City on Fire (Metropolitan 2) (50 page)

“Tomorrow I want you to come back and put monitors on every plasm cable leading to this pontoon. Have a mage make certain there aren’t any hidden plasm cables under the surface of the water.”

The man nods. “Yes, miss.”

And then one of the other members of the team gives a gasp— “Look, miss!”— and Aiah’s gaze follows his pointing finger to the front door, to the huge cast bronze of Entering the Gateway.

A shiver of fear runs down Aiah’s back.

The figure on the door has changed. Where formerly the woman entering the door was facing forward, with the back of her head to the viewer, now she has turned her head to face over her right shoulder.

There is a sweet, knowing smile on her lips.

And the face is Aiah’s.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“I observe,” says the Excellent Togthan, “that you have hired two more genetically altered mages.”

“Have you seen their qualifications?” Aiah asks.

“Impressive, surely,” Togthan shrugs, “but hardly unique. There were other mages fully as qualified.”

“I hired them as well,” Aiah points out.

“But still, in view of our understanding that the personnel of the PED would reflect the composition of our metropolitan population....” Togthan lets his words trail off while he sips his coffee, and then places the cup in its saucer with a delicate porcelain chime.

Aiah tastes at her own coffee while composing her answer. Togthan has been a presence in her office for three weeks. He has done little on his own other than announce a daily prayer meeting at the start of second shift— a few people attend, Aiah is told. Togthan appears at most of the important meetings, and he has asked to see the applications of all the new hires; but he has, till this moment, offered no comment on the way the department is being run.

Togthan’s lack of activity had not made Aiah any easier with his presence. She had dreaded the moment that she knew would come.

And now Togthan sits in her office, sipping coffee and directly challenging her decisions. Politely and smoothly, but then one can afford to be polite if one is in a position of strength. One of the triumvirs is behind him, and Aiah cannot be certain of her own support.

“
My impression is that we
are
better reflecting the composition of Caraqui,” Aiah says. “Aside from some clerical staff, these are the only two of the twisted that have been hired.”

“I would not desire the population to grow offended by this department,” Togthan says. “There is much prejudice against the polluted flesh.”

“I am sure,” unblinking, “that the wisdom of the people’s spiritual leaders is capable of mitigating any prejudice on the part of the ignorant.”

“It is the wish of the triumvir and Holy, Parq, that the hiring of the polluted flesh cease entirely.”

Aiah sips her coffee again and frowns. “The triumvir’s requests shall of course be respected,” she says. “But in order that there be no more misunderstandings, I wonder if he will put his wishes in writing?”

Togthan tilts his head and favors Aiah with a reproving stare. “On this issue you may consider my words to be those of the Holy. Written communication is scarcely necessary.”

So this is how it’s done, Aiah thinks.

Up till now she’s only been on the other end of this issue. Back in Jaspeer it was scarcely necessary that anyone actually compose directives that Barkazils not get good housing outside their own neighborhoods, or good jobs practically anywhere. She’d never known how these things were decided... and now here she is, one of a pair of privileged people nodding in their civil way, sipping coffee out of fine porcelain, and deciding the fate of people whom they may never meet.

“
Very well,” Aiah says. “I understand.” And she thinks,
Time to talk to Ethemark
.

TRIUMVIR FALTHEG JOINS LIBERAL COALITION,

ENDORSES PARTY GOALS

Ethemark’s huge eyes darken as Aiah relates the substance of her conversation with Togthan, and he exchanges uneasy glances with Adaveth, the twisted Minister of Education.

“
I
would
resign,” Aiah offers, “but I can’t think what good it would do. I would be replaced with someone friendly to Parq.”

Little folds appear in specific locations around the small man’s eyes— expressions of concern, Aiah has learned, and thought— and then he looks up at her. “He has not asked you to dismiss any of us?”

“No. I would resign in that case, and as publicly as I could.”

Ethemark’s coffee sits untouched by his elbow. They are meeting in Aiah’s apartment, where Aiah can control security, and where they are well away from the eyes of Parq’s spy.

