The Gripping Hand (13 page)

"Nor is it," Bury said. "That building houses the offices that might be of interest to the general public, and the secretary of state. The computer and most of the offices are scattered all over the city. Many are below ground."

"Maybe someday they'll build a new building and put everything in one place," Ruth said.

Bury chuckled. "That is the new building. You would not suppose its cost, most of it paid for by taxes on interstellar trade."

"It doesn't look new," Renner said.

"No government building looks new," Bury said. "They are deliberately done in classical styles. Some show Russian influence."

"I see plenty of skyscrapers and tall walls, though," Renner said.

"Certainly. Sparta is the financial center of the Empire," Bury said. "Land near the city is very costly. Only the government could afford anything as inefficient as classical architecture. Ah. To illustrate—"

He pointed. "The Blaine Institute."

The Institute looked south at ocean beaches. The complex of buildings rose up the side of a steep cliff. Balconies broke the steep lines, and halfway up was a large flat roof dotted with small trees and picnic tables.

The limousine landed on the roof. Two ramrod-straight young men opened the doors and helped Bury into his travel chair. The ocean breeze was brisk on the rooftop. Sunlight danced on wave-tops below. Ruth stretched and took a deep breath. She turned to Renner, but he wasn't looking at her.

Renner stared at a large elderly man in police uniform coming toward them. "Kelley," he said. "Gunner Kelley."

"That's me, Sir Kevin. Your Excellency."

"By damn, it is you. Ruth, this is Gunner Kelley. Imperial Marines. He was in
MacArthur
. Kelley, this is Lieutenant Commander Ruth Cohen."

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

"I thought that was a police uniform," Renner said.

"Well, it sort of is," Kelley said. "I'm security chief here at the Institute. But there's not a lot of need for that, so I've got plenty of time to greet visitors. The Earl will be glad to see you."

"Earl?" Renner said. "Isn't Blaine Marquis of Crucis?"

"No sir," Kelley said. "Not yet. The Marquis isn't as young as he used to be, but he still gets to Parliament." He gestured. One of the uniformed staff opened the door to the interior. Another guided Bury's travel chair.

The inside corridor was short. Scenes from Mote Prime decorated the walls. At the end of the corridor was a semicircular reception desk. The receptionist wore a skirted version of Kelley's uniform, and a businesslike sidearm. She held out thick badges on a tray. Their names and pictures were already on the badges.

"Welcome, Your Excellency. Sir Kevin. Commander Cohen," the receptionist said. "If you'll just thumbprint the badges . . ."

When Renner touched his thumb to the badge, it glowed softly green.

"Thank you. Please be sure to wear these at all times. Enjoy your stay."

There were three elevators beyond the reception desk. Kelley passed them all and indicated a fourth around the corner, marked PRIVATE. Renner noted buttons for thirty-eight floors. Kelley used a key before punching the button for twenty-four.

When they were inside, Renner frowned. "I thought you said there wasn't much need for security."

"No, I said there wasn't much need for a security chief," Kelley said. "And there isn't. I've got a good staff."

"Do you often have trouble, then?" Bury asked.

"Not too much, Your Excellency. But we have had some threats. There are people who don't like Moties. Don't want us studying them."

The twenty-fourth floor was paneled in dark wood, and thickly carpeted. The walls were hung with photographs. Ruth stared at one of them. "Kevin — Kevin, that's
you
."

Renner looked. "Yep, in the Museum on Mote Prime. That statue — that was the time machine."

"What?" She started to laugh, changed her mind, and looked more carefully.

"Didn't work."

"Ugh. What are those things attacking? The, uh, time machine?"

"Evil, aren't they? The Moties told us they were mythical demons defending the structure of reality. Later we found out they were Warrior-class Moties. You would not want
those
loose in the Empire."

Kelley led them to the end of the corridor, knocked, and opened a walnut door. "My Lady. M'Lord, your visitors."

Rod Blaine stood as the others entered. He was far enough away that he didn't have to shake hands. "Welcome to the Institute, Your Excellency. Delighted to see you again. Kevin, you're looking good. Civilian life must suit you."

Bury managed to stand and bow. "My Lady. Lord Blaine. And may I present Lieutenant Commander Ruth Cohen. She is traveling with us."

Kelley excused himself and closed the door.

"My Lady," Ruth said. She bowed to Rod.

Rod took her hand and kissed it. "Welcome to the Institute, Commander." Her ears were turning pink.
Easily flustered,
Rod thought. Traveling with Kevin Renner should have cured her of that.

Bury sat carefully. "If you'll excuse me . . ."

"Oh, certainly," Sally said.

"It's been a while," Rod said. "Kevin, how have things worked out for you?"

"Not as bad as I thought they would. By the way, Ruth knows our dread secret. Most of it, anyway." Renner turned to Sally. "We heard about your uncle. Sorry. He was a good man, even if he did force me into a career of espionage."

Sally nodded. "Thank you. Uncle Ben never would take care of himself."

Ruth looked wide-eyed. "Uncle Ben—that would be Senator Benjamin Fowler. Kevin, the
Prime Minister
recruited you into the Secret Service?"

