Emprise (20 page)

Rashuri nodded thoughtfully. “I find much to commend what you say. I myself do not believe in the Christian specter of evil loose in the world, and therefore the promise of salvation holds little appeal.” He looked to Weddell. “Is it perhaps that being a child of a Christian country, on some irrational level you mistrust your own ability to resist this man?”

“It’s possible,” said Weddell. “It’s just as possible that as a child of the Veda you can’t understand the emotional power of Cooke’s message and how dangerous he could be to us.”

“Conceded. But please remember that it is my responsibility to respect even those dangers I do not understand,” said Rashuri, standing. “See that the Assembly approves the application.”

Within a month, Cooke filed a request to meet with Rashuri on “a matter of great importance.”

“What do you think he wants? Access to the NET?” Rashuri asked Moraji.

“He wants and has it, thanks to the North American regional director. No, we have been monitoring his speeches. It is Star Rise that concerns him now.”

“How so?”

“Thus far he has done little more than bring it to the attention of his followers. Where once he never spoke of it, now he invariably does,” Moraji said. “His purpose in doing so is not yet clear. Perhaps he would make it so should you meet with him.”

Rashuri glanced at his video display. “His Church has no official relationship with Consortium machinery?”

“That is correct.”

“Thank you, Jawaharlal.”

Rashuri refused that request and another, more urgently couched, that quickly followed it. Then for several months Rashuri heard nothing except the reports filed by Weddell’s mediawatch team and by the agents Moraji had assigned to travel with Cooke. Through that time, the Church continued to grow, making inroads even among Consortium employees. Though Cooke ceased to mention Star Rise in his sermons and speeches, Rashuri did not allow himself to hope it had ceased to be an issue.

Confirmation came that spring, when more than forty thousand Consortium staffers worldwide, including a dozen assembling in orbit the core segment of Star Rise, laid down their work in the middle of the workday and went to Second Coming churches and meeting rooms. It was nominally a day of high celebration to commemorate the receipt of the Call by Scion of God Allen Chandliss.

But it was also a signal to Rashuri and the Consortium that Cooke expected to be taken seriously. Another request for a meeting was delivered an hour after workers returned to their jobs. In that context, it was more a demand than a request.

Ever the diplomat, Rashuri waited a week, then acceded gracefully and extended an invitation for First Scion Carl Cooke to come to Delhi.

Cooke arrived at Palam International Airport fully expecting to be met by Rashuri, and Church cameramen were ready to record the event for its Archives of the Second Coming.

But it was white-haired and soft-spoken Montpelier, director of the finance division, who greeted Cooke when the turboprop bearing the Church’s symbol, a black cross superimposed on a stylized white radiotelescope dish, landed.

“Where is Chairman Rashuri?” Cooke demanded.

“Chairman Rashuri has many duties which demand his attention, and he has asked me to extend to you his welcome and the welcome of the Pangaean Consortium,” Montpelier said. “I can assure you that he looks forward to your meeting with the greatest anticipation.”

“You’ll take me to him?”

“That is my charge,” said Montpelier. “He has also asked me to acquaint you with our organization before you meet with him. I have transportation waiting—”

Acquainting Cooke meant a two-hour tour by closed car of the Consortium facilities scattered in the Delhi area—the Physical Laboratory, the Sun Rise antenna farm, the master PANCOMNET studios. While traveling between sites, the First Scion was shown short videodocs on remote facilities (Sriharikota, the high-orbit Assembly Station and low-orbit Operations Center) and various Consortium human welfare programs.

It was the A tour, intended to impress upon Cooke that he was to meet with the leader of an institution which in resources and influence still far outstripped the Church of the Second Coming. Whether it had its intended effect Montpelier was, to the end, uncertain. Cooke evinced no more than polite interest, asking few questions and at times allowing his attention to wander. Only the sight of PANCOMNET’s twelve-metre satellite dish at Hyderabad stirred him.

“Is this where you listen to the Creator’s herald?” he asked eagerly. His face fell when he was told that the monitoring program was handled elsewhere.

“A terrible waste,” Cooke said gravely.

When the convoy arrived at last at the administrative complex east of the city, Cooke was whisked to a private suite to refresh himself and then to a ceremonial dinner where he at last met Rashuri. Each seemed determined to take the measure of the other, with one difference: Rashuri was content to avoid controversy until a more private encounter, and Cooke was not.

“You’re not a member of the Church, are you, Mr. Chairman?” he asked between bites of the appetizer.

“That is correct,” said Rashuri.

“I’m interested—a man with your influence over the affairs of the world—do you profess any religious beliefs at all?”

