House of the Wolf (Book Three of the Phoenix Legacy) (22 page)

“Pendino.” Galinin found himself smiling again. “You were wounded in the course of rescuing Dr. Andreas Riis.”

“An interesting conjecture, my lord.”

“Indeed. At any rate, I’m duly impressed. I must also admit I’m impressed with your skills as a tactician in view of today’s events in Centauri. But you said you’ve come here in the interests of peace.”

“I’ve come to ask you, as the Chairman, to grant me official recognition as an envoy of the enemy.”

“I see. And as an envoy of the enemy you wish to initiate negotiations with the Directorate?”

“Yes, my lord. That was the purpose of today’s ‘events’ in Centauri. To bring the Concord to the bargaining table with the Phoenix so that we may, in the age-old custom of merchants and princes, haggle over the fate of civilization.”

Galinin’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair. He remembered very well when he had last heard those words, remembered who had spoken them.

“You’re the second envoy the Phoenix has sent me, although I’m not sure the first could be described in exactly that term.”

“Richard Lamb was very much an envoy, my lord.”

“You . . . were a friend of his?”

A long pause, then, “Yes, my lord. I was a friend.”

Something in his tone gave Galinin an atavistic sensation of rising hackles; something about his voice. He
knew
that voice.

“Well, Commander, thanks to your first envoy all this isn’t entirely unexpected—although it’s still a shock. However, you must be aware that if I choose to grant you envoy status, I’ll be in effect aligning myself with you and the Phoenix in the eyes of some of the Directors, and considering the precarious balance of power at the moment, that could be disastrous for me. I’m willing to take that risk, even to put the Chairmanship on the line—and that’s what it will come to—in the name and hope of peace, but only if I have some confidence in what, and with whom, I’m inadvertently aligning myself.”

“I know, my lord, and one of my purposes here is to outline the terms the Phoenix will present to the Directors and to assure you the risk is worth taking.”

“Very well. But I’ll find it difficult to muster any confidence if I’m forced to make judgments of a face-screened man.”

“I . . . don’t expect you to do so, my lord.” His left hand moved toward his neck, yet with a constrained hesitancy Galinin found disturbing. Why did he seem so reluctant to show his face?

“My lord, I live a somewhat . . . schizoid existence.”

“If you mean ‘Alex Ransom’ isn’t the name you were born with, I assumed that, and I don’t ask another.”

“But it’s the name I was born with . . .” An uncertain pause, then, “The name will be evident in my face, and it will inevitably be a shock for you, my lord, but I don’t know how to prepare you for it, except . . .” He was unfastening his collar, and Galinin expected the face-screen to go off, but it didn’t. He had something in his hand; he put it on the desk.

“The Brother identifies himself to the Shepherds with this talisman.”

Galinin looked down and saw a small disk of gold. Then he surged to his feet, staring at it, a painful constriction binding his chest, choking off his breath. He reached out for it, turned it over in a shaking hand.

The wolf and the lamb. Rich’s gift to his brother, and his brother’s most precious possession.

Yet no one, except those closest to Alexand, had known about this medallion, known what it meant to him. From the day it was given to him, he had always worn it. It wasn’t among the effects sent the family from Confleet; no one expected it to be. Alexand would have been wearing it when he died.

Galinin looked up at Commander Alex Ransom, standing expectantly silent, hands at his sides, perfectly still. He looked at the one exposed hand, the dark skin, the long bones; a hand with the power in it to make machines or make music.

He became aware of a peculiar resentment inspired by the barrier of space created by the desk, that pretentious fortress behind which he seemed condemned to spend his life. He moved haltingly around it, feeling his way, every breath an effort. When at length he stood close enough to touch this silent enigma he said in a level tone that surprised him, “You may turn off your face-screen.”

Finally, the hand moved to the ’screen ring; finally, the shadow vanished.

“Alexand . . .”

The name came out on a long breath, a sigh of spent fear.

Galinin looked into a face he had never, even in despairing fantasies, hoped to see again, never asked of fate or the God to see, relegating this possibility to the absolute realm of the impossible.

Now I can die content
.

He couldn’t explain why that thought came to mind, and he didn’t try. Only one thing was important now. Alexand. Alexand alive. That he wore the uniform, declared himself a member and leader of the Phoenix was important only in that it was part of the fact of his presence, of his living.

