Charles Ingrid - marked man 02 The Last Recall Page 6

  That, and other miracles. Thomas did not respond aloud.

  Clancy gave him a sharp look. "If we aren't given treaty water, there are those of us who will take it. In the north hills, there is a man ... a counties man ... he talks to us like you do."

  Thomas' interest came back to him abruptly. He was not aware of anyone who worked with the nesters. "What can you tell me about him?"

  The headman's expression became cagey. "I would not tell you, but you are Blade—and you had balls enough to bring Kurt's body back." He lowered his voice a little. "He was found near the ruins of the hidden people."

  "What hidden people?" Thomas kept his voice even, but suspicion pricked at him.

  ' 'Where the big battle took place—about a year and a half ago. You and the desert chieftain fought together."

  The College Vaults. Someone unaccounted for. "Tell me about this man."

  Clancy shrugged. "He calls for strength out of weakness. I heard that he is a big man, massive . . . he's stolen a lot of beef.'' The nester grinned at that.

  The Dean of the College Vaults had been a mountainous man, fat and unconditioned. "Does this county man have a name?"

  "I haven't heard it. The northern clans say he does not like the Seven Counties. They are divided over him. Some say their totem, the Shastra, guided him to them. Others doubt it. He says they plan to steal all our water . . . and we should band together, under one headman. What do you think, Blade?"

  Thomas wasn't familiar with any particular totem of the northern clans. But if it had been the dean they'd found, he had definite opinions on that. "I think this man sounds like trouble. I think your clan should think about it before they let another headman replace you. You've done well for them."

  "That I have. You had better think on him, too. He's got a bounty on you." With that, Clancy left him and went to the sobbing woman who had unshrouded her husband.

  Thomas stood, paralyzed by the implications. A nation of nesters could well bring the Seven Counties to their knees, particularly as divided as they were now in the absence of a DWP. It was not a threat any of them had thought they ever need to worry about. A nester was by nature antisocial and paranoid. It wouldn't be easy to band them together.

  60 Charles Ingrid

  If he had a bounty on his life, it had to be the dean. No one else knew him as well. It appeared the dean was going to try to finish what he had started. Perhaps it was time he did the same.

  Chapter 5

  Lady caught Quinones by the elbow. The administrator turned about and blinked at her with his extra set of eyelids. The effect was incredibly owllike, bolstered by the round-lensed glasses he wore. She dropped her hold on him quickly.

  "I was told Sir Thomas is back," she said. "Have you seen him?"

  She watched as Quinones fought to control his trembling. He had a peculiar nervous system, one that went into convulsions if shocked and he'd been known to fall over in a dead faint, harmless though spectacular, on a regular basis. "He c-came in late last night," he stuttered. "He's already been through the kitchen and bathhouse this morning."

  "That's all I need to know." She spun about, her skirt hem kicking up with the movement. As she trotted briskly in the other direction, he called after her, "T-tell him that Denethan's ambassador is looking for Mm, t-too. It's urgent!''

  Lady hurried down the pathway, wondering what could have lit a fire under Shankar, Denethan's ambassador, whose usual approach to life was as uncannily lizardlike as his appearance. Shankar's preferred activity for the day was to bask in whatever sunny spot he could find, but Lady had noticed that the ambassador had a profound ability to eavesdrop when he appeared to be comatose in the sunshine.

  It was only late September and yet the early morning rays seemed to slant a little off the Palos Verdes peninsula, heralding the cant of the earth toward winter. She lifted her chin a little to catch the smell of the ocean on the breeze. A brief image drifted across her senses, a vision of herself and Thomas strolling in a pink-hued sunset along the beach, just the two of them. . . . Lady skirted a group of arguing farmers en route to the Warden manor, her daydream vanishing. She looked to the ridge above, where sentries were on duty, more as a formality now than as a necessity. Raiders from the Mojave were a thing of the past. She scanned for Thomas who, cautionary as ever, was likely to be out testing the sentry line.

