x
"In theory, warfare is a calculated risk," the Duke said, "but when it comes to risking your own family, the element of calculation gets lost in other things."
"Yes."
"He is getting old. That's it. He should be...."
"He's wise with much experience," Alexei said. "How many of Botkin's mistakes can you recall?"
"I should be the one defending him," the Duke said. "Not you."
Alexei smiled.
Nicholas sat down at the table's head, put a hand over his son. "You've matured lately, son." He lifted his hand. "It gladdens me." He matched his son's smile. "Botkin's punishment will be to direct more anger against himself over this than we could pour upon him."
Alexei glanced towards the darkened windows beyond the map board, looked at the night's blackness. Room lights reflected from a balcony railing out there. He saw movement and recognized the shape of a guard in Romanov uniform. Alexei looked back at the white wall beyond his father, then down to the shiny surface of the table, seeing his own hands clenched into fists.
The door beyond the Duke banged open. Eugene Botkin strode through it looking older and more leathery than ever. He paced down the length of the table, stopped at attention facing Nicholas.
"Milord," he said, speaking to a point over Nicholas's head. "I have just learned how I failed you. It becomes necessary that I tender my resig...."
"Oh, sit down and quit playing the fool," the Duke said. He waved to the chair across from Alexei. "If you made a mistake, it was in overestimating the Seppanens. Their simple minds came up with a simple trick. We didn't count on simple tricks. And my son has been at great pains to point out to me that he came through this largely because of your training. You didn't fail there!" He tapped the back of the empty chair. "Sit down, I say!"
Botkin sank into the chair. "But..."
"I'll hear no more of it," the Duke said. "The incident is past. We've got more pressing business. Where are the others?"
"I asked them to wait outside while I...."
"Summon them."
Botkin looked into Nicholas's eyes. "Sire?"
"I know who my friends are, Eugene," the Duke said. "Summon them."
Botkin swallowed. "At once, Milord!" He swiveled in the chair, called to the open door: "Admit them, Gustav."
Vasa led the file of men into the room, the staff officer looming grimly serious followed by the younger aides and specialists, an air of eagerness among them. Brief scuffling sounds echoed around the room as the men took seats. A faint smell of rocros stimulant wafted down the table.
"There is coffee for those who wish it," the Duke said.
He looked over his men, thinking: They're a good crew. A man could do far worse in this kind of war. He waited while coffee was brought in from the adjoining room and served, noting the tiredness in some of the faces.
Presently, he put on his mask of quiet efficiency, stood up and commanded their attention with a knuckle rap against the table.
"Gentlemen," he said, "our civilization seems to have fallen so deeply into the invasion habit that we cannot even obey a simple order of the Imperium without the old ways creeping in."
Dry chuckles sounded all around the table, and Alexei realized that his father had said the precisely correct thing in exactly the correct tone to lift the mood here. Even the hint of fatigue in his voice was right.
"I think we'd better learn if Eugene has anything to add to his report on the Szgany," the Duke said. "Eugene?"
Botkin glanced up. "I've got some economic matters to go into after my general report, Sire, but I can say now that the Szganys seem more and more to be the allies we need. They're waiting now to see if they can trust us, but they seem to be dealing openly. They're waiting now to see if they can trust us, but they seem to be dealing openly. They've sent us a gift---stillsuits of their own manufacture---maps of certain desert areas surrounding strongpoints that the Seppanens left behind..." He glanced down the table. "Their intelligence reports have proven reliable and have helped us considerably in our dealings with the Judge of the Change. They've also sent some incidental things---jewelry, spice liquor, candy, medicinals. My men are processing the lot right now. There appears to be no trickery."
"Do you like these people, Eugene?" asked a man down the table.
Botkin turned to face his questioner. "Grady Ukrainia says they're a people to be admired."
Alexei glanced at his father, back to Botkin, ventured a question: "Have you got any new information as to how many Szganys there are?"
Botkin looked at Alexei. "From food processing and other evidence, Ukrainia estimates the cave complex he visited consisted of some ten thousand people, all told. Their leader said he ruled a s'yectche of two thousand hearths. We have reason to believe there are a great many such s'yetche communities. All seem to give their allegiance to someone called Thon-Ol."
