Part 15 Shen liked the kura his cousin had given him for a belated natal day gift. It had a mellow tone, resonant, and it didn't compete with his voice. Unlike Vanda, he enjoyed performing in public, and he believed he had a fine appreciation of traditional Scorpiani music. The crowd around him seemed to agree. There was more to his performance today, however, than entertainment or even making money. The ballad was an old favorite, well known in the province, dating back centuries. The lyrics celebrated Darius' return to power in Raamasa, and even a yahren ago would have been considered quite patriotic. In light of the current political situation, it was virtually subversive. At the edge of the crowd he caught a glimpse of a Watch uniform. The crowd seemed to draw in tighter, but he saw the disturbance near the entrance of the plaza. He was on the last stanza, and increased the tempo slightly. When the officer finally pushed her way through the uncooperative crowd, the spot she'd been making for was empty. She looked around, at the faces nearby, at the doorways opening on the square. She saw no sign of the singer. Shen moved quickly through the doorway behind the bar, down the hallway past the tavern keeper's rooms, and up the stairs. He emerged on top of the building, crossed three adjoining roofs, and descended an outside stair to a narrow alley. He turned into a somewhat wider alley, and came out a half block away from a busy transit mall. He moved toward the queues, fishing some of his recently earned money from his pocket, and was soon on a hoverbus heading toward the western edge of the city. "Just look at this," the woman complained, disgustedly sorting through the stack of tharon roots. The market stand was only half full, and none of the roots in the display were very large. "Half are wilted, and the other half are so small there won't be anything left after I pare them!" "You should see the meat section," her companion answered. "It's almost empty. The poulon is over-priced, and there's only a little kavrine, no bos at all." "And I'd bet it's all old and tough, too, if we can afford it," said the first. "It was never like this before," said an old man, a retired Warrior with a scarred face. "When I came back from the war, there was plenty, more than when I left. That was back when old Dorian was Count, not like now," he said, shaking his head sadly. The first woman examined another root, tossed it back on the meager pile. "Well, all I can say is, someone should do something about it," she muttered sullenly. Auriga had nearly finished eating, parked in an alley near his last delivery, when his passenger door opened and Kelse slipped into the cab. She grabbed up his water bottle and took a long drink. "Hey," he protested, without much force, more out of habit than actual dismay. "I'm thirsty," she said, taking another drink. She put down the bottle and fished in her pouch, coming up with a coin. "Here, you can fill it up again. How are things up on the hill?" She nodded in the general direction of the manor. "Tense. Terrel says it's like flying through a minefield up there, since…" he let it trail off. "They're not telling anyone why, though." Kelse grinned. "Yes, well, we know why, don't we? Must have been a nasty shock." Auriga couldn't help but smile back. "How was it up in Sakara?" "It went well. Kostis is getting a lot of the miners organized up there. If the supply situation doesn't improve, they might walk off the job. Things are bad in the smaller towns, worse than here." "Good, then they'll be looking for a change." The mine supervisor had driven in that morning in the latest model hovercar, and tried to give good reasons for the high prices and the non-appearance of the promised wage raise. Times were bad, he said. It was temporary, he said. His arguments hadn't carried much weight with Rolon, or with anyone he'd been talking to. Rolon had put in three sectons without a day off, because he needed the overtime just to make ends meet. His wife had been doing the same, and she was pregnant again. Soon, she'd have to take time off for the baby, and what would they do then? If his eldest daughter weren't old enough to take care of the little ones, they'd never make it now. Down in the mineshaft, Rolon thought about his family, about their tiny housing unit and the bare cupboards, and about the supervisor's new car and expensive velvet suit. There were supposed to be ways to deal with problems, that was supposed to be the Count's responsibility, to see that everyone was provided for, for the good of the province. But it wasn't happening that way, now, was it? The money was getting so far down the line and no farther, some were getting rich and others were making them rich. He thought about the talk he'd been hearing among his friends. When no one was looking, he slipped behind one of the rock cutters and snipped a hose. A thin stream of cooling fluid leaked out, rapidly absorbed in the dusty floor, nearly invisible in the dim light. The cutter ran on, heating up, an eighty thousand cubit piece of machinery running itself into uselessness. Rolon smiled. It wouldn't change his situation, not right away, but at least he felt like he'd done something. All was right with Tano's world. For Tano, happiness came in little brown capsules and small plastine vials. The only trouble in life was locating the money to exchange for them. When he'd realized that things were getting better, he'd taken advantage of it. He hadn't noticed at first, but when they'd left the warehouse for a small house with no holes in it, and the food had gotten better, and Shen had stopped harassing him about the drugs so much, he'd realized that they had more money coming in. He'd snooped