Forge of Heaven (11 page)

Concord politics—the ominous foreign presence that sat, cocooned in its own segment of Concord Station, occasionally insinuating its robotic errand-runners past what had once been a tightly sealed barrier. The
ondat
had, in the last century, breached whatever moderate quarantine had once existed, had begun to do so during the last two governorships, beginning with random inquiries to ordinary offices and citizens . . .

And lately taking delivery of orange juice, table salt, live lettuce, and eight canisters of chlorine, which it just confiscated from various shops and storehouses. Figure
that
one. Last week it had taken a sculpture from a good neighborhood. It scared hell out of the merchants. No one claimed to understand it.

He should report the sculpture theft to the Earth ship. Let them worry about it.

N O QU E S T I O N the
see me
from the governor’s office had to do with the ship incoming. The invitation suited Antonio Brazis, even at this late hour. He was just as anxious to see Setha Reaux and know what Reaux knew before this untimely ship got to dock and sent its electronic tentacles running into their affairs.

He hoped to hell that Reaux’s personal fund-raising peccadillos hadn’t caught up with him. As governors went, Reaux was a good one—not immune to influence peddlers, especially close to the construction interests that formed a real power base in a station currently building its own replacement; but he had to maintain his own power base, and he was a sensible and honest man where it counted, regarding the overall welfare of the station. Infighting always swayed governors: wealthy expatriate Earthers arrived on Concord to assume what wasn’t, after all, a popularly elected office; and life-appointed governors grew corrupt primarily because they were outsiders in the lower-case sense, foreigners incapable of function if locally stymied and opposed. A man wanted to have allies, and Earth might appoint its governors from Earth itself, counting them more loyal, but local Earther descendants chose Station councilmen in hotly contested local elections, and oh, believe there was favor-trading, if a governor really wanted to get anything done, let alone done on time.

Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 6 9

Outsider chairmen, for which Brazis was truly grateful, had no such considerations: the High Council at Apex life-appointed both the head of the Planetary Office and the Concord Chairman, both offices, in his case, vested in one person, and yes, local Outsider citizens held elections for civil posts and local Council, just like Earther citizens, though with far less fire and drama. The Earth governor thus remained forever at the mercy of his legislature, which directed day-to-day operation of station systems, managed trade with Earth and the Inner Worlds, and maintained control over the police, customs, and legal systems. In effect, a governor could ask, but had the devil’s own time enforcing policy, if he had not played the local game of favor-trading.

Not so, Brazis’s own office.
He
traded no favors. Concord’s local Outsider Council, lacking any power to regulate station operation, was more a debating society, handling zoning regulations and public services in its districts. Concord’s Outsider Chairman presided over the Outsider Council and appointed the head of the civil police in Outsider districts.

That, on most stations, was that—Outsider government wielded very little power over the station’s external dealings.

But on Concord, there was that other office: the Planetary Office.

The Project.

And the project director, holding absolute authority over the Project, necessarily held police powers and regulatory authority, not only equal to the Earth-appointed governor’s authority, but authority that could actually override the Earth governor’s decisions, where it affected the PO’s operations or Project security.

Brazis being both local Chairman and Project Director was not to Earth’s liking: that had been clear when he took the second office. Earth officially didn’t like that combination of powers—in fact, Apex itself was divided on the matter, which had carried by one vote—but it stood, and it was useful when it came to putting his foot down. He had been at Concord for thirty years. Earth was still unhappy about it.

So now Earth sent an off-schedule mission and Reaux wanted to talk to him. Consequently, he had to wonder in which capacity, and whether he would have to put his foot down, or just listen to some financial confession of the governor’s, an appeal for understanding—

7 0 • C . J . C h e r r y h

in which case he would listen, and back the governor, for what it was worth, if it accorded with his interests, and the governor would almost undoubtedly explain to him how extremely it did.

What was more worrisome was the remote possibility that this incoming, very expensive ship had intentions that were going to annoy the PO. He hoped not. It had been a tranquil thirty years.

