“There’s no excuse for it.” Anton had no explanations to give. “No one has the right to treat people this way.” He sounded far braver than he actually felt.

When the shuttle flew in over the Palace District, Vao’sh placed his hands against the windows and smiled wistfully at Anton. “I always wanted to see the Whisper Palace for myself — although I wish my first visit were under better circumstances.”

Anton felt sad and apologetic. “I’m ashamed. I can’t ask you, or the Mage-Imperator, or any Ildiran to forgive us.”

“The Chairman did this, Rememberer Anton. Your whole race should not be condemned for the choices one man makes.”

The shuttle landed on the rooftop deck of the Hansa HQ. The two of them were briskly led to the penthouse office levels, where they waited under guard. And waited.

More than an hour later, they were ushered to the Chairman’s office. Surrounded by banks of windows, Basil Wenceslas sat at a broad deskscreen, which portrayed not spreadsheets or productivity graphs, but a shifting grid of surveillance images. He seemed intent on watching everything around him.

When they entered, the Chairman stood up. The expression on his handsome face was guarded, but his demeanor was one of expansive cordiality — as if they were old friends. “Anton Colicos. I am pleased to see you again! So much has happened in the years since our last communication.”

“I’m surprised you even remember, Mr. Chairman. My mother was never found, and my father’s body was discovered in the ruins on Rheindic Co. Not a very successful rescue effort.”

“Ah, but your request to find your missing parents set in motion key events in our history, though we didn’t realize it at the time. When I sent Davlin Lotze and Rlinda Kett to Rheindic Co, they discovered the transportals, which have been such a boon to us — until recently.” He seemed preoccupied with the surveillance images on his deskscreen. “But Admiral Diente is on his way to the Klikiss, so even that problem should soon be neatly solved.”

“Glad it worked out for you,” Anton mumbled.

The Chairman now turned to Vao’sh. “I understand that you are one of the greatest Ildiran historians. You can help me.” Basil’s voice had an odd edge, though he was clearly trying to sound reasonable. “I need to understand Ildirans. I have obviously misjudged the Mage-Imperator. He has not been rational. Is it a cultural thing, or a personality flaw in Jora’h alone? I would have thought his long voyage of contemplation would be sufficient to make him see what is best for both the Ildiran Empire and the Hansa. Yet he refuses to make the trivial effort necessary. Doesn’t he want to return to his people, who — according to him — urgently need his leadership? What kind of ruler is that? I am at my wits’ end. I don’t understand why the Mage-Imperator does what he does.”

“And we do not understand you, Chairman Wenceslas.” Vao’sh was not inclined to be helpful. “Your side of the story, frankly, is incomprehensible to us. It will be difficult for me to portray the Hansa in a favorable light when I record these events in theSaga of Seven Suns.”

The Chairman visibly fought down a flash of anger. “I am not interested in Ildiran propaganda or bedtime stories, but in acquiring intelligence the Hansa vitally needs.” He turned to Anton, who flinched. “Mr. Colicos, you will remain on Earth with Rememberer Vao’sh. Take him to our Department of Ildiran Studies at your old university. I want our scholars to debrief him thoroughly.”

51

Deputy Chairman Eldred Cain

Nice enough. for a prison.” Cain looked through the small one-way observation block into the family holding chambers.

While walking around the nondescript building’s exterior on a brief inspection with Sarein, Cain had been intrigued by the clever camouflage, seeing nothing to distinguish it from any other moderate-income living complex. But inside, the five apartments were isolated from each other, accessible only through the strictest security. And the inhabitants could not leave.

“I doubt Admiral Diente would be comforted by the homey touches,” Sarein said.

“At least his family is alive. And the Chairman has promised they’ll be released unharmed as soon as he returns from his mission to Pym.” Cain’s voice carried no inflection to hint at how much he doubted Chairman Wenceslas would keep his end of the bargain. Nevertheless, he had sent the two of them here to make certain, with their own eyes, that everything was in order. He claimed he couldn’t trust anyone else; Cain supposed that was probably true.

Expander lenses from the inset spy-hole brought the view to them, so that he and Sarein could watch the family of Admiral Diente go about their daily tedium. Sarein leaned close, keeping her voice low but not conspiratorially quiet. “Basil probably thinks he’s being quite generous, giving them all the comforts they could need. I’ll ask him for a little more leniency, but I doubt he’ll act on it.”

“These people aren’t actually aware that they’re being held hostage.” Cain’s pale lips quirked in a cold smile. “They think they’re being kept inside for their own protection. In a way, that’s merciful.”

The only thing that mattered, Cain realized, was that the Admiral knew they were there.

The family had four rooms to themselves, a living area, two small bedrooms, and a tiny toilet/shower combination. The man’s wife, two daughters (ages fifteen and six), and son (twelve) must have felt quite crowded. As a man who relished privacy and solitude, Cain couldn’t imagine living under such conditions.

Sarein watched the teenaged daughter slump into a hard-backed chair, while her brother tried to cajole her into playing a game. The mother sat stiffly at the tiny kitchenette table reading, but though she stared at the book, Cain noted that she hadn’t turned a page in six minutes. On the wall near her hung an image of her husband and family, all together and smiling. The image appeared to be old.

“Can’t we talk to them?” Sarein asked. “How are we supposed to verify that they are all in good mental and physical health?”

“No interaction whatsoever. We are just supposed to observe.”

“I hope our word matters to Basil.”

In the spy-hole image, the son was now pestering his little sister to play a different, much simpler game with colored cards.

“Of course it matters.”

Sarein turned, and Cain could tell she was genuinely curious. “Why? He’s been cutting us out more and more often.”

“Even so, he realizes he can’t do everything alone. He’s got to rely on someone, and he is convinced — correctly — that I have no interest in robbing him of his power. Even as deputy, I have risen in prominence much higher than I desire. And you — he knows that you both love him and are afraid of him. That makes you perfectly safe, in his view.”