Shadow of the Swan (Book Two of the Phoenix Legacy) (45 page)

“Jael, when you return to Fina, Andreas will be, as he always has been, the spiritual leader of the Phoenix, but you must become its secular leader. You must also take advantage of the period of shock the Concord will suffer in the wake of the offensive to make the initial approach to the bargaining table. The first move is a private meeting with Galinin. By law, the Chairman may unilaterally recognize an enemy envoy, and that will be your entroit into the Directorate Chamber and negotiations with the Directors. With the Ransom Alternative negated by my death or disability, you must fall back on the Peladeen Alternative, but you will take Ussher’s place as the future Lord of the resurrected House of Peladeen. You must also assume the burden of representing the Society at the bargaining table. Haggling should be left to experts, and as you are your father’s son, no one else in the Phoenix is better qualified.

“So, in the wake of the offensive, you must not only return with Andreas to Fina to reclaim his rightful place in the Phoenix, but immediately afterward embark for Concordia and present yourself to Galinin with the hope of claiming
your
rightful place in the Court of Lords. You’ll be armed with a statement of authorization from Andreas, whose name will be familiar to Galinin as the Society’s founder, with the Lady Manir Peladeen’s death testament—I’m sure your father will surrender it to you for this purpose—and with what might also be called a death testament from me. That’s the second tape I’m leaving with you. It’s addressed in my handwriting to Galinin, and my voice can be checked for VP ident. This tape includes an offering of sorts, one that can’t be included in the package the Phoenix will offer the Directors: an assurance that I know the rumors regarding Karlis Selasis’s sterility to be true, even if I can’t offer proof. I hope the assurance will be enough to induce Galinin to demand a Board of Succession inquiry. That’s another legal prerogative of the Chairman. If he still has any faith in my word, he can relieve himself of a threat that has stymied him for decades, and perhaps as a result he’ll look more favorably on you, the Phoenix, and the reforms vital to the survival of the Concord.

“In this tape I’ve also made a personal appeal to the man who was my grandfather and Rich’s, the man who loved us both. I’ve asked him to recognize the Phoenix as a beneficent power, as we did, and to regard it as a useful ally. Galinin is a skeptic, but an open-minded one. And, Jael, above all, be honest with him; trust him. I’ve also asked him not only to support your bid for Lordship of Peladeen, but to regard you as an advisor and liaison with the Phoenix. In this way you might achieve a position of influence, if not actual power, that will facilitate the reforms of Phase I. I’ve also asked Galinin to try to bring Lord Woolf around to a similar understanding. Woolf is still heir to the Chairmanship.

“I’m assuming you’ll let Erica, Ben, and Andreas hear this tape since these ‘advisory commands’ must be considered by the Exile Council. I’ll end with thanks to you who were loving friends to Rich and me, whom I came to love as well.

“And to you, Jael, friend and brother . . . fortune.”

Silence spun out from the final word. For the space of a minute Alex listened to it, watching the veils of sand drifting off yellow dunes against an indigo sky.

Finally, he removed the earspeaker and took out the spool. Under the clear plasex disk on one side he had already written Jael’s name. Now he broke off the switch tab on the rim and waited while the edges melted and sealed themselves, then he put it beside the other spools; they were already marked and sealed. The third had Adrien’s name on it. He picked it up, wondering when, or if, or under what circumstances that seal would be broken.

Phoenix Four
, rechristened CFF
Orion
F-738-2C, had been carefully prepared for her final voyage. Alex could pilot her alone; the ship was almost entirely operated by remote control through radio relays from the COS HQ. Alex and Ben Venturi were the sole occupants of the transformed
Four
, but every effort had been made to conceal the fact. Ben was at the comconsole, wearing the SSB uniform with the ease of familiarity. They were entering Pendino as Central Control inspectors, and during the last week rumors of their impending tour of inspection had leaked out in Confleet ranks. They would be expected, if not welcomed.

Four
had taken a detour into space from the COS HQ so that it could approach Pendino on a typical entry vector, and now as the ship skimmed Castor’s thin atmosphere, the temperature gauges spinning upward as the altitude indicator turned downward, Alex cut back the MAM-An generator and phased to nulgrav, staying on manual control to bring the ship out of orbit sequence and into the automatic landing grid beamed from Pendino. He was bound by an equivocal calm, mind and body functioning at a sustained pitch just below crisis level.

