"I, Mengsk" - читать интересную книгу автора (McNeill Graham)

CHAPTER 2

ANGUS MENGSK POURED HIMSELF A GENEROUS measure of brandy from an expensive crystal decanter and downed the amber liquid in one swallow. He closed his eyes and allowed the molten taste to line his throat and settle in his stomach before pouring another glass. He lifted up the bottle inquiringly toward Ailin Pasteur, but the Umojan ambassador shook his head. "No thank you, Angus."

"I know you don't drink, Ailin," said Angus. "But under the circumstances..."

"Angus. I can't."

"Come on, man," cajoled Angus. "Surely one won't hurt?"

"He said he didn't want one," said Katherine, replacing the stopper in the decanter and glaring sternly at her husband.

"There's no such thing as just one for me. Not anymore," said Pasteur.

"Fine," said Angus, shrugging and taking his own drink back to the table.

In the aftermath of the attack, Angus had gathered the occupants of the summer villa in the main dining room, a long, oak-paneled room dominated by an exquisite rosewood table carved with pastoral scenes of a rustic Korhal that had probably never existed.

An exquisite chess set with pieces carved from jet and ivory sat next to the drinks cabinet, the pieces apparently arranged in mid-game, though the white king was in checkmate.

Angus's wife took a seat at the end of the table, next to Dorothy and Ailin Pasteur's daughter, and he allowed himself a moment of quiet relief that his girls had been spared the worst of this night's bloodshed. His mood darkened as he shot a glance over to Arcturus, the boy sitting with his arms folded across his chest and his eyes steadfastly refusing to meet those of his father.

Achton Feld had managed to haul himself from his sickbed to join them. The man looked terrible, his skin gray and greasy with sweat. Everyone knew he should have been resting, but, to his credit, he had found the strength to be part of their debate as to what was to be done about this terrible night and how best to repay those responsible.

Angus paced the length of the table, his expression murderous, his eyes smoldering with anger.

"Angus," said Katherine. "Sit down before you wear a hole in the carpet. And calm down."

"Calm down?" exploded Angus. "They tried to kill us in our own house! Armed men came into our house and tried to kill us all. I swear I'll lead the army to the Palatine Forum and strangle Lennox Craven with my bare hands if he had something to do with this. For God's sake, Kat, how can I be calm at a time like this?"

"Because you need to be," said Katherine firmly. "You are a senator of Korhal and you don't have the luxury of anger. It achieves nothing and only clouds your judgment. Besides, you don't know yet who was behind this. It might not be Craven and his Confederate goons."

Lennox Craven was the senior consul of the Korhal Senate, the man tasked with ensuring that the will of the Confederacy was carried out, upholding its laws and providing a controlling influence on the unruly senators below him.

Angus loathed the man, believing him to be little more than a stooge for the corrupt Old Families that governed the Confederacy from the shadows. But for all that, Craven was a formidable senator and canny businessman, and Angus had exchanged many an incendiary barb with him across the marble floor of the Palatine Forum. The Mengsk family was one of the Old Families too, one of the oldest in fact, and Craven never tired of reminding Angus that he was spitting in the eye of the establishment that had given him such power and wealth.

Angus took a deep breath and nodded, smiling al Katherine as he took a drink.

"You're right, my dear," he said. "O need to think this through clearly... Achton? Do you have any thoughts on what happened here tonight? Who were these men?"

"Professionals," said Achton Feld. "They were good, but we got the drop on them, thanks to Arcturus's stunt. A few minutes more and, well, I don't like to think what might have happened."

"And you and I are going to talk about the security here later," promised Angus, staring at his son. "But who were they?"

Achton Feld chewed his bottom lip for a moment, then said. "Everything about them leads me to think they're a corporate death squad, a black-ops unit used to kill off business rivals and engage in corporate espionage, kidnapping, and that kind of thing."

"Why would anyone want to target Angus?" asked Katherine. "And why now?"

"Perhaps someone got wind of the things Angus is going to address in his Close of Session speech to the Senate?" suggested Pasteur.

"It's sure to ruffle some feathers, to say the least," agreed Angus.

