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viewer and sign, and the others followed. Each member of the conspiracy
received one card, signed by all members.
And a technician found it.
The retrieval was spotty, broken by intermittent images of a smiling older
couple someone's parents, possibly, interminably walking past some
nondescript scenery. A homevid?
But it was still there:
WE, THE& PRIVY COUNCIL, AFTER DUE CONSIDER& COME TO THE&
CONCLUSION& ETERNAL EMPEROR& INCREASINGLY AND
DANGEROUSLY UNSTABLE& DETERMINED TO& FOLLOWING&
TRADITION& STANDING& AGAINST TYRANTS& HISTORICAL RIGHT&
REMOVAL& AND HEREBY AUTHORIZE& MOST EXTREME MEASURES&
DESTRUCTION& TYRANNICIDE& TO ENSURE FREEDOM&
The document may have been broken, but it was quite obvious. And
absolutely untouched at the bottom were the personal marks, the
"signatures": Kyes. The Kraas. Tanz Sullamora. Lovett. Malperin.
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r r
"I'll probably be able to restore more, sir. There's still some ghosts I haven't
ID'd and pulled off the hardware."
Sten was quite happy.
It may have been missing some nonvital screws and springs, but Mahoney
and the Tribunal had the smoking gun.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
S
ten wanted a little R&R. Badly. He knew he had reason enough to feel brain-,
body- and nerve-damaged, but guilt kept whispering in his ear. He ought to be
sitting in the back of the courtroom, listening to the careful work of the
Tribunal as it moved toward its conclusion.
This was a moment in history. What would he tell his grandchildren? "Yeah, I
was around. But was off gettin' drunk and tryin' to get laid, so I can't tell you a
whole lot."
Kilgour seized the logical high ground. "Clot th' gran-babes y' nae hae, an'
likely ne'er sire. Gie y'self off. Thae'll be bloody work't'come. Gore aye up't'
our stockin' tops."
Mahoney backed him, telling Sten that he did not think there was any
likelihood that the Tribunal would want any evidence submitted of the blown
murder run on Earth. "Still, Admiral. I'd prefer you were out of town if they
start callin' witnesses. Get going. Enjoy yourself. I'll send if I need you.
"Which will be soon. Not surprisingly, the privy council is planning a
response. With moils and toils, they've put together a fleet of their bullyboys.
Most loyal, most dedicated, and all that drakh. Translation those who got
their fingers the dirtiest proving their loyalty during the purge.
"When they arrive, we should have a proper welcome. Otho's shaking out a
strike element from his ships. He thinks nothing could be finer than to put
you on the bridge." Mahoney laughed. "See how fascinatin' a career in the
military is? One day a police spy, the next an admiral again."
Sten kept to himself his feelings about the military in any configuration,
retired to his quarters, and thought about his vacation. Go to some tourist
town and troll for company? No, he thought not. Not that he was suffering the
pangs of lost love at least he didn't think so. But no, it didn't feel right.
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Cities? Not that, either. He had heard the yammer of the ugly throngs on
Prime, and right now any city reminded him of that.
Stop brooding. Hit the fiche. You'll find something that jumps out at you.
He did.
Rock climbing the hard way.
It was possible to climb anything using artificial aids-climbing thread, piton
guns, chocks, jumars. So, of course, the "pure" climbers revolted and climbed
with no aids whatsoever.
Sten thought that could be mildly suicidal. He was not that depressed. But
there was a bit of appealing madness there.
He picked a climb a vertical needle deep in one of Newton's wilderness
areas and equipped himself with a minor climbing outfit that included
enough artificial aids to be able to belay himself as he climbed. He bought a
tent and supplies and cursed when he realized he would have to carry a com
and a miniwillygun. Most Wanted, remember, boy.
He found Alex and told him he was off. Kilgour, far, far too busy minding
security on the Tribunal, barely had time for a farewell grunt and an arm
around the shoulders.
Sten found his rented gravcar and something else. He had forgotten that the
word "solitary" was banned, at least until the present emergency was over
and the council safely in their graves or prison cells. Waiting was his seven-
Bhor-strong bodyguard and Cind, equipped similarly to Sten. He thought of
protesting, but realized he would lose. If not to them then to Kilgour or
Mahoney. It was not worth the battle.
But he issued strict orders.
They were to pitch camp separately from his, at least a quarter klick away. He
didn't want their company sorry to be rude and he certainly did not want
them on the rock with him.
"I don't think the council's assassins if they have any tailing me, which I
don't believe will go boulder-swarming to make the touch."
The Bhor agreed. Cind just nodded.
"Easy order to follow, Admiral," one Bhor rumbled. "The only record my race
has of climbing is when we were chased by streggan."
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r r
So Sten's R&R began on a somewhat less than idyllic note. That slightly off-
key note continued to sound. The pinnacle was everything it had looked on
the vid, punching straight up for almost a thousand meters through the low
clouds. It was at the end of a small, rising alpine meadow with its own spring
and bone-breakingly cold pond. The meadow was surrounded by the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]