“Speaking of heat,” Shawn said, and Bren paused in a sip of tea, waiting.
“I reviewed Dr. Kroger’s documentary. I also understand Gin’s sent it to Asgard Space, who sent it to earthbound Asgard.”
Scary but logical. So Gin had chosen to warn them.
“And?” he asked.
“Asgard aloft messaged Gin last night that she had their full support and that they were settling the Andressen case and not going to trial, giving Andressen everything he asked. Earthbound Asgard sent me a message that they’re changing their stance on her appointment, that they now approve it.”
“They were the chief opposition.”
“The most moneyed opposition. Asgard’s read the wind and they’re changing course. The tech coming in with the Reunioners is worth getting into bed with us radicals, and the Heritage Party, I forecast, is going to feel the pinch in their pocketbook.”
“Major.”
“Very.”
There was Asgard Materials, Space Division, and, on Earth, the original Asgard Corporation, a major mining and industrial force on Mospheira from the earliest days of Port Jackson. The Space Division had found itself approached, unofficially, by a Reunion refugee with research papers salvaged from Reunion, and, in the administration of the former stationmaster, Tillington, Asgard had made a private deal for the papers—involving an exception for a security clearance for one Andressen, Ketil, and a special tutoring program for one Andressen, Bjorn.
Illegal, under the rules—both arrangements. But Stationmaster Tillington had bent rules—for considerations, one of many under-the-table arrangements Tillington had made.
This particular case had had repercussions. Asgard, afraid to buck Tillington’s power, had broken a dozen station regulations about screening for employees and no few terrestrial statutes involving intellectual property, corruption, bribery, and falsification of tax records.
“Central to the issue, Asgard Corp doesn’t want a prosecution, they don’t want a senate investigation, they don’t want an audit, and they don’t want Simon Aslund arrested.”
“That’s the Asgard Space administrator.”
“Chief administrator, yes. Gin calls him a good administrator, in point of fact, whose point of view is that, knowing those records existed, he bent the rules to get them, fearing they would be lost, the way things were going; and he’s defiantly willing to take full responsibility. Gin asked him if he would give a deposition in the Tillington case and have it on record that he didn’t initiate the deal, and the Asgard lawyers said yes, he would, contingent on an amnesty for the Andressen matter, up and down.”
“That part had been underway before I left.”
“Well, he’s just given the deposition. And Mikas Tillington is being officially arraigned up there for charges ranging from corruption, bribery and intimidation to crimes against humanity, though the ship is demanding the latter charge be dropped. It may be dropped, on grounds that the precise act, sealing the section doors, was arguably necessary. The fact it had become necessary due to his actions—would only complicate the case and possibly weaken the other charges. Unfortunately. But we have him on corruption. We have enough to keep him out of any political appointment hereafter. And to keep him out of the legislature. He’ll be legally ineligible, with that on the record. Now, the Heritage Party has been gearing up to make capital on him as a hero. But—” Shawn said cheerfully, “the Aslunds who run Asgard on Earth urgently want the case against Asgard Space settled. They want Simon Aslund cleared, and they want to retain rights to the materials Andressen sold them. To get those, one of their own is going to have to testify against the Heritage Party’s newest hero. Asgard being one of the chief contributors to the Heritage Party’s election campaigns, the situation could flare off in a number of untidy directions.”
“Tillington won’t be quiet,” Bren said.
“The question is whether the elder Aslunds are willing to drop their opposition to all things space-connected. Simon is their rebellious teenager. So to speak. The elder Aslunds didn’t want involvement in space in the first place. Now Simon stands to make them another fortune.”
Simon Aslund, running Asgard Space, was over sixty. The Aslund twins, Karl and Holman, running Asgard Corporation on the ground, were fifteen years Simon’s senior. At least.
“The elder Aslunds are going to have to think about their policy. That’s sure. One end of Asgard funding the faction apt to ruin the other, which has become the real moneymaker, is not going to sit well with the next generation of Aslunds.”
“And the grandkids, down here on Earth, have been the primary activists in the effort to get Simon out of his troubles. Word is, the elders, Earth and Space are still squabbling, that there’s bad blood between the twins and Simon. They’d like to see him fail, at any cost. I doubt we’ll ever know the whole of it, but the grandkids see the writing on the wall. Elisabeth Aslund is sensible—she’s the one who’s been in contact with us. The one we sent the file to. Her brother Maarten is a bit harder to deal with. He’s the one who’s insisting on sending their lawyer up to the station to broker the agreement with Gin. Simon’s elder son, Lucien, is up there with him, his second in command, and contracts man. He’s trying to calm them all down, first telling Maarten and the board that their Earth-based lawyer can’t get a shuttle seat, no, not during the current supply crisis; and no, Simon doesn’t want their lawyer up there, since the situation is settled. Simon is not happy with Tillington. He hasn’t been happy with Tillington since the Reunioners arrived, and honestly and off the record, I do believe his decision saved the Reunioner scientific files, because he realized their value. If he did nothing else, he alerted Gin’s administration to the situation and son Lucien Aslund has helped us arrange a sane legal process that protects everybody but Tillington. So now there’s a framework and legal status which allows the Reunioners who have such records to sell them without being cheated. And the companies can now deal with sure knowledge of where title to the files actually rests. All that at the stroke of Simon Aslund’s signature on the agreement with Gin Kroger. In some cases of competing claims and diverse files, Gin’s uniting the possessors of certain files into bargaining groups with legal standing. The feeling is there are some valuable processes at issue, but nobody knows what. Some scientific advances we don’t yet know the value of. There’s a scaling clause in the residuals package.”
