Assumption of risk

  "Which is exactly why I must do it." Victor held his voice to a calm, even tone in the vain hope his words might get through to his brother. "You and I know you were set up by the Free Skye Militia. They picked the target. They planted the explosives. They provided the tips that put your unit into the setup position. That you were the one who took the initiative to take out the steeple, well, that could have been anticipated. You're so convinced of your own importance that you'd never have allowed anyone else to do it."

  "I would have given them a new church."

  "Oh, that would have required a sell-job beyond even the most skilled Lyran merchant." Victor shook his head to stave off a shudder. "You just don't have a clue as to how deep was the pit you fell into."

  "Enlighten me."

  "Will you listen?" Victor allowed that to sink in for a heartbeat, then continued. "What you have not been told is that the Free Skye Militia had a holovideographer in the hills opposite your position and they made a holographic record of the whole thing."

  Peter's face drained of color. "I thought our battle ROMs were the only record. I didn't pass them on to Richard, you know."

  "Thank God you started thinking that night, albeit far too late to help the residents of Bellerive. Your battle ROMs provide an accurate record of the incident because they clearly show a time lag between your action and the explosions. The holovideo the Free Skye people produced is inconclusive in that matter. The FSM tried to distribute copies of their holo out into the Isle of Skye, but ComStar gave us a chance to restrict the distribution." Victor sighed wearily. "The Precentor Martial himself did that—obviously he doesn't want to see Skye secede from the Federated Commonwealth."

  "So things are at status quo ante, but I'm destroyed by it anyway."

  "I'm sure the prayers of the people of Bellerive are with you, brother."

  Victor's sarcasm visibly stung Peter. "Victor, you can't dispossess me, not for this, not for something I didn't do."

  Peter looked so forlorn that Victor almost regretted the decision. "Peter, I have no choice. If I do not, you remain a target for another tragedy like this one."

  "For God's sake, Victor, I'm not going to fall for something like this again."

  "Blinded by your ego, I'm surprised you've survived this long without doing something equally as stupid." Anger slowly trickled into Victor's voice. "Peter, you are a political liability. You don't seem to understand that. If ComStar hadn't stripped the holovid of your action from material we were sending out, right now I'd be forced to try you and your lance for crimes against humanity in a public trial. Moreover, I'd have to convict."

  "You would reward the criminals for framing innocent people."

  "You're Davion—Steiner-Davion—but in the Isle of Skye being Davion means you're already guilty."

  "In my experience, Victor Davion is the only man presumed guilty there."

  "And in my experience, Peter, you are seen as a way to embarrass me!"

  "There it is, there's the core of it." Peter stabbed a finger in his brother's direction. "You're afraid of me. You're afraid that the people care more for me than they do you! You're afraid I'm more popular. Admit it!"

  "That's ridiculous, Peter!" Victor shot up out of his chair and began to pace. "You are really insignificant in the grand scheme of things. An annoyance, yes, but not a threat. I must deal with Ryan Steiner right now, and though you only serve as a distraction, I can ill afford to have one in the way right now."

  "You're lying!"

  "You might wish that, but it's not so. Frankly, Peter, had Kai and Galen not destroyed Ryan's fighters on Solaris so easily, and if Katherine hadn't made her recent statement, Ryan would be in a very strong position. As it is his scheme has backfired and Katherine has him scrambling to deny ties with the Free Skye Militia. Because the Gray Death Legion is still holding its own on Glengarry, the rebellion is stalled. Had circumstances not shunted the Bellerive issue to the side, you would be looking at actual prison time for your actions there."

  Peter sat on the edge of his chair, his anger no longer fully able to counter the fatigue etching lines on his young face. "Politics, Victor, is a business not fit for warriors. I am a warrior. You cannot dispossess me to satisfy some political gambit."

  "That's the problem, Peter, you see yourself as a warrior, but you fail to realize that everything is politics."

  Peter's eyes glazed over. "You're wrong."

