Traitor's Sun (14 page)

He had been told, in a burning interview with his father, that he lacked the sort of mind that was needed for the vast empire that was Belfontaine Industries. Otherwise, he would not have been on Cottman IV, but would instead have been dragging the molten guts out of some planet, like his brother Gustav was, producing the raw materials for the Big Ships and the dreadnoughts the Federation was busily creating.

He would never forget the day his father had told him there was no place for him in BI, that the corporate psychprobes had determined he was unsuitable for any position in the company. At least he had not suffered the unspeakable insult of a plant managership. Vividly he remembered standing in front of the huge desk behind which his father was buttressed, waiting to be told he would be appointed to the Federation legislature from one of the many planets that the corporation owned. That was the usual path for those who did not go into the company.

But apparently he was not suited for that either. He could still feel the shock at his father’s words, the roughening of his skin and the shrinking of his testicles. “We can’t do a thing for you, Lyle. And we certainly won’t support you—no wastrels in this family. I think your only option is Federation Service—not the military side, obviously—too many possibilities for conflicts of interest that might embarrass the company. Belfontaine Industries has to come first, of course. I know you’ll understand. But there should be
something
you can find, some post or other. That’s all—I have a holoconference in thirty seconds.”

Numb, he had taken his dismissal without a word, and walked out of the office. Federation Service! That was for people who couldn’t succeed anywhere else—who were
incompetent.
He had been raised to regard the Service with contempt, and now he was being ordered to apply for it. He longed to turn around and go back, to smash Augustine Belfontaine’s smooth, life-extended features into a pulp. But his father was tall and strong, and Lyle was not. He had never seen the man again, and had tried to assuage his injured feelings with plots to make them all sorry for treating him so badly.

Oddly, the Service had actually suited him rather well, after he got over his initial humiliation. He discovered he had a certain skill for administration—so much for the value of the psychprobes. He had risen rapidly through the ranks, until he made his stupid mistake on Lein III. He never should have tried to unseat a planetary ruler, especially not with explosives that could be traced to his offices. And the false reports he had sent to Alpha had been revealed for the fabrications that they were. He had been lucky to get Cottman IV. If he had been less well-connected, he might have ended up running a penal colony, or worse, inhabiting one.

He was smarter now, and with his background in Information Technologies and Propaganda, he knew what he could have done on Cottman with even one media screen and the right sort of entertainment. He could have had the occupants of Thendara in a fury in less than a month, he was certain, and probably ready to storm Comyn Castle with pitchforks and truncheons. He had switched over to the security arm that administered outposts like this, after the incident on Lein III, and found it much to his liking. True, he had never used a weapon, although occasionally he fantasized about what he might do with a blaster. He would have liked to flame his father, still running Belfontaine Industries in his nineties, and Lew Alton, and a few other people. But he despised soldiers almost as much as he loathed hereditary rulers like Regis Hastur. They were just disposable men and women, like the workers in the factories of Belfontaine Industries. And he was aware, in moments of rare self-examination, that there was some flaw in this attitude, and occasionally wondered if the corporate psychprobes had known this about him, and that was why he had been denied his rightful place in the company.

But it was not his fault! It was people like Lewis Alton, who wanted to preserve their own power, who were keeping the Federation from achieving its destiny, to rule all the planets with an iron hand. That was just how things were supposed to be. But no—they insisted that their own customs suited them just fine, and they could not see that they were only delaying the inevitable. How could one small, backward planet stand up to the Terrans, in the long run? And he, Lyle Belfontaine, wanted to be the man who destroyed Cottman’s Protected status and brought them into the Federation, where their rightful masters would make them toe the line!

