Part 51 (1/2)

Coming in that ceremonial pace to meet her, the impressive old man halted four paces away, and granted Anne Blenheim the salute that was her due here as commanding officer; elsewhere, of course, his own rank would be far greater.

She returned his salute sharply.

”Press coverage?” Those were the grand marshall's first words of greeting. At least that was how Anne Blenheim understood them. They had been delivered in an aristocratic accent with which she was not overly familiar, and the question was asked in a low, almost conspiratorial tone, as the grand marshall looked alertly to right and left.

”I beg your pardon, Grand Marshall?”

Beraton's great age was even more obvious at this close range, but by all appearances age was still treating him very kindly. Bending near, smiling faintly as he towered over Anne Blenheim's own modest height, he said, this time not quite so softly: ”Thought there might be press on hand. Not sure that it's a good idea at this stage. Just as well there's not.” She got the impression that the grand marshall was enjoying himself, that he would have enjoyed some press on hand even more. The old man's expression was just suitably tinged with sadness, in keeping with the gravity of what she supposed must be his mission.

It was one of those occasions, Anne Blenheim decided, when it might be better not to push immediately to clarify the meaning of what someone had just said.

She had hardly begun her formal welcome, offering the hospitality of the base, before another officer, this one a much shorter and younger man, came marching out of the open hatch and approached them with short-legged, energetic strides. Behind him, well inside the s.h.i.+p, a man in civilian clothes appeared momentarily, and retreated out of sight before Anne Blenheim was able to get a good look at him.

”Captain Lergov,” the short, energetic officer introduced himself, at the last moment breaking off what was almost a charge to toss her a quick salute.

”My second-in-command,” Beraton amplified.

”Commander Anne Blenheim,” she told them, looking from one to the other. ”Welcome to you both, gentlemen, and to your crew.” She was a little surprised, not at the coolness in her own voice-she thought the visitors' behavior so far had earned that-but that she did not regret that there was cause for coolness. ”Is this a duty call?”

”Afraid so,” said the grand marshall. Looking a trifle sadder and keener than ever, he fell silent at that point, as if the subject were too painful for him to continue. Lergov meanwhile muttered something about seeing to his people, and turned away to give his honor guard a quick looking-over; Anne Blenheim observed how the sixteen young women and men who composed it stiffened visibly, fearfully, under his inspection.

The seeing-to did not take long. Lergov turned back, able now to spare a few more moments, it appeared, for a mere Templar colonel. But no, he was ignoring her. ”Grand Marshall?” he asked, in a tone of deferential prodding.

”Humf, yes.” And from an attache case that had heretofore been tucked under one of his arms, looking like part of his elegant uniform, Beraton now produced a folded doc.u.ment of what looked like genuine heavy paper. This, with a gesture conveying understatement, he now presented to the base commander.

She examined the doc.u.ment. It was indeed real, heavy paper, as far as she could tell. Unfolding it she saw that it came in both electronic and statparchment forms-the electronic in the form of a small black tab attached to the paper-and it was from the Council themselves. Or at least, though this was not explicitly noted, from a quorum of the Council's members. As many of them as possible must have been convened in an extraordinary session as soon as possible after the shock wave of the Empress's death struck through the Eight Worlds.

To Commander Blenheim at first inspection, the order seemed undoubtedly authentic, legal, and official.

As such it would seem to require that the base commander of the Templar Fortress at the Radiant turn her famous prisoner over to these people at once.

So, he was right,was Anne Blenheim's first thought after reading the sense of the message, seeing in her mind's eye the general's impa.s.sioned face. She felt angry with Harivarman for being right.Then why has he been hiding out there in the empty regions, occupying himself with archaeology? Why wasn't he-doing something? Of course, he might have seen that there was nothing to be done.

”Can you please order him brought here at once?” the grand marshall was inquiring of her. It sounded rather as if he were asking some junior officer to have his car sent round. Evidently the old man, impetuous as any youth, was ready to turn in his tracks, undock his s.h.i.+p again, and depart in a matter of minutes.

The commander continued to study the printed order in her hands. She felt glad that she had already had some time, a few days, in which to antic.i.p.ate this moment, and ponder the several choices that it might pose.

She said: ”I'm afraid, sir, the business mentioned here can't possibly be concluded that quickly. This paragraph calls on me to hand over other people to you as well . . . offhand I don't know that I have a right to do anything like that.”

”No right? No right?” The old man looked her up and down, in a way that gave the impression that he was revising his opinion of her downward. ”I understood that I was speaking to the commanding Templar officer.”

