The two messengers saluted awkwardly. Part of the problem with running the paramilitary wing of a political movement, Cullen had found, was that the volunteers one got were often more “para” than military as far as their background and training were concerned. But one had to work with the materials at hand. He put the problem out of his mind for the moment and headed for Kittery Renaissance’s command center—in normal life, the back room at the data shop where Norah’s current lover had his day job—as quickly as a man could go without attracting unwanted attention.
Hansel and Norah were already busy when he arrived. The shop’s owner was a sympathizer with the cause; he’d never asked Norah exactly what her “political group” intended to do that required the use of his back room and its data facilities. He was also a prudent man, who had departed yesterday on a visit to his daughter in Nova Scotia without making any awkward inquiries into what might be going on at the shop during his absence.
“Commander,” said Hansel as Cullen entered. “We are under attack.”
“I know,” said Cullen. “What I want to know is who and where.”
“Who is Heather GioAvanti, and where is here.” Hansel pointed to a map of the city. All of the supply caches for the coming street battles were circled in red. Two of the sites had black X’s drawn on them in grease pencil.
“That was the first one, at 0608. Then they hit this one at 0622.”
“That would put her about”—Cullen traced his finger over the map, drawing a line from the second of the destroyed warehouses to its nearest untouched neighbor—“here. Nothing we can do for the next bunch but warn them. You have warned them?”
“I have,” Norah said. “At least so far, the police are staying well clear. We’ve been monitoring their frequencies, and they’ve been keeping themselves busy with the protestors down at the Hall of Government. It looks like they’ve been told to back off and let the Paladin handle it.”
“Too bad it isn’t the right Paladin,” said Hansel. “We should have sent the council a memo.”
“Not funny,” Norah snapped.
“Calm down,” Cullen said. “These things happen. If GioAvanti fails, the demand for someone of greater experience will be that much louder.”
He tapped the red circle on the map that marked the location of the next targeted warehouse. “Write that one off. We’ll have lost three supply caches. Not good, but we can live with it.”
Picking up the grease pencil, he circled the fourth warehouse in the line. “This is where we’ll fight it out. Everyone else, get the supplies out to the cadres. The timetable just got advanced by a few hours.”
He looked at the map again and rethought his strategy. “Hmm. With a hasty defense of that fourth site, we may well lose it as well. Change of plans—how do you feel about an ambush, say, here?”
He indicated a spot halfway between the fourth location and the fifth.
“I feel strongly positive about it, sir,” Hansel said.
“I was hoping you would,” Cullen told him. “You’re going to lead it. Take what you need, and get going. If this plan is going to work, you have to defeat GioAvanti.”
54
Chamber of Paladins, Geneva
Terra, Prefecture X
20 December 3134
The brief clouds of dawn were passing, and a sapphire sky emerged. The sunlight glinting off the snow-covered Alps was almost blinding. It would have been a beautiful day if it weren’t for the wind riding cold through the streets.
Jonah Levin stood in his private lavatory, spreading lather over his face. It wouldn’t do to show up at an election unshaven.
He’d always believed formal occasions called for a sharp razor and shaving cream, and occasions didn’t get much more formal than this one. He also needed to get his hair in some sort of order, and it wouldn’t hurt to find a press for his uniform. He wasn’t sure the building had one.
If I had a staff, he thought, I could send someone out to get it pressed. Something to think about next time I come back—which I hope isn’t for four more years.
His grooming efforts seemed to be working. Looking at his reflection, he thought he looked quite normal. Except for the eyes. His eyes couldn’t hide the lack of sleep.
Maybe fresh air would help.
The bright sunlight almost blinded him, while the wind cut through his uniform as soon as he stepped outside. It was uncomfortable but beautiful, and Jonah could only think of one thing—if I finish this right, this is a sight Senator Mallowes won’t see for many years.
No more than seven people in Geneva knew Mallowes was in custody, and one of them, Agnes, was in the cell next to him. The others were Jonah, Heather, Burton Horn, Gareth Sinclair, and the two guards who each held a button capable of sending a shock to the collar on Mallowes’ neck. They were under strict orders to only use the device in case of an attempted escape, but part of Jonah wouldn’t be too upset if they forgot their orders.
He immediately remonstrated with himself. That’s a Mallowes thought.
Outside, the expected protesters were already gathering in the open square. Their demonstrations looked orderly for the time being—the protestors in the front ranks, at least, were standing in a straight line and seemed to barely be raising their voices. They held signs and placards, some of them handmade, others professionally printed.CAPELLANS BELONG UNDERFOOT , one said;KEEP THE CLANS OFF TERRA , another; a third,DAVID MCKINNON FOR EXARCH .
Jonah carefully studied each sign, hoping one of them would finally make it clear what he should do with his vote. But he found none of the signs overly convincing. Apparently the persuasive value of a placard was overestimated.
“Paladin Levin!”
The voice came to him from beyond the crowd with unnatural clarity and distinction. Jonah looked for the source, and saw a tri-vid reporter running toward him, her videographer hovering at her elbow. He debated ducking inside, but didn’t.
“Paladin Levin! Can you give us any hint about who’s in the running to be the next Exarch?”
“I’m afraid not. I’ll vote my conscience, but that’s all I know.”
“Can you tell us who you, personally, support?”
“No, I really can’t. And even if I could, I probably shouldn’t. We’ll work out negotiations as a council, rather than passing notes through the media. With all due respect, of course.”
“Surely you’ve heard some of the comments from Anders Kessel regarding the balance of power with the passing of Victor Steiner-Davion?”
Jonah almost laughed. “No. I honestly haven’t. Now I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me.”
He ducked inside, and the reporter turned to look for fresh prey.
Instead of returning to the higher floors, he walked over to the main rotunda. It was echoing and empty, a far cry from the noisy, crowded place that it had been on the day of the opening convocation. Today, spectators and reporters were banned from the building. The proceedings were for Paladins alone.
He continued on through the rotunda into the meeting chamber, and found it almost, but not entirely, empty. The huge windows on the wall opposite the Exarch’s chair admitted streams of sunlight, as well as images of hundreds of protestors shouting soundlessly. To them, the window appeared as a solid wall.
Jonah had to walk some distance before he was close to actual people. Seventeen Paladins didn’t take up much space in a room built to hold several hundred people. Any comments the Paladins were making to each other were swallowed by the room long before they reached Jonah’s ears.