Patriots

30. Watching the Fireworks

The windows of the seventh-floor conference room looked down on the street in front of the Civil Affairs Building and the central park. Vehicles and pedestrians were moving normally, though Mark thought there was less traffic than he'd seen on his previous visit to New Paris.

Several cars, crushed and burned out, had been pushed through hedges to get them out of the travel lanes. Clothes, repeller magazines, and gas canisters littered the view. One of the streetscape's trees was now a shattered stump three feet across. A maintenance crew wearing orange dickeys was sawing up the wooden corpse for disposal.

Candace, Protector Giscard's legal advisor, closed the door behind him as he returned to the conference room with a sour expression. Everyone in the room-Mark and Dagmar Wately, Biber and Finch representing the Zenith claimants, and Colonel Wordsworth of the Alliance military forces-stared at Candace silently.

"I believe we can get started now," the counselor said briskly as he pulled out a chair at the circular table. "Protector Giscard has just informed me that I'm to deputize for him at this meeting. The events of last night require his urgent attention at headquarters."

Colonel Wordsworth snorted. Her iron gray hair was cut short to fit under a helmet. "What he should turn his attention to is finding a pair of balls to replace the ones he lost before he was appointed protector here," she said, glaring at Candace.

"If Giscard's afraid to come to New Paris," Dagmar asked, "why isn't he holding the meeting at his palace?"

"Because to guard against spying and sabotage in the present state of unrest," Wordsworth said gratingly, "no Zenith citizens are being permitted into the headquarters area. That particularly includes-" She rotated her grim expression toward the pair of Zenith investors. "-our esteemed vice-protector there. Eh, Finch?"

"Colonel," Candace said coldly, "if you choose to discuss local politics, I strongly recommend you find another venue for it. Your words in this company might well be considered treason against the Atlantic Alliance if they were reported by an enemy of yours."

Wordsworth grimaced. "Giscard knows what I think about all this pussyfooting around," she muttered, but she didn't meet the legal advisor's eyes.

"Very well," Candace said. He waited until everyone was seated, then continued, "For the purpose of this meeting, Mr. Finch is acting as a private party rather than as a representative of the Alliance. I wish to be very clear on that point."

Finch flushed. "We're here to negotiate, Candace," he said. "If instead you plan to play tin god, then I have better ways to spend my time."

"Finch has no more rights here than anybody else," Mayor Biber said. "And you bet we're here to end this nonsense once and for all."

Both men were in flashy civilian clothes in place of the uniforms they'd worn for their court appearance. Nevertheless, Wordsworth glowered at them like a cat eyeing caged birds.

It struck Mark that he and Dagmar were the only two people in the room who didn't heartily dislike all the others. Zenith's internal muddle was worse in some ways than what was happening on Greenwood, and all the players were looking for other people to blame.

Of course, nobody was threatening to plant a city of fifty thousand in Mayor Biber's front yard.

"We accept that Protector Giscard is acting on behalf of the Alliance, not for parochial interests," Mark said. "This meeting isn't an attempt by a corrupt official to circumvent the plans of his superiors on Earth."

Candace gave Mark a smile of respect if not liking. He'd understood Mark's threat to go over Giscard's head if matters didn't develop to Greenwood 's liking.

"I'm glad positions are clear," Candace said. "Now, first." He looked at the investors. "While Protector Greenwood of Hestia clearly had no authority to make settlement grants for the planet that now bears his name, it appears that a number of Alliance citizens have in good faith transported themselves and their chattels to Greenwood on the basis of such grants. It would be inequitable to displace those innocent parties."

Heinrich Biber started to rise. "If you think," he said, "that I'm going to let Giscard take the money I paid into his pocket for those grants go with a 'Sorry, guess I made a mistake,' then you haven't seen the start of trouble on this planet!"

Dagmar opened her mouth to speak. Mark quickly put his hand across hers to silence her. It wouldn't help if she blurted the threat he knew was on the tip of her tongue.

"Do you plan to negotiate this matter from a cell in the Protector's palace, Biber?" Finch said with a sneer. "Counselor Candace, continue with your appraisal. We'll refrain from comment until you're done." He glanced at the Mayor and added, "Further comment."

Biber's face was angry, but there was a touch of unease in his expression also. He knew that his outburst had indeed been grounds for arrest under the emergency regulations, though Protector Giscard wasn't confrontational enough (or probably brave enough) to jail a prominent citizen.

Candace focused his attention on the settlers' representatives. "A right to remain on Greenwood doesn't mean a right to ignore legal obligations, however," he said. "Administrative control of the planet is in the hands of the Protector of Zenith. Unless you settlers are willing to accept that, you're in rebellion against the Atlantic Alliance."

Dagmar looked worriedly at Mark. He touched her hand again. "We're loyal citizens of the Alliance, sir," he said to Candace. "Of course we accept her laws and administrative structures."

