Voice of the Whirlwind (36 page)

“I wonder if I can ask you the source of your information?” Curzon’s voice was conversational.

Cancer, Steward thought. Merde. He couldn’t think. No reason Curzon shouldn’t know this. “The
Born
put into Vesta last year,” he said. “The Pulsar Division thought I was the Alpha and picked me up. Their interrogator gave away a lot more information than he got. And then I worked in the Legation as part of a backup crew. There were some old Icehawks working there. Power citizens. I got a look at them.”

“And you put it together from that.”

“I’m superbly adapted for my job. Or so people tell me.” Steward looked up at Curzon. “The Pulsar people weren’t nice. Brutal, in fact. They don’t like you killing their Prime for them.”

Curzon pursed his lips. “I didn’t like it, either. The operation was put together very quickly and for reasons I don’t entirely understand. It wasn’t my idea. Our own Prime insisted, I’m afraid. We undertook the operation as a courtesy to him.”

Steward was trying to build Orion in his mind and the picture vanished under a wave of surprise that jangled like sleigh bells along Steward’s cranked nerves. “The Powers go around poisoning each other?” he asked. “I thought they were all so disciplined and perfect.”
Orion
, he thought once more.
Rigel here, Betelgeuse here
. Curzon’s voice came from far away.

“That is a story we find advantageous to spread. We wish to encourage people to believe they can be like the Powers. Stable, intelligent, cooperative.”

Obedient, Steward added mentally.

“The truth is that there are…nations within the Power community. They are as divided as we are.”

The picture of Orion disappeared again. Ideas flickered like gunflashes through Steward’s mind and it took a moment to assemble them into a coherent whole. If the Powers were as fragmented as humanity, if the Artifact War had been fought on territory divided between two Power nations…that would explain the necessity of two ports of entry, Vesta and Ricot. And explain as well the way the humans of Vesta and Ricot were suspicious of each other—their success depended on their own Power nation’s success. And it explained as well the fact of one Prime launching an attack on the other.

Steward thought of that huge cone-shaped part of the sky where humanity was barred. Where there were other Power nations that might pose a danger to, or at least prove competitive with, the two nations already contacted. No wonder the Primes have forbidden human exploration of that area.

“Come now.” Curzon was talking to Godunov. “Mr. Steward already knows enough information to justify our having him killed three times over. I’m just giving him a little more to reason with. Maybe he can tell us about our friends on Vesta.”

It occurred to Steward that Curzon might be high on painkillers and that this was making him talkative. No wonder he seemed so jolly. Curzon turned to Steward. “Yes?” he said. “I can tell you’ve been thinking.”

“I—I’m not sure,” Steward said. The picture of Orion was firming. “The feeling I got from Vesta was that things were divided there. Pulsar and their other group—”

“Group Seven.”

“Yes. They were taking different positions over things. Over me. Pulsar was interested in what I knew about Ricot. So maybe they were interested in retaliation.”

A muscle in Curzon’s cheek twitched. “Yes. I warned the Prime of that. But he said that Vesta’s Powers had to be stopped. That his sources told him they were about to conduct some kind of major operation, and they had to be warned not to go through with it.”

Orion gleamed in Steward’s mind, the hunter with his studded belt. Hunting not the Powers, like Steward, but the Pleiades.

“Worse,” Curzon said, “the operation missed its target. It was Prime-of-the-Right we particularly wanted. Not the Prime. We were told that, but not why.” He frowned at the floor. “A damned bad op. Lucky we accomplished as much as we did.” He reached for a tissue and coughed into it. Frowned again, but there was a twitching grin in the frown. The man was full of painkillers, and they were warring with his salesman genes.
From thought I make my sword,
Steward repeated, and watched carefully.

“It won’t matter in the long run which of these little factions triumphs. One of us will command the future.”

Goad him, Steward thought. Orion was glittering in his skull like diamonds. Diamonds that could cut. “I’ve heard that before,” he said. “From Coherent Light. Derrotero. Gorky. Far Ranger.”

Curzon looked at him in mild surprise. “Ah,” he said, “I recognize that warrior cynicism of yours.” He cleared his throat. “I used to agree with you, you know. That the policorps were nothing but squabbling factories for conformity, each motivated by nothing but scorn for weakness and greed for power. Each looking for an
edge
,
hoping their ideology or system would prove what they needed. I was…brought up in a particular craft. Destined for it by my genes. I did it very well. But I lacked a certain…inspiration.”

