Jordan Yule
"Denied," Narroh said simply, his plain tone at odds with his scarcely veiled smile. Narroh knew that Yule's matter was urgent, he knew that it would, under normal circumstances, have had the immediate backing of the Virgin World's council, but these were not ordinary circumstances. With the gate still inoperable, Narroh was, for the first time, in complete control of his own domain. Suddenly being free of the yoke the Technocracy had placed on him to mitigate his incompetence had turned his former attitude of sullen obedience into something far less tractable. Yule hated him for it.
"Councilor," Jordan began with a polite veneer, "I must… ask you to reconsider. I am one man, in charge of one ship. I need additional resources if the incident on Mahdavi is going to be contained. We cannot allow this insurrection to spread any further than has already been allowed. Every moment I maintain this link is one that I am not rooting out an infection in our society. As a servant of the people, I request your assistance." The words were bitter in Yule's mouth, but protocol was clear. Narroh was, for the moment, his superior. The councilor was a petty fool, but pettiness was not yet punishable by an arbiter in the field. Unfortunately.
Narroh stroked his beard and pretended to consider the request, preening under his own importance. He was a large man, sculpted medically into the image of all that he could have been, yet he never quite appeared to fill his form. His face, shaped to be distinguished and proud, seemed perpetually juvenile despite the wings of gray at his temples. His body was strong and fit, but his skin had the looseness of one too many refittings, and he never moved as if he even knew how to use the body he had paid to have created. Even now, gloating in his power, perhaps especially now, he reminded Yule of an unwanted step-child. He was too connected to do away with, too useless to give any power to, and just smart enough to realize both. "Arbiter," Narroh began, conspicuously ignoring the rest of Yule's title, "I simply cannot spare the resources in this time of crisis. The gate is disabled, and we cannot afford to spread our resources hunting dissidents through the woods. If, and I do stress if, some of them actually survive in the wilderness, they will be apprehended and arrested as soon as they enter a settlement. They are not a threat, arbiter, and while I can appreciate your zeal, I cannot condone it. Your request is denied."
Jordan smiled grimly. Narroh could turn down a request, but being the Grand Arbiter of the Technocracy gave him other options. "I'm sorry councilor, but you leave me no other choice. This is more necessary than you know, and as Grand Arbiter of the Technocracy of the Virgin World, I am taking the resources I requested. I will notify the Council as soon as is possible, and they can review my decisions and act accordingly, but as of this moment I am commanding you to release the ships, the men to crew them, and the supplies to stock them." Jordan bowed his head to Narroh in a parody of respect. "I trust you will see to that. If you will not, then you will have violated an emergency order, and I will have you charged, imprisoned, and replaced."
Narroh stopped even trying to hide his smile. "The answer is no, arbiter. You are under investigation, and, in the absence of the greater council, an emergency body was convened. While your official judgement will have to wait until we can reestablish contact, we did find it within the law to temporarily suspend your status as head of the Security forces. And," Narroh added in a deliberately off-hand way, "with the lack of any other qualified individual, I myself have assumed that roll. With that in mind, arbiter, here are your orders: bring yourself and your ship back to me without delay, then turn yourself over to the authorities."
Training kept Jordan's icy smile in place. "Charges of that magnitude against a high official must have clear and reasonable grounds, councilor. I have the right to know what they are."
"You did, by your own report, destroy an research and deviant containment facility on Mahdavi. This was, of course, not enough to convince the emergency body, arbiters in the field must make hard decisions, but it was enough to cast doubt. Then, when you refused to tell me why you suddenly needed more ships than have been needed in one place since the last war, that cast further doubt. Enough so that one of the governors on the emergency body suggested that we take a conditional approach. If you attempted to use your special privileges to countermand the reasonable orders of a senior official, such as myself, then we would have no choice but to detain you." Narroh's smile turned vicious. "I'm no puppet, Yule, not anymore. The copies of the official decisions as well as all of the minutes will be transferred to you. I trust you can read them and assure yourself of their validity. Obey."
The image of the councilor winked out, and Yule was left staring at the space his image had once occupied. Jordan had been surprised in his time as Grand Arbiter, but he'd made only two serious mistakes. This would be his third, and, worse, Yule was certain it shouldn't have happened. Narroh was a petty and vengeful man, but he neither had great care for the bylaws that allowed the formation of special bodies or courage enough to stand against Yule directly. Not until now. There were little things that Yule could still do, but they were rain in a firebombing. Technically the councilor hadn't ordered him to recall the men he'd already sent, and he'd only been ordered to return the ship and Yule himself… Small things, but the laws were clear, and an arbiter was the law. The law could not be exempt from itself.
A flicker from the holographics brought Jordan's attention back to the displays. Another man stood there now, his image colorless and picked out in varying shades of grey. Jordan's eyes narrowed. There were two reasons you reduced the amount of signal you were sent through a relay; you had a piece of first century low-tech, or you needed the rest of the data to run encryption. Considering how things had just gone, an encrypted message really couldn't worsen news. Yule punched up his own encryption. The figure smiled, obviously watching Yule's own holographic image fuzz and drain of color. The stranger was a tall man in his middle years, thin and angular, his entire body seeming somehow sharp. The low res image told little about him besides hinting that his hair was dark and his skin was fair. "Thank you, Grand Arbiter, for meeting with me. I am the Ambassador for Councilor Narroh, and I think we have something to discuss." The encryption band made the Ambassador's voice mechanical and disjointed, difficult to read any emotion into.
