Chapter 15
As he watched Mathias Hanrahan walk away from the last meeting of the summit, Kasimir Sukui bowed his head in disbelief. The Lord Salvo had informed him of Edward's demand the previous night. It had taken great effort to convince the Prime that Mathias shouldn't simply be handed over as a part of the Treaty of Accord. 'He works well in the laboratories,' Sukui had said, struggling to justify himself. 'He has acquired a strong element of discipline in his thoughts. I expect—'
'What of discipline in his actions, eh?' The Prime had been walking irritably around the High Office, pulling at his beard and twisting it in his fingers.
'Sir, I fear you overestimate the significance of Hanrahan's behavioural aberrations.' Contradicting the Prime had been a calculated risk, but it had worked. The Lord Salvo had let the comment slip by and, after a moment or two more of brisk pacing, had said that his decision was to give Mathias the choice, even though the treaty would founder if Edward did not get his hands on his half-brother.
And, against all the odds, Mathias had agreed to a trial in Newest Delhi.
Sukui had confronted him when the final session ended. 'It took a great deal to convince the Lord to offer you freedom,' he had said. 'I expected you to take the opportunity. Would you explain?'
Mathias had acted rationally. He had assessed the likely effects of choosing to remain in Alabama City; Edward Olfarssen-Hanrahan would almost certainly be spurred on to greater aggression if he was slighted in such a manner. Mathias had given his life to save the Project.
Now, as Mathias disappeared around a corner in the corridor, Sukui was still stunned. Mathias had asked him to spread word of the Orbitals and the ship from Earth. That would have been the next step anyway, but now Sukui felt there was an added urgency. He felt that he should give Mathias's sacrifice meaning. The vague, emotive term 'honour' came to his mind.
Maybe it was not such a bad term. Maybe it could be interpreted as a rational reason for action; he would have to consider the matter.
Sukui headed for the side office where he was to meet Lars Anderson. He opened the door and the Captain of the Hanrahan Guard was already there, resting against a desk, arms folded across his chest. Sukui noted the reserve etched across Anderson's lined face. The two of them were probably of a similar age, both had reached the pinnacle of their careers within the respective Primal households.
Sukui bowed his head. 'Captain Anderson,' he said. 'I requested this meeting so we could discuss the terms of the observer units—yes, I am aware that Captain Mahler is responsible for sending our unit to Newest Delhi, but I will share responsibility for your unit in Alabama City.' Sukui filled two tiny crystal goblets with liqueur and handed one to the captain. Anderson nodded, but his expression remained unaltered. 'But first, there is a subsidiary matter I wish to raise.' Sukui glanced up at Anderson's face, but the captain was no help. 'The trial of Mathias Hanrahan.' For the first time Anderson's expression faltered. 'You will be aware of the faith he is placing in the judicial system of Newest Delhi, in returning for trial. It would be a great dishonour, not only to Mathias, but to the Prime of Alabama City, if the trial should be coloured by... pre-judicial influence.'
Anderson waited for him to finish. He drank his liqueur in one swallow. 'Sukui-san,' he said. 'I've not known you for long, but from what I do know, you must be aware that you've just insulted the entire power structure of the Primacy of Newest Delhi. But you've done it in private and I'll do you the justice of replying. As Captain of the Guard I have influence but you must know the Prime is Prime.
'No, the trial isn't going to be fixed. I knew Mathias well—or I thought I did—and I knew March better. If Mathias is innocent then you can be assured I'll look out for his interests. If not... well all I can say is that justice will be done. Now: the observer units.'
Sukui nodded. The units had been his own idea but he had fed it to the Prime; that was sometimes the best way to get things done. To ensure the smooth progress of the reforms stipulated by the treaty there was to be a unit of observers posted in each capital city. Sukui had suggested that the units should consist of trusted advisers, perhaps to be headed by a senior figure from the militias. The leader had to be someone with a shrewd tactical mind, capable of seeing through any subterfuge and also of co-ordinating the unit in its functions. The units should be put in place at the earliest opportunity. Sukui had put forward a convincing case.
'Our unit will remain here when we leave,' said Anderson. 'We have the available personnel. There may be some exchange later, when we can assess the requirements more accurately.' He reeled off a list of fifteen names, along with duties and roles in the unit. They had organised themselves quickly.
