A Civil Campaign

'Are you joking?'

'No.' Ivan glanced around uneasily. 'Where'd you leave Goff, Olivia?'

She pointed. 'Over by that third pillar.'

'Right.' Ivan went to collect him, seriously wondering where Pierre's car had gone. The thug Goff was still unconscious too, although of a subtly more disturbing limpness than the stunner victims. It was the greenish skin tone, Ivan decided, and the weird spongy lump on his head. He paused along the route, in dragging Goff to join the others, to check Szabo's wrist comm for Joris. No answer, though Szabo's pulse seemed to be bumping along all right.

Dono was stirring, but still not ready to stand. Ivan frowned, stared around, then jogged up the ramp.

Just around the next curve, Ivan found Pierre's groundcar sitting skewed a little sideways across the concrete. Ivan didn't know by what trick they'd lured Joris out of it, but the young Armsman lay in a stunned heap in front of the car. Ivan sighed, and dragged him around to dump in the rear compartment, and backed the car carefully down to the van.

Dono's color was coming back, and he was now sitting up only a little bent over.

'We have to get Dono medical attention,' Olivia told Ivan anxiously.

'Yep. We're going to need all kinds of drugs,' Ivan agreed. 'Synergine for some,' he craned his neck toward Szabo, who twitched and moaned but didn't quite claw back to consciousness, 'fast-penta for others.' He frowned at the heap of thugs. 'You recognize any of these goons, Dono?'

Dono squinted. 'Never seen 'em in my life.'

'Hirelings, I suppose. Contracted through who knows how many middlemen. Could be days before the municipal guard, or ImpSec if they take an interest, get to the bottom of it all.'

'The vote,' sighed Dono, 'will be over by then.'

I don't want anything to do with this. This isn't my job. It's not my fault. But really, this was a political precedent nobody was going to favor. This was damned offensive . This was just . . . really wrong .

'Olivia,' Ivan said abruptly, 'can you drive Dono's car?'

'I think so . . .'

'Good. Help me get the troops loaded up.'

With Olivia's assistance, Ivan managed to get the three stunned Vorrutyer Armsmen laid into the rear compartment with the unfortunate Joris, and the disarmed thugs hoisted rather less carefully into the back of their own van. He locked the doors firmly from the outside, and took charge of the vibra knife, the armload of illegal stunners, and the bottle of liquid bandage. Tenderly, Olivia helped Dono limp over to his car, and settled him into the front seat with his leg out. Ivan, watching the pair, blond head bent over dark, sighed deeply, and shook his head.

'Where to?' called Olivia, punching controls to lower the canopies.

Ivan swung up into the van's cab, and shouted over his shoulder, 'Vorpatril House!'

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The great Chamber of the Council of Counts had a hushed, cool air, despite the bright dapple of colored light falling through the stained glass windows high in the east wall onto the oak flooring. Miles had thought he was early, but he spotted Ren? at the Vorbretten's District desk, arrived even before him. Miles laid out his flimsies and checklists on his own desk in the front row, and circled around the benches to Ren?'s place, second row right.

Ren? looked trim enough in his Vorbretten House uniform of dark green piped with bittersweet orange, but his face was wan.

'Well,' said Miles, feigning cheer for the sake of his colleague's morale. 'This is it, then.'

Ren? managed a thin smile. 'It's too close. We're not going to make it, Miles.' He tapped a finger nervously on his checklist, twin to the one on Miles's desk.

Miles put a brown-booted foot up on Ren?'s bench, leaned forward with a deliberately casual air, and glanced at his papers. 'It's tighter than I'd hoped it would be,' he admitted. 'Don't take our precount as a done deal, though. You never know who's going to change his mind at the last second and bolt.'

'Unfortunately, that cuts both ways,' Ren? pointed out ruefully.

Miles shrugged, not disagreeing. He would plan for a hell of a lot more redundancy in future votes, he decided. Democracy, faugh . He felt a twinge of his old familiar adrenaline-pumped prebattle nerves, without the promised catharsis of being able to shoot at someone later if things went really badly. On the other hand, he was unlikely to be shot at here, either. Count your blessings .

'Did you make any more progress last night, after you went off with Gregor?' Ren? asked him.

'I think so. I was up till two in the morning, pretending to drink and arguing with Henri Vorvolk's friends. I believe I nailed Vorgarin for you after all. Dono . . . was a harder sell. How did things go last night at Vorsmythe's? Were you and Dono able to make your list of last-minutes contacts?'

'I did,' said Ren?, 'but I never saw Dono. He didn't show.'

Miles frowned. 'Oh? I'd understood he was going on to the party. I figured between the two of you, you'd have it in hand.'

'You couldn't be in two places at once.' Ren? hesitated. 'Dono's cousin Byerly was hunting all over for him. He finally went off to look for him, and didn't come back.'

'Huh.' If . . . no, dammit. If Dono had been, say, assassinated in the night, the chamber would be abuzz with the news by now. The Vorbarr Sultana Armsmen's grapevine would have passed it on, ImpSec would have called, something. Miles would have to have heard. Wouldn't he?

'Tatya's here.' Ren? sighed. 'She said she couldn't stand to wait at home, not knowing . . . if it was still going to be home by tonight.'

'It will be all right.'

Miles walked out onto the floor of the chamber and gazed up at the in-curving crescent of the gallery, with its ornately carved wooden balustrade. The gallery was beginning to fill also, with interested Vor relatives and other people with the right or the pull to gain admittance. Tatya Vorbretten was there, hiding in the back row, looking even more wan than Ren?, supported by one of Ren?'s sisters. Miles gave her an optimistic thumb's-up he was by no means feeling.

More men filtered into the chamber. Boriz Vormoncrief's crowd arrived, including young Sigur Vorbretten, who exchanged a polite, wary nod with his cousin Ren?. Sigur did not attempt to stake a claim to Ren?'s bench, but sat close under his father-in-law's protective wing. Sigur was neutrally dressed in conservative day-wear, not quite daring a Vorbretten House uniform. He looked nervous, which would have cheered Miles up more if he hadn't known it was Sigur's habitual look. Miles went to his desk and assuaged his own nerves by checking off arrivals.