A glance at the navcomp console assured him he was locked in on the grid. He checked his watch: 17:21 TST. They were two minutes ahead of sequence. He relaxed and looked up at the vis-screens. They were approaching from the west and the stark ridges of the Polyon Mountains rose beneath them. Beyond this rampart was an open plateau enveloped in the fog of a Barrens dust storm. He listened to the voices from his headset as the ship sloped downward.

“
Orion
F-738-2C, Pendino Navcomp Center on line. We have you in landing grid.”

Then the voice from the COS HQ relayed through
Four’s
comsystem, “Right, Pendino. We are on automatic. Relative ground speed twenty kpm and decelerating. We are moving into a dust storm. Check reception variance, please.”

“Your signals are clear,
Orion
. You are two minutes from the field locks.”

Another voice now. “Pendino, this is Captain May,
Orion
. Major Ransom and Leftant Bently from SSB Central Control are aboard. Request that you have a ’car on stand-by at the hangar to take them to base HQ immediately upon arrival.”

Alex noted the brief pause before the response.

“Uh—yes, sir. A ’car will be ready.”

Alex nodded toward the comconsole. “Put me on the Pendino frequency, Ben.” He heard the faint click, then said quietly into his mike, “Pendino, this is Major Ransom, SSB CC on line. Inform Commander Paten that I’ll expect to talk with him briefly as soon as we’ve touched down. And tell him we’re in a hurry. We have a demanding schedule.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll inform him immediately.”

“Thank you. Out.”

Ben switched off the interconn, smiling obliquely. “The old SSB black magic. Strikes fear into the highest-ranked heart.”

“For once, I’m grateful.”

The storm was falling behind, and on the horizon Alex caught a reflective flash of light. Pendino. The voices went on, dry and monotonous, the yellow, arid plain turned slowly under them.

“
Orion
, will you require maintenance or servicing?”

The voice of “Captain May” answered, “No servicing is necessary. We will remain on stand-by for departure.”

“Very good, sir. Your crew won’t be disembarking?”

“No. We’ll stay aboard on liftoff alert. We have Pendino on visual now.”

“Yes, sir. Lock approach, one minute.”

The cluster of ’bubbles, slab-shaped buildings, and oblate hangars was visible now. The voices went on, but Alex ceased listening to them; the lock approach would demand no attention on his part. He rose and reached for the helmet in the empty chair beside him.

“You’ll have to inspect me, Ben. I’m not used to this uniform.”

Ben laughed as he reached for his own helmet. “That’s one area where I’m an expert.”

Alex adjusted the chin strap as the voices marked off the final approach, then snapped the holstered X
²
on his belt and pulled on the black gloves, pausing to twist the bezel of the ring on his left hand. Ben wore a similar ring; they were equipped with transceivers that put them on open radio transmission to the COS HQ.

“Better sit down, Ben,” Alex said, returning to his own chair, his hands resting on the manual controls, “just in case they foul up the autolanding. Here come the locks.”

The
Four
slid over the bleak landscape, angling down to ten meters and leveling, finally coming to a full stop within the air lock. Across the flat waste of the field, the huddled buildings and mushroom hangars of Pendino seemed small and unreal, like toys or models, but as the ship moved out of the lock and floated toward them, they loomed into reality.

Alex spoke into his mike. “Commander Blayn?”

“Yes, sir. I can take her from here.”

“You’re on, Vic.” He switched off the mike, then rose and donned his cloak. “Ben, do I pass inspection?”

Ben gave him a close scrutiny. “Yes, except for wearing your gun on your left side. I don’t care what Fenn Lacroy taught you, nobody in the SSB shoots left-handed.”

Alex laughed as he moved the holster to his right side. “Right-handedness is a prerequisite in the SSB?”

“No, but you damn well have to use a gun with your right hand. Part of the image of anonymity; no observable personal idiosyncrasies allowed.” He looked up at the vis-screens. “Efficient bunch. There’s our ’car, and that looks like a genuine Confleet major out to meet us.”

The
Four
was taxiing to a slow stop in front of the main hangar. Alex went to the comconsole and pressed a button, then spoke into his headset mike.

“Jael, we’ve touched down. No problems yet. How’s your pickup on our personal monitors?”

