Trouble in Paradise (The Directorate Book 3) Read online

  The people down on the stage were looking his direction. Talking.

  Professor Ivy stepped forward. "Right. Ape? Argue your point in a paper as make up for missed classes. Ebsa, ditto, as punishment for having an interesting point of view. Both papers will be published. Class dismissed."

  Ra'd's shoulders were shaking as they walked out.

  "It's not funny." Paer kept her voice to a faint hiss.

  "Oh yes it is. 'Punishment for having an interesting point of view.' That is so Ebsa."

  Ebsa grinned suddenly. "Just think how widely read I will be. Tenured professors will grind their teeth in envy. Or fall down laughing, depending on how good or bad a job I do."

  Chapter Eleven

  6 Hija 1403

  The morning news was full of a recall election petition under consideration in the Council.

  "It's been over a century since they recalled a President." Ebsa chewed a knuckle and pondered the repercussions.

  A War Party President will have us at war as soon as he gets the funds to start mobilizing the army. Will he have the sense to look at the experts' version of Ra'd's report?

  Professor Ivy sought them out at breakfast. He flicked a glance at Paer's guards, then back at them. "A bit of news this morning, Wedge and City have been released, on bail, pending their court appearances here in New York. And presumably they will be coming here to wait. The four Teamers who helped the lads have been reassigned to somewhere Across, and shouldn't be our problem."

  Ra'd snorted. "A bit late for a warning. I trust the police checked Wedge and City's location two days ago? Ebsa and I are probably able to defend ourselves. Paer has guards."

  They all eyed Heak and Azko.

  They both nodded.

  Heak scowled. "They'd better not try to use me as a lure again."

  Azko shrugged. "I was just in the wrong place. Ra'd is going to be the main target."

  Ra'd grinned and cracked his knuckles. "I certainly hope so."

  The professor sighed. "After last night? I think Ebsa is going to have problems."

  Professor Kyal agreed. "That was an excellent instant analysis of the relative importance of two distinct events. Dispassionately, you were correct. Emotionally you were wrong. The weird collision of worlds is taking place far away, to other people. The bioattack doesn't just affect our world, or the One. Every single person here is horrified and wondering if they are no longer Withione or Neartuone. Every. Single. One."

  Ebsa shook his head. "What percentage of them suddenly realized that the reason they have stopped having those nightmares about rape and murder was that bioattack? How many of them are enjoying not having their temper on a hair trigger? I know one man who is positively gleeful and doesn't give a damn about going from 215 to 210.

  "And that's just here, at the school, with concentrated Withiones and Neartuones. What about the other 90% of the population?

  "How many women are happy that the threat of rape may have just dropped? How many Servaones and Clostuones are delighted to see the snotty High Oners get kicked in the teeth?"

  The professor squeezed the bridge of her nose. "Enough. One knows you have the gift of instant speech. I think today we'll talk about determining the relevance of information to the people who need it for decision making purposes."

  In martial arts, some of the advanced students "dropped by" to chat. The Action Trainees plus a trio he'd never met. I wonder if any of them are good enough with a rifle to have been the sniper?

  "You need to shut up." Ape leaned into his space. "Your ideas are poisonous."

  Ebsa eyed him. "Really? Guys, we need to think ahead. We need to think about what the One is, and how the Empire is going to fit into the Multiverse."

  "At the top, Closey. We're the best and we will rule."

  Ebsa sidestepped a "friendly" hand Blob dropped toward his shoulder. "Are you afraid that discussion will swing things my way, instead of yours? That's kind of a problem with the One, isn't it? That little bit of connection, deep down."

  "Yeah. That's exactly the problem. You just preached to a couple thousand powerful Oners. A group with a nice bit of influence."

  Ebsa kept moving. "Hadn't thought about it, like that. But still, there are what, six million Withiones and umm, not quite fifty million Neartuones? In the unlikely event that I swayed more than half the students at the seminar, even if I swayed them all, that's a fraction of a percent of the High Oners."