”And so you are, Grand Marshall. But civilians here are only very tenuously under my jurisdiction. At a minimum I'm going to have to talk to the judge advocate first on the subject of those people. As for General Harivarman himself, I've already sent courier relays out to inform the Superior General of my order-inform him of the a.s.sa.s.sination of the Empress, and the possible implications-and I hope to have some reply from the SG in a few days.

”Meanwhile, won't you come aboard? We may be a little short of completely finished quarters for a crew the size that yours must be”-she glanced at the two armed ranks, letting a touch of disapproval show-”but we can offer you all some hospitality.”

Actually, prodded by Harivarman's warnings, she had several hours ago ordered such legal staff as she had available to get busy researching the situation. So far there had been no report. The commander suspected that no one was going to be eager to stick his or her neck out and advise her firmly as to what to do-no one of course but General Harivarman himself, and now these people who had come here to arrest him.

But the order looked d.a.m.nably authentic. And, at least regarding the general himself, it looked convincing too.

It looks like I'm going to have to give him up to these people. And I don't want to do that.And Anne Blenheim's own silent words surprised her, for they suggested an uncomfortable and unwelcome personal attachment.

For the moment, the commander was politely adamant with her visitors, a.s.suring them that all the people named in the arrest order were on hand, but that she needed to hear from her superiors, or her advisers at least, before any of them could be simply handed over.

Beraton, his feelings perhaps wounded by his failure to overawe her instantly, seemed to withdraw uncommunicatively inside a protective sh.e.l.l, perhaps to heal them. Lergov became rather ominously silent. The grand marshall formally accepted hospitality for them all, but he informed the base commander that most of his s.h.i.+p's crew would probably remain aboard his s.h.i.+p. One implication was that their stay was going to be quite brief.

Five minutes after ordering the arrangements for hospitality, Commander Blenheim, the Council's formal doc.u.ment still in hand, was conferring in her office with her judge advocate. Major Nurnberg was a rather short, stout woman who took her usually dull job quite seriously.

The commander complained: ”They want s.h.i.+zuoka, too, and not only him. The way this thing is worded, it seems to be telling me that they can arrest anyone on the Radiant Fortress with whom Harivarman has become closely a.s.sociated during his stay. If they discover someone who they think fits that category, they can just direct me to hand that person over. I frankly can't see myself giving them that, or anything like it. Not without some clear directive from the Superior General himself. Or some equivalent authority.”

”You may have a point, ma'am.” Major Nurnberg was evidently going to play it cautiously, for which her boss could hardly blame her. ”Looks to me like they're just fis.h.i.+ng to see how much they can get. This is our territory. As to the general, of course he's not a Templar. I don't see that you have any possible grounds to refuse them in his case. As for Recruit Chen s.h.i.+zuoka . . . maybe we can wait for word from the SG.”

”And the civilians they're demanding I hand over to them?”

”Well . . . I'd like to do some more research, ma'am, before I say yes or no definitely on that.”

”Thank you, Major. I'll keep putting our visitors off for a few days, then.”

”That seems like a good plan, ma'am.”

Anne Blenheim could only hope that word from the SG came soon.

Chapter 11.

Within a few minutes after Harivarman had concluded his talk with the base commander in her staff car, he had arrived back at his house with Lescar. And as soon as he entered the house he found that now, in a kind of apparent time-reversal, the long-awaited summons to a conference with the commander had finally arrived.

The communication waiting for the Prince in the memory of his holostage was couched in the form of a courteous invitation:If the general would visit Commander Blenheim's personal office at his earliest convenience . . .He didn't bother to check the time the message had been received to see if she had sent it before she spoke to him. At least she hadn't called back to cancel it afterwards.

Approximately an hour after receiving the message, Prince Harivarman was standing in the commander's drab office-it was a temporary facility, for the wave of remodeling had evidently reached here too. The room was much more spartan than even a temporary base commander's office would have been in the ascendancy of Colonel Phocion. There were only two or three pieces of furniture, and the craggy face of the current Superior General of the Order glowering down from a holographic portrait on the wall.

Harivarman had met the current SG several times, and there had been mutual respect.

As Harivarman entered, Anne Blenheim got up from behind what must also be her temporary desk, and came around it as if to meet him at close range. But there was hesitancy in her movement, and it stopped altogether before she had left the desk completely behind her.

Neither of them said anything until the door had been closed behind him, by the clerk who had shown him in.

With one hand still on her desk Anne Blenheim said: ”They've come for you. As you predicted.”

”And you've made your decision.” He smiled; that she had hesitated just now made him confident as to what that decision was.

”And they want your man Lescar, too.”

The Prince nodded. ”Of course.”

”And the recruit Chen s.h.i.+zuoka-”

”My co-conspirator. Yes, of course.”