House of the Wolf (Book Three of the Phoenix Legacy) (14 page)

“Oh? Anything else—
by the way
?”

“No.” Alex smiled amiably. “Nothing else. You’ll have the formula within a few hours.”

“Good, and when will you need the Falcons?”

“A week from today. Concord Day.”

“I’ll make arrangements to have them available. So. The bargain is struck. Now will you have some Marsay with me?”

Alex acquiesced willingly, and while Amik busied himself with the bragnac, he rose and moved restlessly around the room, pausing at the niche that held the Ivanoi Egg. He pressed the blue diamond at the top and watched the golden segments open, the swan emerge and arch its neck, the musical mechanism providing a sparkling accompaniment. He wondered what Elise Woolf would have thought of having this favorite possession of hers gracing the sanctum of Amik the Thief. No doubt she’d have found ironies in it to delight her.

“Your Marsay, Alex.”

He turned and took the glass Amik offered. “Thank you, and a toast to a bargain struck.”

Amik raised his glass before taking the first sip. “To a well made bargain.” He studied Alex a moment, then glanced at the Egg. “A lovely piece of work. Tell me, do you regret its loss?”

Alex sent him an oblique glance. “Loss? I don’t know what you mean.”

Amik laughed as he sank again into his chair. “No, of course not. So. Concord Day is your great day of reckoning. And what hangs in the balance then?”

Alex pressed the diamond again and watched the Egg repeat its smooth flowering and closing.

“My life, perhaps. Possibly the fate of civilization.”

Amik raised an eyebrow. “I’ve studied some history, and few civilizations have fallen as the result of one day’s events.”

“True. Still, it’s probable that what happens on Concord Day will have a noticeable effect on the future of our civilization one way or another.”

“And I don’t suppose you’ll tell me any more about it?”

“Not now, at least.”

Amik nodded and sipped at the liqueur. “Well, my friend, I know something about the Phoenix and about you, and from that I can deduce at least the general direction of your plans. The Lord Alexand doesn’t intend to stay buried forever. I’m curious about one thing: should that resurrection be accomplished, what can this old thief expect of the Lord Alexand?”

Alex turned to face him, feeling again that equivocal sense of regret.

“Amik the Thief has lived his life outside the law of the Concord. The Lord Alexand will be bound by oath to uphold that law.”

The answer didn’t seem to displease or surprise Amik.

“So. That’s as it should be.”

“Is it? Of course the Lord Alexand might hope Amik the Thief would consider retiring from his present occupation, but he couldn’t ask it of him.”

“The future is uncharted country, my friend. All things—or at least
nearly
all things—are possible. I’ll make a toast now.” He lifted his glass, looking up at Alex through its golden prism. “To you, Alex, a straight blade and a gentleman born. Fortune, brother.”

Alex raised his glass, and when he could trust his voice said softly, “And I offer a toast to you, perhaps not a gentleman born, but a gentleman to his soul.”

In the dim light, Adrien smiled and sang softly a song she’d learned long ago in her mother’s arms; one of those songs passed down from one generation to the next thoughtlessly, with no cognizance of its antiquity.

“Sleep, little one, now comes the starry night. . . .”

She held Eric at her breast, laughing as his eyes opened to sleepy slits, but the song didn’t distract him from his primary purpose of sustenance. Strange sensations, she was thinking, watching the movements of his tiny mouth, pleasurable in so many senses. But nothing was strange to the mind still embryonic behind those deep blue eyes.

“Lullay, lullay, my little tiny child. . . . For your waking, the sunlight bright . . .”

How strange it must be when nothing is strange. Or perhaps to them, everything is strange, and the end result is the same. Eric was almost asleep, sated, she was sure, but still reluctant to be taken from her breast. She held him patiently, waiting until he was deep enough asleep so it would make no difference.

“Lullay, lullay, my love. . . .” She looked down into Rich’s crib, close at her knee. He’d already achieved that enviable oblivion that seemed to come automatically with a full stomach.