'And who will head your unit?' asked Sukui.
'Lucilla Ngota, an attached officer in the Primal Guard. She—'
'I have encountered Miz Ngota,' said Sukui. His heart was beating so loud he thought that perhaps Captain Anderson could hear it. He tried to calm himself. Lucilla Ngota. She was a trusted member of the Primal household, she had been given assignments in foreign territory before, she had a shrewd tactical mind.
She had been the most probable choice.
~
The following morning, as the sun rose, Kasimir Sukui was out in the streets of Alabama City. He had slept little. He had been plagued by thoughts of Lucilla Ngota and Mathias Hanrahan and strange aliens that landed and said they were humans from Earth.
Walking through a back street in Soho, he spotted broken windows and slogans painted on walls. The vandalised building had housed one of the Project's laboratories, Life Sciences Experimental. Sukui paused and drew a notebook from a fold in his robes and a pencil from under the rim of his skullcap. The slogans said 'Prime Folly' and 'Dark Practiss' and 'Old Ways Old'. He noted down the details. The Conventists had been out, celebrating the announcement of the treaty with the north. The undercurrent of fundamentalism that had always been a part of Alabama City was surging now, encouraged by the newly forged links with the Prime of Newest Delhi. It appeared that one conflict was about to be replaced by another. It was a situation that warranted close observation. Sukui tucked the pencil back into his cap and the notebook into his robe, then walked on.
For the first time in weeks, he had a few hours to himself. There were no meetings to arrange or attend, no consultations, no need to be in the Capitol just in case the Prime should require him at short notice. He wanted to go to Dixie Hill, but he hesitated. He looked at the sky and noted that the sun had cleared the horizon. Mathias should be under arrest and on his way back to Newest Delhi by now.
He gave himself a few more minutes. He did not wish to see Mathias being marched away under guard; he would leave his pupil that dignity, at least.
Finally, he headed for Dixie Hill. He had to contact the Orbital Colonies; he needed more information before he could consider informing the Prime.
The research hut had originally been quite modest, but two annexes had been added to house the stores of artefacts. The wooden slats had been coated with preservative at some time in the past, but even at a distance Sukui could see several areas that were rotten and crumbling away. The dish, two metres wide, sat atop the hut's roof; it looked dirty and grey but Sukui knew that did not impair the device's functioning.
Through the hut's small windows, Sukui could see that the researchers were already there. He passed through the open door and Sanjit Borodin greeted him with a nod. The atmosphere in the hut was subdued and quiet. Irrationally, Sukui did not want to disturb it by talking so he stood for a time and looked around at what was being done.
Eventually he cleared his throat and spoke. 'Everybody, will you gather around?' They stopped their work and moved closer. 'Our efforts must continue, they must transcend personal feelings. We have two priorities: we must consider renewing contact with the Orbitals and we must, I think, endeavour to complete the visual side of communications. For full communication both sides must be on an equal footing. Does anyone have any suggestions?'
The hut was silent.
'Mathias did what he did so this work could continue,' said Sukui. 'We must do our best.'
'We'd be best to ask Decker for ideas,' said Sun-Ray Sidhu. 'They're centuries ahead of—'
'Decker?' asked Sukui, suddenly realising that he was at least one step behind everyone else. 'Who is this "Decker"?' But he already knew the most probable candidate for the name.
Sun-Ray glanced around guiltily. The others studied the ground, except for Lui Tsang, who stared defiantly back at Sukui.
'Who is Decker?' Sukui repeated.
'He's the guy in orbit who you spoke to,' said Tsang.
'We did not exchange names,' said Sukui.
'He called us when you were in conference,' said Tsang. 'He spoke with Mathias.'
Sukui recalled one of his earliest impressions of Hanrahan: trouble. He had been consistent in that one respect, at least. What complications had this illicit communication created?
'You must all remember the importance of what is happening in this hut,' said Sukui. 'Our knowledge must be treated with maximum caution.'
'And you are the only one capable of that?'
