It was a place in which to have pleasure. The area below was bright with polished weapons; the walls hung thick with trophies: mounted heads watching with glass eyes, horned and fanged and once terrible but now only pathetic decorations. Glass and silver and snowy linen reflected the glow of a great fire and the discreet brightness of facsimile flambeaux. The air was scented with wood smoke, and the soft music carried the sound of wind in the trees.
Shergan met them at the foot of the stairs. He smiled as, bowing, he kissed her hand. "Mada, my dear, you look superb! What do you think of the weather?"
"The snow? I like it."
"I'm glad to hear that. I'm arranging a party to take advantage of it. The hills will be ideal for skis and toboggans, and we can have a fire and hold a winter picnic. Does the prospect attract you?"
She hesitated, almost yielding to temptation. It had been a long time since she had sported in the snow. Regretfully she shook her head. "I'm sorry, but no. There's too much work waiting for me and it would be criminal to ignore it."
Shergan was insistent. "Work can wait. What's the point of being on the council if we can't take a vacation when we want one? Come on, Mada, you'll enjoy yourself."
He had not, she noticed, invited Krell. Was there more to the invitation than appeared on the surface? Again she shook her head.
"No, and don't try to change my mind. It simply isn't possible."
"To change your mind?" Shergan smiled as he summoned a waiter and ordered drinks. "Isn't that the prerogative of a woman, to change her mind? You were always a hard one to convince, Mada, but I'm not giving up hope."
About what, she wondered, sipping at her glass. The distillation warmed her throat and stomach and added to the enjoyment of the surroundings. Even Krell seemed to have lost some of his worry though his eyes were still furtive as he scanned the room. Searching for spies lurking behind the furniture. At times he was pathetic in his concern.
Marmot joined them as she finished her drink. He was apologetic. "Sorry I'm late, but something came up at the last minute."
"Glad you could make it," said Krell. He seemed relieved. "Brekla and Dehnar won't be joining us. Alica isn't down yet, but she is here. How was the journey?"
"Not too bad though the snow's pretty thick over the city." Marmot took a gulp of the drink a waiter brought him. "There was a power failure. A fine thing to happen. I'm going to propose that an inquiry be held to investigate the cause. Someone's been careless and I want to see him pay."
"Relax," said Shergan. "You worry too much."
"And some of us don't worry enough," snapped back the other man. "We're responsible for the whole of Technos, or have you forgotten? If we overlook a thing like this what will happen next?"
"Murder, violence and sudden death," said a new voice. Alica had joined them. She smiled greetings and accepted a drink. "Are you still beating that old drum, Gill? Do you still look under your bed at night for fear of saboteurs?"
"You can laugh, Alica, but you can't tell me they don't exist. That failure, for example. It could have been an accident but we wouldn't have accidents if the technicians knew their jobs. I-" He broke off, shrugging. "Well, never mind that now. Let's enjoy our dinner."
It was a fine meal but wasted Mada thought later as she headed back to the capital. Leaning back against the cushions of her flier, the pilot a vague shape beyond the dividing glass, she pondered the events of that evening.
Krell was a loss. Marmot had a real concern but was inclined to gnaw too long at details. Shergan was more promising; like Alica he used words as a mask for his real thoughts and both he and the woman would be potential allies to back her in a vote of impeachment. Not that she intended to put any such proposal to the council. In fact it would be better if she took steps to disengage herself from any possible intrigues. Better and safer. And yet could she feel really safe alone?
For diversion she looked through the transparent canopy forming a roof over the cabin. The snow had ceased, the fallen whiteness giving the night a strange, luminous quality. Far to one side, falling from the sky in a haze of blue, a ship settled down the landing field. A vessel from Cest probably, or one from Loame; another contingent was due from that planet. It could not be a casual arrival, for such ships were banned from landing at night.
A streak of brilliance from below caught her eye. A monorail traveling high above the snow, the line of illuminated cars looking at this distance like a bright and flexible snake. It swung in a wide curve as it followed the line of a ridge, and she watched it, remembering, feeling an unaccustomed touch of nostalgia.
As a girl she had loved to ride on the monorail, sitting beside a window, the inevitable book in her lap, merging her studies with glimpses of the coast, the restless sea, the soaring mountains and wooded hills. The soft hiss of the train had allowed her to concentrate and, as a student, she had traveled at reduced fare. And sometimes she had met interesting people. That young man, for example, who had been obviously attracted and who had worked in a subterranean power installation. He had been very keen and very disappointed when she had firmly told him that study came first, thoughts of romance a long way behind. He must be married now, with grandchildren probably, or dead, which was more likely.
It had been a long time ago.
She blinked, annoyed with herself at the sudden sentiment, reminding herself that she had achieved her ambition, that she was a member of the Supreme Council and that all the study and work had been worthwhile. Even love had come later, or a facsimile of it; the quieting of her bodily needs in a succession of barren affairs. She was rich and powerful, respected and admired. Why then did she feel sad?
The night, she decided. The touch of nostalgia. The sight of a train which had wakened old memories.
But it was just a train, a string of cars humming along a single rail. She looked at it again, staring beyond her reflected image into the luminous expanse of the night. The cars would be warm and comfortable, the seats soft, the metal fabric of the car vibrating with a restful hum. And there would be people and the sound of talk and laughter.
Abruptly she yielded to impulse.
"Take me to the monorail station," she ordered the pilot. "One not too close to the capital, and one in which a train is shortly due."
"Madam?" His voice held surprise. Against the partition his face was a featureless blur as he looked back from the controls.
"You heard me," she snapped. "Obey!"
She smiled as the flier wheeled, circling to follow the rail below, conscious of the pilot's rigid disapproval. Well, if he didn't like it that was just too bad. It was a long time since she had indulged herself in a foolish whim and it would be good to ride in a monotrain again.
* * *
A group of soldiers at the far end of the car were having themselves a ball, passing bottles back and forth, singing, making the most of what remained of their leave. A woman sat crying, tears running down her cheeks, thin hands clasping a worn hand bag. Two old men snored in the third row, and a pair of lovers were lost to the world.
Dumarest watched them, dispassionately, sitting hunched in his coat and fighting a mounting fatigue. It had been a hard night. The journey to Farbein had been as he'd expected: the cars jammed with commuters; businessmen leaving the base; parents returning after visiting their sons. At the junction he'd had to wait for an hour to catch a connection which took him well along the coast before returning to the capital in a wide circle. As the hours passed so the train had shortened, cars being dropped as the number of passengers had diminished, the passengers themselves changing in character.