"That's something new," said Nicholas.
"It could be an error on my part, Sire. There are things to suggest this Thon-Ol may be a local man-god."
Another man down the table cleared his throat, asked: "Is it certain they deal with smugglers?"
"A smuggler caravan left this s'yetche while Ukrainia was there, carrying a heavy load of spice. They used pack beasts and indicated they faced an eighteen-day journey."
"It seems," the Duke said, "that the smugglers have redoubled their operations during this period of unrest. This deserves some careful thought. We shouldn't worry too much about unlicensed battleships working off our planet---it's always done. But to have them completely beyond our observation---that's not good."
"What have you in mind, Sire?" Botkin asked.
The Duke looked at Vasa. "Gustav, I want you to head a delegation, an embassy, if you like, to contact these romantic businessmen. Tell them I'll ignore their operations so long as they pay me the customary ducal tithe. Botkin here estimates that graft and extra fighting men heretofore required in their operations have been costing them four times that amount."
"And if the Sultan gets wind of this?" Vasa asked. "What then? He's very jealous of his CCOAM profits Milord."
Nicholas smiled. "We'll bank the whole tithe openly in the Turgay IV's signature, then deduct it legally from our levy support costs. Let the Seppanens fight that! And we'll be ruining a few more of the locals who grew fat under the Seppanen system. Away with graft!"
A grin twisted Vasa's face. "Ahhh, Milord, a beautiful low blow. Would that I could see the Baron's face when he learns of this."
The Duke turned to Botkin. "Eugene, did you get those account books you said you could buy?"
"Yes, Milord. They're being examined in detail even now. I've skimmed them, though, and thus can give you a first approximation.'
"Then do so."
"The Seppanens took ten billion kopeks out of here every three hundred and thirty Standard days."
A muted gasp ran around the table. Even the younger aides, who had been betraying some boredom, sat up straighter and exchanged wide-eyed looks.
Botkin murmured: " 'For the wicked shall leech the wealth of the seas and of the treasure 'neath the pleasant land.'"
"You see, gentlemen," Nicholas said. "Is there anyone here so foolish as to believe the Seppanens have quietly packed up and skulked away from all this simply because the Sultan ordered them to?"
There was a general shaking of heads, murmurous agreement.
"We'll have to take it at the point of the sword," Nicholas said. He turned to Botkin. "This would be a good point to report on equipment. How many sandcrawlers, harvesters, spice factories, and supporting equipment have they left us?"
"A full complement, as it says in the Imperial inventory audited by the Judge of the Change, Milord," Botkin said. He gestured for an aide to pass him a folder, opened the folder on the table before him. "They forget to mention that less than half the crawlers are operable, that only about a third have carryalls to fly them to spice sands---that everything the Seppanens left us is ready to break down and fall apart! Why, we'll be lucky to get half the equipment into operation and luckier yet if a fourth of it is still working six months from now!"
"That is pretty much as we expected," Nicholas said. "What's the first estimate on basic equipment?"
Botkin glanced at his folder. "About nine hundred and thirty harvester-factories than can be sent out in a few days. About sixty-two hundred and fifty ornithopters for survey, scouting, and weather observation----carryalls, a little under a thousand."
Vasa said: "Wouldn't it be cheaper to reopen negotiations with the Guild for permission to orbit a battleship as a weather satellite?"
The Duke looked at Botkin. "What is your opinion on that, Eugene?"
"For now, let us pursue other avenues," Botkin said. "The Guild agent wasn't truly negotiating with us. He was merely making it plain---on Technopath to another----that the price was out of our reach and would remain so no matter how long a reach we develop. Our task is to find out why before we approach him again."
One of Botkin's aides down the table swiveled in his chair, snapped, "There's no justice in this!"
"Justice?!" The Duke looked at the man. "Who asks for justice? We make our own justice here on Dyuna---win or die. Do you regret casting your lot with us, sir?"
The man stared at the Duke, then: "No, Sire. You couldn't turn and I could do naught but follow you. Forgive the outburst, but..." He shrugged. "....we must all feel bitter at times....." He shrugged.