  "Point zero zero four percent." Idjit muttered. "This is stupid. I'm tired of getting into trouble."

  Ape shot him a furious glare.

  "Then you'd better act to get yourself out of it, Idjit. You heard about the attempted murder?"

  "Stray shot from the range." Ape smirked. "So shut up about it. And stop spouting your stupid idea."

  "Which idea?" Ebsa paused in his retreat. "The one about the Empire having a strong interest in a world that apparently eats other worlds? What if one of our worlds is next on the list? What if it's the One World? The home world?"

  "Why don't you wait for proof? Instead of throwing ideas out where they'll scare people."

  "I'm so impressed with your respect for my influence." Ebsa grinned. "Really."

  "No one would have even bothered to think about it, if you hadn't spouted off. This is a wedge, it gets the idea out there."

  Glares from his old enemies. The unknown men exchanged uneasy glances.

  "Don't you think the idea ought to be out there? Didn't any of you even consider the ramifications of what is happening?" Ebsa waited, got no reply.

  No one followed as he walked away.

  ***

  Ebsa ripped off the report—brainstorming style—and then sorted it out better, dropped sections that weren't really relevant . . . submitted it.

  Then the report on how the Warriors became tame bureaucrats.

  More hand corrections on the List of Warriors. Three-quarters done. Not too many guesses.

  Mid-terms. Good, even if not top, grades.

  Three days off. And a call from his mother.

  "You will come home, young man! I need to talk to you, face-to-face. These corridors make it easy and cheap, so don't give me any lip!"

  Ebsa held the comm away from his ear as his mother's carrying voice, at high volume, was a bit painful.

  Paer was laughing at him, but with a faint rueful twist of her lips.

  "Right mom. Umm, I will probably be in Friday evening, so I'll come by the restaurant." He punched the comm off, and gazed wistfully at Paer.

  "Well," She shrugged. "My dad said about the same. And I suspect we'll be talking about dinosaurs all weekend."

  "Just, umm, ride Crystal as much as the poor mare can stand it. Better than bringing up politics, I suspect. And . . . I'll see you in three days."

  "How about I give you a ride as far as Montevideo's corridor in Paris?"

  So they got in a little bit of snuggling time, scandalizing the guard doing the driving.

  The Montevideo corridor was set up for pedestrian traffic during the day, and vehicles at night. Ebsa walked through from a blustery cold day in Paris to a brilliant spring in Montevideo.

  The corridor had been set up halfway between the city of Montevideo and the Montevideo Clan Enclave. The district transportation manager had snapped up a failed shopping mall, with plenty of parking, to use as the hub. Corridors led to two other cities in the district, the region's capital city, Caracas. And Paris, of course. The rumor that Presidential Guard Rael Withione Montevideo had charmed a free corridor out of Xen Wolfson so she could visit home more easily was probably true. The district had still had to pick up the rest of the costs.

  Ebsa shed layers of clothing, packed it all away and boarded the bus for the city.

  Castellanos was located in a very good neighborhood, and was one of the more upscale restaurants in a several block area around the museum district.

  Ebsa slipped in the back door, tucked his luggage away and got to work.

  The t
wo new guys looked startled, the two old hands just grinned. "Start chopping, Ebsa. Get back into the rhythm before Madam Taix catches you making a hash of it."

  "Never, Lupe! I grew up chopping. I can chop in my sleep!" Ebsa rolled up his sleeves, washed up and got to work on the vegetables.

  His mom whisked in, grabbing an apron . . . "Well! Would you look at that! My little black sheep has come home, and acts like he's never been gone."

  Ebsa was engulfed in a hug.

  "Look at the size of you! One Ebsa! Do you have any clothes that fit?"

  "Yep. All taken care of, no problem, Mom." Ebsa eyed her with trepidation. Her ideas about what her little boy ought to be wearing could be embarrassing.

  "Don't you give me that look young man! I got you some things, as they went on sale at the end of winter."

  Uh, oh. "Well, I do need a winter coat. But most likely they're gone down here, and swim suits fill the racks."

