Without a Front (10 page)

CHAPTER 14
Losing her grip

 

“So we're in agreement, then.
Lancer Tal is losing her grip and needs to be removed.”

“We're agreed.”

Of course they weren't. He didn't want to remove her; he just wanted to control her. But this was going to be a long-term and carefully planned strategy, and he would need allies. Especially this one. If his ally wanted to think their end game was actual removal, that was fine with him. There would be only one winner, after all.

And it wouldn't be the taller man sitting opposite him.

“It's a pity,” his ally said. “I actually respected her after the Battle of Alsea. If she hadn't discovered how to take down those shields, our losses would have been far, far higher. But she's lost sight of her priorities. Of all the technology the
Caphenon
brought with it, the matter printers are by far the most transformative. We need them and we need them now. She's sitting on that tech like a bird sits on its eggs.”

Now that, he could agree with. “She's sitting on it because she's too caught up in the details. Really, meeting with non-ranking delegates from every caste to discuss their concerns? What do they know about it?” The whole point to fighting one's way to the top was to benefit from the power that only those at the top wielded. Lancer Tal should have been consulting him and the others at his level. Instead she was talking to every half-witted tree grower, musician, and carpenter, while telling him and the rest of the Council that they had no say in her decisions.

His ally snorted. “Nothing. They know nothing. They think the space elevator and FTL engines are the most impressive tech the Protectorate gave us.”

“People are always impressed by the big things. But it's the small things that change the world.”

“True words. And the matter printers really will change our world. Those who control them will control everything.”

“She knows that.” He prided himself on never underestimating an opponent. “That's the other reason she's sitting on it. She wants all of the castes to have equal control over the matter printers. She's always been too idealistic.”

“Yes, and that's the problem.”

“It won't be hard to stir up resistance to them. People are easily swayed by fear.”

“And then easily convinced to support the person who will protect them from what they fear,” his ally said.

“Exactly.” It was so simple to lead this man where he wanted him to go. “We're going to need new names while we play this particular game of tiles. We can't be known to be communicating with each other. What would you like me to call you?”

His ally tilted his head, then smiled. “Challenger.”

He barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. Of course. How predictable. “And I will be Spinner.”

He could see that his ally wasn't impressed with the name. But Spinner suited him perfectly. It would take him many moons to spin his web and probably several more for Lancer Tal to fall into it. But when she did, she would be well and truly stuck. Then he would control her—and everything else.

CHAPTER 15
The Voloth problem

 

Lanaril straightened her tunic and
followed the aide through a beautifully furnished antechamber to a wooden door inlaid with the design of a molwyn tree. She admired the craftwork while the aide tapped on the door, cracked it open, and said, “Lancer Tal? Your mid-four is here.”

“Thank you.”

He opened the door the rest of the way, giving Lanaril a respectful nod as she stepped into the inner office.

Andira's eyes lit up, and she pushed her chair back from the desk. “Lanaril! I forgot you were my mid-four appointment.”

“That doesn't speak well for me.” Lanaril touched her palm.

“It doesn't speak of you at all; it speaks of my ridiculous schedule. Come, sit with me. Would you like some shannel?”

“Yes, please.” Lanaril chose one of the comfortable chairs by the windows. “How is your schedule ridiculous already? Didn't you just get back from vacation?”

“Vacation? Did I have one of those? It's been so long I can't recall,” Andira said from the other side of the room. The shannel dispenser made a quiet splashing sound as it filled a cup.

“It's only been half a moon. If you've forgotten already, it didn't do you much good.”

“In some ways it did me a world of good. In others…not so much.” Andira came back with two cups, handing one to her before she sat in the other chair.

“Thank you.” Lanaril hummed with happiness when she took her first sip. “Your office has the best shannel.”

“Some days it's the only way they can keep me in here.”

“They keep me in my office far too long as well, but nobody's offering me a shannel dispenser like that.”

“Perhaps you should get Fahla to put in a good word for you.”

Lanaril chuckled. “Not even the Lead Templar of Blacksun gets personal favors from Fahla. Though I could certainly wish for it. Your vacation sounds like it might be an interesting story,” she added, throwing out the bait.

“Is that what you came here for?”

“No. But I'd enjoy hearing it if it's something you can talk about.”

Andira sipped her shannel thoughtfully. Her front was impenetrable as always; Lanaril rarely knew what was going on inside her head. But over the last half cycle they had struck up a friendship, and she decided to err on the side of presumption.

