Chaos And Order_ The Gap Into Madness Part 19

Davies Hyland had his mother's mind.

Warden couldn't afford to think about it. He was perilously close to losing his window to contact Min Donner; to carry out Holt's orders. And if he paused long enough to hope, he might be so shaken by it-or so paralyzed by doubt-that he would fail to grasp this one slim opportunity.

Slim? It wasn't It wasn't slim: slim: it was by G.o.d it was by G.o.d emaciated. emaciated. Slender to the point of invisibility. Slender to the point of invisibility.

Nevertheless he took the risk. It was all he had.

Dropping into his seat, he leaned over the desktop console and began writing Holt Fasner's orders-as well as his own-for transmission to Min Donner and Punisher. Punisher.

SIXTEN.

Captain Sixten Vertigus was old.

He was old when he got up in the morning, and the face that greeted him in his mirror was as wrinkled and used as a sheet of crumpled tissue. What was left of his hair clung to his scalp in wisps so fine that they responded to any kind of static. When he shaved-an atavistic habit which he had no inclination to give up-his hands shook as if the exercise was strenuous; and the skin of his hands was translucent enough to let him see his veins and tendons. He couldn't dress himself without fumbling.

He was old when he went to his rooms in the Members' Offices wing of the GCES Complex, or to the Council chamber, and if he happened to forget his age, everyone he met from the lowliest data clerk to Abrim Len himself reminded him of it by treating him as if he were an invalid, temporarily risen from the bed in which he was long overdue to die.

He was old while his aides shuffled doc.u.ments back and forth across his desk; while his colleagues feigned including him in their discussions because he was too much a legend to be ignored; while the other Members and their aides, and President Len and his his aides, droned on and on about the endless, mindless, necessary details of governing human s.p.a.ce. Sometimes when he stared at people he was actually asleep; and even when he was at his most alert, his eyes were so pale that he looked blind: he might have been a man to whom sight no longer meant anything. aides, droned on and on about the endless, mindless, necessary details of governing human s.p.a.ce. Sometimes when he stared at people he was actually asleep; and even when he was at his most alert, his eyes were so pale that he looked blind: he might have been a man to whom sight no longer meant anything.

On top of that, his whole body still hurt. The aftereffects of the explosion which had killed Marine, and which had very nearly done the same to Sixten himself, lingered in his fragile bones and tired head, his sore chest and unsteady stomach.

On some occasions-but especially this one-he felt more than old; he felt like an antique, a relic. The former hero of Deep Star Deep Star and humankind's first contact with the Amnion was abysmally and irretrievably ancient. and humankind's first contact with the Amnion was abysmally and irretrievably ancient.

His condition was not untreatable, of course. As the GCES Senior Member for the United Western Bloc, he could easily have obtained the same rejuvenation techniques which had prolonged Holt Fasner's life. But he didn't do it; didn't even consider it. He didn't want to live long enough to see whatever future the Dragon made.

He was far too old to tackle the job of trying to bring Holt Fasner down.

If he could have thought of one other Member who might be trusted to take the chance and face the consequences, just one, he would have handed over the responsibility without hesitation. But to the best of his knowledge, there were no other candidates. The people on Suka Bator who might have been willing to accept the risk-Special Counsel Maxim Igensard came to mind because he was due to arrive in Sixten's office at any moment-were tainted by motives which Sixten considered wrongheaded at best, fatal at worst. And everybody else-the Members even more than their aides-was too easily scared.

So eventually he considered that maybe it was good to be old. After all, what did he have to lose? There wasn't much time left to him in any case. He'd never had any significant amount of power. His position as the hero of Deep Star Deep Star and the UWB Senior Member, not to mention as a symbol of probity for such groups as the Native Earthers, was largely ceremonial; and he only endured it because it gave him an occasional opportunity to act on his convictions. And his self-esteem was in no real danger. For years he'd been about as effectual as the figurehead of an ancient sailing vessel: Failure now wouldn't make him feel any more useless. and the UWB Senior Member, not to mention as a symbol of probity for such groups as the Native Earthers, was largely ceremonial; and he only endured it because it gave him an occasional opportunity to act on his convictions. And his self-esteem was in no real danger. For years he'd been about as effectual as the figurehead of an ancient sailing vessel: Failure now wouldn't make him feel any more useless.

