Mark bolted for the kitchen between the suite's two bedrooms. He wasn't worried about whoever might be with Yerby, whether they were from Zenith or not. He was a lot worried about how the frontiersman would react if he found Mark alone with Amy at this hour in a hotel room. Even when they were sober, guys could get very upset about their sisters. There wasn't a high likelihood that Yerby was sober at the moment.
Amy had just closed the slatted door behind them when the hall door opened and Yerby called, "Welcome to my humble abode! Time for a drink, I'd say."
Mark squatted to peer between the slats. If he held his head at exactly the right angle, he could look out into the main room. Amy sat cross-legged beside him, doing the same thing at a lower level.
Yerby slid open the liquor cabinet against one sidewall. Six of the men-no women-Mark had seen in the plaintiffs' enclosure in court watched dubiously. The frontiersman lifted out a bottle in either hand.
"I don't think we need to drink more until we've got the terms worked out," said Heinrich Biber. He and Vice-Protector Finch now wore civilian clothes. Mark suspected, though he couldn't be sure, that the other Zeniths present were aides or servants rather than principals in the lawsuit.
Yerby snorted. "Don't worry about me being able to figure terms, laddie," he said. "But it's a fact that you haven't said what you want me to do. Not in so many words, anyhow."
Amy sucked in her breath with a sharp gasp. Mark didn't let himself move or make a sound. Surely Yerby isn't going to let the plaintiffs buy him off?
Yerby unstoppered a bottle with a flick of his horny thumb and drank. He waved the other bottle toward the Zeniths as an invitation. None of them took it.
"We're just trying to avoid trouble," Berkeley Finch said. His voice was melodious, but his arm's oratorical sweep accompanying the words was completely ridiculous in the present setting.
Yerby lowered the bottle. He belched. "Well, I guess you come to the wrong address, then," he said. "Stirring up trouble's about the most fun there is. Most fun I've found, anyhow."
"All right," Biber said. "You want plain words, I'll give you plain words. We know you've got influence with your neighbors on Greenwood. We'll pay you to use that influence to prevent them from acting violently against the agents we send to enforce our claim on the land."
"You'll be doing them a favor," Vice-Protector Finch interjected. This time he spread both arms wide. Here's a guy who's on stage every waking moment. "Obviously they can't withstand the enormous power of Zenith."
Yerby shrugged and drank again. A good half the quart bottle had gurgled down his throat in the minutes since Mark watched him enter the suite.
"We'll permit current settlers to reclaim their land under our grants," Biber said. "We'll offer them special rates. Say, only two-thirds of what we normally charge."
Yerby belched again. This time the lamps rattled. "Awright," he said. "I want five thousand Zenith dollars a month. A Greenwood month, that is."
"Are you-" Finch began in an angry voice. He shut up instantly when he saw Yerby's smile start to broaden.
"We're thinking more in terms of a thousand a month," Biber said carefully. "With a bonus for success, of course. A large bonus."
Amy clasped her hands tightly together as though she was praying. Mark didn't look directly at her, but from the corner of his eye he could see that her face was white. She'd never thought her brother was a saint, but this barefaced treachery amazed as well as horrified her.
"Five thousand a month," Yerby repeated nonchalantly. "The first six months now, in cash. Later payments paid quarterly into my account on Kilbourn."
"That's absurd!" the Vice-Protector said. "Mr. Bannock, that's absolutely absurd!"
Yerby chuckled, eyed the level in the liquor bottle, and took another mouthful. "Is it, laddie?" he said after swallowing. "Well, I'll tell you what I think is absurd. That's you figuring that because you got a hellacious lot of people on this planet, that you can put enough of them on Greenwood to chase out the folks who're there already. If you really believe that, you're even dumber than you look."
Finch drew himself up stiffly. Biber glared at him, then said in a would-be reasonable tone, "There's a level of truth to what you say, of course, Mr. Bannock. That's why we're talking with you. The actual figures involved, however-"
"You heard the figures," Yerby said. He hadn't shown a sign of anger or anxiety during the whole discussion. "You can pay me and I'll do what I can to bring my neighbors to what I think's the right attitude. Or you can come to Greenwood yourselves and try to talk folk around. But I recommend if you do that-" He smiled like a crocodile. "-you not wear such fancy clothes as you got on now. Because chances are that people are going to give you a guided tour of cesspools and manure piles."
Vice-Protector Finch swore, softly and bitterly.
Mayor Biber's face was as black as a thundercloud for a moment. Finally he shrugged and said, "All right, we accept your terms. We'll have the money for you tomorrow, as soon as the banks open at ten."
Yerby laughed with the same thunderous abandon as he'd been singing in the hallway. "Ten o'clock?" he said. "Well then, laddies, why don't we go out and find what bars are still open, shall we? We got some celebrating to do!"
"Oh God," moaned one of the Zeniths. Those were the first words any of the aides had spoken since they entered the suite.
Yerby waved the Zeniths out ahead of him with a flourish and banged the door closed behind him. Mark stood up, feeling a little dizzy from the way the awkward posture had cramped his legs.
Amy got smoothly to her feet again. Her face was flushed. "Thank you for being willing to help," she said primly to Mark. "I think you'd better go now, though."
"Right," said Mark. He waited until the elevator closed on the strains of " Fanny Bay " before he went out into the hall.
"It was very foolish of me to worry about my brother being in physical danger," Amy said in a bitter voice. "And obviously it was far too late to worry about his morality-or the lack of it!"
"Good night, Amy," Mark murmured. He half believed that he'd dreamed the whole business. It just couldn't be true…
17. The High and the Mighty
The palace of Guillaume Giscard, Protector of Zenith, was on a mountaintop 270 miles from New Paris. Eastward through the glass walls of the anteroom to Giscard's office Mark could see a breathtaking sweep of bare ridges plunging thousands of feet toward the foothills.
To the immediate south, Alliance troops bundled in winter uniforms like so many gray snowmen were being drilled in a courtyard two stories below. The site was a barracks as well as a palace. Judging from the number of corrugated-plastic huts, there must be several thousand soldiers quartered here.
Very uncomfortable soldiers, too. It was only fall in this hemisphere, but the palace was high enough that snow already drifted around the shelters.
A servant so gloomy that he could have been a basset hound threw open the doors to the office. "His Excellency will see you now, Mr. Maxwell," he said, as if he were reading the burial service for a very sinful man. Mark entered behind his father.
There were seven people in the large room. Four, including both women, wore Alliance military dress uniforms. Protector Giscard was a tall, stooped man. He rose from behind a desk littered with papers, recording chips, and three different styles of hologram projector. The remaining civilians were an older man across the desk from the soldiers and a supercilious-looking youngster.
"Mr. Maxwell," Giscard said, extending his hand, "I'm seeing you out of respect for those who recommended you, but there's absolutely no way that I can interfere in the matter you raise. Or would want to."