The governor’s sweeping body scans, in the long office hall approaching the governor’s suite, were fast, discreet, and asked no permission, setting off a flurry of small beeps and protests from his electronics, internal and otherwise. Brazis took no umbrage. His security was armed, he wasn’t, and, by no means on his first visit here, he knew where to leave his escort, at the entry to the governor’s suite of offices. He walked on through the last doors alone, into Ernst’s little wood-paneled kingdom.

“Mr. Chairman.” Ernst instantly reported his presence to the governor, got up and opened the governor’s office door the low-tech way, with the button. “Sir.”

No waiting. No social dance. Governor Reaux rose and met him with a little bow, if not a contaminating handshake . . . he
was
still native Earther, even two decades into his office.

“Antonio. I so appreciate your coming. Tea?”

He’d been on the go since the ship business had hit the horizon.

Which was yesterday. “Tea sounds good,” he said. He didn’t have his scan with him—didn’t, as a rule, trust private dispensers, especially when he couldn’t watch the preparation, but an Earther staff wouldn’t slip you anything but a chemical problem. Reaux wouldn’t have an illicit nanism near his precious person.

“Did you run the media gauntlet?”

“They were out there, no way not. I’m afraid my visit will be on the news. I said it was a courtesy call. They were noisy and un-convinced.”

“Mmm.” Reaux poured the tea himself, from a dispenser tastefully concealed next to the extravagantly expensive lizard globe.

Fascinating creatures, Brazis considered them. They’d come all the way from Earth, intact, in a long-ago administration, and the globe had run for, reputedly, a hundred and fifty-odd years with minimal intervention. The lizards stared at him. Little predators, a whole food chain. A man who superintended the program that re-

Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 7 1

seeded and redeemed the planet had a great admiration for the balance requisite in that globe.

Reaux served him tea in Earth-import ceramic, antique and fragile. And sat down behind his desk for his own first sip.

“You’ve made inquiries about the ship inbound,” Reaux said.

If there was one thing Brazis continually appreciated about Reaux, it was his straightforward, no-time-wasted approach. “Yes.

But I’m sure your information is better. My problem or yours?”

“Frankly, I don’t know. They claim someone with ambassadorial status aboard. A consultation. You aren’t expecting anything like this, are you?”

“No reason, I assure you.”

“A five-day visit, routine in length if not in timing. If there is anything on your levels you know that’s going on—I certainly hope you’d tell me.”

“Not a thing.” He hoped his eyes were clear all the way to the back of his brain. The Chairman of the Outsider Council naturally knew a dozen things, including the names of unruly groups and certain individuals who might decide the visit of a mission from Earth was exactly the time to act up, either to get local concessions for their peculiar points of view or to create a racket clear to the Chairman General at Apex. “Naturally certain elements will be excited. They might think of something on the spur of the moment, but I doubt they’re prepared to carry anything off in an organized way. My security is out and about. Do you think you can possibly keep Mr. Nazrani off the news for five days?”

The Earth governor didn’t get to twit the Outsider Chairman about
his
peculiar security problems without taking a shot in return. Reaux accepted the jab with a wry, unamused laugh.

“I know enough to make him nervous.”

“But no one of your enemies is nervous enough to act rashly, dare we hope?” Brazis said. It wasn’t Nazrani and the sports arena they were discussing now. It was their own intermingled affairs.

The whole sociopolitical structure of Concord was in fact a geo-desic, dependent on its little lines of tension. Pinned together by its own sins and the knowledge of those sins, that web held strong and steady, against most minor disturbances. The current cooperation had never been challenged from the outside.

7 2 • C . J . C h e r r y h

Witness that Concord, ancient as it was, remained a continual point of uncertainty in a very old and essentially stable arrangement. There was Earth and the Inner Worlds, there was the Outsider territory, and those got along.

