“Those present,” Harad said, and they proceeded to an informal roll call—leaving out Information, a fact which Ari noted, and didn’t take in the least as a slight. Where Council’s quorum stood, the five for ordinary business, and the eight for special business—that was something Harad didn’t give away for free. They mustered the basic five without her, and she didn’t say a thing, just sat with her chin on her hand, and trusted records were being kept.
“We’ll dispense with the reading of the last session’s business,” Harad said, and proceeded on to the general’s list, first being a Council resolution on the situation on Novgorod docks, requesting the Fleet’s military police to withdraw to quarters; a second resolution giving General Awei provisional authority to arrest and detain inside the city of Novgorod; a third, Council condemnation of the missile attack on Reseune.
Nice politics. Ari made a note, signaled Florian, and said, “Give this to deFranco,” and Florian quietly walked to the other end of the table and did that.
It suggested a fourth Council resolution, condemning the intrusion of Defense personnel into Reseune Administrative Territory property at Planys, and requiring the release of all arrested personnel and surrender of all confiscated materials.
It took very little arguing of specific language, and, her little test, and probably something at least deFranco noted, the general quite readily supported it.
So it joined the list up for consideration.
Then came a fifth prospective Council action, on Awei’s list, a grant of authority to Awei, with powers of arrest and detention, to investigate the death of Councillor-elect Spurlin and the disappearance of current Councillor Jacques. It was a simple Council directive, but, Chavez noted, operationally unprecedented in scope. They had, Harad said, the Office of Inquiry doing the same.
Damn it, Ari thought, pass it. Don’t hang us up on territoriality. But she kept her mouth shut.
It hadn’t made it onto the list yet. Then Ludmilla deFranco moved for a twenty-minute recess. That. Ari had learned, was where Council intended to do some off the record maneuvering.
“Sera.” Catlin came to Ari’s elbow as Council collectively took a rest-room break. Catlin delivered a set of printout, with her standard request, a summation sheet on top. It was ReseuneSec’s answer to her question on Awei. He had not served in combat, had served at Gehenna during the Alliance-Union investigation—interesting; had managed the Fargone Hospital facility, which was only partially a hospital, and had more to do with the Defense base at Eversnow—there was a major caution, considering Defense might have killed her predecessor in an as-yet unproven relationship to that project.
Awei could be, she thought uneasily, a worse problem than Khalid, if Awei was deeply embedded in the coverup of military activity on that iceball.
She asked herself whether it was a good idea or not to let Awei know she knew certain things—until they’d gotten maximum good out of Awei. She’d watched the man across the table, watched his eyes, and she had at least some confidence she was reading him consistently. That was one thing in his favor.
But he was also old in his business, knew how to keep his face quiet, and clearly, to her observation at the moment, knew how to talk to Councillors who came at him with sharp questions; no fool, not in the least.
She’d have about the first instant to read past that considerable skill at not being read, if she broached her topic with him.
If she didn’t, they could possibly have Awei and his service running Defense in fairly short order, unless they first used him to get rid of Khalid and then appointed Bigelow, out of the Fleet, to do things as they’d always been done. Council was certainly capable of doing that, and if Bigelow was more energetic than she’d yet showed, who knew? She might turn up as Councillor for Defense and Awei might be assigned back to Eversnow.
He didn’t command all the strings that could be pulled. Council hadn’t been prepared for the blow that had come against it—an outright campaign of assassination and brute force. Defense had those weapons to use. They could still have one sticky mess on their hands.
But she was still the kid. The observer in this meeting. Awei had had a taste of her style out by the plane. But he might not be totally on his guard against a question coming from her.
It had better be a good one. A really good one.
She decided on another cup of coffee, and, the serving staff having come back, now that they were in recess, she moved up close to the general, who was standing by the window having his own cup refilled.
“General.” she said pleasantly, and got his attention. “Who in Defense ordered my predecessor killed?”
Fast change in the eyes. Muscle twitch. As good as a truther unless there’d been a psych plant to prevent a reaction. Did he really want to answer that question? He wasn’t at all sure.
“I don’t know,” he said, “but an investigation might be in order.”
He wasn’t lying. But he also kept some thought in reserve.
“Easy to accuse Khalid,” she said. “Possibly it would even be accurate.”
“He couldn’t originate the order, young sera.”
A little surprising, that answer. Accurate. Maybe trying to shift her exes higher up…maybe to Gorodin. But there was more than one way to originate an order, she thought. First, if you were head of Intelligence, you supplied the information behind it and that made the conclusion obvious. Interesting choice of answers, and she didn’t detect guilt in the man, just impatience with her, an awareness of everything going on in the room, in which he thought he had much more at stake, and, still, something still in reserve.
“You’re hiding something,” she said, and that got a reaction, quick as an explosion—in the tiny muscles of the iris, in the momentary glitch in the neck.
“You’re a very interesting young woman, Sera Emory.”
“What do you not have, that you don’t want to let us know about?”
He didn’t get caught this time. He smiled in a very controlled, patronizing way. “I never met your predecessor. Was she this full of questions?”
