Walter Williams: The Sundering

Another bit of financial bad luck that had made this meeting necessary.

Bronze doors, cast with a heroic relief of The Many Species of the Empire Being Uplifted by the Praxis, opened silently before them, and the convocate and his guest passed into the building’s foyer. There Lord Chen was startled to see a Naxid, in the dark red tunic of a convocate, speed across the foyer, her four polished boots beating at the stone floor, her body whipping from side to side as she hurled herself the even greater bronze doors that led into the Hall of the Convocation.

“Strange to see Naxids again,” Lord Chen murmured.

“Stranger still to see Naxid convocates.” Lord Roland watched the huge silent doors close behind the centauroid figure. “For a while I thought you’d killed them all.”

Lord Chen blinked. “Not me personally, I hope.” His heels clacked on the granite floor with its inlaid semiprecious stones. “But no, it seems they weren’t all involved in the plot.”

For a while it had been difficult to remember that only some Naxids had revolted. Perhaps not even the majority. The Committee for the Salvation of the Praxis, on the Naxid home world of Naxas, had kept knowledge of their rebellion in as few trusted hands as possible—even half the Naxid convocates hadn’t been told, and had fled the violence in the Hall of the Convocation, or stayed in their seats out of fear and confusion.

For some time after the rebellion, it was rare to see a Naxid in public—it was as if a sixth of the population of the empire had simply vanished. Even in Naxid neighborhoods the streets were quiet. But gradually, first by ones and twos, then in small groups, they had appeared in civil society once more.

“We’ve had a number of Naxid convocates return,” said Lord Chen. “Of course, the new lord senior keeps them off committee chairmanships, and any committees to do with the war.”

“You can’t be too careful, I suppose,” said Lord Roland.

“I’ve observed that the Naxids are careful to vote with the majority on all war measures. And they regularly forward patriotic petitions from their clients.”

“Hmm.” Lord Roland stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I wonder how their clients are faring in the current climate?”

“Not well, I’d imagine. The Convocation has better things to do these days than to pay attention to Naxid petitions.” Resentment rumbled through his mind. “No one will trust a Naxid for generations, believe me.”

The two passed through the foyer and into the lounge, then walked along the gleaming dark ceramic bar, with its dashing accents of brushed aluminum, to a booth with plush leather benches contoured to the Terran physique. Lord Roland ordered another coffee, and Lord Chen a glass of mineral water.

“I’m pleased to report that another two ships have passed through the Hone-bar system on their way to safe areas,” Lord Chen reported.

“Excellent.” Lord Roland smiled thinly. “I’d like to lease them all, of course.”

“Of course,” Lord Chen agreed.

The onset of war had hit the Chen Clan hard. Lord Chen’s home planet, which he represented in the Convocation, was in the hands of the rebels, as was much of his personal property. Other Chen possessions scattered over many worlds were now controlled by the enemy, and so were at least half the ships belonging to Chen-controlled merchant companies. Much of Lord Chen’s remaining wealth was in the Hone Reach, which could be cut off in the event of a Naxid capture of Hone-bar, the Lai-own home world.

Lord Chen was facing ruin. Fortunately he now sat across the table from a man who had volunteered to be his financial savior.

Lord Roland proposed to lease Clan Chen’s ships.All of them, including those lost in Naxid-controlled space. The lease would be for five years, and specifically exempted Lord Chen or his companies from any nonperformance penalties resulting from war or rebellion—in other words, if the ships were lost, destroyed, or confiscated by the enemy, Clan Martinez would have to pay for them anyway. Insurance would be carried by a company on the Martinez home world of Laredo.

Lord Roland Martinez—or more properly his father, the current Lord Martinez—would subsidize Clan Chen for the next five years.

What Lord Roland wanted in exchange for this was for the most part clear. Lord Chen was a member of the Fleet Control Board, the body that made all major decisions regarding military personnel, supplies, bases, and construction. Lord Roland’s home world of Laredo had already been awarded a contract to build frigates to replace those taken by the enemy, and clearly Lord Chen would be expected to arrange more contracts along those lines. Expansion of the yards and the military base, contracts for supplies, appointments for officers belonging to client clans…Ultimately, Lord Chen knew, the Martinez clan wanted the opening of two planets, Chee and Parkhurst, to settlement under Martinez patronage.

Lord Chen would be happy to deliver. There was nothing wrong with aiding one’s friends. There was nothing wrong with leasing one’s ships. There was nothing wrong with letting out contracts that would make the Fleet stronger during a desperate war. And there was nothing wrong with settling new planets, even though there had been no new settlements during the last twelve hundred years of the Shaa overlords’ decline.

True, if the Legion of Diligence happened to discover a pattern in this, there might be an investigation with dire consequences. But the Legion of Diligence was now busy rooting out rebels and subversion, and most military contracts were covered by secrecy laws which the Legion was bound to enforce, not to analyze. Lord Chen judged it all worth the risk.

“I have prepared a contract,” said Lord Roland, “with names of ships and sums specified. Would you like to review it?”

“Yes, if you please.”

Lord Roland held up his left arm. “Shall I send it to your sleeve display, my lord?”

“I don’t have a sleeve display,” Lord Chen said. Sleeve displays were probably a necessity for busy people such as military officers or office managers, he thought, but for a Peer they were vulgar. He produced a wafer-thin comm unit from an inner pocket, extended the display, and captured Lord Roland’s transmission.

While he was doing so, the Cree waitron delivered their order. The scent of Lord Roland’s coffee wafted over the table.

“I’m sure there will be no problem,” Lord Chen said as he folded away the display. “I’ll have signed hard copy delivered to your residence tomorrow.”

“Speaking of tomorrow,” Lord Roland said, “I hope we can expect you and Lady Chen at tomorrow’s party in honor of Vipsania’s birthday.”

Lord Chen suppressed annoyance. It was one thing to do business with the likes of the Martinez clan, and another to see them socially.

Still, he supposed there was no avoiding it.

“Of course. We’ll be happy to attend.” A thought struck him. “You have unusual names in your family, don’t you? Vipsania, Roland, Gareth, Sempronia…are they traditional in the Martinez clan? Or do they have some particular meaning?”

Lord Roland smiled. “Their particular meaning is that our mother is fond of romantic novels. We’re all named after her favorite characters.”

“That’s charming.”

“Is it?” Lord Roland’s thick eyebrows rose as he considered this notion. “Well,” he decided, “we’re a charming bunch.”

“Yes,” Lord Chen said with a thin smile. “Very.”

“By the way,” Lord Roland said, “I wonder if I might trouble you for advice.”

“I’d be only too happy.”

Lord Roland glanced over the lounge, then leaned toward Lord Chen and lowered his voice. “My brother Gareth keeps urging the family to leave Zanshaa. I know that you serve on the Fleet Control Board and are familiar with Fleet movements and dispositions.” He gazed intently at Lord Chen with his deep brown eyes. “I wonder,” he said, “if this would be your advice as well.”