MAXIM

Special Counsel Maxim Igensard was an ambitious man. Behind his carefully nurtured appearance of nondescript diffidence, he burned with an incandescent hunger. Everything he did, he did for one reason, and one reason only: to satisfy that blaze.

Scruples and doubts rarely troubled him.

His goals seemed so right and necessary to him that he never questioned them. In fact, he seldom thought about them: they were too essential to require consideration. Nevertheless he labored to achieve them with a relentless and single-minded determination which endured no obstacles. Waking or sleeping—although by the standards of his underlings and colleagues he slept little—he worked for what he wanted.

To put what he wanted into words oversimplified it to the point of falsehood. Mere language gave short shrift to the intensity of his desires, as well as to the prospective glory of achieving them. However, if he could have been lured or persuaded to name his goals, he would have said that he meant to become the director of the United Mining Companies Police.

He belonged in that position: it was his natural place. He’d been born to enforce the future of humankind—the vast majority of whom were nothing more than a clot of stupid sheep. And to supplant Warden Dios seemed the finest accomplishment to which a human mind could aspire.

Unfortunately he was still a long way—a long way—from attaining his ambition. For that reason his energies were focused exclusively on the how rather than the why of his goals.

His appointment as the Special Counsel charged with investigating the Thermopyle case on Com-Mine Station was an important step in the right direction: it gave him leverage. Now he could proceed to larger matters.

What he intended, in its baldest terms, was to tarnish Warden Dios, either directly or through his subordinates, so thoroughly that Holt Fasner would have no choice but to replace the UMCP director. This, however, would inevitably incur Fasner’s wrath—which would in turn militate against Maxim’s appointment in Dios’ place. To diminish Holt Fasner’s anger, therefore, as well as to subtly demonstrate his own trustworthiness, Maxim was resolved to attack the UMCP director in ways which cast no taint on the UMC CEO.

Thus he was outraged by that old fool Sixten Vertigus’ Bill of Severance. It transformed his investigation of the UMCP into an assault on Holt Fasner: it forced him into the position of appearing to support a threat which could only increase the UMC CEO’s hostility.

He considered—and discarded—the possibility that he might reach his goal without Holt Fasner’s sponsorship. If the UMCP were severed from the UMC, it was of course conceivable that Maxim might find himself selected to replace Warden Dios: conceivable, but unlikely. Taken together, the GCES Members were as stupid a clot of sheep as Maxim had ever seen. They were perfectly capable of ignoring his superior knowledge of the UMCP—as well as his superior abilities—for the sake of investing some fatuous figurehead with Warden Dios’ authority and power.

Because of this, he was personally and viscerally furious at Warden Dios and Hashi Lebwohl. Their recent video conference with the Council had dealt him an insidious blow. His ambitions required that he extract evidence of malfeasance or defalcation from reluctant, stonewalling opponents. The importance, the sheer stature, of his investigation was undermined when his opponents voluntarily justified his accusations. That trivialized him. He wanted to ruin Dios in person: he gained nothing by simply allowing the UMCP director to effect his own end.

When the announcement that the Amnion had committed an act of war reached him—albeit indirectly—from GCES President Len’s office, his first action was to call Cleatus Fane. Although such contact was premature, sudden crises required special risks. He wanted to assure Holt Fasner’s First Executive Assistant that he would do everything in his considerable power to keep the UMC CEO’s reputation clean in the forthcoming emergency session.

To his acute consternation, however, Fane declined to speak with him. Too busy, one of the FEA’s aides explained: under the circumstances the Special Counsel surely understood. In other words, Maxim Igensard lacked the significance to gain Fane’s notice at a time like this.

Bitterly Maxim queried GCES Communications to learn the truth. But he was informed that for a fact Cleatus Fane was busy: the FEA had reqqed every uplink channel which hadn’t been reserved by Security, and—according to Communications—was “emitting enough microwaves to cause sunspots.”

Maxim didn’t need to ask whom Fane addressed so feverishly. The answer was obvious. UMC Home Office. Holt Fasner.

Regardless of “the circumstances,” Special Counsel Maxim Igensard had no intention of diminishing himself by explaining his concerns to a mere aide. Seething like magma beneath an almost featureless surface, he went to see Abrim Len in person.