“Is it your contention that a leader should involve his religious beliefs in secular decisions?” said Rashuri, casting a sideways glance at the Church camera crew recording the discussion from a few metres away. “It would seem to me that history offers enough examples that the rigidity of dogma and the emotion of deeply held beliefs rarely contribute to just government. The Consortium is not a government, of course—it is a free association of nations guided by their common interests and goals.”

“When one has a true personal relationship with God and a commitment to his coming Kingdom on Earth, there are no strictly secular decisions,” said Cooke.

“Exactly the danger I mentioned,” Rashuri said easily. “By not answering my original question, do you wish me to assume that you in fact hold to no faith?”

“You may make whatever assumptions you choose,” Rashuri said. “I would not presume to constrain your imagination.”

Cooke laid down his implements. “I would like to see the Consortium treat with greater sensitivity the deeply held beliefs of the millions for whom I speak here,” he said stiffly.

“I expect we will take up that question this afternoon,” said Rashuri, and mouthed a forkful of
galub gamum
. “This is really excellent, don’t you agree?”

An hour later, they had shed their aides and attaches and settled down to face each other. “I’m very surprised at your attitude,” said Cooke. “You’re a servant of the people. You’re obliged to consider their wishes.”

“Do you seriously believe that governments anywhere operate under that principle?” asked Rashuri. “I serve the people’s interests but not at their bidding, much as you do.”

“I’m not flattered by the comparison. I serve the Creator by serving His people.”

Rashuri raised his hand. “As you will. You came here with some concern more specific than respect for your Church. Perhaps it would be best if you expressed that now so that we may come to grips with it.”

“If 1 can assume that even as an atheist you are conversant with our beliefs—”

“You cannot assume the former but you can the latter.”

“And you must agree to drop the fiction that there is an alien spaceship heading for Earth.”

“I’m not certain I can do that. I know of course that you believe it is Christ and the angels that bear him who approach.”

“That’s no mere belief. It’s both a fact and an article of faith, confirmed by God’s own word and the testimony of His witnesses. Only the Master of Creation can travel with impunity through the hostile voids. Only God Himself can marshal the energies for a voyage at such speeds.”

“There you see our problem. I am willing to concede, for the sake of our discussion, that you may be correct, and act accordingly. You will not do the same. Now who is lacking in respect for the other?”

“You can’t confuse the issue by attacking my integrity.”

“Please, First Scion—there is no audience here. I attack only your reluctance to come to the point. What do you want that is worth the effort you have already put into it?”

“I want Star Rise abandoned. It is an affront.” Rashuri shook his head. “Impossible. But I invite you to explain why you make the demand.”

“It should be obvious. Is not Star Rise to be manned by scientists and equipped with all manner of probes and instruments? You propose to do nothing less than take the measure of God.”

“Star Rise will be an ambassador ship. We will send it out to make contact on our behalf with whatever beings call us. And did I not read in your writings that God made man a toolmaker? How then would our use of tools offend Him?”

“There is the matter of the spirit in the heart of the wielder. Chairman, the Church can close down Star Rise for six months as well as for six hours.”

“I expected that you would so claim. I do not believe you can.

“Many Church members are involved in it, at every level. It would take only a word from me and they would never work on it again. Many would be willing to undo the work they have already done.”

“I do not doubt they would if given the chance and a reason. But there is something which I think should concern you rather more—a tool which will be wielded by a very black heart indeed. Would you allow me to show you what I mean?”

Cooke gestured his agreement, and Rashuri rose slowly, grimacing as he did, and crossed the room to his video display. He darkened the room and stood by the display as Cooke watched with growing horror a five-minute account of the Gauntlet project, complete with film of the departure of Gauntlet A and the nearly finished Gauntlet B flying free at Assembly Station. Then Rashuri slowly returned to his chair.

“Star Rise or no, what sort of greeting do the Gauntlet platforms represent?” asked Rashuri. “What will their existence say about us?”

“This is an abomination,” Cooke thundered. “Hidden from our eyes, but God has seen. A perversion of His gift. Why was this allowed? Why was this done?”

“I opposed it, unsuccessfully. Some fear our visitors. The fear is powerful, as are the fearful.”

“And well they should fear Him, for Christ comes to judge them,” Cooke raged.

“Yet what they do reflects on all of us,” said Rashuri. “If you are willing to replace your anguish with action, perhaps something can be done. Accuse the Consortium of readying to declare war on God’s host. To cement your accusation, you will be provided with film of Gauntlet B such as might be taken through a powerful telescopic camera. Demand an explanation.

