Geosynchron (54 page)

"It's a new world, Cheng," lamented Rosz, as he stared dolefully at
the carnage on the battlefield. "Unfortunately, we've been playing by
the old rules."

Shit, Monck says in encrypted battle language. Borda.

Natch freezes. What about him?

Big fleet of Council hoverbirds headed this way. They're going to try
storming the Kordez Thassel Complex.

Natch looks around and sees members of Monck's team hustling as
quickly as they can back in the opposite direction, discreetly reaching
for dartguns. They seem to be foregoing stealth now in favor of
speed-which is drawing the attention of the Thasselians in black
robes.

We're going to try to head them off at the docks, says Monck. I think we
can keep them busy until reinforcements get here.

And Brone?

We saw Brone pass this way a few minutes ago. Went into those double
doors. The operative gestures ahead of them to a short, empty hallway
and a grand set of double doors. Natch recognizes this hallway and
those doors; it's the same place where Brone met with Merri and
Petrucio a few days ago. I've got your back until you get inside.

The entrepreneur gives Jorge Monck a nod. Thanks, Monck, he says.
Couldn't have gotten here without you.

Hey, the Council operative replies with a smirk, they pay me to do
this. Now go ahead. Get in there and plug the target. Quick, before he hears
about the approaching hoverbirds. Give me a signal when the job's done.

And then Natch is walking down the hall to the double doors. He's
on his own now.

Silence descended on the waters of the North Sea. Far off in the foam,
pixelated French sailors still clung to driftwood and yelled for mercy,
but the wind was doing a more than serviceable job of scattering their
pleas to digital oblivion. Len Borda surveyed the sea to the north,
south, east, and west, but the only vessels still afloat were the battered
ships flying the red, white, and blue of the Union Jack. Should he sail
from Norway to the Strait of Gibraltar, he knew he would see the same
thing. The high executive stood at the prow of his sloop-of-war,
inhaling the smell of salt, of gunpowder, of burning wood, of celebra tory rum being broken out of caskets in defiance of regulations, of
blood and seared flesh....

And then he was running belowdecks into his cabin, slamming the
door shut, barricading it with virtual furniture. He looked around
wildly for a hammer and nails, found them, began tacking charts and
maps and canvas and whatever else he could find over the porthole.
Anything to keep out those desperate voices from the sea pleading in
broken English.

Help me! Help me!

Mercy!

All hail ze queen of England! Take me to your prisoner! I beg, I have children ...

Please! Please, let me ... let me see my daughter one last time ... Anything! I'll give you ... anything ... all the money in the world, please....

The charred hand sticking out of the wreckage.

The ruined man lying on the stretcher.

A curse. May you see many more decades. May you live long enough to see
exactly what you've done to the world.

Borda slumped to the floor and huddled there with his back to his
desk and his knees under his chin. Let the French sailors waft in the
spray, calling out for mercy to the black, black sky. The British sailors
too. Their doom had been seeking them out ever since they had
enlisted in the navy. Let them drift and drown until they had learned
the same truths that Len Borda had learned: that time ran in one direction only, that a death sentence once carried out could not be repealed,
that the universe had no interest in acclimating itself to the whims and
desires of humanity.

"High Executive."

Borda's head shot up in surprise at the voice. He hadn't intended
to fall asleep, and he had specifically directed the sentries outside his
office to let in no one. No one. Or was it to the virtual soldiers he had
given that order? Borda's eyes focused on the hand extended out to him. Then he followed the arm back up to its owner, and he had the
source of his dismay.

"Let me help you stand," said Magan Kai Lee. "Let's have this discussion in comfort."

The lieutenant executive was dressed in full ceremonial garb: formfitting white robe, gray smock, dartgun strapped in holster, even the
saber that Borda himself had not bothered to wear for decades. Borda
took Magan's hand, noting that even sitting down, the high executive
was not much shorter than his subordinate. He stood and followed
Magan to the pair of faux-leather chairs sitting in the corner of the
cabin.

Standing amidst SeeNaRee furniture strewn by the door were four
of Magan's loyal officers, each armed with a dartrifle. Their dartrifles
were out, and while they were not pointed at Borda, fingers were nestled on the triggers. Borda scanned the four of them; not a turncoat in
the bunch.

Slightly removed from the four guards stood the Council's chief
solicitor, Rey Gonerev, and the general in charge of the Melbourne
defenses, Rosz.

"Traitor!" scowled Borda at his senior general. "You would
abandon me too, Rosz?"

"No, Rosz has remained faithful to you to the last," said Magan.
The general stood stiffly at attention, gazing at nowhere and nothing.
Borda noticed that he was the only one in Magan's coterie who was not
armed.

Magan unbelted his saber and handed it to one of his officers, then
settled in to his chair. "We have an honor guard standing by," he said.
"Five hoverbirds, ready to escort you back to the North Plains. Your
L-PRACG is planning a welcoming ceremony. We've tried to keep the
preparations a secret, but someone has already leaked the details to
Mah Lo Vertiginous. A number of your supporters are gathered there
now. "

Len Borda slumped into his seat and let his elbows flop down onto
the armrests. His mind tried to cut through the fog, but it was so difficult, so difficult. The last? No, not yet. "Tell me," he said, his voice
acid, "why should I make this easy for you?"

The lieutenant executive was unfazed. "I was under the impression
that I was making this easy for you."