  "Am I, Peter? You see yourself as a warrior. I see you as a pawn. While you were in the Lyons Militia you were a very valuable pawn. The Militia meant nothing and, to be quite frank, aside from your lance, I was and am not now much more confident of the unit's loyalty. Your presence and the good works you did with the conservation forces there helped me immeasurably. I saw that. Ryan saw it too, which is why he had to force me to take you out of the game."

  "I can't believe you would dance to a tune called by Ryan Steiner."

  Victor ignored the scorn in Peter's voice. "Better that than having to leave the dance."

  "You're dancing when you should be fighting."

  "If that's what you think, I pray God you're never forced to sit on the throne."

  "Then let's hope you open your eyes to reality soon. Remember, Victor, if you die, I am one step closer to the throne."

  Victor shook his head sharply. "If I die, the Federated Commonwealth goes down with me."

  Peter's jaw dropped open, then snapped shut. "Even I would never have imagined you were that arrogant, Victor."

  "It's not arrogance, Peter." Victor's gray eyes narrowed. "I am the state, Peter. I am everyone in it. I have to feel it all, be aware of it all, so I can deal with it all. I have had to sublimate the warrior in me in order to best serve the people of the Federated Commonwealth."

  "And do a disservice to me."

  "Now who dabbles in arrogance?" Victor fixed his brother with a hard-eyed stare. "You may see it as a disservice, but the service I require of you is in the name of the Federated Commonwealth. That may discomfit you, but you will perform it."

  Peter raised his chin. "If it makes sense to me, I will do it."

  "You will do it without question, Peter." Victor shot a covert glance at Curaitis. "You will be briefed on what you need to know, nothing more."

  "What I need to know?" Peter blinked incredulously. "Do you think I cannot be trusted?"

  "What I think is immaterial. The Intelligence Secretariat makes those decisions."

  "So the Intelligence Secretariat absolves you of responsibility?"

  "Not at all."

  Fire flared in Peter's eyes. "Then accept some of it, dammit! Don't keep me in the dark. How many secrets to you know, Victor?" His eyes narrowed. "Who killed our mother?"

  "I don't know."

  "Don't lie to me, Victor. You know something." Peter turned and looked at Curaitis. "Do you know? Tell me. I command it."

  "Say nothing, Curaitis." Victor came around to interpose his own body between Peter and the agent. "I tell you I do not know who ordered our mother killed. If I did know, if I had proof, I would avenge her instantly. This I swear, Peter, on her grave and the graves of every Archon who ever sat on the throne here on Tharkad."

  "That's the first truthful thing you've said today, Victor. I'm glad to know you're still capable of honesty." Peter settled back in his chair, his eyes still smoldering. "I will not be dispossessed. If I don't have a 'Mech, if I cannot perform my duties as a warrior, I might as well be dead."

  "That is one solution, but I find it unacceptable."

  "At this time," Peter added.

  Victor took a deep breath, then sat down across from his brother. "Look, my first assignment was to the Twelfth Donegal Guards. It wasn't where I wanted to be, but that is where our father felt I would be most useful."

  "My assignment to the Lyons Skye Militia, by your very own words, was just such a post for me." Peter frowned heavily. "I deserve more. I deserve better."

  "The truth or falsehood of that aside, you are
not going to get a command."

  "Why not? Our father placed you with the Tenth Lyran Guards and you went on to reap military glory in the war against the Clans. Why can't you place me there"

  "They don't have a Steiner-Davion in their ranks and you know you'll use them when it comes time to crush the rebellion. I can lead them." Peter's voice became edged with ice. "Our father would have done that if he were still alive."

  "He tried to do just that in thirty thirty-four and he made a grave mistake."

  "Oh, so now you can decide when our father was wrong?" Peter snarled. "What is going on with you, Victor? How can you arrogate yourself so much?"

  "Try another tune, Peter, and some new lyrics. This is old." Victor stabbed a finger at his brother. "I do know what I'm doing. Our father nearly lost the Isle of Skye two decades ago and, because of his action, I must now deal with the same problem all over again. I intend to end this so my children, our children, won't also be saddled with the same problem."