“The platforms are under Tai Chen’s command and manned by her hand-picked system pilots and engineers. I will let her explain. The explanation will not suffice; many will be angry. You will ask your followers to strike the project; I will see that many others join them. The crisis will threaten our unity. The Assembly will demand action. In such an environment I can terminate Gauntlet without fear of reprisal.”

“Yes,” Cooke said slowly. “Yes, all that could be done in good conscience. But the problem of Star Rise remains.”

“Star Rise must fly.”

“Then it must fly with only Scions of the Church of the Second Coming aboard.”

“It must fly with exactly the personnel best trained to complete the many dimensions of its mission.”

“If we can stop Gauntlet, we can stop Star Rise. And we will, if our Church is not well represented in its crew.”

Rashuri shook his head. “I said before and I maintain—you cannot touch Star Rise. It is a symbol more powerful than you realize. But I would prefer you not feel obliged to prove me wrong in a campaign that would only divert us both from more important matters. I am told that, at most, one human in four shares in your basic beliefs. I am willing to guarantee that the crew will reflect that ratio.”

“I choose one fourth of the crew.”

“You will nominate them. If they qualify under the mission requirements, they will fly with Star Rise.”

Cooke folded his hands on his round belly. “You’d make those requirements known to us in advance, of course.”

“They are being written now. You are welcome to have an observer monitor their development.”

Cooke nodded. “Very well. We will stand with you against Gauntlet. And we will let Star Rise fly.”

Rashuri stood and offered his hand. “It would fly without you,” he said as they clasped hands. “But we welcome your blessing on it.”

It was a race with profound implications for the Consortium: Deer Lake and Carl Cooke’s whisper campaign versus Beijing and Tai Chen’s pressure on the Gauntlet B construction schedule. Whichever culminated first could well determine the future course of the Consortium.

For Rashuri had never forgotten that Mao’s teachings on guerrilla warfare had political dimensions as well.

Tai Chen had been well pleased by the bargain which gave her control of Earth’s space-based defenses. Except for Gu Qingfen’s continued presence in Delhi, Tai Chen evinced little further interest in other Consortium proceedings. At that, Gu seemed more and more to speak for himself rather than for Chinese interests. Tai Chen’s inattention was also evident in the Pangaean Assembly; though nominally intact, the Far East Cooperative Sphere had not voted as a bloc for two years.

Those were not signs which Rashuri found reassuring. If Tai Chen was giving up her former presence, it could only be because she felt she no longer had need of it. Rashuri could not overlook that he had placed in her hands weapons which could be used as easily against Earth as by it. And he was not fully persuaded that Tai Chen’s professed fear of the Senders could be taken at face value.

None of Rashuri’s concerns was the product of hindsight. The night on the
White Swan
Rashuri had made a conscious choice to export his problems into the future, to buy necessary harmony today at the price of greater danger in some unseen tomorrow. With the imminent completion of Gauntlet B, that tomorrow was at hand.

For a second operational platform allowed a terrifying scenario first laid out by Moraji in the weeks following the
White Swan
accord. With the platform’s complement holding stronger allegiance to Tai Chen personally than to Rashuri or the Consortium, she could order it to remain in Earth orbit, and use it as a wild card to claim greater power. If her fear of the Senders was mere window-dressing as some suspected, she could even recall Gauntlet A from its journey to the realm of Pluto.

Stationed one hundred eighty degrees apart in Earth orbit, with their weapons trained Earthward rather than spaceward, the twin ‘defense’ platforms would replace the abbreviated era of the Pangaean Consortium with an era of Chinese hegemony. And the first target of those weapons would doubtless be Star Rise, for by Moraji’s analysis only a ship capable of AVLO velocities could hope to evade Gauntlet’s computer-guided missiles and energy weapons.

No doubt Tai Chen knew that as well. Rashuri thought it no coincidence that since the AVLO drive had passed its preliminary tests, Tai Chen had stepped up both the frequency and the intensity of her complaints that Gauntlet B was being neglected.

All these matters had been coming to a head when Cooke came to Delhi. And when the Assembly voted two months later to cut off all funds for Gauntlet, Rashuri knew the issue was far from resolved.

“I am dismayed to find that you are not a man of your word,” said Tai Chen’s image on the NETlink monitor. “You made a commitment to me.”

“It’s not reasonable to expect that I can control the actions of others,” said Rashuri. “It was a process technician, a Second Comer, at Assembly Station who broke security. You can understand the First Scion’s objections, I’m sure.”

“I cannot understand why security was so feeble as to allow someone at an isolated outpost to transmit secure information to a fanatical anti-authoritarian organization.”

Rashuri rubbed his temples tiredly. “The men and women at Assembly Station are Consortium members, not prisoners.”