"Why should I grant you the crust of legitimacy you crave? A coup
d'etat against the high executive of the Defense and Wellness Council
should be done by force of arms. You'll need to drag me out of here in
chains. Or better yet-" The high executive thrust his chest forward
and rubbed a spot on his sternum. "I think three black code darts
ought to do the trick, don't you?" He made a motion towards Magan's
retinue, which ignored him. Was it Borda's imagination, or did General Rosz look embarrassed?

Magan, by contrast, looked as composed as if he had rehearsed his
lines. Which, Borda supposed, he had. "If you think I'd balk at
ordering my officers to shoot you down, you're mistaken," said Magan.
"I've learned the lessons you taught too well."

"You have, have you?" The high executive stood from his chair and
stomped over to the porthole, still covered with the canvas he had
nailed there earlier. Borda clawed it off, letting the sun shine into the
cabin once more. "Then what are you waiting for? Do it in front of the
whole world! Do it before-"

"Before what?" Magan said. "Before the Blade shoots me?"

Len Borda whirled around expectantly. He saw Rey Gonerev
standing with pistol at the ready. But his heart sank when he saw that
the gun was not aimed at Magan; it was aimed at Borda.

"The high executive's chair in two years is quite a prize," continued
the lieutenant executive. "But Rey is perfectly aware that you promised me the exact same thing."

The high executive stared into the defiant eyes of the Blade, looking
for some reason to hope that this was one last bluff on her part. He tried to open a ConfidentialWhisper channel to the solicitor, but she would
not accept his request. Do it! he commanded silently. Shoot him down! You
know that once Magan's gone, his officers will see that they have no alternative.
They'll be my officers! The Council will be united once again!

Ten seconds passed. Borda searched his mind for priority messages,
looking to see if perhaps his other last-resort effort might pan out. If,
against the odds, he should manage to wrest control of MultiReal from
that lunatic of a bodhisattva ... But no, he could see now, Magan Kai
Lee was a step ahead of him in the Twin Cities as well. The loyalists
had not even made it past the hoverbird docks before encountering
stiff resistance from the lieutenant executive's officers. There was a
fierce firefight raging outside the Kordez Thassel Complex's doors, and
Magan's reinforcements were en route.

It was over.

Borda shuffled back and took the seat opposite Magan Kai Lee,
suddenly feeling the weight of years hanging like a millstone around
his neck. His knees were aflame, but he didn't have the energy to hunt
down a bio/logic salve. "I had thought that you would never accept the
authority of a brigand," he said to the Blade, his voice cracking with
exhaustion. "A common criminal! Isn't that what you told me?"

"I told you what you wanted to hear," said Gonerev.

The lieutenant executive had not moved from his chair. "I may
have come from low beginnings, but I offered Rey something better
than bribes," he said.

"And what is that?" snapped Borda.

"A clear path of succession, guided by the rule of law. I have
assured her that my first act in office will be to petition the Prime
Committee to limit the high executive's tenure to a maximum of two
five-year terms."

"You will cripple the office."

"It is for the sake of the office that I've done all this." Magan
extended his hands over the sides of the chair, as if they could encom pass a whole rebellion. "It is to restore the honor of the office that I'm
asking you to step down. Not for me, but for the sake of Tul Jabbor,
who founded the Defense and Wellness Council, and for the sake of
Toradicus and Par Padron, who turned the Council into an organ of
compassion and justice."

Len Borda could feel the ire rise within him. How dare Magan take
such a righteous tone with him? Magan the flexible, Magan the spineless, Magan the dissembler. "And what would Toradicus and Par
Padron think of the way you've chosen to take power? Through
trickery and deceit? I think perhaps Zetarysis the Mad would be a
more appropriate compari-"

"For process' preservation!" thundered the lieutenant executive, slamming his fist down on the armrest of the chair. "Fifty-eight years. For
fifty-eight years, you've made a mockery of this institution. There's not a
principle of the Council that you haven't subverted for your personal gain.
And now you are alone, Borda, and you will step out of this office and into
that waiting hoverbird, or I'll have you dragged to one of your own
orbital prisons. I'll have you put on trial for all the world to see."

The four officers could not help but twitch in shock, having never
heard such a tone from the cool, rational lips of Magan Kai Lee. Rey
Gonerev nearly dropped her pistol. General Rosz blinked rapidly and
took a step back.

And then, in the space of a breath, Magan had caged his passions
once more.

"I was prepared to wait," continued Lee, his voice quiet and hoarse
but his jaw still quivering with muted rage. "I was prepared to bargain. You were the one who tried to assassinate me on the floor of the
Tul Jabbor Complex. You were the one who refused to abide by your
agreements. And you dare talk about making things easy for me?

"Now go. You'll be given your honor guard. You'll be escorted to
your hoverbird. There is freshly caught lobster on board. Go before I
change my mind."

Gonerev, Rosz, and the four officers turned as one to the high executive to see what he would do.

Len Borda carefully studied the face of his adversary. He could see
that the seeds of doubt he had planted in Magan's psyche had taken
root. He could hear the defensiveness in Magan's voice. No matter
what the man accomplished in the high executive's seat from this
moment forward, there would always be that kernel of unease, that
niggling doubt growing like an ineradicable weed within him. And
Rey Gonerev too! Borda turned his piercing gaze into her eyes. He
could see it there too, that crack in the foundation of the regime
through which the weed of illegitimacy would always sprout anew,
informing all the citizens of the world that nothing had changed,
reminding them that underneath Magan's high-minded ideals there
lay nothing but the base mud of greed and ambition.