“The short version is that I met someone,” Andira said. “Someone I thought might mean something in my life. But I was in disguise, because that was the only way I could have any privacy, so the person I met didn't know who I was.”

Lanaril could see the end of this story from two lengths away. “How long did you wait before you told her?”

Andira winced. “Too long. I was enjoying my anonymity too much, and, well—she didn't learn it from me.”

“Oh, no.”

“She found out the same night I was planning to tell her, but I don't get any points for that. Aldirk is always saying that intent counts for nothing in politics. Apparently, it counts for nothing in romance as well.”

“Is there any hope for resolving it?”

“Not if half a moon of silence is any indication. I've stopped trying to call. My pride can only take so much.”

“Then it seems she hasn't yet learned the value of forgiveness. It's a hard lesson for many of us to learn, but I don't think a suitable mate for you would be so spiritually young.”

Andira stared at her. “Thank you. That is…really quite comforting. I hadn't thought of it that way.”

“Because you're too busy blaming yourself.”

“I'm beginning to question your empathic rating. I suspect you might be a higher empath than you let on.”

“Don't worry, your front is still a brick wall. I can't see through it.”

“That's a relief.”

“But a templar cannot rely solely on empathic abilities. Not all of us are high empaths, and not all of what we need to know can be determined from a surface skim. So we learn other ways.”

“You must have gone to the same classes Micah did. He's better at reading people than anyone I know.”

“It's a useful skill,” Lanaril acknowledged.

“Indeed it is. Let me see if I can do as well as you.” Andira set her cup down and leaned forward. “You're here to ask me for something, but you don't know how to approach it, so you're trying to find a side entrance to the conversation. Which tells me that whatever it is you want, it's big.”

She had to smile. “I'd say you did very well. If you'd like to change castes, there might be a position in my temple for you.”

“Thank you, but my days of taking orders are well behind me. The door is open now, so tell me about this big thing.”

Lanaril put her cup down as well. They had moved from friendly chat to business more quickly than she had anticipated, and she was a little unsettled by it. For a moment she wondered if that had been intentional.

“It's about the Voloth,” she said. “The ones with shattered minds.”

Andira nodded, waiting.

“I've put a great deal of thought and prayer into this, and I now believe that we're taking the wrong path. Keeping them permanently sedated is not a solution. They're not living.”

“They're not living if we let them wake, either.”

“No. Letting them be conscious is nothing short of torture. But keeping them asleep until they die is just the lesser of two evils. That doesn't make it the right choice.”

“Since the Voloth won't accept them and the Protectorate doesn't want them, there's only one other option,” Andira said. “The option you spoke out against two moons ago.”

“Two moons ago I believed that mercy killing was still murder. But I've counseled a number of healers who are caring for the Voloth in Blacksun, and what I've learned has made me reconsider. Our healers are suffering. Even when the Voloth are unconscious, the horror they're trapped in comes out. They broadcast it like children, and not every healer has the ability to block it. In fact, very few of them do. I've been counseling people who show every sign of war trauma even though they weren't in the battle. It became common enough that I checked with several templars in Whitemoon, Whitesun, and Redmoon. They're all seeing the same thing.”

Andira frowned. “Why haven't I heard of this before now?”

“Because healers will speak to a templar long before they'll speak to a politician.”

“Granted, but why aren't they telling their superiors? I should have heard about this from the Prime Scholar, not Blacksun's Lead Templar.”

“I can't answer that, but my guess is that templars are also higher than supervisors on the list of people who are deemed safe to speak with. The supervisors tend to be high empaths who don't feel the impact. It's difficult for mid empaths to admit that they're incapable of doing a job when their supervisors not only don't feel the same impact, but can't understand what it's like to not be able to block it.”

“If the effects are as bad as you say, then sooner or later those mid empaths will have to admit it.”

“Yes, they will, at which point the job of caring for these Voloth will be open only to high empaths. But it's really an assistant healer position. There's not much expertise required to care for a patient in an enforced unconscious state.”

Andira sighed. “So we're going to be shunting our high empath healers into jobs they're overqualified for and taking them away from jobs where they're needed.”

“After burning out a significant percentage of our assistant healers, yes. And then we'll have the added burden of treating their trauma. On top of that, the fact that they're being harmed by even the unconscious broadcasts means that those Voloth are still suffering. Sedating them isn't the mercy we thought it was.” Lanaril took a sip of her shannel, needing a bit of courage. Even though she believed this was the right choice, it was still hard.

