"I think it's inevitable," Eldjarn said; and though his voice was firm, his restless hands indicated his uneasiness. "You Cobras have a lot more of the power on this world than the system has taken into account, and one way or another the system has to adjust to reflect that reality. We either give it to you in a controlled, orderly way or risk the chaos of Challinor's method. Like it or not, Jonny, you're an important political force now—and your first political responsibility will be to make sure Zhu understands that."
For just a second Jonny grimaced at the irony. Perhaps, in a small and unexpected way, Challinor had won after all. "Yes," he sighed. "I guess I'll have to."
Interlude
To the trained and observant eye, the signs were all there.
They weren't obvious, of course. An unnecessary phrase in an official Troft message to the Committee, certain small shiftings of both merchant and perimeter guard star ships, comments coming from the Minthisti at obvious Troft prodding—small things, each in itself completely meaningless. But taken as a group, all the tiny pieces pointed unidirectionally to the same conclusion.
After fifteen years of allowing Dominion ships to pass freely through their territory, the Trofts were getting tired of it.
Vanis D'arl scowled blackly as he stared at the nighttime view of Dome visible through his office window. It wasn't exactly a startling development—half the Committee was frankly surprised the Corridor had remained open as long as it had. The Star Force, in fact, had been updating its contingency plans for eleven years now... and unless something was done, it looked like they'd get the chance to test its strategies within the year.
It went without saying that, win or lose, one of the first casualties of a new war would be Aventine and its own two fledgling colonies... precisely the worlds the war would theoretically be fought to defend. Which, in D'arl's opinion, made the looming conflict an exercise in near-perfect futility.
But what were the alternatives? The Committee, which had had to be virtually dragged by the nose to accept the colony plan in the first place, had in recent years done a complete turnaround as rare minerals and new Pharmaceuticals began flowing the other way down the Corridor. With military ships barred by treaty from entering Troft territory, the Dominion had no way to defend Aventine except by the threat of warfare if the colony was attacked—a threat which had been delivered both publicly and privately over the years.
And if there was one universal rule of politics, it was that a threat that wasn't followed through on would always cost more in the long run.
Reaching over, D'arl touched his intercom. "Yes, Committé?" the young man looked up at him from the screen.
"Have you cross-correlated the Aventine botanical data yet?"
"Yes, sir," Jame Moreau nodded. "It's on your desk, marked 'Aventine Bot/Phys III.' I put it in there while you were at your General Policy meeting."
"Thank you." D'arl glanced at his watch. "You might as well go on home, Moreau; the night staff can help me if I need anything more."
"Yes, sir. Let me mention first that there's one item on that magcard I think might be worth following up, if I understand what you're looking for. It's marked with a double star."
"Thank you," D'arl repeated, and broke the connection. If you understood what I was looking for? he thought wryly at the blank screen. If I understood what I was looking for I'd probably have found it years ago. The self-sufficiency studies, the deterrent proposal—it all worked, it all made sense, and D'arl was ready at any time to try implementing it. But something was missing; a political keystone to insure he could sell the package both here and on Aventine. It had to exist... but at this point D'arl had no idea what it might be.
Sifting through the ordered mess on his desk, he located Moreau's magcard and slid it into his comboard, keying for the double star. It turned out to be an analysis of some reedy plant called blussa that apparently thrived in damp lowland regions on Aventine, busily concentrating one of the strategic metals on D'arl's self-sufficiency list. Growth cycle, ecological niche, biochemistry—he skimmed the overview Moreau had copied directly from the master files.
—biochemical response to climatological changes.
He slowed down and read carefully. Backed up and read it again. Called up the last climatological data Aventine had sent, read those, and contacted the dome's night computer staff for a search/simulation with the colony's fauna records. The chief programmer listened carefully, informed D'arl the task would take several hours to complete, and signed off.
And at that point there was nothing for the Committé to do but wait. If he had indeed found his elusive keystone... but even then there would be a long way to go, on both of the affected worlds. And on top of that, the scheme might not work even if he succeeded completely in implementing it.
In his early days on the Committee, he would probably have felt the uncertainties as a crushing weight around his shoulders. Now, after more than a decade, the emotional reaction was more reasonable. He would do what he could, to the best of his ability, and leave the rest to the universe.