“I will insist that the woman responsible be executed.”

“That will be up to the Assembly. Perhaps you will have better luck influencing that vote than you did the funding vote. I note that the Philippine Republic voted for the cutoff. Wasn’t it their delegate who contributed the slogan ‘Not one dollar more’?”

“The Philippine government has made a fool of itself at the bidding of this demagogue Cooke,” Tai Chen said angrily.

“This vote was not the product of religious fervor alone. Hundreds of millions believe that the MuMans come in brotherhood and friendship. They were equally enraged to find us preparing to greet them not with an open hand but with a mailed fist.”

“The MuMan cultists are also fools.”

“But they are many, and fools in quantity cannot be dismissed or ignored. We should be grateful that they allowed Gauntlet A to remain in place.”

“One platform cannot properly defend us,” Tai Chen said testily.

“The Senders will not necessarily know that.”

“A bluff is not enough. We are left with only one alternative. Star Rise must be armed.”

“I am not surprised to hear you say that. You should not be surprised that I reject your demand. The most you can expect is an opportunity to nominate a portion of the Star Rise crew.”

“You are afraid of the cultists and the god-mongers,” Tai Chen said scornfully. “You have more reason to fear me.”

“I think not.”

Tai Chen laughed unpleasantly. “Tell me who controls the operational platform. Tell me how you would protect yourself from it. It has the best weaponry the Consortium’s engineers could devise.”

“How many agents did you have at Assembly Station when its hull was built?” Rashuri asked calmly. “How closely did you monitor its outfitting?”

“I am not in the mood for your quizzes. I am simply informing you that Star Rise must be armed, and that you will not be able to prevent it merely by loosing your armies of ignorance. For if you do, I will recall Gauntlet. When it appears in Earth’s night skies and levels the building in which you sit, then the Assembly will understand what fear is.”

Rashuri smiled. “My questions were not idle ones. During the construction of Gauntlet A, certain precautions were taken. The presence of your agents precluded the same precautions being taken on B, necessitating the charade just completed.”

Tai Chen glowered at him. “So you admit your complicity.”

“I would think you would be more interested in the nature of the precautions.”

“All weapons on Gauntlet A have been tested successfully.”

“My friend Jawaharlal will be insulted to hear that you think him so obvious,” said Rashuri. “Integral to the hull of Gauntlet A and quite inaccessible to its crew are a dozen self-contained explosive packs. The moment Gauntlet A leaves station to head for Earth, a destruct signal will be sent by PANCONTRAC. It need reach only one of the packs for all to be triggered, and Gauntlet A to become a scattering of space debris.

“So you see, Tai Chen, because from the first I have respected you, it is not necessary for me to fear you.” Rashuri smiled, enjoying the moment. “Within the month an orbital transfer vehicle retrofitted with the AVLO-B will take a relief crew out to Gauntlet A. If they meet with any resistance, they are authorized to send the destruct code. I trust you will instruct your people to act properly?”

Tai Chen made no answer save what Rashuri could read on her stony face: bitter, virulent hatred. She broke the connection without another word, and Rashuri released a long sigh.

Over
, he told himself.
It’s over at last
. He continued to think that until Gu Qingfen showed him otherwise.

It had been a routine PSM, the monthly program status meeting. The PSM was meant to keep a sense of oneness in a bureaucracy already grown well beyond the point where a team feeling could be cultivated. It was meant to bring together decisionmakers who might otherwise have no contact with each other, save for an occasional exchange of cold data. It offered a chance for Rashuri to tap the thoughts of his top echelon and, when necessary, play them off against each other.

As usual, division directors based elsewhere than Delhi were “present” via satellite teleconference links. As usual, most directors overestimated how much of their division’s workings the others wanted or needed to know, and the meeting dragged out to three hours plus.

Not being a division head, Gu Qingfen was not present at the meeting. But he knew its traditions. The formal session was followed by informal discussions which were more social than business, and from which Rashuri was always the first to excuse himself. In the early days, he had left first due to the press of other duties. Now he did it so that his presence would not stifle a free exchange among the others. In either event, it had become a tradition and a point of etiquette that no one left the hall until Rashuri did.

Gu Qingfen knew that, and it was why he had chosen that time and place to assassinate Rashuri.

It had not been difficult to bring the large-bore pistol with its soft-nosed bullets through the security checkpoints. Gu’s face was familiar, his presence expected. Routine and familiarity were the enemies of effective security; Gu was no more considered a risk than Rashuri himself. Tighter security existed over certain technical facilities and Rashuri’s suite; Gu would have needed special authorization to enter those areas of the installation. But he could move freely through the bulk of the administrative area.

