The ethos effect, p.10
The Ethos Effect, page 10
Then, there was Cruachan himself. Everyone had thought him honorable and intelligent. He had worked well with Petrov, but he had not liked Colonel Marti. Yet Marti had been complimentary about the commander. Marti had also provided more insight in some areas than had all the RSF and Republic briefing documents. Add to that an unstable Scandyan political situation, so unstable that there were regular protests in front of the Parliament building. Finally, most important personally, someone seemed to have taken a dislike to Van.
Since his thoughts weren’t providing much in the way of insight, Van used his implant to route his inquiry to the local constabulary, calling up a holo image before him. “Constable Ebbers.”
“Constable, this is Commander Albert from the Taran embassy. Yesterday, you may recall, I was attacked by three men...”
“Yes, ser.”
“Constable, have you found out anything from those young fellows who attacked me?”
The Scandyan officer’s face blanked for a moment. “I regret... No... we have not.”
“Are they still in custody?”
“Just a moment, ser.”
Van found himself looking at a blank projection screen for several minutes, until the image of an older officer appeared. “Commander Albert?”
“Yes? I was just asking if you had found out anything—”
“We did find out one thing, ser.”
“Yes?” Van didn’t like the officer’s tone, as if the man were probing. “Could you tell me what that might be—if it’s possible?”
“We aren’t likely to get much information from them.”
“Why not?”
“All three died last night.”
“What?” Van certainly hadn’t expected that. “In custody? They weren’t that badly hurt.”
“No, ser. You aren’t leaving Gotland anytime soon, are you?”
“I just was posted here.”
“We’ll be sending someone out to see you, probably on oneday. That’s all I can say, ser.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes, ser. We’ll be in touch.”
Van was looking at a blank screen once more. He collapsed it looking out the window, but scarcely seeing the puffy white clouds over the hills to the northwest. Finally, he triggered his implant. Even through the embassy netsystem, even though he’d reserved the embassy groundcar the day before, it took almost half an hour to go through the forms required to check out the car for the day. He walked down to the vehicle area, and it took another quarter hour to locate the white groundcar and get the duty supervisor to release it.
Emily Clifton was waiting by the main entrance, even though he was ten minutes early. She wore a turquoise green blouse and matching trousers, with a small black belt pack on her left side. Her short blonde hair was swept back above her ears.
“You really want to get away from the embassy, don’t you?” he asked, as she slid into the passenger side of the front seat.
“Just be careful, Commander... or I’ll sit in the back and make you into a hired driver.”
“Bad morning?”
“Bad evening. I spent three hours with Madame Rogh going over the protocol and arrangements for her independence week luncheon.”
“I’ve never met the lady, but the subject sounds hard on everyone.” Van eased the groundcar out through the embassy gate, past the duty Marine, and onto Knutt Boulevard.
“It is. It was so much easier when Mary Gonne was ambassador. Her partner was much more easygoing. Of course, the fact that her partner was female made the Revenants extraordinarily uncomfortable.” Emily’s laugh was almost a giggle of joy.
“I can imagine,” Van said dryly.
“You don’t approve?”
Van laughed. “I had two fathers.”
“You?” After a moment, she added, “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Mostly. My mother lived next door with her partner. But she was killed in a climbing accident after I joined the RSF. Her partner moved, didn’t want to stay in the house.”
“I never would have guessed...” Emily shook her head. “And you?” She added quickly. “I’m sorry. That’s terribly rude. You certainly don’t—”
Van brushed off her demurral. “That’s all right. Although my fathers hoped, they never pressed, and, no, I don’t take after them that way. I only hope I do in others, though.”
Emily didn’t say anything, but nodded encouragingly.
“Dad Cicero is one of the most honest men I know. He’s also an exceedingly good advocate. Dad Almaviva is a singer... he can sing anything, and he’s the head of the opera company associated with Sulyn University.”
“They must be something.”
“Why do you say that?” Van asked.
“They let you do what you wanted, not what they wanted.”
“They did. There were a few cautions and hard questions. They pointed out that most of the Republic was far more conventional than Sulyn, and not terribly supportive of officers from a heritage of single-sex partners and darker skins, but, in the end, they let me chart my own course. Both of them still send me cubes, especially when they’re worried about me.”
“I can’t say I hear from my family that much, not anymore.”
“Oh?” Van didn’t know what else to say.
“I left home early. Was an RSF tech for one tour. Liked the ships, but not... that doesn’t matter. Got out and made my way through the university. My mother was killed in a flitter crash ten years ago, and my father had left years before. The only thing he left me, my mother said, was my middle name. Sometimes I hear from my brothers, but not often.”
“That could be hard. I know I still have my family.” Van paused. “Your middle name?”
“Senta, from some ancient opera. He said that there weren’t enough good women in the Galaxy, but he never explained it. I finally looked it up, almost decided to have it changed, but then what would I have?”
Van nodded sympathetically.
“You know?”