And in this instance, the universe was kind. Six hours later, when he awoke from a short night's sleep, the results of the simulation were waiting.
Positive.
He read the entire report through carefully. Yes, the keystone was there. Unexpected; unlooked for, really—but there... and now it was time to see if the other pieces he'd assembled would indeed fit together. And if so—
If so, the Dominion was about to see just how the Trofts reacted to a change in the game's rules.
Politician: 2421
Jonny shook his head. "I'm sorry, Tam, but you'll just have to make do without me. I'm starting my vacation in exactly—" he consulted his watch "—four minutes."
Peering out through the phone's screen, Tamis Dyon's face had already finished the plunge from excitement to shock and was beginning to edge back toward disbelief. "You're what? Jonny, that's a Dominion Committé out there!"
"I heard you. So what does Zhu want to do, hold a full military inspection of the planet? If the guy wanted pomp, he should've given us more than six hours' notice he was coming."
"Jonny, I realize you and I are new to this politics business, but don't you think it'll be expected that we'll at least be on hand in Capitalia to greet the Committé's ship?"
Jonny shrugged, suppressing a smile. Watching Dyon try to operate in "patient" mode was always an amusing sight. "I doubt seriously that all the syndics are going to make it in," he pointed out. "And if it's not going to be unanimous, what difference does one more make?"
"What makes the difference," Dyon ground out, "is that we have the honor of the Cobras to uphold."
"So you uphold our honor. Seriously, Tam, what's the big deal whether one, both, or neither of us shows up? Unless Zhu's planning a laser light show or something."
Dyon snorted, but even he had to crack a smile at the image of the dignified governor-general pulling a stunt like that. "He's going to be furious, you know, if you're not there. What's so important about this vacation, anyway? Chrys threatening to leave you if you don't take some time off?"
"Don't be absurd," Jonny snorted in turn. Though there had been small problems in that area in the past.... "In point of fact, the ship that's making orbit just about now has someone more important than a mere Committé aboard: my sister Gwen. I want to give her a tour of the bright lights and then help her settle in with the Molada Mountain geological group in Paleen."
Dyon made a face. "Dawa District, right? Grumf. You're right; she does deserve something approaching civilization before disappearing into the cultural depths." He exhaled loudly, shaking his head. "You win. Get out of there and forget your phone. You've got half an hour's head start before I notify Zhu's office that you're gone."
"Thanks—I owe you one. And tell Zhu to relax—I'll be back in a week, and the Committé's hardly likely to be gone by then. He'll have plenty of formal dinners left to inflict on me."
"I'll quote you exactly. So long." Dyon disappeared from the screen.
Grinning, Jonny got to his feet, fingering the portable field phone in his belt. He could leave it behind, as Dyon had suggested... but even though he was no longer on round-the-clock call, he was still a Cobra. He compromised, switching the phone off but leaving it in his belt, and left his office.
Chrys was already in the anteroom, chatting with Jonny's assistant. "All set?" she asked as he entered.
"All set," he nodded. "I'm officially off-duty, leaving the fate of Caravel District in Theron's capable hands."
Theron Yutu grinned. "With any luck the district'll still be here when you come back, Syndic," he said. "How off-duty are you?"
"I'm taking my phone, but it's going to be off," Jonny told him. "You reveal the override code to anyone short of a genuine emergency and I'll take you to Dawa District and let the gantuas walk on you."
"A fate worse than debt," Yutu agreed solemnly. "Have a good time, sir; Mrs. Moreau."
Chrys had left the car poised for a quick getaway, and a minute later they were driving through the moderate Rankin traffic, heading for the local aircar field. "Any problem with Corwin I should know about?" he asked Chrys.
She shook her head. "Tym and Sue said they can keep him overnight if we don't make it back by then. How about you? Any problems because of the other ship out there?"
He glanced at her. "You never cease to amaze me, Hon—I just heard about that a few minutes ago myself."
She smiled. "That is all I know, though—the bare fact of a second incoming ship was coming through on Theron's net as I got to the office. Is it bad news?"
"Not as far as I know. There's a member of the Central Committee aboard who I gather wants to tour the Dominion's colonies out here. I've included myself out of any ceremonies for this next week."