“Two hundred years of independent research, if nothing else,” Bren said, “has to produce something.” In his mind was a kyo ship proceeding far, far faster than their own ship could manage. He took a sip of tea. “Asgard Corporate. In your opinion, how are they going to react to Gin’s vid?”
“The grandkids, at least, right along with Simon and his sons, are already viewing Tillington as an ongoing liability. Trouble is—the Heritage Party. The senior twins, Elisabeth and Maarten, helped fund the party in the first place. The Heritage Party, during the Troubles on the mainland, praised Tillington to the moon and back for keeping the station going. They backed him as protecting the station in his actions against the Reunioners, and made a major case of it. Now—the party has to go on backing Tillington or pretend they never said anything of the sort. And I’m not going to phone them and warn them the case is settled, and Tillington is toxic. My party won’t let them forget it, unless they back off the Reunioner issue and quit agitating against them. One truly great stroke of luck—and likely the source of the escalating tension within the Aslund family—Simon Aslund recorded his sessions with Tillington. Every last one of them. The Heritage Party can’t claim we’re fabricating evidence.”
“Excellent,” Bren said. “I only wish they’d be so sensible.”
“The party leadership,” Shawn said, “the ones that just oppose me, we can deal with. I have periodic contact from the Aslund twins. And they believe I should be opposed and checked. Not a bad thing, if Heritage were not the avenue they’
ve used. They’re thorough conservatives on questions of cooperation with the mainland, but even the twins aren’t blind ideologues. They were upset with our involvement trying to get Tabini’s government back, because they didn’t think it would work. But they weren’t complaining when you showed up safe and Tabini did end up back in charge. So the Aslunds and I do get along at arm’s length. The kyo scared hell out of them, atevi have always scared hell out of them, and the clear evidence that the atevi’s high-level delegation was what sent the kyo away from us peacefully may have stirred up the Heritage faction to a fine froth, but the Aslunds have possibly begun a reassessment of their position. They’re not stupid, downright brilliant in their own arena, and the word that the kyo have technology we don’t, that the Reunioners have observed it, and that Tillington almost mismanaged the affair into global disaster—has shaken them.”
“Good.”
“We have to meet behind the bushes, so to speak, while we’re continuing our usual politics. And we hope to get intelligence on a section of their party that they may now find highly embarrassing to own. My party won’t hit them on it—so long as we get their cooperation, and what Simon has on Tillington apparently involves threats of more than business nature. Not that I like the Aslunds as bedfellows, but it’s practicality. They’ve now got to reposition themselves and shed some old allies. What I foresee is that Heritage is likely to split, right down the division of ideological opposition to my party’s policies, which I can respect, if not like—and the fringe who can’t get over the Abandonment.”
The Abandonment—the psychological wound on the Mospheiran consciousness, which some cultivated to their own advantage. Heritage took it as the origin-point of national identity.
“I suspect brother Simon in particular is acquiring the long view: he sees the writing on the wall and he’s using the situation to push the twins into action with the help of his son Lucien. Gin says encouragement for the inclusion of Tillington’s behavior . . . the meltdown in the command center, and the situation on the station—actually came out of Simon Aslund’s office. Official stance, regardless who thought of it.”
It was convoluted enough. The Aslunds had a reputation.
“Heritage won’t believe it,” Bren said. “They’ll claim it was all taken out of context.”
“My bet is,” Shawn said, “that once Heritage loses their chief contributors, the bulk of the party will peel away to take a more moderate position, with new voices, and that the Heritage Party as we know it will splinter into those that are willing to take a new tack—and those that are going to take Tillington for their martyred saint.”
“Without the funding.”
“Without the Aslund millions, at least. But if it goes the way I see, I don’t think they’ll be a political party. I think they’ll be a problem, and problems pushed by fanatics tend to fund themselves in small, nasty ways.”
It was a rational scenario. He could very well see it, given Asgard cutting off the money flow. Those still obsessed with a fiction two hundred years old were not going to change their minds. What really had happened was not what was still taught to kids. And replacing that treasured mythology with the Reunioners’ version of history was going to stir up its own storm.
Not to mention that the ship had its own two versions of the truth.
Not to mention the War of the Landing as seen through some atevi chronicles, not widely publicized, even on the mainland. For two hundred years, atevi had mostly heard the human version, the human excuse for it all—for the same reason.
In terms of keeping the two sides apart—that version worked.
But the two sides weren’t keeping apart any longer. And old truths might meet and recognize each other as scary—at some unpredictable moment, with unforeseeable consequences.
“Shawn, I think it might be well to take a serious assessment of your protection. That’s what my mainland-attuned mind thinks of. When things go unstable—the unstable start moving.”
