The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [67]
She doubted he cared how much this would bother her. For Basil it was all part of putting the Hansa in order, keeping as many elements in check as possible. She would try to talk to him about it, but she doubted it would do any good.
“We’ll repaint this in a nice, neutral color, Ambassador,” said the foreman of the crew, a roly-poly man with a deep voice and thick brown hair. “I can display catalog images of standard-issue Hansa furniture. Pick out the interior decorations yourself if you’d like, but frankly I’d rather you trusted me.” The man gave her a weary grin.
“Do what you have to,” she said, feeling sad and cold. It hardly mattered, since everything that expressed her personal taste was being taken away. “Obviously, the Chairman does not approve of my preferences.”
When she had first arrived on Earth years ago, Sarein had scorned the quaint, provincial nature of Theroc. She had felt trapped among the worldtrees and green priests, but invigorated by images of the Whisper Palace and the wonderful cities on Earth. Leaving her home planet to follow her dreams, she had achieved a level of status beyond her expectations.
Now, though, most of her influence had gone. She was an ambassador from a planet with which the Hansa had cut off all relations, yet she couldn’t go home. She represented . . . nothing. Basil kept her in his inner circle, but she had to fight continually to be a sounding board for his decisions. More and more often, he made up his mind without consulting anyone. Despite what she had told Rlinda Kett during their surreptitious meeting in the coffee shop, she despaired of finding a way to get through to Basil. Not for the first time, she wished she had accepted Rlinda’s offer and simply fled Earth.
The workers roughly stuck her plants into a crate marked for storage, but she intercepted them. “Save those — I want them delivered to the greenhouse wing. The Queen’s conservatory is being restored.”
The decorator shrugged. “If you like. They’re no longer allowed in private quarters. Some Ildiran plants are known to be poisonous.”
Captain McCammon walked briskly down the hall toward her chambers. His eyes always seemed to light up when he saw her, though he had been well schooled in maintaining a neutral expression. She often found herself smiling, too, when she saw him, but she didn’t dare show any affection for the man. Now he stopped at her doorway, amazed by the flurry of redecorating.
She read McCammon’s expression of disapproval. “It’s how the Chairman reacts when he feels insecure,” Sarein said quickly.
He lowered his voice, showing genuine compassion. “Then right now he must feel very insecure.”
Basil’s plan to break the Mage-Imperator had backfired. Sarein couldn’t help but silently cheer the Ildiran leader. No matter how often she tried to caution him, the Chairman refused to acknowledge the damage he was causing. But other people were seeing the cracks appear in the government.
Just that morning she had heard reports of a new outspoken group calling themselves “Freedom’s Sword,” which had hijacked several newsnets and rebroadcast Patrick Fitzpatrick’s damning confession that accused the Hansa of provoking war with the Roamers. The best security crackdowns had been unable to trace the saboteurs, and so they had gotten away.
Furious, Basil had assigned Colonel Andez and her cleanup crew to investigate the problem. A cold thought struck her. Did the Chairman doubt Sarein’s loyalty? Had he seen something? Her little meeting with Nira and the treeling, perhaps?
Seeing her concern, McCammon touched her arm, and she felt an irrational desire to move closer to him, but she didn’t dare, especially in front of these workers. Realizing what time it was, she cleared her throat and spoke in a formal voice. “Have you come to escort me to the meeting, Captain?” Basil had been excited about meeting with Admiral Diente in the Hansa HQ, and she had asked to be included. She had