around, and started taking some, just a little at first, not so much that anyone would notice. Then a little more. Evan would probably have killed him, he thought, but Baltar wasn't like Evan. He was a lot more decent about the whole thing. He'd started giving Tano money, enough to take care of his expenses, and all he asked was that he be careful and stay out of the way. He probably would have asked him to leave, Tano thought, but he didn't have anywhere to go, and his brother wouldn't want him freezing out on the streets. He'd be careful, he thought, as he turned the corner. No one would bother with him, anyway. He wouldn't give them away, he was just fine, as long as he had the money for his supplies. They didn't have a thing to worry about. Bragan had been one of Jaspar's best officers, but now he was a corpse under a tarp. The trouble had started with a report of possible vandals at a provincial vehicle maintenance yard. When the first officers on the scene attempted to pursue the vandals, a belligerent crowd had begun to gather. The situation had gotten uglier as more backup had arrived, with shouting giving way to pushing, then bottles and stones were thrown. The Watch had broken up the riot before things got worse, or so it had seemed; the crowd had dispersed, disappearing back into the streets and alleys. Then someone had discovered Bragan, shot once in the back and lying half-hidden behind a hovervan in the maintenance yard. Jaspar swore to himself. Bragan had been one of his best men, and destined for promotion, with his family connections. He had been completely loyal and trustworthy, and Jaspar had had no qualms about assigning him to look for this dissident who claimed to be the Count. Bragan had told him that he'd gotten a few good leads, nothing definite yet, but he was getting close. Too close, Jaspar thought. Whether the riot had been planned or not, someone had taken advantage of it. But with a little luck…. When he got back to his office, he'd look through all of Bragan's notes. He'd question - carefully - everyone Bragan might have talked to. He was sure, now, that they were close; he only had to find what Bragan had found. And been killed for. Now, he thought, this was getting personal. Andros couldn't sleep. It was that damn boy. He'd always been a sneak, prying into everything. Had he known what Andros planned, and saved himself? How had he managed it? Who had helped him? Andros hadn't wanted to believe, at first, that it could be him, but the longer this went on, the more convinced he became that Baltar was still alive. Now Jaspar was reporting that people were saying they'd actually seen him with the signet - nothing that could be traced, sources who had heard the story from someone else who had heard it from someone else….. Andros was becoming worried. There had been problems from the start, of course there had, he knew there would be. The people wouldn't accept the change of power so readily, he'd anticipated that, but soon they'd see they had no choice. And it had worked, just as he'd known it would. There was no one else to be Count, not with Adria dead, and Brianna, and the boy….. But the boy had come back. When he should have been decently dead, yahrens later he turned up alive. And the people were turning to him, Andros could feel it. It was an almost physical sensation, like sand slipping through his fingers. He'd tried to gain control, to reassure the people that they would prosper under his administration. They'd never accepted him, they'd turned to Adria's son almost he could shake the desert dust off himself, as though he could help them, as though he had any idea how to solve their problems….. Andros paced through the dark, empty halls, down the stairs, into the main entry hall. He looked up at the portrait of Darius, illuminated by small light globes. He'd always seen that portrait as an image of his own ambitions, as a promise that, if he dared, he could make himself Count by his own efforts, removing the obstacles in his way. Now, he was the Count, and he saw in the portrait a threat, of his nephew's intent to supplant him. He turned away, went into his office. It was small help. He couldn't forget Adria's last curses before he killed her, in this room; lately he couldn't get that night out of his mind. When the boy was gone, he thought. Then it would be over, it would finally be over. All he had to do was finish off the boy. He reached for the comm, hesitated, began to enter a code, then stopped. No, it wouldn't be long before Jaspar gave him the information he needed. He could wait. Then everything would work the way he wanted it to, the way he knew it would. Harrak kept his eyes on the road below, winding its way up into the pass. Normally the desert people didn't care what happened in the cities. They were useful, of course, places to meet, to sell animals, pick up supplies. But not the concern of the nomads, with their crowding and their craziness. But the winter had hit the herds hard this yahren; many animals had died, and there were no others to be had in the province. He'd have to move his people all the way up near the borders of Kirosa to buy new stock; the season had been no better in Rendasa. And the prices in the cities were exorbitant, as if they had nothing to spare. He'd heard the stories, of course, of the trouble in Raamasa, how the Count was not keeping the province as he should, of the people rising against him. It was enough to make many a nomad turn to a bit of raiding, if he had no other way to provide for his people. The Counts were supposed to take care of the people, all the people, see that they got what they needed to live. If they wouldn't do as they should, he'd do it for them and take what he