“We can't let the Voloth wake because it's torture for them,” she said. “We can't keep them asleep because it's torture for them
and
our healers. There's only one viable choice. We have to release them from their pain.”

“I agree.”

“That's why I hoped—what?”

“I agree. I've thought that from the beginning.”

“But…why didn't you ever say so?” Even privately, Andira had never given any indication that she supported mercy killing.

“Because this isn't a matter of politics or law, it's a matter of morality. That's not my sphere of power. I had to wait until the templars spoke up. They need to demand that the Council do the right thing.”

“Some of them are ready to do that.”

“But not all of them?”

“No, and that's where I need your help. If you come out in support, I'll have a much stronger position from which to swing the others over to our side.”

Andira shook her head. “I'm sorry. I can't do that.”

That was not what Lanaril had expected, not after hearing that Andira was on her side. “Why not? You said you were waiting for the templars to speak. I'm right here, speaking to you now.”

“
You
are, yes. But you're not representing the templars as a group.”

“So you're saying you support my position, but you won't come out publicly with that support until I don't need it anymore?”

“I want to, believe me. But I'm sitting on top of a volcano right now. Since the fusion reactor failed, I'm having Fahla's own nightmares trying to deal with the release of the matter printer technology. Half of the population wants it yesterday, and the other half thinks the prototypes and blueprints should all be shot directly into the sun. All of them think I'm going about it the wrong way. And you must have heard the calls for my prosecution as a war criminal.”

“That's just the fringe radicals. No one with any intelligence or common sense listens to them.”

Andira gave her a half-smile. “Wouldn't it be a perfect world if all of our citizens had those traits?”

“I stood up there with you and supported your call to break Fahla's covenant. It certainly didn't win me many fans in the higher echelon of the templars, but no one is calling me a war criminal.”

“Of course they aren't. You spoke in support of a decision. That's not the same thing as being the person who not only made that decision, but also bypassed both the Council and the High Council to implement a policy that some believe was the worst act ever committed in modern Alsean history.”

“It's an overreaction and it will never hold water. Why would you let that affect your decisions?”

“If it were the only thing I had to worry about, I wouldn't. But it's one more thing on top of all the others.”

“And that's why you won't support me? Because you don't want to give fuel to a very tiny fire?”

“Giving fuel to very tiny fires is precisely how they grow into very big fires. And it might not help your cause much if the Lancer who broke Fahla's covenant stands up and says she's advocating mass murder.”

“You're oversimplifying it to make a point. This is not mass—”

“Lanaril,” Andira said sharply. “I'm telling you that I have to pick my battles. And as much as I would like to, I cannot pick this one. I'm sorry.”

Lanaril could not believe it. She couldn't be this close to what she needed and then have it taken away through soulless political calculations. This wasn't the Andira she knew as a friend; this was the Lancer.

“You owe me a favor,” she said.

It hung in the air between them. Andira's expression did not change, but the warmth vanished from her eyes.

“Is that really how you want to do this?” she asked.

Their friendship was balanced on the tip of a knife. Lanaril knew it as clearly as if Fahla herself were in the room, showing her the divergent paths in their future.

“No,” she said. “I don't want to lose your friendship over this. But it's so important, and that was the only tile I had left to play.”

Andira exhaled. “You have no idea how glad I am that you said that. I don't want to lose yours, either.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“It leaves us looking for some different tiles to play.”

“There are none. Don't you think I exhausted my options before I came here? You were the big weapon I was leaving for the last resort.”

Andira smiled. “That might be the first time anyone called me a big weapon. I rather like it, thank you.”

“Warriors and their egos,” Lanaril said, and their chuckles broke the remaining tension between them.

“Of course there are other tiles.” Andira picked up her shannel and leaned back in her chair. “Did you go to Yaserka?”

Lanaril shook her head. “Yaserka has been a capable Prime Scholar, but he's a secular scholar. He prefers not to dabble in templar affairs. Normally we think that's a positive trait, but in this instance it means he would give me the same answer you did: he won't throw his support behind me until I already have the rest of the templars in line. And that's never going to happen. The moral schism is too deep.”

“Ah, but Yaserka doesn't have the same reasoning. There are no volcanoes under his seat. His caution stems from not wanting to get involved in an issue where he wouldn't be able to look like a strong leader.”

“I understand that, but the result is the same. He's not a tile I can play.”

“Because you're thinking like a templar. Sit back and let the warrior work a little tactical strategy for you.”