“It was my nature.”
“Was?”
Ebert smiled. “Come. Let’s go inside, before the heater in my suit gives out.”
“And the prisoner? You want to see her yet?”
Ebert shook his head. “No. You were right, Aluko. I need rest.”
“And afterward?”
“Afterward?” Ebert sighed, then reached out, touching Echewa’s shoulder.
“Who knows? Maybe then I’ll find out why I’m here.”
devore sat at scHENCK’s desk, in Kang Kua City, staring at the blackness of the ViewScreen, a stack of reports at his elbow. It was an hour before dawn and the worst of it appeared to be over. The City was quiet now, after the latest spate of executions, and only the two great Western Cities of Tai Huo and Yang P’ing remained in turmoil. The damage was considerable—Feng Shou Hao was a shell, its dome cracked and blackened, its half a million citizens dead, and losses elsewhere were in the tens of thousands—even so, it could have been much worse. The pipelines were secure, the reservoirs untouched, and while the vast, ten-thousand-mou greenhouses of Tharsis had sustained some damage, it was nothing significant. They would be back working to full capacity in a matter of weeks. Tzu Li Keng Seng generating complex was up and running again, and the main communications channels between the Cities were open. All in all, things were none too bad. Mars had survived the night. From his own viewpoint the situation had improved dramatically these past few hours. During the night, it had seemed as if Mars was about to topple into full-scale civil war. Following on from their success in Hsiang Se the Martian Pxadical Alliance had taken Kang Feng City and slaughtered the garrison to a man. With the threat of further incursions DeVore had been faced with a stark and immediate choice—to fight them or make a deal. Conscious of the delicacy of the situation he had drafted a senior member of the old ruling Council, Daniel Henderson, a longtime advocate of reform, to conduct the negotiations, giving him a free hand. In an hour-long face-to-face session with Wang Tu in Hsiang Se, Henderson had put forward a package of wide-ranging and dramatic reforms. Hostilities would cease immediately. Hsiang Se and Kang Feng would remain in MRA hands until the package of reforms could be fleshed out and ratified by a new ruling Counciclass="underline" a Council upon which there would be significant MRA representation. In the meantime a statement would be issued publicly, on all channels, announcing the new proposals and calling for all citizens to work peaceably on behalf of the new constitution. Wang Tu had agreed. DeVore sat back, his hands steepled beneath his chin, thinking things through.
The MRA were jubilant, of course. They had achieved all they had set out to gain, and more. But their joy would be short-lived, for the program of reforms Henderson had put to them was preposterous, unworkable. Moreover, the Seven would never agree to it, and despite what Schenck had thought, it still mattered what the Seven wanted. They were weak, certainly—far weaker than they had been twenty years before—but they were still strong enough to take action, especially when a failure to act might precipitate rebellion at home. Besides which, Mars—for all they had done these past few years—was still far too vulnerable to direct military assault. No. When it came down to it, he would have to crush the MRA or fight the Seven. And he was not yet ready to fight the Seven. For now, however, he would let things be. It would be some while— weeks, perhaps months—before the Seven could respond to what had happened here tonight. In the meantime he would work hard to allay their fears: to pacify Mars and make it seem compliant to their will. To that end he had had Rutherford send a message of reassurance to the Council back on Chung Kuo, pledging Mars’s continued loyalty to the Seven, and advising them just what steps were being taken behind the scenes to repair the situation. It was far from certain that the Seven would believe a word of it, yet if it gave them cause for thought and stayed their hand a single day it would be worth it.
He smiled. Yes. All in all, it could have been far worse. It could easily have set him back five, even ten years. As it was, Schenck’s precipitate action had proved to his benefit. Mars was his now, to do with as he wished. And five years from now . . .
DeVore stirred himself, beginning to work through the reports. The first of them confirmed what he had heard earlier. A number of the vats at HoloGen had been badly damaged in the firefight between his troops and Bates’s Federation. Several of the creatures had had to be destroyed. It was annoying, certainly, yet in the context of the bigger picture it seemed a small price to pay. Besides, the important work was being done elsewhere—at the plant in Sinai, half a li beneath the sands—and that had been unaffected by the troubles.
He screwed the paper up and threw it into the bin beside him, then reached for the next report. It was from Echewa, down at Hellespont. He took a deep breath, angered by the terse and haughty tone of the communication. Echewa thought too much of himself, that was clear. As soon as this matter with Ebert and the girl was done with, he would destroy Echewa and his people. It wouldn’t be difficult. He knew where their bases were. All it would take was a dozen heavily armed cruisers and the problem would be solved.
In the meantime there was another problem: the problem of what to do with the Marshal’s daughter. Before last night he would have staked a great deal against the Seven taking any kind of action to recover Jelka Tolonen, despite her father’s anguish. Once before they had been thrown into a war they did not want because of Tolonen’s hasty actions, and it had seemed unlikely that they would risk another such confrontation unless they really had to. Now, however, things had changed. Mars had rebelled. Feng Shou Hao was a shell. The situation was highly sensitive and the least little thing might force the Seven’s hand. If it was an excuse they wanted for a war, what better than the kidnap of the Marshal’s daughter? But did they really want a war? Wasn’t there a way to keep Tolonen’s daughter and placate the ruling Seven?
His instinct was to keep her; was to have Henderson and Rutherford bluff it out, feigning ignorance of what had happened down at Tien Men K’ou. The Seven might not believe them, yet for form’s sake—and to keep the peace—they might accept their story. And without the backing of the Seven, what could Tolonen do? He might rant and rave, but ultimately he was powerless. It would mean forgoing the pleasure of taunting Tolonen with his loss, but what was that when set against tonight’s gains? No. He would keep the girl and do as he’d planned before this evening’s events. Hans Ebert and the girl would marry, only quietly, privately. In fact he would have Echewa marry them before the day was out. And then he would keep the pair—would move them to a safe place and keep them—ready for the day when he could use them. For the day when Mars was strong enough, secure enough, to take on the Seven and win.
He leaned forward, about to dictate his reply to Echewa, when the screen
on the far side of the room came alive again. Against a background of
stars a Security officer stood before the camera, his bared head bowed
low.
“Major DeVore ...”
DeVore heard the tone of panic in the man’s voice and felt himself go cold. “What is it, Lieutenant Wade?”
“A report has just come in, sir. It seems we have three Security battle cruisers in our airspace. They entered orbit twenty minutes back.” Impossible, he thought, the Seven cannot have acted so fast. Yet even as he framed the thought, he knew what had happened. Tolonen must have sent the craft out weeks ago, to rendezvous with the Luqyang and ensure his daughter’s safety. It was just the kind of thing the old man would do. But why hadn’t he heard about it? Was his network back on Chung Kuo so poor now that something as glaring as this could have evaded their notice? He took a deep breath, then got up and went around the desk, taking up a position in front of the screen.