  She did not catch a glimpse of either Thomas or Shan-kar. Her next bet, then, was the school. The children loved Thomas, for reasons he could not fathom, and that amused Lady. He was always bringing back tidbits from the ruins, toys or gadgets they would pore over and guess the uses of. The entire laser disk library was due to Thomas' efforts. The children adored him for Mickey Mouse alone.

  She paused on the slope. From where she stood, she could see the classrooms. Doors stood open, dark openings into what she liked to think was the soul of the Seven Counties. The classrooms were empty, quiet. The realization sent icy fingers across her Intuition. The Counties were changing, shifting. The Warden dynasty had been a glue that held them together. Now many were complaining the Warden manor and Torrance County were too far north and west of the others and that the county seat should be shifted accordingly. Few parents wanted to send their children such an inconvenient distance to be fostered. Only the orphan wards would have no choice, but Lady foresaw that changes were coming.

  She stirred uncomfortably. She was a creature of habit, of nesting. She did not like the idea of change, particularly when it seemed to be a destiny she could not guide.

  Where she stood now overlooked the road leading to the manor house, the lone house left standing on this block, with its massive, crescent driveway. The '98 Caddy convertible rested in the front, preparatory to being hitched up. Its metal and chrome frame, massive in its antique beauty, caught the gleam of the early morning. The car was one of several that had been restored by

  Charles Warden, inasmuch as he could, the last of a century of behemoths. Later decades saw cars and other vehicles made of biodegradable materials which were useless to the survivors. Her glance flicked over the car, then came back. Someone was slumped quietly in the front seat.

  Lady broke into a run, propelled by the ground slope she'd been standing upon. She reached the side of the Caddy breathless, the fine strands of her hair breaking loose from its weave and drifting about her face.

  Thomas looked up at her. His mouth pursed under his silky mustache, but he refrained from comment.

  "The last place I'd have looked for you," she got out, and slid in as he opened the car door.

  "It didn't work, then," he said mournfully. He tucked a longer strand of hair behind her ear.

  "Antisocial so early in the morning?"

  "Please," he said. "There're nearly three hundred people here already, with another fifty or so due in today. All of them politicians."

  "Really, Thomas!" She laughed softly. He had the gift of making her laugh, as well as of making her cry. She grabbed his hand before he could move it out of her reach. "We've testing yet to do this morning and Quinones says Shankar is looking for you."

  "Shankar has found me," the man said. His weathered blue eyes watched over the Caddy's hood, up the length of road which would take them to a point where the Pacific Ocean could be seen clearly and without break, Cat-alina Island on the southward horizon. Because of the moisture from the ocean breeze, grass and shrubs were abundant here, evergreen and Monterey pine, gorse and eucalyptus, citrus trees and ficus, everything imaginable. Everything but homes and the people who had once populated them. Of them no legacy remained but broken foundations. She wondered if he saw what she saw.

  Curiosity prodded her. "What did Shankar want?"

  "He has heard from Denethan. The old coyote has finally sent his son out to be fostered."

  "That's wonderful! We need that ... we need a visible sign of the alliance."

  He scratched the corner of his mouth thoughtfully. "Yes and no. Shankar's tight-mouthed about the boy, but I gather he'
s a handful even among the Mojavans."

  "We'll put him in school."

  "I think we'll have better luck harnessing him to your mule and letting Candy break him." Thomas stood up. "Well, so much for peace and quiet. Gird yourself, milady. The fray awaits us." He handed her out of the Caddy, gathering her up in a rumple of skirt and literally tossing her over the car door. She went with a girlish squeal and considerable loss of dignity, but landed on her feet.

  "Thomas!"

  His eyes sparked and he gave her the briefest of grins as he landed beside her in a puff of driveway dust. He waved to the house. "The fray is that way."

  "How well I know." Lady gathered herself and they walked to the doors of the flagstone manor. "I, however, can beg to be excused. Candidates are waiting for me."

  "Who's up?"

  "Well, Barbara's made it this far. She can Read fairly well and Project and Block. That's about it for her, but it's all we can hope for. And then there's Stanhope. He's got more to him, I think, than anybody we've seen in a long time. He straightened a broken leg for setting last week with very little pain or disruption to the patient. He Reads well, too. More importantly, he has a significant amount of Projection and Empathy, which means he'll be able to teach future candidates."

