The Ethos Effect, page 47
“I’ll be there.” Van smiled. “And sometime while I’m here, you can take me to G’zai’s.”
“I will take you up on that. Especially since you remembered.”
“How could I have forgotten?”
That brought a momentary smile to Miryam’s uncharacteristically somber face. “Until tomorrow.”
After he broke the link, Van took a quick shower and changed into a pale—almost white—bronze singlesuit. He packed several days’ worth of clothes into a single bag, then went to look for Alya.
She met him in the passageway outside his stateroom.
“You can have the next two days free to go planetside,” he said. “Just make sure that the ship is totally sealed. Charge the shuttle and any hotel to the operating account, but meals are on your own.”
“We’re not going to be called off somewhere?”
Van shook his head. “The local IIS office needs me for things for at least two days. You might even get more time than that.” He paused. “Let’s do it this way. Meet at the local IIS office in Kurti at ten hundred two days from now, and we’ll see where we stand.”
Alya smiled. “You’re certain?”
“Certain,” he affirmed.
“Thank you, ser.”
“I should have thought of it earlier. I’ve had a lot on my mind. If you hurry, you can make the next shuttle.”
“I think I’ll wait for the one to Omdu. It’s in two hours. I’ve always wanted to go there.”
“Then ... just call the IIS office at ten hundred two days from now. No sense in your traveling cross-continent.”
“That would be all right?”
“Just go. Enjoy. I don’t know that you’ll get much of a break after we leave Meroe.”
“Yes, ser.” Alya smiled more broadly as Van turned to leave the Joyau.
The down-shuttle to Kurti was almost on time—leaving a mere ten minutes late, but the suite at the Takwar Grande was warm enough that Van had to turn down the temperature before he washed up and left to find the Plaza Dulein.
Even so, he managed to walk into the D’Oro Real at nineteen-fifty.
Emily was waiting at the corner table where the young host escorted Van. She was wearing a loose deep green blouse that set off her skin and hair.
Van couldn’t help but smile as he bowed. “Emily.”
There was the faintest flush as she replied. “I’d... hoped you’d make it back to Meroe before too long, but... it was a while... quite a while, the last time.”
“Two years, more or less,” he replied, sliding into the seat across from her. “I hadn’t thought it would be quite so long.” Then he grinned, and said, “I’ve done better than seven years, though.”
Emily flushed. “You... you are... impossible. I never should have told you.”
“I like your middle name, and it fits.”
Before Emily could respond, beyond a deeper flush, a server dressed in loose white trousers and tunic with a silver-green vest appeared.
“You’re having?” Van asked. “Almaryn?”
“Not tonight.” She looked to the server. “Chellis.”
“A pale ale. Cold.”
The server vanished with a nod.
“I could have met you at the embassy,” Van began, not quite certain where he stood.
“It would be better if you didn’t come to the embassy.”
“Less uncomfortable?” asked Van.
Emily laughed. “These days, I could care less who I make uncomfortable. I’ve been accepted for permanent residence here, and my tour ends in a year. I think I’ve lined up a position as a junior media person with a local multi, and I’m eligible for a deferred diplomatic retirement in another ten years. I could get immediate retirement if I stayed another five, but I wouldn’t last.
“No... it’s for your sake. Mostly, anyway. You’re wanted, supposedly for questioning, but the RSF has let it be known that anyone who gets you into custody in Republic territory will be very highly regarded.”
“And an embassy is Republic territory.”
“I don’t think most staffers would do it. You’re still a hero to most of the diplomats, and the lower staffers, but Commander Omeara—he’s the new military attaché—he follows the RSF line to the last letter and last period.”
“Will you get in trouble for not luring me into the embassy?” asked Van.
Emily shook her head. “The ambassador and the first secretary weren’t pleased with the coup—pardon me, the change in government. They haven’t said much, but I can tell.”
“What do you think about it all?”
“I think my actions say how I feel. I don’t know that Meroe is the ideal place to be, but where else could I afford to go? If I went back to Korkenny...”
“You don’t want to go back there,” Van said gently.
“Oh?”
“I was there several months ago. They’ve fallen in totally behind the new government. They’ve already starting confiscating half the assets and profits of all non-Republic multis under the new Economic Security Act, or whatever it’s called.”
“That allows that? And the Parliament passed that kind of law?”
“Under the ... new government. Has anyone said what they want to question me about?”
“No, but there are rumors—” Emily stopped as the woman server returned and slipped a goblet of a silver-white wine before her, then a frosted glass with Van’s pale ale before him.
“We haven’t—” Van began.
“Why don’t you look at the menu while I order,” Emily suggested.
Van called up the projected menu and scanned it.
“I’ll have the house salad, and the herbed flank steak.” Emily looked to Van.
“I’ll have the same.” Van wasn’t totally sure, but the dinner wasn’t about food. He waited until the server departed before continuing. “You were saying ... about the rumors...”
“They were saying that you had sneaked into the RSF headquarters and done something horrible...”
