Authors: C. J. Cherryh
“They want us to go back upland and give up this chase.”
Hati looked across at him, with those beautiful fierce eyes.
“I don’t think so,” she said.
T H E G OV E R N O R ’ S O F F I C E was entirely terra incognita. Procyon walked a corridor where he had never in his life looked to go, a hall lined with doors reputed to be antiques salvaged from ancient governors’ offices on prior Concord stations. They were carved in flourishes, and might even be real wood, not plastic. The vases in the niches were definitely imports, maybe antiquities, too, the sort of objets d’art that even his mother wouldn’t put flowers in. The reds and blues were deeply glazed, the gilt amazingly bright. He tried not to look impressed.
Glass doors protected the end of the corridor, clear and thick, and probably able to go opaque at the touch of a button. They said, in lettering that hung glowing with an iridescent water-pattern in the glass, SETHA T. REAUX, GOVERNOR OF CONCORD.
Those doors admitted him without his doing a thing but approach them. A second set of doors, also antique, let him into an inner office where a thirtyish official—tall, blond man, prim sort, with close-set eyes, and nothing, absolutely nothing but a bud vase on his desk—looked him over as if he’d come to steal the silver.
“Mr. Jeremy Stafford,” the man said.
1 7 4 • C . J . C h e r r y h
Not even Brazis called him his registry name. But he was, in fact, Jeremy Stafford Jr.
“Yes, sir. I’m supposed to see the governor. Chairman Brazis asked me to come.”
“The governor is expecting you,” the man said. “Go on in.”
The inner door slid aside for him. With the feeling he was going behind more doors than he possibly liked, farther and farther from familiar territory, he walked in, onto fancy import carpet, facing a stout, gray-haired man he’d only seen on the vid.
It was a surprisingly small office, with amazing antique furnishings. A huge life-globe. He couldn’t forbear looking at it once, and again, seeing a small movement inside. Antique printed books, in massive shelves.
Reaux rose from his desk, offering a welcome, a little nod, if not a handshake, and Procyon’s instant thought, on looking into the man’s face was,
He wants help, and he really hates doing this.
He gave his own little bow—you never reached for an Earther’s hand: they went into hysterics—and produced as friendly a smile as he could manage, given his situation.
“Mr. Stafford,” Reaux said. “Thank you for coming. Do sit down.”
“Yes, sir.” He sank into the opposing chair, hard, but padded.
The dark brown leather under his hands might be real.
“Brazis says you’re one of his best.”
“One of his newest, sir. I hope I do my job.”
“I understand you were a Freethinker.”
God, was that the issue? “I attended a couple of meetings when I was a kid. I left. It was my idea to leave.”
“In the remote past.”
“Remote, yes, sir.”
“Six years ago.”
“I’m twenty-three, sir. Not to be argumentative, but six years is a fair number of years ago, out of twenty-three. I was sixteen, seventeen, then, and stupid.”
“I hope this particular curiosity is now satisfied.”
“I didn’t agree with their ideas. I think they’re wasting their lives.”
“Attracted by the Freethinker style, then?”
“No, sir, by the ideas, on the surface, but when I got to hear the Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 1 7 5
details and the reasoning, I didn’t like what I heard. And I haven’t had anything to do with them since.”
“Sixteen. And interested in the ideas. You were remarkably pre-cocious.”
“I was curious. But I didn’t agree with them.”
“What did they say, in particular, that you didn’t agree with?”
Shaky ground. He wished now he’d skirted this topic with more determination, but didn’t see how. “They talked about justice. But they were more interested in debating their own rules. And they cheated in their own elections. How were they going to give justice to anybody, if they cheated to get into power?” It was out of his mouth before he realized he was talking to an elected official. He wished he hadn’t said that last.
“A sensitive young man.”
“I don’t count it any credit to me for being there. They’re not what I wanted. Not what I want now. That’s completely done with.”
“You have a tremendously important position these days. One naturally, yes, does understand the curiosity of youth. The flirtation with ideas. That’s even commendable. Seeing through them, more so. But let me be very frank here. If you have any lingering acquaintance with anyone in that organization, I earnestly advise you tell . . . not me. I know I can’t ask you for that level of honesty.
