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minded, ceremonious, leisurely than most. It was the cultural and
artistic center of Merseia. Though the Grand Council still met here
annually, and Castle Afon was still the Roidhun's official primary
residence, the bulk of government business was transacted in
antipodal Tridaig. The co-capital was young, technology-oriented,
brawling with traffic and life, seething with schemes and occasional
violence. Hence there had been surprise when Brechdan Ironrede
wanted the new Navy offices built in Ardaig.
He did not encounter much opposition. Not only did he preside
over the Grand Council; in the space service he had attained fleet
admiral's rank before succeeding to Handship of the Vach Ynvory,
and the Navy remained his special love and expertise.
Characteristically, he had offered little justification for his choice.
This was his will, therefore let it be done.
In fact he could not even to himself have given fully logical reasons.
Economics, regional balance, any such argument was rebuttable. He
appreciated being within a short flit of Dhangodhan's serenity but
hoped and believed that had not influenced him. In some obscure
fashion he simply knew it was right that the instrument of Merseia's
destiny should have roots in Merseia's eternal city.
And thus the tower arose, tier upon gleaming tier until at dawn its
shadow engulfed Afon. Aircraft swarmed around the upper flanges
like seabirds. After dark its windows were a constellation of goblin
eyes and the beacon on top a torch that frightened stars away. But
Admiralty House did not clash with the battlements, dome roofs, and
craggy spires of the old quarter. Brechdan had seen to that. Rather, it
was a culmination of them, their answer to the modern skyline. Its
uppermost floor, decked by nothing except a level of traffic control
automata, was his own eyrie.
A while after a certain sunset he was there in his secretorium.
Besides himself, three living creatures were allowed entry. Passing
through an unoccupied antechamber before which was posted a
guard, they would put eyes and hands to scanner plates in the
armored door. Under positive identification, it would open until they
had stepped through. Were more than one present, all must be
identified first. The rule was enforced by alarms and robotic blasters.
The vault behind was fitted with spaceship-type air recyclers and
thermostats. Walls, floor, ceiling were a sable against which
Brechdan's black uniform nigh vanished, the medals he wore tonight
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glittering doubly fierce. The furnishing was usual for an office desk,
communicators, computer, dicto-scribe. But in the center a
beautifully grained wooden pedestal supported an opalescent box.
He walked thither and activated a second recognition circuit. A
hum and swirl of dim colors told him that power had gone on. His
fingers moved above the console. Photoelectric cells fired commands
to the memory unit. Electromagnetic fields interacted with distorted
molecules. Information was compared, evaluated, and assembled. In
a nanosecond or two, the data he wanted ultrasecret, available to
none but him and his three closest, most trusted colleagues flashed
onto a screen.
Brechdan had seen the report before, but on an interstellar scale
(every planet a complete world, old and infinitely complex) an
overlord was doing extraordinarily well if he could remember that a
specific detail was known, let alone the fact itself. A sizeable party in
the Council wanted to install more decision-making machines on that
account. He had resisted them. Why ape the Terrans? Look what a
state their dominions had gotten into. Personal government, to the
greatest extent possible, was less stable but more flexible. Unwise to
bind oneself to a single approach, in this unknowable universe.
"Khraich."
He switched his tail. Shwylt was entirely correct, the matter must be
attended to without delay. An unimaginative provincial governor was
missing a radium opportunity to bring one more planetary system
into the power of the race.
And yet He sought his desk. Sensing his absence, the data file
went blank. He stabbed a communicator button. On sealed and
scrambled circuit, his call flew across a third of the globe.
Shwylt Shipsbane growled. "You woke me. Couldn't you pick a
decent hour?"
"Which would be an indecent one for me," Brechdan laughed. "This
Therayn business won't wait on our joint convenience. I have
checked, and we'd best get a fleet out there as fast as may be, together
with a suitable replacement for Gadrol."
"Easy to say. But Gadrol will resent that, not without justice, and he
has powerful friends. Then there are the Terrans. They'll hear about
our seizure, and even though it's taken place on the opposite frontier
to them, they'll react. We have to get a prognostication of what they'll
do and a computation of how that'll affect events on Starkad. I've
alerted Lifrith and Priadwyr. The sooner the four of us can meet on
this problem, the better."
"I can't, though. The Terran delegation arrived today. I must attend
a welcoming festival tonight."
"What?" Shwylt's jaws snapped together. "One oftheir stupid rites?
Are you serious?"
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"Quite. Afterward I must remain available to them. In Terran
symbology, it would be grave indeed if the, gr-r-rum, the prime
minister of Merseia snubbed the special representative of his
Majesty."
"But the whole thing is such a farce!"
"They don't know that. If we disillusion them promptly, we'll
accelerate matters off schedule. Besides, by encouraging their hopes
for a Starkadian settlement we can soften the emotional impact of our
occupying Therayn. Which means I shall have to prolong these talks
more than I originally intended. Finally, I want some personal
acquaintance with the significant members of this group."
Shwylt rubbed the spines on his head. "You have the strangest taste
in friends."
"Like you?" Brechdan gibed. "See here. The plan for Starkad is
anything but a road we need merely walk at a pre-calculated pace. It
has to be watched, nurtured, modified according to new
developments, almost day by clay. Something unforeseeable a
brilliant Terran move, a loss of morale among them, a change in
attitude by the natives themselves anything could throw off the
timing and negate our whole strategy. The more subliminal data we
possess, the better our judgments. For we do have to operate on their
emotions as well as their military logic, and they are an alien race. We
need empathy with them. In their phrase, we must play by ear."
Shwylt looked harshly out of the screen. "I suspect you actually like
them."
"Why, that's no secret," Brechdan said. "They were magnificent
once. They could be again. I would love to see them our willing
subjects." His scarred features drooped a little. "Unlikely, of course.
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