  "Humph! Call those tiny scraps swim suits? I can't imagine that any hussies wearing anything like that do anything athletic." She glowered up at Ebsa. "Snotty little High Oners! Showing off and treating good, honest, boys like trash."

  "Umm, guess I've been spoiled by being around the more practical and athletic type women in the Directorate School."

  "Oh? And how many of them do you know?"

  "I have two good friends who are perfectly reasonable human beings. Female variety." Ebsa grinned. "My pals of the male variety are . . . " his brain stuttered at the thought of calling Ra'd nice. ". . . not snotty, either."

  That got a parental scowl. "Yes? And I suppose one of those girls is the Fallen Witch who murdered her boyfriend?"

  "Oh, make that three female friends. But Nighthawk, who was deliberately framed and who did not kill her fellow student, isn't attending any more. Heak and Paer are both very nice people."

  Glower. "And is this Heak perhaps a nice little Clostuone?"

  "No, she's a Withione from New England Clan. And Paer, of course, is Ottoman Clan."

  "Ebsa . . . she will never marry you. And even if she did, she could never have your children. She will play with you and then discard you. Throw you away like trash!"

  Ebsa sighed. "So how are you and Rico doing?"

  Enco "Enrico" Servaone Montevideo was the maitre d' here, and an investor in his mother's enterprise.

  "That is none of your business, young man."

  "Good. About time."

  She took a deep breath.

  "So, what do you need me to do?"

  She paused. "Keep chopping. Then perhaps you can do that green peppercorn sauce. If it sits overnight to infuse the flavors, I will run a special tomorrow."

  She hustled off to check the ovens.

  Jose snickered and dropped his voice low. "They've moved in together. But he's sleeping on his brother's couch while you're here."

  Ebsa grinned. "Figured as much."

  "And show us how to make that sauce. Mine just isn't quite right."

  They were all up until one in the morning, kneading dough for tomorrow's bread, and eating everything that was left as they cleaned and shut down. Took the bus out to her clean pretty apartment, which bore no signs at all of a masculine inhabitant.

  I hope she didn't throw Rico out permanently. I like that man.

  "Ebsa, I really am worried about you."

  Not good. She waited until we were alone.

  "If there's a war . . . "

  "Mom . . . Comet Fall knows where to find us, any war will be fought here. Better to be in either the Directorate or the army, with modern weapons, than sitting it out and hoping they don't do anything down here. I'll be careful." Oops, lying to my mother! Three demerits! He sighed. "Actually, I'll be as dangerous to them as I possibly can be."

  She wrung her hands. "They say that those people will target Gate City."

  All he could do was hug her.

  She sniffed. "Most likely it'll all blow over. It usually does. Surely they won't actually recall President Orde. He's got good solid common sense, that man. Now . . . " She hustled over to the closet and pulled out a heap of white. "Try this on. I bought it on sale, after our winter. Humph. You ought to have told me you had no coat at all! I would have sent it earlier."

  "It hasn't gotten very cold yet." White. Well knowing mom it could have been a lot worse.

  Parka, with hood. "I know how close to the bone you have to run the restaurant, mom. I was fine . . . well, mostly. Now I'll be warm."

  "Try it on. Let me see you in it."

  It was actually a little too big. "Perfect. It'll fit all winter, even if I have another growth spurt."

  "And they had some nice shirts on sale . . . "

  After an uncomfortable night on the couch, he rolled out at ten and headed back to the restaurant. Lunch was a much more relaxed sort of meal, half as many choices on the menu. All of them less complex than the dinner entrées. On the other hand, his mother felt no need to step out for personal little chats with some regular diners. So he cooked under her occasionally baleful gaze, but managed to avoid any scoldings.

  Finally she sighed. "You've grown up. You are so confident and competent. You would be bored cooking, wouldn't you?"

  He glanced over at her, then back to the chicken. "Possibly. Or maybe I'd just do other things when off-duty."

  He filled a plate and sent it out. "I couldn't work for you. We clash too much. Perhaps in fifty years I'll retire from the Directorate and think a restaurant would be a fine challenge to tackle next."