"But that's not for months," protested Katherine. "And your business interests only benefit Korhal."

"A lot of people on Korhal have become very wealthy thanks to their dealings with the Confederacy," said Pasteur. "Plenty of organizations have ties to both Korhal and the Confederacy, and Angus is stirring up trouble for them. If the Confederacy were to be kicked off Korhal, they would stand to lose millions."

"I know it's a long shot, Achton, but is there anything on the bodies that might tell us who sent them?" asked Angus.

Feld shook his head. "The kit they used is all ex-military stuff, the kind you can pick up easily enough if you know where to look. It looks like something local, but I don't buy it. My gut's telling me something different."

"And what is your gut telling you?" asked Katherine.

"That this is bigger than some corporation trying to hold on to its savings."

"Why do you think that?" said Angus.

"Because all those dead men are marines. Or at least they were."

"Marines? How do you know?"

Feld reached up and tapped the back of his neck. "They've all been brain-panned. All six of them have got neural resocialization scars."

Ailin Pasteur cleared his throat. "Well, naturally that leads us to the Confederacy."

"You're probably right. Ailin," said Angus, "but it seems heavy-handed, even for them."

"Really? You heard about the rebellion on Antiga Prime?"

"No. What rebellion? I didn't see anything about that on the UNN."

"Well, you wouldn't, would you?" pointed out Katherine. "Aren't you always saying that the Old Families control the corporations that run the news channels? They broadcast what they want you to see, their version of the truth in twenty-second sound bites."

"That's true enough," replied Angus. "But what of Antiga Prime?"

"Yes, well, apparently the people of Andasar City kicked out the Confederate militia and held the local magistrate hostage. They demanded an end to Confederate corruption, and whole districts rallied to their call to arms. The city was as good as in open revolt, but two days later, a troop of marines under a Lieutenant Nadaner went in and took the place back. And they didn't leave any survivors."

“Good God," said Angus. "How many dead?'

"No one knows for sure, but my sources say the figure is in the thousands."

"And that's exactly why we need to be careful here," pointed out Katherine. "If the Confederacy isn't shy about perpetrating a massacre like that, then clearly they don't have any compunction against killing a senator and his family, do they?"

"But why send resocialized marines?" asked Arcturus, lifting his head up from staring at the table. "Surely any dead bodies would be easy to trace back to the Confederacy?"

"Because they didn't expect to fall," said Angus, returning to the crystal decanter on the drinks cabinet and pouring himself another glass of brandy. "Their paymasters expected them to kill us all and not leave any of their own dead behind. The damned arrogance of it!"

"Then why bother making them look like corporate killers?" said Arcturus.

"Plausible deniability," said Achton Feld. "In case the assassins were caught on any kind of surveillance. Corporate-sponsored murders are terrible, if not exactly uncommon, but if it was discovered that the Confederacy was complicit in the murder of a prominent senator..."

"The planet would erupt in revolt," finished Katherine.

Angus laughed without humor. "Almost makes me wish they'd got me after all."

"Don't say that!" snapped Katherine. "Not ever."

"Sorry, dear," said Angus, standing behind his wife and kissing her cheek. "I didn't mean that, but I feel it's going to take something truly dreadful to bring the Confederacy to its knees. We won't beat them overnight, but will beat them, and I'll tell you how."

Once again Angus paced the length of the table as he spoke, allowing his voice to became the rich baritone he used when speaking in the Forum. "It's their arrogance that will be their undoing. They can't see how they can possibly do anything wrong, and when you can't see that, you make mistakes. My father once said that when all you have is a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail."

Angus paused and turned to address his audience. "We'll show them what happens when the nail hits back."

The dining room was empty save for Angus and Arcturus, the two sharing an uncomfortable silence as the elder Mengsk poured out two snifters of brandy. Angus took one for himself and walked over to where his son sat to offer him the other.

Arcturus looked askance at the glass, clearly wishing to reach for it, but unsure as to whether or not he should.

"Go on, take it," said Angus. "I know you're too young, but on a night like this it hardly matters, does it? There's a lesson for you right there: sort out what matters from what doesn't. Act on the things that mean something and discard the rest."