She looked at these infants and thought of the many lives entwined in theirs, and they blithely unaware of them all. One day they would know. One day they could be told and would understand about their namesakes, Rich and Erica, about Malaki, and about Val Severin, who suffered so much to bring Adrien to Alexand so that he might live, and Mariet, who died in a sense so that these babies might be bom. Adrien felt the blunted ache of grief with that memory. And the twins must know about Sister Thea, and Lectris, who was so lost now without Mariet, his little sister. He was still at Saint Petra’s in the sanctuary of Thea’s solicitous care.
He’s a child of the Mezion, as we all are, and needs comforting
. Lectris would be safe there until . . .

It must be night on the surface; the chill in the air was beginning to penetrate her robe. She reached over to pull the blanket up around Rich. He didn’t stir. Dreaming. She could see the faint movements behind his eyelids.

What do babies dream about? Sensations, perhaps; needs. They were savage creatures who must be taught love, even if the potential was there. She could look at them now and call them beautiful, an unspoiled harmony of form, a tactile feast, but they hadn’t been beautiful when she first saw them, only defiantly
alive
. She remembered their first cries, and remembered wondering if they were expressions of fear, or anger, or simply mindless affirmations of life. A common sound heard thousands of times every day, and still extraordinary, as the phenomenon of life was extraordinary for all its ubiquity.

As ubiquitous as death, the other side of the coin.

Her eyes closed on an unexpected wave of fear; she held Eric close, warm against her body.

“Lullay, lullay, my little tiny child. . . .” She rearranged the blanket around him and smoothed the cap of curling dark hair, smiling again. They were her best defense against fear. For two weeks, she had been happier than she remembered being in all her life. Content. Content even now on the eve of war. The clock on the linen chest was set for TST; it read 12:35.

It was already Concord Day.

She looked into the other half of the room where Alexand lay sleeping. Or perhaps only resting. Many times this night as she lay beside him, sharing the undemanding communion of the warmth of their bodies, she knew he was awake, but he didn’t speak or move, and not because he was afraid of waking her. He knew she was awake, too. He was only savoring this contentment as she did.

The sound screen was on, but not the vision screen; she wouldn’t cut herself off from him now even to that degree. She sang in a lullaby whisper a song out of the ages and looked beyond the bed to the uniform hung on the wall. It was only a pale shape, gleaming faintly with silver.

Alexand despised it, recognizing the tasteful flair of its design and the quality of its cloth as he might the workmanship and efficiency of a laser cannon. It had hung there for three days with the shining black boots and black cloak, both regulation SSB design, although the latter was lined in the same blue as the uniform. But tomorrow—no, today—he would wear that uniform with the style bred to him.

A movement in the soft light. She watched him as he sat up, noted the hesitation while he remembered to make allowances for his arm. He turned back the blankets, then paused, looking into the nursery.

The arm was dimly white in the twilight light. He despised it, too. At first, he wouldn’t let her see the wound under the bandages. It was Erica who resolved that. An extraordinary woman, and Adrien was every day more satisfied that this child bore a masculinization of her name. On the grounds that she couldn’t always be available to do it, Erica had insisted that Adrien learn how to bandage and exercise the arm. Alexand had submitted, however reluctantly, and perhaps he was beginning to understand that she couldn’t regard any part of him as distasteful; she could only feel his pain.

For that, Alexand set special store on the ointment Malaki had given him. Adrien smiled faintly as she thought of it; she always found solace in its source as she rubbed it into the wound before each bandaging, as Alexand found relief in its analgesic properties. It worked, he said, and refused to ponder why or how, as if that might negate its effect or dishonor its maker.

Alexand rose now and came into the nursery, stopping for a while to look down at his family. It would be an image for him to remember; a good memory. Then he leaned close to kiss her cheek.

“Who’s this?” he asked in a whisper, although both the twins were too deep asleep to be disturbed by anything less than a shout. “Rich?”

She laughed. “No, your second born. Don’t feel badly; I still have to check the ident bands. Or their heads.”

“Their heads?”

“Rich s hair grows in a clockwise whorl, Eric’s counterclockwise.”

