“At least you're a likelier-looking trade this time,” Welkin said.
Wadie looked down at the blue cotton work shirt, the blue denim pants that stopped ten centimeters short of his ankles. He had forced the pants neatly into his polished boots. The boots braced his legs, but weighted them down like lead. “At least I'm clean.” He stepped carefully over the doorsill and crossed the room, holding his head up, back straight. He reached the nearest swivel seat and lowered himself into it, leaned back easily, breathing again. The girl stared up at him, awed. Shadow Jack looked away with a frown; he muttered and pushed the cat, scattering cards.
“Captain …” Wadie turned in his seat, reordering his arguments. He stopped, as he realized what they had been watching on the screen. “You've been monitoring Demarchy communications?” Six separate images showed on the bright screen, each one a different broadcast frequency. He recognized a general newscast, three corporation hypes, two local arbitration debates.
The captain nodded. “It's been—enlightening.”
“Has there been anything about your ship from the Tirikis?”
“Yes, news items; and there was a—” She glanced back at the screen, as two of the broadcast segments suddenly disappeared, replaced by an octagonal star caught in a golden paisley, on a field of black. As they watched, the symbol blotted out the rest of the segments one by one. “What is this, Abdhiamal?”
“It's a call for a general meeting; any demarch who wants to participate can monitor the final debate, startin' now, and vote on the issues involved.” He remembered uneasily that it had been two hundred and fifty kiloseconds since they had left Mecca, more than two hundred and fifty kilosecs since his last report. “I expect this'll be the debate about your ship, and what happened at Mecca. The Tirikis started to promo the second we left the rock; and nobody's heard a word from me. I'd like to monitor the debate. And I'd like a chance to defend myself, if you'll give me an open channel.”
She put her pipe aside. “All right, I'll monitor the meeting. You can listen; but I can't let you speak.”
“Why not? Your ship's clear. And they can track you by your exhaust, they don't need a radio fix—”
“I don't need you telling them our plans. I'd rather let them guess.”
“Captain, I need to talk to them. This meetin' could mean my job.” They all looked at him, unresponsive. He swallowed his irritation. “You—experienced the communications network we've got; it's from before the war, and it still works as it should. It's what makes the Demarchy work—every demarch's got equal priority on it, and anybody with a gripe about anythin' can broadcast it. Everybody who's involved or interested can debate. If they need to, they take a general vote, and the vote is law.”
“Mob rule?” Welkin said. “The tyranny of the majority.”
“No.” He gestured at the slender golden teardrop on the screen, symbol of the hundred-and-forty-million-kilometer teardrop distribution of the trojan asteroids. “Not here. You can't get a mob together across millions of kilometers of space. It keeps the voters' self-interest confined to their own rock. They're independent as hell, and they're informed, and they judge. A jury of peers.”
“Then why would you be worried about losing your job?”
“Because I'm not there to defend myself; the Tirikis can claim anything, and if nobody hears different from me, what are they goin' to think, except that it's true? My boss will be answering them in my place, and he doesn't even know what's happened. If I can't tell them, I could take him down with me. The government floats on water, and if you rock the boat you drown.”
The captain leaned forward, pressing her hands together. “I'm sorry, Abdhiamal, but you should have considered that before you came with me. I can't afford to let you speak now.… Do you still want to listen in?”
He nodded. All the symbols but one were gone from the screen again; as he watched, the time lag closed and the last one faded. The general meeting had begun.
“… should already have put our fusion craft in pursuit.” Wadie rested his neck against the seatback, as Lije MacWong's final argument drew to a close on the screen. “We've done all we can to follow the wishes of the Demarchy. Too many things are still unclear to us, too, because we only know what you do. I'm a civil servant, no more, no less. If the people want to remove me for working in the people's interest, that's your privilege. But I don't feel that I've done anything to betray your trust.” A band of color showed at the bottom of the screen, slowly turning violet from blue; voter participation was eighty per cent and rising.
Wadie watched the manicured brown hands fold on the gargoyled desk top, the pale compelling eyes that had challenged the Demarchy before and won. They disappeared suddenly; the seconds passed, REBUTTAL: ESROM TIRIKI flashed on the screen. He felt his mouth tighten as Tiriki's serene, golden face appeared, eyes gleaming like metal. “The fact remains that the government …”
The captain leaned back in her seat, fingers tapping soundlessly on the chair arms. “He's one of the trolls, Pappy. Handsome, isn't he?” She looked up. “And out for our blood. How does it go again? ‘I smell the blood of an Englishman. Be he alive, or be he dead—’” She broke off, took a deep breath. “Screw Jack and the Beanstalk …. What was that about fusion ships, Abdhiamal? I thought you said the Demarchy depended on fission power and fission-powered electric rockets?”
He nodded. “We have three small fusion craft left from before the war; they're our navy, if you want to call it that. But you've got a big lead on them. They couldn't catch you before you got to Discus.”
“But it could give us less time to maneuver once we're there.”
“… the government agent Abdhiamal threatened us and kidnapped the Outsiders who had come to us to negotiate. Two hundred kilosecs have passed without any further word from him. Their knowledge would have benefited the entire Demarchy, it could have saved Heaven—but because of this ‘government man’ we've lost the crew and the starship forever. Consider that, when you make your final decision.” The band of light below showed an ever-deepening violet.
Wadie's hands tightened over nothing, final REBUTTAL: LIJE MACWONG showed on the screen.
“I regret to say that, in honesty, I can't deny Demarch Tiriki's final accusation. Wadie Abdhiamal, a negotiator from my agency, has overstepped his authority to a degree I consider criminal. He has in the past been suspect of questionable loyalty, of known Ringer sympathies, and I frankly consider it possible that he intends to aid them in usin' that ship against us. I can only repeat that he was acting without my consent, or the consent of any other person in the government. This agency isn't, and never was, a party to these actions. He alone committed a crime, and like any other criminal, he should be found guilty …”
Wadie straightened, felt something grate in his neck.
“… of treason against the Demarchy …”
“Lije!” he whispered, incredulous, willing the mahogany face to turn and the pale eyes to meet his own.
“… and so, fellow demarchs, I want you to reconsider the basic issue before you make your decision. This should not be a simple vote of no confidence against a government that's served you well; this is a judgment on the fate of the one man who has betrayed the hopes of us all. I ask instead for a bill of attainder against Wadie Abdhiamal, government negotiator, for treason …”