Without a Front (37 page)

“No. Quite the contrary, I was more myself during that moon than I was for some time before or after. But I did pretend to be something I was not.”

“My esteemed Lancer Tal, you make my argument for me. You pretended to be ordinary. And Darzen was upset because she found, to her dismay, that you were not ordinary at all. What did she tell you at the end?”

Suddenly, Tal wasn't enjoying herself any more. Those words still hurt. “She said that my title was everything.”

Salomen watched her for a moment, then said quietly, “She made the same mistake I did. She didn't know you well enough to understand the distinction between who you are and what you do. Which brings us to point five, the last one. When she understood that she was outclassed in rank and accomplishments, and that you would be a continual challenge to her sense of herself as a superior being, she walked out the door. You were more than she would ever be. If her motivation had been simple anger, why wouldn't she have answered any of your calls, even after two moons? Most people move beyond anger with enough time. But it's harder to get past jealousy and a threat to one's self-esteem.”

Tal could only stare. She went over Salomen's points again, seeing her time with Darzen from a radically different point of view. It all made perfect sense. Had she really been such a poor judge of character?

No, she decided, it wasn't about that. She had just seen what she wanted to see—and so had Darzen.

“You're wrong about one thing,” she said. “I am most certainly not a more convincing speaker than you. Your debating skills are second to none.”

“Thank you. But have I convinced my most important audience?”

“Well, you've given me a great deal to think about. Perhaps it was jealousy; you make an excellent case for it. Perhaps it was anger, or a mixture of both. Either way, it's done and I can no longer feel any regret for it. Darzen left me free to be here.”

“Darzen threw this away with both hands. She could have been the one sitting next to you, sharing this time. I dislike her by reputation alone, but I'm grateful to her idiocy.”

Chuckling, Tal said, “I'll be sure to pass that along if I ever speak to her again.”

“While you're at it, give her my com code and ask her to call. I have other things I'd like to tell her.” Salomen stretched, making a tiny “eep” sound of satisfaction. “I'm feeling much better now. Are we having a lesson tonight?”

“Do you want one? I thought you'd be too tired after your meeting.”

“I'm not so tired anymore. Besides, we had no lesson last night, and we won't have any for the next three. We cannot miss this one.”

“All right. Then let's—”

“Wait.” Salomen sat up and swung her legs off the window seat. “I have to move.”

Tal watched in bemusement as she hopped off, went to her usual chair, and sat down.

“Now I'm ready.”

“What was that about?”

“I can't be sitting next to you. It's too distracting. What are we working on tonight?”

Oh, this was too easy. “Broadsensing,” Tal said with a grin. “And tuning out distractions.”

CHAPTER 56
Betrayer

 

Micah stood at the side
of the stage, listening to Tal while watching the crowd. As a Lancer's Guard, he was atypical for his low empath rating, but he had learned to make up for it with the other senses Fahla had given him. He was very skilled at reading facial expressions and body posture, a physical language which often told him things that high empaths could not see. Sensing deadly intent in a crowd was one thing; localizing it to an individual was a different matter.

Being a believer in utilizing all available tools, he also had ten of his most powerfully empathic Guards stationed around the auditorium and ten more on the outside, watching all entrances from various hidden positions and constantly broadsensing. This was not a private holding; it was a public auditorium in the largest city in Pallea. Anything was possible.

He glanced at Tal, who made an imposing figure in her red and black dress uniform as she stood beside the podium, one hand resting on it while she talked. People meeting her for the first time were often surprised at her lack of stature, but they soon forgot it when she began to speak in those calm, measured tones. At the moment she was addressing an audience of eight thousand Alseans—in addition to the unknown millions watching the real-time vid in their homes—and she had their rapt attention. Tal had risen to the occasion during this tour, her confidence and thorough grasp of detail shifting the general mood of the crowd first in Blacksun last night, then in Redmoon this afternoon, and now in Whitesun. At each speech she had methodically decimated the economist coalition's forecast, using explanations and examples that even the least educated Alsean could understand. Micah saw the growing belief and support in the audiences and was forced to agree with Aldirk for once in his life: this tour had been absolutely necessary.

Not that public opinion had been magically reversed, of course. Many chose not to watch the speeches or simply ignored everything Tal had to say. She had been driving radical change for over a cycle now, and there were those who would resist no matter how much evidence piled up in its favor, simply because it was change. These were the people who had pounced on the economist coalition's statement as proof of Tal's folly. The fringe element demanding her prosecution as a war criminal had joined forces with them, pointing to the predicted doom of Alsea as more evidence that she was intent on destroying them all. “First our souls, now our savings” was the new tag phrase. There had even been demonstrators in both Blacksun and Redmoon during Tal's speeches, though warriors from the local bases had blocked their access to the auditorium.