"I understand bitterness," the Duke said. "But let us not rage about justice so long as we have arms and the freedom to use them. Do any of the rest of you harbor bitterness? If so, then speak now. This is a friendly council were any man may speak his piece."
Vasa stirred, said: "I think what rankles, Sire, as that we've had no volunteers from the other Great Houses. They address you as 'Nicholas the Just' and promise eternal friendship, but only as long as it doesn't cost them anything."
"They don't know yet who's going to win this exchange," the Duke said. "Most of the Houses have grown fat by taking few risks." One cannot truly blame them for this; one can only despise them." He looked at Botkin. "We were discussing equipment. Would you care to project a few examples to familiarize the men with this machinery?"
Botkin nodded, gestured to an aide at the projector.
A solid tri-D projection appeared on the table surface about a third of the way down from the Duke. Some of the men farther along the table stood up to get a better look at it.
Alexei leaned forward to stare at the machine.
Scaled against the tiny projected human figures around it, the thing was about one hundred and twenty meters long and about forty meters wide. It was basically a long, buglike body moving on independent sets of wide tracks.
"This is a harvester factory," Botkin said. "We chose one in good repair for this projection. There's one dragline outfit that came in with the first Imperial ecologists, though, and it's still running...although I don't know how, or why."
"If that's the one they call 'Old Miroslava,' it belongs in a museum," an aide said. "I think the Seppanens kept is as a penalty job, a threat hanging over their workers' heads. Be good or you'll be assigned to Old Miroslava."
Chuckles sounded around the table.
Alexei set himself apart from the humor, his attention focused on the projection and the question that filled his mind. He pointed to the images on the table, said, "Eugene, are there saandwurms big enough to swallow that whole?"
Quick silence fell down on the table. The Duke swore beneath his breath, then thought: No---they have to face the realities here.
"There are wurms in the deep desert that could take this whole factory in one gulp," Botkin said. "Up here closer to the Barrier Wall where most of the spicing's done there are plenty of wurms that could cripple this factory and devour it at their leisure."
"Why don't we barrier them?" Alexei asked.
"According to Ukrainian's report," Botkin said, "barriers are dangerous in the desert. A body-size barrier will call every wurm for hundreds of meters around. It seems to drive them into a killing frenzy. We've got the Szganys' words on this and on reason to doubt Ukrainia saw no evidence of barrier generators at the s'yetche."
"None whatsoever?" Alexei asked.
"It would be difficult to conceal that kind of thing among several hundred people," Botkin said. "Ukrainia had free access to every part of the s'yetche. He saw no barriers or any evidence of their use."
"It's a puzzle," the Duke said.
"The Seppanens surely used plenty of barriers here," Botkin said. "They had repair facilities in every garrison village, and their accounts show a heavy expenditure for barrier replacements and parts."
"Do the Szganys possess the technology to nullify barriers?" Alexei asked.
"That would be unlikely," Botkin said. "Theoretically, it's possible---a shire-sized static countercharge is said to do the trick, but nobody has ever been able to put it to the test."
"We would have heard about such a thing before now," Vasa said. "The smugglers have close contact with the Szganys and would've acquired such a device if it were available. And they'd have no inhibitions about marketing it off-planet."
"I don't like an unanswered question of this importance," Nicholas said. "Eugene, I want you to give high priority to finding a solution to this problem."
"We're already working on it, Milord." He cleared his throat. "Ahhhh, Ukrainia did say one thing: he said you couldn't mistake the Szganys' attitude towards barriers. He said they were mostly amused by them."
The Duke frowned, then: "The subject under discussion is spicing equipment."
Botkin gestured to his aide at the projector.
The tri-D image of the harvester-factory was replaced by a projection of a winged device that dwarfed the images of human figures around it. "This is a carryall," Botkin said. "It's a basically just an oversized 'majigger, whose sole purpose is to deliver a factory to spice-rich sands, then to rescue the factory when a saandwurm appears. They always appear. Harvesting the spice is a process of getting in and getting out with as much as possible."
"Admirably suited to Seppanen morality," the Duke said.
Laughter was abrupt and excessively loud.
An ornimajigger replaced the carryall in the projection focus.