Gu had arrived in the area of the teleconference room at the two-hour mark. The progress of the meeting proper he monitored with a small transceiver tuned to the teleconference link. But once the meeting adjourned, there was no way to know exactly when Rashuri would leave except to take up position near the doors and wait.

The straight white walls of the hallway provided no recesses where Gu Qingfen could linger unnoticed. But there was little traffic in the hallway or in the cross-corridors it abutted, and those who did pass did not think it strange someone might be waiting for the meeting to break up.

Neither did they think it strange to stop and talk with Gu Qingfen. The first to stop was Zhang Shaoqi, the Chinese representative to the PANCOMNET board. Anxious not about being seen but by the possibility of being interfered with, Gu Qingfen dispatched him peremptorially. But a few minutes later economist Sanjiva Neelam, whose office was located adjacent to Gu Qingfen’s, called to him from one of the cross-corridors.

“There you are,” called Neelam, who began to walk briskly toward him. “I was wondering if you had plans for lunch?”

At that moment, the double doors of the teleconference room were unlatched and began to swing inward. Gu refocused his attention there and pulled the pistol from one of the many pockets of his jacket. His face became a mask as he raised it. “What are you doing?” shouted Neelam, breaking into a run.

Gu leveled the weapon at Rashuri, whose surprise had not even had time to register on his face, and fired. Droplets of Rashuri’s blood splattered the doors, and he staggered back, a spreading stain on his tattered blouse. A second shot went wide. As Gu Qingfen lined up a third shot, Neelam flung himself headlong into the assassin. But the bullet still found flesh, shattering bone and tearing sinew. Rashuri’s legs buckled and he toppled forward.

From that position, feeling surprisingly little pain or anxiety, he watched as Jawaharlal Moraji pushed Neelam aside, raised Gu up from the floor where he had been held, and with a single vicious motion snapped the assassin’s neck. Then, a haze of pain clouding his vision, Devaraja Rashuri closed his eyes.

When he next opened them, there were many unfamiliar sensations. From the cyclic throb in his left shoulder, the sharp pull of stitches, and the numb weight of his right leg to the stab of the IV in his forearm, the growling emptiness of his stomach, and the spreading wetness around his groin, his body had been transformed. But it was still his body—

“Alive,” he said, in an unsteady disbelieving voice. An instant later, Moraji was leaning over Rashuri’s hospital bed and peering down at him with worried eyes.

“Yes, Devaraja. Your spirit still flies, and your time is far from finished.” He struck himself in the chest with a fist. “I am ashamed that such a thing was possible. I have been punished for my boastfulness.”

“No, good Jawaharlal,” said Rashuri. “This is Tai Chen’s answer to my gloating. She is not a good loser.” He smiled wistfully. “You will tell me more honestly than a doctor would. How long will I be here and in what condition will I leave?”

Moraji grimaced, as though recounting Rashuri’s injuries brought him empathic pain. “One bullet destroyed your knee. When the implant heals you will walk with difficulty. The second bullet passed through until it shattered against your scapula. The major muscles of your shoulder are badly damaged. If you regain use of the arm above the elbow, you will not be able to lift any weight. Your lung was nicked by a fragment, but that has been repaired. Your life is not in danger.”

Rashuri smiled and reached for Moraji’s hand with his own. “The rumor must be true, then, that I have no heart.”

“Devaraja, I await only your word to avenge this atrocity.”

“By assassinating Tai Chen?”

“I will do the deed myself.”

“There is no profit in revenge. Nor for all your skills can I foresee you returning from such a mission, and I still have need of you, my friend.”

“Tai Chen will think us weak. Already she mocks us with false regret, and says that Gu Qingfen acted on his own.”

“And we will accept that,” said Rashuri, closing his eyes. “Please call the nurse. I have need of her skills, and then of sleep.”

“I will bring her immediately.”

But Rashuri tightened his grip on Moraji’s hand, preventing him from leaving, and opened his eyes again. “Promise me there will be no reprisals. I am alive, while the would-be assassin lies dead. The account is more than balanced.”

Moraji nodded gravely. “Very well, Devaraja. I promise.” Rashuri closed his eyes and released Moraji’s hand. “Then bring the nurse now, please.”

Within a week, Rashuri could sit up with only middling pain, and film of him so arrayed was shown on PANCOMNET at the same time the results of the investigation of Gu Qingfen’s connections were announced. Gu was described as an old-line Marxist angered by the “domination” of China by the Consortium hierarchy, and by his own failure to rise within that hierarchy. Tai Chen issued another apology decrying Gu’s “mindless nationalism” and reaffirming China’s support for the Consortium.