“Something major,” she answered her own question. “You lack something, and that makes you think you may lose this fight. You’re making your move as early as you can and as late as you dare. For one thing, you don’t control the Fleet, and the Fleet has been in power since Union began. You don’t think you can pry their hands off that power. You have to worry about assassination, for another thing…” She was watching his eyes as she ran through that shopping list, and saw reactions that said she was getting closer. “And you have about twenty-four hours to make your bid good, which is why you came here looking for Council backing, because all the people currently backing you are going to be in a lot of trouble, real soon, if you don’t gain momentum fast, and you care about that. Good. That makes me feel better.”
He looked at her in some disquiet. “And do you have a conclusion to this observation, Sera? Or is it a fortune-telling act?”
“Oh, it’s not that hard to say, you came here to get a Council directive, which will make you look a lot more legitimate, you know there’s not a special quorum here, but you do know there’s an ordinary quorum, which is enough for a directive. You’d probably like a Council resolution to say definitively that there’s no way in hell they’ll seat Khalid, and they might do that, but I don’t think it would look good politically. I’d advise not, if you have that in mind. Better you act as Council’s enforcement, then let Council get together, vacate the Defense seat and appoint a pro tem…assuming Jacques is dead, which seems fairly likely; or in Khalid’s hands, as insurance, in which case Jacques can be gotten out alive, and he could appoint you as proxy—he’ll do what he’s told to do. Am I following this correctly? You’ve got your troops, you’ve got a few important people hanging back, waiting to see how this goes, and whether or not you can outmaneuver Khalid, who’s just taken the other continent this morning because he’s having to jump fast and you caught him a little
by surprise. His being there makes logistics a lot more difficult for you to get at him, but you’re after Svetlansk, where possibly you can keep him defending.”
A slow, grim honesty arrived in those same eyes. “say Svetlansk won’t be a problem. Planys, however, is. He’s shifted certain of his assets across the water. He has time, there. He can politic with the station over our heads. Two warships up there, if you want the truth.”
“Reseune has assets across the water,” she said. “I can get you precise recon at any time you want it. It’ll be a snapshot, so only ask for it once, but I can deliver it.”
He was still for a moment—more than silent; still, controlled, wary. Then his eyes flicked aside, beyond her, about where Florian and Catlin would be standing.
“Numbers before this morning would be very useful, sera,” he said then. “Placement of forces likewise.”
“Catlin,” she said, knowing Catlin and Florian had heard every word, “provide the general with that information.”
“Yes, sera,” Catlin said.
The clock, meanwhile, had reached straight up, and their twenty-minute recess was done. While she’d occupied the general, Councillors had been discussing, intensely, and now took their seats with a grim look.
Ari went up the table before deFranco, caught her for a moment for a quiet word before she took her seat. “I think he’s here without wider support in Defense, except his own branch. He’s looking for legitimacy. He’s got forces actively moving in or on Svetlansk. The directives he’s got will give him momentum…might sway elements of the Fleet, but I didn’t get that from him, and I don’t think he’s remotely counting on it. Call on him to support the Council by armed force where needful. Call on all the armed services to support the Council and defend its premises.”
That happened to be Reseune—and they were in extraordinary danger at the moment, with that plane sitting on its runway, and unproven actions going on in Svetlansk.
DeFranco nodded, walked over, and spoke intensely to Harad, who then spoke at some length to Harogo.
And Harogo, once they were seated, made the motion to consider an amendment to the last-proposed directive.
They passed the Council directive. The added portion read: support the Council, defend its premises and protect the premises of all Bureaus, cities, institutions and territories, by force of arms where need be.
Awei drew in a large breath, then—satisfied, it seemed.
“Sera,” Florian said. He’d left the room during the last of the session. He had a printout in hand, and handed it to her. “The Planys report.”
It was a single page. It gave a breakdown of Defense numbers at the airport, numbers inside Planys.
“That’s of this morning, sera, at the point we shut System down.”
“Good,” she said. “As far as we know, System remains intact?”
“Likely it does.”
It was earnest of what they could get, when they needed it. She went to the general, who was taking leave of the Councillors, and handed him the paper. “Numbers and locations of non-Reseune individuals the hour of the takeover. You get Khalid to defend his airport, and his base, and let us know when you need it, ser.”
Awei looked past Ari, directly at Catlin and Florian, whose faces wouldn’t give him a thing.
And back to her, maybe wanting to know a lot more, wondering if he had credit enough to ask it.
“Right before the shutdown,” she said. “Best information we’ve got.”
“Sera, Reseune has air cover while I’m here. But best you get your people and essential operations underground over the next number of hours. We can’t defend against what may happen on the station.”
Up where the weathermakers were. When the atmospheric controls were, and the bulk of the power generation.
Not to mention hostile action from ships that might be in port.
She had the picture. Awei turned to the several Councillors, who wished him well.
So did she, and said so, before they took it to the media, outside, and provided the literal text of the resolutions.
The resolutions were going onto the airwaves.
The whole world was about to know for certain the Council was behind Klaus Awei’s actions, past and future.