“Yes. Der Fliegende Hollander. Dad Almaviva sang the captain’s role.” Van wanted to say something about how her middle name fit, because she did seem the good and faithful type, never fully understood ... but he scarcely knew her.
After a silence, Emily asked, cheerfully, “I should have asked earlier, but... do you know where we’re going?”
“I did check the maps and directions. We’re taking Knutt Boulevard north to the west guideway, and follow that to the Ridgeline Road exit. Then we go north for two klicks until we see the signs.”
The sign was so small Van almost missed it—-just a golden oak oblong affixed to a wooden post with darker letters reading cliff spire carved into the wood. An arrow pointed down the lane barely wide enough for two groundcars to pass. The paving was ancient synthstone, flanked by a pfitzer hedge higher than the roof of the groundcar.
slightly more than a half klick northward, the lane turned east, and then, twenty yards later, the hedge and lane both ended. On the right was a carpark, with space for a good thirty vehicles. There were but three there.
“It’s not exactly thronged,” observed Emily.
“No.” Van eased the embassy vehicle into one of the empty spaces, then got out and stretched. The hillside air was cooler, fresher, and the breeze was welcome.
To the north stood the former governor’s mansion, a single-story structure of a dark green stone that seemed to blend into the walled terraces—also constructed of the same green stone—that rose up the hillside to meet it.
“Look,” Emily said.
Van turned. He hadn’t really been looking, but Cliff Spire had not been a fanciful name. The grounds to the east, overlooking the northern part of Valborg and the bay and ocean beyond, were literally peninsula-like—a good fifteen hectares of low gardens and flowers. The ground was flat, as if it had been cut out of the hillside. The gardens were in flower, and each section seemed to carry out a different color scheme. For a time, Van just stood at the beginning of the gray flagstone path that wound along the gardens on the southern side of the estate.
Emily stepped up beside him. “If this is what he created...”
“It’s a spectacular view and setting.”
They walked slowly along the path, stopping at the first flower bed. The borders were sculpted in scalloped curves, the curves outlined by a pale green permanite edging. Just inside the edging was a border of a low ground cover with pale blue flowers, each not much bigger than the tip of a stylus, but there were thousands, tiny blue starbursts against the dark bluish green leaves. Behind the ground cover were bushes roughly thirty centimeters high. Each bush had been grown and trimmed into the shape of a seven-pointed star.
Van counted several to make sure. All had seven points. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a seven-pointed star before. He looked to Emily. “Have you ever seen a seven-pointed star before?”
“Seven-pointed star?”
“The bushes.” He pointed, then watched as she counted.
“You’re right. Seven points. I haven’t seen that before.”
Van took another deep breath, taking in the perfume of the flowers, a mixture of scents that seemed to change with the light swirling breeze. One moment the odor was predominantly cinnamon mint the next a lavender rose, and then a pungent marigold-like musk.
“Was that obvious to you?” she asked, as they walked through the cool midmorning hill breeze to the second flower bed along the flagstone path.
“The star pattern? It stood out”
Emily nodded.
They stopped before the second assemblage of plants and flowers—clearly based on pinks, but the shapes, to Van, at least were ovals that looked most like spiral galaxies. He did not say so, and they moved to the next flower bed.
It took more than two hours, even for a cursory look at the flower beds, the turf maze, and the topiary arrangements in the gardens, before they climbed the wide green stone staircase that ran up the center of the terraces and reached the covered veranda—and a guide who stood there.
“The governor often sat here after his evening meal,” offered the young man, who wore a uniform with which Van was unfamiliar. “He built Cliff Spire with his own funds. That was why he could place it so far from the colonial assembly building. He’d planned to retire here, after his diplomatic service.”
“Did he have any family?” asked Emily.
“He had both a daughter and a son. After his death, the daughter emigrated to Perdya—”
“She went Eco-Tech?”
“That’s right. His son was already in the Argenti space forces, and he never returned to Gotland. His wife lived here another thirty years, then gifted Cliff Spire to the Spire Foundation and left Gotland.”
“How sad,” murmured Emily.
Van agreed, but didn’t say so.
“You can get the best idea of what Cliff Spire is like if you go to the left after you enter,” the young guide continued, “and move from the front sitting room to the formal dining area, and then along the front rooms. Just make a long oval, and you’ll end up in the study on the right side of the foyer.”
“Thank you.”
The front sitting room appeared strangely modern, with a long couch, flanked by two dark wood end tables, facing the east windows. The only object obviously from the past was in the northeast corner of the sitting room—a concert-sized acoustical piano, cordoned off with green velvet ropes.
From the sitting room they entered the formal dining room, twenty-five meters long and ten in width, with a polished cherrywood table that stretched fifteen meters. Van counted fifteen matching chairs on each side, and two at the end, but another eight were set around the room, flanking the china cabinets and the two sideboards. The table was set as if for a formal dinner.
“Madame Rogh would love this,” said Emily quietly.
