A Rising Thunder

  Hadley nodded again, although not happily. Kjell Routhier was one of Cyclops’ delegates. Aurélie Reicher was from Heimdall, and Charlotte Tannerbaum was from Kenichi, while Fang Chin-wen was the assistant delegation leader for Trombone and Gook Yang Kee was the junior member of the Strathmore delegation.

  Hadley wasn’t that surprised about Tannerbaum, since Beowulf’s relations with Kenichi had never been particularly close. Routhier was more of a disappointment, especially after the way Hadley and her delegation had helped grease the skids for his delegation chief to meet personally with Permanent Senior Undersecretary Kolokoltsov a few T-months back. The real disappointment, though, was Aurélie Reicher. Heimdall and Beowulf did a tremendous amount of business with one another, given their proximity, and there was more intermarriage between Beowulfers and Heimdallians than almost any other star system except Manticore itself.

  I don’t like the possibility that Heimdall’s decided to pull the plug on us, Hadley thought. Still, Reicher’s a pain in the ass on her best day. And she resents the fact that our delegation’s got two more members than hers does. Talk about petty! So it’s possible she’s simply decided on her own that there’s no point getting splashed if we’re about to get whacked.

  “What did Fang have to say?” she asked.

  “Not a lot, mostly just everyday platitudes. I had the impression she was making conversation to be polite. On the other hand, that may have been for the benefit of the rest of her delegation.”

  “Why do you say that?” Hadley’s eyes narrowed intently.

  “Because she’s the one who told me to go have a word with Yang Kee…and she did it very quietly, when no one else from her delegation was in easy earshot.”

  “Okay.” Hadley nodded in understanding.

  Despite the Chamber’s size and the thousands of human beings who inhabited it when the Assembly was in session (and its members bothered to attend), its magnificent design included sound baffles around each delegation’s formal box. The baffles couldn’t completely deaden the never-ending, rustling surf of that many human voices, but it did reduce the background noise to just that—a background—within each box against which voices inside the box were clearly audible. So it would have made sense for Fang to babble away meaninglessly as a time killer until she could find a moment no one was close enough to overhear her.

  Assuming she had something to say she didn’t want the rest of her delegation to know about, at least.

  “So what did Yang Kee say when you found him?” she asked.

  “Not a hell of a lot,” Brinton-Massengale replied frankly. “But that was because he didn’t know a hell of a lot. He says the senior members of the delegation seem worried, and nobody seems really eager to talk to any of them, either. One thing he did find out, though.”

  “What?”

  “He’s not on the official list, but Tyrone Reid’s going to move a special motion.”

  “Yang Kee’s certain of that?” Hadley felt herself leaning towards Brinton-Massengale, her expression tight. She knew her body language was revealing too much to anyone watching her closely, but she couldn’t help it.

  “As certain as he can be.” Brinton-Massengale shrugged. “You know how it is, Felicia. But he says the fix is definitely in. Reid isn’t on the Speaker’s List, but Yung-Thomas is, and Yung-Thomas is going to yield in Reid’s favor. That’s what Yang Kee had from someone on Neng’s staff.”

  “I see.” Hadley thought for several seconds, then inhaled deeply. “Ham, I want you to go back to the residence.”

  “Can I ask why?” There was no argument in Brinton-Massengale’s tone, but he looked surprised.

  “I want an official member of the delegation, not just one of the staffers, to sit on Sir Lyman. Someone nobody with an official position is going to try to shove his way past.”

  “You think somebody’s going to try to put the arm on the Ambassador?” Brinton-Massengale looked even more surprised, and Hadley shook her head.

  “No, not really, but I don’t want to take any chances. Make sure you’ve entered your proxy code in my favor before you go, so I can cast your vote if I have to. Not that it’s going to do much good.”

  “Sure,” Brinton-Massengale said again. He entered the appropriate code, then looked at her before leaving the delegation’s box. “What do you think this is all about? Other than something we’re not going to like, I mean?”

  “It could be several things,” Hadley said grimly. “With Reid fronting for them, though, they’re probably going for something fairly heavy. Probably—” She broke off and shook her head. “No, I’m not going to speculate. We’ll know soon enough. Now scoot!”