  "No . . . no. You move with surety and confidence. With your head up, like an important man. You will do well, in your Directorates. Well, I talked to Madam Raod. She said she'd come by to see you around two, as we shut down the lunch service."

  ***

  "It's just . . . stuff." Madam Raod shrugged. Technically his stepmother, despite never having met her until his father's funeral.

  "Some custom-made shoes he hadn't picked up. A nice suit and some shirts and odds and ends that were out at the cleaners when the house burned down . . . you're big enough now that they may fit. And yes, I still have that car. When you've got a job and can afford it, it's yours too. It's no problem to keep it for another six or eight months. Come get it when you find out where you are going to be working."

  "Oh . . . " Ebsa stared down at the box. "I . . . I don't know if I wished I'd known him, or if I'm glad that I didn't, the way things turned out. Thank you."

  ***

  Sunday morning he rolled out early and took the bus up the coast to Maldonado. Met his old college buddies, rented doodlebugs for some fun in the sand dunes . . . swam in the warm water, then back to Montevideo for the Sunday Brunch that segued into dinner. Monday morning, he kissed his mother goodbye, told her to stop being silly and marry Rico.

  "That's a business decision, and none of your business, young man. You . . . be careful!"

  He carted his luggage, the parka, and the box two blocks and boarded the bus for the corridor hub.

  ***

  In Paris it was already late afternoon. Paer, driving an official vehicle, picked him up and whisked him off to Versalle.

  "I won't ask if you have permission to nab an official vehicle."

  "Ha! I suggested that since I could requisition both car and driver, surely there was no problem with me taking just the car. I've had this one all weekend—I suspect it's loaded with tracers, and micro cams. So kiss me and scandalize the Nannies."

  "Not while you're driving." Ebsa scooted closer and kissed her at the first stop light. Retreated as the light changed.

  "So . . . how many references to T-rexes have you suffered through?"

  "None. But there have been quite a few pauses when riding is mentioned, and 'horses' hastily added." Paer looked cheerful. "I think Dad has finally decided to be proud of having a kick-ass daughter. Or maybe he's just boggled. How about your Mom?"

  "Well, I think she's realized that I've flown the nest and won't be coming back. She's . . . frightened of th
e thought of me being in the middle of a war."

  Paer nodded. "Yeah. My poor guards tried to explain the procedure for exfiltrating me from a battle zone. I told them I'd be fighting with the rest of the Directorate Teamers, not being specially evac'd. Dad and Urfa sort of turned green, but Dad told them that was what I had to do and that whoever was present should pitch in and fight too."

  Ebsa nodded. "That . . . must be causing a lot of ulcers."

  "Yeah mental adjustments, all over the place." She drove in silence for awhile. "And, umm, I think you may be getting some attention as well. They finally realized that Ra'd was not the young man they needed to worry about me getting inappropriately involved with."

  "Ah. That's what I get for kissing you without checking for newsies."

  Paer giggled. "I think it was all the kissing in the backseat of the car three days ago that made it official."

  "Yeah . . . so did your dad say anything?"

  "Not a word . . . umm, he did say he'd come to dinner at Versalle tonight. How about your mom?"

  "You are toying with me and will throw me out like trash when you tire of me. We will never have children. A good honest boy like myself deserves better. Thank the One my mother doesn't know me very well."

  Paer snickered. "And you didn't mention the possibilities of Comet Fall Joy Juice?"

  "Nope, else I'd never hear the end of it. Her little boy! Using an illegal drug! And two minutes later, she'd be talking about grandchildren."

  Paer giggled as she turned into the back gate at Versalle. "Well, I hate to tell you this, but the first person you are going to see tonight is Isakson."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes. He said you needed some lessons, and he'd start tonight."

  "Maybe he'll beat me up so badly that your father will take pity on me and be nice . . . or is Isakson what happens to low-class suitors?"

  Paer thumped his shoulder. "Really, Ebsa. You'd better drop the inferiority complex, or I'm going to get mean."