When Basil asked her to join him at sunset in the rooftop gardens, Sarein was girlishly pleased that he would choose such a romantic rendezvous. She wondered if he would surprise her with a fine dinner, complete with Dremen saltpond caviar and preserved Theron insect steaks from Rlinda Kett’s last gourmet stockpiles.
The fantasy lasted only a moment, though. Sarein knew the Chairman well enough to recognize that he would never “waste” an evening just enjoying himself in her company. There was always work to do, and therefore he must have some important business purpose to discuss, and this was the best way to keep it private between the two of them.
She felt a flicker of disappointment, then chided herself. That was who Basil had always been. His drive and competence was what had attracted her in the first place, long ago when she’d first come to study on Earth.
She arrived on the rooftop of the Hansa pyramid precisely on time. The sun was a brassy sphere on the western horizon. At the edge of the gardens, Basil stood with his back to her. Potted dwarf orange and lemon trees, bursting with perfume-filled white blossoms that attracted noisy bees, were placed at precise intervals. Paths of faceted gravel were laid out with an exactitude of randomness, designed by a committee of Asian gardeners.
“There’s a pitcher of iced tea on the table. Would you pour us each a glass?” Basil said without looking at her. His reputation of having eyes in the back of his head was well earned. “It’s your favorite flavor, I believe.”
Sarein did as she was told, trying to remember when Basil had ever asked her preference in tea. She smelled a tart infusion of mango and cinnamon; the unfamiliar taste was delicious, though she couldn’t imagine why he thought it was her “favorite.” He was making some sort of gesture, setting the tone for their conversation. He wanted something from her.
Through Basil, she had learned how to manipulate people and politics in ways that no innocent treedweller from Theroc had ever thought to do. Sarein had repaid Basil with her body and her companionship, and finally, with her advice and support. She also gave him a hint of her love, but she had to keep that secret, of course. He would only treat romantic notions with scorn. She had never dreamed their affair would last for almost a decade. Now they were certainly a team, though Basil didn’t seem to want to recognize it.
Despite his position of power, the Chairman wasn’t a womanizer, and she doubted he kept other secret concubines. Not that she would have allowed herself to feel jealousy, and not that he wouldn’t have insisted on the right to have other women. In all probability, he considered other women to be too much bother. As far as Sarein could tell, searching out distractions—even pleasurable ones—was not in his nature. She gave him everything he wanted or needed, and therefore he could concentrate his energies elsewhere. They had a tacit understanding.
Sarein rarely let herself analyze her true feelings for the Chairman, though. She stayed with him because she wanted to, not just because of the advantages that came from being his lover. Basil kept his heart carefully shuttered, and she could never pry loose a glimpse of his inner thoughts. She knew he cared for her, which he proved—as far as she was concerned—by visibly withdrawing whenever he felt himself getting too close. It was his method of self-protection.
Now, standing together on the rooftop, the two of them looked toward the Whisper Palace. Basil’s steel-gray hair was impeccably in place. His formal suit jacket and slacks would have looked pretentious on anyone else in a casual setting, but the Chairman wore them with complete comfort. “The time has come for us to press our advantage, Sarein. You are next in line.”
She slipped her arm through his. “I’m generally willing to press any advantage, Basil. But you need to give me a clearer description of what you mean.”
He turned to her with an impatient sigh, as if he expected the answer to be obvious. “Your sister Estarra is the Queen, but you are now the oldest member of the Theron ruling family. Your two brothers were killed by the hydrogues. Your parents clearly have no desire to resume their leadership roles, which they never fulfilled very well in the first place.”
“They may not have had the . . . gene of political ambition, but they tried their best.”
“Fortunately, Sarein, I know you have that gene. After due consideration, I have decided it would be best for everyone concerned if you returned to Theroc and demanded your place as . . . Mother Sarein.”
She turned away, stung. “It’s not a matter of demanding, Basil. My parents would be all too happy to hand over the throne to me.”
“All the better then.” He drank his iced tea as if the matter was over.
When he had first taken her under his wing, she had known that the Chairman was using her reciprocally to gain some advantage with the stubbornly uncooperative Therons. But as the hydrogue crisis dragged on with no resolution in sight, she had begun to feel like a pet waiting for table scraps whenever he deigned to notice her. Why was Basil trying to get rid of her? What had she done?
“But I’m not sure that’s what I want to do.” Sarein had seen the images brought back by EDF rescue ships and had no desire to see the blackened scars, smell the smoke in the air, or watch the beaten survivors numbly going about their hopeless task. “Considering my current role here, that would be a step . . . backward.”
Basil’s gray eyes bored into her. “Not for the Hansa. Don’t be selfish.” He stroked her arm gently; the gesture did not seem a spontaneous display of affection, but a calculated movement designed to evoke a response. It took a conscious effort for her not to flinch from his touch. “Our very equilibrium is at risk, but if everything is handled perfectly—by me, by you, and by all the others I rely upon—the Hansa can come out stronger. We’ll smell like roses.”
She no longer liked the taste of her tea. “But only if I become the next Mother of Theroc?”
“That could well be the key. Walk with me.” Together they strolled along the winding gravel paths, smelling the sweet citrus flowers. “I have always had a grand vision for humanity. Before the hydrogues came, it was a dream, a long-term plan. When the Spiral Arm was an open playing field and interstellar travel seemed a remote possibility, it cost Earth nothing to let the eleven generation ships wander away like fledglings leaving the nest. Now, however, the situation has changed. Facing a foe such as the hydrogues, we must stand together with unity, as an empire, not with the anarchy of a dysfunctional family.”
Sarein had always been swayed by his passion and his heartfelt dreams. Never before had she been bothered by how he talked to her, but now she felt that Basil was trying to manipulate her like artist’s clay. He wasn’t usually so clumsy, so obvious. But he had been slipping lately, showing tiny ragged edges of stress and volatility.
He continued: “After so many people have suffered, so much damage has been done—the slate has been wiped clean. I see the real possibility of reuniting all the threads of humanity, tying together our scattered prodigal children—the Therons, the Roamers, and all the Hansa colonies. It’s got to be done! We can use this turmoil as a catalyst to unify all humans against the hydrogues . . . or against any enemy, for that matter. Who knows what the future may hold?”
Basil continued to talk, bitterly cursing former Chairman Bertram Goswell, who had originally allowed the Roamers to break away. The entire Hansa had paid for that lack of foresight. Next, he grumbled about Old King Ben under Chairman Malcolm Stannis, who had granted the Therons their independence before anyone considered the implications of telink communication.
“All of those mistakes weakened mankind,” Basil said. He stood beside a stone bench but showed no sign that he intended to sit down. “Now it’s time to fix those mistakes. We can cement the pieces together again.”
Sarein stopped to touch the flowers of a lemon tree as she thought of an interesting comparison. “You see yourself as a human version of the Mage-Imperator, trying to draw together all the separate strands of a political thism.”
His expression was almost boyish. “Hmmm, I like that. I do have the wisest plan for us all to cooperate efficiently. King Peter can be our spokesman, even the Archfather of Unison can be useful—though I’ll make the important decisions . . . after receiving appropriate advice from my experts, including yourself, Sarein.”
“So long as I’m on Theroc. Instead of here.”
Did he want to distance himself from her? Maybe, seeing the situation crumbling around him, he was doing mental damage control. Perhaps he had realized he was depending on Sarein too much, maybe even loved her—which would frighten him. No wonder he was sending her away. It was just like him.
“All right, Basil. I’ll go back to Theroc. I’ll try to become the next Mother.” His smile showed relief and satisfaction, but no visible warmth. I’m doing it for you, she thought.