“I did,” Van admitted. “I broke into their records.” He paused. “Do you want to know what I found out?”
“I’ve always been an incurable snoop.” The brilliant and warm smile appeared. “But I’m not a gossip.”
Van knew that. He shrugged. “The RSF set up the Fergus to be attacked by the Collyns. I upset their plans by destroying the Collyns. They were going to claim that the Fergus was a Keltyr cruiser that was breaking the Scandyan space restrictions. Oh, and there’s a strong indication that Commander Cruachan was murdered by RSF operatives because he knew too much about what was going on.” He glanced at Emily. “You don’t look surprised.”
“From that group ... no. So they sent someone out to kill you?”
“I don’t know about that—not on Scandya, that is. They did send an assassin after me in Bannon after I retired. He was stunned, and I left quickly. But... that wasn’t the worst. They used a clone—stage three, I’d guess—to impersonate an RSF commander. My replacement on the Fergus. You might recall that the Fergus vanished on its return to Tara?”
“I recall that—only because I knew you’d been on the Fergus.”
“I’d been doing some research, and on Weathe I ran across an obituary. It was of a James P. Baile. It even had his picture.”
“Why was that surprising?”
“He was listed as dying of natural causes one month before he relieved me of command.”
Emily offered a wry smile. “In your somewhat skeptical mind, I take it, you find it hard to believe that there are that many James P. Bailes with the same age, rank, and looks in the RSF who undertook command duties in health after they died.”
“I did find that hard to believe, especially from the same home planet.”
“Couldn’t they just have faked his death?”
“They could have. Either way, it’s wrong. But I have my doubts about a faked death. A clone would be much easier to program to send the ship into a fatal jump.”
“How do you make a fatal jump?”
“Translate into the center of a sun. Change the jump coordinates. There are fail-safes, but the commander has to be able to override them.”
Emily looked down, started to speak, then waited as their salads arrived. “You realize this is not exactly totally private? I doubt that we’re monitored directly, but...”
Van shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, not here. It won’t make the RSF think less of me, since that’s not possible. I had a little difficulty in leaving New Oisin...”
“The same sort of trouble as on Scandya ... as the prime minister?”
“This time I was better prepared, but there were casualties ... That’s why they want me. They tried to kill me, and the RSF doesn’t allow self-defense, not when their cover-up might be disclosed.”
Emily nodded slowly. “I’m not surprised.” She reached across the table and touched his hand. “It must have been hard for you.”
“I like working for IIS...” He shook his head. “I never told you.”
“Never told me what?”
“The managing director—his ship was caught in the Revenant mess. He didn’t make it through. I ended up as the head of IIS. That’s one reason I’m here.” Van stressed the word “one” ever so slightly. He swallowed, and added, “You’re another.”
Emily laughed softly. “Even if I’m only one of several reasons, that’s one of the most flattering things said about me in many years—that a man actually piloted a ship from systems away to have dinner with me.”
Van could feel himself flush, although he doubted that Emily would see his reaction in the muted tight of the restaurant. “I wanted to spend more time with you the first time I came through, but I couldn’t I didn’t control the schedule. In a way, I still don’t”
“That happens.”
“I still remember the tour we took of Cliff Spire.”
“It seems so long ago.”
“Not for me,” Van blurted.
“You are more of a romantic than anyone knows,” Emily said. “Why didn’t you ever find someone?”
Van looked into the half-empty pale ale, and then into her gray eyes. “It just took longer.”
This time, she was the one who looked down. Then, she looked up and smiled. “I suppose I asked for that.”
“No... you didn’t I’ve never been known for subtlety in personal matters.”
“It might be better if you didn’t try to prove it again. Not immediately.” But there was a twinkle in her eyes.
“Not immediately,” Van agreed. “Oh, before I forget Would you mind if I asked for a small professional favor? I think it’s a small favor.”
Emily lifted her eyebrows.
“News... news from Sulyn and Bannon. I’d also like anything you can come up with about or by a mediacaster named Ashley Marson. And about my brother Arturo, if you can.”
“I can see. That shouldn’t be that difficult. It will take a while. It seems to be hard to get news or information about Sulyn.”
Van was afraid of that. “If you would just send it to the local IIS office. Miryam Adullah is the director, and she’ll get the information to me.”
“She’s a formidable lady, everyone says.”
“I know. I’m meeting with her tomorrow morning.”
They both paused as their entrees appeared.
Van took another sip of the pale ale, then nodded to the server for another. He stopped. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d needed a second.
“Tell me again that you came all these light-years to see me.”
“I came more than all those light-years to see you.” Van offered the statement deadpan.
Emily laughed, warmly.
“And I love your laugh.”
“It’s too direct. My mother always told me that a lady never laughed like she meant it”
“That’s terrible...”
“She was very old-fashioned.”
Van took a bite of the flank steak, barely tasting it as he watched and listened to Emily—his Senta. He hoped.