“You’ve got it now, I gather.”

Curzon seemed amused. “I sympathize with your point of view, I truly do. During the time of the Orbital Soviet, there was an ultimate authority that ruled on policorporate conduct. But the Soviet fell in a haze of nerve gas and tailored viruses, and since then it has been—”

“Darwin Days,” said Steward. It was getting hot in his sheet. His mouth was turning dry.

Curzon smiled. “Yes. Nothing but policorps struggling for their edge. A war of all against all. And in the absence of any other responsible authority, in the presence of a corrupt ethic in high places, you, Mr. Steward, have set above all else your own sense of personal morality. You have ruled on de Prey’s conduct, and mine, and found it inexcusable. But it is a very…
lonely…
mode of existence, is it not? Perhaps even sociopathic. You can find no others worthy of your company, saving only yourself.”

“I have plenty of friends,” Steward said. “And apropos sociopathy, one thing I don’t do is have them killed.”

“Your Alpha did,” Curzon said. Steward felt himself stiffen. “On Sheol he killed his superior officer.” Curzon pointed a finger at Steward like a gun.
“Bang!”
Curzon’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Shot him dead. And he gave orders, in battle, that resulted in many of his friends being killed. He was in a position of responsibility, and responsible people sometimes are compelled to decide these things.” Curzon looked at him. “You feel free to be virtuous because you are also free from any degree of authority. Your Alpha was never as lucky. He had responsibility over human life, and the responsibility scarred him for life. That is part of his tragedy.”

“It didn’t have to be a tragedy,” Steward said. Sweat was beading on his scalp.

“Listen,” Curzon said. “When the Powers came, I knew instantly I wanted to work with them. I knew the interface between humanity and the Powers was the place to be, where our consanguineous destinies were to be forged.”

Consanguineous destinies, Steward thought. Orion was laughing his britches off.

“The Powers are divided,” Curzon said. “So are we. Consolidated and Brighter Suns are kept deliberately weak, and that is out of fear. The other policorps know what we are creating here, and hope to control it. They will fail.” He shook his head. “The synthesis of Power and human will prove greater than either. The Powers recognized that right away. That was why the Primes relocated to human space. They were searching for the
edge
as well. And they knew they could find it in us.”

“It doesn’t make them better,” Steward said. Sweat coursed down his face. “Or you.”

“Perhaps not,” Curzon said. He was flushed. His pupils were dilated black obsidian. “Not in the sense you mean. Not more moral, or ethical, or better behaved. But it makes us better in another sense, an evolutionary one. Because we are the future, and all else is obsolescent.”

Orion blazed in the night sky, the towering, threatening hunter. The sweat that poured down Steward’s face tasted like blood. He bared his teeth. “Your victory is inevitable, so that makes you right,” he said. “I’ve heard that before, too. That was de Prey’s line.”

“The vee tag and the vee addiction—that was an accident,” Curzon said. “But it gave us a key. The Powers are as intelligent as we, as imaginative. But why are they so disciplined, so…cooperative? It’s the aerosols, Steward. The ultimate socializing tool. There is no dissent in Power society, no disruption. And mark this, Steward—their intelligence is not hampered. They are as smart as they would have been otherwise, smarter in fact because some of the aerosols enhance intelligence. But the intelligence is harnessed for the social good. The pursuit of happiness is not a problem—they have found it. Working for their own betterment and that of their species.”

“Sounds good. Why are their bosses poisoning each other?”

Curzon was glaring at Godunov. “I know, Colonel,” he said. “We’re going to kill him anyway, so what does it matter?”

“Some things are best not said aloud.”

Steward was mildly surprised at her voice. It was breathy, surprisingly childlike. Not the sort of voice you normally expected from a torturer.

“Pah.” Curzon began to cough, barking into a wadded tissue. He waved a hand, gulped air. “I’ll conduct this interrogation in my own way. By the book, or not. I wrote the book anyway, so what does it matter? We have all the time in the world. And Mr. Steward may prove an apt recruit.” Godunov started to speak, but Curzon cut her off: “Yes, we
can
ascertain whether his conversion is sincere. We have the drugs, don’t we? Fuck this nonsense.” He turned back to Steward. “Colonel Godunov is a specialist. So am I. Her training leads her to different conclusions from those suggested by my experience.”

