The Ruins of Power, page 10
“They’re ready for you, Father,” Austin said.
“It’s too bad you can’t conduct the news conference for me,” Sergio said, heaving himself to his feet, “but that wouldn’t do. I’m Governor.” The way he spoke made Austin feel as though the weight of a world crushing his father down might cause him to relinquish that duty soon.
“I would if I could,” Austin said, “but they want you to speak to them. Lady Elora has the public more upset than they had been.”
“More rioting. I need to speak to the labor leaders. And that Kinsolving woman. You can do that, Austin.” Sergio preceded his son from the office and moved like he was pulled by a string to the conference room where the Ministry of Information and other, lesser news companies had set up cameras for the first formal interview since the funeral.
Sergio stepped forward, cleared his throat, and began, assuming the reporters were ready—or perhaps not caring.
“After the sad events of the past week, it is time to forge ahead with solutions to the economic problems facing Mirach. Envoy Parsons has given us hope of aid from The Republic, but it is our responsibility to begin the road to recovery without external assistance.”
Austin wasn’t sure if he felt at ease with Marta Kinsolving and other members of the Mirach Business Association joining his father in the press conference. After his father’s brief introduction, Elora gave Marta and the others far more coverage—Austin could tell by looking past Lady Elora to where her seedy director sat at a console. Small vidscreens monitored each camera in the room before relaying a combined multiphase signal to the broadcast studio at the Ministry of Information. For every minute on-air Elora accorded the Governor, she gave three to the MBA officials, as if they were of equal rank and had more important things to say.
If Sergio said something, Elora cut to Benton Nagursky for a reaction shot. If Marta took the center stage, Elora did not cut away. Austin found himself wishing he could speak with his father’s advisers and somehow edge Elora out of her coverage. Her position as Minister made this difficult, but Austin wanted to try. He had suggested her removal to his father and had hit a stone wall, as if nothing could be changed now. But it had.
Heir apparent to the governorship of Mirach, Baronet Austin Ortega. He took a deep breath and knew he had to develop his own staff and governing style.
“As a result of the transfer of my personal guard to Legate Tortorelli’s command,” Sergio Ortega said, catching Austin’s eye and bringing his attention back to the crowded office and the reason for the conference, “money in the Governor’s budget has been freed. With Ms. Kinsolving and the cooperation of the Mirach Business Association, we have devised a bold plan to use Mirach’s four moons as communications relay points. This will link every point on-planet with any other within seconds. The HPG net might have gone down between planets in The Republic, but we will not be denied rapid, dependable communications.
“Ms. Kinsolving,” Sergio said as he turned the mic over to the auburn-haired CEO of All WorldComm.
“The funding,” Marta Kinsolving said forcefully, “will be adequate to establish the first-ever planetary comm net for Mirach.” She began to detail the reasons, the costs, and the technology, but Austin found himself interested more in the woman than in her speech. Marta wasn’t a beautiful woman, but her energy and determination held his attention. He decided it had to do with the confidence she exuded, as much in herself as in the project. By fully funding All WorldComm to run what Marta called Span-net, the Governor had given her a preeminent position among the members of the MBA.
If she hadn’t already been atop that heap. Austin saw how Boris Chin deferred to her and even bellicose Benton Nagursky often yielded the microphone to Marta as questions came from the reporters about MBA participation and the hope for new jobs planetwide.
Austin began to wonder about the MBA and what political aspirations its members had. He knew next to nothing about the ancient, translucent-skinned Dr. Chin other than he was a respected, often brilliant plant genetics researcher, but Ben Nagursky had a reputation for ruthlessness and removing anyone who stood in his way. For Marta Kinsolving to run with these wolves, she had to be equally brilliant—and merciless. This thought set off a chain reaction in his head that led back to Dale’s death.