"These 'majiggers are fairly conventional," Botkin said. "Although major modifications give them extended range. Extra care has been used in sealing essential areas against dust and sand. Only about one in thirty is barriered---possibly discarding the barrier generator's weight for greater range."
"I don't like this de-emphasis on barriers," the Duke muttered. And he thought: Is this the Seppanen secret? Does it mean we won't be able to escape on shielded frigates if all goes against us? He shook his head sharply to drive out such thoughts, said: "Now, let's get to the working estimate. What will our profit figure be?"
Botkin turned two pages in his notebook. "After assessing the repairs and operable equipment, we've worked out a first estimate on operating costs. It's based naturally on a depreciated figure for a clear safety margin." He closed his eyes in Technopath semitrance, said, "Under the Seppanens, maintenance and salaries were held to 14%. We'll be lucky if we make it at 30%---at first. However, with reinvestment and growth factors accounted for, including the CCOAM percentage and military costs, our profit margin will be reduced to a very narrow six or seven percent 'til we can replace overage, overworked equipment. We then should be able to boost it up to twelve or fifteen percent where it belongs." He opened his eyes. "Unless Milord wants to adopt Seppanen methods."
"We're working for a solid and permanent planetary base," the Duke said. "We have to keep a large percent of the population happy---especially the Szganys."
"Most especially the Szganys," Botkin agreed.
"Our supremacy on Eser," the Duke said, "depended on sea and air power. On this planet we must develop something I've chosen to call desert power. This may include air power, but it's possible it may not. I call your attention to the lack of 'majigger barriers." He shook his head. "The Seppanens relied on turnover from off planet for some of their key personnel. We dare not! Each new lot would have its own quota of provacteurs."
"Then we will have to be satisfied with far less profit and a reduced harvest," Botkin said. "Our output the first two seasons should be down one third from the Seppanen average."
"There it is," the Duke said, "Just as we expected. We'll have to move fast with the Szganys. I'd like five full battalions of Szgany troops before the first CCOAM audit."
"That's not much time, Sire," Botkin said.
"We don't have much time," as you well know. They'll be here with Sordoi disguised as Seppanens at the first chance. How many do you think they'll ship in, Eugene?"
"Four or five battalions, all told, Sire. With Guild troop-transport costs being what they are, likely not any more than that."
"Then five battalions of Szganys plus our own forces should do it. Let us have a few captive Sordoi to parade before the Paarlament Security Council and matters will be much different---profits be damned."
"We swear to do our best, Sire."
Alexei looked at his father then back to Botkin, suddenly conscious of the Technopath's great age, aware that the old man had served three generations of Romanovs. Aged. It showed in the rheumy shine of the brown eyes, in the cheeks cracked and burned by exotic weather fronts, in the rounded curve of the shoulders and the thin set of his lips with the cranberry-colored stain of sapho juice.
So much depends on one aged man, Alexei thought.
"We're presently in a war of assassins," the Duke said, "but it hasn't achieved full intensity. Eugene, what's the condition of the Seppanen machine here?"
"We've eliminated two hundred and fifty-nine of their key people, Milord. No more than three Seppanen cells remain---maybe one hundred people in all."
"These Seppanen beasts you eliminated," the Duke said, "were they propertied?"
"Most were well situated, Milord---in the entrepreneur class."
"I want you to forge certificates of allegiance over the signatures of each of them," the Duke said. "File copies with the Judge of the Change. We'll take the legal position that they stayed under false allegiance. Confiscate their property, take everything from their families, strip them. And make sure the Crown gets its ten percent. It must be perfectly legal."
Eugene smiled, revealing red-stained teeth between the vermillion lips. "That is a move worthy of your grandsire, Milord. It shames me that I didn't think of it myself."
Botkin frowned across the table, surprised to see a deep scowl on Alexei's face. The others were smiling and nodding.
It's wrong, Alexei thought. This will only make the others fight all the harder. They have nothing to gain by surrendering.
He knew the actual no-holds-barred convention that ruled in kanly, but this was the kind of move that could destroy them even as it gave them victory.
" 'I have been a pilgrim in an unholy land,'" Vasa quoted.
Alexei stared at him, recognizing the quotation from the A.O. Bible, wondering: Does Gustav, too, wish an end to devious plottings?
