"Captain," he spoke to the shadowy figure at his hatch, "that camera team, were they deployed as scheduled?"
"Yes, sir," the captain's back stiffened. "Captain Brood's men have been at the launch site since daybreak. They know what you want."
"And the Holovision people, the ones the studio sent out to cover thi... mess?"
"Captain Brood suggested letting them film, sir. When it's done, his team can access their film, as well as their cameras and other equipment. He says -"
Flattery shouted at his attendant, "Captain, did anyone give thi... Captain Broo... permission to start thinking? Did you?"
The stiffened spine stiffened even more.
"No, sir."
Flattery was thankful that the shadows hid the man's face. There was no profile to it. Where the captain's nose should be there were two moist slits that separated a very wide set of eyes. When Flattery talked with Nevi, at least he could focus on the man's eyes. This man wasn't that interesting, and Flattery had all too much time to dwell on the malformed face.
Flattery spoke in his most reasonable tone.
"I want nothing to go on Holovision today without my prior approval. Brood's team is to receive priority treatment, even if we have to replace the entire production staff, understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"Get their manager into my office within the hour, that puffy little maggot Milhous. We need cooperation and I don't want any slip-ups. Tell him to bring some canned stuff that we can use to preempt today until Brood's men get their tapes. No sense in the rest of the world getting inspired by what's going on here."
"Right, sir. Right away, sir."
"Captain?"
"Yes, sir."
"You're a good man, Captain. Your family will be pleased that you're working with me."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."
The man's back retreated through the main hatchway to the offices. Flattery sighed. He watered the wine a bit and raised a glass to his own firmness under duress. He toasted his search teams, who fanned out even now to burn the last of the bodies up in the rocks. This was a Zavatan influence, this burning of bodies. It was a practice that Flattery welcomed and supported. The traditional burials at sea turned into a ghastly sight and a health hazard on Pandora's few beaches.
Bodies washing up everywher...
He suppressed a shudder at the memory. It was more than disgusting, it was a religious and economic disaster. Every nitwit who touched the kelp in the process came back a prophet. The entire Pandoran social structure was shattered by the recent geological changes alone, but this kelp business made it a madhouse.
Women of the settlements wouldn't buy fish for a week after a traditional sea burial. They didn't want to take a chance on eating fish that had eaten old Uncle Dak. There were times, early in Flattery's rise to power, when he had seen hundreds of embroidered burial bags washed up on the beach at a time, and the local fleets wouldn't fish for a month. Flattery's answer was to buy out the importers, stockpile everything, and control the seaways.
"Control," he muttered. "That's the key. Control."
Flattery toasted the holo that played in the center of his quarters. His men had been forced to inflict heavier casualties than he preferred, and it would raise hob with the work force just at a time when he needed things smooth. Still, their way was best. There were plenty of replacements, though starvation made them dim-witted weaklings. Things would be slow during the training period.
My way, he thought. I've had to teach them everything. Left to themselves, these Pandorans couldn't get anything done.
Flattery still marveled at his own progress. He'd built and fortified a city, unified politics and industry under one banner, and prepared a Voidship for launch. The Voidship would present them with more options than this stinking little hell-hole of a planet and Alyssa Marsh, the OMC, would point the way. Pandorans had been here for hundreds of years and hadn't made nearly the progress he'd made in the past twenty-five.
The trap topside had been sprung and was nearly ready for cleaning. This might come close to destroying any significant Shadow resistance. There couldn't be many of them left, and the res... well, he'd see to it that they were too hungry to fight.
Except among themselves, for scraps. My scraps.
Flattery's losses, other than replaceable materials, were minimal.
He pushed the meal aside and drained his glass. The mop-up operation would be a bore. The last of the mob would be torched outside the hatch in a matter of two or three hours. He keyed in his command post and noted the air of celebration among the junior officers.
Nothing like a well-executed victory to lift morale, he thought. Nothing more dangerous than an army with no one to fight.
Flattery knew that they would not turn on him, or each other, as long as they had the Shadows, food thieves and the kelp to contend with.
The idle brain is the devil's playground, he chuckled.
Once again, Flattery keyed the voice frequency on his console.
"Update me on the Holovision foil's position, Colonel."
"Still submerged," Colonel Jaffe reported, "about fifty klicks downcoast from Victoria."
"Any sign of escort?"
"No. The foil is proceeding solo through the accustomed channels."
"And the kelp is not interfering?"
"Not exactly," Jaffe said. "Our instruments show a marked increase in tension on the grid - the kelp's fighting the signal from Current Control."
"The grid is holding?"
"Yes, sir. We're preparing to detour traffic to the outside in case we lose it. Tension's rising fast, we're getting some oscillations at this point. All vessels with Navcom are probably getting instrument disturbances, too. We'll try to warn them, but as you know the sonic transmission stations down under have a very limited rang..."
"I understand, Colonel. Instruct Current Control that this is a priority one situation. They are to maintain this grid at all costs. Stump that stand, if you have to."
"Will do, sir. Currents remain stable. Are they to be intercepted in Victoria?"
"That is not your jurisdiction, Colonel," Flattery snapped. "A White Warrior team will take care of it. We will root out the brass of this Shadow operation this time, I'm sure. Notify me of any sign of kelp interference, anywhere."
He broke contact without waiting for a reply, and smiled.
Yes, root them out, he thought, but not all of them. They will find new leaders, then we will hunt them down, too.
He poured himself half a glass of wine and filled the rest with water.
Moderation, he mused, it's a lot like patience. We will prune them back, like my roses, to the very brink of death. They will always blossom under our control, always ready for the picking.
Flattery stood at his console and stretched. He liked the privacy of his bunker. It was as spacious as the compound above him, with all of the attendant comforts. The view through his view-screens was not nearly as satisfying as real plaz looking over the real world - his world. Soon his Voidship would be manned and stocked, and he would hand over the husk of this world to anyone who wanted it. He planned on taking Beatriz Tatoosh with him.
Flattery had monitored her broadcast, as was his custom. He noted both her loyalty to Ozette and her restraint. It proved she had due respect for his powers, but not a blind fear. This he admired in her. Still, he did not want to underestimate Ozette's influence on her. The man had been pouring poison into her ear for quite a few years.
Flattery smiled. He wasn't one to leave much to chance, and he had a backup plan for Beatriz Tatoosh. She would meet Captain Brood, one of Flattery's more innovative White Warriors. Brood's plan would take out a number of those troublesome Holovision people and finish a clean sweep of that little rat's nest. They would go the way Ozette was going. That would teach the lot of them to back off when the Director said "Back off." And it would keep them from helping out that Shadowbox, wherever it was hidden.