“And,” Ethemark continues, “he hasn’t put his own people forward?”

“No, and I can’t think why.”

“I can think of two reasons,” says Adaveth. “First, talented Parq loyalists may be spread a bit thin at the moment. He’s organizing both the Dalavan Militia and the Dalavan Guard of regular soldiers. Both units require mages as well as other talent.”

“And the second reason?” Ethemark asks. Adaveth’s looks grow foreboding.

Aiah answers for him. “Parq may already have his spies in place.”

The three look at each other. “Watch,” Ethemark says. “Wait. What else can we do?”

“Win the war,” Aiah says. “Because then Parq will no longer be so necessary.”

ALTERED PEOPLE’S PARTY COMPLAINS OF PERSECUTION

ATTACKS OF DALAVAN MILITIA ON TWISTED CITIZENS DOCUMENTED

TRIUMVIR HILTHI RECEIVES REPORT

The claws of the Adrenaline Monster pluck Aiah from sleep, and she wakes, eyes staring and a cry on her lips, to discover herself stretched across Constantine’s barrel chest. She has thrown an arm over him and one of her legs is coiled about his thigh. Though her ears are alert to the sound of shellfire or alarm, she hears only the languorous throb of his heart, regular as a clock.

“You fell asleep,” he says, voice soft in the silent room.

Not for long, she thinks.

There is an ache in her throat where her frantic heart seems to have lodged.

They are in Constantine’s suite-of-the-day, enjoying one of their rare, scattered hours, pleasure snatched from the heart of duty and war. The room is dark, with the windows entirely polarized, and the only light filters from a single lamp in the next room. The Palace and the world outside are silent, and the rhythm of Constantine’s pulse is the loudest sound in the room.

Strange, Aiah thinks, that thanks to
The Mystery of Aiah
there are thousands of people who think she is living in some kind of continuous carnal delirium with Constantine, whereas the sad fact is that she hardly ever sees him in the flesh, and even then it is often only to exchange a few words and perhaps a kiss in passing.

Now, thanks to both of them wrenching their schedules out of shape, they actually have a few hours together. Aiah tells herself that she should be grateful.

“You are thinking,” Constantine says. He folds his arms behind his head and looks down at her over the foreshortened planes of his face.

“Oh yes.”

“Not about work, I hope.”

“Not exactly,” she says, and she tells him. He laughs, a deep rumbling earthquake that seems to propagate more through the bone and muscle of his chest than through the air. His big arms unfold and encompass her, holding her like a child against his big body.

“Come war’s end,” he says, “we shall try to exceed your viewers’ most sybaritic fantasies.”

“And when will that be?” she says, half-rhetorically, but he considers the question and replies.

“The Polar League has sent a representative,” he says, “a man named Licinias— by repute a good man, but I don’t know what he can hope to accomplish here. There will be a cease-fire, and we will get some favorable propaganda out of it, but unless he can persuade the Provisionals to leave, or neighboring powers to stop supporting them, the war will go on. I will be using the cease-fire to prepare for a new offensive.”

She looks up at him. “Is a new offensive possible? Will it succeed?”

“
Yes
,” judiciously, “and
very possibly
. The new Caraqui army— built almost from scratch after the coup, and trained in the Timocracy— has completed its basic training. They are inexperienced, but perfectly capable of holding sections of the line. We will use the cease-fire to put these new units into the front line, then pull back our more experienced mercenaries into a reserve. It is they who will form spearheads for the actual offensive.”

Things are coming to a head, Aiah thinks. “When?” she asks.

“The cease-fire will begin in two days. Licinias will begin consultations with the Provisionals in Lanbola, and then he will fly to present their position to us. We will prolong the talks for at least a week, because it will take that long to put our new soldiers into the line.”

“And then?”

“Things will happen fast.”

“Has— “Aiah has difficulty forming the words. “Has Taikoen a part to play?”