That fact changed everything: the crisis in Centauri that brought him here, brought him to life; the chronic crises that wracked the Concord, that Galinin knew himself no longer capable of containing; even the future of the Concord. He saw everything in a new light now, although he couldn’t have explained that, either; not in terms that could be expressed in words.

The medallion in his hand had been a gift to Alexand from his brother, from a saint. And now Rich, by his brother’s hand, offered this gift to his grandfather, the gift of hope, to a generation preceding him for generations to come.

“Grandser?”

An asking whisper, and Galinin reached out to him, embracing him, resorting to laughter, the surrogate of tears.

“Alexand—oh, Alex, thank the God!”

Even when they drew apart, Galinin still found it difficult to do more than stare into his face, to absorb every detail of it, the familiar shapes and the unfamiliar lines and shadows that were the toll of the last five years. The resemblance to Phillip was even more marked now, and that thought roused him to a harshly pragmatic awareness of their present situation, and to an aspect of it he hadn’t yet considered.

“Alex, does your father know . . .” Alexand seemed to withdraw, but it wasn’t antagonism Galinin caught in his eyes before they became coolly expressionless; only regret. That was reassuring. “No, of course you haven’t told him yet. But he’ll have to know soon.”

“Yes, Grandser, but I must leave it to you to . . . to prepare him for the shock.”

He nodded. “That would be best, although it won’t be easy for him. Still, he’s changed, Alex. He’s changed.”

“Yes. I know.”

Galinin paused, assessing his flat tone. He looked down at the medallion, then pressed it into Alexand’s hand, gazing at it lying in his palm for a moment, until his hand closed over it, and he reached up to replace it on the chain at his neck, then fastened the collar of his uniform.

Galinin took a deep breath and pulled the slump out of his shoulders.

“Well, I suppose we should get down to business. You haven’t taken the incredible risk of walking into the Chairman’s office alone simply to renew old acquaintance.”

Alexand laughed at that, but it faded quickly into an introspective half smile.

“You’re an extraordinary man, Grandser.”

“Am I, now? Come, let’s sit by the windowall. I’m sick to death of that desk.” Then, seeing Alexand’s frowning glance toward the windowall, “It’s set on one-way opaque. All the people out in the Plaza can see is a dim glow, which assures them that their Chairman is at least awake.”

Galinin took the nearest chair, lowering himself into it with a caution that seemed to be an adjunct of age more than a physical necessity. He watched Alexand, noting the cant of his body to the left, the careful positioning of his right arm. That
was
a physical necessity.

“How am I so extraordinary, Alex? Because I don’t balk at finding you resurrected in that uniform? Well, perhaps that’s because I don’t find the uniform surprising once I accept your resurrection. And I’ve had a few years to think about Rich. The first envoy. That was when you made your decision about the Phoenix, wasn’t it?”

Alexand hesitated, his eyes focused inward, then he nodded silently, and Galinin found himself nodding, too, undoubtedly over the same shattering remembrances.

“I’ve been thinking of Rich all day, through all the . . .” Then he frowned, leaving the thought unfinished.

Alexand took it up. “Through all the destruction and death? Would Rich approve of that?”

“I . . . wondered that, yes.”

Alexand looked down into the Plaza, and Galinin’s gaze followed his. The white expanse was dotted with dark clusters of people, and there seemed something ominous about them, although most were simply standing, looking up at the Hall. Galinin wondered what they were waiting for. Answers, or perhaps a catalyst. And perhaps it was here.

Alexand said, “Rich would’ve despised it, but he would have—and did—recognize it as unavoidable, as I do, as the General Plan ex seqs always have, and as I think you will. If we only had to deal with you, it probably wouldn’t have been necessary, but unfortunately we must take into consideration the Directorate and the Court of Lords. There was no alternative for achieving Phase I, and without that . . .” He frowned on a long sigh. “We can only balance the casualties in Centauri today against the casualties of a third dark age. I wonder if they can even be calculated. We did not lightly turn to war as a means to our ends. We are not makers of war by choice or philosophy.”

“I can believe that of you, Alex, as I did of Rich.”