The GCES President had been cast from a different mold than FEA Fane—if a man so malleable and apprehensive could be said to have been “cast” at all. “Can’t this wait, Maxim?” he muttered peevishly as he admitted Maxim to his office suite. “I don’t have the time. My intercom is flashing like a strobe. Suddenly every constituent on the planet wants to flare his elected representative—God knows why, the newsdogs haven’t picked up on this yet. I just finished talking to Tel Burnish”—the Member for Valdor Industrial—“who has a lot more at stake than any of the rest of us, but I didn’t know what to tell him except what we’ve heard from Warden Dios. And I haven’t even started getting ready. Do you have any idea how much preparation goes into an emergency session? More than I know how to handle, and that’s a fact. We’ve never had an emergency session. At least not since I became President. Not since Captain Vertigus first made contact with the Amnion.

“This is going to turn out badly, Maxim. Mark my words. We’re in serious trouble.” Circuitously he arrived back at his point. “I really have no time to talk to you.”

Maxim gave President Len’s sense of harassment the attention he thought it deserved: in effect, none. On the whole island the only thing larger than Len’s palatial suite of offices was his staff of aides, advisers, secretaries, receptionists, PR officers, and—Maxim suspected sourly—therapists. Nevertheless he offered commiseration while he diffidently steered the President toward one of the more private regions of the suite, away from the flashing intercoms and the tense scurry of subordinates.

“This is difficult for you, I know, Mr. President,” he murmured. “Your responsibilities must be enormous. That’s largely why I came to see you. If you’ll give me ten minutes of your time, I may be able to simplify your position slightly.”

From Maxim’s perspective, Abrim Len was fatuous to the point of brain-death. He was an intelligent man, however, after his fashion. “‘Simplify’?” he retorted as he and Maxim reached a quieter room. “‘Simplify,’ Maxim? You must be joking. In my experience, when a Special Counsel uses a word like ‘simplify,’ what he means is that he’s about to make my life miserable.”

Maxim managed a thin smile, although he was in no mood for Abrim Len’s sarcasm. “It may seem so at first,” he admitted. “But if you’ll hear me out, I’m sure you’ll appreciate the point I want to make.”

“Fine.” The President folded himself onto a deep sofa like a man who wasn’t sure what to do with his limbs. His teeth seemed to protrude over his weak chin. “I’ll listen. At least this way I won’t have to take any more calls for a while.”

Maxim sat also. As a matter of policy he kept his physical profile low: at times he appeared to compress himself into the smallest possible space. He found he often gained an advantage by giving the impression that no one needed to fear him.

He began at once. A mind like his seldom hesitated.

“Mr. President, you expressed a concern that ‘this is going to turn out badly.’ As you say, we are in ‘serious trouble.’ But you may not yet have had time to grasp just how ‘serious’ the trouble is. My overriding motivation is to prevent the situation from growing worse—within the context of my duties as Special Counsel, of course.”

“Your sentiments do you credit,” Len remarked sententiously. Perhaps he knew that such vacuous comments irritated Maxim.

The Special Counsel didn’t allow himself to be distracted, however. Instead he became unnecessarily pedantic—an oblique form of retribution.

“I have received the full text of Warden Dios’ announcement that the Amnion have committed an act of war,” he began. The President’s office had broadcast it exclusively to the Members; but of course they had all shown it at once to their aides and advisers, just as Sen Abdullah had shared it with Maxim, and someone—Sigurd Carsin, perhaps—had forwarded it to Cleatus Fane. “It’s frightening enough as it stands. Yet it omits what I consider to be some salient details. And the implications of those details—and of their omission—are even more frightening.

“Director Dios states that a Behemoth-class Amnion defensive has made an incursion into human space. This did not occur near their own frontier—which might be excused—but rather many light-years beyond the limits of any nonhostile rationale. In fact, the defensive has broached the Massif-5 system, where it was engaged in heavy combat by UMCP cruiser Punisher.”

Len fluttered his hands. “I know all that. I can read.” Maxim ignored the interruption.

“Warden Dios offers no explanation for this incursion, other than to suggest that the defensive is—or was—hunting UMCP gap scout Trumpet, presumably seeking to destroy that vessel.” The Special Counsel digressed momentarily. “In this he must be correct. There is no conceivable strategic benefit to be gained by an attack on Valdor Industrial. Valdor might well repulse the assault.” The Station was massively armed. “The defensive might be lost to no purpose.”

