He leaned back in the chair and gave himself up to reverie for a few minutes. He was relatively young, and with the aid of repeated rejuvenations he would remain young . . . and powerful. They had seen what happened with a succession of Speakers, generations back, and then what happened when they made leadership hereditary, with the Altmanns. Prosperity had followed prosperity, an upward trend with only minor adjustments. But no one had yet seen what he would show them: the stability and wealth that would come with one leader who would never fade into senility. Year after year, decade after decade, he would be there to serve and protect . . . to guide and lead. . . .
His desk chimed at him, and he sat up, scowling. That was the future, but now he had to deal with the problems his predecessors had left him.
“Milord, Colonel Bai-Darlin, head of the Special Security Unit, would like a meeting.”
“Send him in.” He would show them how hard a real leader worked. He would be tireless for the good of the realm, as he had always been tireless for the good of his Family, and his sept. And realistically speaking, given the importance of his sept in the economy of the realm, what was good for the Consellines could not help but be good for the rest—at least most of them.
Bai-Darlin came in with a crisp salute and heel-click that convinced Hobart the man was efficient. But was he smart? Was he tireless?
“Milord, I thought you might like to be brought up to date on the investigation into the death of Lord Thornbuckle—”
“It was those NewTex terrorists,” Hobart said. “I can’t imagine why you haven’t caught them yet.”
“Milord, the preliminary investigations have found no trace of anyone from any of the worlds on which they operate being on Castle Rock since the Rangers were brought to this system for trial.”
“Then the investigators are incompetent! What does it take, a bright red stripe painted on someone’s head? They threatened to kill the Speaker, and the Speaker was shot. What more do you want?”
Bai-Darlin looked at him in a way that made Hobart feel uncomfortable. “Evidence, for a start.”
“You have evidence; Lord Thornbuckle’s dead body. The damage done to Ser Mahoney, to the vehicle.”
“Yes, milord, but none of that points to the New Texas Godfearing Militia. We have no indication, on travel manifests, on hotel registers, that they were here.”
“If they weren’t here, they must have hired someone.”
“According to our best sources, they do not hire criminals to work for them, and what we know about the types of weapons used does not fit with them either. They like direct confrontation; they would be far more likely to walk up to an intended victim on the street.”
“Excuses,” Hobart said firmly. “Although, if it wasn’t the Militia, I can think of another disruptive element it might be.”
“Yes, milord? Anything you could suggest—”
“Ageists,” Hobart said. “Lord Thornbuckle was a Rejuvenant, and so was his wife, a multiple.” Bai-Darlin’s gaze shifted to Hobart’s ear. Hobart shook his head. “These are jewelry, Colonel. I support rejuvenation, of course; any sensible man does. And a man in my position must wear his colors, so to speak. I will rejuvenate when I need to, in another ten years or so; I’m quite a bit younger than Lord Thornbuckle was. In the meantime, these rings—” He touched his ear—“These rings reassure the older rejuvenants that I am serious when I support their interests.”
“I see, sir. And you think it possible that Ageists assassinated Lord Thornbuckle because he was rejuvenated? Does this mean that you think they will attack you?”
“I don’t think it was Ageists—I think it was the NewTex Militia, as I told you. But if I’m wrong about that, I’d look at the Ageists next.”
Bai-Darlin did not look convinced. “I was hoping, milord, that you might share some insights into possible elements among the Seated Families . . . perhaps Lord Thornbuckle had aroused a particular animosity there? He seemed a popular Speaker, but there’s always someone . . .”
Hobart waved his hand. “Minor resentments perhaps. Certainly there were those who felt he misused Familias resources in going after his daughter the way he did. A number of us thought so, and expressed ourselves at the time. But I’m not aware—and I wouldn’t be, necessarily, since I’ve little to do with the internal workings of Barraclough Sept—of anything serious enough to cause someone to kill him.”
“Very good, sir. Thank you, milord, for your time.”
“Catch those killers, Colonel, and I’ll see you get a medal.” Instead of the eager grin Hobart expected, Bai-Darlin gave him a dark, brooding look before turning away. Strange fellow. Perhaps not as efficient as he had seemed.
Several days later, Hobart found himself glaring at the same desk he had coveted so much. That was the natural result of having to deal with obstructive fools, he told himself. A man had a right to have Ministers he could work with. Why should any of Bunny Thornbuckle’s appointees expect to stay in office, if they were going to cause him trouble? They should have learned from his first dismissals and replacements, but they still obstructed him. They would have to go, root and branch; he was not going to deal with any more of this insubordination.
Hobart considered his options. Who should be replaced first? Defense had been making noises lately about rejuvenation in the enlisted ranks, something about aged NCOs going crazy or something. Their idiot medical branch had put a hold on all rejuvenations, and seemed to be determined to investigate thoroughly. He’d pointed out to Irion Solinari that it would be expensive and inefficient to hold a prolonged investigation into something like that, and that it would be better to cut their losses and simply discharge the affected personnel as medically unfit. But Solinari argued—Solinari did nothing but argue, Hobart thought, remembering that Solinari had also argued with Bunny, who had appointed him. Just a difficult personality, and not one suited to a responsible position like Minister of Defense.
If Solinari went—if he had his own choice in as Defense, then . . . he could also ease out the more difficult of the admirals. Perhaps their rejuvenations would fail? Those had all been done with the original Guernesi drugs, so if they failed it would take the burden of public opinion off the Patchcock connection. They didn’t actually have to fail, if only Fleet could be persuaded to take them off active duty out of concern about the rejuvenations. Right now the medical branch and senior officers were being completely unreasonable, and Solinari was backing them up—or stirring them up, he wasn’t sure which. Solinari definitely had to go.
He opened his private pad and began drafting a letter to Solinari, explaining his reasoning. He didn’t want to be harsh, but the man had to realize that he just was not qualified. And even if he had been, his negative attitude, his contentious nature, made him unfit. More in sorrow than anger, Hobart told himself, was the tone he wanted to take. Not that Solinari had any friends worth worrying about. A bunch of backbiting, acid-tongued nonentities in the minor families, that was all. They’d soon find out what they were dealing with.
Admiral Vida Serrano rarely concerned herself with civilian matters, unless they seemed likely to precipitate a war. The change from one head of state to another should have been—usually was—a matter of ceremony and speeches, which affected the Regular Space Service no more than the change from one Grand Admiral to another.