He did not encounter much opposition. Not only did he preside over the Grand Council; in the space service he had attained fleet admiral’s rank before succeeding to Handship of the Vach Ynvory, and the Navy remained his special love and expertise. Characteristically, he had offered little justification for his choice. This was his will, therefore let it be done.
In fact he could not even to himself have given fully logical reasons. Economics, regional balance, any such argument was rebuttable. He appreciated being within a short flit of Dhangodhan’s serenity but hoped and believed that had not influenced him. In some obscure fashion he simply knew it was right that the instrument of Merseia’s destiny should have roots in Merseia’s eternal city.
And thus the tower arose, tier upon gleaming tier until at dawn its shadow engulfed Afon. Aircraft swarmed around the upper flanges like seabirds. After dark its windows were a constellation of goblin eyes and the beacon on top a torch that frightened stars away. But Admiralty House did not clash with the battlements, dome roofs, and craggy spires of the old quarter. Brechdan had seen to that. Rather, it was a culmination of them, their answer to the modern skyline. Its uppermost floor, decked by nothing except a level of traffic control automata, was his own eyrie.
A while after a certain sunset he was there in his secretorium. Besides himself, three living creatures were allowed entry. Passing through an unoccupied antechamber before which was posted a guard, they would put eyes and hands to scanner plates in the armored door. Under positive identification, it would open until they had stepped through. Were more than one present, all must be identified first. The rule was enforced by alarms and robotic blasters.
The vault behind was fitted with spaceship-type air recyclers and thermostats. Walls, floor, ceiling were a sable against which Brechdan’s black uniform nigh vanished, the medals he wore tonight glittering doubly fierce. The furnishing was usual for an office—desk, communicators, computer, dicto-scribe. But in the center a beautifully grained wooden pedestal supported an opalescent box.
He walked thither and activated a second recognition circuit. A hum and swirl of dim colors told him that power had gone on. His fingers moved above the console. Photoelectric cells fired commands to the memory unit. Electromagnetic fields interacted with distorted molecules. Information was compared, evaluated, and assembled. In a nanosecond or two, the data he wanted—ultrasecret, available to none but him and his three closest, most trusted colleagues—flashed onto a screen.
Brechdan had seen the report before, but on an interstellar scale (every planet a complete world, old and infinitely complex) an overlord was doing extraordinarily well if he could remember that a specific detail was known, let alone the fact itself. A sizeable party in the Council wanted to install more decision-making machines on that account. He had resisted them. Why ape the Terrans? Look what a state their dominions had gotten into. Personal government, to the greatest extent possible, was less stable but more flexible. Unwise to bind oneself to a single approach, in this unknowable universe.
“Khraich.”
He switched his tail. Shwylt was entirely correct, the matter must be attended to without delay. An unimaginative provincial governor was missing a radium opportunity to bring one more planetary system into the power of the race.
And yet—He sought his desk. Sensing his absence, the data file went blank. He stabbed a communicator button. On sealed and scrambled circuit, his call flew across a third of the globe.
Shwylt Shipsbane growled. “You woke me. Couldn’t you pick a decent hour?”
“Which would be an indecent one for me,” Brechdan laughed. “This Therayn business won’t wait on our joint convenience. I have checked, and we’d best get a fleet out there as fast as may be, together with a suitable replacement for Gadrol.”
“Easy to say. But Gadrol will resent that, not without justice, and he has powerful friends. Then there are the Terrans. They’ll hear about our seizure, and even though it’s taken place on the opposite frontier to them, they’ll react. We have to get a prognostication of what they’ll do and a computation of how that’ll affect events on Starkad. I’ve alerted Lifrith and Priadwyr. The sooner the four of us can meet on this problem, the better.”
“I can’t, though. The Terran delegation arrived today. I must attend a welcoming festival tonight.”
“What?” Shwylt’s jaws snapped together. “One of their stupid rites? Are you serious?”
“Quite. Afterward I must remain available to them. In Terran symbology, it would be grave indeed if the, gr-r-rum, the prime minister of Merseia snubbed the special representative of his Majesty.”
“But the whole thing is such a farce!”
“They don’t know that. If we disillusion them promptly, we’ll accelerate matters off schedule. Besides, by encouraging their hopes for a Starkadian settlement we can soften the emotional impact of our occupying Therayn. Which means I shall have to prolong these talks more than I originally intended. Finally, I want some personal acquaintance with the significant members of this group.”
Shwylt rubbed the spines on his head. “You have the strangest taste in friends.”
“Like you?” Brechdan gibed. “See here. The plan for Starkad is anything but a road we need merely walk at a pre-calculated pace. It has to be watched, nurtured, modified according to new developments, almost day by day. Something unforeseeable—a brilliant Terran move, a loss of morale among them, a change in attitude by the natives themselves—anything could throw off the timing and negate our whole strategy. The more subliminal data we possess, the better our judgments. For we do have to operate on their emotions as well as their military logic, and they are an alien race. We need empathy with them. In their phrase, we must play by ear.”
Shwylt looked harshly out of the screen. “I suspect you actually like them.”
“Why, that’s no secret,” Brechdan said. “They were magnificent once. They could be again. I would love to see them our willing subjects.” His scarred features drooped a little. “Unlikely, of course. They’re not that kind of species. We may be forced to exterminate.”
“What about Therayn?” Shwylt demanded.
“You three take charge,” Brechdan said. “I’ll advise from time to time, but you will have full authority. After the post-seizure configuration has stabilized enough for evaluation, we can all meet and discuss how this will affect Starkad.”
He did not add he would back them against an outraged Council, risking his own position, if they should make some ruinous error. That went without saying.
“As you wish,” nodded Shwylt. “Hunt well.”
“Hunt well.” Brechdan broke the circuit. For a space he sat quiet. The day had been long for him. His bones felt stiff and his tail ached from the weight on it. Yes, he thought, one grows old; at first the thing merely creeps forward, a dulling of sense and a waning of strength, nothing that enzyme therapy can’t handle—then suddenly, overnight, you are borne on a current so fast that the landscape blurs, and you hear the cataract roar ahead of you.
Dearly desired he to flit home, breathe the purity which blew around Dhangodhan’s towers, chat over a hot cup with Elwych and tumble to bed. But they awaited him at the Terran Embassy; and afterward he must return hither and meet with … who was that agent waiting down in Intelligence? … Dwyr the Hook, aye; and then he might as well bunk here for what remained of the night.