Doctor Who_ Corpse Marker - Chris Boucher [76]
Around the long, handmade table there were murmurs of agreement from the other Board members.
Uvanov found to his surprise that he was not remotely nervous. A surge of confidence flowed through him. He felt completely in control. These people had no idea who it was they were dealing with. He was Kiy Uvanov. He knew more than they ever would. They couldn’t imagine who he was but he knew who they were. He had been invited - summoned would be a more accurate word - to attend this extraordinary meeting of the Company Board partly because theoretically he was in line for a place and they wanted to see how he performed, partly because theoretically they wanted to understand what had happened, but mainly because they were actually looking for a scapegoat. And that was what he was really in line for. Landerchild, the most arrogant of all the aristos, obviously saw it as the ideal chance to keep him off the Board and the others were ready to follow his top-of-the-twenty-families lead.
These people were no better than he was. They had no natural right to power and privilege and wealth. It was an accident of birth. No, it wasn’t even an accident given the way they stuck together: it was more of a plan, more of a conspiracy against him and people like him. His confidence kept growing.
They didn’t know who he was but he knew who they were. He looked towards Pitter and said, ‘Firstmaster Chairholder, Firstmasters -’
‘We’re not looking for an after-eating speech, Captain,’
Landerchild interrupted, smiling.
‘I’m glad of that, Firstmaster Landerchild, because frankly your attitude to all this makes me sick to my stomach.’
Landerchild’s smile did not falter. ‘Is that the answer to my question?’
Again Uvanov addressed himself to Pitter. ‘Firstmaster Chairholder, Firstmasters -’
‘Obviously,’ Landerchild cut across him, ‘you have not understood how we do things here.’ He was still smiling but his monotone was more pronounced and coldly patronising. ‘You may dispense with the time-wasting formalities and answer the question I put to you.’
‘Perhaps if you would allow me to speak I could do that,’
Uvanov said and then sat in silence.
‘Well, Captain?’ Landerchild said, after a moment.
Uvanov looked at Pitter. ‘My apologies, Firstmaster Chairholder, I was deferring to Firstmaster Landerchild’s seniority and waiting to see if he had any further points to score from the deaths of good men. Ordinary men. Men who wouldn’t aspire to enter this building let alone this meeting chamber.
Unlike Firstmaster Landerchild, none of them came from the most illustrious of the twenty founding families. No, these were simple men, beneath Firstmaster Landerchild’s contempt I dare say, but it was they who paid the ultimate price defending the Company.’
‘What has that to do with what I asked you?’ Landerchild said in a languid, half-amused monotone.
Nothing, you moron, Uvanov thought and wondered how much longer it would take for Pitter to get annoyed at being ignored. ‘The answer to the Firstmaster’s question,’ he said, looking towards the Chairholder at the head of the table, ‘is that nothing went wrong that day thanks to the bravery of those men.
Nothing went wrong that day. Quite the contrary in fact.’
Landerchild applauded, a slow ironic handclap. It was a mistake. No one else joined in. Around the table no one seemed to be smiling.
‘I think that’s probably enough,’ Pitter chided. He was a soft, plump-faced man with a reputation as a scholar and robotics engineer with an enthusiastic appetite for skinny young women.
‘Quite enough,’ agreed Landerchild. ‘That