Someone had purposefully mislabeled the deadly missiles, and he doubted it was any of Tortorelli’s command. Gaining control of the FCL was quite a coup for Calvilena Tortorelli, but it had been announced and seemed less of a motive than Marta Kinsolving’s. She, her company, and the MBA were profiting handsomely. The money to finance her Span-net could have been tied up in legislative session for another year if Sergio had not seen fit to push through the appropriations. She, or AWC, certainly profited both mightily and quickly. But Dale’s death had not been linked to this. Austin frowned as he worried over motives.
An angry whisper drew his attention away from Marta to Lady Elora. She chewed out her director for missing some small detail in a camera angle. The Minister of Information had benefited from covering the war games and Dale’s subsequent death. The news had become the top-rated show on the air, and along with the growing audience came Elora’s new and less subtle jibes about the Governor and his ability to rule—his inability to rule. There had been scattered riots in other cities since Dale died, but Austin knew that it was only a matter of time before the cork popped. He felt tensions mounting whenever he went into Cingulum. Elora urged the people to test the boundaries of the law to find out if The Republic and its rulers were still best for the people of Mirach.
Austin couldn’t tell what had sparked Elora’s wrath, but the director wilted under it. Barnaby worked frantically to alter settings, to move cameras around, and finally to send the full transmission back to the Ministry of Information.
Final statements were read and the news conference wound down when his father said, “Thank you, Ms. Kinsolving. We look forward to the near future—the very near future—of virtually instantaneous communication.” The small crowd of reporters erupted with questions, but Sergio said decisively, “We have no further comments. Thank you all.”
Sergio left the impression that Span-net was better than the HPG, although Austin knew that wasn’t possible. But he wondered if the AWC project would bypass Lady Elora and the stranglehold she had gained on the dissemination of news.
“Son,” Sergio said to him as he started toward the door, “I’ve got a cabinet meeting. It’s always the Ventrale Coalition that gives me headaches and this time is no different. See to the matter we discussed, will you?”
Before Austin could do more than nod, his father rushed off, talking earnestly with his Minister of Mining and Energy. Austin stepped back and let Elora’s crew carry their equipment out. They were gone in less than five minutes. Marta remained behind, huddled with Nagursky and Chin.
“My father’s going to be in the cabinet meeting for some time,” Austin told them, thinking they were waiting to see the Governor.
“We have nothing more to do here. Thank you, Baronet,” Dr. Chin said, bowing the barest amount in Austin’s direction. Nagursky grunted as if someone had poked him in the belly, jerked his head in the direction of the door, and left with the aging geneticist. Marta leafed through a stack of papers, put them into a folder, and started to leave.
Austin hesitated, then stepped forward. “Is there any way I can help out?” he asked.
Marta’s eyebrows arched. Her brown eyes fixed on him.
“I can handle my own paperwork, thank you.”
“You promised me a tour of AWC while we waited for Envoy Parsons at the DropShip field.” Austin saw her heave a deep sigh of resignation; then she smiled.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to appear so reluctant. It’s just that my time’s being eaten by the Span-net project. Work piles up when I’m not at my desk digging away at it. And of course, there’s hardly been time for you, has there? I’m sorry for your loss.”
Austin thought she sounded sincere but wasn’t sure he should take her at her word. He moved through dangerous minefields and didn’t know friend from foe.
“Thank you,” he said. “Your earliest convenience would suit me.”
“Is your father assigning you as liaison on the Span-net project?”
“I’m doing all I can to take some of the load off his shoulders,” Austin answered.
“Come along now if you can get away. I have to check the labs to be certain all the fine gadgets I just promised can be manufactured and delivered on time.”
As they walked down the long corridor running the length of the office wing of the Palace of Facets, Austin was aware of eyes on them. Without being too obvious, he caught sight of several soldiers clad in the forest green of Tortorelli’s Home Guard trying not to be seen as they spied. Austin wasn’t sure if he was pleased that the Legate had assigned guards to the Palace. Why were they acting more like snoops than as guards?