needed. And this new one that he'd met, who called himself the real Count, he might be better than the one they had now, as he said. He said he understood how it was for the nomads; he'd lived with them for yahrens, old Sothis had taken him in and counted him among his own kin. He said he wouldn't forget the tribes when he was Count. He said he only needed a little help to get what was his, and he would gladly repay those who gave it to him. Harrak shifted his position, tightened his grip on his weapon, and waited to give the signal to attack. The Administrator of Taklan was worried. He pulled his coat closer around him, and wished that the weather would warm. Taklan was far south, even further south than Raamasa, and there was nothing between it and the ice sheet but grass and a few rodents. The proximity of the ice meant that water was less of a worry here than in places farther north, but that was small consolation for the steady freezing wind and the almost non-existent growing season. If it weren't for the grazing and the mines, there'd be no point to the place at all. But it wasn't as if they should be ignored, he thought. They had more than met their mining quota this yahren, which was more than cities like Sakara could claim. They had nothing but trouble up there, and yet Count Andros sent them supplies, personnel, equipment, as though he had enough and to spare. But Taklan gave him no trouble, and so he forgot them, down there on the eastern border, even when their supplies were being raided by bandits and food was getting scarce. The doctors said they were getting cases of malnutrition, which by all rights should be unheard of in the Colonies, even for a sand-blown little town on Scorpia. Did their Count have no pride left in his province? Or was it like they said, like the mutters he'd heard, even in his own office, that the Count was incompetent, that he never should have been Count in the first place, that he'd only got the title by having his own sister murdered, and her children with her. True, of course, but it could be conveniently, and prudently, forgotten - if only the province was being managed better. And there were the other rumors, also, that the old Countess' son had survived. He could hardly credit that, and yet, there were those who said that there was proof it was true. He was a Darian to look at, they said, which could mean much or little, but they also said he had the Darian signet, missing since Andros took power. If that were true….. He was beginning to think that even an untried boy would be a better Count than what they had now. The wind blew colder, and he started to go back inside. It was warmer - at least as long as the heating fuel lasted, he thought gloomily. No doubt they'd be out of that, too, before summer. Shouting in the plaza a block over brought him back around. For a moment he wondered if the trouble they'd been having up in Raamasa had spread to his own city. But the voices didn't sound angry, they almost sounded…. He pushed his way through the gathering crowd in time to see the supply convoy that had been reported lost to bandits pulling up in the plaza. He could hardly credit his eyes, and was even more surprised when the men of the convoy, obviously tribesmen by their clothes, began to get out. His assistant had reached him through the crowd, and was at his elbow babbling something about the nomads recovering the convoy and seeing it safely here. He barely understood what the man was saying, beyond the obvious arrival of the much-needed supplies, but he clasped the wrist of the nomad leader and thanked him profusely. "We were told of your problems, and asked to see that your supplies reached you," Harrak said with a grin. "Compliments of Count Baltar." Half the ambrosa was going on the floor instead of into the glasses, but Narain didn't care. There'd be more where that came from, and he couldn't worry about anything tonight. Auriga was still repeating the news to anyone who would listen, although they all knew already. "That's one town that's come out in open support of us," he was saying, now to no one in particular. "With one, there'll be more. With the problems in Sakara, they'll probably be next; with Taklan, we only need Etenia and we'll have the whole Rendasan border with us." Narain passed him a glass, and he took a long swallow. "Half of Raamasa supports me," Baltar said. "With the other cities coming over, I'll have the whole city before the yahren's out." "The Akharate will have to support you then," Kelse said. Baltar drained his own glass. "I don't need the Akharate," he said with a manic grin. "The people of Raamasa will put me in power. The same as it was with Darius, and the Akharate be damned! I don't need their help!" He reached for the bottle and refilled his glass, feeling the ambrosa less than the heady rush of power and success. It was working, it was actually working out as he had intended. He could see the future as clearly as if it had already happened. He watched the others celebrating, saw Menkari actually smiling, watched Vanda and Kelse dancing as Shen and Narain clapped out a rhythm. Vanda really was a beautiful woman, he thought, and so graceful. He finished his glass and stood up, with an intention to join the group, and an even greater intention to see if Vanda had as great an interest in the next Count of Raamasa as he had just decided he had in her. He stood up, and unexpectedly felt someone's arms drape around his shoulders. Surprised, he turned, and was amazed when Sidra pulled him closer and pressed her mouth to his. He got over the shock and involved in the kiss quickly, and when she stepped back and pulled him with her down the hall, he forgot about Vanda entirely and followed her.