Arcturus took the glass and tentatively sniffed the expensive drink. His nose wrinkled at its potency, and he took an experimental sip. His eyes widened, but he kept it down without coughing, and Angus felt his anger loosen its hold on him as he sat across from his son.

Achton Feld had explained what Arcturus had done and, as much as he wanted to rage biliously at his son, Angus couldn't help but be proud of the lad's inventiveness and sheer brio in pulling off a stunt like that.

But despite his grudging admiration, Angus couldn't allow Arcturus off the hook too easily.

"Do your tutors at the academy know you are gone?" he asked.

Arcturus looked at the timepiece on his wrist and smiled. "They will in a few hours," he said. "I sent a message with an attached comm-virus to Principal Steegman's console. He'll open it with his morning java, and it'll really spoil his day."

Angus shook his head. "They'll expel you for this."

"Probably," agreed Arcturus, and Angus fought the urge to slap him.

"Have you any idea of how much your place al Styrling Academy cost?"

Arcturus shrugged. "No."

"A great deal, and there are plenty of prospective students just waiting to take your place.”

"So let them have it," said Arcturus. "I'm not learning anything there anyway."

Angus bristled at his son's belligerence, forcing himself to remember what he had been like on the verge of manhood: his entire life ahead of him, and the sense that he knew all there was to know about the world. Arcturus was no different, and he began to appreciate the patience his own father had displayed.

He took a deep breath before speaking again. "Listen to me, son. You live a privileged life here, but it's time you learned that it is a harsh world out there beyond these walls, and that you are not prepared for it."

"I'll survive."

"No," said Angus bluntly. "You won't. I can't pretend I'm not impressed by what you did tonight, but stunts like that will see you dead sooner or later."

Arcturus laughed and said. "Now you're being melodramatic."

"No," said Angus. "I'm not. It's the truth, and now I have to discipline you."

"Why?" said Arcturus. "If it weren't for me, those men would have killed us all."

"I think you'll find it was Feld catching you that alerted us."

"It was just a joke," said Arcturus. "And anyway, isn't that something that doesn't matter after what happened tonight? Or don't your own lessons apply to you?"

Angus put down his glass and leaned over the table, lacing his hands before him. "You've the seeds of a debater in you, son, but you have to be punished. To allow youth to run unchecked is to invite a recklessness of spirit and disregard for the proper order of things that is anathema to any ordered society."

"You're one to talk," said Arcturus. "You disregard the proper order of things' all the time. All I ever hear the other students at the academy say is how you're stirring up trouble for Korhal with all your speeches about the corruption of the Confederacy and how we'd be better off without it. Why do you have to be such an embarrassment?"

Angus sat back in his chair, surprised at Arcturus's outburst and angry at how little his son understood of the world beyond his own little bubble of reality.

"You have no clue what you're talking about, son," said Angus. "What the Confederacy is doing on Korhal is criminal. Corruption, backhanders, and bribery are everywhere, and if you have money the law is a joke. Virtually every penny earned by the citizens of Korhal swells the coffers of some Confederate puppet corporation while our own. Independent industries wither on the vine. Tell me how that is the proper order of things?"

"I don't know," said Arcturus. "All I want to do is become a prospector."

"A prospector? Grubbing in dirt and rocks like some Kel-Morian pirate? Hardly. You are the son of a senator, Arcturus, and you are destined for greater things than prospecting."

"I don't want greater things. I just want to do what I want, not what you think I should do."

"You're too young to really know what you want," said Angus.

"I know that I don't want to follow in your footsteps," snapped Arcturus. "Hell, I might even join the military."

"You don't mean that: you're just angry," said Angus. "You don't know the reality of life, what the Confederacy has done and what they're going to do if someone doesn't stand up to them. In the centuries since the supercarriers crashed, the Old Families have been taking over everything by force, guile, and corruption. Soon there won't be anything left they don't control."

"So what? Who says that's a bad thing?"

