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“Your training goes well,” Sergio said. It wasn’t a question.
“You’ve seen our latest fitness reports?” asked Dale, almost anxiously. Austin looked at his brother from the corner of his eye, wondering what he might have been up to that would reflect poorly on his service record.
Sergio cleared his throat.
“It’s time for you to move out of the FCL and delve into other areas. By the way, Austin, your citizenship has come through.”
“Ahead of schedule?” This surprised him. His father was not one to cut corners when it came to family members. Any show of favoritism might cause unwanted disputes.
“You’ve earned it, son. It comes at a good time, too. You’ll have to spend a few weeks learning the ropes around the office. Citizenship frees you of security concerns that might otherwise arise.”
It took Austin a second to realize what his father had said.
“Both of us, sir? I knew Dale was being assigned to your staff, but I want to stay with the FCL,” Austin protested.
“You surprise me, Austin. Dale enjoys prancing about, showing off his medals to the girls. I didn’t think you were the same,” Sergio said, dismissing the protest.
“Sir,” Austin said, fumbling for the right words to convince his father. “The unrest is growing and Legate Tortorelli seems unwilling to deal with it. You need trained soldiers in your personal guard to—” He cut off his words when he saw the irritation he engendered.
“There’s more to life than being able to kill,” Sergio said. “Fighting never solved any problem better than diplomacy could. That’s why I’ve ordered the police not to use force against demonstrators unless their lives are in jeopardy. I’ve also advised the Legate to tread carefully. I had hoped your stint in the FCL would give you some perspective as to the way the citizens think about authority.”
“They see us as a Sword of Damocles dangling above their heads,” Dale said. “That’s the purpose of the military.”
“It is not!” snapped Sergio. “The Legate’s duty is to protect, not intimidate. The Governor’s duty is to make certain that disputes are taken care of before the Legate’s power is called upon. We must always seek peaceful solutions. It is far too easy to take a life and ever so hard to build one into a lifetime.”
“What steps are you taking to stop the rioting, sir?” asked Austin.
“Calvilena wants to declare martial law in some sections of Cingulum, but I refuse to authorize it. My capital city is not going to be a battleground. I’m doing all I can to ease fears about the HPG net going down, but we’ve lost a lot of jobs because of it. With off-world contracts being canceled, there has to be a cutback among the miners. It’s taking longer than I expected to spur economic growth in other directions, that’s all.”
Austin didn’t doubt that Legate Calvilena Tortorelli wanted martial law for the immense power it would give him. There had always been a give-and-take between the Governor and Legate on Mirach, but Tortorelli had never shown much backbone for a real confrontation. He had excelled in combat when it counted the most for his career. More than one officer in the FCL had said that Tortorelli had been appointed Legate because Prefect Radick saw only the few, rare successes.
Sergio pushed away from the desk and came around it.
“Come along,” he said. He opened the office doors. The FCL guards snapped to attention as he left.
“The conference room is ready for you, my lord,” the secretary said as Sergio passed his desk.
“Thank you, Gordon.” Sergio exited the bustling office, took a private branching corridor, and slowed only enough to allow the FCL guards to open the conference door for him and his sons. A huge oval polished wood table, high-backed chairs around it, dominated the tapestried room. At one end a larger, padded chair waited for the Governor. He settled into it, glanced at monitors set for his viewing, then took a deep breath before pressing a button in the tabletop.
Doors at the side of the conference room opposite where the Baron and his sons had entered swung wide.
“Come in,” Sergio boomed heartily, sounding like his old self. “So good of you to come, Legate Tortorelli. And you, too, Minister.”
Austin craned his neck about and saw the Legate strutting in, the Minister of Information beside him. Tortorelli was a shortish man gone to seed. His thick middle belied military training, although his uniform bobbed and danced with a dozen medals. Try as he might, Austin had never been able to identify more than three of them. He found it surprisingly easy to dismiss the Legate. While Tortorelli might be Prefect Radick’s appointee and able to speak with the full military backing of Prefecture IV, the fall of the HPG net had decreased that authority greatly, forcing Tortorelli to rely on his own meager abilities.
Despite Tortorelli’s presence, Austin’s eyes went immediately to the Minister of Information, Lady Elora Rimonova. She was not beautiful, and he wasn’t sure he would even call her attractive, but there was a quality about her that commanded attention. Whenever she walked into a crowded room, conversation died and all eyes followed her. She was tall, slender to the point of emaciation, with piercing emerald eyes in stark contrast to her bloodless alabaster skin and rust red hair. Elora always looked down her hawklike nose with an air of disdain, her razor-thin lips pulled back in a near sneer. But when she spoke, her voice rang with the power of the Lorelei.
Although he had been at conferences with her over the years, Austin wondered if he had ever really seen her before. Her imposing presence had always overwhelmed him, making him happy to scuttle away so she and his father could speak in private. This meeting struck him as different, as if his father wanted him to study her. An anomalous streak of white in Lady Elora’s hair just above her right ear seemed out of place, and the varied silver and gold rings on each of her long, bony fingers were even more at odds with the somewhat Spartan Mirach custom and culture. Fashion dictated no more than one or two rings, a practice dating back to the early days of Mirach, when precious metals were needed for more vital uses than personal adornment.
“Governor,” Lady Elora said in a voice both silken and seductive. “I am sorry to be so brusque, but if you want to issue a statement for the evening newscast, I must have it soon.”
“Yes, I know your schedule,” Sergio said, as if speaking to someone in another room, another dimension. “The newscast is more important than ever now that off-world information ca
“Thank you for understanding. If it weren’t for your official promises, unrest would be far worse among the populace.” The small sneer grew into what Elora must have considered an ingratiating smile.
Austin listened to official Ministry of Information broadcasts and wondered at the thin veil of truth covering what struck him as a deeper sedition. Lady Elora was entrusted with presenting the Governor’s position and headed the government-controlled news agency, but the slant sometimes strayed from what Austin considered the loyalty due his father.
The Minister never came out and said anything directly if she could scurry in the shadows weaving a web of fine words with ambiguous meaning.
Without asking permission, Elora sat in the chair nearest the door where she and the Legate had entered. Tortorelli flopped down next to her.
“My lord, have you given my recommendation further thought? If you have, we can make an official a
Austin and Dale exchanged glances. Calvilena Tortorelli’s fatuous grin suggested he believed his recommendation was something that would enhance the Legate’s power. Austin felt his stomach turning into a knot.