But tell your Chairman. This is extremely serious. At very least—if you even remotely know someone in that organization, don’t contact them on the street for the next four days. If I could make a request—don’t entertain or be contacted by anyone with ties in the Trend
or
on Blunt for the entire duration of this ship’s visit to Concord. Their monitoring may be extensive, and you wouldn’t want to give them any false impression of you.”
“I understand, sir. I have no friendly contacts among the Freethinkers. And I have no trouble agreeing.”
“Has the Chairman told you there’s a political development involving you?”
“That the ambassador wants to see me, yes, sir. The Chairman told me that.”
“Chairman Brazis apparently believes you might successfully carry off a little inquiry. That, doing the job you do, you’re smart 1 7 6 • C . J . C h e r r y h
enough to avoid saying anything provocative while you’re there.
He also says that you have considerable powers of recall.”
“I’m not allowed to talk about my job with anyone, sir, I’m sorry.”
“You are a tap.”
“I can’t talk about what I do, sir.” By his tone, the governor, curiously enough, seemed to list the tap among his assets. Most Earthers felt differently.
“A particular kind of tap, allowing you to do the very important job you do—which at governmental levels we do know, Mr.
Stafford, and have no interest in creating difficulty for you.”
“I’ll have to tell the Chairman you asked me, sir, with all respect.”
“You acquired this tap after you left the Freethinker orbit and you trained to use it, so successfully so you are where you are. Is it active now? Could it be active now, if you wished?”
“I’ll convey that question to the Chairman, sir. When I leave this office.”
“I’d like to ask the Chairman a question.”
A little harder jog of the heart, a warning. “No, sir. I won’t say what I can and can’t. But I’m not a tap-courier and I don’t mediate messages.”
The governor gave a slow smile. “Brazis said you were no fool.”
A test of his discretion. If there were secure relays here, in the governor’s own office, he wasn’t aware of it, and he wasn’t going to tap in here and now to test it. “I try not to be a fool, sir.”
“Has the Chairman indicated to you that he doesn’t trust my office security?”
“No, sir. Not to me, he hasn’t.”
A little frown of annoyance or thought, then a smile that seemed somehow more genuine than the one before. “I’ve had it gone over minutely. I don’t find any relay. But you can tell Brazis I and my security are a little annoyed at the fact a tap-courier can operate here.”
“Yes, sir.” That one could was news to him.
“Are you cut off from contact with Marak at the moment? I’d certainly hope that’s the case.”
“Again, sir, you’d have to ask Brazis about that.”
The smile hardened. “Again, Mr. Stafford, you have very good Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 1 7 7
instincts. I’m impressed. So. Let’s get down to business at hand.
Mr. Andreas Gide has come all this distance specifically to see you, it seems, and Brazis is agreeable to that interview. We’re both curious what this off-schedule visitor is up to, and what he thinks you represent. We both recognize the danger you may run in going in there, not utterly discounting any physical danger, but I doubt it.
So does Brazis. Let me supply you other facts, which a young man of your political awareness can surely take to heart. This isn’t a scheduled ship-call. It came as a complete surprise to us. This high-ranking person purposely travels an extreme distance, at extravagant expense, and his first request is to see the youngest, newest tap connected to Marak himself, a tap who happens to have a Freethinker background, however far and faint in his past. I’d be far more comfortable if you had never visited a Freethinker den—if I could send him a young man with no past entanglements. But that’s not the situation we have, is it?”
“No, sir, but it is far in the background.”
“Do you comprehend that the repercussions from any mistake, any slip of critical information, could be extreme in this affair? That I have great misgivings in sending a twenty-year-old, no matter how intelligent, to handle this? Your mind is probably extraordinary. I’m very impressed. Your experience, however, is limited.
And this man is very sharp.”
“I can’t imagine what this man wants from me, but I know one thing. I can’t contact Marak for him. The Freethinker business is done with, it’s no secret to the Chairman, and I can’t be blackmailed or surprised in that. In the main, sir, I don’t know anything particularly secret. There are a lot of people in the Chairman’s office he could have asked for that have data on the Project. But I doubt they’d be volunteered for this. The only thing that bothers me is that I don’t see why he’d settle on me, except maybe he thinks he’s got something on me in the Freethinker business, or that I’m new on the job and he thinks he can intimidate me.”