Then he resumed. “Fortuitously Trumpet has escaped. And now Punisher has broken off the engagement, leaving an Amnion defensive alive in human space, in an effort to protect Trumpet further. Again Warden Dios offers no explanation, but he patently considers Trumpet—or the people aboard her—more important than his sworn duty to defend human space.”

By degrees a look of nausea seemed to take over Abrim Len’s weak face. Maxim smiled inwardly as he continued, although his demeanor gave no hint of satisfaction—or scorn.

“Still without explanation, Warden Dios reveals that UMCPED director Min Donner is aboard Punisher. No doubt he cites this detail to convince us that Punisher behaved correctly in breaking off her engagement.”

“We’re lucky.” The President made an unsuccessful effort to project confidence. He may have been trying to reassure himself. “Enforcement is her job. And she’s good at it. If she couldn’t finish that defensive, no one could.”

Still Maxim plowed ahead, cutting the ground along the lines he desired.

“I mentioned omissions. Certainly the omission of any useful account of all these actions is significant. But there are others.

“Warden Dios neglects to observe that Trumpet is the vessel which convicted illegal Angus Thermopyle and Com-Mine Security Deputy Chief Milos Taverner”—Maxim permitted himself a trace of sarcasm—“are purported to have stolen in their escape from UMCPHQ. And he also fails to report what Punisher was doing in the Massif-5 system.”

Len gave a sound like a low groan. “I suppose you’re going to tell me she shouldn’t have been there. We have warships around VI all the time. For good reason.”

Maxim nodded to placate the President. “The vessel currently assigned to the defense of Valdor Industrial is UMCP cruiser Vehemence. She was sent to relieve Punisher after Punisher had endured a long and, I believe, damaging tour of duty.

“But Punisher never came to dock at UMCPHQ. As soon as she entered the gap range restricted for use by UMCP ships, she altered course and headed outward again.” Maxim had never been able to penetrate the veils of obfuscation which concealed the heart of UMCPHQ, but his authority sufficed to extract this kind of information. “Min Donner must have joined ship then. Earlier she was known to be on-station. We have reports from her following Godsen Frik’s murder.”

His tone conveyed no particular emphasis as he concluded, “With the UMCPED director aboard, Punisher left UMCPHQ control space on a course for Com-Mine Station.”

Abrim Len’s reaction was a rewarding blend of surprise and dismay. “What, Com-Mine?” he protested. “Com-Mine? Not VI?”

Maxim noted with some gratification that Len didn’t question the accuracy of this revelation.

“You begin to see the pattern, Mr. President.” He was sure that Len saw no such thing. “Punisher’s stated mission—to the extent that it has been made known to us—was to guard against reports of unusual hostile activity along the frontier near the Com-Mine belt. Yet suddenly we find her in the Massif-5 system. We find Trumpet in the Massif-5 system, although UMCPDA director Hashi Lebwohl asked us to believe that Captain Thermopyle and Deputy Chief Taverner had fled toward Thanatos Minor in forbidden space. And in addition”—he spoke slowly to give each word its full weight—“by a coincidence which beggars description, we find a Behemoth-class Amnion defensive there as well.”

The President sighed. “I’m too tired to see patterns, Maxim.” His look of nausea was growing stronger. “I want them explained to me.”

“Very well,” Maxim replied as if he were acquiescing.

“Mr. President, I believe that Captain Thermopyle and Deputy Chief Taverner did not escape from UMCPHQ. I believe they were sent into forbidden space to commit some act—I can hardly guess what—which the Amnion would be unable to countenance. Then they fled deep into human space. This was necessary so that the response of the Amnion would be unmistakable, and yet would present no direct danger to Earth. Any threat to Earth would have been too extreme to be useful.

“Punisher went to the frontier with Min Donner aboard to ensure that Trumpet was indeed able to flee. Thereafter she followed Trumpet to Massif-5, where she awaited this incursion.

“Finally I am certain that all these events occurred because Warden Dios wished it so.”

Gradually Len slid downward until his head rested on the back of the sofa. He stared at the ceiling with his mouth open.

“My conclusion is this,” Maxim pronounced. “I am convinced that the director of the United Mining Companies Police has deliberately precipitated an act of war in order to stampede the Governing Council for Earth and Space into withdrawing support for my investigation.”

Here he quickened his pace so that the President would have no opportunity to interrupt.