But given Concord’s unique existence in a bubble inside
ondat
space . . . distant governments, if they were sensible, wished only a report of unending tranquillity from Concord. “We’ll certainly support you, if that’s what you’re asking. We consider your administration progressive and sensible over the last two decades.

We very much value our working relationship.”

“I’m flattered.” Reaux could hardly be entirely flattered to hear he was greatly valued by the other side of this ageless détente.

Small smile. “But don’t tell them that.”

“By no means. I’ll swear you’re a son of a bitch and I detest negotiating with you. I’ll exit past the media swarm frowning and angry. Do you have any clue what this portends?”

“Nothing,” Reaux said—which Brazis doubted. “Do you?”

“Nothing.” His own dance on the brink of the truth.

“It may be some political hiccup on Earth itself. Such things are difficult to foresee. We can only make sure Concord is secure, from whatever internal sources disturbance might come. I ask again: you’ve heard nothing.”

Maybe it was time for a little half-truth. “The Council at Apex has absolutely nothing to gain from disruptions at Concord. This is the important point, it’s always been true, it continues to be true, and you can assure Earth of this. The local Outsider Council, disregarding all the little trade questions we discuss with your Council, has an overriding interest in continuing stability here. We like our governor very well.”

A small tight smile, a little nod. “As we like our local Chairman.”

“If what’s arrived is Earth’s own problem trying to stir up something for home political value, it assuredly doesn’t need to involve us. This ambassador—”

“Gide is his name. Andreas Gide.”

“Mr. Gide should do his business, ask a few questions, take a physical tour, I suppose, to say he looked or advised. And then go home. They do this, don’t they, every time they need to shore up Fo r g e o f H e a v e n • 7 3

their own political capital? ‘We have a mission to Concord, we’ve investigated subversive activity.’ I’ve seen one before this, in my predecessor’s time.”

“What did they do?”

“They ask a few questions, take a physical tour. And go home. It scares hell out of Earth’s internal factions, is my theory. Just meddling around out here near the
ondat
diverts attention from whatever they’re up to at home, and it’s far enough away nobody can possibly prove a thing. The game’s always the same.”

Deep breath. “My records indicate some sort of Outsider trouble.”

“Did they actually say that?”

“The word they used for the reason for their trip was
consultations
. I looked it up. They always say that precise word when they’re investigating Outsider trouble.”

Certainly information worth logging. “I can assure you their excuses are one thing; their intentions are likely for domestic capital.

This is the last place either your people or mine want controversy.”

“Antonio. I want Blunt Street quiet. Very quiet. Bottom line, I want no trouble they can point to.”

“Earth demonstrating its god-given authority does provoke a certain natural sentiment on Blunt.”

“I want it astonishingly quiet. I know you can do it. I can’t stress enough how important it is that you do it.”

Clearly this was why Reaux had called him here: keep it quiet and we stay friends. Reaux was worried, whether on specific information or because it was the man’s nature to worry extravagantly.

“I advise you,” Brazis said, “with the friendliest of intentions—keep your secret police off Blunt.”

“Then you need to have your own police thick down there. Quietly. Discreetly. Without our visitors noticing it. Without stirring up Kekellen’s questions, God help us. You know me, Antonio. You know I mean it in the friendliest way, about trouble down there.

My predecessor let Blunt get way out of hand, as was. They’ll remember that. It’s in your interest as well as ours not to let the old Blunt Street situation make any visible resurgence. We’ve made a great deal of progress in our two administrations. I don’t want it all unraveled because
now
Earth gets some notion to find fault with your government over something that’s no longer an issue here.”

7 4 • C . J . C h e r r y h

It
was
the trade question, smuggling, at the back of Reaux’s worries, Brazis would bet four months’ salary on it. But Brazis didn’t find smuggling an issue to be discussed, not here, not now, not in this context. Truth to tell, he had his own very uncomfortable feeling about Blunt at the moment, for reasons completely aside from that inbound ship, and any rash attempt to bring down the iron fist of Earth there could do particular damage to quiet investigations already in progress.