The interruption had come from Tsang. 'From what has been happening up here, that would appear to be the case,' said Sukui. 'Lui Tsang, you are bitter today. We all feel the loss of Mathias but we must continue: his action must not become without purpose. By all means blame me—as you appear to do—but do not let your emotions interfere with your work. You can be replaced.' He could not. In all his time in the Project, Sukui had never encountered a talent greater than Lui Tsang's; the youth was a hard worker, too. Tsang's shoulders slumped and, finally, he stopped glowering at Sukui. He would grow calmer, after a time: he had backed down at a crucial juncture and Sukui knew from experience that this meant his rebellion was not a serious one. 'I repeat: does anybody have any ideas about the visual link?'
Sanjit Borodin stood and bowed to Sukui. He was a poor scientist but a good organiser; the decision to put him in charge of this team had been a good one. 'Before you arrived, Sukui-san,' he said, 'Lui was talking about the possibility of connecting the trifacsimile into the system. Rather than a face on a flat screen we might manage a fully dimensional face in projection.' Borodin sat down again.
Sukui raised his eyebrows at Tsang.
'It might work,' said Tsang, not looking at Sukui. 'We should discuss it with Decker.'
'It is an innovative suggestion,' said Sukui. 'But not, at this juncture, a practical one. The trifacsimile is in this hut. We already have the capability to receive visual signals from orbit. Our current problem is sending visual signals to them. We need some kind of "camera".' He had learnt the word from his reading. 'We do not even know that they would be able to send the correct input for a Toshiba trifacsimile.'
'But there's already a kind of camera in the trifax,' said Tsang. 'Anyway, they're centuries ahead of us—they'll have the capabilities to take whatever we send them.'
'Decker has told you this? I thought not. Lui, I am not dismissing your suggestion. I simply point out that we must work within the bounds of what we know: they send us pictures on a TV screen, therefore they must have facilities for receiving such input.'
Sukui turned to Borodin. 'Sanjit,' he said. 'We must contact our friends in orbit. This Decker may be of use at this stage.'
~
The response was quick, no more than four minutes by Kasimir Sukui's reckoning. He had been prepared for a longer delay.
Decker could hardly be expected to wait by his receiver at all times.
'This is Kasimir Sukui, scientific adviser to the Prime of Alabama City,' he had said. 'I wish to talk with you, Decker.' Then he had waited with his researchers, watching the dancing greys of the screen. Only Lui Tsang had feigned indifference, annotating the pages of a textbook and looking only occasionally at the screen.
Sukui's call was repeated by disc-recording and, four minutes later, the screen flickered and came to life. It was the same man Sukui had spoken to initially, this Decker. He swallowed his distaste for the man; it was irrational, it had no place in the scientific mind.
'You are, I presume, Decker?' asked Sukui. 'My name is Kasimir Sukui, scientific adviser to the—'
'Yeah, yeah,' said Decker. 'I heard your call-up. Would you explain what happened down there? I was talking to Matt and then it sounded like someone came for him and he left. I heard a name mentioned—what's Matt's name? Where's he from originally?'
So Hanrahan was to be an obstacle in this, too. 'His name is Mathias Hanrahan. He vacated his claim to the Primacy of Newest Delhi a little over three and a half years ago amid a degree of scandal. Now he has returned to face the consequences of that scandal.'
Decker was nodding slowly. 'So he is,' he said, to one side. 'What about this Hanrahan clan? How big is it?'
'The political clan is large, the genetic family small. Mathias has a half-brother, now Prime of Newest Delhi.' Sukui wanted to get back to matters in hand; he could see no reason why Decker should be so interested in Mathias. 'They are the end of the Hanrahan line. Mathias's father had a reputation for care in the matter of bastards. Edward's mother taught him that lesson. Edward has produced no heirs, so the line is at an end. Now...'
Decker had turned away from the screen. He was talking to someone who occasionally edged into the picture. 'Kasimir Sukui,' he said. 'I'm sorry for my abruptness and what must seem kind of a strange line of questioning. This revelation is of great importance to us. I don't know if Mathias told you of the problems my friends have been having in convincing people out here about the situation. This could just win the case for us. Let me explain. Do you know the story behind Ha'an's—August Hanrahan's—escape from Expatria?'
'I have heard a version,' said Sukui. 'But please continue.' At the mention of August Hanrahan, Sukui had deduced where Decker's story might begin. He sat back and studied the screen.