Austin and Marta stepped out the west door into the breezy afternoon. The sun was setting, a huge gravid red blob on the hazy horizon. Clouds had moved in off the ocean and promised rain, but at this time of year Austin knew those clouds probably lied. Cingulum wouldn’t see significant rainfall until the monsoon season began in the fall.
“I’ll order a car and—” he began.
“You can ride with me. It’s a company car,” Marta said.
Austin swallowed. The sleekly aerodynamic white limo looked as if it were a block long with enough room in the rear for everyone in the Palace. A door opened silently and Marta ducked in. Austin followed, to settle down opposite her in a soft leather seat that was almost sinfully comfortable.
“I’m more used to the cockpit of a BattleMech.” He saw her sharp reaction. “I meant the BattleMech simulator,” Austin hurriedly amended. It’s made by AWC, isn’t it?”
“Made by one of our units. There’s not much call for them anymore.” Marta relaxed a little, but Austin saw he had thrown her off stride.
“Tell me about Span-net. Will it really replace the HPG?”
“Of course not,” Marta said, still guarded. “We will gain almost instantaneous person-to-person contact, though. All comm now goes through a few choke points at ground-based relays.”
Austin almost added, “Monitored by the Ministry of Information,” but refrained. He heard this in Marta’s description even if she didn’t say it straightforwardly.
“Span-net will go around those bottlenecks?” he asked.
“To one of the four moon stations, then back. With a network of relays on-world as well as in orbit, we can handle a millionfold more traffic than the current system, permitting personal video comm as well as commercial content, all in a single handset.”
“Will Lady Elora permit this?”
“She might be Minister of Information but she has no say-so over private industry. With your father’s blessing—and funding—the Ministry of Information will be relegated to a lesser role than it enjoys now.”
Austin leaned back and wiggled a little in the soft leather as he considered this. After the announcement today, AWC would become the target of Lady Elora’s propaganda if Marta did not move swiftly to get the necessary equipment in place.
“It will revolutionize communications on Mirach,” Marta said.
“But it’s not HPG,” Austin said.
“No,” Marta said, her tone a little more hostile than before. “Since we can’t depend on The Republic, we’ll rely on our own technology. Span-net will not fail the way the HPG did.”
After such a bold statement and one reflecting what she thought of The Republic, Marta fell into generalized statements, stolen more from a PR campaign. Austin was glad he had glimpsed, if only for a moment, Marta’s true feelings.
She was no supporter of The Republic. Did that mean she would sell out the Governor, given the chance? Where did her allegiance lie? Austin thought Jacob Bannson was a possible candidate. Bannson would approach entrepreneurs, being one himself, and he had asked Sergio to consider a trading post. Perhaps the Governor moved too slowly and Bannson sought another foothold on Mirach, using the MBA.
Austin knew he was only guessing. But he would find that out, for the good of Mirach, just as he’d find out if Marta Kinsolving had anything to do with Dale’s death, for his own peace of mind.
14
Ministry of Information, Cingulum
Mirach
25 April 3133
Lady Elora’s face glowed in phosphorescent green light as she hunched over her desk in the windowless office. Half a dozen monitors winked on and off around her, each responsive to her silent command. There was space on the desktop for writing or spreading out documents, but the rest was a gently banked surface covered with vidscreens and controls that allowed her to tap into any feed from any camera sent out by the Ministry, to observe and edit or spy. Her long, bony fingers danced over the controls, shifting restlessly from one view to the next. Nothing transpired in the Ministry of Information without her approval and overview.
In spite of such tight control, Elora still felt neglected, out of the loop, talked about behind her back by her inferiors. Sitting in her sparse room, she could toil over her spy equipment and compile a list of those who opposed her. And it was such a long list.