The Duke glanced at the darkness out the windows, looked back at Vasa. "Gustav, how many of those sandworkers did you persuade to stay with us?"
"286 in all, Sire. I think we should take them and consider ourselves lucky. They're all in useful categories."
"No more than that?" The Duke pursed his lips, then: "Well, pass the work along to...."
He was interrupted by a disturbance at the door. Grady Ukrainia brushed past the guard there, hurried down the length of the table and bent over the Duke's ear.
Nicholas waved him back, said: "Speak out, Grady. You can see this is my strategy staff."
Alexei studied Ukrainia, marking the catlike movements, the swiftness of reflex that made him such a hard teacher to imitated. Ukrainia's dark round face turned toward Alexei, the cavesitter eyes giving no hint of recognition, but Alexei recognized the mask of serenity of excitement.
Ukrainia looked down the length of the table, said: "We've taken a force of Seppanen mercenaries disguised as Szganys. The Szganys themselves sent us a courier to warn of the false band. In the attack, however, we found the Seppanens had waylaid the Szgany courier---wounded him badly. We were bringing him here to be treated by our medics when he died. I had seen how badly off the man was and was stopped to do what I could for him. I surprised him in the attempt to throw something away." Ukrainia glanced down at Nicholas. "A knife, Milord, a knife like nothing you've ever seen before."
"Crysnozh?" someone said.
"No doubt about it," Ukrania said. "Milky white and glowing with a light of its own making." He reached into his tunic, extracted a sheath with a black-ridged handle protruding from it.
"Keep that abominable blade sheathed!"
The voice came from the open door at the end of the room, a vibrant, penetrating voice that brought them all up, staring.
A tall, robed figure stood in the door, barred by the crossed sabers of the guards. A light tan robe completely encased the man except for a gap in the hood and black veil that exposed eyes of total blue---no white in them at all.
"Let him pass," Ukrainia whispered.
"Permit that man entry," the Duke ordered.
The guard hesitated, then lowered their sabers.
The man swept into the room, stood across from the Duke.
"Milord, I present to you Trek-Jush, chief of the s'yetche I visited, leader of those who warned of the false band," Ukrainia said.
"I bid you welcome, sir," Nicholas said. "And why shouldn't we unsheathe this blade?"
Trek-Jush glanced at Ukrainia, said: "You observed the customs of cleanliness and honor among us. I would allow you to see the blade of the man you befriended." His gaze swept over the others in the room. "But I know not these other ones. Would you have them defile an honorable weapon?"
"I am the Duke Romanov," the Duke said. "May I see this blade?"
"First, you must earn the right to unsheathe it," Trek-Jush said, and, as a matter of protest sounded around the table, he raised a thin, darkly veined hand. "I remind you that this is the blade of one who befriended you."
In the waiting silence, Alexei studied the man, sensing the aura of power that radiated from him. He was a leader---a Szgany leader!
A man near the middle of the table across from Alexei muttered: "Who is he to tell us what rights we have on Dyuna?"
"It is said that the Duke Nicholas Romanov rules with the consent of the governed," the Szgany said. "Thus, I must tell you the way it is with us: a certain responsibility falls upon those who have seen a crysnozh." He passed a dark glance across Ukrainia. "They are ours. They may never leave Dyuna without our permission."
Vasa and several of the others began to rise, angry expressions on their faces. Vasa said: "It is the Duke Nicholas who determines whether..."
"One moment, please," Nicholas said, and the very mildness of his voice held them. I must not let this get out of hand, he thought. He addressed himself to the Szgany: "Sir, I honor and respect the personal dignity of any man who respects my dignity. I am indeed indebted to you. And I always pay my debts. If it is your custom that this knife stayed sheathed here, then it is so ordered---by me. If there is any other way that we might honor the man who died in our service, all you have to do is name it."
The Szgany stared at the Duke, then slowly pulled aside his veil, revealing a thin nose and a full-lipped mouth in a glistening black beard. Deliberately he bent over the end of the table, spat on its polished surface.
As the men around the table began to surge to their feet, Ukrainia's voice boomed across the room. "Halt!"