  * * *

  Jasmine Neng, the Speaker of the Assembly, was a native of the Sol System (speakers tended to be chosen from mankind’s home star system). Born and raised in one of the belter habitats, she was tall and very slender with a pale complexion and striking dark eyes. She also knew exactly where the real balance of power lay in the Solarian League, or she would never have been chosen for her current position.

  She sat in the Speaker’s luxurious chair at the Chamber of Star’s central podium. The Speaker’s position was a towering pinnacle mounted on a twisting, faceted column of varicolored marble—honey and cream, obsidian black and golden, warm green and umber—eight meters tall. It loomed above the closest, floor-level delegation boxes, although the upper perimeter of the Chamber rose even higher above it. The Chamber’s indirect lighting was designed to provide a soft, muted ambience under the huge, hemispherical dome of its ceiling, where Old Luna rose in the east and the glittering wealth of stars stretched out endlessly overhead. In the midst of that dim lighting, the Speaker’s marble column gleamed, picked out and illuminated by floor-mounted spotlights, and a beautifully detailed hologram of Old Terra’s blue and green globe floated above Neng’s console.

  Hadley had always thought the Chamber had a beautiful, magnificent presence. And so it should, as the meeting place of the democratically elected delegates of the most powerful human nation ever to have existed. But beautiful though it was, magnificently though it had been reared, it was all a sham, and the woman sitting atop that marble spire knew it.

  The delegate who’d been speaking—droning away about something one of his constituents had wanted in the ORA, the Official Record of the Assembly—came to the end of his allotted time and sat back down. Hadley had no idea if he’d finished what he meant to say, but he could always sign up for additional time and take up exactly where he’d been interrupted. It wasn’t as if most of the delegates had anything more important to do with their time.

  She looked around the Chamber again. It was always difficult to tell, since many of the delegations didn’t illuminate their boxes or even chose to engage the privacy shields, but it looked to her as if more delegates were present than usual. It was normally a tossup as to whether or not there’d be enough attendees to make a legal quorum, although attendance had averaged higher since the crisis with the Star Empire had blown up. If her impression was right, however, more delegates than even that could account for were either in their boxes or wandering about the Chamber’s floor.

  “Thank you, Mr. Terry,” Neng said to the delegate who’d just seated himself. She had a strong, resonant voice which always seemed a bit strange coming from such a slender frame but was probably part of the reason she’d been chosen for her position. Her hugely magnified image in the HD projection hovering just below the Chamber’s ceiling looked down at the display at her console.

  “The Chair recognizes Mr. Guernicho Yung-Thomas, of Old Terra. The Honorable Delegate has requested ten minutes of the Assembly’s time. Mr. Yung-Thomas.”

  Her image disappeared, replaced by that of a somewhat portly, dark-complexioned man with sandy blond hair and gray-green eyes. He was a familiar sight to most of the Assembly, and more than one of the delegates either groaned when they saw him or decided the next ten minutes would be an excellent time for them to visit th
e men’s room or the women’s room or something else equally important. Yung-Thomas had a veritable passion for hearing his own voice, and he could be counted upon to put his name on the Speaker’s List at least every couple of T-weeks. Worse, his seniority in the Assembly meant he usually got the time he’d requested. Which he then used to give what he fondly imagined were ringing orations on the most boring topics imaginable.

  Hadley had never really understood what made Yung-Thomas tick. Did he simply want go down in history as the delegate who’d single-handedly put the most words into the Official Record? Was he trying to prove it really was possible to bore a thousand human beings to death? Or did he actually believe he was the magnificent orator he caricatured whenever he rose to speak? She didn’t know, but the fact that he was allowed to use up the Assembly’s time—whatever his motivation—was one more proof of how utterly irrelevant that Assembly truly was.

  Yet today, Yung-Thomas’ expression was different. It was more intent, almost excited, and Hadley felt her nerves tightening.