There was a moment of silence. Shawn looked sober, not scared.
“There’s nothing that different,” Shawn said. “They’ve always been there, a certain portion of unhappy people who just can’t figure why they don’t have what they planned in life. When we landed, it was the ship’s fault. Yesterday it was the atevi’s fault. Now it’s the Reunioners’ fault. I’m sure it will somehow become the atevi’s fault again. I don’t know how the radicals will get there, logically, but they’ll work at it. It’s their calling in life, I suppose, until the heavens open and deliver a dozen human ships ready to transport us all back to the human Earth.”
That thought hit the pit of Bren’s stomach. He didn’t comment. Couldn’t comment.
“I just urge,” he said, “that you take more precautions than you’re used to. I know it’s tradition. I know the President has to be close to the people. But we can’t lose you. The world can’t lose you.”
“I take it seriously. I do. I just can’t armor up like an atevi lord. Tradition.”
Bren laid a hand on his midsection. “Let me tell you. My bodyguard insists. Tabini-aiji insists. And yes, I hate the damned thing. But it makes them happy. And I have a spare, Shawn. We’re about the same size.”
“Oh, good God, Bren.”
“It’s not a hundred percent, but it’s something, and you don’t have to advertise it, just wear it for public events.”
Shawn stared at him, stared a moment into blank space. “What do I do? Keep the coat buttoned?”
“Effectively, yes. Two choices, beige or green. Take your pick. You can have either. Take it as a gift.”
“Beige, then. I take your point.”
“Ship tech, the material.”
“Damn it, Bren, it’s the opposite of the world we want to create.”
“It’s insurance you’ll be there to see it.” A moment of silence, and a contemplation beyond the balcony. “We’ve got this barrier to get over. But it’s five thousand people. Not a flood.”
“The ideas will be.”
“They’re here to learn to be Mospheiran. Their world is already changed. Gone.”
“It has to leave traces.”
“And will, but they’ve lived in wreckage, Shawn. Nothing’s whole. Not families, not habits, not jobs, nothing. The kids coming down—they never saw their station whole. Their whole conscious lives have been wreckage, ruin, the ship, and the station—and not the best side of the station, either.”
“I had in mind a program,” Shawn said. “It seems almost naive, but—a national day. A new emphasis on what we are. Not a commemoration of the Landing or the War—we’ve got that. But a day for what’s traditional to us. Trips to the beach, or the mountains, a family holiday, just—enjoying life. Neighborhood festivals. The graces we’ve developed. Create holidays that don’t refer back to the War of the Landing and blood and riot. Things like—oh, national tree plantings. Hiking trails. Nature. Family. Picnics. That sort of thing. I’ve thought of it.”
“It’s not a bad idea. You’re dealing with five thousand people who’ve never seen dirt. Or trees.”
“I think we should do it. Maybe if the Aslunds do fund a new party, it’s one thing we can agree on.”
“I wish you luck with that,” Bren said. “I truly do.”
The Heritage Party—about to fragment over the Tillington affair, and possibly to do it catastrophically, on Gin Kroger’s broadcast and the Aslunds’ desire for what the Reunioners brought . . . and do it a handful of days before the first Reunioners landed.
The fracture just about assured Shawn would win the next election.
But it was the rational opposition in the upper echelons of the party that had kept a lid on the irrational fringe over the last chaotic years.
Absent that—
“Lord Geigi’s going to send down some gear that will make Francis House more secure,” Bren said. “U
nderstand, my bodyguard, on their own, is making a decision in the field to secure that residence, and to show your people some things that the Guild doesn’t, as a rule, share. It’s not without precedent, but it’s a decision Tabini-aiji and the Guild Council will review. And they will eventually, very likely, demand concessions from Mospheira in return, likely during shared responsibility for Reunioners landing on atevi shuttles.”
“We can work that out. And we’ll keep that gear secure.”
“The aiji will expect to share all tech and all processes, regardless of patent on this side of the straits.”
“Our policy is leaning toward patenting the processes and sharing the science. A win for the companies and a win for the public. But we understand the aiji’s position.”
“Regardless of patent. I say this, in the capacity of my office as paidhi-aiji in the Mospheiran sense—I hope this won’t agitate anyone. Just to have it straight. Regardless of patent, nothing held back. Atevi industry will take the identical information, including the patents, and share it across the board, and the aiji will license production in geographic areas that make sense for the aishidi’tat. If Mospheiran companies, with their patents, want to operate on this side of the strait, that’s Mospheira’s economy. Atevi companies won’t compete. But they likewise won’t share their developments except under trade agreement . . . regardless of starting from the same initial operation.”
Shawn gave him a level look, having paused in his delivery of an egg to his plate. It persisted a moment, consideration of every bit of commercial information due to slide across the board, its effects on mining, materials science, transport, and societal well-being, Bren was quite sure. Shawn had all the experience, all the detailed complexity in mind. Bren returned the stare just as frankly, just as obdurate, and with two hundred years of the Treaty behind him.
“It would not be in either side’s interest to seek changes in the Treaty over this,” Shawn said.