Into the sudden charged stillness, Ukrainia said: "Remember how precious water is here, Sire. That was a token of respect."
Nicholas sank back into his own chair, caught Alexei's eye, a rueful grin on his son's face, sensed the slow relaxation of tension around the table as understanding came to his men.
The Szgany looked at Ukrainia, said: "You measured well in my s'yetche, Grady Ukrainia. Is there a bond on your allegiance to your Duke?"
"He's asking me to enlist with him, Sire," Ukrainia said.
"Would he accept a dual allegiance?" Nicholas asked.
"Do you wish me to go with him, Sire?"
"I wish you to make your own decision in this matter," Nicholas said, and he couldn't keep the urgency out of his voice.
Ukrainia studied the Szgany. "Would you have me under these conditions, Trek-Jush? There'd be times when I'd have to return to serve my Duke."
"You fight well and you did your best for our friend," Trek-Jush said. He looked at Nicholas. "Let it be thus: the man Ukrania keeps the crysnozh he holds as a mark of his allegiance to us. He must be cleansed, naturally, and the rites obeyed, but this can be done. He will be Szgany and soldier of the Romanovs. There is precedent for this: Thon-Ol serves two masters."
"Grady?" Nicholas asked.
"Acknowledged, Sire," Ukrainia said.
"It is agreed, then," Nicholas said.
"Your water is ours, Grady Ukrainia," Trek-Jush said. "The body of our friends remains with your Duke. His water is Romanov water. It is a bond between us."
Nicholas sighed, glanced at Botkin, catching the old Technopath's eye. Botkin nodded, his expression pleased.
"I will await below," Trek-Jush said, "while Ukrainia bids farewell to his friends. Tok-Stutt was the name of our dead friend. Remember that when it comes time to free his spirit. You are friends of Tok-Stutt."
Trek-Jush started to turn away.
"Will you not stay for awhile?" Nicholas asked.
The Szgany turned back, whipping his veil into place with a casual gesture, adjusting something beneath it. Alexei glimpsed what looked like a thin tube before the veil settled into place.
"Must I?" the Szgany asked.
"We would like very much to honor you," said the Duke.
"Honor mandates that I be somewhere else soon," the Szgany said. He shot another glance at Ukrainia, whirled, and strode out past the door guards.
"If the other Szganys match him, we'll serve one another well," Nicholas said.
Ukrainia spoke in a dry voice. "He's a fair example, Sire."
"You understand what you're to do, Grady?"
"I'm your ambassador to the Szganys, Sire."
"Much depends on you, Grady. We're going to need at least five battalions of those people before the Sordoi descend on us."
"This is going to take some doing, Sire. The Szganys are a pretty independent bunch." Ukrainia hesitated, then: "Sire, there's one other thing. One of the mercenaries we knocked over was trying to get this blade from our dead Szgany friend. The mercenary says there's a Seppanen reward of a million kopeks for anyone who'll bring in a single crysnozh."
Nicholas's chin came up in a moment of obvious surprise. "Why do they want one of those blades so badly?"
"The knife is ground from a saandwurm's tooth: It's the mark of the Szganys, Sire. With it, a blue-eyed man could penetrate any s'yetche in the land. They'd question me unless I were known. I don't look Szgany. But..."
"Yakov Sverdlov," the Duke said.
"A man of devilish cunning, Milord," Botkin said.
Ukrainia slipped the sheathed knife between his tunic.
"Guard that knife," the Duke said.
"I understand, Milord." He patted the transceiver on his belt kit. "I'll report as soon as I can. Eugene has my call code. Use battle language." He saluted, spun about, and hurried after the Szganys.
They heard his footsteps drumming down the corridor.
A look of understanding passed between Nicholas and Botkin. They smiled.
"We've much to do, Sire," Botkin said.
"And I keep you from your work," Nicholas said.
"I have the report on the advance bases," Botkin said. "Shall I give it another time, Sire?"
"Is it brief?"
"I kept it that way for the briefing. It's said among the Szganys that there were more than two hundred of these advance bases built here on Dyuna during the Desert Botanical Testing Station period. All supposedly have been abandoned, but there are reports they were sealed off prior to being abandoned."
"Equipment in them?" the Duke asked.
