Part 4 (1/2)

Stiggur tried to glare at her, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. None of them had come to Aventine all those years ago with any political aspirations, and while they'd stepped into these positions with reasonable success, they were all still non-politicians beneath the trappings.

”All right-point taken,” Stiggur sighed. ”Fine. So who's got anything to report?”

”I'd like to know first of all where Governor Emeritus Moreau is,” Caelian's

Governor Howie Vartanson spoke up. ”It seems to me this issue should take priority over therapy sessions or whatever.”

”My father's in the hospital at the moment,” Corwin said, resisting the urge to say something nasty about the other's unthinking callousness. He knew Jonny was a first-generation Cobra, after all. ”Immune system trouble, the doctors think.”

”How serious is it?” Stiggur asked, frowning.

”Apparently not very. It came on rather suddenly last night, though.”

”You should have let someone know,” Jor Hemner said, one frail hand playing restlessly with his wispy beard. ”We could have postponed this meeting.”

”Not if we want to have a recommendation for the full Council meeting this afternoon,” Corwin said, glancing at Hemner before returning his gaze to

Stiggur. ”I know my father's thoughts on this matter, sir, and have his authority to act for him. I presume you'll accept my council proxy in this session?”

”Well, the strict legality-”

”Oh, for heaven's sake, Brom, let him sit in and be done with it,” Telek put in.

”We've got a lot of ground to cover this morning, and I want to get to it.”

”Fine.” Stiggur raised his eyebrows at the others. ”Any objections? All right.

Anyone managed to find out anything from the Trofts about this Qasama?”

Olor Roi of Palatine cleared his throat. ”I tried playing the old independent-planets routine on Speaker One, but I think it's starting to wear thin. They're finally tumbling to the fact that we're a political unit even though we can all make our own trade agreements. Still, I think he was being honest when he said he'd already given us all he had.”

”Maybe he was just holding out in hopes we'd outbid you,” suggested Dylan

Fairleigh, the third Aventine governor. It was a rather naive comment, Corwin thought, betraying the lack of experience with Troft trade that almost automatically came with the other's Far West Region jurisdiction.

Vartanson, predictably, didn't bother to take that into account. ”Don't be ridiculous,” he snorted. ”Trofts don't hold out without making it known that they have something for sale. Where've you been the past 14 years, anyway?”

Fairleigh's forehead darkened, but before he could speak Telek cut in. ”Okay-so it's established the Tlossies haven't got anything. Next step is obviously to get to someone who does. I see two choices: the Baliu demesne or Qasama itself.”

”Just a second,” Corwin spoke up. ”Isn't the next step to see whether we're going to need this information?”

Telek frowned at him. ”Of course we need it. How else can we make a rational decision?”

”The most rational decision would be to give the Tlossies a simple no sale right now,” Corwin answered. ”If we do-”

”Since when is hiding from reality a rational decision?” Telek interrupted tartly.

”Saying no now is a statement of principle,” Corwin told her, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. Jonny had warned him this view was unlikely to be well received, but Corwin hadn't been prepared for so strong a negative reaction. ”It says we're not interested in becoming mercenaries for-”

”What about our own interests?” Vartanson put in. ”If Qasama is a threat to the