Still he had to ask himself whether he could truly bear to fail again.

That was the wrong question, however.

Could he truly bear not to make the attempt?

He'd told Min Donner that his "mission" on the Council had always been to oppose Holt Fasner in all his ambitions. to oppose Holt Fasner in all his ambitions. He'd only had personal encounters with the UMC CEO twice, once before He'd only had personal encounters with the UMC CEO twice, once before Deep Star Deep Star was sent to establish contact with the Amnion, once afterward. Yet those experiences had determined the course of his life- was sent to establish contact with the Amnion, once afterward. Yet those experiences had determined the course of his life-to study what he did and how he did it until I could learn the facts which might persuade other people to oppose him with me-until, inspired by age and foolishness, he'd entrusted his research to his subordinates, and so lost it all.

In his own mind nothing larger than himself exists. In his own person he considers himself bigger than the United Mining Companies, bigger than the Governing Council for Earth and s.p.a.ce, perhaps bigger than all humankind.

In a sense, Sixten told himself now, his years and his old failures were irrelevant. Even the possibility that he might be killed was irrelevant. Instead of worrying over such things, he should be grateful that Min Donner had brought him this one last chance. If he failed again, nothing new would be lost. And if he succeeded, something of inestimable value would be gained.

In any case-whether he failed or succeeded, lived or died-he would know that he was still man enough, still person person enough, to act on his beliefs. enough, to act on his beliefs.

He tried to feel grat.i.tude while he waited for Special Counsel Igensard.

Unfortunately his years refused to take pity on him. Time didn't care whether he was a hero or a coward. He intended to finish his work on Min Donner's Bill of Severance; but instead he was sound asleep in his chair when Marine's replacement chimed his intercom to inform him that the Special Counsel had arrived.

His eyes felt as dry as stones: he'd nodded off with them open. Blinking painfully, he fumbled for the intercom toggle. When he finally located it, he heard Igensard's voice in the background. "Is he sleeping in there?"

Sixten hated the note of humorless complacency in the Special Counsel's tone; the veiled contempt.

"Of course I was sleeping," he told his pickup. He also hated the high, thin quaver of his own voice, but there was nothing he could do about it. "Do you think being this old is easy? Send him in."

By the time Igensard opened the door and entered, Sixten had straightened his clothes, rubbed some of the blur off his gaze, and made sure that his private intercom was active.

Maintenance had done an efficient job restoring both his office and the outer hall where his aides had their desks and cubicles. The ceiling had been repaired; the walls, patched. The carpeting and even his crystallized formica desktop had been replaced. There was no visible evidence that a kaze had ever attacked him.

Nevertheless Maxim Igensard came into the room as if he expected to smell high explosives and blood.

He was a gray man who cultivated an air of diffidence which had the effect of making him appear smaller than he was. His hair capped itself to his head as if it didn't want to attract attention. He wore tidy, gray bureaucratic garments with impersonal lines and no distinguishing features: his suit could have been worn by anybody. Because it hadn't been cut to fit him, however, it failed to conceal the unexpected bulge of his belly. As a result, his stomach contrasted incongruously with his lean face and limbs. Except for his abdomen, he looked like a man who didn't eat often enough to become fat.

"Special Counsel." Sixten didn't trouble to stand; he had enough years and status to get away with sitting in almost anyone's presence. "It's easy to catch a man like me sleeping, even if you get plenty of rest yourself. But you look like you haven't been to bed for days."

This wasn't actually true: Maxim looked neither more tired nor less alert than usual, and his clothes were fresh. But Sixten preferred to credit the Special Counsel with frailties which didn't show. The uncomfortable alternative was to think that Maxim might indeed be as devoid of weaknesses as he appeared.

"You'd better sit down," Sixten concluded, nodding at the nearest chair.