He could understand those who feared the matter printers. But the ones calling Tal a war criminal… He wished he could hand those over to the Voloth. Perhaps a taste of slavery would give them a better appreciation of Tal's decision.

“Gehrain to red team, UT in section yellow, first five rows. Senshalon, advance.”

The quiet voice in his ear put Micah on alert. A UT was an Unidentified Threat. Gehrain had sensed something, but couldn't localize it. Just to be safe, he had dispatched the nearest Guard to check it out.

Micah slipped on his scanning glasses and ran his finger down the temple until they were properly focused on the section halfway across the auditorium. The faces of the audience came into crisp view, and he began a sweep from one side to the other, checking expressions and body language.

He found her in the middle of the second row, an older woman watching Tal with too much intensity. Just as he tapped his earcuff to inform the Guards of her position, she stood up.

Senshalon, who had been walking rapidly down the aisle, broke into a run.

“Betrayer!” the woman screamed.

Tal stopped speaking and shifted subtly into a readiness stance.

“Betrayer! First you sell our souls and now you'll destroy the rest of us. You should be outcaste! You're an abomination! Fahla weeps to see what you have done!”

She lifted her arm to throw something, but Senshalon reached her first. The largest man in their unit, his bulk hid a surprising speed and agility. He loomed up behind her and yanked her raised arm back in a hold, putting his other arm around her middle and lifting her off the ground. She screamed and struggled, kicking her legs as he carried her out of the row and into the main aisle. Two other Guards converged on them, helping Senshalon subdue her and march her out of the auditorium. Her screams and curses could be heard with every step as she castigated Tal for being evil incarnate and bringing doom on Alsea. She managed one more “Betrayer!” before she was hustled out and the door shut behind them, plunging the auditorium into a shocked silence.

“It's always best to wait for the question-and-answer period,” Tal said.

A ripple of nervous laughter swept the auditorium, and Tal resumed her speech as if nothing had happened.

“Who was she?” Tal asked as soon as she got off the stage. “And what was she trying to throw at me?”

Micah handed over the framed photograph that Senshalon had taken from the woman. “You're not going to like it.”

“This is what she was holding?” Tal frowned as she took the frame. “Who is—oh, Fahla. Tell me this wasn't her daughter.”

“It was.”

The expensive frame was a jarring contrast to the photograph inside it, a photo that anyone on Alsea would have recognized in a piptick. It was a woman hanging from a tree branch, her head tilted to one side—the first suicide of a Battle of Alsea veteran.

Tal sat at the dressing room table with none of her usual grace. “Shekking Mother. No wonder she hates me.”

“I'm sorry, Tal.” He wished it had been anyone else. Someone with an irrational hatred or fear, someone whose ears were closed to persuasion and eyes closed to possibility. Not someone with a legitimate reason to despise Tal, whose distress was showing in the shaking of her hands as she held the frame.

“Is she all right?”

Micah wasn't entirely sure what she was asking. “Senshalon didn't hurt her. She's being processed right now at the base.”

“What? No. Get her out of there.”

“Tal, she threatened you.”

“She screamed at me. That's not a physical threat. And don't even think of telling me she was going to hurt me by throwing a Fahla-damned frame!” Tal slammed the frame down on the table, cracking it from top to bottom. “Shek!” She dropped her face into her hands, then looked up at him in misery. “Of all the—I thought we'd run into Darzen here. I spent all afternoon getting ready for that. This was the perfect venue for her to publicize her predictions.”

“I know,” he said gently. He'd been dreading that possibility too, but he'd have traded this for Darzen in a heartbeat.

Tal stared at the cracked frame. “Do you think I should see her?”

“Are you asking if you can help her?”

She nodded.

“I don't think she would hear anything you might have to say. You sent her a handwritten letter right after it happened, and I know how much time you spent on that. It didn't do any good. She needs someone to blame for her daughter's suicide, and she's made you her monster. Showing up in person will probably make it worse. You can't fix everything. Let this one go.”

Tal sat back in the chair, still staring at the frame, and finally nodded. “You're probably right. But I'm not pressing charges, and I want her released.”

“That's not a good precedent—”

“I don't
care.
Just get someone to take her home.”

“All right. I'll take care of it.” He picked up a water flask and the portable vidcom unit and put them in front of her. “Drink this and then call Salomen.”

“I will.”

When he left, she was already tapping in the com code.

CHAPTER 57
Fallout

 

“I must say I'm impressed,”
Challenger said. “Demonstrators in the streets? I didn't expect that.”

“Never overestimate the intelligence of the voting public,” Spinner said. “That might just be Lancer Tal's greatest weakness. It's why she didn't see this coming.”

