The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [84]
“Just the means,” sighed Tommas. “You can hardly blame us for his duplicity.”
“No, Ambassador, I do not. My weariness is speaking louder than my reason.”
In truth, Shagret’s treason had been cleverly executed. A lifetime of exemplary administrative service had gained the man the coveted post of Dean of Communications and thus the means to send a message directly to the Federation Council. Who would have suspected that a highly placed conservative professor harbored radical insurgent sympathies?
Chandat twirled around, alarmed by the sound of someone running up behind them. In the last week, native partisans had gained access to halls and libraries, areas once thought beyond their reach, but surely not to the Faculty garden as well?
To his relief, the boy who approached was a trusted aide. Or could anyone be trusted in these dark times?
“Warden,” called out the boy. “The Faculty Council is ready to resume the debate.”
Having delivered this message, he darted back down the path. So, fear of terrorist attacks had spread to the students as well.
“May I meet with you again after this session?” the ambassador asked as they strolled back toward the flying buttresses of the Athenaeum.
“No,” said Chandat, though he longed to say otherwise. “Not until the Faculty has reached a consensus.” He had enjoyed these audiences with Tommas too much; his longing to touch lost wonders was resurfacing, clouding his judgment and his objectivity.
Or am I gaining new perspectives?
The warden mused upon this conflict of interests as he pushed his way through the crowd of professors and students that were milling by the entrance to the council chamber.
Inside, he found that the debate had resumed without him.
“Traitors! Admission to the Federation will completely undermine our authority and our financial base on this planet.”
The last of the straggling Faculty members rushed into the room to hear the Dean of Architecture berate her opponents. As warden, Chandat was responsible for maintaining order, but he decided the attempt to exercise control would only inflame tempers further. He would let Thorina rave a while longer.
“All that the Dynasian natives possess, we have given them. They were scrabbling in the dirt when we arrived, and they would be scrabbling there still if not for our superior technological knowledge.”
“That “scrabbling” populace has taken care of us for a millennia,” retorted Shagret with the smug demeanor of a self-righteous zealot.
His forehead bore the intricate ridges of a noble family, but he affected the accent of a native.
“They have grown our food, built our libraries, even bathed our very bodies; in return, we have doled out scraps of technology to them like sweet favors to an obedient child. Then we execute those who would use it without tithing our coffers.”
Thorina dismissed this defense with a contemptuous wave. “Unfettered development would have destroyed their culture.”
“We have strangled any true development centuries ago,” said Shagret. The warden noticed with some unease that several more professors had grouped around him to show support. “We play games of the mind in soaring towers but have forgotten how to turn thought into action.
The master plan of the Ancients has fallen into disuse because it called for the eventual participation of the planet’s natives; the ideals of our Iconian ancestors have been corrupted into self-serving exploitation.”
“Admission is inevitable,” cried out a junior Faculty member in Physics and the leader of a growing Pragmatist faction. “If we vote in favor of joining the Federation, we can then control the population’s access to new sources of knowledge.”
“Your na@ivet`e is stunning,” sniped Thorina. “And very dangerous.”
The one native professor on the Faculty, little more than a token until now, stood up to speak. Oomalo’s scales glistened with the iridescence of anger. “If you deny us this opportunity for advancement, my people have vowed to return to “scrabbling in the dirt,” only this time you will have to scrabble along with us for