Mark wasn't sure how true that was, even for himself. He was sure it was the proper thing to say.

"As a corollary to that," Candace continued, "illegal armed groupings on Greenwood will have to disband immediately or face suppression by the armed forces of the Alliance. The Alliance will guarantee the rights of individual settlers, but harassment of officials properly appointed by authorities on Zenith has to stop immediately."

He glared at Mark. Mark, who'd faced a furious Yerby Bannock, tried to avoid smiling. He nodded solemnly and said, "Our only desire is for justice, sir."

The counselor seemed to have taken Mark's statements as gospel truth, because he relaxed noticeably at the mild replies. One of the problems faced by people who deal with words-and laws are only words-is that those folk tend to mistake the image for reality.

"Very well," Candace continued. "You realize, I'm sure, that the above discussion applies only to settlers in good faith. Speculators who bought up large tracts on grants which they knew to be invalid have no rights under any agreement we reach here."

"What's he mean?" Dagmar said to Mark. "I'm no speculator!"

"Ms. Wately's tract is of twenty-five hundred square miles," Mark said to Candace instead of answering Dagmar directly. "That's a typical holding for Greenwood."

"That's absurd," said Finch. He looked from Mark to the counselor. "That's absolutely absurd! You can't call a tract that large a homestead."

"Are we to understand that you'll disallow Ms. Wately's holdings, then?" Mark said. He fully intended to blow off any possible deal, but he couldn't afford to have it look that way. "In effect, to disallow all the present holdings, despite lip service to the contrary?"

"Large homesteads are normal on undeveloped worlds," Candace said coolly. "Mr. Finch, we're discussing a planet, not a tract in the middle of New Paris. I think we can allow holdings of up to the stated figure-" His face rotated to Mark. "-so long as they're undivided tracts held by resident individuals. Yes?"

"Please continue," Mark said. He was acting the part of a cautious negotiator who wasn't willing to commit to anything until he was sure the whole deal was on the table.

Candace nodded in grudging approval. "And there will be an indemnity from criminal and civil prosecution for actions taken by parties on both sides during the past, shall we say, six months," he said. "I think that covers the relevant points. Do you require further clarification, Mr. Maxwell?"

"If we were to agree to the offered arrangement," Mark said, "we'd be signing on behalf of the Greenwood Council, an elective body."

"Nothing of the sort," Candace said, flatly but without anger. The counselor had obviously expected this ploy and would have been disappointed if Mark hadn't tried it. "You'll be signing as representatives chosen ad hoc by Greenwood settlers to negotiate the planet's return to peaceful authority. For this matter only."

He smiled coldly at Mark. "No permanent citizens' body is legal without the express agreement of the relevant Alliance authorities. Without attempting to predict the future, I would judge it very doubtful that Protector Giscard or his vicar will form such a body on Greenwood, given the problems that have arisen-" Candace looked at Vice-Protector Finch. "-on Zenith and elsewhere, when local councils attempt to usurp power properly wielded by the Alliance alone."

Finch's eyes narrowed; Biber's expression hardened. Candace meant powers like the allocation of taxes raised from the citizens of the "protected" planet, Mark knew. Finch and Biber were both Zenith patriots… but as with Ms. Macey the night before, the most important question for them at the moment was their chance for a profit. They held their tongues.

"We can accept that," Biber said. "It seems to me that crimes are crimes and shouldn't be papered over in a land deal, but I can live with it."

He looked at Finch. Finch nodded curtly, unwilling to give his rival the courtesy of verbal agreement.

"Look," Dagmar said to Mark. "What's he saying about my land? And Bannock's, and the rest of us-what we bought?"

"You'll still own that land," Mark said. "You'll even be able to buy more if you're ready to pay these gentlemen's price."

He nodded across the table toward Biber and Finch, feeling the corners of his mouth spread in a slight grin. "But there'll be no way you can prevent them from putting a modular city down on any tract they own, even if that's right next to your property."

Candace nodded cool agreement. His bony fingers were crossed in front of him on the table. The Zenith investors were trying not to stare, but their faces showed a focused intensity. Colonel Wordsworth merely glowered at the whole gathering.

"But it won't be on my tract?" Dagmar said. "That's what you're saying, right?"

"Yes," said Mark. "That's what I'm saying."

"Well," said Dagmar, "I got no problem with that. I never asked to run somebody else's business. I just want them to keep their nose out of mine. That's pretty much how everybody feels. That's why we took up land on a place like Greenwood, I guess."

She looked from the investors to Candace. "So?" she said. "There's something we sign or what?"

The people who settled a new world-the survivors, at least-were folk who thought in terms of the immediate future. They didn't have time to worry about crowding and pollution that would come ten years down the road unless they took preventative measures now. Getting through the next winter was too pressing a problem.

"I think," said Mark, "that we'll sleep on the matter overnight, madame and gentlemen."