Angus fought down his anger, but he could feel his temper fraying in the face of his son's obstinacy. Didn't the boy understand the scale of the Confederacy's corruption? Couldn't he see the terrible fate that awaited all right-thinking people if they didn't take a stand against the all-controlling, all-pervading influence of a remote, unthinking, unfeeling government?

Looking into Arcturus's face, Angus could see he did not, and his heart sank.

Speaking in the Palatine Forum, Angus Mengsk had swayed recalcitrant senators to his side, won hopeless causes through the power of his oratory, but he couldn't convince his own son that the Confederacy was a great and terrible evil that threatened everything the free people of Korhal prized.

Angus Mengsk, firebrand senator and son of Korhal, might yet save his planet—but might lose his son in the process.

The irony of it all was not lost on him.

The following morning, with the sun rising over the mountains, Arcturus yawned as he heard the door to his room open. He rolled over and smiled as he saw Dorothy standing in the doorway, the bright blue form of Pontius the pony clutched in her arms.

"What is it, Little Dot?" he said, propping himself up in bed.

“Why do you fight with Daddy?" asked Dorothy.

Arcturus laughed. "That's a big question for such a little girl."

"But why?"

Arcturus swung his legs out of bed and opened his arms, whereupon Dorothy ran to him and jumped up onto his lap.

"Ow, you're getting bigger every day," said Arcturus. "You're getting fat."

"No I'm not!" squealed Dorothy, jabbing her fingertips into his ribs.

"All right, all right! You're not fat!"

"Told you," said Dorothy, satisfied she had won the argument. She looked up at him, and he knew she hadn't forgotten that he hadn't answered her question.

"I wish you didn't always fight with Daddy," said Dorothy.

"I wish we didn't either."

"So why do you?"

"It's hard to explain, Dot,” he said. “Falher and I...well, we don't agree about a lot of things and he's too stubborn to admit that he's not always right."

"Are you always right?"

"No, not always, but—"

"So how do you know Daddy's not right then?"

Arcturus opened his mouth to answer her child's logic, but floundered when he couldn't think of an answer that would satisfy them both.

"I suppose I don't. But he wants me to do things I don't want to do."

"Like what?"

"Like not be who I want to be," said Arcturus.

"Who do you want to be? Don't you want to be like Daddy?"

Arcturus shook his head. "No.”

"Why not?"

Arcturus was spared from answering by a gentle knock, and he looked up to see his mother standing in the doorway. Katherine Mengsk was dressed in a long cream dress with a midnight blue bodice and looked as fresh as if she had had a full night's rest and not been hunted by armed soldiers.

"Dorothy, it's time for breakfast," said Katherine.

"But I'm not hungry," said Dorothy.

"Don't argue with me, young lady," warned her mother. "Go down to the kitchen and have Seona fix you a bowl of porridge. And don't turn your nose up at me. Go."

Dorothy leaned up and planted a small kiss on Arcturus's cheek before dropping from his lap and running off, Pontius dragging on the floor behind her.

With Dorothy gone, Arcturus stood and pulled on his shirt and a pair of dark britches, hiking the braces up over his shoulders.

"You didn't answer her question," said his mother.

"What question?"

"Why you don't want to be like your father."

Arcturus ran his hands through his dark hair and poured himself a glass of water from a silver ewer beside the bed. He took a drink and swilled the water around his mouth before answering.

"Because I want do something with my life that's mine, not his."

His mother swept inlo the room, graceful and strong, and placed a hand on Arcturus's shoulder. The touch was maternal and comforting, and Arcturus wished he could be as close to his father as he was to his mother.

"Your father just wants what's best for you, Arcturus," she said.

"Does he? Sometimes I think he just wants a carbon copy of himself."

Katherine smiled. "I see a lot of him in you, it's true, but then there's too much of me in you to ever be that much like your father."

"That's a relief," said Arcturus, but the smile fell from his face as he saw the hurt in his mother's face.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know he's a good man, but he doesn't understand me."

"You think you're the first seventeen-year-old who's said that about his father?"

"No, I suppose not."

"You are a brilliant boy, Arcturus: you could achieve great things if you allow yourself to. Everything you turn your hand to you master within days, and your father just wants to make sure you make the most of your talents."

