Gentri licks his lips. “I have not seen these data,” he says. “How do I know—”
Constantine’s reply is smooth. “You may send your own people to read the meters, and correct me if I am in error.” He looks at the piece of paper. “Like my colleague,” he says, “I do not have the total number of Handmen arrested by the police for plasm theft—but I do have the total number of those whose meters my workers were called upon to install or adjust, and a cross-check with Enforcement Division computers records the total number of correspondences as…” He smiles, flashing white teeth. “Three. Three Handmen arrested by the plasm squads in the seven weeks since the end of the amnesty. Returning to the state a total of one hundred fifty kilomehrs monthly, or about nineteen million dinars per year. Roughly one-tenth what Miss Aiah has accomplished with far fewer resources.”
Gentri gives Constantine a stony look. “I am certain there have been more arrests than three,” he says.
Constantine shrugs. “Double the number, if you like. Triple it. There remains”—a laconic smile dances on his lips—“something of a contrast.”
“Our mandate is broader than containing the Silver Hand. We don’t just arrest Handmen—our concerns are far more wide-ranging than that.” Gentri takes a breath. “For instance,” he says, “just today we have begun a new campaign against a long-standing source of plasm theft: the illegal settlements called half-worlds.”
Aiah starts as Ethemark clamps a webbed hand on her thigh. “The half-worlds,” he whispers. “Did I not warn you?”
Gentri opens a folder and glances at a paper inside. “Since my colleague is so fond of statistics, let me furnish him some. First shift today my police entered two illegal settlements, those called Hog Sty and Dark Eighteen by their inhabitants. We arrested eight major plasm thieves, and dispersed over six thousand illegal settlers. At least a score of wanted fugitives were found among their number and a warehouseful of stolen property was recovered, along with thirty or more vessels believed to have been stolen.” He smiles and folds his arms triumphantly, like a conqueror. “I think we may say the operations were a success. Many more are planned.”
Ethemark’s fingers dig into Aiah’s thigh as he whispers fiercely to Constantine, “Do something!”
Constantine glances over his shoulder at Ethemark, frowns lightly with a shake of the head, then turns back to Gentri.
“I congratulate my colleague on his successful and well-planned operations,” he says. “May I ask him how much plasm will be recovered?”
“It’s too early to say. Several illegal taps were discovered.”
“I asked because the Plasm Enforcement Division had of course considered raiding the half-worlds, but concluded that it wasn’t cost-effective at the present time.”
“I disagree.” Gentri’s response is instantaneous.
A new voice speaks up. “With all humility and deference to my esteemed colleague the glorious Gentri,” says Prince Aranax, “who spreads his wisdom over our gathering like a god spreading a refreshing shower over the land, I myself, humble slave of fortune though I am, must in the most submissive fashion beg to disagree with the position he has so wisely maintained before this august gathering.”
The others watch Aranax with a mixture of anticipation and impatience. Aiah wonders how long he can string these sentiments out.
“The half-worlds,” Aranax says, “degraded though they may be in the eyes of Caraqui, nevertheless share the watery realm with my own lowly and miserable race. Such brilliantly planned and executed operations as envisaged by the ever-sagacious Gentri are bound to cause a disruption among my own unworthy kind, and I must implore and entreat my colleagues to spare my wretched and undeserving people the confusion necessarily caused thereby.”
“I agree with my esteemed colleague the minister and Prince Aranax,” says Adaveth, the gray-skinned embryo. “The half-worlds are the last refuge of the poor and desperate. Any police actions directed against them would cause great hardship.”
“And they would gain the state little but instability,” adds the giant Myhorn in her strangely feminine voice. “As Constantine has said, they are hardly cost-effective.”
Hilthi, scribbling in his notebook, gives a sharp glance over his spectacles at Constantine. “What do you mean, colleague?” he asks.
Constantine makes an equivocal gesture with one big hand. “Most of the half-worlds steal small amounts of plasm, true. They also steal fresh water and electricity, once again in insignificant amounts. And other things.”
“But all together,” Gentri says, “the amount is far from insignificant.”
“No doubt.” Constantine brushes the objection aside. “Still, no one lives in the half-worlds from choice. These communities exist because there is nowhere else that will have them.”
“Or because the police are looking for them,” Gentri says.
“Conceded. But my colleague speaks of dispersing six thousand inhabitants. May I ask where he expects these people to go?”
Gentri’s tone clenches his teeth. “The settlements,” he says, “were illegal. Where the inhabitants go is not our concern, provided they find a legal residence.”
“Where do the inhabitants have to go but other half-worlds? And once those are cleaned out, they will have no place to go but the streets, where they cannot help but create disturbances, and even a riot or two.” He turns to Hilthi. “How will the video broadcasts regard that? It is one thing to turn military police loose on the likes of the Silver Hand—it is regrettable, but most viewers will concede its necessity, given their threat to the state and a certain… reluctance … on the part of the proper authorities—but to set swarms of police loose on the most defenseless of our citizens, those on whose behalf we hope to create the revolution, to deprive them of shelter and set them out on the streets—”
“I object to these provocative descriptions!” Gentri shouts. “Swarms of police! Defenseless citizens! Reluctant authorities! My colleague is attempting to turn a perfectly legal police action into some grotesque act of brutality!”
There is an amused glint in Constantine’s eye. “I did not turn it so.”
Gentri looks at the others around the table. “Colleagues! This is outrageous!”
Constantine holds up a hand, forefinger tucked away with the thumb, remaining three fingers extended. “Three arrests of Handmen. That is outrageous.”
The room buzzes with the sound of everyone talking at once. Voices are raised. Finally Drumbeth picks up the crystal hammer and brings it down. The Crystal Dome rings with harmony, and—for the moment anyway—the babble of discord dies away.
Drumbeth looks at Gentri. “I had hoped for better results against the Handmen,” he says.
“Mr. President,” Gentri says, “they are a large and difficult target.”