Chapter 82
Miryam Adullah looked across the conference table at Van. “He told me that you’d be his successor, but I didn’t expect it so soon.”
“He didn’t bother to tell me,” Van said. “I thought Nynca would be his successor.”
“What did she say to you? You asked her, didn’t you?”
“We talked about it. She said she could plan, but that she wasn’t suited for the position.”
“She’s not ruthless enough.”
“Ruthless?”
Miryam smiled, a wide but sympathetic smile. “I’m not a big believer in coincidence, Van. Whatever happened to the Jerush system has Trystin’s aura all over it.”
“A solar flare? How could that be?”
“The timing was rather suspicious, and if anyone could coax a sun into flaring, he could. There’s a great deal about Trystin that’s more than mysterious. I’m pushing sixty, and I’ve known Trystin since I was nineteen. He looked the same then as he did the last time I saw him. He’s the only human with an open entree to the Farhkans. He also opposed every aspect of the Revenant expansion, and he was getting more and more frustrated with the unwillingness of the other major Arm powers to rein in the Revenants.”
“That doesn’t mean he could make a sun flare.”
“I’ve read the reports. It wasn’t anything like a nova—but a major flare. There’s a big difference. Not to the people. They’re all dead. But to the system. It’s still there.”
“Five hundred million dead and the system uninhabitable for years, at least without planoforming.”
“You know I’m right,” Miryam said. “There’s no point in talking about it more.”
Van shrugged.
“You’ll see. And don’t be too surprised when you decide that he was right.” Her dark eyes fixed on Van. “That’s done. You’re here, and you can’t stay that long. I’ve got a schedule laid out.” A holo field appeared in the center of the conference table. “Let’s go over it. If you think something’s not necessary, let me know.”
Van doubted he would have any objections. She knew Meroe and the Kushite systems far better than he did, and he’d seen the accounts.
All in all, Van spent two hours with Miryam and did not leave until she had extracted a commitment for almost all of his time for the following four days, beginning the next morning.
Then, feeling more than slightly tense, he made his way to Sappho’s house on the west side of Kurti. He’d debated calling ahead, but decided to risk not alerting her.
Of course, she wasn’t home.
So Van found a small restaurant and ate, then called the house.
When she answered, he broke the link and made his way back.
He didn’t get to the door before she opened it, standing there tall and glorious, golden red hair flaming.
“That was you, wasn’t it?” Her smile was wan.
“I’d come by earlier, and you weren’t here.”
“You could have called to find out when I would be.”
“After your message, I wasn’t sure how welcome I’d be. I thought it might be harder for you to say no if I showed up in person.”
His sister shook her head slowly. “I never said I was angry with you. You’re always welcome.” She stepped away from the doorway. “Come on in. The girls are at school, and Aelsya’s at work. I don’t start until next semester. Things are still a mess here. I get tired more quickly.”
“It’s the heavier gravity.”
“The heaviness of more than that.”
Van waited to say more until she had shut the door. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner. We had a problem.”
“You’ve always had problems, brother.”
Van accepted the slightly bitter words. “First, the head of IIS died in a ship accident. Second, my ship was badly damaged, and third, I was requested to testify before the Coalition Assembly. I left as soon as the ship was ready. We docked at orbit station late yesterday.”
Sappho sank into the new armchair in the sitting room, but one that seemed similar to one Van recalled from her house in Bannon.
Van took a straight-backed chair. “Have you heard from Arturo?”
“I haven’t heard a word.”
“I stopped by the embassy. Well... actually, I met with the third secretary outside the embassy. She’s going to see what she can find out”
“Do you want to tell me why you didn’t go to the embassy?”
“Do you want to know the whole story?” he countered. “It might be easier.”
“It’s a long story,” he began. “It actually started on the Fergus...” Van told her almost everything about his encounters with the RSF, including Commander Baile, and the effects of the Economic Security Act and his efforts at RSF headquarters. He avoided the Revenant issue. “... and that’s probably why they want me for questioning—because they don’t know what I know or who might know. Otherwise, they’d just have people looking to shoot me. They may anyway.”
Sappho studied him for a long time. “You always looked like Dad Cicero. The same things bother you, too, but he was a thinker. You’re a doer.”
“That’s not always good,” Van pointed out.
“It’s better that way, but it’s never easy on the people around you. Or those who love you.” She paused. “Do you still have a job? You said that your boss...”
“I have a job. He named me his successor. I’m the head— the managing director of IIS. That was another reason it was hard to get away.”
“You... you’re the head of one of the biggest foundations in the Arm, and you’ve only been with them something like three years?”
“It’s absurd, when you look at it that way,” Van agreed.
“I wondered where you got all those credits you sent.” She shook her head. “You didn’t borrow those?”
“No. I had a healthy stipend as the senior director, and I never had a chance to spend much of it. So I sent everything I could.”
“You’ve always been generous that way. I remember when you came up with—”
“I had the credits, and you needed them.”