“
Can
he intimidate you?”
“No, sir.” No hesitation. He was very sure where right and wrong lay, by the sacred Project rule book. And he wasn’t required to do anything but show up and avoid answers.
1 7 8 • C . J . C h e r r y h
“I hope you can report to me what questions he asks.”
“Chain of command, sir. I report straight to the Chairman, and that’s exclusively where I’ll report unless he instructs me otherwise. You can ask him, and he might let me debrief here.”
“Smart young man. Remember what the ambassador asks even if you don’t understand the question. Remember exactly what he says, the very words, and manage not to answer him. He
is
fluent in your native language. You may not appreciate how extraordinary that is. But it indicates to me that he came here well prepared for this interview. Say as little as possible. Claim you have to consult: you do. Set up a second meeting if possible, which may give your Chairman and me a chance to confer in the interim.”
He was supposed to miss one session with Marak. Not five. Not ones after that, in endless debriefings. It was an appalling prospect. He didn’t want to be used for this. But he didn’t say that.
“If the Chairman agrees to that idea, sir.”
Reaux pushed a button on his desk. “Mr. Chairman?”
“I’m following this.”
It was Brazis’s voice over an ordinary phone.
And Procyon knew, first, with a little jump of his heart, that he’d sat here, with all his confidence, failing to detect he’d been spied on, by such low-tech means and by an Earther. But he was sure, his heart subsiding to a more confident beat, that he’d said absolutely nothing he shouldn’t. He lived under observation. He was, in that sense, used to it, never knowing, when anyone talked to anybody in the offices, whether they had a tap, and whether somebody not present was hearing most of it. Brazis had warned him explicitly about truthers. But he’d passed. He hoped he’d passed.
“Procyon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Voices can be synthesized. You should constantly remember that.”
Deep blush. He felt his face go hot.
“Yes, sir.”
“I agree with the governor: arrange a second meeting if you can. I’ll
confirm all these instructions later, so you can be sure they’re mine.”
“Yes, sir.”
Not only physical lines, in dealing with Earthers—a trick he hadn’t straightway thought of—but physical tricks he’d not had to worry about, either, in discriminating truth from lies, like faces and Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 1 7 9
voices that weren’t real. Earth didn’t use taps, but he’d always heard Earthers had tricks. Faking identity was a near impossibility where the secure taps were concerned. But among Earthers, behind the governor’s doors, where there were no secure taps, proving one’s identity, yes, had to be a major concern.
“An escort will pick you up tomorrow morning at 0900h,”
Reaux said to him.
“Tomorrow.” He’d already missed today. “And, sir, the Chairman won’t want attention drawn to my apartment—”
“—at your area lift.”
“There are two. The one at 11th and Lebeau. It’s far enough away.”
“The 11th and Lebeau station, promptly at 0900h. You’ll know my man by a code word. He’ll call you Mr. Jones when he meets you. He’ll take you to the ambassador. Dress modestly, as you are now. The ambassador’s name, again, is Andreas Gide: you can call him Mr. Ambassador, or Ambassador Gide, or just plain sir is quite adequate. He’ll assuredly try to unsettle you. He’ll almost certainly confront you about your past associations. Be prepared, but don’t be glib. Let me warn you in advance, his appearance is imposing.
You’ll face a plastic display, a chemoplasm on a containment shell, which may have unguessed sensors and recording devices inside, and truthers, but don’t try going in on sedatives. That always shows. At all points, you’ll have Brazis’s protection, so rest assured, Gide can’t harm or threaten you: he’d fear the consequences, in terms of international law and Treaty law. Brazis is relying on that point, extremely, and so am I, in principle, so I want you to understand what is at risk. Unfortunately in certain departments this ambassador outranks me, so it’s not likely I can help you if this goes badly. At all points, listen far more than you speak, and encourage the ambassador to talk. Draw him out, if you can.”
“I understand.” He wasn’t sure he did have the full picture of what he was up against. But he saw he had no choice. He wanted to get through this. He wanted it over, for more than just getting back to the business on the planet. He wanted himself back in his own life where he belonged, safe and out of reach of powerful strangers.