  "Doubtless that is what our father intended." Peter shook his head. "How dare you presume to second-guess him?"

  "I can and I will because I learned from our father! I learned from his mistakes." Victor pounded his right fist into his left palm. "This is a delicate game."

  "And I am but a piece in it?"

  "That fact has already been established. You'll go where I send you. You'll do what I tell you, and that will be that."

  Peter forced himself down further into the padding of the chair, then folded his arms slowly. "Where, then, Highness, will your humble servant be sent? Are you going to put me in the Saint Marinus House on Zaniah so I can spend the rest; of my time in prayer and meditation?"

  "Considered and rejected, at this time, but I might revise my opinion. Staying there worked for Morgan Kell. Perhaps it would work for you." Victor waited until he saw the fear of exile rise in his brother's eyes, then slowly shook his head. "No, Peter, you are too good at dealing with people for me to waste you there, and you still attract interest because of who and what you are. Now that I've had to cut funding for Tormano Liao's Free Capella movement, Sun-Tzu Liao's Zhanzheng de guang is getting more adventurous and Tormano is screaming all sorts of things as a result. I am assigning you to be Tormano's liaison and military advisor. I want you to be very visible, very solicitous, and as helpful as you can be. And in all that, I want you to keep Tormano from doing anything."

  "Tormano is a dog that growls on command and I am to be his hush-puppy."

  "Hardly. You are the kennel master who will prevent him from biting anyone while inspiring him to growl more loudly." Victor nodded curtly. And the kennel master will have a keeper all his very own. Kai will be able to settle Peter down, I hope. "You already have a rapport with him because of your conservation work, so that is your new assignment."

  "It makes Saint Marinus House look inviting."

  "Perhaps. Do you really want to make the comparison?"

  "No." Peter's head came up. "So, you're sending me to Solaris. Will I be allowed a 'Mech?"

  Victor hesitated. "For ceremony? Yes. And I will speak to Kai so you may train with his fighters and keep current against a time when I need you in a military capacity."

  "Can I fight, as Galen did?"

  "No. Fighting on Solaris is a narrow alley to glory. Picking a fight with one of Ryan's fighters and attempting to duplicate Galen's feat could only go against us. If you lose ..."

  "I would not."

  Victor shrugged. "That doesn't matter. Peter, stop thinking like a warrior. Political battle requires more than a 'Mech and a target-lock."

  Peter slowly rose from his chair. "Is this a life sentence?"

  "That will depend on factors far beyond your control." Victor wanted to tell Peter he was sorry to have to give him this assignment, but that would only show a weakness he couldn't afford. "I've had your things transferred over to another DropShip. You are leaving immediately."

  That took Peter completely by surprise. "Do I have time to visit our mother's grave?"

  Victor hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, yes, of course, but then you're off. You must get to Solaris as quickly as possible."

  "Why?"

  "Kai is defending his title, and I want you there with Tormano." Victor smiled. "I need you highly visible, and that is the best exposure we could hope for."

  "You have me, Victor. I will do what is required of me." Defiance glittered in Peter's eyes for a second, then faded. "But I won't forget what you have done to me here."

  Peter stalked sullenly from the room and Curaitis closed the door behind him. "Highness, your brother may prove to be difficult."

  "Agreed. I will send a message to Kai to ask him to watch over Peter." Victor returned to his desk and dropped into the chair. Tapping the screen of his computer, he looked up at Curaitis. "I gather from this report that the only thing keeping Joshua Marik alive is life support."

  The Intelligence agent nodded. "Even that will fail. The cancer is out of control."

  Victor nodded mechanically. "We have no choice but to institute Gemini. We start by telling Marik that Joshua has had a stroke?"

  "It covers alterations in speech, memory, and personality."

  "Do it, and let Joshua die naturally."

  "Understood."