  "Someone named that boy well." he held the door open for her. The smells of breakfast and the sound of voices enveloped them.

  "Gillander did, actually, as I remember."

  Thomas stood, stunned by the sudden lack of sunlight and by the futile expectation of waiting for Veronica Warden to glide forward to greet him . It never failed to hit him that Ronnie and Charles were gone from this place. Lady put her hand on his wrist and squeezed comfortingly as she sensed his confusion. He caught himself. "Who else?"

  "Two or three others. Plus we have five more candidates to think about next spring."

  "That many? After the dearth we've had? Where are the genes coming from?"

  "Out of the woodwork. How should I know? Just be grateful."

  There had been only seven of them, barely one for each county and none for the wide expanse of land between county centers. Now, suddenly, there would be an abundance of Protectors ... in a time of peace when Protectors were needed least. He tasted the irony of it. "Why don't we work the room long enough to be polite? I'd like to go with you."

  "All right. I want to find out what happened with the nesters."

  He would not bring it up, because of their argument weeks ago when he'd left, but was relieved she had because he wanted her advice. Thomas looked down at her. "All right," he said agreeably.

  The foyer opened up into a spacious living room and dining room, the far walls of tempered glass extending the horizon as far as the Pacific. The horizon was muddied now by the clusters of people standing and talking, drinks in hand despite the time of day. Thomas made Governor Valdees his target. The chunky man, his thick, brutish brown hair liberally salted with gray, stood with his back to them, his voice cutting through closer conversations. Governors were responsible for the military and revenue structure of each county while the mayors handled trade and city planning, with the DWP being the power that wove them all together.

  "So, I said, what is the difference between horse shit and a nester? And he says to me, no one minds stepping on a nester!" As the conversation broke up in laughter, Thomas gained his objective.

  Valdees turned to him. "Sir Thomas! You made it for the ceremonies, after all! Good to see you."

  One of his audience, Governor Irlene, smiled coolly. She wore a dusky pink riding jacket over her trousers. Her glance slid over Lady and Thomas wondered why sudden enmity showed. He was not aware that the two had any history. She extended her hand. "Thomas, you missed one hell of a barbecue by leaving so early. That wolfrat rodeo was only the beginning."

  He shook her hand, acknowledging that Judge Teal threw a good party; however, his eyes were on Valdees. The governor shifted uncomfortably. ' 'Is there something I can do for you or is this visit merely social?"

  "Actually, Governor, there is something you can do for me. When are you next exchanging duty shifts for Boyd's troops?" Military coverage for large operations was still standard though raiding had dropped down considerably.

  "Near the Prado?" Valdees looked surprised. His shaggy eyebrows did a small dance. "Several days after I return home, probably. Why do you ask?"

  "Send a courier with them. Suggest to Boyd that his military protection hinges on opening up his wells and keeping them open. Remind the cattleman that we have a water rights treaty with the nesters and you've got the guts to enforce it."

  The room was suddenly quiet. Across the room Art Bartholomew lifted his chin as though it aided him to hear.

  Lady muttered, "My God, Thomas, I thought you came in to mingle, not start a war." Valdees heard her, but few others could.

  The governor's expression remained guarded. "Is there a problem I should know about?''

  "I executed a man for poisoning a well. He did it. I have no guilt. But what we were not told at the trial was that the water had already been allowed to go bad and new wells hadn't been opened up. Boyd's getting water from the Prado, he doesn't care if he loses the wells— but as long as he leases his rangeland from the counties, he has to abide by our treaties the same as anyone else would. I think he needs to be reminded of it."

  The amber liquid in Valdees' glass shook almost imperceptibly. He said, "I will do that, Lord Protector."

  In the background, from a direction Thomas could not pinpoint, someone muttered, "Nester lover."

  He looked around. No one hated nesters worse than he did—miserable curs who refused to cooperate and accept responsibility for mutual survival. But as long as they lived, there was a possibility they could change, could come back. They were not like animals who went feral and remained unreclaimable. And, there had been Clancy's warning. "I would like to remind anyone within earshot that the nester clans would be of considerable size if they decided to form a nation."