“Yes, it's such a pity that an entire cycle of effort seems to have been wasted.”

Spinner chuckled. “I assume you saw the old woman in Whitesun.”

“I did. For a moment I thought you might have paid her to do that.”

“And have that exposed when they scanned her? Not likely.” Spinner's humor abruptly vanished. Sometimes he couldn't believe how dense Challenger could be. Then he reminded himself that Challenger would always be three steps behind him, and his spirits rose again. “That woman is just one of many. If it hadn't been her, it would have been someone else.”

“And in the meantime, Lancer Tal's polling continues to plummet.” Challenger gave him a hard look. “Please tell me it's time. Because as much as I admire what you've accomplished, my patience is running short.”

Spinner ignored the not-so-subtle threat, but he wouldn't forget it. He wouldn't forget any of them. “It's time. But we must be extremely careful in these early stages. Speak only to those you trust without question. Not a breath of this can get out until we have the support we need.”

“Of course.” Challenger was instantly in a fine mood. “I'll begin right away.”

“And you have the holding space ready?”

“I do.”

“Excellent.” Spinner poured two glasses of grain spirits and handed one over. Raising the other, he said, “To a game well played.”

“To our next Lancer,” Challenger said.

CHAPTER 58
Whitemoon Q&A

 

“Betrayer” was in many headlines
the next day, but to Micah's surprise, the general tone of coverage was sympathetic to Tal. Her refusal to press charges had redounded to her benefit, especially after she gave an interview in which she admitted how much that suicide had shaken her and how sorry she was that the price for saving their planet had been so high. Tal didn't often let the mask of her office slip, but doing so now was an excellent public relations choice. Her slide in the polls had stopped and seemed to be reversing.

Of course, it had been Miltorin's idea. That man would probably sacrifice his own bondmate to the Voloth if it would improve his polling, but his instincts were almost invariably right. And in this instance, his instincts had agreed with what Tal wanted. She needed to reach out to that mother in some way, and this was the only way she could do it.

That evening in Whitemoon, Micah and the Guards were on high alert. In twenty hanticks, general opinion seemed to have shifted in Tal's favor, but they'd already had one incident and were very nervous about another. Micah spent the entirety of Tal's speech scanning the crowd, looking at one face after another for any signs of too much interest, too much intensity, too much emotion. Finding nothing didn't make him feel better. It just made him think he hadn't been looking hard enough.

When Tal ended her speech and invited questions, his stress level went even higher. As far as he was concerned, this was the most dangerous part of the evening.

Each seat in the auditorium had a small button beneath it, allowing its occupant to request an opportunity to speak. In order to control the chaos of multiple people attempting to speak at the same time, a computer recorded all requests and made random selections, then routed the information to the mobile microphone, a central control panel, and the seat holder. The latter received notification of selection by a five-piptick vibration of their seat, and a second one just before it was their turn to stand.

Micah's reader card was tapped into the control panel, giving him a map of who was authorized to speak. Too bad it couldn't give him a map of anyone planning to use the Q&A as an opportunity to launch some sort of protest or attack.

An older Alsean stood up, the mobile microphone immediately flying to him and hovering as he spoke. “Gilmorian Stander, merchant caste. I'm able to support my family and the families of my children because I believe in selling only quality products, and my customers seek me out for that quality. If the matter printers can produce anything, will all products be of the same quality? And if not, how will the distinctions be preserved?”

“An excellent question,” Tal said. “All matter printer products will not be of the same quality for the same reason that products are not of the same quality right now: cost of energy and raw materials. In this case, the raw materials are a bit different, but the principle is the same. Some products require more energy and more raw materials to create. It may be that the more expensive products will not be the same ones that cost more to us now, but
…
” she paused for emphasis, “…the pricing structure has been built around our current energy and raw material costs, not the new ones. Over time that will change, but it's far too radical an adjustment to impose now. We've planned a gradual phase-in of the new pricing structure over a period of ten cycles; more than enough time for all of us to adapt. Your cost of doing business will be relatively unchanged, and your customers will still seek you out for the quality you provide.”

Amid applause, the merchant nodded and took his seat.

A woman stood up across the auditorium as the mobile microphone zipped over to her. “Venuzandra Mil, crafter caste. I have no question, Lancer Tal. I simply wished to express my gratitude, and that of my friends and family, for your care in seeing this change through with minimal disruption to the people. Our history tells us that we're fortunate to have you as Lancer right now. Past Lancers would not have been so careful. I know you've been vilified for your attempts to do the right thing, and I wish to say that not all of us share the opinions of those who speak against you.”

She sat down abruptly, her seat mates on either side patting her on the back as the crowd burst into applause. Micah guessed that she was not accustomed to public speaking and had just scared herself halfway to her Return by standing up.