"I remember you telling me I was going to be a great leader when I was Dot's age," said Arcturus." But I grew out of that a long time ago."

His mother took his hands in hers and looked straight at him. "No, it was true then and it's still true."

Uncomfortable with his mother's grandiose dreams for his future, Arcturus changed the subject. "Do I really have to go back to the academy?"

"Yes, you do. I know you don't like it there, but it means the world to me that you finish your education. You did recall that message with the comm-virus you sent to Principal Steegman's console, didn't you?"

"I did"—Arcturus grinned—"though it would have been worth gelling expelled just to have seen the look on his face as the virus sent his private files to the parents of every student at the academy."

His mother shook her head in exasperation, but he could see that she too was amused at the thought of Steegman's humiliation. "I don't even want to think what might be contained in that odious little man's 'private files'."

"Are Ailin Pasteur and his daughter going to be staying with us for a while yet?" asked Arcturus, hearing movement from another part of the house.

Katherine's eyes narrowed as she sensed his interest. "Yes, they will be our guests for a spell. Your father thinks it wise for them to remain with us until he can recall some more guards to escort us all back to Styrling."

"That sounds sensible," Arcturus nodded, trying not to sound too interested, though of course his mother saw through his nonchalance in a heartbeat and smiled.

"She's very pretty," said his mother. "Juliana."

"Yes, she is," agreed Arcturus. "And I think she likes me."

His mother leaned down and kissed his cheek. "Who could not love you, my handsome boy? Now go and get some breakfast with your sister; I've no doubt she'll be trying to talk Seona into giving her something so laden with sugar it'll keep her awake for days."

Arcturus made his way downstairs, along the corridor that had only the previous night been filled with gunsmoke and the sound of battle. The bodies that had lain here, pumping their lifeblood over the carpet, had been removed and the domestics were cleaning the stains they had left behind.

It still seemed unreal to him that people had tried to kill them last night. The idea that people would kill helpless civilians for the sake of something as prosaic as money seemed ludicrous, but if his reading of history had taught him anything, it was that entire cultures had been wiped out for far less. Killing for honor, glory, land, or freedom seemed more noble ideals to kill or die for, but Arcturus Mengsk planned on doing none anytime soon.

He set foot on the stairs, the wood creaking and the banister splintered by Impaler spikes. Entire sections had been blasted away and the marble and plaster walls were stitched with impact craters.

When he reached the bottom, Arcturus heard voices coming from the dining room. The door was ajar, and he paused as he recognized his father's stentorian tones and the more mellifluous sound of Ailin Pasteur's voice.

Curious as to what they were talking about, Arcturus edged closer to the door.

"...exactly why we need your help more than ever, Ailin," said his father. "Korhal can't do this alone. We're gathering strength, but without the support of Umoja, the Confederacy will crush us."

"I understand that," replied Pasteur, "but you have to understand the precariousness of our position. Umoja can't be seen to be openly supporting you, Angus. We have a hard enough time fending off the Confederate influence as it is, and to be publicly linked with a rabble-rouser like your good self would give them an excuse to increase their pressure. The Ruling Council is willing to supply your men with what they need, but our involvement can't be made public."

"That's a given, Ailin, but matters are coming to a head. The attack last night only goes to show how desperate they're becoming. I have supporters within the Senate and all over Korhal to make this work, and you know well enough that brushfire rebellions are erupting throughout the sector. All it needs is one shining example that the Confederacy can be beaten and the old order will be swept away. Korhal can be that example, but only if you support us."

"And we will, but what you are talking about... you'll be called a terrorist."

"I prefer the term 'freedom fighter,'" said Angus.

"That depends on whether or not you win."

"Then I'll need to make sure I win."

Arcturus knew he was hearing words of great import, but the sense of them washed over him. What was his father planning that might have him labeled a terrorist? The word itself was a powerful one, conjuring up images of secretive men who met in shadows to plot the death of innocents to achieve their diabolical ends.

The idea that his father might be such a man repelled Arcturus, and his previously solid notion of Angus Mengsk as a powerful and controlling, yet mostly benign, presence in his life now seemed as fragile as glass.

