Chamber of Paladins, Geneva

Terra, Prefecture X

20 December 3134

The brief clouds of dawn were passing, and a sapphire sky emerged. The sunlight glinting off the snow-covered Alps was almost blinding. It would have been a beautiful day if it weren’t for the wind riding cold through the streets.

Jonah Levin stood in his private lavatory, spreading lather over his face. It wouldn’t do to show up at an election unshaven.

He’d always believed formal occasions called for a sharp razor and shaving cream, and occasions didn’t get much more formal than this one. He also needed to get his hair in some sort of order, and it wouldn’t hurt to find a press for his uniform. He wasn’t sure the building had one.

If I had a staff, he thought, I could send someone out to get it pressed. Something to think about next time I come back—which I hope isn’t for four more years.

His grooming efforts seemed to be working. Looking at his reflection, he thought he looked quite normal. Except for the eyes. His eyes couldn’t hide the lack of sleep.

Maybe fresh air would help.

The bright sunlight almost blinded him, while the wind cut through his uniform as soon as he stepped outside. It was uncomfortable but beautiful, and Jonah could only think of one thing—if I finish this right, this is a sight Senator Mallowes won’t see for many years.

No more than seven people in Geneva knew Mallowes was in custody, and one of them, Agnes, was in the cell next to him. The others were Jonah, Heather, Burton Horn, Gareth Sinclair, and the two guards who each held a button capable of sending a shock to the collar on Mallowes’ neck. They were under strict orders to only use the device in case of an attempted escape, but part of Jonah wouldn’t be too upset if they forgot their orders.

He immediately remonstrated with himself. That’s a Mallowes thought.

Outside, the expected protesters were already gathering in the open square. Their demonstrations looked orderly for the time being—the protestors in the front ranks, at least, were standing in a straight line and seemed to barely be raising their voices. They held signs and placards, some of them handmade, others professionally printed.CAPELLANS BELONG UNDERFOOT , one said;KEEP THE CLANS OFF TERRA , another; a third,DAVID MCKINNON FOR EXARCH .

Jonah carefully studied each sign, hoping one of them would finally make it clear what he should do with his vote. But he found none of the signs overly convincing. Apparently the persuasive value of a placard was overestimated.

“Paladin Levin!”

The voice came to him from beyond the crowd with unnatural clarity and distinction. Jonah looked for the source, and saw a tri-vid reporter running toward him, her videographer hovering at her elbow. He debated ducking inside, but didn’t.

“Paladin Levin! Can you give us any hint about who’s in the running to be the next Exarch?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ll vote my conscience, but that’s all I know.”

“Can you tell us who you, personally, support?”

“No, I really can’t. And even if I could, I probably shouldn’t. We’ll work out negotiations as a council, rather than passing notes through the media. With all due respect, of course.”

“Surely you’ve heard some of the comments from Anders Kessel regarding the balance of power with the passing of Victor Steiner-Davion?”

Jonah almost laughed. “No. I honestly haven’t. Now I’m sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me.”

He ducked inside, and the reporter turned to look for fresh prey.

Instead of returning to the higher floors, he walked over to the main rotunda. It was echoing and empty, a far cry from the noisy, crowded place that it had been on the day of the opening convocation. Today, spectators and reporters were banned from the building. The proceedings were for Paladins alone.

He continued on through the rotunda into the meeting chamber, and found it almost, but not entirely, empty. The huge windows on the wall opposite the Exarch’s chair admitted streams of sunlight, as well as images of hundreds of protestors shouting soundlessly. To them, the window appeared as a solid wall.

Jonah had to walk some distance before he was close to actual people. Seventeen Paladins didn’t take up much space in a room built to hold several hundred people. Any comments the Paladins were making to each other were swallowed by the room long before they reached Jonah’s ears.

No, Jonah realized. Not even seventeen Paladins. A quick scan told him Heather GioAvanti was not there.

He spotted David McKinnon’s tall, gray-haired figure, down where the Paladins’ desks were arranged in their open-horseshoe configuration in front of the Exarch’s podium. Jonah decided McKinnon would be as good a place to start as any. The man might be a bit of a political fossil, but at least he was an honest one. After spending too much time recently in the company of men like Geoffrey Mallowes, McKinnon’s straightforwardness would be refreshing.

“Good morning, David.”

“Paladin Levin.” McKinnon was one who stood on ceremony, particularly at a time like this. “It’s an extraordinary morning.”

“Perhaps it will be.”

“Seventeen people are meeting to decide the fate of two hundred fifty planets. It cannot help but be extraordinary.”

“I suppose that’s true. Do you have word on Heather’s whereabouts?”

“No. I was hoping you would know.” McKinnon’s glance turned slightly sideways. “I understand the two of you have been quite busy.”

If it were anyone else, Jonah might think McKinnon was attempting a subtle innuendo. But it was McKinnon—the question was about nothing more than their investigation.

“We have been. Though I imagine the whole council has been.”

“True enough. But word of your activities has traveled, though the reports I hear are conflicting. Would you care to clarify anything about your work?”

“I would.” Jonah saw McKinnon lean forward almost unwillingly, eager for a piece of information most Paladins didn’t have. “I’ll be informing everyone of my progress before we vote.”

McKinnon concealed his disappointment well. “I look forward to your report. Excuse me, please.”

It was a simple game, Jonah thought. I’ve got nothing for him, so he moves on to the next player.

Jonah wondered who he should speak with next, then realized that most of them would ask the same question as McKinnon—everyone except Sinclair. He walked over to the junior Paladin’s seat, where Sinclair chatted idly with Janella Lakewood.

“Good morning, Gareth.”

“Hi, Jonah. Seems like I haven’t seen you in nearly six hours.”

“Did you get any sleep?”

“No. But the way things look here, I’ll probably be able to grab a few winks during our deliberations.”

It was an immense relief to talk to Sinclair without the pall of suspicion hanging over his head. His youth and cheerfulness would be a welcome addition to a council that often threatened to become overly grim.

Jonah glanced down at Sinclair’s desk. “Your screen’s not on.”

“Do you think I’ll need it?”

“Definitely.” He tapped the screen. “That’s where the real horse-trading happens.”

“Horse-trading doesn’t strike me as one of your interests.”

“It isn’t,” Jonah admitted. “But that doesn’t keep the rest of them from approaching me.”

Sinclair and Lakewood both palmed the panels near their screens, powering them up and logging them on simultaneously. Meanwhile, the surrounding conversations slowly grew louder. Some of them simply seemed to be getting excited about the election, but other tones were turning heated. Eventually, the strong, bell-like tones of Tyrina Drummond rose above the rest.

“We cannot cast a final ballot without her,” Drummond said. “There is no reason we cannot begin preliminary discussions and ballots. This is the time. I see no reason to delay.”