His fist slammed the thick arm of his chair, and the expensive wood cracked under the blow.
"I've the same thinking, Father," Ladislaus said softly, "but it's to be careful we must. The Federation's arm is long, and it's the Corporate Worlds have the owning of that arm the now."
"And we're to do nothing?" Sven Skjorning demanded dangerously.
"No, Father. But it's to speak to others before the government I must. It's to be taking time, and when we strike, it's to be with care."
"You're to be talking treason," Stanislaus said softly.
"Aye," Ladislaus replied levelly, "and past time for it, too."
"No argument from me," Stanislaus said, "but to be thinking what it's to mean to Beaufort if you fail, Lad."
"I have," Ladislaus said bleakly. "Stanislaus, it's to be better to die than accept some things. There's no stomaching more-I'm not to be standing by any longer. Can you be seeing that?"
"Aye, Lad, of course," Stanislaus said simply, gripping his brother's shoulder, "but it's to be sure you do before you have the starting of a war upon your head. For you're to see it's you must have the doing of it here."
"I know," Ladislaus said softly. "God help me, I know."
The planetary government of Beaufort was not the sprawling bureaucracy that was the Federation, or, for that matter, any of the Innerworld governments. There were fewer than six million people on the planet, and the Beaufort Assembly reflected the sparseness of its population base. There were only fifty-six members, all told, and for the most part they were the elders of the great clans which had formed in the Years of Abandonment. The social and survival requirements of an environment humanity was never bred to face had created a paternalistic order, a semifeudalism, that carried over into its political processes, as well.
Yet Ladislaus had never felt more nervous in the Chamber of Worlds. The conference room didn't even hold the full Assembly-only its leaders sat around the rectangular table, their eyes calm and dispassionate upon him.
Three weeks of cautious, private conversations had brought him here. Despite his care not to involve the government in his discussions, it seemed the government had decided to involve itself. Now he gazed at the people in the room-President Bjorn Thessen, President Pro Tem Knute Halversen, crucial committee chairmen-and waited for the inquisition to begin.
"Ladislaus," President Thessen said finally, "you've been meeting with influential people in the short time you've been home. We're wondering why you haven't asked to meet with us."
Ladislaus tightened inwardly at Thessen's Standard English. Since the days of the Abandonment, the dialect of Beaufort had become a badge its people wore consciously. It was their declaration of defiance to the worlds which had ignored them in their hour of need, and while almost any Beauforter could speak barely accented Standard English, most would see themselves damned and in Hell before they would . . . except in official settings, where the planetary government's members felt they somehow stood in the presence of their Old Terran ancestors. So if Thessen chose to speak Standard English, it meant he spoke as President of the Beaufort Assembly . . . an officer charged to preserve and maintain the Federation.
"Forgive me, President Thessen," he said softly. "I wanted to sample public opinion before I spoke to you officially."
"And why was that?" Thessen wondered slowly. "Could you be thinking of seizing power from us, Ladislaus?"
"No!" Genuine horror sharpened his voice. "It was only-"
"Enough," Thessen said with a headshake. "Excuse our doubts, but we're a suspicious lot these days. Blame it on the times. At any rate," he added with a wintry smile, "we chose you for the Assembly because you've a quick mind and strong will, like your father. We can't very well complain because you act accordingly. But now that you're here . . ."
Thessen straightened, an age-spotted hand touching a document before him.
"You probably won't be surprised by this, Lad." He handed the single sheet over, and Ladislaus ran his eyes down it, then raised them to Thessen's face with renewed respect. As delegation security chief, he'd thought he knew all their avenues of information, but their intelligence network obviously reached further than he'd believed possible. What he held was a memo signed by Simon Taliaferro himself.
"It's no surprise, no," he said quietly.
"We've read your reports-and Fionna's. Is this memo accurate? Will the Amalgamation pass, do you think?"
"Like a doomwhale through nearcod," Ladislaus said flatly.
"Aye, I had the fearing of that." Thessen's Standard English lapsed briefly, then he shook himself.
"You should know, young Lad, that Capricorn brought a writ of extradition from Old Terra. I sent it back marked 'opened by mistake'-" a mutter of harsh laughter filled the room "-but you're right; Fionna's murder is but the beginning. I've viewed the chips of that 'impeachment.' " The old man's face wrinkled with disgust. "It's clear there's no reasoning with them. Except, perhaps, this man Dieter, of all people. How say you, Lad?"
"Dieter?" Ladislaus frowned. "I'm thinking he's a good enough man . . . but he's only one man. Aye, he insulted Fionna, but he was drugging, and . . . in a way, that may have been the making of him. But whether he's to be surviving . . ."
He broke off with a shrug.
"So no matter what he feels, there's little he can do, eh?"
"Aye. It's Taliaferro has them in his grip the now, and it's a mad seashrike with a mouthful of blood that man's to be. There's to be no stopping him!"
Ladislaus jerked himself to a stop, a little abashed by his own vehemence.
"Then, young Ladislaus," Thessen asked slowly, "what's to be done? Fionna spent twenty-five years seeking our rights. Was it all for naught?"
"Not for lack of trying," Ladislaus said grimly. "No one ever fought harder than Fionna. You know-you all know-she wanted no more than justice, no more than a transition. If even one Corporate World had reached out a hand to her-!"
"But fail we have?" Thessen pressed quietly.
"Aye, Mister President," Ladislaus said heavily. "We have."
"And it's that message you've been sharing with others, is it?" Thessen's old eyes were keen.
"Aye." Ladislaus looked up almost defiantly. "It's not to make any difference what wording I share, Mister President. You're to know that. And even if you're not to-" he drew a deep breath and committed himself "-it's to tell them I must."
"I see." Thessen's voice was very level. He glanced at his colleagues, and Ladislaus felt the tension. What he'd said was treason.
"Young Lad," Thessen said finally, "it's not quite fair we've been with you. This group-" he gestured around the table "-is more than just the leadership of the government. This-" he tapped the memo "-is no more than a part of what we've done. Are you, then, prepared to tell us the Federation is doomed? Is it to defy all of us you are? Knowing we're to have information even you're not to know?"
"Aye, Mister President. If so I must, then it's to defy you I will be doing! Fionna had the giving of her life for her dream, but her dream had no life of its own. I'm not to be seeing more! It's to be enough of our blood they've had the taking of! It's to be war they're waging, a war of 'laws' and 'writs' and 'reapportionments.' Well, to give them their war!" He was on his feet, blue eyes flashing, and his voice was rolling thunder in the chamber. "To give them a bellyful of war-and not with words!"
He choked himself off abruptly. Whatever he felt, whatever he thought, these were the leaders of his people. It was not proper to raise his voice to them, and his temerity shamed him. Yet he was resentful, too; resentful of their slowness, resentful that age and high position blinded them to what he saw so clearly.