The investors' expressions hardened, but Candace allowed himself a bare smile. The counselor would have been horrified had the Greenwood contingent accepted the offer so quickly, even though that was the result he and Protector Giscard wanted.

Dagmar Wately looked in question at Mark but didn't speak. Mark continued, "If the parties are of the same mind tomorrow, then perhaps we can meet again to discuss the wording of the agreement."

What right had Mark Maxwell to put his judgment over that of folks like Dagmar Wately? He and Amy and maybe Yerby might be the only people on Greenwood who wouldn't welcome this compromise. Most of the settlers would willingly trade their planet's future for what they had now in their hands.

Maybe Mark had no right at all. But the Woodsrunners had sent him to this negotiation because they trusted his judgment in an affair they didn't understand themselves. So be it. They would get Mark Maxwell's best judgment.

Candace nodded approval. "Shall we say the same time and place, then?" he asked with a lifted eyebrow.

Mark got up from his chair and looked out the window. Crowds were gathering at many points in the park and streets below, but they didn't have the edgy violence of the mob the night before.

Colonel Wordsworth walked to the window beside him. "What in the name of heaven is going on?" she snarled. She turned and moved for the door at a pace just short of running. "This utterly and totally damned planet!"

"I'm going with her," Mark muttered to Dagmar.

In fact they all followed Wordsworth as fast as they could, Candace included. Under the present conditions on Zenith, any unusual event could be the fuse that ignited real trouble.

The colonel was still in the lead when the group reached the bronze-and-glass street doors. She barged through and skidded to a surprised halt outside.

A platoon of Alliance troops manned a sandbagged checkpoint in front of the Civil Affairs Building. Instead of tensely holding their guns and gas bombs, the soldiers were chortling in small groups. Holographic images quivered in the air before them.

"Let me see that!" Wordsworth said to the nearest group. The sergeant in the middle snapped to attention, startled by the colonel's sudden arrival. He handed over a thimble-sized cube. When its sides were squeezed, it projected a moving hologram for thirty seconds.

"Here," called a woman wearing the silver-winged uniform of a New Paris delivery service. She tossed a handful of the projection cubes over the sandbag barricade to Wordsworth and the negotiators.

Mark picked up a cube with the rest of them, mostly to check the resolution. It was clever of Ms. Macey to hire a local service to distribute them…

He squeezed the cube. Heinrich Biber, stark naked except for a coating of mud, twitched miserably in the jet of the firehose washing him clean. His face was readily identifiable to anyone who'd seen the Mayor before. So, Mark suspected, were the Mayor's other attributes.

"You know," a female soldier said to her fellows, "I've seen Pekingese dogs that were hung better than he is!"

Gales of laughter came from the street and park. Mayor Biber had wealth and power, but he wasn't the sort of man his fellow-citizens weren't willing to laugh at. Chances were that out-of-work Zeniths disliked the local moneymen about as much as they did the Alliance troops.

"Who did this?" Biber screamed. He flung a projection cube to the ground and jumped on where it would have been if it hadn't bounced away. "Who?"

"Why, Heinrich," Berkeley Finch said through the faint curtain of the hologram he was projecting over and over. "I now see an aspect of you I'd never imagined!"

Biber tried to throttle him. Finch backed away, still laughing. A pair of soldiers caught the Mayor's arms.

"It doesn't really matter," Mark said. His soul trembled but he was glad to note that his voice stayed steady. "You've already agreed that Yerby and me and all the Woodsrunners will keep our possessions on Greenwood, Mayor Biber."

Biber shook himself loose. "You," he said in a venomous voice, pointing at Mark.

"In fact," Mark said, "you've made us incredibly rich because of the way land prices will shoot up when you begin bringing in settlers by the tens of thousands."

"You think I'm going to make you rich after what you and your other swine did to me in that swamp?" Biber screamed. He turned to Candace. "There's no deal!" he said. "There's no deal but that every one of the bastards on Greenwood now gets scooped up in their underwear and dumped on an asteroid!"

"Biber, you don't speak for the syndicate," Berkeley Finch said in a worried voice. He'd suddenly realized the wider ramifications of what had just happened.

"And the syndicate doesn't speak for me if it plans to compromise with these grubby lice!" the mayor replied.

Candace tried to step between the men. Biber pushed the counselor back out of the way. "I'm telling you, Finch, I'm going to clear the tracts I own of all trespassers, and if-" He turned to Candace again. "-Protector Kiss-My-Ass Giscard has a problem with that, it's really too bad!"

Biber stumped out of the checkpoint, slapping at the projection cubes in the hands of the people he passed. Colonel Wordsworth watched him go with a speculative look.

"Well, Dagmar," Mark said to his fellow delegate. "I don't think we need stay on Zenith any longer. It appears that an agreement won't be possible after all."

He nodded to Counselor Candace, who seemed to be in shock.