Gouzh broke the silence. "You were offered a choice," he said. "One we understood you had accepted." He glanced at Althea. "To work with us and to become one of us." He paused as if waiting for a comment. When none came he added, "It seems we were mistaken."
Dumarest remained silent.
"You have caused trouble," snapped Vole. "Spread rumor and lies. Created unrest and thrown our authority into question."
"You have proof of this?"
"Proof?" Logan bared her teeth in anger. "We are the Council of Zabul! Dare you say we lie?"
"I am saying you should be prepared to substantiate your charges," said Dumarest evenly. "Rumor and lies, you say, but refuse to be specific. What have I said or done you do not hold to be true?"
"You claim to be from Earth!"
"A backward planet," he reminded her. "One seeking greatness by the local use of a hallowed name. Your own words. As to the rest of the charge, what can I say? If to answer questions is to create unrest then I am guilty. But how else should I have acted toward my colleagues? I understood that I was to be one of you and a part of your society. That was the choice I was given."
Demich said, "That is true."
"Be silent!"
"Now wait a moment, Lelia Logan!" The mask had gone, the air of amused and cynical detachment, and the real man blazed with a cold anger. "I am of the Council and your equal. An Elder of Zabul. Am I to grovel at your feet?"
"You-" She broke off, fighting to master her anger. "We are faced with a threat to our society. It is hardly the time to argue on points of protocol."
"I disagree." Gouzh, jealous of his pride, was quick to Demich's defense. "You demand respect but seem unwilling to give it. An apology is in order."
"That will not be necessary," said Dumarest. "I appreciate the sentiment but I did not take offense at the charges." He added blandly, "Mistakes are common among the old."
A clever man, thought Volodya in the shocked silence. One who knew how to exploit a weakness and how to seize an opportunity. He looked at Dumarest with new respect, knowing there had been no mistake, that his assumption had been made with calculated intent. To the casual he had been insolent, to the more discerning he had thrown oil on troubled waters, to those who could see below the surface he had illustrated the unfitness of some of the Council to rule.
One Logan compounded as she spluttered in her rage.
"How dare you! Your defiance goes too far! You will be punished… Guards!"
She screamed the summons and looked at Volodya as men failed to jump at her bidding. For she was old, contaminated with dreams of grandeur while locked in her casket, carrying vestiges of a false greatness into the Council chamber. She and how many others?
"Volodya! Do your duty!"
Vole for one, and Gouzh? He sat, frowning, blinking as if doubting what he saw. Demich was relaxed, sitting back with a faint smile. Rhion looked puzzled. The others, Tilsey, Cade, Kern, sat and said nothing, content to let others make the decisions.
"Volodya!"
He rose, knowing that the impasse had to be broken. He would take Dumarest to a safe place, then return and say what needed to be stated. Changes would be made-Logan for one must relinquish her place.
To Dumarest he said, "Come with me. You will not be harmed, that I promise, but you can accomplish nothing more by staying." He added, "Please do not make me use force."
A man who meant what he said-but how long would he remain in power? And even if he were to ride the storm and reach greater heights, how to ensure he would not weaken to the demands of expediency? Dumarest glanced at the Council, at Althea, who looked at him with pleading eyes. To fight? To run? To yield?
Questions negated by a sudden flood of intense, ruby light.
It filled the chamber, to fade, to return in a crimson haze, to fade and return again. A pulse which could be only one thing.
"Alarm!" Volodya ran to a wall and slammed the palm of his hand on a plate. "Volodya here!" he snapped. "Report!"
The ruby pulse died and a man's voice replaced it in the air. "An unscheduled vessel is approaching Zabul. No recognition signals have been received. Your orders?"
"Yellow alert. Transmit the scene."
A moment and a picture blossomed in the chamber. An expanse of stars transmitted from an external scanner and forming a hologram projection.
"The vessel was spotted in the eighth decant." An arrow blossomed to point to a spot of darkness. "Its present position is here." The arrow moved, faded and where it had pointed showed a faint blue nimbus. The enveloping field of an Erhaft drive. It grew brighter as they watched.
Rhion said, "Renew attempts to contact. It could be a stray vessel unaware of our presence. Warn them of impending collision." He waited. "Well?"
"Message sent but no response."
"Try again."
"Result negative." The voice of the technician held strain.
"Flight path?" Volodya snapped the question. "Is it on a collision course?"
"Yes."
"Sound red alert! No! Wait!" In the projection the blue nimbus had flared to die, to wink out. "Check present position in relation to Zabul."
"Ship has moved into the seventh decant. Still on direct heading."
"Velocity?"
"One third of original and falling." A pause, then, "Contact established."
"An accident." Cade gusted his relief. "Some trader who plotted a bad flight pattern and has just realized it."
Dumarest said, "Are you equipped with warning beacons?"
"No." Volodya glanced at him then back at the depiction. "We don't advertise our presence," he explained. "Zabul is in a location well away from normal shipping routes and we aren't listed in any almanac. This is a private world and we want to keep it that way."
"The Huag-Chi-Tsacowa? Don't they know where you are?"
"No." Volodya saw Dumarest's frown. "You're thinking of deliveries," he said. "They send sealed cargo containers on given courses and we pick them up in space. The courses vary."
But could be plotted to a common point, given enough data and a sharp enough mind to evaluate it. Dumarest looked at the growing fleck on the screen, knowing what it had to be.
To Althea he said, "Zabul isn't a self-sufficient economy. You receive supplies, luxuries, imports, but produce nothing to sell. How do you manage?"
"We own world-based industries."