It troubled him deeply that they had managed to resist thus far, for it flew in the face of what little he really believed in. These were simple things—duty, loyalty and obedience—and beyond that, Belfontaine knew that the destiny of the Federation was to control completely the lives of several trillion people spread over hundreds of planets. Anything less was unacceptable and virtually unthinkable. The Federation was the best structure to keep things running smoothly and efficiently, which to him meant that the huge corporations, like Belfontaine Industries, could do as they wished, to survive and show a profit. He had learned that almost as soon as he could walk, and nothing had ever dislodged the idea from his mind.

He was aware that sometimes this caused pain and suffering. But, in the larger view, it did not matter to him if a few million backward, ignorant people starved to feed those trillions on more developed and enlightened planets. People were a disposable commodity, after all. Not, he felt, people like himself, who were born to make important decisions and shape the future. It was the farmers and merchants and soldiers—the faceless masses—who were unimportant. Even local bigwigs like Regis Hastur were disposable. If he could just get rid of that self-important little man, he could probably take out the rest of them pretty easily.

Lyle sighed. As delightful as the idea of placing an explosive device under Comyn Castle and blowing it into well-deserved smithereens was, he knew better than to attempt it. Even in its present state of disarray, the Federation was not so disordered that questions would not be asked, a Board of Inquiry seated, and probably disgrace to follow, if such an event took place. It would be impossible to blame the thing on the locals themselves—their technology was not up to the job. No one would believe that one of the natives had gotten into HQ, stolen a shaped charge and timer, and gained the knowledge to use it properly. There were a couple of them, like Captain Rafael Scott, who had had a free run of HQ for decades before he resigned, who might, but even he could not imagine anyone believing that Scott would do such a thing. He had taken that route once, and learned his lesson. There had to be another way. He just hadn’t thought of it yet.

The chime on the door rang softly, and he looked up, annoyed by the interruption. “Enter,” he snapped.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stood in the doorway, leathers gleaming. He came in with an easy grace that Belfontaine envied, and his six foot frame never failed to remind him of how short he himself was. It was Miles Granfell, his second in Information, and his principal agent in fomenting discord on Cottman. He was shrewd and capable, but rather too ambitious for comfort, and Lyle did not entirely trust him. Still, he managed to smile brightly for the sake of appearances.

“So, what is going on?” Granfell was never one for chitchat and pleasantries, a trait that Belfontaine appreciated. It was a waste of time to ask how one was. And, very likely, he already knew the contents of the crumpled official communication, but wanted to pretend to ignorance for his own reasons.

“Unless we can convince Hastur to come into the Federation as a full member, we have thirty days to pull out of here.”

“Is it worth trying?”

“I don’t think so, but I will summon Lewis Alton tomorrow or the next day and give it one last attempt. I wish I could get to Hastur directly, but that seems to be impossible. And since the Federation is tied up with other problems, we can’t get much support right now.”

“Tied up?”

“It seems that the dissolution of the legislature has not been received well, and some of the member worlds are showing signs of revolt. This whole thing was ill-planned, and I can’t help wonder if Premier Nagy knows what she is doing. That’s what comes of putting a woman in charge! They are far too emotional for the job of governing.”

Granfell nodded. “If only we had been able to get a new lease on the port lands before this happened, our position here would be much better.”

“Well, we didn’t. And this iceball is hardly worth the effort. They have never really traded with the Federation, and Hastur’s resistance to accepting our technologies has not helped a bit. If someone else were in control of their Council—someone more in tune with the Federation—we might have a chance. But not this way.” That fool, Damon Aldaran, had made a lot of vague promises, but so far he had failed to deliver on them, and now he would never have the chance. Belfontaine had never really believed the old drunk anyhow.

“The problem is not that these stupid people are anti-Federation, Belfontaine, but that they insist on being pro-Cottman. They don’t give a damn about other planets, except for a few individuals, and even those still seem to love this place. I’ve been here ten years, and I have never, understood the attraction. It is hellishly cold and its people are backward—most of them can’t even read! Hardly worth the effort, in my opinion, except that it sets a bad precedent to allow any inhabited planet to be outside the control of the Federation.”