As these thoughts surged through Arcturus's head, he heard footsteps, realizing too late that they were approaching the door at which he listened. He turned away, but was too slow, and a heavy fist took hold of his shirt and dragged him into the dining room where they had met last night.

"Spying on me, are you?" roared Angus. "What did you hear?"

Arcturus struggled in his father's grip. "That you're a terrorist!" he shouted.

Angus spun him around and pushed him down into one of the chairs.

"You heard nothing, son," said Angus. "Those words were not meant for the likes of you."

Arcturus looked over to Ailin Pasteur. The man clearly surprised and worried that Arcturus had overheard their discussions.

"What are you going to do?" asked Arcturus. "Are you going to kill people?"

His father stared hard at Arcturus, and the father's cold gray eyes saw deep into the heart of his son.

Arcturus saw his father come to a decision within himself.

Pasteur saw it too and said. "Angus... are you sure?"

"Aye, he'll be eighteen soon. It's time he started acting like a man, so I'm going to treat him like one."

Arcturus felt a nervous thrill at his father's words, wondering if all those years of wanting to be treated as an adult were about to blow up in his face.

"Well, boy, are you ready to become a man?"

Arcturus hesitated for the briefest second before answering. "I am."

"Good," said Angus. "I'll respect that. But you have to understand that what I'm going to tell you can't leave this room."

Angus held out his hand to Arcturus. "Swear that to me and I'll tell you everything."

"I swear it," said Arcturus, shaking his father's hand.

"Very well," said Angus, taking a seat next to Arcturus and sitting with his legs crossed. "You know, of course, that I detest the corruption of the Confederacy with every fiber of my being, but it runs deeper than that. The Old Families control everything from their capital world of Tarsonis, and the entire apparatus of the Confederacy is geared to keep them in power, exploiting the planets under their control and stealing their wealth. Well, no more."

"You're going to fight the Confederacy?" asked Arcturus. "Why?"

"Because someone has to," said Angus. "They've overstretched their empire and, like a house of cards, all it needs is one push in the right place to make it fall. People are tired of the yoke of the Confederacy around their necks and rebellion's in the air—you can feel it."

"You're going to declare war on the Confederacy?" said Arcturus incredulously.

"Well, not war exactly," replied Angus. "Not yet, at least."

"Terrorism," said Arcturus. "Is that it?"

"I have no doubt some will call it that, yes, but if you think about it, what the Confederacy is doing can easily be construed as terrorism."

"Surely that's not the same thing?"

"Isn't it?" asked Angus. "Isn't the purpose of terrorism to kill and maim people so that whoever it's directed against will bend to your will? And doesn't the Confederacy engage in military operations designed to coerce people into bending to their will through fear?"

"But that's different," said Arcturus. "That's war."

Angus shook his head. "No, it's not. Afler all, the purpose of war isn't, or at least shouldn't be, about killing every last man in the enemy army. It's about killing enough of them that their leaders are more afraid of continuing the war rather than of surrendering."

"Then, by your definition, every act of war could be called an act of terrorism, since it's coercion through fear by the use of violence."

"Exactly," said Angus, pleased he had made his point.

"But you're still going to kill people," pointed out Arcturus.

"In war, people die. It's unfortunate, but inevitable," replied Angus. "I wish it were different, but the Confederacy has brought this on itself. Unlike them, however, we won't hurt innocent civilians: we'll only be targeting military installations."

"It's still wrong," said Arcturus. "People will still die and you'll have killed them."

Angus leaned back in his seat, his face lined with disappointment. "I thought you would be man enough to understand what needs to be done, Arcturus, but I can see I was wrong. You're still a child and you still think like a child, unable to see the truth of the world beyond your own selfish little bubble."

His father's words stung like red-hot whips, and Arcturus felt his resentment flare. He stood up and turned on his heel, marching toward the dining room door.

"Angus..." hissed Ailin Pasteur.

"Son," barked Angus. "You are never to speak of this. You understand me? Never."

"I understand," snapped Arcturus.