“He didn’t winthe election,” Yanni had said to that, and Jacques had ducked his direct gaze, and said they had to have consensus within the Bureau, because without it there were some officers who were going to take the matter to the judiciary, and the rest of Defense didn’t want that precedent.
Then the stinger, from Jacques: “There’s a contingent pushing Albert Dean.”
He’d said, “Dean’s a damned fool.” Dean was the one who’d consistently voted with Khalid’s allies on appropriations, trying to get increased military spending at Mariner and Pan‑Paris, which played well politically on the stations that wanted the construction, but infringed on treaties in more ways than they could count. “He’s playing politics, he’s been playing politics, while we’ve spent the last thirty years trying to build trust on that border–the only damn border we’ve got, and he wants to go turning up the heat on it! You want to see two years of absolute stalemate in Council–no. We can’t work with him.”
“I don’t think, in the long run, that what Science can work with is the ultimate criterion for the Proxy I choose.”
“No,” he’d said flatly, “it isn’t. It is, however, what the rest of Council can work with. Dean may play well with the Council of Worlds, but they don’t originate the budget, and you can’t get a majority to back his program.”
“So he’s safe,” Jacques said with a shrug. “Dean talks. He makes his listeners happy. Nothing of his program ever gets done.”
“And your Bureau goes on with its internal business, stirring the pot constantly.”
“Some say Science is far too monolithic. Far too one‑sided.”
“It has advantages, having some sort of consensus. We don’t live in a friendly universe, but nothing’s helped by provoking our trade partners–and talk provokes, even if the program doesn’t pass. It keepsus from progress in negotiations.”
“Their trade goes on their ships through our territory. So does ours.”
“That’s the way State wrote the Treaty. If you want to change it, debate it in Council. Don’t set up a program guaranteed to rip the peace apart by degrees, dammit, Councillor. Khalid didn’t win the election, not by a long shot. You have no needto accommodate him.”
Jacques had had another wine. He had another vodka. They’d settled it down. But he didn’t think the last meeting with Jacques had gone at all well. Dean wasn’t much better than Khalid, except that Dean was so damned abrasive he’d alienated half those who might have been his allies. And Khalid back on the planet was not good news.
“See if we can come up with a third choice,” Yanni suggested at the last. “I’ll give up pushing Bigelow. You suggested Dean because you know what I think.”
“Science isn’t my only consideration,” Jacques said.
“It’s the old coalition. It’s the one that’s got things done. You think you can work with Trade? I don’t think so. Trade suffers from the same split that’s in Defense. One way one time, another way the next issue. You can deal with us.”
That was the way they’d parted company yesterday.
Today, in the small hours when dayshift and nightshift were trading places in the twenty‑four hour city, his own staff had gotten to Mikhail Corain, and Corain, Frank said, was on his way up. Bert was making a decent breakfast, toast and eggs, orange and coffee.
Corain showed, quietly arrived, and surrendered his gray overcoat to Frank–it wasn’t quite a hand‑shaking meeting: Yanni didn’t expect it, and in Council there was meaning to such events; but Corain very readily took his place at the small dining table, and took the coffee Frank poured for him.
“You’re still in charge?” Corain asked him.
“Pretty firmly so,” Yanni said. The news had settled down on the matter of Ari’s takeover. “It’s an internal matter. I doubt she’ll hold the office too long. The tower blowing–that’s on Hicks’ watch. That’s an issue. Paxers are an issue. Lao’s an issue. Nothing caps the Defense mess.”
“Murder,” Corain said over his coffee cup.
“Bureau warfare,” Yanni said. “Khalid. We have nodoubt. And we have intelligence that’s as good as Defense’s.”
“We have our constituency,” Corain said, “and rumor, which is running in the same direction–and our constituency doesn’t like it.”
“I don’t blame them,” Yanni said.
“Do we have a consensus with Jacques?”
“We have an agreement for one more meeting. He’s pushing Dean.”
“Good God.”
“We may get Kwesi.”
“There’s worse,” Corain said, and Frank began to serve breakfast, and they ate, Corain without comment about the irregularity of the affair. Bert wasn’ta class one chef.
“You’re keeping out of the media.” Corain said finally, “but I’ll tell you, there’s a nervous mood. Lao’s on her deathbed. Guards at her door. I was over to see her. She wasn’t awake. Harad’s worried. You’re shut in your hotel and haven’t given interviews. Jacques shows up and goes right back into the Defense Bureau, doesn’t give interviews either. Media’s camped out there.”
“You’re right about the level of security,” Yanni said. “I’m not going the way Spurlin went. I’m watching what I eat, and I know where this came from.”
“I’m a family man. I don’t like this. I don’t like this level of goings‑on. What in hell have we come to?”
“Bad times, I’m afraid, if Council doesn’t do something about Defense. I’m afraid Jacques is going. I’m very afraid he’s not going to live past naming a Proxy.”
“You’ve got Lynch guarded to the max.”
“Absolutely. I like being just Proxy. I don’t want to hold the seat solo.”
“It’s crazy.”
Yanni finished his eggs, had the orange drink in three gulps, set his forearms on the table edge, and stared at Corain.
“It’s a damned ridiculous way to conduct Council business, sitting here in a hotel room, cooking on a hot plate, and both of us worrying about dying of what we might eat down in the class one restaurant downstairs. It’s slipped up on us. Half a year ago we wouldn’t have believed it could get this ridiculous. And two weeks from now God knows how ridiculous it’s going to get. Somebody’s blown up a precip tower. That’s more than a building. That’s environmental stability. That has a psychological message, doesn’t it? Today it’s the Council huddled together worried about their physical safety. What’s it going to be come New Year’s, if the man who assassinated his rival gets into office, and Lao’s dead–”
“And I’m up for election,” Corain said. “Grisham’s filed for the seat.”
“Oh, there’sa nice moderate voice. On stable ground, you could blow him out, no question. If you’re forced into hiding, like this, because he’s got, say. Paxer backing, and it’s gotten dangerous–that fool could get into office. And where’d we be?”
“I think about quitting. Quite honestly, I think about my family. I think about their safety.”
“Don’t we all?” Yanni said somberly. “Don’t we all, Mikhail Corain? I have family. I have Frank. I have a daughter. She’s a fool, but I have a daughter. An ex. People I’d like to see live their lives.”
“You’ve got a lot better security than other departments. You’ve got a damned army.”
“We try to use it responsibly,” he said wryly. “Right now I hope it’ll be useful.”
“While it’s in shamble’s,” Corain said, “back home.”
“I wouldn’t call it shambles,” Yanni said. “I’d call it some serious questioning as to why we didn’t see things coming. But not too much time in hindsight, right now. I’m more interested in seeing my old friends stay in office and stay alive.”
“Old friends, is it?”
“You. Lao. Harad. De Franco. Chavez.”
“Harogo,” Corain said. Internal Affairs was no friend of Science, but was, of Citizens.
“And Harogo.” Yanni said, fitting his coffee mug in salute. “Honest, if against us. In this age, it’s damned sure worth respect. Bogdanovitch–and son–the same.” That was State’s Proxy. He drank and set the cup down. “Mikhail, if you think you have imminent reason to worry, get the family on separate planes and get them up to Reseune Airport. There’s lodging for them, safety, no question. Security we can’t provide here.”