  “Thank you, Madam Speaker,” he said, then looked out of the HD at the Chamber floor. “I thank you for the opportunity to speak to you, my fellow Delegates, but a matter of some urgency has been brought to my attention. Accordingly, Madam Speaker, I yield the balance of my time to the Honorable Tyrone Reid.”

  Neng actually managed to look a bit surprised when her image replaced Yung-Thomas’ on the HD. Perhaps acting ability had been another qualification for her position.

  “Mr. Reid,” she said, “Mr. Yung-Thomas has yielded to the balance of his time to you. You have the floor.”

  “Thank you, Madam Speaker. And thank you, Mr. Yung-Thomas.”

  Reid’s image appeared—tall, with the bronzed complexion of a skier and yachtsman, carefully arranged black hair, and Nordic blue eyes which Hadley knew (although she wasn’t supposed to) he’d had altered from their original brown coloration. He was certainly physically impressive. She’d give him that. And the newsies loved him.

  “Fellow Delegates,” he said now, his deep voice grave, his expression somber, “I apologize for coming before you under somewhat irregular circumstances. I realize this time is officially designated for addresses to the Assembly, not for the transaction of business. Nonetheless, I feel I must claim privilege for an emergency motion.”

  The background murmur of conversations ebbed suddenly. It didn’t quite cease—Hadley couldn’t conceive of anything short of a kinetic weapon strike that could have accomplished that!—but it certainly dropped to one of the lowest levels she’d ever heard. Not surprisingly. There were very few circumstances under which a motion took privilege over the scheduled addresses from the Speaker’s List.

  “May the Chair ask the basis for your privilege claim, Mr. Reid?” Neng asked.

  “The basis for my privilege claim, Madam Speaker, is a threat to the security of the Solarian League,” Reid replied soberly. “And a grave matter of constitutional law.”

  The silence intensified, and Hadley had to restrain a sharp, fierce bark of laughter. Constitutional law? Kolokoltsov and his accomplices were suddenly concerned about constitutional law? If the idea hadn’t made her want to vomit, it would have been hilarious.

  “The Honorable Delegate has requested privilege for a motion on the basis of a threat to the League’s security,” Neng intoned. “Does anyone second his request?”

  “Seconded!” a voice called from the Seacrest delegation’s box.

  “A request of privilege has been made and seconded,” Neng announced. “The Chair calls the vote.”

  Hadley thought about voting against the request, but it wouldn’t have made any difference in the end. The fix, as Brinton-Massengale had said, was obviously in.

  Several minutes passed while the delegates who were bothering to vote punched the buttons in their boxes. The computers tallied results, and Neng looked down at them.

  “The request of privilege is granted,” she said. “The Honorable Delegate may proceed.”

  Her image disappeared once more, giving way to Reid’s. He looked out across the Chamber for several seconds, then cleared his throat.

  “Fellow Delegates,” he said, “I’m sure there’s no need for me to recapitulate the grievous events of the last few T-months. The League has found itself at odds with the so-called Star Empire of Manticore over what should have been a relatively minor dispute on the frontiers. Unfortunately, the Star Empire has chosen to adopt an increasingly aggressive and militant response to the League’s efforts to insist upon the sanctity of national borders, to safeguard fair and impartial elections, and to protect neutral third parties from unilateral aggression on the part of apparently imperialistic naval powers.”

  He paused, and Hadley rolled her eyes. She supposed that was one way to describe what had been happening.

  “As you know, Fleet Admiral Sandra Crandall’s task force was attacked and virtually destroyed by Manticoran naval forces in the Spindle System in what the Star Empire has dubbed the Talbott Quadrant and seen fit to annex as the result of a highly questionable ‘constitutional convention’ in the Talbott Cluster. We are still seeking to determine precisely what happened in Spindle, but the fact of Fleet Admiral Crandall’s ships’ destruction and the massive casualties inflicted by the Manticorans is beyond dispute. They themselves acknowledge the shocking death toll. Indeed, their leaders, their news media, and even some of their friends here in the League have actually boasted of the overwhelming nature of their victory. As if the deaths of so many men and women were a matter for celebration rather than regret and grief.