He knelt and smoothed Eric’s fine, dark hair. “So it does. Look at that hand. As exquisite as a sea shell.” He put his finger against the tiny hand resting on her breast. Even in sleep, the hand closed around his finger with the faith of instinct. He said absently, “The grip of life. There was a time when survival depended on that, on an infant clinging to his mother while she fled the predator.”

There were still predators. Adrien knew his thoughts, knew he was trying to hold this moment in the present, yet he couldn’t keep the future out of it. He looked over at Rich, watched him dreaming for a while, then turned to her.

“Adrien, little mother . . .” He laughed softly, brushing a straying wisp of hair back from her cheek. “I always knew you had more courage than I, and now I’m grateful.”

She freed one hand to hold his hand against her cheek. “Oh, Alex, it wasn’t courage. I don’t know what it was, but not courage.”

“Faith, perhaps. It’s all part of the same thing, and I doubt it has a name. Except perhaps . . . love.”

She closed her eyes to find his lips soft against hers.

Our histories tend to leave the impression that the Centauri System was untouched by the Revolt, suffering no more than a long period of isolation from the Concord. That isn’t quite true. Some of the major battles in the Revolt occurred there, and four of the five inhabited Centauran planets were vacuum colonies, dependent on the maintenance of habitat systems. Fortunately, those four were thinly populated (in fact, the population of the entire Centauri System at that time was no more than three million), and could be successfully evacuated to Pollux. Quintin Peladeen was a man of ability and flexibility, who organized the evacuation and accommodated the vacuum colonies’ population—as well as their resident Elite, including the First Lord of Drakonis, Konrad—with a minimum of disorder and remarkably few casualties. One of Quintin’s and Drakonis’s most difficult problems initially was maintaining the solar power stations on the Inner Planets, but they managed it, although at first, only those in Drakonis’s Estate city of Danae on Perseus could be kept functioning, and they were operated by techs living out of ships and working in vacuum suits.

The Battle of Pollux in 3112 is the generally accepted date of beginning for Centauri’s period of isolation, but even after that there was some communication between the Two Systems. However, it became increasingly sporadic; the Concord was too preoccupied with its own survival and later its recovery to care what was going on in Centauri, and the Centaurans made do very well. Theirs was a select population chosen for the rigors of colonization, and I think after the first few years, when they discovered how well they could manage without the Concord, they rather welcomed their isolation. After 3120, the year of Mankeen’s death, no attempts were made by the Centaurans to establish contact with the Solar System. Perhaps the Concord, in the throes of the Revolt and during the long, painful recovery period afterward,
did
forget about Centauri, but I think it’s equally true that the Centaurans made no effort to remind the Concord of their existence.

At any rate, Centauri prospered in its isolation, but the most important development in this period is the founding of the Peladeen Republic in 3135. It was a Fesh innovation, of course, and Fesh made up nearly three-quarters of Centauri’s population. The Republic’s orderly development and its peaceful acceptance by the System’s resident Lords must be credited to Elgar Conant, who became its first Prime Minister. Conant was an econotech in the House of Peladeen and one of Quintin’s closest advisors before the Revolt.

Quintin was, by the way, very much the Lord of Centauri, as historians like to call him, even though he wasn’t the only Lord in the System. He and Drakonis were, however, the only First Lords, and most of the VisLords cut off by the tides of war from their Terran Houses eventually aligned themselves with one or the other, and many in the second and third generations adopted the Peladeen or Drakonis names. Neither Konrad Drakonis nor his heirs contested Peladeen’s leadership; the relationship between the two Houses remained cordial until the War of the Twin Planets. From the beginning of that conflict, Drakonis, then under Lordship of Maxim, allied itself with the Concord, which might seem dishonorable, but insured the House’s survival, and as I’ve noted before, the Drakonis Lords were all very pragmatic men.

