Chandler grunted. "Mr. Moreau...?"
"No further comments, sir," Corwin said, and sat back down. Priesly had taken a chance with that interruption, he knew, and with a little luck it would wind up working against him. The thrust of his arguments, serious though they were, were still a far cry from the result he and Monse had almost certainly been trying for. If Monse had succeeded in triggering the combat reflexes programmed into
Justin's implanted nanocomputer, Priesly would have had a far stronger bogy to wave in front of both the Directorate and the populace as a whole.
Across the table, Ezer Gavin stirred. "May I ask, Mr. Chandler, what Cobra
Moreau's status is at the moment? I presume he's been suspended from his Academy duties?"
"He has," Chandler nodded. "The investigation is proceeding-much of it at this point into Mr. Monse's background, I may add."
Corwin glanced at Priesly, read no reaction there. Hardly surprising-he already knew that whatever Priesly's connection was with Monse, it was well buried.
"I'd like to also point out, if I may," Lizabet Telek spoke up with an air of impatience, "that for all the fuss we're generating-both here and on the nets," she added with a glance at Priesly, "this Monse character wasn't killed or even seriously injured."
"If he hadn't had that ceramic laminae on his bones he would have been,"
Atterberry put in.
"If he hadn't been trespassing in the first place he wouldn't have been hurt at all," Telek retorted. "Mr. Governor-General, could we possibly move on to some other topic? This whole discussion is turning my stomach."
"As it happens, we do have another topic to tackle today-one which is far more serious," Chandler nodded. "All further discussion on the Monse case to be tabled until further investigations are complete... now, then." He tapped a button next to his reader; a moment later the door across the room opened and a dress-uniformed Cobra ushered a thin academic type into the chamber. "Mr. Pash
Barynson, of the Qasaman Monitor Center," Chandler introduced the newcomer as he walked over to the guest chair at the governor-general's left. "He's here to brief us on a disturbing pattern that may or may not be-Well, I'll let him sort it all out for you. Mr. Barynson...?"
"Thank you, Governor-General Chandler," Barynson said with a self-conscious bob of his head. Setting a handful of magcards down on the table, he picked one up and inserted it into his reader. "Governors; governors emeritus," he said, glancing around at them all, "I'm going to admit right up front that I'm rather... uncomfortable, shall we say, about being here. As Mr. Chandler has just indicated, there are hints of a pattern emerging on Qasama that we don't like. On the other hand, what that pattern really means-or even if it really exists-are questions we still can't answer."
Well, that's certainly clear, Corwin thought. He glanced across the table at
Telek, saw a sour expression flicker across her face. As a former academician herself, Corwin knew, she had even less patience with flowery fence-straddling than he did. "Suppose you elaborate and let us judge," she invited.
That got her a frown from Chandler, but Barynson didn't seem insulted. "Of course, Governor Emeritus," he nodded. "First, since all of you may not be familiar with the background here-" he glanced at Priesly-"I'd like to briefly run through the basics for you.
"As most of you know, in 2454 the Council had a series of six spy satellites placed into high orbit over the world of Qasama for the purpose of monitoring their technological and societal development following the introduction of
Aventinian spine leopards into their ecological structure. In the twenty years since then the program has met with only limited success. We've noted that the village system has expanded beyond the so-called Fertile Crescent region, indicating either that the Qasamans' cultural paranoia has eased somewhat or that they've given up on keeping their long-range communications immune from interception. We've spotted evidence of some improvement in their aircraft and ground vehicles, as well as various minor changes you've had full reports on over the years. Nothing, so far, that would give us any reason to believe the
Qasaman threat vis-a-vis the Cobra Worlds has in any way changed for the worse."
He cleared his throat and tapped a button on the reader. A series of perhaps fifty dates and times appeared on Corwin's reader-the earliest nearly thirty months ago, he noted, the most recent only three weeks old-under the heading
Satellite Downtimes. A quick scan of the numbers showed that, for each downtime listed, the affected satellite had lost between three and twelve hours of its record. "As you can see," Barynson continued, "over the last thirty months we've lost something on the order of four hundred hours of data covering various parts of Qasama. Up until recently we didn't think too much about it-"
"Why not?" Urbanic Bailar of the newly colonized world Esquiline cut in. "I was under the impression that the main duty of your Monitor Center was to keep the planet under constant surveillance. I wasn't aware that leaving twelve-hour gaps qualified as constant."
"I understand your concern," Barynson said soothingly, "but I assure you that
Esquiline was-is-in no danger whatsoever. Even if the Qasamans knew your world's location-which they don't-there's simply no way they could create an attack fleet without our knowing it. Remember that they lost all their interstellar capability shortly after they reached Qasama-they'd be starting from literal step zero." Something flicked across his eyes, too fast for Corwin to read. "No, none of us are in any immediate danger from the Qasamans-that much we're certain of."
"Well, I for one don't see what the fuss is," Atterberry snorted.
"Self-repairing machinery like satellites are supposed to fail occasionally, aren't they?"
"Yes, but not this often," Governor Emeritus David Nguyen put in. "Both of you are correct, actually," Barynson nodded, licking briefly at his lips. "Which is why we hadn't paid the gaps any real attention. However, a week ago one of our people, more on a hunch than anything else, tried running location and vector correlations on them. It turned out-well, here, you can see for yourselves," he said, pushing another series of keys.
A map of the Fertile Crescent region of Qasama, home to virtually all the humans on that world, appeared on Corwin's reader. A series of colored ovals and arrows had been superimposed on the landscape.
"Interesting," Telek growled. "How many of these gaps are missing that same chunk of the Crescent's western arm?"
"Thirty-seven of the fifty-two," Barynson said. "All but two of the others-"
"Lose some of the territory directly to the east of that section," Priesly interrupted him.
Corwin felt something cold crawl up his back. "You have any small-scales of that place?" he asked.
A slightly grainy picture replaced the map. "This is a photo taken three years ago, before the rash of malfunctions," Barynson said. "For those familiar with the Qasaman landscape, the city in the left-center of the picture is Azras; the one northeast of it, near top-center, is Purma."
Involuntarily, Corwin glanced up at Telek, to find her eyes likewise on him.
Purma-the city where the Qasamans had tried their damnedest to kill three members of Telek's original spy mission... one of those three being Justin.
"Now here-" the photo changed "-is that same area as of the last satellite collection two weeks ago."
Azras and Purma were essentially unchanged. But in the center of the screen-
"What's that thing in the middle?" Gavin asked.
"It appears to be a large compound or encampment or something." Barynson took a deep breath. "And from all indications, it's not only encircled by the standard
Qasaman defensive wall, but is also completely covered on top."