“In view of the government’s inability to make further concessions,” Licinias says, “I must regrettably declare the negotiations at an impasse.”
Faltheg, speaking for the triumvirate, gravely thanks Licinias for his attempts at creating a settlement, and then goes on to offer his thanks to the Polar League for supporting his mission.
The government, indeed, had made few concessions. They had offered to postpone the elections for a further six weeks, and to allow the Provisionals to participate: but Kerehorn and his advisors, coldly looking at the numbers of votes they could expect from their remaining loyalists, rejected the terms, and instead demanded a place on the triumvirate and six seats on the cabinet. The government’s masterful, scornful reply, delivered by Constantine, is broadcast not only within Caraqui but throughout the world, in most places simply for its entertainment value.
“We are willing, in any case, to continue the cease-fire,” Faltheg continues.
Licinias takes formal note of this, then rises from the table. There will be a dinner afterward in his honor, with toasts and speeches by notables, but in the meantime there is to be a cocktail party. Aiah drifts through it, chatting to people she barely knows about things that within minutes she can barely remember—her mind is focused on Landro’s Escaliers—and then she finds herself near Licinias. He bows to her in his courtly way, and she approaches him.
“I’m sorry that your mission wasn’t successful,” she says.
Gentle regret informs Licinias’s tone. “It was not entirely unexpected. I anticipate another round of meetings, after the usual sad experience tarnishes the gleaming optimism of the participants.”
“You think the war will go on, then?”
“Experience suggests that most wars end in stalemate. Every building in our world is a fortress, and our world holds very little but buildings. It is too expensive in terms of both money and lives to capture them all.”
He glances over Aiah’s shoulder, and she turns her head to follow his gaze, directed at Constantine. “The Cheloki Wars stalemated repeatedly,” Licinias says, “despite your friend’s great military skill. He had the grace to negotiate an exile for himself, when it became obvious that his enemies would never give in.”
/ can’t let the nightmares loose again! Aiah remembers Constantine raving and weeping in the privacy of his office, the tears splashing on her hand, her own terror at seeing the wild fear unleashed in him…
She summons confidence. “I think that he may have learned a few things in the years since.”
Licinias gives a cold nod. “I hope that is the case.” There is a moment of silence, and then he looks at her with a kind of calculating glance that Aiah finds reminiscent of Constantine. “I have been giving thought to the subject of our last conversation,” he begins.
“I’m flattered that you remember,” Aiah says.
“It is difficult to forget. You remain singularly prominent on video, Miss Aiah.”
She smiles. “I don’t watch much video, I’m afraid.”
“Still, your prominence remains a fact. And then, in combination with this fact, I consider another fact—that the government is clearly preparing an offensive with both its mercenaries and its rebuilt army. And I further consider that when the military situation threatens stalemate, a natural reaction is to attempt subversion of the other side’s forces. And then lastly, when I consider the peculiar mix of troops on both sides, a reason for your sudden prominence begins to suggest itself……”
A cold fist closes on Aiah’s insides. She tries to keep her smile stuck to her face. “I wonder, Mr. Licinias,” she asks, “if you have shared this insight with anyone?”
Mild brown eyes gaze levelly from his lined copper face. “It is not my job to share insights with people at random. I am a listener, rather, and a conveyor of other people’s messages.”
She considers this—her smile is aching—and says, “That is not quite an answer, Mr. Licinias.”
“True.” He pauses for a thoughtful moment, then speaks. “Let us consider, therefore, what the future implies. If the war drags on, certain things, hitherto obscure, shall become more apparent. The Provisionals have sponsors whose naked interest becomes more and more obvious the longer the war continues. The more obvious their interest, the more their prestige becomes involved, and the more difficult it is to negotiate a retreat from their support of the Provisionals. Any attempt to resolve peace becomes multisided, counting all the Provisionals’ sponsors, and I assure you that it’s hard enough to stop a war when only two sides are involved. The more complex the matter, the more work for me, and in all probability the less desirable the outcome…” He gives another courtly bow. “And so I wish your video appearances all the success they so clearly deserve.”
She returns his bow. “Thank you, sir.”
He drifts away, an enigmatic smile on his lips, and Aiah stands for a moment watching him. A thrill sings along her nerves at the thought of playing this game at such a high level; though another, more anxious, level of her mind is carefully replaying the conversation to make certain it meant what she thinks it did.
She looks over her shoulder for Constantine, possibly to enlist his aid as interpreter, but finds he is talking to Sorya. Though she hadn’t appeared at any of the negotiations, she is nevertheless present, like some carrion bird, at their demise. She is dressed in her green uniform, polished boots light as slippers on her feet. She tosses her head with a swirl of blonde-streaked hair, and Aiah hears her tinkling laugh. Aiah scowls.
“Excuse me, miss.” She starts and discovers two men maneuvering a video camera into position. She makes way for it.
The negotiations weren’t shown on video, but their termination will be. If Licinias’s theory holds, there should be a great many long and uninteresting speeches.
Licinias is right. Aiah drowses through the lengthy platitudes, her mind elsewhere, in the faraway ruined landscape where Landro’s Escaliers, her distant kinsmen, hold ajar the gate to Constantine’s victory.
PROVISIONALS DENOUNCE DIRECTOR OF PED
“AIAH IS CONSTANTINE’S ASSASSIN,” SAYS KEREHORN
“MURDER CLIQUE” CONDEMNED
After the speeches are over, Aiah walks to the offices of the PED—they are on her way, and she might as well check on the next shift’s operations. When she goes to fetch a file she finds Constantine in the secure room, a stack of files on the desk in front of him. His skin is drawn taut over his face, and there is a haunted look in his eyes, as if he is gazing into an agony from which there is no escape.
Aiah’s mouth goes dry as she sees him, but his attention snaps to her as soon as she steps within his sight, and there is no way to withdraw… so she presses the day’s code into the pad, opens the barred gate, enters, closes it behind her.
Constantine does not speak, but watches her as she walks to the file drawer she wants, unlocks it, slides open the bronze-fronted door on its silent bearings, and finds the folder she needs. She takes the file, closes the drawer, and makes her way out. Her nape hair crawls beneath his steady gaze.
There was hatred in the twist of his lip, she saw. Hatred and contempt. Though whether for her, or himself, or the world itself she cannot tell.
FEARS OF RENEWED FIGHTING BOTH SIDES STOCKPILE MUNITIONS
Constantine embraces her, a fierce hug that drives the breath from her lungs. Then Aldemar, the copper transference grip already in her hand, gives her a gentler embrace. The briefest sensation of plasm tingles on Aiah’s skin. Aldemar seats herself, closes her eyes, focuses.
Constantine’s eyes burn into hers. “Come back,” he says, voice low, an earthquake rumble in Aiah’s bones. Aldemar tilts her head back, stiffens, throws out an arm. A surge of plasm startles Aiah, and she takes in a breath…