The Ruins Of Power

The woman—a sergeant from her insignia—was pale and her hands shook as she wiped dirt from her face. Tears welled but did not run down her cheeks. Austin had seen others in this condition. The tanker was in shock.

As he had been.

“You fired the LRMs?”

“I didn’t know I had live rounds loaded.”

“They said an entire barrage was tipped with high-explosive warheads,” Austin said. He stepped closer. She recoiled, then stiffened, standing her ground.

“I didn’t know!” She tried to speak in a level voice but strain caused it to break. “I fired what was loaded. I thought they were marker rounds. Believe me. Please, Lieutenant!”

“What happened? Who loaded your tank?”

The sergeant’s shoulders hunched over and she began shaking in reaction. “I don’t know. Crew back at the depot. Somebody. There was a last-minute check before the exercise, and a rack was replaced. That’s all I know.”

“Leave her alone,” said an infantry corporal. He interposed himself between the sergeant and Austin.

“Do you know who loaded the live rounds?”

“It was a mistake. A bad one, but there’s nothing anyone can do about it now. Go on. Get out of here. Sir.”

Austin felt a hot flush rising to his cheeks. He had lost his brother. He wouldn’t be ordered about, not by an infantry noncom. Then he saw the sergeant and knew none of them had purposely caused Dale’s death. It had been exactly as they said.

A tragic accident.

Austin thought it was more.

13

Palace of Facets, Cingulum

Mirach

25 April 3133

Austin Ortega stood stiffly in the doorway of his father’s office, feeling out of place. The past week had gone by in unreal jerks and starts, stretched like it had been a million years long and, confusingly, blinked by in only a few fleeting hours. Dale’s full state funeral had been more of a public spectacle than a tribute, but Austin knew it had been necessary. Dale had been heir apparent.

The funeral had been about Dale’s status and something more. In a split second Austin was in line to become Baron. Only when he was much younger had he considered stepping up to become Baron one day, but with Dale filling his world that had never been more than a childhood game. Now it was likely.

It seemed especially likely to occur soon when he looked at the Baron. Sergio Ortega had aged a dozen years in the past week and looked a shadow of his former self. Austin’s father had worked through his shock and had done what rituals were necessary at the funeral at great cost to his physical well-being. Austin didn’t know if it was better having Envoy Parsons delay his departure until after the funeral or not. What report about Mirach would he take back to the Lord Governor? In spite of the chance it was entirely negative, Austin found it hard to work up much curiosity about it. Jerome Parsons had come and gone, his mission cloaked in mystery. How it affected Mirach mattered less to Austin than finding who had substituted live rounds during the exercise.

Austin’s mind turned over the shards of what he knew. Up and down the line it looked like a mistake. A tragic mistake. But he had assured Dale that Ha

Dale’s death had to be more. That meant Ha

Austin had tried to get his father to tell him what Ha

Heir apparent. Alone.

It bothered him how Manfred Leclerc had paid his respects at Dale’s funeral and then not been seen since. All alone.

The Governor’s secretary motioned to him from the Armorer’s Chamber.

“They’re ready for you, Father,” Austin said.

“It’s too bad you can’t conduct the news conference for me,” Sergio said, heaving himself to his feet, “but that wouldn’t do. I’m Governor.” The way he spoke made Austin feel as though the weight of a world crushing his father down might cause him to relinquish that duty soon.

“I would if I could,” Austin said, “but they want you to speak to them. Lady Elora has the public more upset than they had been.”

“More rioting. I need to speak to the labor leaders. And that Kinsolving woman. You can do that, Austin.” Sergio preceded his son from the office and moved like he was pulled by a string to the conference room where the Ministry of Information and other, lesser news companies had set up cameras for the first formal interview since the funeral.

Sergio stepped forward, cleared his throat, and began, assuming the reporters were ready—or perhaps not caring.

“After the sad events of the past week, it is time to forge ahead with solutions to the economic problems facing Mirach. Envoy Parsons has given us hope of aid from The Republic, but it is our responsibility to begin the road to recovery without external assistance.”

Austin wasn’t sure if he felt at ease with Marta Kinsolving and other members of the Mirach Business Association joining his father in the press conference. After his father’s brief introduction, Elora gave Marta and the others far more coverage—Austin could tell by looking past Lady Elora to where her seedy director sat at a console. Small vidscreens monitored each camera in the room before relaying a combined multiphase signal to the broadcast studio at the Ministry of Information. For every minute on-air Elora accorded the Governor, she gave three to the MBA officials, as if they were of equal rank and had more important things to say.

If Sergio said something, Elora cut to Benton Nagursky for a reaction shot. If Marta took the center stage, Elora did not cut away. Austin found himself wishing he could speak with his father’s advisers and somehow edge Elora out of her coverage. Her position as Minister made this difficult, but Austin wanted to try. He had suggested her removal to his father and had hit a stone wall, as if nothing could be changed now. But it had.

Heir apparent to the governorship of Mirach, Baronet Austin Ortega. He took a deep breath and knew he had to develop his own staff and governing style.

“As a result of the transfer of my personal guard to Legate Tortorelli’s command,” Sergio Ortega said, catching Austin’s eye and bringing his attention back to the crowded office and the reason for the conference, “money in the Governor’s budget has been freed. With Ms. Kinsolving and the cooperation of the Mirach Business Association, we have devised a bold plan to use Mirach’s four moons as communications relay points. This will link every point on-planet with any other within seconds. The HPG net might have gone down between planets in The Republic, but we will not be denied rapid, dependable communications.

“Ms. Kinsolving,” Sergio said as he turned the mic over to the auburn-haired CEO of All WorldComm.

“The funding,” Marta Kinsolving said forcefully, “will be adequate to establish the first-ever planetary comm net for Mirach.” She began to detail the reasons, the costs, and the technology, but Austin found himself interested more in the woman than in her speech. Marta wasn’t a beautiful woman, but her energy and determination held his attention. He decided it had to do with the confidence she exuded, as much in herself as in the project. By fully funding All WorldComm to run what Marta called Span-net, the Governor had given her a preeminent position among the members of the MBA.