From there Igensard wouldn't be able to see the small LED on Sixten's private intercom which indicated an open channel.

"Not at all, Captain Vertigus." Igensard's tone was as gray and una.s.suming as his demeanor-and as unamused. "Of course, there's a great deal of work to be done. But I have a capable staff. And a number of the other Members are eager to give me every a.s.sistance."

He didn't decline to sit, however.

By some perceptual trick, his air of being smaller than he was made him appear more solid when he sat; denser, perhaps more powerful as well, as if he contained a nuclear core which was shrinking to critical ma.s.s.

"Your concern is misplaced," he continued, "if only because I have not recently become the target of a.s.sa.s.sins." Deftly he redirected Sixten's attempt to take control of the conversation. "Are you sure you're all right? President Len a.s.sures me you weren't injured, but I find that hard to believe. You were so close to the blast-"

Sixten cut him off brusquely. "My apologies, Special Counsel." He had no intention of discussing the kaze's attack with this man. "Just for a minute there, I thought you looked tired. Must be my eyes-Lord knows at my age I can't get away with blaming it on the light.

"Shall we get right to the point? You asked to see me. My time is yours, as much as you need. But I know you're busy. The best staff in the world can't cure that for a man in your position. What can I do for you?"

Maxim was impervious to such delicate sarcasm. He smiled in a way that left his face smooth and didn't soften his diffident, untouchable gaze.

"I hope you'll call me Maxim, Captain Vertigus," he replied. "We hardly know each other, but I would like you to be as open as a friend with me. I'm certainly prepared to be open with you. I'll keep this conversation as confidential as you like, but I think it would be extremely valuable if we could be entirely frank with each other."

"Maxim." Sixten pursed his lips-an expression which in his opinion made him look like a desiccated prune, but which he employed deliberately because it used so many facial muscles that it didn't betray such emotions as surprise, consternation, or despair. "I appreciate the courtesy, naturally. Still I must confess-in the spirit of openness-that you've taken me somewhat aback. What are you prepared to be open with me about?"

"Sixten-" the Special Counsel began, then paused to ask, "May I call you Sixten?"

Sixten kept his mouth tight to disguise his relish. "I prefer Captain Vertigus." To avoid the impression of rudeness, however, he added; "It's an honorable t.i.tle, and I earned it."

Maxim shrugged noncommittally. "Captain Vertigus, then. I'll answer any questions you want to ask-any questions at all-about my investigation of Warden Dios and the UMCP."

"I see." Sixten stifled a grimace with difficulty. The ineffectuality of his admittedly subtle efforts to ruffle Igensard reminded him of other, more profound failures. Once again he found himself in the presence of a man with power and secrets-and he had no idea what to do about it. "And what exactly do you want me me to be open about?" to be open about?"

"I would like to ask you a couple of questions," Maxim replied promptly. His tone suggested that he knew he was being presumptuous, but felt he had no choice. His duty was exigent. "The more honestly-and the more fully-you answer them, the more I'll benefit. I don't mean personally, of course, but as the Special Counsel charged with this investigation by the GCES."

"I see," Sixten repeated. He took a moment to examine his conscience, and found that he was in no mood for bulls.h.i.t. "It's an interesting proposal. Forgive me if I don't fall out of my chair hurrying to take you up on it. Frankly, I can't think of anything you could tell me that I might want or need to know.

"You know where I stand-I've been holding my ground alone for decades. I support the UMCP. I oppose the UMC. And my position doesn't depend on such functional details as honor or malfeasance. Convince me Holt Fasner is as pure as the heavens-show me the Number of the Beast etched on Warden Dios' forehead-and I'll say the same. Humankind needs the UMCP. Humankind needs to be rid of the UMC. We should be discussing matters of structure, not function. But structure, as I understand it, is outside the mandate of your investigation."

Then he shrugged. "However, that doesn't mean I'm unwilling to answer questions. I'm just a crotchety old man, not an obstructionist. What do you want to know?"

What are you after, Special Counsel? What are you trying to get out of me?