“Clear, Alex. Switch on the ship’s vidicams.”

His fingers moved across the controls. “They’re on.”

“We’re pulling good pictures on all of them.”

Alex felt a slight jolt as the ship came to a stop. Outside, a cluster of ’Fleeters waited by the ’car.

“Jael, don’t hit the destruct switches until all three of us are clear of Pendino, unless someone gets too inquisitive. And close the ship locks as soon—”

“Don’t get hackled; we’ll see to the lifter. And Alex . . . fortune, brother.”

“Thanks.” He removed the headset, then looked at Ben. “Jael sends us fortune. We’ll need it. Ready?”

He nodded and touched his face-screen ring. “Ready.”

Confleet Commander Marvin Paten was nervous.

Alex had no intention of putting him at ease. He strode into the office, ignoring the ineffectual flutterings of the major who escorted them to the HQ, and for the moment ignoring the SSB officer, face-screened as he and Ben were, who stood near Paten’s desk. That would be Captain Torenz, assigned to oversee security for prisoner 10-273.

Alex stopped two meters from the desk. “Commander Paten, I’m Major Ransom. This is my aide, Leftant Bently.”

Paten was a rank-and-file pro, Alex knew, a few years short of retirement, and not at all pleased with the SSB’s attention to Pendino or himself. He had come to his feet when Alex and Ben entered, and now he licked his lips, staring at the dark haze that was all he could see of Alex’s face.

“Uh . . . welcome to Pendino, Major. This is . . . a pleasant surprise.”

“I doubt it’s either pleasant or totally surprising.”

Paten looked faintly alarmed. “I don’t understand, sir.”

“Never mind.” Alex purposely omitted the ‘sirs” that were his due. He turned now to the SSB officer. “Captain Torenz?”

Torenz came to attention, right hand snapping to his left shoulder in a smart salute.

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you the only SSB representative at Pendino?”

“No, sir. At the present time there are also two PC officers attached to the base.”

“Where will I find them?”

Torenz glanced at his watch. “I believe they’re setting up in the interrogation room, sir. Shall I call them?”

“No, not now. Is the prisoner in interrogation?”

“I . . . not yet. He should be in the DC now.”

Alex allowed himself a sigh of relief. This was a risk they’d taken in assuming the role of inspectors. Andreas wasn’t due for interrogation today for another two hours; the PCs were rushing the schedule to impress the inspectors with their diligence.

“I’m not interested in interrogation procedures, Captain,” he said sharply. “PC isn’t my field. Security
is
. Now, Commander, Bently and I will have a look at your DC. You have clearance ident cards for us?”

“Of course, sir. My secretary has them for you. But I thought . . . that is, Captain Torenz assumed you’d want him to escort you—”

“That won’t be necessary. I suppose it’s too late to ask you not to warn anyone in the DC of our arrival. However, I’ll ask you to give them no further warning. I’m not here for a parade inspection.”

Paten swallowed, glancing uneasily at Torenz.

“Of course not, sir. I assure you—”

“We won’t be long, so if you will, keep yourself available. Captain Torenz, I’ll talk to you after I’ve completed my inspection.”

Torenz stiffened, then with a quick salute, “Yes, sir.”

Alex answered the salute in a desultory fashion and started for the door.

“But—but, Major . . .”

Alex turned, conveying his annoyance in the stiff set of his shoulders, and Paten fumbled out, “Don’t you—uh, need someone to . . . well, guide you, sir?”

“I’m quite familiar with the parts of your HQ of interest to me. Bently, let’s get on with it.” He turned on his heel and strode out of the room with Ben a pace behind.

His mind and body were still functioning at that sustained pitch, tension reined into concentration. He didn’t speak to Ben as they stopped to pick up their clearance cards. There would be no words between them unless it became absolutely necessary; they would be monitored every step of the way. Alex had seen the array of screens behind Paten’s desk.

Three of them were focused on the DC.

The reaction of the Confleet personnel to the SSB uniforms was an advantage they were playing on. Their appearance generated a silence wherever they went. The clearance cards served to pass them through every check point, but the uniforms were equally effective. They marched down the quiet corridors, booted feet marking a rhythmic cadence, Alex leading the way, guided by the memorized floor plans, translating the flat images of lines into the three-dimensional reality of halls, doorways, junctions, monitoring stations, nulgrav lifts.