Belfontaine chuckled. “Cottman is hardly going to start building Big Ships—they don’t have the resources—and challenging us. But I hate to withdraw. It feels like a failure, and I hate that.”

“You said something about some of the other worlds rebelling.”

“It has not come to that—yet. And frankly, I can’t get much out of the head office.” Odd, how the language of his corporate upbringing lingered in his speech. “But I think that there is a very real chance that a few admirals are looking at this as an opportunity to set themselves up in power, to oppose the Federation now that things are in transition. And I have managed to find out that there are huge riots on some of the worlds with Liberal representation. It won’t be long before that is put down, of course, but it is troubling. We might find ourselves lifting off with nowhere to go.”

“Or worse—we might not be able to leave. Have you thought of that?”

“What do you mean, Miles?” He studied the larger man suspiciously, wondering if Granfell knew something that he did not. Was it possible that Granfell had his own sources of information within HQ, or worse, some contact outside that he did not know of? The idea made him uneasy, but it bore thinking about.

“If the Federation Security Forces are busy putting down riots and rebellions, they might not be able to send ships to lift us off. We could be abandoned here for several years.” Granfell spoke simply, as if the notion were a familiar one to him.

Lyle stared at the other man, aghast. He had not even considered that scenario. And it was not impossible either. In the recent past, the Federation had shown itself willing to withdraw from a few marginal planets when it could not get its way by any other means. The idea of having to remain on Cottman was distasteful, and the other was even worse. He could find himself sacrificed—unthinkable as it was! There must be some way to turn it to his advantage.

If the Federation left them behind, what would he do? He knew the answer to that almost before the thought formed in his mind. He would take out Cottman’s ruling families in short order, and declare himself Governor. Without the fear of a Board of Inquiry, he could do as he pleased. It was so tempting that he almost wished, for just a moment, to be abandoned. Not that Cottman was any prize, but he could endure that—if he had the power to run things as he wished.

Granfell was looking at him oddly, so Belfontaine schooled his narrow face to look concerned, knowing well that sometimes his avidity betrayed him. “I doubt it will come to that.”

“Did you know that Hermes Aldaran returned and got through customs sometime yesterday?”

“Yes, I heard about it. What does that matter?”

“Don’t you think it is a little odd, him returning just now? I mean, he left Terra before the announcement was made.”

Belfontaine shrugged. “He was probably lucky, that’s all. If he came through the port now, we could arrest him. But it’s too late. And the port is closed until we leave, so that’s that.” The germ of an idea began to play in the back of his mind, but Granfell’s words sent it flying.

“If we
can
leave. I would not put too much dependence on the Federation at the moment, myself. I was on Comus during the evac, Lyle, and it is not a pleasant memory. Just keep in mind that you and I are disposable, unless we can think of some way to turn this situation around.”

Lyle gaped at him for a second. Granfell might think himself disposable, but he refused to! Then he recovered his composure. “Do you have something specific in mind, or are you just being wishful?”

“Nothing yet, but I have been listening in the streets, and so have my agents. Something is going on. Damn. Do you know, I think that Comyn Castle is probably the only seat of government in the galaxy where we don’t have eyes and ears. We’ve tried everything, but the people are either too stupid to be bribed, or too loyal to the Comyn. I’ll try to find out more. We have a month, after all, and a lot can happen in that time.”

“A pity we can’t just take out . . .”

“I know. But there are no more than three hundred Marines on the whole damn planet, and even with our superior armament, that is not enough.”

“True. Perhaps I’ll see if I can get some reinforcements.” He knew it was a vain hope.

“You do that, and I’ll try to contact Vancof. It’s a shame that our efforts to cause a rebellion have been so spectacularly unsuccessful, isn’t it?”

“It is hard to make people who think they are content unhappy, Miles. And, frankly, these people are just too ignorant to know how much better off they would be with good technology. I thought I would bring them to their knees when I put the Medical Center off limits, but it did not work. They just don’t know enough to care.”