While Sixten spoke, Maxim waited without moving a muscle. He seemed to have an inexhaustible supply of patience. Nevertheless in some way he appeared to be shrinking into himself, becoming at once more compact and more dangerous. Sixten received the disturbing impression that if Maxim ever exploded, the detonation would be indistinguishable from madness.

"You're an interesting man, Captain Vertigus," Igensard observed deferentially when Sixten stopped. "It occurs to me that you should be director of the UMCP."

Sixten flapped his hands. "Flattery-" he began.

"After a few decades of Warden Dios," Maxim continued as if he couldn't be interrupted, "what humankind really needs is probity, integrity. Men like Dios and Lebwohl specialize in moral legerdemain, and we've had as much of that as we can stand. We won't survive much more. You, on the other hand-you could do the job in your sleep."

"-is a waste of time," Sixten finished abruptly. "I do everything in my sleep. That doesn't make me a fit UMCP director. It makes me old. old.

"Go ahead-ask your questions. When I hear what they are, I'll decide whether I want to answer them."

"Certainly." Igensard complied with an air of smugness, as if he'd gained the point he wanted most. "Captain Vertigus, is there any truth to the rumor that you once made it your business to investigate Holt Fasner and the UMC?"

Surprised past his defenses, Sixten nodded mutely.

"Forgive me for asking," Maxim went on to avoid any impression of discourtesy. "You understand that anything you did years ago was before my time. I know nothing about it. You aren't accountable for rumors, of course. But I couldn't think of any way to learn the truth except by coming to you directly.

"Would you be willing to share what you discovered with me? I mean, with me and my staff?"

Sixten tried to purse his mouth again and found that he'd left it hanging open. Learn the truth. Learn the truth. He was out of his depth. He was out of his depth. Share what you discovered Share what you discovered-? Age had left him stupid as well as frail. What was going on here? Age had left him stupid as well as frail. What was going on here?

"Why?" His throat caught on the words. "Why do you care?"

As he faced Sixten-without moving, without expression-Maxim's diffidence began to look more and more like arrogance. Or cunning.

"I'm perfectly aware," he said easily, "that CEO Fasner and his various enterprises are outside the mandate of my own investigation. But I'm looking for hints, if you will-patterns of conduct or implication-which will help me put Director Dios' actions in context. That is is within my mandate. I'm sure you'll agree that it is unquestionably germane to inquire whether his rather highhanded style of law enforcement was ever condoned or encouraged, by CEO Fasner if not by the GCES. If it was, his excesses become more understandable"-Maxim seemed to think that this would console Sixten-"perhaps more excusable. within my mandate. I'm sure you'll agree that it is unquestionably germane to inquire whether his rather highhanded style of law enforcement was ever condoned or encouraged, by CEO Fasner if not by the GCES. If it was, his excesses become more understandable"-Maxim seemed to think that this would console Sixten-"perhaps more excusable.

"The more I know about his background, the more intelligently I can carry out my commission."

Now Sixten grasped the truth. The possibility that someone might value or need the work he'd done-and lost-years ago frayed and faded like a old man's brief dreams. Igensard would only pretend to be disappointed if Sixten told him what had happened to his research: the question itself was only bait.

Sixten pressed his hands flat on the desktop to steady them. "You're still trying to flatter me." For a moment anger made his voice hard enough to sound firm. "Why don't you just cut all this c.r.a.p and tell me what you really want? Ask an honest question. Trust me to give you an honest answer."

"You misunderstand me," Maxim countered disingenuously. "How could I presume to flatter you? I asked the question for exactly the reasons I've stated.

"But for some reason you're suspicious of my motives. I won't try to persuade you otherwise. If the fact that I've come to you in pursuit of my duty as the Special Counsel charged with this investigation, rather than as a private individual with an ax to grind, doesn't make me trustworthy in your eyes, nothing I can say is likely to change your mind. And if the fact that you've recently become the target of a.s.sa.s.sins for your beliefs doesn't convince you that the issues we face now are serious, my words won't make a difference."