Renner laughed. "No, Lord Blaine did that. Senator Fowler declared an emergency so my discharge wasn't any good."

"What can we do for you, Excellency?" Rod asked.

"Why, nothing, really . . ."

"Your Excellency, it has been a busy day, and while I understand the custom of circumnavigating the subject before mentioning it, Lady Sally and I have a great deal more work to do."

"Ah. Thank you, my Lord," Bury said. His smile didn't seem forced. "I hope to persuade you to use your influence with the Navy. My Lord, the blockade is now a quarter of a century old. We do not agree about the Moties. You see opportunities where I see threats. Yet you agreed to bottle them within their own solar system. As did you, my Lady. We are all agreed that the situation cannot continue forever."

"Yeah, we can accept that," Rod said. "We bought some time."

"What do you want from us?" Sally asked. She was no longer trying to be polite.

"More time," Bury said firmly. "My lady, I must know that the blockade is effective. I wish to look for myself. I wish to talk to those closest to the problem. I want to look for alternatives, to see what we—what the Empire of Man—can do to be certain that the Moties will not free themselves and explode through the Empire."

"That's a big order," Rod said.

Bury said nothing.

"Horace wants Navy clearance to go have a look at the Crazy Eddie Squadron," Renner said.

Bury nodded in tiny motions. "Precisely."

"Not our decision," Sally said quickly.

Bury looked steadily at Rod Blaine.

Rod spread his hands without shrugging. "As Lady Sally says, it isn't our decision. We gave up our seats on the Commission years ago, when we moved the Institute to Sparta. But consider this, Excellency. How could anyone
prove
that the Moties are safely locked up?"

Bury ignored Blaine's tone. "I must see." The trader looked terribly old, terribly tired. "I have defended the Empire. I have ignored the real threat while I confined myself to thwarting treason and Outie plots. Nuisances. I will continue to do so, but I must know that the real border is defended. You think I can never be satisfied. You may even be right. But I must see for myself. I have earned that right."

Rod looked at Sally.

"Earned it," Bury insisted. "I doubt that the Empire enjoys a more effective intelligence team than Kevin Renner and me. And I tell you, Lord Blaine, I must see!"

"You've made your point," Rod said. "I understand that you find this a serious matter." He looked at Sally again. "We have some developments here, too."

Sally cleared her throat. "Rod, we've got a meeting . . ."

Rod glanced at the clock on the wall. "Sorry, I'm letting the time get away. Excellency, we're delighted to see you, but we do have a meeting with a parliamentary committee. Would you like to see what we're doing here?"

"I sure would, Captain," Renner said. "I mean, my Lord."

Blaine chuckled. "Good. We thought you might." He looked up at the ceiling. "Fyunch(click)."

The ceiling answered. "Sir."

"Ask Jennifer to come in. I'm sure you'll all like your guide. She's a graduate student in xenosociology, and she's been dying to meet the other people who've been to the Mote."

"Rod—"

Blaine waited until the door closed behind Renner. "Yeah."

"I do not want that man out there! Our son is in that fleet."

"I thought of that."

"He's a traitor," Sally said. "All right, we use him, but he doesn't have any real loyalty to the Empire. Money." She sniffed. "That's all he cares about. He'd sell us to the Moties for enough money."

Rod nodded thoughtfully. "I expect it would do no harm to have a few words with our friends in the Palace." He grinned.

"That's an evil look."

"His Excellency is due for a shock."

"Yes — are you sure you want to tell him?"

"Sally, we'll be announcing it in four days. Bury will know. We might as well get some mileage out of telling him. Hell, he may know already."

"No, I don't believe that."

"Anyway — Sally, he committed treason a quarter of a century ago, but he's right this time. The blockade bought time, but it's no solution. Sooner or later, either we'll have an Empire of two intelligent species, or a war of extermination. Sally, the Empire's going to have plenty of people who think like Bury. At least he's been there! Maybe he could be useful."

"I'd sooner convert hive rats to the Church," Sally said. "But you're right, he'll find out sooner or later, and he's a good test case. I want to see his face. We'll know how good his spies are then!"

Jennifer Banda was an inch over Renner's height, lean and dark, with just enough length of hair to suggest a white ancestor. When they were introduced, she was polite to Ruth Cohen, deferential to Renner, and almost fawned on Horace Bury.

Watusi genes, Renner speculated. If she's not dark enough, it's Sparta's weak excuse for a star.

"What would you like to see?" Jennifer had asked, and when no one knew what to say, she continued, "We can start with some of the specimen collections. There's sort of a meeting in the grad-student lounge in about an hour. Would you like to go to that?"

"Yes, please," Renner said quickly.

" 'About,' " Ruth Cohen said, mimicking the odd way that Jennifer had pronounced the word. "Vancouver, New Washington."

Jennifer Banda turned, startled. "Yes—"

Ruth grinned. "I'm from Astoria. Glad you weren't playing basketball when we had to play Vancouver."

Renner watched Jennifer moving ahead of him to the elevators. Nice sway to the girl. Good muscular control . . . and New Washington gravity had about .93 standard gee. She must have been one hell of an athlete. She must also have had a hell of a time adjusting to Spartan gravity, but clearly she'd done it.