“I will note my protest in the log,” Godunov said.

“Note it. What the hell do I care?”

Steward wondered if this exchange was genuine or some strange, implausibly baroque variation on the good-cop, bad-cop theme. Curzon was loaded with drugs, but still there was something here—some hint of falseness—that suggested the second alternative was a possibility.

“The Powers,” Steward prompted, as perhaps he was intended to. He shook sweat from his forehead. “Killing each other.”

Curzon frowned. “Yes. From our point of view their species evolution is…unfortunate. The aerosols are intended to assist their nations—tribes, perhaps a better word—their tribes in building internal solidarity. They are still competitive with one another. That is something we can help them with.”

“Jesus,” Steward said. “You’re going to start using aerosols on us, aren’t you? Make us all bright, happy junkies.”

Godunov was making throat-clearing sounds. Curzon ignored her. “We will make of humanity what it has always wanted to be. Cooperative. Peaceful. Forward-looking. A more perfect union. Workers’ paradise. Equality, fraternity. From each according to his abilities, et cetera. All the old slogans, coming true.” He waved his good hand. “After that, we can give the Powers a hand with their tribal problems. Our Primes will have their
edge
in the human-Power synthesis. Darwin Days will be over. In the end it won’t matter who wins, Vesta or Ricot, their Prime or ours, humanity or the Powers. It will be a synthesis.” He knotted the fingers of his good hand with the fingers of the other. “One commonwealth. One future.”

“You can’t keep this kind of thing secret. Not much longer. Hundreds of people must know.”

Curzon seemed pleased. “We don’t need secrecy much longer. And fewer people know than you would suspect. A few hundred know about vee addiction, but that is only a small part of the true story. Only a dozen people between Ricot and Vesta know our real business.

“We have appalling reserves of capital. The best biochemical researchers in human space, each compartmentalized, working on only one part of the picture. We have the Power social model to follow. Ten years, perhaps fifteen, and then we’ll have what we need. We will have to work at it very subtly at first. But after the others see it succeed—well, the other policorps will each want a piece of our
edge.
And all we’ll want in return is for them to join us.”

“And you want me to join, too.”

Curzon smiled down at him. “Yes. Perhaps for some
very specialized work.”

Steward hacked out a laugh. “You never give up, do you?”

“You might be interested to learn how the Powers train one of their spies, someone who is intended to infiltrate a rival tribe and learn what they’re up to. They have to resort to biologic surgery. They disassociate certain sense receptors, sever a few nerve junctions. Make their spy immune to the aerosol hormones dispersed by the other side. The shock is too much for a lot of their people. They go mad. The alteration makes their agent…an individual. More than that, a maverick. A sociopath. A renegade.” Curzon peered down at him. “Someone like you, Mr. Steward.”

Amusement skated along Steward’s nerves. “That’s how you want me to work for you. A renegade in the workers’ paradise.”

“A renegade
for
the workers’ paradise.”

Steward grinned. “I’ll think about it.”

Curzon stood up. He gestured with a fist. “I don’t want you to think about anything,” he said. “I want you to
feel.
Feel the rightness of this. The correctness of this vision. The necessity of it.” Steward could see patches of sweat under Curzon’s arms. “I want you to sense, Steward, that this is something worth having.”

“I can’t sense much of anything wrapped in this sheet, Brigadier-Director.”

Curzon gave a harsh laugh and stepped away. He paced the length of the room, and sweat poured down Steward’s brow as he turned his head to follow Curzon’s movements. Curzon stopped by Godunov’s desk, took the headset off, and held it in his hand. His voice was muted by the soundproofing. “I don’t need the headset to see your resistance. A little too much maverick pride in your case, I think. Perhaps I’ll just clone some cells and put your mind on thread. Keep you in storage till we need someone like you. Once you see the future in action, maybe you’ll be convinced by it. And after we take the cells, you won’t be necessary at all. Colonel Godunov can do…what she’s so good at. Find out if you’ve been spinning me a story all along.”