  Victor sat back in his chair. "I know you'll advise against this next thing, but I want it done. Send the assassin to Solaris. Put him in a safe house."

  Curaitis' head came up, but his face betrayed no emotion. "Is it not premature to kill Ryan Steiner?"

  "You and I know he did it. We don't have the smoking gun yet, but I want the assassin in position for the moment we get it. Ryan will make a mistake. I'm certain of it." Victor curled both hands into fists and rammed them together. "And when he does, I'll see him dead."

  Solaris City, Solaris VII

  Tamarind March, Federated Commonwealth

  The listening device the Intelligence Secretariat had placed in Duke Ryan Steiner's office was of a variety that was very hard to detect. It consisted of three parts and had been assembled in such a way that uncovering it would require synchronicity and luck in equal proportions. It could only provide audio, but that had been deemed sufficient because all of Ryan's visiphone traffic was tapped and two of his household servants were in the Intelligence Secretariat's employ.

  The device's pickup microphone was a metal cylinder no bigger than a pencil, and had been inserted into one of the wall studs. It picked up the vibrations of conversation and transmitted them along two wires to a fully shielded recording device. It was set low on the wall, near an electrical outlet, so that any normal magnetic fields would cover any trace activity from the device. It could store twenty-four hours of audio. By carefully tracking Ryan's time in the office, the agents knew when the device was full, and could schedule a purge to recover the information.

  The output device had been built into a window casing. Its job was to pump the audio data out in a high-speed pulse that would make the big front window vibrate. Ultraviolet lasers directed at the window would read the vibrations and a computer would collect the data for later transcription. A sonic pulse shot against the window would start, stop, and pause the output device in order to halt information collection if someone entered the office.

  The audio information underwent encryption and a sixty-to-one compression, which meant that it took a minute to collect an hour's worth of coded data. As that data was sent out, the device purged its memory and was ready to collect more. This was the trickiest part of the device because information lost could never be recovered again. It was deemed a necessary evil, however, because the purging meant that even if someone discovered the device, Ryan would have no idea how much data had been recovered.

  While the output was vulnerable to vibrations from street noises, sampling the sound during the collection process gave the Intelligence Secretariat the data they needed to eliminate those sounds from the final records. Once the background noise had been filtered out, the sound wa
s decrypted and decompressed, then filtered again to separate all the voices. Each voice was checked against voiceprints of Ryan's known associates so the IS could track who was given what duties or entrusted with what missions. From that information they built up a chart of Ryan's organization.

  When agents came to harvest the last twenty-four hours of data, they had no way of knowing it contained Ryan's order to Newmark to set up Galen Cox's assassination. Though that would not have been the smoking gun Victor so dearly wanted to prove Ryan's complicity in his mother's death, the man's willingness to have someone murdered would have helped confirm that he was capable of assassination.

  The agents had set themselves up in the usual position and were using an ultrasonic whistle to start the feedback from the unit. As the sound resonated against the glass of the window, the sensitive microphone in the wall picked it up. It relayed the sound to the recording device, which instantly recognized it. Then it began to send material out along a fiber optic cable, which ended at the feedback device located at the window casement. What played out first was a check-sequence that let the agents know if the lasers were reading things correctly. They were, so a second whistle started the machine pumping out the data it had gathered.

  The check sequence had told the agents the device was full, so they nervously prepared for a half-hour spent in their listening posts. A broadcast device could have pumped the information out far more quickly, but it would also have been easier to detect. By using ultrasonics and ultraviolet lasers, their collection method was all but invisible. And, at 3:00 a.m., the chances of anyone entering the office were nil.

  The agents kept an eye on the neighborhood and were pleased that it looked completely normal. The rain-slicked streets had oily puddles spreading out from clogged gutters. People shuffled in and out of shadows, generally keeping to themselves. Most crossed the street so as not to trod on the unblemished sidewalk in front of Duke Ryan's newly renovated brownstone for fear that this very powerful man might take notice of them and adversely alter their miserable lives.