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'Council has been informed by a number of BMs' syndics that they're concerned
about your activities.'
'You mean, they think we might try to bring more corpsicles up from Earth?'
'Yes,' she said, nodding once, firmly. 'That will not be allowed, if I have
anything to do with it. Now, please explain what you plan to do with these
heads.'
I was aghast. 'Excuse me? That's-'
'It's not confidential at all, Mickey. You've agreed to come here to speak
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with me. A great many BMs are awaiting my report on what you say.'
'That isn't what I understood, Fiona. I tried to keep my voice calm. 'I'm not
here testifying under oath, and I don't have to reveal family business plans
to any council member, even the president.' I settled more firmly into my
seat, trying to exude the confidence I had already scattered to the winds.
Her face hardened. 'It would be simple courtesy to your fellow BMs to explain
what you intend to do, Mickey.'
I hoped to give her a tidbit sufficient to put her off. 'The heads are being
preserved in the Ice Pit, in the void where my brother does his work.'
'Your brother-in-law, you mean.'
'Yes. He's family now. We dispense with such modifiers.' Ken talking with
outsiders,' I might have added.
She smiled, but her expression was still hard. 'William Pierce. He's doing BM-
funded research on extremely low temperatures in copper, no?'
I nodded.
'Has he been successful?'
'Not yet,' I said.
'It's simple coincidence that his facilities are capable of preserving the
heads?'
'I suppose so, yes. However, my sister probably would not have brought them to
the Moon otherwise. But I think of it more as opportunity than coincidence.'
Fiona instructed the screens to bring up displays of lunar binding multiples
who were pushing for an investigation of the Sandoval corpsicle imports. They
were platinum names indeed: the top four BMs, except for Sandoval, and fifteen
others, spaced around the Moon, including Nernst and Cailetet. 'Incidentally,'
she said, 'You know about the furore on Earth.' 'I've heard,' I said.
'Did you know there's a ruckus starting on Mars now?' I did not.
'They want Earth's dead kept on Earth,' the president said. 'They think it's
bad precedent to export corpsicles and make the outer planets responsible for
the inner's problems. They think the Moon must be siding with Earth in some
fashion to get rid of this problem.'
'It's not a problem,' I said, exasperated. Nobody on Earth has made a fuss
about this in decades.'
'So what's causing the fuss now?' she asked.
I tried to think my way through to a civil answer. 'We think Task-Felder is
behind it,' I said.
'You accuse me of carrying my BM's interests into the council with me, despite
my oath of office?'
'I'm not accusing anybody of anything,' I said. 'We have evidence that the
representative, the ... the ... United States national assembly representative
from Puerto Rico-' 'Congressional representative,' she corrected.
'Yes ... You know about that?'
'He's a Logologist. So is most of Puerto Rico. Are you accusing members of my
religion of instigating this?' She spoke with such complete shock and
indignation that I thought for a moment, Could we be wrong? Were our facts
misleading, poorly analysed? Then I remembered Janis Granger and her tactics
in our first interview. Fiona Task-Felder was no more gentle, no more polite.
I was here at her invitation to be raked over the coals.
'Excuse me, Madam President,' I said. 'I'd like for you to get to your point.'
'The point is, Mickey, that you've agreed by coming here to testify before the
full council and explain your actions, your intentions, everything about this
mess, at the next meeting, which will be in three days.'
I smiled and shook my head, then brought up my slate. 'Auto counsellor,' I
said.
Her smile grew harder, her blue eyes more intense.
'Is this some new law you've cooked up for the occasion?' I asked, trying for
a tough and sophisticated manner.
'Not at all,' she said with an air of closing claws on the kill. 'You may
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think what you wish about Task-Felder BM, or about Logologists - about my
people - but we do not play outside the rules. Ask your auto counsellor about
courtesy briefings and formal council meetings. This is a courtesy briefing,
Mickey, and I've logged it as such.'
My auto counsellor found the relevant council rules on courtesy briefings, and
the particular rule passed thirty years before, by the council, that mandated
the council's right to hear just what the president heard, as testimony, under
oath. A strange and parochial law, so seldom invoked that I had never heard of
it. Until now.
'I'm ending this discussion,' I said, standing.
'Tell Thomas Sandoval-Rice that you and he should be at the next full council
meeting. Under council agreements, you don't have any choice, Mickey.'
She did not smile. I left the office, walked quickly down the hall, avoided
looking at anyone, especially the young women still moving files.
'She's snared her rabbit,' Thomas said as he poured me a beer.
He had been unusually quiet all evening, since I had announced myself at his
door and made my anguished confession of gross ineptitude. Far worse than
being blasted by his rage was facing his quiet disappointment. 'Don't blame
yourself entirely, Micko.' He seemed somehow deflated, withdrawn, like an
aquarium anemone touched by an uncaring finger. 'I should have guessed they'd
try something like this.'
'I feel like an idiot.'
'That's the third time you've said that in the past ten minutes,' Thomas said.
'You have been an idiot, of course, but don't let that get you down.'
I shook my head; I was already down about as far as it was possible to fall.
Thomas lifted his beer, inspected the large bubbles, and said, 'If we don't
testify, we're in much worse trouble. It will look as if we're ignoring the
wishes of our fellow BMs, as if we've gone renegade. If we do testify, we'll
have been manoeuvred into breaking the BMs' sacred right to keep business and
research matters private ... and that will make us look like weaklings and
fools. She's pushed us into a deep rille, Mickey. If you had refused to go in,
and had claimed family privilege, she'd have tried something else ...
'At least now we can be sure what we're in store for. Isolation,
recrimination, probable withdrawal of contracts, maybe even boycott of
services. That's never happened before, Micko. We're going to make history
this week, no doubt about it.'
'Is there anything I can do?'
Thomas finished his glass and wiped his lips. 'Another?' he asked, gesturing
at the keg. I shook my head. 'No. Me neither. We need clear heads, Micko, and
we need a full family meeting. We're going to have to build internal
solidarity here; this has gone way beyond what the director and all the
syndics can handle by themselves.'
I flew back from Port Yin, head cloudy with anguish. It seemed somehow I had
been responsible for all of this. Thomas did not say as much, not this time;
but he had hinted it before. I halfway hoped the shuffle would smear itself
across the regolith; that the pilot would survive and I would not. Then,
anguish began to be replaced by a grim and determined anger. I had been
twisted around by experts; used by those who had no qualms about use and
abuse. I had seen the enemy and underestimated the strength of their resolve,
whatever their motivations, whatever their goals. These people were not
following the lunar way; they were playing us all - all of the BMs, me, Rho,
the Triple, the Western Hemispheric United States, the corpsicles - like fish
on a fine, single-mindedly dedicated to one end.
The heads were just an excuse. They had no real importance; that much was
obvious. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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