Sixten wanted to retort loudly, but he stifled the impulse. He knew from experience that his voice sounded weaker when he raised it. Instead he did his best to produce a sharp rasp.

"You're trying my patience, Special Counsel. Anybody who wants me dead for my beliefs has had years to work on it. If I'm suddenly a target now, something must have changed, and it isn't me." Grimly he risked saying, "Maybe it's your investigation."

Maxim remained unruffled; unmoved. "I don't see how that can be true," he mused. "If it is, however, I would expect you to be eager to cooperate with me. You're in danger until whatever lies behind that attack is exposed. My investigation is your best hope."

"Bulls.h.i.t," Sixten snorted. He was too vexed to choose his words carefully. "You forget who you're talking to. I support support the UMCP. I the UMCP. I oppose oppose the UMC." the UMC."

If anything threatens me, you smug egomaniac, your investigation is as good a candidate as any.

That reached the Special Counsel. His brows went up; a small flush tinged his cheeks. He continued to sit still, as if he were relaxed, but his voice hardened.

"I reject the inference, Captain Vertigus. It's insulting, and I don't deserve it."

Then a look of calculation came into his eyes. "Unless you're trying to tell me without quite saying so that your involvement with the UMCP goes beyond mere support. That you are engaged with Warden Dios in dealings which have earned you enemies who want you dead."

Sixten was so pleased by this near miss that he wanted to laugh. "What? Me and G.o.dsen Frik? That isn't just wrongheaded, Special Counsel-it's silly."

Maxim replied with a tense frown. "I see you're determined to play games with me." His irritation-the fact that he could be irritated-made him seem both physically larger and emotionally less dangerous. "Clearly there is little to be gained by continuing this conversation."

But he didn't rise from his chair.

"I would be derelict, however," he went on in the same tone, "if I didn't ask one more question. Out of respect for your years and experience, if not for your views, I wouldn't trouble you. But this is too crucial to be dismissed, Captain Vertigus."

Sixten held his breath while he waited for Igensard to finally get to the point.

"President Len informs me that you have legislation which you wish to introduce at the next Council session"-he didn't need to consult a chronometer-"in eighteen hours. He says that you've claimed Senior Member's privilege to place your legislation first on the agenda, that other matters will have to be postponed until your bill has been presented, and that you decline to reveal the nature or even the general subject of your bill.

"Captain Vertigus, I must ask you to tell me what kind of legislation you propose to introduce."

Ah. Sixten let his breath out with a sigh. The truth at last. For this Maxim had flattered him; offered to share the results of his own investigation; reminded him that his life was in danger. Sixten had suspected as soon as Maxim Igensard asked to see him that the conversation would come to this. That was why he sat here with a channel open on his private intercom.

He should have pretended surprise; but he didn't bother.

"Forgive me, Special Counsel. I don't mean to be rude. But that's none of your G.o.dd.a.m.n business."

"You disappoint me, Captain Vertigus." Maxim didn't sound disappointed. He was shrinking again, consolidating himself around his hot core. "In that case, I must ask-no, I must demand-that you yield your privilege to Eastern Union Senior Member Sen Abdullah. Or, if you consider that undignified, yield to your own Junior Member, Sigurd Carsin.

"This is not a trivial matter, and I don't insist on it lightly. But the safety of human s.p.a.ce hangs in the balance. As long as Warden Dios remains Director of the United Mining Companies Police, we are effectively defenseless.

"You must yield, Captain Vertigus. My business with the Council must take precedence."

Sixten took pride in holding Igensard's gaze squarely.

"No."

For a moment the Special Counsel seemed to think that he would gain what he wanted if he simply met Sixten's stare without blinking; that Sixten would fold under that small pressure. But Sixten had an equally simple defense against such tactics: with his eyes open and his face calm, he took a short nap.

When he awakened a few heartbeats later, he found that Maxim had risen to his feet in exasperation.

"You're a fool, Captain Vertigus-an old fool." Hints of brutality lay behind his cold tone. "You're implicated in Dios' malfeasance, and when he falls, you'll fall with him."