Ambassadors were a relic from the first years of the Technocracy, back in the day when they occasionally had to negotiate with the remnants of the sovereign powers. Now they served as glorified personal functionaries, or, for the more ruthless councilors, as personal assassins. Yule could believe either of the gaunt man. "Speak, and I'll tell you if there's something to discuss."
The Ambassador's expression quirked. "Of course, Grand Arbiter. I simply wanted to inform you of certain rebellious elements within the city. The route from the Councilor's quarters to the offices of supplication is particularly dangerous, and I do not know for how long it can be held in check. Councilor Narroh remains confident that the malcontents are being kept in check, but I fear that he doesn't take them seriously. I, in turn, fear for his safety. His loss would leave us without a councilor and send Eridani into a state of emergency. This, of course, is something that neither of us want."
For the first time since he'd gotten to this backwater, Yule didn't have to feign his cold smile. "I see. Thank you for bringing this information to me, Ambassador, I will use it as best I can to ensure the safety of us all. I will want to speak more with you when I arrive at the capital. I do not think we should speak more until then, but I would know your name, ambassador."
"Sizier, Grand Arbiter, my name is Myron Sizier." The Ambassador bowed once in respect, then cut his connection.
Yule stepped off his own projector, unconsciously rubbing his knuckles. He would still have to follow Narroh's orders, but, if Myron was anything close to competent, he wouldn't even actually have to see the councilor. A state of emergency would undoubtedly end with Myron 'temporarily' assuming the duties of the councilor, and Jordan would be forcibly reinstated in order to handle the threat. It was a decent power play for Myron. It also made it very clear who'd informed Narroh of the breach of integrity bylaw and given him enough of a spine to stand up to Yule. Myron would need a long talk about how the pecking order worked, but he had ingenuity and motivation. All in all, he'd probably make a better councilor than Narroh. The law was clear, and, technically, he was not actually required to persecute criminals. He was charged to preserve the greater good as he saw fit until otherwise informed by a superior member of the Technocracy.
Jordan turned away and went to prepare his last orders before departing, laughing softly to himself.
The greater good… The last joke that Yule found any pleasure in, dark as that pleasure was.
---
Dominique Wakeman Dominique rolled over in her sleep, tugging another layer of sheets over her body as she snuggled herself deeper down into a warm cocoon. She was warm, nothing hurt, and everything seemed sleepily perfect.
Something about that seemed vaguely wrong.
The thought perturbed her sleep, wriggling around in her head until it irritated her enough to make her open her eyes. It was dark in the room, and all Dominique could make out was an artistic pattern of very faintly luminescent blue swirls that decorated the ceiling. She didn’t recognize it them. In fact, she didn’t remember getting into bed. The last thing she remembered was…
Sleepy perfection flew out of Dominique’s mind as the memories of the recent past crashed back in. She sat up suddenly, realized she was naked, and pulled the sheets up to her chin. The blue swirls, responding to her upright posture, brightened considerably and changed to a warm white color.
Thankfully, the lights did not reveal Taric or an Immortal leering at her from beside the bed. Instead, they revealed a large and mostly empty room. The floor was softly carpeted, but, apart from the carpet, the only other feature of the room was a pair of couches angled around a small wood table. It made for an odd bedroom.
“Good day, Dominique Wakeman,” a disembodied feminine said suddenly.
Dominique cursed and twisted to look for the speaker, tangled her legs in the sheets, and fell out of bed.
“You have slept for 1.7 hours,” the voice continued pleasantly. “We hope you slept well. Lord Sizier wishes for you to be dressed and presentable as soon as possible. He has added a significant number of items to your wardrobe and to your armory.” There are three faint snicks as the voice speaks, and parts of the walls recess and slide away. “Lord Sizier asks to add a personal wish that you hurry,” the female voice adds apologetically. “He is waiting outside for you when you are ready. When you want me to retract the bed, please place your sheets on top of it and step away. Should you require anything else, my name is Emily.”
Dominique got up shakily when the voice stopped speaking, still clutching the sheets about herself. Three areas of the wall had changed. One is quite clearly a wardrobe, which, considering her current nudity, seemed like a good idea to Dom. The second area where the wall had disappeared seemed to be made up of column upon column of broad horizontal shelves. The last one was directly across from Dominique, and it was a small washroom. From where she stood, Dominique was able to quite clearly see herself in the cubby’s floor to ceiling mirror. She was conspicuously clean, which meant someone, or something, had bathed her. Her hair had been done and re-cut to fall evenly. With dawning horror, Dominique looked at her hand and found that, somehow, she’d had her nails done in her sleep. Taric had a great deal to answer for.
Dominique padded cautiously over to the wardrobe, rifling through it for something more decent to wear than a sheet. It was all very nice, and, surprisingly, it didn’t all scream soft-handed Technocrat. She grabbed a sturdy brown, black, and blue uniform with red trim on the neck and white trim across the right shoulder. Dom didn’t know what it meant, but it had the feel of rugged durability. She pulled it on as quickly as she could, simultaneously helped and hindered by the auto-fitting capabilities of the various garments.
On cue, Taric knocked on the door. “Are you dressed yet? I have my former CO to say goodbye to, a speech to give, and an empire to build. Some alacrity would be appreciated. Can I come in?”
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Topic: Deviation-22. The End of All Things. (Read 527636 times)