The Chosen

a byblow, probably one of Heinrich's.'

'Two?' John said, raising his eyebrows.

'Policy.'

Which was information, of a sort. The Chosen Council must be anticipating casualties. . and not just in the upcoming war with the Empire, either.

He didn't try to look out the windows as the wheels hammered over the cobblestones, then hummed on smoother main street pavement of asphalt or stone blocks. Gerta uncorked a silver flask. John took it and sipped: banana brandy, something he hadn't tasted in a long time.

'Danke,' he said. 'Anything you can tell me?'

'The colonel will brief you, Johnnie. Just. . be reasonable, eh?'

'Reasonable depends on where you're sitting,' he said, returning the flask.

'No it doesn't. When someone else holds all the cards, reasonable is whatever they say it is.'

He looked at the pistol. She shook her head.

'Not just this. The Chosen hold all the cards on Visager; it'd be smart to keep that in mind.'

He was almost relieved when they pulled into a side entrance to the Chosen embassy compound. The Wilkens was as inconspicuous as a steamcar in Ciano could be-powered vehicles weren't all that common here, even now-and the rear windows were tinted. The embassy itself was fairly large, a severe block of dark granite from the outside, the only ornamentation a gilded-bronze sunburst above the ironwork gates. The area within was larger than the Santander legation, mainly because all the Land's diplomatic personnel lived on the delegation's own extraterritorial ground. It might have been something out of Copernik or Oathtaking inside, boxlike buildings with tall windows and smooth columns, low-relief caryatids beside the doors. Fires were burning in iron drums in the open spaces between, while clerks dumped in more documents and stirred the ashes with pokers and broomsticks.

Christ, he thought. The sight hit him in the belly like a fist, more than the danger to himself had. War was close if the embassy was torching their classified papers.

He was hustled through a doorway, down corridors, finally into a windowless room with a single overhead light. It shone into his eyes as he sat in the steel-frame chair beneath it, obscuring the two figures at a table in front of him. One of them spoke in Landisch:

'Let's dispose with the tricks, shall we, Colonel?' Gerta said. 'This isn't an interrogation.'

The overhead light dimmed. He blinked and looked at the two Chosen officers. Both women-nothing unusual with that, in the Land's forces-in gray Army uniforms. Intelligence Section badges. A middle-aged colonel with gray in her blond brushcut and a face like a starved hound.

'Johan Hosten,' the senior officer said. 'We have arranged to speak with you on a matter of some importance.'

John nodded. He could guess what was coming.

'The Land of the Chosen has need of your services, Johan Hosten.'

'The Land of the Chosen rejected me rather thoroughly when I was twelve,' he pointed out. 'I'm a citizen of the Republic of Santander.'

'The Republic is a democracy with universal suffrage,' the colonel said. 'Hence, weak and corrupt, with no real claim on your allegiance.' She spoke in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, as if commenting on the law of gravity. 'Your father is second assistant of the general staff of the Land and a member of the Council. The implications are, I think, plain.'

They certainly were. 'I'm not Chosen and not qualified to be so,' he said. Think, think. If he rolled over too quickly, they'd be suspicious.

'The regulations governing admittance have been waived or modified before,' the intelligence officer said. 'I am authorized to inform you that they will be again, in your case. Full Chosen status, and appropriate rank.'

'You want me to defect?' he said slowly.

'Of course not. You will remain as an agent in place within the Santander intelligence apparat-of course, we know that your diplomatic status is a cover-and provide us with information, and your nominal superiors with disinformation which will be furnished. We can feed you genuine data of sufficient importance so that you will rise rapidly in rank. At the appropriate moment, we will bring you in from the cold.'

She nodded towards Gerta. Ah. They sent Gerta along as an earnest of good faith. The offer probably was genuine. And to the Chosen's way of looking at it, perfectly natural. Perhaps if he'd never been contacted by Center, it might even have been tempting.

There were times he woke up at night sweating, from dreams of the man he might have become in the Land.

'Let me think,' he said.

'Agreed. But not for long.'

He dropped his head into his hands. Jeff, you following this?

You bet, brother. You going to ask them for something in writing?

Out of character, he answered. A Chosen officer's word is supposed to be good. I don't have much time.

Although surely they knew that he knew he'd never leave the room alive if he refused. The embassy could be relied upon to have a way of disposing of bodies.

He raised his head again. No problem in showing a little worry, and he could smell his own sweat, heavy with the peculiar rankness of stress.

'I'm engaged to be married to an Imperial,' he said.

The colonel shrugged. 'Marriage is out of the question, of course, but after the conquest, you can have your pick for pleasure. Take the bitch as you please, or a dozen others.'

Gerta winced and touched her superior on the sleeve, whispering in her ear.

John shook his head. 'Anything that applies to me, applies to Pia. Or no deal.'

The colonel's eyes narrowed. 'You have already been offered more than is customary,' she warned.

'No. Pia, or nothing.'

Gerta touched the colonel's sleeve again. 'We should discuss this, sir,' she said.

'Agreed. Hosten, retire to the end of the room, please.'

He obeyed, facing away from the table. The two Chosen leaned together, speaking in whispers. Far too softly for anyone to overhear. . anyone without Center's processing power, that was. The computer was limited to the input of John's senses, but it could do far more with them than his unaided brain.

'What do you make of it, captain?' the colonel asked.

'I'm not sure, sir. If he'd agreed without insisting on the woman, I'd have said we should kill him immediately-that would be an obvious fake. The woman. . that makes it possible he's sincere. . but he'd also know that I know him well.'

Thanks a lot, Gerta.

'As it is, I still suspect he's lying. Immediate termination would be the low-risk option here.'

'I was under the impression that you thought highly of this Johan Hosten.'

'I do. Heinrich and I named a son after him. I respect his courage and intelligence; which is why he's too dangerous to live unless he's on our side.'

'He seems inclined to agree to the proposition.'

'He'd have to anyway, wouldn't he?'

'What evidence do you have to suppose he lies?'

'Gestalt. I lived with him until he was twelve and we've corresponded since. He's committed to the Republic, absurd though that may sound. He believes. And John Hosten would never betray a cause in which he believed.'

A long silence. 'As you say, the Republic's ideology is absurd-and he is, from the records, not a stupid or irrational man. Termination is always an option, but it is irrevocable once exercised. We will test him; his position is potentially a priceless asset. And we are offering him the ultimate reward, after all.'

'Colonel, please record my objection and recommendation.'

'Captain, this is noted.' Aloud: 'Johan Hosten, attend.'

When he was standing beside the chair, she continued: 'We will concede this woman Probationer-Emeritus status.'

Second-class citizenship, but if married to one of the Chosen her children would be automatically entitled to