  "What's the matter, Thomas—inventing new enemies now that we've got a truce with the lizards?"

  Before Thomas could retort to the man who had spoken out, Art Bartholomew interrupted. "Who says we've got a truce," he yelled back. "We've been at war with Denethan since he came to power. I say we've all been duped into doing nothing while he regroups. Just because we had a common enemy does not make him our ally."

  A hiss came from the shadowy corner of the room, by the kitchen doors. Thomas looked and saw Shankar, the Mojavan ambassador, draw his sinewy body to his full height.

  "I take offense at your remarks, Mr. Bartholomew."

  Art looked at the ambassador. His lip curled. "Take whatever you what, Mr, Ambassador. Just tell your raiders to stop stealing chickens from my farmers."

  "You have no proof!" The scaled man drew close, the teeth he bared a little too sharp for comfort.

  "No proof?" Bartholomew bulled his way out of his rank of listeners. "I've got shed skins—you name it, I can prove a lizard was there!"

  Shankar fairly shook with rage. He turned to Thomas. "Lord Protector!"

  Thomas put up one hand. "This is not a dictatorship like the Mojave, Mr. Ambassador. Mr. Bartholomew is allowed to think as he wishes. He's only in trouble if he decides to act upon it." He smiled at Bartholomew. "He has to weigh his actions against reactions to decide if it's worth it or not."

  Art Bartholomew's warty face turned livid. "Don't threaten me," he said softly, "Lord Protector or not."

  "It's not me you have to worry about. It's those untrustworthy Mojavans," Thomas returned. He drew

  Shankar aside. "As for your assumption of their guilt, I wouldn't dare suggest you look in other directions. Never mind that the nester recipe for chicken reads: first, steal a chicken." Looking beyond Bartholomew, he could see and hear the laughter, and the audience they had gathered began to turn away as the tension was defused.

  He brought Shankar with him as he stepped close to Bartholomew. He pitched his vo
ice for their ears alone. "Art, you've been breathing down Shankar's neck ever since he arrived here. This may not be an alliance you approve of, but the Board of Mayors and Governors voted for it by a majority. I know you want to be DWP, but I suggest to you strongly that you not run on a platform of action or prejudice against those we must survive alongside."

  "Well spoken, Sir Thomas," Shankar began, but Thomas shook him to silence.

  "As for you, you fork-tongued old rogue, you quit needling those short of temper whose support we both depend on. Bartholomew has opened wells in his southern and easternmost reaches for you, and you need them. So may I suggest, gentlemen, a little compromise in temperament?"

  Bartholomew's mouth twitched. He leaned close as well and his brows narrowed to a vee. "No more chickens," he said.

  Shankar spread webbed hands. "I am sure I know not of what you speak."

  "Right. There are probably feathers all over your quarters. All right, all right." Art put his hands up. "Pax." He rocked back on his heels. "I'd like to speak with you privately, Sir Thomas, later."

  Thomas felt his eyebrow go up. "All right. If not today, then tomorrow. I've told Lady Nolan I'll help with the last of the candidate testing."

  The man with skin like a pebbled streambed nodded and stalked away. On Thomas' right, the Mojavan ambassador said, "With skin like that, he's probably one of my cousins and doesn't even know it!"

  That possibility would explain a lot of Bartholomew's bad attitude, Thomas thought, but he said only, "Oh, I think he knows it all right. A little rape between enemies doesn't help truces."

  "All the same," and Shankar put his webbed hand on Thomas' shoulder, "I cannot prove it now and all you have is my word, but the day of the massacre, I was one of my chieftain's trackers. Those who killed here and left met with a small party upon the trail leading from the peninsula. Then those trails went in far different directions. I am told that Bartholomew was conveniently not here for the massacre. Too bad, eh? And I wonder if it was he who doubled back to meet with the killers." Shankar took his hand from Blade's shoulder and moved across the room to where French doors stood open and a wet bar was doing brisk business on the patio and veranda beyond.