“That’s interesting,” mused Rogh. “The vessel couldn’t have been Coalition or Farhkan. So they believe it was probably Revenant, but they don’t want to say that, even in confidence. Of course, they could just be telling you that to see how we react.”
“That’s very possible,” Van admitted. “He didn’t seem terribly fond of the Revenants. He mentioned that there was already repression in Samarra. I don’t know why he did. Perhaps to feel me out. It’s the first time I’ve met with the commodore. He seems open, but some officers are very good at seeming that way.”
Rogh raised his eyebrows, then, as if thinking the better of it, nodded. “That is true. What else did he say?”
“Very little beyond pleasantries. He said that Commander Cruachan had been a good officer and attaché and that he’d been sorry to learn of his drowning.”
“No offense to you, Commander, but we all were.” Rogh cleared his throat. “I’d like you to meet with all the other major attachés as soon as you can, and see what you can learn.”
“Yes, ser.”
Rogh turned to Hannigan. “Is there any way you and the second secretary can speed up that economic analysis of the changes in Scandyan defense capabilities?”
“I don’t see how, ser, but we’re close to the end.”
Rogh shook his head. “That’s all, then.”
The grayish mist of the privacy cone vanished, and Van and Hannigan stood.
Chapter 13
Early on eightday morning, wearing a casual gray singlesuit, one of the few nonuniform garments he had, Van stepped out of the embassy for a walk. All he had done, with the exception of his sightseeing tour with Emily Clifton, had been to work, see people in his office or in theirs, and write or research.
Once out into the low sunshine and the still-cool morning air, Van inhaled deeply, enjoying the mixed fragrances from the flower beds along the walks to the embassy—closed on the enddays, of course. Then, with a smile, he stretched and walked out to the wide stone path that flanked Knutt Boulevard. He turned south.
The property next to the embassy was a modest-sized dwelling, surrounded by a low stone wall, less than a meter high, but on the top of the stone wall was an ornate iron-grill fence that rose another three meters. Still, through the grillwork Van could appreciate the manicured lawn and the formal gardens on the north side of the house—which resembled an oversize stone cottage, except for the black-green slate roof. He saw no one outside.
Only a handful of groundcars glided down Knutt Boulevard, most of them on the far side of the parklike median, headed northward.
A couple jogged toward him. Both were fair-skinned and blond. Van nodded politely, but neither looked at him as they passed. Then, from behind him, he heard a bell.
“On your left.”
With that, another couple rode past on bicycles, the first Van had seen in years. They were older, but both man and woman were also blond. Ahead, perhaps a hundred meters, Van saw three figures—man, woman, and child. They were walking in the same direction as he was, but more slowly.
Across the boulevard rose another imposing mansion, one with two long wings, a grape arbor, a stone gazebo overlooking a pond on which swam a pair of swans—a setting that might have belonged to one of the ascendancy on Old Earth. Van thought he saw a group being served a meal within the gazebo. While his parents would have appreciated the grounds and the setting, they certainly wouldn’t have approved of the massive concentration of wealth required to obtain and maintain the estate, but then his home world of Sulyn had always been less traditional and less enamored of concentrations of either wealth or power.
His eyes drifted back to the central parkway—or median—dividing Knutt Boulevard. The squared-off boxwood hedges formed a waist-high border, and, roughly every ten meters, the hedge had been allowed to grow higher, then trimmed into some form of topiary. The one closest to Van was that of a peacock with a fanned tail. The next one appeared to be an eagle with outstretched wings.
As he neared the three walking toward him, he nodded. “Good morning.”
There was no reply from the man, perhaps five years younger than Van, slightly taller, and with sandy blond hair, just the curtest of nods. The woman did not bother to nod at all. After they had passed Van, they spoke in low voices.
“…looks like he belongs in the southwest…”
“…too well dressed…diplomat…Argenti, Hyndji…maybe…lots of embassies here…”
The voices faded behind Van as he increased his speed. Belongs in the southwest? Was that where those who weren’t fair-skinned lived?
He picked up the speed of his walk. He did need more exercise.
Chapter 14
Van read the fiveday news summary carefully, trying to ensure that he understood not just what he read, but the implications behind the words before him. The lead item was clear enough.
Fifteen individuals were detained briefly after fourday’s demonstration in Government Square, but were released later…
The Assembly must understand that technology transfer, no matter how noble the purpose, is a Trojan horse that can only lead to the subjugation of Scandya and all we hold dear,” said Temra Piersen, speaking for the Activist Committee of the Liberal Commons.
“The Liberal Commons continue to behave like the extinct ostriches of Old Earth, unable to lift their heads out of the sand to see what exists in the Galaxy today,” countered Alexi Bunaev…
In a brief speech to the Assembly, Premier Gustofsen urged “a meeting not only of minds, but of the emotions and passions behind those minds, passions that have served Scandya well in its quarter millennium of freedom…” Gustofsen later met in a closed meeting with both party leaders…
Although not so obvious, the third item on the projected holo screen