BOOK THREE Section 6 Chapter vi
SEPT 8, 2424
1040H
The first message Justin got said, simply, as a flasher on the corner of the screen of his office computer: Wing Directors: red alert is in progress.
The second, popping up in quick succession, and overlaying it, said: Justin, you’re in charge of Alpha Wing. Call ReseuneSec if you have to find me.
Meanwhile their office vid, up on the wall, had started rerunning the short news conference, on a split screen with the general’s plane taking off.
It didn’t take much imagination to know it was no drill, some threat was imminent, and that meant prepare to head for the tunnels.
“Better shut down the office,” Justin said, feeling a little queasy. “Damn, we’re not getting much outstanding work done, at this rate.”
“Better pack for this one,” Grant said. “Trigger the warning on the List?”
“You know, I hate getting used to this. Yes, fire it off. Our neighbors know the drill better than we do.” He tried to think of what he should pack, what it would take to keep his sanity if it came to several days in the tunnels, and, with no functioning sense of priorities, he gathered up current notes on a non-classified set. “Take a case or two with you, or we’ll both go crazy.”
“Game, batteries, and motion charger, check,” Grant said. “Still in the briefcase from the last time. I hate getting used to it, too—just as a useful check on my sensibilities. I distinctly recall being told to appeal to my Supervisor if I feel stress coming on.”
“Do you?” Justin asked soberly, turning to look at him.
Grant rudely shoved him into motion. “It’s a condition of life, lately. Move. I want to get upstairs and pack some necessities this time. Let’s be practical about this.”
Mark and Gerry showed up in the open doorway; word had spread.
“Ser,” Gerry said, “An alert’s in progress.”
“We know. Thanks. Get on the com.” Justin said, settling his coat on, “call everybody in the Wing and tell them this is a real alert, if they have any doubt of it. All staff to go to the tunnels, prepare for a stay’. When you’ve done that, supply yourselves out of your office for at least a three-day stay and report to the storm tunnel.”
“Yes, ser,” Mark said, and the two of them went off at fair speed—which left them time to get upstairs in good order and pack a bag between them.
Grant looked a little overwhelmed as they were leaving—again. He cast a look around the room, as if memorizing it, and then looked at Justin with a little sigh as if to say he was ready for most anything.
Grant was Justin’s overriding thought. Grant’s stability, he didn’t question. It was a sensible worry whether they could both get through the next few days alive. He didn’t know everything they were up against, but the thought of the station in orbit deciding just to flip the switch and shut down the towers until Reseune gave up, or Defense landing troops on their very close-in river shore, troops to break into the tunnels and force their way in—
That wasn’t a prospect he wanted to contemplate. They were Warricks, Grant no less than he was. No question they’d be targets along with Jordan. They always had been. And there wasn’t a damned thing he personally could do about it, but have a short mental list of one bolt hole after another if it got to that.
Planys wasn’t theirs this morning. That news had mixed with the news of the landing; and he wasn’t the only one who’d be upset with that news. He phoned Jordan on his way down from their apartment. “Dad,” he said, when only the message function answered his call, “take this one very seriously. Paul, take care. Both of you.”
They ended up with the lift all to themselves.
Ba
ck to the tunnel he’d gotten to know—all the comforts, as far as sieges went.
And settled in to wait.
The galley served modest sandwiches, which Ari’s staff said would be available at any time. They had coffee and fruit tea. Tommy and Mika Carnath arrived, exhausted and short of breath, from across the complex, and said they’d been held up a while, getting back, because they’d had to walk all the way around from the labs. They weren’t letting people traverse the open spaces, and they were too young to rate a seat on the trams. Yvgenia Wojkowski arrived, and said she’d been delayed by a phone call from a cousin in Novgorod asking what had happened, but she had just told her to watch the news. Maddy Strassen came in with her companion Samara, and settled in. The news services, broadcasting in Novgorod, and visible on the general monitor, showed, intermittent with rebroadcasts of the Council news conference and the general’s plane taking off, tranquil views of the city, a small amount of traffic moving on the roads, subways running, mostly empty, on a sunny day.
It was reassuring to know the city was functioning. It showed barges backed up for days on the river, and then showed one barge leaving, which was promising.
“We have news, ser,” Mark said, coming over to him. “Svetlansk Airport has had several aircraft disabled.”
“So something’s going on up there.” Grant commented, after. “The general was telling the truth in that much.”
“We can hope so,” Justin said. There were a handful of places of any size in the civilized world, and Svetlansk had always seemed as remote as another world. Since the missile event, it hadn’t seemed that remote. It didn’t at the moment.
An hour later there was an interruption on the vid to say that there was going to be a three-hour shutdown of the just-opened Port of Novgorod, due to security concerns. That wasn’t good news.
Then Ari called in, just on general address. “This is Ariane Emory. We haven’t gotten much news, except there’s been a ground attack on Svetlansk Airport, damaging several Fleet aircraft. We’re getting two planes in fairly continual pattern between us and Novgorod, which we think is their origin. We have absolutely nothing reported off the coast in the direction of Planys and hope to keep it that way…”