“Evidence has been coming to light which suggests the most heinous kinds of malfeasance and corruption. Warden Dios’ probity,” his insufferable air of moral superiority, “is under question, his power is endangered. Therefore he seeks to protect his position by persuading us that we must not threaten him now. He wishes us to believe that the risk of challenging him is too great at a time when we face the possibility of war.”

Abrim Len flapped a hand, asking Maxim to stop. Maxim complied at once: he was ready to let the President speak.

Len continued studying the ceiling as if it frightened him. After a moment he muttered, “And you deduce all this from, what, Punisher’s presence near VI? Min Donner’s presence aboard Punisher?”

Maxim’s tone sharpened. “I deduce it from the explanations which have been omitted.” He made no effort to muffle his underlying vehemence now. “I deduce it from the sheer scale of the coincidences involved. And I deduce it from the knowledge that Warden Dios’ position is so precarious as to be untenable.

“Do you doubt me, Mr. President?” he challenged. “Then tell me how you account for the fact that Punisher broke off her engagement with the defensive. Min Donner is renowned for her unswerving rectitude, as well as for her pugnacity. Why would she turn aside from her obvious duty, if she had not been given orders to let the defensive live—to reduce the risk that this incursion will become a full-scale war? Warden Dios desires the threat, not the actuality. His malfeasance may be so pervasive that the UMCP is no longer equipped or positioned to pursue a war.”

“Punisher was damaged,” Len put in weakly. “You said that yourself. Warden claims she couldn’t beat the defensive.” He paused, then added, “That ship has super-light proton cannon.”

Maxim nodded, although he conceded nothing. “No doubt the director speaks factually. But if you think that weakens my argument, ask yourself why Punisher was chosen for this assignment. Perhaps it was because she could plausibly claim that she was unable to destroy the defensive.”

There he stopped. He had made his case clear enough for a half-wit to comprehend it. Now he had to await the President’s official reaction.

Len scrutinized the doom which he apparently saw displayed overhead. Despite his slumped posture, his tension was palpable. Still he refused to look at Maxim. With an attempt at asperity, he asked, “Maxim, what do you want? When do we get to the part where you ‘simplify’ my position?”

The distress he caused Abrim Len gave Maxim a bitter satisfaction. He was too well focused to show his pleasure, however. Instead he concentrated on his purposes.

“I have expressed my concerns, Mr. President,” he replied, his tone studiously meek. “Clearly they must be presented to the Council. So much is unavoidable. Humankind’s future rests on our evaluation of Warden Dios’ integrity.

“Unfortunately this burden falls to you. I lack the official standing to bear it for you. As Special Counsel charged with investigating the Angus Thermopyle case, I have no authority to address an emergency session called to consider an act of war.

“What I ‘want,’ Mr. President,” he pronounced with his utmost diffidence, “is to spare you an unpleasant duty. If you will grant the necessary authorization, I will take on the responsibility for prosecuting my concerns,” just the sort of confrontation Abrim Len loathed. “In addition, of course,” he expanded speciously, “I will accept the risk of embarrassment—or perhaps I should say humiliation—if my concerns are shown to be false.”

Len’s limbs twitched. With a jerk, he turned a gap-mouthed stare toward Maxim. His nausea had retreated into the background: assessments filled his gaze. He may have been trying to gauge the scale of Maxim’s ambitions. Or he may simply have been wondering whether he could accept Maxim’s offer.

Finally he closed his mouth, cleared his throat. When he replied, his voice seemed to come from some other room, muted by distance. “If you can talk Sen Abdullah into giving you his formal proxy—and if it’s received in my office before the emergency session—I’ll recognize you in his place. It’s irregular, but I can stretch the rules of order that far. You’ll have as much ‘authority to speak’ as any other Member.”

At once Maxim rose to his feet. “Thank you, Mr. President.” He already knew that he could obtain Abdullah’s proxy. The Eastern Union Senior Member hated Warden Dios. Some of his constituents had lost fortunes when Dios had helped Holt Fasner engineer the bankruptcy and absorption of Sagittarius Exploration.

Maxim didn’t wait for Abrim Len to dismiss him. As unobtrusively as possible, he left the President’s office suite.

By God, Cleatus Fane was going to regret refusing to speak to him. Special Counsel Maxim Igensard had just demonstrated that he was a force to be reckoned with.