Read Online Great Kings' War by Roland Green, John F. Carr - Free Book Online
Authors: Roland Green, John F. Carr
Tags: Fantasy
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Petroleum, Holnyt Art House, Consolidated Outtime Foodstuffs and Synthax Spectacles move a lot of product out of that Subsector. Before you make up your mind, I suggest you have a talk with Councilman Lovranth Rolk to see what kind of support he can drum up from management in the Executive Council.
Verkan Vall's face, normally as expressionless as a pistol-butt, relaxed visibly. "That's good advice, Tortha. I'm glad you came in today. I don't want to tell you how to live your new life any more than you want to tell me how to do my job, but I have this to say: I think you may have left for Sicily too fast and stayed too long. I could have used your advice a few times."
"I'm sure you could have," Tortha said. "That's why I went. I might have yielded to the temptation to give that advice. Then where would we be?" He answered the question with a Sino-Hindic phrase from a time-line extraordinarily rich in scatological allusions.
"It's not just the people who have some real grievance against you, Vall. It's everyone in and out of the Paratime Police who isn't happy with the youngest Chief in five thousand years. One who has appointed his wife as Chief's Special Assistant—" Tortha held up his hand to stop Verkan's objections. "I agree Dalla was the best-qualified candidate, but not everyone knows her as well as I do. Even you have to admit, her record is spotty.
"Not to mention that you're an aristocrat with a rather peculiar hobby time-line that's going to make or break the careers of a lot of Dhergabar university professors. I'd rather desecrate a temple to Shpeegar Lord of the Spiders than beard a professor who thinks he's lost a publication opportunity because the Paracops meddled!"
Verkan laughed, but Tortha could hear the strain in it. Guiltily he realized he'd been doing exactly what he'd left for Sicily to avoid—giving unasked-for advice. He also realized that Verkan looked—older? More strained? Tired? None of the words seemed completely wrong, or completely right either; all implied more emotion than Vall was letting show even now. He finally decided that Vall really looked like nothing more than a handsome man just into his second century who also happened to have the most nearly impossible and by far the most thankless job on Home Time Line.
"Vall, tell the computer and the limpet mines to wait. Or put a limpet mine on the computer, for all I care. I'm taking you and Dalla out to dinner at the Constellation House—"
"But I can't—"
Tortha drew himself up into a posture of mock attention and saluted with the precision of a new recruit who hadn't learned which superiors insisted on salutes. "Sir, if I can't obtain your cooperation, I'll be obliged to inform Chief's Special Assistant Doctor Hadron Dalla that you have refused."
Verkan pulled his face into an expression of mock horror. "No, no, anything but that!" He emptied his drink and set the glass back on his desk while reaching for his green uniform jacket with the other hand.
II
Sesklos, Styphon's Own Voice and Supreme Priest of Styphon's House, sat alone in his private audience chamber, wondering why fate had permitted him to live so long and rise so high, only to fall so low. He sat shivering before his charcoal brazier; Sesklos would have cursed all twelve of the so-called true gods—had he believed any of them were other than humbuggery. Wasn't it bad enough the Daemon Kalvan had fallen upon Styphon's House On Earth like a blazing rock out of the night sky? Did he need to hear from the lips of Archpriest Dracar that First Speaker Anaxthenes, his most trusted advisor and one he considered like a son, was the head of a conspiracy that threatened to turn priest against archpriest?
The Styphon's Great Council of Balph, already halfway through its second moon, seemed as interminable as the winter wind and just about as likely to abate.
Just thinking of the howling wind outside brought on a fit of shivering to his frail body. He quickly added
Verkan Vall's face, normally as expressionless as a pistol-butt, relaxed visibly. "That's good advice, Tortha. I'm glad you came in today. I don't want to tell you how to live your new life any more than you want to tell me how to do my job, but I have this to say: I think you may have left for Sicily too fast and stayed too long. I could have used your advice a few times."
"I'm sure you could have," Tortha said. "That's why I went. I might have yielded to the temptation to give that advice. Then where would we be?" He answered the question with a Sino-Hindic phrase from a time-line extraordinarily rich in scatological allusions.
"It's not just the people who have some real grievance against you, Vall. It's everyone in and out of the Paratime Police who isn't happy with the youngest Chief in five thousand years. One who has appointed his wife as Chief's Special Assistant—" Tortha held up his hand to stop Verkan's objections. "I agree Dalla was the best-qualified candidate, but not everyone knows her as well as I do. Even you have to admit, her record is spotty.
"Not to mention that you're an aristocrat with a rather peculiar hobby time-line that's going to make or break the careers of a lot of Dhergabar university professors. I'd rather desecrate a temple to Shpeegar Lord of the Spiders than beard a professor who thinks he's lost a publication opportunity because the Paracops meddled!"
Verkan laughed, but Tortha could hear the strain in it. Guiltily he realized he'd been doing exactly what he'd left for Sicily to avoid—giving unasked-for advice. He also realized that Verkan looked—older? More strained? Tired? None of the words seemed completely wrong, or completely right either; all implied more emotion than Vall was letting show even now. He finally decided that Vall really looked like nothing more than a handsome man just into his second century who also happened to have the most nearly impossible and by far the most thankless job on Home Time Line.
"Vall, tell the computer and the limpet mines to wait. Or put a limpet mine on the computer, for all I care. I'm taking you and Dalla out to dinner at the Constellation House—"
"But I can't—"
Tortha drew himself up into a posture of mock attention and saluted with the precision of a new recruit who hadn't learned which superiors insisted on salutes. "Sir, if I can't obtain your cooperation, I'll be obliged to inform Chief's Special Assistant Doctor Hadron Dalla that you have refused."
Verkan pulled his face into an expression of mock horror. "No, no, anything but that!" He emptied his drink and set the glass back on his desk while reaching for his green uniform jacket with the other hand.
II
Sesklos, Styphon's Own Voice and Supreme Priest of Styphon's House, sat alone in his private audience chamber, wondering why fate had permitted him to live so long and rise so high, only to fall so low. He sat shivering before his charcoal brazier; Sesklos would have cursed all twelve of the so-called true gods—had he believed any of them were other than humbuggery. Wasn't it bad enough the Daemon Kalvan had fallen upon Styphon's House On Earth like a blazing rock out of the night sky? Did he need to hear from the lips of Archpriest Dracar that First Speaker Anaxthenes, his most trusted advisor and one he considered like a son, was the head of a conspiracy that threatened to turn priest against archpriest?
The Styphon's Great Council of Balph, already halfway through its second moon, seemed as interminable as the winter wind and just about as likely to abate.
Just thinking of the howling wind outside brought on a fit of shivering to his frail body. He quickly added
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