Quintin did not embrace the Republic wholeheartedly from the beginning, but I’m sure he realized that he didn’t have a great deal of choice in the matter. If he resisted and drove the Republicans to outright revolt, it was unlikely that he could depend on his Fesh House guards to put it down; too many of them were also Republicans. He was fortunate that Elgar Conant was a reasonable and determinedly peaceful man, who even went so far as to enlist Quintin’s aid and advice in the formation of the Republic. The government that emerged was essentially a monarchal republic, which left the Houses with some of their powers intact, but dissolved the Fesh allegiance system and gave the Fesh a voice, through elective processes, in their government.

The Bonds were the one problem Quintin and Conant found most difficult to resolve. Most Republicans wanted to dispense with the Bonding system at the outset, but Quintin balked. Bonds were only a quarter of the population, but he was convinced that they would be a disastrously disruptive influence if suddenly set free. Ultimately, Quintin and Conant reached a compromise, and a wise one. Bond education and training programs were instituted immediately under the aegis of the Republic, but the actual liberation of Bonds didn’t take place for another thirty years.

In 3172, when the Concord began the first trade exchanges with the Republic, the transition had been made, and the only distinct class to be found in Centauri was the Elite. The Concord made what might be called diplomatic contacts with the Republic as early as 3160, but those were almost entirely with Elorin Peladeen, Quintin’s son, and it wasn’t until trade relations were established that the Concord became fully aware of the nature and scope of the Republic, and it must have been a shock. Confederation and Concord sociologists had for centuries predicted the “inevitable” consequences of a social experiment like the Republic, agreeing unanimously (with themselves and their Lords) that the results would be reduced productivity, lawlessness, rampant immorality, and ultimately anarchy. Then in 3172 the Concord came face to face with such a social experiment in full flower, its laws respected by its citizens generally, although it had its lawless element—the “Outside” existed in the Republic as it does now in the Concord, as it probably always has in one form or another—but that element was no larger than in any other human society. As for immorality, that’s a subjective term, but the Concord couldn’t take exception to the Republic’s moral codes—they were essentially its own—or to the fact that the Orthodox Church was very strong in Centauri. And certainly the Concord couldn’t reasonably assert that productivity had lagged. The Republic had not only reestablished the vacuum colonies, but achieved a high degree of industrialization that no doubt amazed the Lords of the Concord. It frightened some of them. The Republic was already manufacturing its own MAM-An ships. They weren’t armed, but clearly the Centaurans were capable of arming them if they so desired.

There was a movement among some Concord Lords at that early date to take the Centauri System by force
before
the Republic could arm its ships, but the Concord was still in its recovery period and the majority of its Lords didn’t feel they could afford a war of any sort at that point. And the cause of peaceful moderation had an eloquent spokesman in the new Chairman, Constan Galinin, Arman’s grandson. But his eloquence in time lost its effectiveness against the increasingly warlike temper of the Lords as the Concord’s recovery proceeded and the Republic became more and more a misunderstood threat to their way of life, and thus their very existence. Constan couldn’t stop the War of the Twin Planets. He tried and nearly lost his Directorate seat. Perhaps he succeeded in delaying it, but that only made it more destructive in the end. He is one of those tragic historical figures caught in a trap of circumstances, and his son, Mathis, our present Chairman, remembers seeing his father weep when the Directorate voted the declaration of war.

The Concord bided its time until after the turn of the century, but the Peladeen Lords and the leaders of the Republic didn’t. Elorin initiated a program of intensified industrialization so the Republic could not only build more ships, but arm them. His son Morgan, on becoming First Lord in 3175, began building the army to man these ships. He asked the Parlement to augment the police force with what he called the Interplanetary Guard, which the Parlement and citizens of the Republic readily acceded to; there seemed to be a unanimous cognizance on every level of the Republic of the impending threat presented by the Concord. At this point, there was some complaint from the Directors that the Republic was creating an army, but Morgan insisted the Guard’s only purpose was to protect the Republic’s burgeoning trade from pirates.

When Elor Peladeen became First Lord in 3202, twenty-seven years later, he not only enlarged the Interplanetary Guard, but called it what it was: the Armed Forces of the Republic. It was too late for pretense then; Elor, the Parlement, the Prime Minister, Lair M’Kenzy, and every citizen of the Republic knew what lay ahead for them.