothing could have distracted him if
he’d been determined. Koh knew it too, but she said nothing. She might well be
wondering how she would deal with her replacement two years hence.
D’Omaha
watched the two women under the sound shield.
Macduhi’s
back was to him, but Calla had shoved the place setting at the head of the
table aside to make room for her elbows. She seemed dwarfed by the big chair,
but it was a mistake to think of Calla as being dwarfed by anything. She was
counting off something to Macduhi on her fingers. It took all ten; it had to be
all the warnings of war, right here in the Hub, perpetrated at least in part by
Macduhi’s own homeworld, Dvalerth. Dvalerth had put down an insurgence on a
colony world called Tagax Cassells, but they were Cassells now, not colonials.
Along with Boscan Cassells, they’d formed a fleet that was at this very moment
headed for Dvalerth, an old world Hub planet, not far in the spiral Arm from
Mercury Novus, the world on which they were standing at this very moment.
Macduhi
shrugged, and D’Omaha could imagine that she was pointing out to Calla that war
between Cassells and Dvalerth was a local matter. The Council of Worlds refused
to consider it, which effectively kept the Decemvirate out of it, too. And
Calla, of course, nodded patiently, then began talking again. Visibly Macduhi’s
shoulders began to stiffen as Calla asked her to consider how far the
Cassells-Dvalerth war would escalate when the Decemvirate made its decision
regarding elixir reapportionment.
Macduhi
turned slightly in her chair and stared for a moment at D’Omaha. She was, no
doubt, remembering that he had started to tell her that she had, indeed, been
manipulated into not making a decision on elixir reapportionment. Now she knew
the real reason. The other four active decemviri here at Aquae Solis had
already decided, but were deliberately stalling for time before revealing their
decision, trying to give Calla enough time to get into position to end what
would be the war of wars. The only optimistic decemvir, Bentham, hoped she
would stop the war before it ever started by revealing the traitor, a traitor
who could only be decemvir.
D’Omaha
could stand it no longer. He excused himself from Koh and Bentham, whose
conversation he wasn’t listening to anyhow, and went to the table.
“War
is inevitable by any probability tree you look at,” Calla was saying. “The
Decemvirate can only hope to delay it for a while.”
“But
the traitor puts a new unknown into the probability trees,” Macduhi said, “and
you’re counting on the traitor to scale it down. You don’t know how, but you’re
going to risk everything on the chance that exposing the traitor will do it.”
“No,”
D’Omaha said sitting down opposite Macduhi. “The traitor is obviously
entrenching for a long, long war. Otherwise he wouldn’t be establishing his own
supply of elixir. It also tells us that he probably hasn’t yet aligned himself
with either old worlds or new worlds.”
“He?
What makes you think it’s a man?”
“I
discovered what he was planning to do only because he made a procedural mistake
that an elder decemvir would not have made. That limits our traitor to being
one of the most recent five, who are all men. You had not yet been selected, so
you, too, are above suspicion.”
“How
did the traitor err?”
“It
takes two decemviral seals to authorize a supply of elixir starter seed.
Seydlitz Garden returned the authorization with a note that apologized for
having to delay shipping the seeds until the second seal was affixed. It was
just luck that our traitor hadn’t drawn the short straw for doing the stacks that
day. By tracing the requisition, we finally matched the ultimate destination to
a research center we’d authorized equally blindly. Actually it was an expansion
of a minor post already in existence. The request originated with the
ranger-governor; it was fairly routine, definitely legitimate in its original
form. But the expansion was greatly enhanced after the original approval, and
again the seal quite authentic.”
“But
the seals are unique. You must have recognized the traitor’s.”