'August Hanrahan was Prime of Newest Delhi until fifty. seven terran years ago. You know that. From what you say, his son, March, somehow held the Primacy together and handed it on to Edward. August Hanrahan was tough and he was clever. He saw the way things were going. There were all kinds of cults spouting different versions of the Truth and all of them rejecting the technology that brought us here in the first place. He saw that if that went on there'd only be a bunch of barbarians left on Expatria, if anyone survived at all. He saw that they'd fight themselves into the dust if they could. So he tried to do what you guys appear to be doing: he started people to work on reprocessing the old ways, he started trying to move people forwards. Shit, you know all this—you know that it didn't work and he had to get the hell out.
'His greatest pride was an old landing shuttle that had been mothballed years back; he'd had it cleaned up where he kept it, at a small place outside of Newest Delhi.'
'The place was a village called North Cape,' said Sukui. 'Continue.'
'Yeah. He got away in the shuttle with ten of his friends.'
'In Newest Delhi they say the shuttle was struck down from the skies by a bolt of lightning,' said Sukui. 'I thought, perhaps, it had failed.'
'No,' said Decker. 'August Hanrahan got into orbit. His shuttle was picked up by a rigger from Ark Yellow. They say it was a miracle they even shut the doors on the thing, let alone managed to make it lift off of Expatria. I've seen it—it's still in orbit. Shit, that thing is near falling apart.'
'Forgive my interruption,' said Sukui. 'But now you know Mathias is a descendant of August Hanrahan. Why do you hold this to be of importance?'
'He changed his name when he found us, or it was changed for him. What he found was a bunch of hopelessly inbred, ignorant morons. The only reason they located him was the automatic systems of the rigger ship—the on-boards did all the docking and transferrals for them. Most of them were too dumb to learn a name like Hanrahan, so they called him Ha'an. I guess some just grunted, or so the stories say.' Decker laughed. 'Ha'an rebuilt the Orbital Colonies. In only fifty-seven T-years we've reached where we are, from where he found us. That's pretty miraculous. He's like a little god to us—no, we don't worship him, although some think we should.
'That generation weren't so much inbred, they'd just allowed themselves to lose what they had. They were apathetic. The arrival of Ha'an changed all that. The people wanted to know how he had come among them. Life on Expatria had made him and his friends strong and healthy. They put a bit of diversity back into orbit.
'I'll tell you why I'm so interested in Mathias: Ha'an is my grandfather. He's grandfather to a good deal of us out here. That makes Mathias and Edward my cousins. They're the closest relatives of Ha'an on all of Expatria. That means a lot to us, it'll mean a lot to the people I have to convince. Family's important out here.'
Sukui stared at Decker's face on the screen. He could tell the expression was an earnest one—Lui Tsang had improved the reception of the signals since Sukui had last been here. Looking at the features of Decker's face, he could finally understand why he had instinctively disliked the man: he looked just like a slimmed-down version of Mathias Hanrahan. The hair was the same thick black, the mouth had the same wide, innocent smile. But it was more than just looks: the gestures, the range of expressions, the arrogance and the confidence—they were all there. The likeness was strong indeed.
Sukui sighed. The Hanrahan blood was clearly potent. Was trouble a Hanrahan trait, too? 'Your story is of interest,' he said. 'I see we have much common ground. Now, the reason for my call was to enquire after technical details. We will need your assistance if we are to have full two-way communication. I believe we need what is known as a camera...'
Decker laughed—so like Mathias—and said, 'Don't take offence, Kasimir, but is there someone there who will be doing the tech-work? It'd be a lot easier if we spoke direct. Hey, Matt mentioned a guy I could talk with. His name was Lui Tsang. Is he there? Is he the right guy?'
Suddenly Sukui felt unbearably weary. 'Yes,' he said. 'Lui Tsang is "the right guy". Lui?' He stood and moved aside to make room for Tsang at the microphone.
He was tired, he had not slept well for a number of weeks.
Of course Lui was the man to whom Decker should be talking. Sukui was a scientist no more, he was a bureaucrat. Quietly, he slipped away from the hut. As he walked, the afternoon sun soaked into his aching limbs but he barely noticed; he had things to do.