Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [94]
Still … if he’d gotten even one of the details wrong, Kelnae would see through the ruse. And Riker’s bluff would be called.
“This can’t be!” protested Kobar. “It’s a fabrication!”
“No,” said Riker, but he spoke to Daran, not Kobar. “It’s no fabrication. And when the carnival is over and you can use advanced communications again, we’ll be glad to show you the confession in all its holographic glory.”
Teller’s voice continued.
“… that the seal be buried. But that was not enough. To make doubly sure it could not be used to facilitate the merger, it was to be buried on the grounds of Madraga Terrin—the last place Criathis would expect to find it, and the place where its discovery would do the most …”
Kobar made a short chopping motion with his hand—a gesture of dismissal. His emerald green eyes narrowed. “Come, Father. There’s no need to stay and be insulted—especially by an offworlder and by a madraga that can’t keep track of its valuables.”
He started away. But Kelnae stayed.
“… all of it,” said Teller’s voice. “I am not proud of it. But in some small way perhaps I have atoned for my actions.”
“Father? What’s wrong?”
Kelnae’s eyes had lost their fire. He somehow seemed to have shrunk a couple of inches in height.
“Father … ?”
“The offworlder is right,” said Kelnae. He darted a hate-filled glance at Riker. “I don’t know how he got Conlon to confess. But he is right.”
Kobar obviously hadn’t been in on the crime. He was crestfallen.
“I can’t believe—”
“Of course you can’t,” said Kelnae. “I never told you, Kobar. I knew you wouldn’t countenance an alliance with the trade liaison—a man you hated—no matter how necessary it might have been.”
“Then you admit to stealing the seal?” asked Riker.
Kelnae sneered. “Yes—freely.” He turned to those on the silk-draped platform, and Daran in particular. “And now what? Would you punish me—for the theft of something that has already been returned to you?” He chuckled. “Who among us would not have done the same thing, given half a chance?”
A good question, Riker observed. And one that only one man present dared answer.
“The issue,” said Norayan’s father, “is not what others would have done. The issue is what you did.” He regarded Kelnae from the considerable height of the platform. “And once that becomes common knowledge, you may find Rhurig’s fortunes taking a turn for the worse.”
“And what about Conlon?” asked Kelnae. “What about the Federation? Will they be held accountable—or only Rhurig?”
Daran wouldn’t look at Riker or at his fellow officers. “That remains to be seen,” he said.
“Of course,” said the first official of Rhurig. “By now, Conlon is long gone, no doubt. Secreted away, where Impriman justice can’t touch him.”
It was truer than the man might have imagined. But Riker didn’t remark on the irony. It wasn’t time yet to let that cat out of the bag.
Kelnae spat and started back toward the audience. His son made no move to go with him.
Kelnae stopped, waited. “Kobar?” he prompted.
The younger man didn’t react.
Kelnae stood there for a moment. Then he shrugged and started walking again.
Kobar turned to Norayan. His face was hard with humiliation. “Had I known,” he told her, “I would have prevented it. I swear it.”
She nodded.
Riker noticed that Larrak was studying him. With apprehension? Or was that admiration? Either way, he took it as a compliment.
And Larrak hadn’t even seen his next move.
“First Official,” said Riker, addressing Daran, “I have a confession to make.”
The Impriman’s brows knit. He didn’t look as if he would relish any additional surprises.
“A confession?” he echoed.
“Yes.” Riker indicated Kobar with a gesture. “This man was right. The recording we just heard was a fabrication.”
Norayan stifled her reaction. Back in the stands, the area populated with black robes erupted in protest. But Kobar himself was silent, trying to preserve what was left of his dignity.
“I don’t understand,” said Daran.
“If you had checked the holograph as I suggested, you would have found that it was a fake.” He held out his hands. “I apologize