She hesitated when a screen showed Legate Tortorelli with three aides—she knew they were bodyguards rather than advisers because Ministry sensors revealed their sheathed weapons as surely as if they were carried in plain sight—bustling along the hallway two levels below her office. The Legate had breezed through security at street level and was on his way to see her, reaching the foot of the restricted-access escalator coming directly to the top floor of the Ministry Tower, where Elora built her electronic nest.
“Let the Legate in,” she said, her index finger lightly brushing across a pressure switch. “Keep his guards in the reception area.”
She received no response and had expected none. Her staff was capable, except when it came to complex tasks. She still fumed that Hanna Leong had gone missing for the better part of two days before she had been permanently removed. Where had she been? Or did it matter, now that Dale Ortega was gone, too?
Such thorny questions stalked her waking moments.
Elora took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. It was time to prepare for the Legate’s unannounced visit.
Quick fingers worked over the controls, causing screens to vanish silently into the surface of her desk, leaving behind only faint seams to betray the hidden monitors. A single vidscreen showing the current Ministry newscast remained visible at one side of her desk. Elora leaned back in her chair, pushing aside the feeling of nakedness. So much happened when she wasn’t personally monitoring it, guiding it, exploiting it.
This was the price of dealing with Calvilena Tortorelli. He was a bothersome but necessary evil.
Her office door whispered open, and the portly Legate bustled in.
“Calvy!” she greeted with false bonhomie. “So glad you stopped by.”
“Elora,” the Legate said, sounding frightened. She guessed he was not happy having his bodyguards detained two stories below. “Forgive me for not calling ahead, but matters have been churning about me so. Terrible things, simply terrible!”
“Please, sit down. I—” Lady Elora recoiled when Tortorelli interrupted her.
“Is this room secure?”
“Yes, it is,” she said carefully. “What’s wrong?”
“No windows?” he asked. “You’re on the top floor of a fifty-story building and you don’t have any windows?”
“Security risks, Calvy. You know that. A laser shining against a glass pane turns the window into a microphone transmitting for everyone to hear.”
“What I wish to discuss is highly sensitive. Highly.”
“I live by the credo that walls have ears, Calvy,” she said, beginning to wonder what was so important. Whatever it was, it clearly frightened him.
“What I have stumbled across must be kept in the strictest confidence. If anyone else learned what I have uncovered, well, let’s say Mirach would be damaged severely.”
Elora considered what this might be and decided she had to divert him, if the Legate brought her the information she suspected from his behavior.
“Tell me, Calvy. You know I can keep a secret.”
“Baronet Dale’s death,” he said in a husky whisper. “It wasn’t accidental.”
“Calvy, you assassinated the Baronet?” she said with mock surprise.
“What are you saying, woman? No, no, not me. But I found the man who substituted the live missiles. A security camera recorded him. He wasn’t in my service and he certainly was not in the FCL.”
Elora said nothing about the haphazard way Tortorelli had planned the war games and how he had spread authority over too many junior commanders. What bothered her was how the assassin had been caught in the act on camera.
“You’ve arrested him? Turned him over to the Baron? No, he should go to the civil authorities,” she said.
“He vanished, Elora. Gone. Like smoke. But the Baron will think I knew about it.”
“Who else knows?” she asked. “Of the pictures and the assassin?”
“A handful of technicians. And their commander.”
“Scatter them around the planet, Calvy,” she said. “Transfer them and keep them separated. Promote the officer; make it a staff position where you can watch him. You dare not let a hint of this get out.”
“But I don’t know who he is. Was. Oh, Elora, this is a nightmare!”
“One easily handled by an experienced commander such as yourself,” Elora said soothingly. She considered how difficult it would be to remove all the witnesses, and decided eliminating one careless employee was better than creating questions over the death of half a squad in the Home Guard.
“I should tell the Baron. I had nothing to do with this, he needs to know, and that other son of his keeps asking questions.”
This signed the assassin’s death warrant. Elora didn’t know how it would be done, but it had to be done soon. And it would.