Tal had either seen the same thing he had, or she could sense the woman's nervousness. “I'm grateful for your words and admire your courage in speaking up in such a venue. Your support means a great deal to me, especially now.”

The crafter nodded shyly as two people stood up, one in the second row and one several rows back. Micah's heart rate increased as he checked his reader card. The authorized questioner was the man in the second row.

He focused his scanning glasses on the other figure and groaned. Tal had expected her in Whitesun yesterday, not here tonight. Damn her for coming to Whitemoon! And how had he not seen her when he was scanning the crowd? She was already drawing attention and no doubt planned to stand until Tal was obligated to call on her. Well, she would have to wait until the end.

“Toller Jansom, builder caste,” said the man near the front. “I repair transport engines. It's not a job many want, and a lot of people think I do it because I'm not smart enough to find anything better. But I take pride in my work, and it helps to support my family. My question is, how am I supposed to keep my living when a customer can simply print a new engine if the old one breaks?”

“I've also worked on transport engines. And it's quite true that anyone can take one apart.” Tal smiled. “But it takes a smart Alsean to put it back together.”

The builder grinned toothily as a murmur of laughter rippled through the crowd.

“It's true that a customer may simply print a new engine,” Tal continued, “if that customer is willing to pay the cost. Printing an entire engine will be prohibitively expensive, due to the raw material, the energy costs, and the complexity of the programming. It will be far less expensive to print the part or parts that are broken. Tell me, how will your customers know which part to print?”

The man's face lit up. “I'll still have to diagnose the problem.”

“Yes, you will. Anyone not intimately familiar with transport engines will still require your expertise. Not only that, but once they've printed the part, they'll almost certainly need you to install it. And it's quite likely that they will also ask you to print the part for them, both as a means of avoiding potential mistakes and to keep them from making multiple trips to your shop. Since you will be charged a lower cost for your printing, due to your registered status as a transport repair shop, that will also represent a profit for you. Your future is not in jeopardy.”

“Thank you, Lancer Tal.” The builder dipped his head and sat down.

Micah watched the microphone move off and followed its trajectory, raising his eyebrows as he spotted the small girl standing on her seat. Well, this was a first! Judging by the expressions of what must have been her parents, they were startled as well.

“I'm Falerna Nael,” the girl said in a high but determined voice. “My parents are scholar and builder caste, and I haven't chosen mine yet.”

“It's a difficult decision, isn't it?” Tal asked.

“Uh-huh. I've been thinking about becoming scholar, but in school yesterday we learned that you came to Whitemoon because you disagree with a whole group of scholars who say the matter printers are a bad idea. So I want to know why you aren't listening to the scholars.”

“I do listen to scholars, every day. Nearly all of my advisors are scholar caste. But I think you're really asking why I'm not listening to these few scholars who don't agree with me. Is that correct?”

The girl nodded and was poked by one of her fathers, who leaned over and whispered to her.

“Yes,” she said to the microphone.

“Falerna, what's your favorite subject in school?”

“Geography.”

Micah chuckled at the instant answer, as did many in the audience.

“So if your instructor divided your class into teams for a geography contest, I'm betting that everyone would want you on their team because you're very good at it, right?”

“Yes,” Falerna said proudly.

“I pick teams, too. They're called advisors. I want the people who are very good at what they do, because the decisions I make with their help are important. I picked a team of economic advisors, Falerna. Of the scholars your teacher mentioned, can you guess how many are on my team?”

Falerna shook her head and was again poked by a parent. “No,” she said.

“Exactly none. Why do you think I wouldn't pick any of them?”

“Because they weren't good enough?”

The audience roared with laughter, and the girl looked embarrassed.

“They're not laughing at you. They're laughing because you got the answer right, and it really is kind of funny. Yes, I'm here because I didn't listen to a group of scholars. But why would I, if they weren't good enough to be on my team? I do listen to my advisors, very carefully. They helped me create the plan for the matter printers, and we did our best to think of everything. What those other scholars are saying is nothing my advisors didn't consider an entire cycle ago. But their conclusions were different. If I have to choose between believing my best advisors and believing others who aren't on my team, who should I believe?”

“Your best advisors,” Falerna said, confident once again.

“You'd make an excellent Lancer. That's the most important part of the job. Pick the best people and listen to them. Thank you, Falerna. Your question was a good one.”

As the girl sat back down, a huge swell of applause rocked the auditorium.

Micah grinned. Tal couldn't have done better with that if she'd had it scripted. This exchange would surely make all the news outlets by the morning, and the economist coalition would have a time of it trying to combat their new image as “not good enough.”

He glanced back to his right, but the standing figure was gone and the seat was empty. He scanned the aisle and found her making her way toward the exit.

“Keep walking,” he muttered.