“I must thank you,” the President said, coming forward to shake hands. “I admit to being worried—even scared at times—but you were right. Dispersing the members of government to different private homes was safer than staying here, even in the basement.”
“I’m glad it worked,” Ky said.
“The reason we asked you here,” Saranife said, with a glance around at the others, “is that we wanted to thank you and offer you a permanent position. Everyone agrees that you’re the right person for the job, a fitting successor to the great men who have held it before you. You don’t have to answer today, though we would be thrilled if you accepted right away.” Nods from the others. “We would like to make your appointment as Commandant permanent. It’s not just the defense of the government during the recent conflict, but the work you have done with the cadets—”
Ky had a moment of panic. They wanted her to stay on as Commandant permanently? “I’m honored you thought of me,” she said, “but you have many qualified officers who are actually graduates of the Academy, officers of more experience and seniority. I was appointed in an emergency; the emergency is over—”
“You’re not—you can’t leave now!”
“I can’t stay forever, either. I don’t feel I have the qualifications I would need to be a good long-term Commandant.” Not to mention having the wrong personality and the wrong ambitions.
“But—you’ll surely finish out the semester—if you won’t accept, it will take us time to choose someone in a more deliberate fashion.”
Despite their words, Ky felt a relaxation in the room. They had wound themselves up to offer it—everyone had agreed because they felt they had to—but in fact they were relieved, even if they didn’t know it yet. “Tell you what,” she said. “Suppose I stay through graduation this year, a bit longer if you can’t find someone right away, but no longer than three years beyond that. And I’d prefer that you find someone sooner.”
“Well.” Molosay’s gaze swept around the group of officers again. He gave a slight shrug. “I guess we’ll have to find someone, then.”
“The sooner the better,” Ky said. “And if you’ll allow—though I admired Commandant Burleson enormously, I suggest setting a firm limit to anyone’s tenure as Commandant. Six or eight or ten years, perhaps. Their experience with troops will be more recent. And the opportunity—the temptation—to become involved in politics will be much less.” To arrange the suicide of a President, for instance, which must surely be on everyone’s mind.
“You disapprove of Burleson’s action?”
“I wasn’t here,” Ky said. “It may have been the correct thing to do under the circumstances. But his being Commandant so long raised suspicions about the military, didn’t it?”
“Yes…”
“And for some people, both in and out of the military, it gave support to the disaffection that erupted recently. Some knew of the connection between Burleson and my family—and took that as proof we were trying to manipulate the military and government.”
Two of the officers, though not Molosay, nodded.
“You know your aunt is determined to resign as Rector of Defense,” Saranife said.
“Yes, and I think she’s right to do so. She did not know about the conditions of her release from prison—but once she found out, her resignation was imperative.”
“So I have to find a new Rector and a new Commandant,” Saranife said. She shrugged. “Well, nobody said this job would be easy.” She turned to Ky. “To celebrate your recent actions and your new—we hoped—post, we have refreshments set out in the next room. Do you have time—?”
“Sera, I always have time for pastries.”
The group moved into the next room, but the meeting broke up quickly. “What will you do?” Saranife asked Ky as she was leaving. “You’re not in the family business now—have you a plan?”
“Get the cadets through this semester and the graduating class through graduation. Later—well, something will come up. It always does.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Benny Quindlan fingered the weapon he carried, checking again that it was loaded, charged, ready to use. He had returned to Port Major only the day before, tracking his uncle Michael from a distance. He had paid for a temporary DNA assist the day after his wife died in the hospital—a blend that came under the heading “cosmetic enhancement” rather than “identity replacement”—and so far had been able to travel unrecognized just by changing his clothes and putting a small lift in one shoe.
He had never believed himself capable of this sort of thing, until the evening he came home to find his wife mutilated, barely conscious, posed in the foyer of his home with their two children dead beside her. He knew at once who had done it, and knew that Michael believed “soft Benny” wouldn’t dare retaliate. Now that Michael had returned to Port Major, he must, Benny knew, be planning the vengeance he’d sworn on the Vatta family. He would be looking for an opportunity to kill Grace, Stella, and Ky, and if he succeeded in those, he would then seek out the last two survivors of the line he’d chosen, Stavros Vatta’s grandchildren.
Today’s meeting of the Grand Council, at which all three of Michael’s targets would be recognized for their service to the planet, was a perfect opportunity, Benny knew. And he himself would have to stop Michael, because no one else could, or would believe what he told them. He’d tried to tell the police when he found his family that his uncle had done it, but Michael had explained that Benny was the family dullard, harmless but clueless. Benny had tried again when he heard about this ceremony, calling the anonymous tip line, but could tell from the bored tone of the woman he spoke to that she didn’t believe him. He tried calling Stella Vatta, but her com lines were all under a security wrap, requiring a code he didn’t know for access. So coming here was his only hope.
It was colder than it had been, but the clouds were high and thin, the air under them clear. Benny, along with others, picked his way along what had been broad walks on either side of gardens in the plaza south of the Presidential Palace. Now, though clear of snow, they were pitted by the tracks of heavy machinery and bomb damage. Scaffolding covered the worst of the damage to the Palace and Government House.
Visitors, Benny among them, went up the steps of the Palace, weaving around the gaps. Inside, the rotunda under the former dome had been cleared of debris, and the mosaic maps of Slotter Key were whole again, forming a ring around a new globe in the center. The ceremony would be held here, and around the margin tables were covered with refreshments. Some of the visitors were already accepting tidbits from the trays. Benny couldn’t see the Vattas yet, but he spotted his uncle, staring across at a corridor entrance on the other side of the rotunda. He turned away casually, picking up a pastry from a tray, and moved on.
Michael would be carrying multiple weapons. And he would probably have several of his goons with him—or would he? Benny moved closer, along the wall with the others grazing at the tables, keeping people between himself and Michael, and pausing and moving as the others did. He heard the clatter of feet on stone coming along the corridor Michael had been watching, and—looking that way as well—moved even closer.
Four ceremonial guards, in their bright uniforms. Four others, less obvious, in business suits. The President led the way, today in formal dress, her height emphasized by the lines of her dress and cape. Behind her were the Grand Council members, with their ceremonial capes and chains of office, and behind them, those being honored: not just the Vattas, but several others Benny didn’t know. Ky wore the white uniform of the Commandant; Stella wore a green suit; Grace wore plain black, her white hair bright against it. The others in that group included both military and civilian, dressed accordingly. Benny dared a glance at his uncle. Michael was staring at the Vattas. Which one would he attack first?