“Then believe it of the Phoenix, Grandser. I beg of you— believe it.”

There was a plea in his words, but in his eyes an uncompromising challenge and a forcefulness that like the unfamiliar lines in his face had also been acquired in the last five years.

Finally, Galinin said, or rather admitted, to himself as much as to Alexand, “I do believe it. I wasn’t convinced when Rich came as your first envoy, but now . . .” Then he shrugged, making his tone lighter as he noted, “Perhaps the pacific nature of your philosophy explains why Eliseer and Drakonis and Hamid’s family were released from your ‘protective custody’ unharmed.” Alexand only smiled, ignoring the questions underlying that, and Galinin added, “You have the Directors baffled with that move, you know. They expected them to be used as hostages.”

“We never even considered that. It would arouse antagonism on a personal level among the Directors, and we’ll have enough impersonal antagonism to contend with.”

“True, which brings us back to the matter of the terms of your negotiations with the Directorate.”

“Yes, but before we get to that, there are a few things you must know about, Grandser.” He paused, tight lines forming around his mouth. “The first is a warning. Treachery among ‘traitors.’ It may destroy us all and all our hopes.”

“Treachery?” Galinin frowned. “Is this the treachery that put you and Dr. Riis in the hands of the SSB?”

“Yes. In over half a century, the Phoenix has harbored only one traitor. Extraordinary, isn’t it? But one may be enough. He escaped us, and this was only a few hours ago. Our Security and Intelligence agents have orders to kill him on sight if they find him, and that’s the first time in our history such an order has been given.”

Galinin stopped himself when he began unconsciously tugging at his beard. “How does his escape threaten the Phoenix or any of our hopes?”

“For one thing, one of our top psychoscientists diagnoses him as a paranoid schizophrenic. For another,
I
am the focus of his mania. I robbed him of the Phoenix and destroyed all hope of realization of his ambitions.”

“That
would
make him a formidable antagonist. If he vents his mania on you, how will he do it?”

Alexand’s mouth curved in a bitter smile. “By again betraying me to my enemies. If you grant me amnesty as an envoy, the SSB will no longer qualify as such, so he must betray me to Selasis, who is my enemy—and the Society’s— as much as he is yours.”

Galinin frowned, feeling out the grim implications in this warning.

“You said you robbed this man of the Phoenix. Can I be sure you speak for the whole of the Phoenix now?”

“Yes. For a reunited Phoenix with the wounds of schism healed.”

Galinin gave him an oblique glance. “I appreciate your admission of the existence of a schism. And your warning.”

Alexand reached under the cuff of his right sleeve. “Now the second item you must know about before we go on—and this is a much happier revelation.”

It was an imagraph he’d taken from his cuff. He studied it a moment with an oddly pensive smile.

“Grandser, I have another ghost to present to you.” He handed him the imagraph. “Adrien is still very much among the living. Master Hawkwood made an error; he didn’t succeed in killing her.”

Galinin took the imagraph, wondering why it didn’t come as more of a shock that Adrien was alive. Perhaps having accepted one ghost, a second seemed quite matter of course.

“Alexand, I couldn’t be happier if . . .” He frowned at the square of film. There was Adrien, smiling out at him, even lovelier than he remembered her, and in her arms—

Galinin blinked and brought the imagraph closer. She was holding two infants, each a mirror image of the other, one straining toward a wail of complaint, the other obliviously asleep.

“Alexand, what—they’re . . . they’re yours? Oh, Holy God. But when . . . how . . .?”

He laughed. “I’m still nearly as astounded as you, Grandser. They’re three weeks old, and I didn’t even know about them until they were born, but that’s a long story, which I don’t have time to recount now.” He leaned forward and gestured toward the imagraph. “That’s Richard, the first born, on the right, and on the left, Eric. Or perhaps it’s Rich on the left and Eric on the right. I still get confused.”

Galinin laughed, staring transfixed at the imagraph. “I can understand that. Well, they’re . . . very handsome. Oh, Alex, think of it—Elise’s grandsons.”

“Your great-grandsons,” he said softly.

“Yes. My great-grandsons. Well, now I can—” Galinin stopped, frowning. He’d almost said it aloud.
Now I can die content
. A strangely morbid thought.