“I’m sure.”
From there they followed the hallway to the pantries, the kitchen, and the staff wing. It took another hour before they reached the last room of their tour—the study opposite the foyer where they had entered. A table desk faced the wide windows. The entire wall behind the desk was composed of built-in wooden bookcases, and every shelf was filled with the antique books. A book lay open on the desk.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many books in one place, not even in the museum in New Oisin,” murmured Emily.
“It is a museum, and it looks as though they’ve re-created the way it was just before Byrnedot was killed.”
“That’s right. It’s just as he left it when he went down to speak to the assembly,” offered the guide from the doorway into the foyer. “His wife closed the room and never disturbed a thing.” He turned away to greet another group that had entered the mansion from the front veranda. “You can get the best idea of what Cliff Spire is like if...”
Van walked over behind the desk, leaning forward over the velvet ropes, and straining to see the last entries in what had to be a diary or journal.
... 15 Sextus... there is nothing to be done, but to try once more to persuade them to look to the future, and not to the past. We must all live in the same Galaxy, no matter what our background and what our appearance. In the end, none will rule over those who do not wish it so. I have tried to make Gotland a world where there is less oppression and more justice than anywhere in the Argenti sphere ... and my success may be my undoing. We shall see.
The writing ended.
Van straightened, nodding to himself. He could see how what Byrnedot had written could have been interpreted to favor the cause of Scandyan secession, but, based on what Colonel Marti had said, the alternative made even more sense. Once more he was reminded how people saw what they wished to see.
Was he seeing what he wished to see? He didn’t think so, because he really didn’t have a bias about the past history of Gotland. His bias was just trying to make sense out of it all, but then, maybe that was an even greater prejudice than ideology.
“What are you thinking?” Emily’s voice was quiet “About history. About how even the best and most able have difficulty in combating shortsightedness and greed... and how it never changes.”
“That’s... depressing.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll have to make it up to you somehow.”
“That’s a proposition. Is it decent or indecent?”
“It has to be decent,” Van replied, as they stepped back into the entry foyer, momentarily empty. “We don’t know each other well enough for it to be otherwise.”
That brought a smile to Emily’s eyes and mouth.
They began to walk down the green stone staircase toward the lower level path that would take them back to the carpark.
“What now, Commander?”
“A good meal. Do you have any suggestions?”
“One or two.” A twinkle flashed in her gray eyes.
Van laughed. “I’ll drive. You navigate.”
“I’ll accept that bargain.”
For the first time in days, Van was enjoying himself.
Chapter 16
On oneday, after a thankfully quiet eightday, not much past midmorning, Van found himself with two Scandyan constables in his embassy office—Constable Lieutenant Rolfes and Constable Sergeant Bentssen. Technically, Van could have refused to have met with them, especially since he’d been the assaulted party, and diplomatic precedent was more than clear on the right of a diplomat to self-defense, a precedent hammered out over millennia of bad examples.
After almost an hour of questions from the lieutenant, Van was beginning to believe he should have refused to meet with the pair.
“... and you cannot think of any reason why these men of good background would have decided to behave as they did?” Rolfes asked.
“I haven’t the faintest idea. I’d never met any of them. I’ve only been in Valborg for two weeks, and most of that time has been spent here at the embassy trying to catch up on what wasn’t done after my predecessor’s death. I was wondering... have you discovered anything new about the three?”
“So far there’s been little progress on that front,” Rolfes replied. “Now... about the third man... was it necessary to use the degree of force you employed on the third man?”
“I think I’ve answered that question about three times, Lieutenant,” Van replied tiredly. “I was unarmed. They all had weapons. I was just trying to survive. I did not use lethal force.” He paused, and then added, “It took your incarceration to kill them. I certainly had nothing to do with that. What I wanted to know, and what I still want to know, is any information about why those three had set up an attack on me. I’ve also asked that question at least three times, and you, unlike me, have given no information at all.”
“We really don’t know, ser,” Rolfes replied politely.
“I think that translates into something along the tines of your having some information, not knowing what it means, and keeping it to yourselves until you can make sense of it.”
Rolfes stiffened.
“I’m a military man, Lieutenant. I’m not a diplomat. I’ve been patient. I’ve answered all your questions to the best of my ability. I’ve answered all of them at least twice, sometimes even four times. You’ve answered almost none of mine. I’d like to point out, once again, that I was the one attacked. You have witnesses to that. You even have some street surveillance images that bear that out. Yet you seem to be acting as if I were the guilty party, as if it were my fault that I was attacked.”
“Ser... I don’t believe—”
“It’s not what you said, Lieutenant It’s the way you’ve proceeded. Might it just possibly be because my skin is a few shades more to the bronze? Or is it because the Taran Republic cannot bring as many cruisers into your section of the Arm?” Van could see the lieutenant begin to flush, and he laughed. “You see. You’re getting upset because I even suggested you’re proceeding in a biased fashion. Think about how I feel...”
