Horizon Storms - Kevin J. Anderson [40]
Showing no surprise at the visit, Cain gestured Basil inside. “Welcome to my home, Mr. Chairman. Is this to be a meeting over dinner—I can have something sent up—or just drinks?”
“I prefer not to drink alcohol if we’re discussing business.”
Cain gave him his maddeningly beatific smile. “I always maintain a small supply of cardamom coffee, Mr. Chairman, in case you ever decide to visit.”
While Basil’s penthouse had windows that looked out upon the breathtaking skyline, Cain preferred interior quarters, without windows. Basil had even heard a silly rumor that his odd deputy was a vampire. When asked about his unusual preference, Cain had explained cryptically, “Inside rooms have more wall space.”
Once Basil entered the other man’s inner sanctum, the reason became apparent. The walls were adorned with art, from small sketches to enormous paintings: portraits of inbred-looking nobles, two near-identical depictions of the Crucifixion, images from classical mythology, simple slices of rustic medieval life. Each work was lovingly displayed with perfect diffuse illumination, complete with a one-person bench set at the optimal viewing distance.
“Do you know the work of Velázquez, Mr. Chairman? These are originals from the seventeenth century. Priceless.”
“Art history was never one of my particular interests.”
The deputy showed uncharacteristic exuberance. “A master of realism and deception, Velázquez had a wicked sense of satire, poking subtle but vicious insults at the vapid nobles, whom he hated. They never noticed.” Over the years Cain had spent most of his substantial earnings to acquire Velázquez’s sketches and paintings, many from the Prado in Madrid. “I can stare for hours. I never get tired of looking at the composition, the colors.”
Basil appreciated quality work, but he had never spent more than a few moments inspecting a single painting. “Interesting, Mr. Cain—but that is not why I have come tonight.” He walked deeper into the room. “Since Ptoro has already worked so well, I intend to authorize the use of another Klikiss Torch. Perhaps several more.”
He didn’t want to appear weak or indecisive, but he needed input, a sounding board, and he had already discussed the idea with Sarein. He wanted to get a fresh perspective…so long as he didn’t seem to be coming to the deputy with his hat in his hand. So far, Basil had found his deputy to be correct far more often than not.
Cain sat on the edge of one of his viewing benches, indicating another for Basil. His hairless brow wrinkled. “Ah, and you are concerned that it might provoke a disastrous counterstrike instead of forcing concessions from them.”
Basil didn’t admit he had been asking for help. He simply waited.
Cain continued: “From our first reports, the Ptoro deployment was a success, but it could as easily have been a debacle. And it is too soon to be certain there’ll be no retaliation from the hydrogues.”
“Even so,” Basil countered, “the hydrogues do know we can hurt them.”
“What if the faeros hadn’t offered their assistance? They seem to be enemies of the hydrogues, but we don’t know their motives, nor have we ever managed to find them or communicate with them.”
Basil steepled his fingers. “Perhaps we should issue an ultimatum of our own before igniting each new Torch? Demand that the hydrogues rescind their restrictions and forswear further attacks against us. If they refuse or if they don’t answer, then we ignite another Torch, and then another. There’s a historical precedent: It’s the way President Truman used atomic weapons in World War II to deal with the Japanese.”
“Not an apt analogy, Mr. Chairman.” Here, in private, the deputy did not show any reluctance to contradict Basil. “President Truman commanded one of the largest armies in World War II, and the United States was already a force to be reckoned with. In this conflict, however, we are relatively ineffectual,