  “In the face of such heavy losses and the obvious intransigence of the Manticorans, of their refusal to meet the League’s proposals for compromise on our competing claims, the Admiralty dispatched a fleet to the Manticore Binary System under the command of Fleet Admiral Massimo Filareta. We all know what happened to that fleet once it had been duped into surrendering and destroying the missile pods which represented its best weapon for inflicting damage upon its enemies. According to the Manticorans, Eleventh Fleet did not send the self-destruct command to its missile pods. Instead, for some unknown reason, Fleet Admiral Filareta, although fully aware of the ultimate hopelessness of his position, chose to fire…leaving the ‘Salamander’ no option but to open fire and cold-bloodedly massacre almost two million—two million!—Solarian spacers.”

  There was a sound from the Chamber, a sort of low, deep growl, and Hadley’s jaw tightened.

  “I realize there are some Manticoran apologists who would argue with my interpretation of events,” Reid continued. “And in the tradition of presumed innocence until guilt is proven, the Admiralty has declined to officially state that the visual records so kindly provided to us by the Star Empire have been edited. Despite that, I’m sure most of us have heard the opinions of acknowledged technical experts to the effect that they were. In the fullness of time, I feel certain, the truth of that matter will be sifted and the League will respond fittingly to the slaughter of so many of our uniformed personnel. I leave that for the future, and for the impartial determination of formal inquiry into all the facts of the case.

  “There is, however, another matter. One which requires no access to a hostile star nation’s records for determinations. I refer, of course, to the Star System of Beowulf’s refusal to allow a Solarian task force under the command of Fleet Admiral Imogene Tsang to transit the Beowulf Terminus of the Manticoran Wormhole Junction in support of Fleet Admiral Filareta. It is, of course, impossible to know now how the sudden appearance of an additional hundred superdreadnoughts would have affected the Manticorans’ murderous intentions. We will never know, because Beowulf refused to allow her passage. Not only that, but Beowulf had knowingly permitted Manticoran warships to pass through the Beowulf Terminus without warning Fleet Admiral Tsang of their presence. And Beowulf had done so for the purpose of actively collaborating with those Manticoran warships in barring Fleet Admiral Tsang’s transit.”

  His
beautifully trained voice had grown progressively harsher as he spoke, and his somber expression had turned into one of anger.

  “I am not a naval officer. I have no special expertise in these matters. Nonetheless, it strikes me as likely that the sudden and unexpected appearance of a twenty-five percent increase in Admiral Filareta’s combat strength would have at least forced the Manticorans to stop and think. And, if nothing else, it would have provided us with independent witnesses—records we knew were reliable—of exactly what happened when the infamous Admiral Harrington called upon Fleet Admiral Filareta to surrender and then opened fire.

  “None of that happened because a member star system of the Solarian League collaborated with a hostile star nation to prevent it from happening. It did so on the basis that its constitutionally mandated autonomy within its own territory superseded the federal authority. This, mind you, despite the fact that the Beowulf Terminus is not the territorial space of the Beowulf System—a point the system government itself made to the Admiralty messenger sent to acquaint them with the details of Fleet Admiral Tsang’s planned movement ahead of time. At a time of such critical urgency, Beowulf chose to present the specious argument that its autonomy extended to a volume of space outside the twelve-minute limit and then actively committed its own military units to assist a hostile star nation in threatening units of the Solarian League Navy acting as a vital component of a major operation.”

  The ugly sound from the Chamber was louder than it had been, Hadley noted.

  “We cannot demonstrate that Beowulf’s actions led directly to the massacre of so many of Fleet Admiral Filareta’s brave men and women,” Reid continued heavily. “The possibility clearly exists, however. And whether that may be true or not, there’s no question of Beowulf’s actions. And so I rise to move that this Assembly impanel a special commission to investigate and determine the basis and full extent of Beowulf’s actions. To specifically examine whether or not those actions constitute—as I believe they do—treason under the Solarian Constitution. And to determine precisely what Beowulf was promised by Manticore in return for the opportunity to plant a dagger in Eleventh Fleet’s back by preventing Fleet Admiral Tsang from moving to its support!”