She can feel a grim mood settle like a shroud on Constantine’s thoughts. “No,” he says. “We used him in our original coup, and in the battle for the Corridor. We cannot use him a third time, not without making it obvious that we have something of his nature working for us.” He sighs deeply. “Besides, the Provisionals have taken warning from what happened to their predecessors. Their headquarters and communications staffs have been dispersed to many different locations, to make a decapitation strike that much less likely.”

“But their government is still vulnerable. Kerehorn and Great-Uncle Rathmen.”

“We wish them both to stay alive,” Constantine says. “Kerehorn because he is ineffective, and puts the worst face possible on their movement— and Rathmen for much the same reason. Plus”— his tone darkens— “he is one of the people we could contact... if we need to end the war.”

If we need to surrender
, Aiah thinks with a shiver. That’s what Constantine means.

There is a dull, resentful glimmer in Constantine’s eyes. “No, I will not use Taikoen again. His exactions have reached their limit— I will not give him more.”

“I am glad for that.”

There is silence for a moment as Constantine idly strokes Aiah’s hair.

“
Will we invade Lanbola?” she asks.
All neutralities are imaginary
, she thinks, remembering Sorya’s words.

“If nothing else works.” Simply.

Aiah closes her eyes, feels weariness and sadness steal into her, into her heart, into her very bones. “And one of the things that may work is
The Mystery of Aiah
.”

“
It is proving a very popular video,” Constantine says. His voice is cheerful; he is pleased with the success of his idea. “The Provisional soldiers spend days cooped up in fortified buildings with nothing to do but polish their weapons— it is too dangerous to venture out— and so they watch video. And the only video available to them is
that which we send them
— the old Keremath video monopoly assures that they have nothing else to watch. And so the enemy are assured of a constant diet of our propaganda, some of which we know must be affecting them. We
know
that Landro’s Escaliers have seen you on video. And we have distributed the video in the Timocracy, so that the Escaliers’ families can see it. We hope they will be able to suggest to the Escaliers that they may be on the wrong side.”

Aiah sighs. “I want it to be worthwhile,” she says. “If I must donate my privacy to this war, and masquerade as the savior of Barkazi, I hope at least some of it comes to
something
.”

Constantine widens his eyes in mock surprise. “You haven’t been chosen by the gods to save Barkazi?”

She glares at him. “That isn’t funny. I wish I didn’t have to spend so much time thinking about religion. I’m supposed to be a cop, damn it.”

His look turns curious. “Have all the recent war deaths turned your mind to thoughts of the eternal?”

“
Most of it’s politics. Khorsa and Dhival and that old madman Charduq want me to wave a magic wand and save Barkazi— and you’re supporting them, because you want to use this nonsense to corrupt Landro’s Escaliers. Parq and the Dalavans are building their own police force and army, and you don’t act to stop them; and Parq’s spy is conducting a religious persecution in my department, and you support
that
....”

Constantine is nettled by this accusation. “Parq is
necessary
. His acts are distasteful and so is he, but he is
necessary
.”

“So you assure me.”

“
The war must be won
,” Constantine insists. “Parq is the spiritual leader of two-fifths of the population. If he can inspire them to support the government, then it is good for everyone, including the people Parq aspires to persecute.” He pauses. “When one is a politician, one must deal with many unpleasant people, and sometimes one must hold one’s nose and do unpleasant things. But one must keep one’s true end in view. And my ultimate goal has nothing to do with Parq.”

“I’ve been ordered not to hire any more twisted. Togthan said he was speaking for Parq.”

Constantine’s glance is sharp. “Your feelings about the twisted would seem to have changed since I first met you.”

There is a moment’s pause. “I never knew any before.” Then she adds, “And I wouldn’t like Parq’s interference in my department even if I
didn’t
want the twisted in it.”

Constantine lets his head fall back against the pillow. “Bend with the wind,” he says. “It will not always blow from this particular quarter.”

“Well,” mumbling into his chest-curls, “the Dreaming Sisters tell me it all doesn’t matter anyway.”

“The Dreaming Sisters?” Constantine’s head rises from the pillow again; he looks at her over his cheekbones. “When have you met the Dreaming Sisters?”