"According to the reports I have from Grady."
"Where are they located?" Vasa asked.
"The answer to that question," Botkin said, "is invariably: 'Thon-Ol knows.'"
"God knows," Nicholas muttered.
"Perhaps not, Sire," Botkin said. "You heard this Trek-Jush use the name. Could he be referring to a real person?"
"Serving two masters," Vasa said. "It sounds like a religious quotation."
"You should know," the Duke said.
Vasa smiled.
"This Judge of the Change," Nicholas said, "the Imperial ecologist----Holstein---Wouldn't he know where those bases are?"
"Sire," Botkin cautioned, "this Holstein is an Imperial servant."
"And he's light-years away from the Sultan," Nicholas said. "I want those bases. They'd be loaded with materials we could salvage and use to fix our working equipment."
"Sire!" Botkin said. "Those bases are still legally His Highness's fief!"
"The weather here's savage enough to destroy anything," the Duke said. "We can always blame the weather. Get this Holstein and at least find out if the bases exist."
"It would be dangerous to commandeer them," Botkin said. "Grady was right about one thing: those bases or the idea of them hold some deep significance for the Szganys. We might alienate them if we seize those bases."
Alexei looked at the faces of the men around them, saw the intensity of the way they followed every word. They seemed deeply disturbed by his father's attitude.
"Listen to him, Father," Alexei said in a low voice. "He speaks the truth."
"Sire," Botkin said, "those bases could give us material to repair every piece of equipment left us yet be beyond reach for strategic reasons. It'd be rash to move without greater knowledge. This Holstien has arbiter authority from the Imperium. Let's not forget that. And the Szganys defer to him."
"Do it gently, then," the Duke said. "I wish to know only if those bases exist."
"Yes, Milord." Botkin sat back, lowered his eyes.
"Very well, then," the Duke said. "We know what we have ahead of us---work. We've been trained for it. We've some experience in it. We know what the rewards are and the alternatives are clear enough. You all have your assignments." He looked at Vasa. "Gustav, take care of that smuggler situation first."
" 'I shall go unto the rebellious that dwell in the dry land,'" Vasa intoned.
"Someday I'll catch that man without a quotation, and he'll look naked," the Duke said.
Chuckles echoed around the table, but Alexei heard the effort in them.
The Duke turned to Botkin. "Set up another command post for intelligence and communication on this floor, Eugene. When you've got them ready, I want to see you."
Botkin arose, glanced around the room as if seeking support. He turned away, led the procession out of the room. The others moved hurriedly, scarping their chairs on the floor, balling up in little knots of confusion.
It ended up in confusion, Alexei thought, staring at the backs of the last man to leave. Always before, Staff had ended on an incisive air. This meeting had just seemed to peter out, worn out by its shortcomings, and with an argument to cap it off.
For the first time, Alexei allowed himself to think about the chance of defeat, not out of fear or because of warnings such as that of the old Mother Baba, but fessing up to it because of his personal assessment of the situation.
My father's desperate, he thought. Things aren't going well for us.
And Botkin---Alexei recalled how the old Mentat had acted during the conference---subtle hesitations, signs of unrest.
Botkin was deeply troubled by something.
"Best you stay here the rest of the night, son," the Duke said. "It'll be daylight soon, anyway. I'll inform your mother." He got to his feet, slowly, stiffly. "Why don't you pull a few of these chairs together and stretch out on them for some rest."
"I'm not very tired, sir."
"Acknowledged."
The Duke folded his hands behind him, began pacing up and down the length of the table.
Just like a caged animal, Alexei thought.
"Are you going to discuss the traitor possibility with Botkin?" Alexei asked.
The Duke stopped across from his son, spoke to the dark windows. "Many times have we discussed this possibility, son."
"The old woman seemed so sure of herself," Alexei said. "And the message Mother...."
"We have taken precautions, the Duke said. He looked around the room, and Alexei marked the wideness in his father's eyes. "Stay here. There are some things about the command posts I wish to discuss with Eugene." He turned, strode out of the room, nodding shortly to the door guards.
Alexei stared at the place where his father had stood. The space had been vacant even before the Duke left the room. And he remembered the old crone's warning: "....for the father, nothing."
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