Walter Williams - City on Fire

Adaveth’s nictitating membranes slide partway over his eyes. “I beg to disagree with Madam Sorya’s premise. Charna is not our friend. Perhaps this Council of Colonels is the ideological ally of certain members of our government, but not all of us, and not our metropolis.” He leans forward, jabs the desk with a delicate hand. “I will utterly oppose any statement of support for Charna.”

“And I,” says Faltheg. “These people are out of control.”

Sorya’s lips press into a thin, white line. “What matters,” she says, “is power, and who has it, and who is willing to use it. If we do not support our friends, it will not matter how large our army may be, our word and our counsels will be ignored by everyone, and we will be seen as ripe for overthrow. For I remind everyone here,” tossing her head, “that we took power through force, and maintained ourselves through force, and if we do not show our willingness to use force to support our friends, compel neutrals, and punish our enemies, we will be seen as vulnerable by every pathetic little interventionist in the region; that this misapprehension is far more dangerous for us than any impression that we are dangerous, as our recent history has proved.”

In the quiet chill that follows, Adaveth and Faltheg gaze at Sorya with the same cold expression on their dissimilar faces. Belckon polishes his spectacles. Constantine breaks the silence.

“I will make the phone call that Madam Sorya proposes,” he says. “The best support we can give for anyone in our region is to help them extricate themselves from their difficulties. If Charna backs down, the crisis is over. And we will avoid making any official statements until the phone call is made.”

“Never back down,” Sorya murmurs, scorn on her face, but she turns away, backing down herself.

There is another long silence. Aiah looks at Geymard and Arviro, who are holding sheafs of documents about readiness levels and ammunition and fuel availability, and then down at the briefcase in her lap, with its latest statistics on the availability of plasm in case of military conflict… and feels a wave of thankfulness that the statistics will probably not be required.

Constantine steeples his fingers, gazes frowningly over them at the members of his government. “I have also considered ways in which we may suppress the reckless behavior of our Charni friends—or my Charni friends, if you will it so. They are clearly unfamiliar with the proper mechanisms and conventions of government, and I would help them if I can—make them our friends, then, and responsible friends, too. So perhaps a delegation from our government to their government, a diplomatic and economic mission—clearly not military—to help Charna’s new government control their metropolis.”

Adaveth suspiciously unveils a single eye. “A New City mission?” he asks.

“I would rather it represented all our metropolis,” Constantine says. He smiles pleasantly over his fingertips, then looks at Sorya. “I thought Madam Sorya would serve as its head, remaining of course under Minister Belckon’s direction.” Alarm flashes into the others’ eyes, and Constantine speaks quickly. “This will unfortunately require her resignation from the Force of the Interior, where she has done such excellent work… but I know she desires a more public role, and head of this special mission would, of course, be a promotion.”

Aiah can see the others working out the implications of this offer—and so is Sorya herself, who toys with the silver cuff buttons of her uniform jacket as she weighs this offer. On the one hand, she would be removed from her dangerous position as head of the secret service; on the other, she would serve as the principal advisor to a group of military officers already proven dangerously precipitate and headstrong… Sorya looks up.

“May I consider this offer before accepting, Triumvir?”

“Yes. Of course.” He looks at the others. “Perhaps I should make that phone call now, yes? Would you all like to listen?”

Constantine is affability itself on the phone, but when coming to the point he is firm. “My government wishes you to know that we cannot support any threats of military action on your part. If you do this, you do it alone, and we will be unable to assist you in any fashion. Our country is too weary and too damaged by war to risk our hard-won peace in another conflict.”

Which seems to bring the Charni to their senses swiftly enough. The rest of the conversation considers face-saving methods by which the Charni can back down from their threat.

Constantine removes his headset. “And that is that,” he says. “May I offer you all some refreshment?”

“You’re giving Sorya her own metropolis?” Aiah asks later, after the others have gone.

Constantine looks at her levelly. “I am giving her a mission to Charna. She will be surrounded by a large delegation, few of whom will be her choice—most will be mine, and judging by the interest of Adaveth and Faltheg in the matter, they will want their own people there as well.” Amusement glitters in Constantine’s eyes. “Sorya will be in another metropolis, surrounded by spies hostile to her interests, and separated from her power base in the secret service, which itself will now receive a new head, my choice.” He laughs. “If Sorya makes herself the principal power in Charna, she will deserve her reward.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Aiah says.

He gives Aiah a wry look. “I would give her a challenge. This last attempt—this maladroit attempt to start a war—it was clumsy. Transparent.” He sniffs. “Beneath her, really.”

Aiah doesn’t see how to respond to this save to return to her theme.

“Sorya is dangerous.”

“Danger is what I value in her.” His eyes soften, and he raises a hand to touch Aiah’s cheek. “And loyalty, dear Aiah, is what I most treasure in you.”

Aiah looks up at him and wonders whether he would say that if he could read behind her eyes, if he knew what she was planning.

And then she considers that if Sorya is right about Constantine’s approach to governing, perhaps it would be loyalty to deal with Taikoen. Perhaps it is what Constantine has wanted from her all along, part of his long-range plan, the way he had planned Parq’s fall months before it happened.

“Constantine,” she says, “you must finish Taikoen.” The warmth in Constantine’s eyes dies away. He takes his hand from her cheek.

“That is not possible,” he says flatly, and turns away.

“It is possible,” Aiah says, “and it must be done. Taikoen kept us all kicking our heels in the anteroom just now—and in a crisis—while you found him a new body. He’s out of control.”

Constantine frowns out the window, feigning fascination with a plasm display for next shift’s episode of Durq’s Room. “ Not now,” he says.

“He’s been seen in the Palace. With you.”

Constantine stiffens in surprise, gives Aiah a look over his shoulder. She shivers under his compelling eagle stare.

“What has been seen?” he demands.

“You have been seen, in this building, in… conference … with Taikoen. Constantine trafficking with a demon for a human soul. That’s what was seen. And it’s not far wrong.”

Calculation stirs in Constantine’s eyes. “Who saw this?”

Aiah’s mouth goes dry. She will not give up Dr. Romus; she does not want to be responsible for what might happen to the twisted mage if his name were mentioned.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, defying Constantine’s look, which declares, clear as the Shield, that it matters very much. “I managed to contain it for now. But the pieces are already there, for anyone intelligent enough to put them together. Three times, Taikoen was in the bodies of Handmen who were arrested, and whom he killed when he escaped…”