City on Fire

mercenary outfit that has a long record of service with a single member of the cabinet.” His hand tips his cigaret, slightly, in Constantine’s direction.

“I do not question my colleague’s loyalty to the triumvirate,” Radeen adds, again with a tip toward Constantine, “or that of the soldiers in question. But I do question appearances, and it concerns me how the morale of the army will be affected.”

“I should think,” Hilthi says, looking up from his notebook, “that our regard for the army should be apparent in our decision to double its size and to promote large numbers of officers. Did that not have a beneficial effect on morale?”

“Naturally,” Radeen says. “The officers were much gratified at the signs that the previous policy of neglect was being reversed.”

“Good,” Hilthi says. “I’m happy to hear that our budgetary excess had some good effect. Because if spending all that money didn’t work, we could reduce the army to its original size.”

Radeen reacts to this with a thin smile, as if he’s decided to treat Hilthi’s remark as a joke.

Drumbeth turns to Radeen. “We are satisfied with the performance both of the regular army and our hired troops,” he says. “While the armed forces are rebuilding, the security of the government is best guaranteed by a highly trained, professional unit such as that commanded by Colonel Geymard.”

Radeen decides, Aiah concludes, upon a tactical readjustment. “I spoke to appearances only,” he says. “The appearance of Geymard’s men is not good; nor is the appearance of mercenaries battering down the doors of our citizens.”

“We do not intend for this situation to last indefinitely,” Hilthi says. He looks to the other triumvirs for agreement. “After the state of emergency is over, and Caraqui returns to normal, we anticipate that the use of mercenaries will be scaled back.”

“There is no reason,” says Gentri, “not to scale them back now. My plasm squads —”

Constantine looks at Gentri, a little smile curling his lips, eyes alight with the anticipated sparring to come. “May I inquire of my esteemed colleague how many Handmen his plasm squads have of late arrested?” he asks. “And how much plasm has been returned to the state?”

Gentri strokes his little mustache. The rotating Crystal Dome has placed the tall gray spires of Lorkhin Island behind him, so that it looks as if his bald head has suddenly sprouted winged granite buildings. “Until recently,” he says, “the Silver Hand was given a degree of political protection by the Keremaths. My squads cannot be held accountable—”

“I mean only since the Hand’s protection was abolished,” Constantine says, “I wonder if my colleague can provide me with statistics concerning—”

“Our record-keeping doesn’t distinguish between arrests of Handmen and others,” Gentri says. “Allow me to reassure my colleague that my police place Handmen under arrest all the time. Nearly every day, I should imagine.”

“Can my colleague give me any names?” Constantine asks. “Any specific charges? Anything?”

“Our record-keeping—” Obstinately.

“I ask only,” Constantine says, “because most of our Enforcement Division’s records of the Handmen originally came from your police files. Miss Aiah’s units and your own, on the day the amnesty ended, had much the same information about the Silver Hand. But she seems to have been much more effective against the Silver Hand, even though she had to create her organization from scratch.”

“I dispute that!” Gentri snaps.

“Ah. Well.” Constantine gives a languid smile and draws from his jacket a piece of paper. “Fortunately I have some estimates,” he says, and opens the paper. He looks up at the other ministers. “You see,” he says, “when Mr. Gentri’s police raid an illegal plasm house, they have to call on workers from the Ministry of Resources—from my ministry—to wire the illegal plasm source into the system and to install meters to regulate it. And since the meters are read regularly, I have access to excellent data concerning just how much plasm my colleague’s experts have returned to the state. In fact,” his catlike smile widening, “I had all these meters read just yesterday, to make certain my statistics are up to date.”

Gentri licks his lips. “I have not seen these data,” he says. “How do I know—”

Constantine’s reply is smooth. “You may send your own people to read the meters, and correct me if I am in error.” He looks at the piece of paper. “Like my colleague,” he says, “I do not have the total number of Handmen arrested by the police for plasm theft—but I do have the total number of those whose meters my workers were called upon to install or adjust, and a cross-check with Enforcement Division computers records the total number of correspondences as…” He smiles, flashing white teeth. “Three. Three Handmen arrested by the plasm squads in the seven weeks since the end of the amnesty. Returning to the state a total of one hundred fifty kilomehrs monthly, or about nineteen million dinars per year. Roughly one-tenth what Miss Aiah has accomplished with far fewer resources.”

Gentri gives Constantine a stony look. “I am certain there have been more arrests than three,” he says.

Constantine shrugs. “Double the number, if you like. Triple it. There remains”—a laconic smile dances on his lips—“something of a contrast.”

“Our mandate is broader than containing the Silver Hand. We don’t just arrest Handmen—our concerns are far more wide-ranging than that.” Gentri takes a breath. “For instance,” he says, “just today we have begun a new campaign against a long-standing source of plasm theft: the illegal settlements called half-worlds.”

Aiah starts as Ethemark clamps a webbed hand on her thigh. “The half-worlds,” he whispers. “Did I not warn you?”

Gentri opens a folder and glances at a paper inside. “Since my colleague is so fond of statistics, let me furnish him some. First shift today my police entered two illegal settlements, those called Hog Sty and Dark Eighteen by their inhabitants. We arrested eight major plasm thieves, and dispersed over six thousand illegal settlers. At least a score of wanted fugitives were found among their number and a warehouseful of stolen property was recovered, along with thirty or more vessels believed to have been stolen.” He smiles and folds his arms triumphantly, like a conqueror. “I think we may say the operations were a success. Many more are planned.”

Ethemark’s fingers dig into Aiah’s thigh as he whispers fiercely to Constantine, “Do something!”

Constantine glances over his shoulder at Ethemark, frowns lightly with a shake of the head, then turns back to Gentri.

“I congratulate my colleague on his successful and well-planned operations,” he says. “May I ask him how much plasm will be recovered?”

“It’s too early to say. Several illegal taps were discovered.”

“I asked because the Plasm Enforcement Division had of course considered raiding the half-worlds, but concluded that it wasn’t cost-effective at the present time.”

“I disagree.” Gentri’s response is instantaneous.

A new voice speaks up. “With all humility and deference to my esteemed colleague the glorious Gentri,” says Prince Aranax, “who spreads his wisdom over our gathering like a god spreading a refreshing shower over the land, I myself, humble slave of fortune though I am, must in the most submissive fashion beg to disagree with the position he has so wisely maintained before this august gathering.”

The others watch Aranax with a mixture of anticipation and impatience. Aiah wonders how long he can string these sentiments out.

“The half-worlds,” Aranax says, “degraded though they may be in the eyes of Caraqui, nevertheless share the watery realm with my own lowly and miserable race. Such brilliantly planned and executed operations as envisaged by the ever-sagacious Gentri are bound to cause a disruption among my own unworthy kind, and I must implore and entreat my colleagues to spare my wretched and undeserving people the confusion necessarily caused thereby.”

“I agree with my esteemed colleague the minister and Prince Aranax,” says Adaveth, the gray-skinned embryo. “The half-worlds are the last refuge of the poor and desperate. Any police actions directed against them would cause great hardship.”

“And they would gain the state little but instability,” adds the giant Myhorn in her strangely feminine voice.