That, ladies and gentlemen, is a man playing a dangerous, dangerous game.  Pray you figure out what the game is before everything comes to fruition.

— Ambassador Alexander Channing, Psychean Guard, c. 5205

 10 Decem, 5249 PD

             “Watch Morgause.” Adam leaned back to murmur the words to Frederick as his friend leaned forward to catch them.  “I don’t think that he knows for certain what’s coming, but I’m thinking he certainly suspects it.”

Frederick’s lips quirked into a brief smile as his gaze flicked toward the slender, dark-haired D’Arcy Morgause.  The Council’s spymaster was deep in whispered conversation with one of his aides, a black-haired woman of maybe thirty years old.  There was a knowing smirk on the woman’s face as she listened to D’Arcy, then leaned into his ear to whisper something.

Frederick looked away, back to Adam.  “He’s already plotting something,” he said to his friend.  “I can tell.”

“We can all tell,” Adam said, eyes narrowing.  “It’s just a question of what he’s up to this time.”

“No good,” Frederick suggested, trying to smother a grin.  “And your niece and her husband are on the watch for shenanigans.”

Adam blinked, twisting to look at Frederick.  “What?”

“That’s what they said, if I’m reading their lips right.”

“Frederick, stop reading their lips and start reading D’Arcy’s.”

“Angle’s bad.  I can’t see what he’s saying.”  Frederick leaned back, glancing toward Rachel, seated in her own seat not far away.  “She’s nervous.”

“Who is?”

“Rachel.”

Adam followed his gaze and then sighed softly.  “I don’t blame her.  I would be, too.”

Frederick smiled faintly.  “She’ll be fine.”  All of it will be.  This is what she was born for—what she was made for.  She just doesn’t know it yet.

“The Council will come to order, please.”  Sergei’s voice rang from the Speaker’s chair, possibly for the last time.  “I will have order in this chamber.”

The hum of voices died away in response to his voice, eyes turning toward the Speaker.  Adam’s hands curled into fists as he watched the older man’s face.  Frederick patted his shoulder gently.

Steady, old friend.  All will be well.  His gaze flicked toward Lindsay, who was still watching Morgause, not the Speaker.  I’m certain of it.  Your niece would be the first to sound the alarm if something were about to go utterly sideways.

Sergei Petremoore waited two long moments before he gave a firm nod to the assembled.  “There has been quite a bit of speculation over the past two days regarding why this meeting was called.  Some of it was correct and some of it was wholly wrong.  I am going to put all the rumors to rest right now, this very moment.

“I am retiring from my post as Speaker in two weeks’ time.  That should be more than enough time to bring my successor up to speed.”

The Council exploded into whispers and shouts—most of the outcry coming from D’Arcy Morgause, who shot to his feet, his face pale with a strange mix of fear and anger.  “Speaker, we’re going to war.  You cannot step down now.”

“I can and I am,” the Speaker said evenly, his voice carrying over the din.  The room quieted after a moment, though the whispers didn’t die completely.  Sergei’s eyes smoldered as he met D’Arcy’s gaze.  “War is a young man’s game and I know that I am no longer young.  It’s up to others to defend this world and our mission against those who would destroy us.”

Morgause’s hands clenched as he saw the Speaker’s gaze momentarily flick toward Rachel Farragut.  The spymaster swallowed hard and said in a tight, soft voice, “You’d hand the reins of the Foundation over to the Guard.”

“There is no Guard anymore,” Frederick said, surprising even himself as the words escaped his lips.  “There are only the scattered survivors.  This is our home now—the colony is our home now.  Our loyalty is to nothing else.”

Morgause’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Frederick, something dangerous and calculating flickering through their depths.  His lips thinned as he turned back toward the Speaker, ignoring the rest of the Council, stunned into silence.  “Do you believe them when they say it?” he asked softly.  “Do you believe them?”

The Speaker stared right back at him, his gaze tired and sad.  He nodded slowly.  “I do, D’Arcy.  I believe the truth when I hear it spoken.”

“Your ability to hear it must be somehow broken,” Morgause muttered, eyes narrowing.

The Speaker gave him a long, hard look.  He looked as if he might say something, but Amelda cleared her throat quietly.

“Do you have a successor in mind, Speaker?” she asked softly, chidingly.  Effortlessly, she defused the situation—at least for the moment.

Frederick smothered a smile.  She’d be his successor if she was a few years younger, I suspect—or if he dreamed she’d say yes.

“I do,” the Speaker said quietly, straightening and tearing his attention away from D’Arcy.  “My choice for my successor is Rachel Farragut.”

D’Arcy’s hands slammed down hard against the tabletop.  The Speaker looked at him sharply again.

“An interesting choice,” Arigato Daichi steepled his fingers as he leaned back in his chair, dark eyes half-lidding.  “Not an entirely unexpected choice, but an interesting one nonetheless.  I will second the nomination.”

Frederick smothered a smile at the surprise that flickered through a half-dozen expressions and kept watching D’Arcy Morgause.

Brendan was watching the spymaster, too, worry in his eyes.

That’s a worry born of knowing, Frederick thought, brows knitting for a brief moment.  That can’t be good.

D’Arcy’s expression was dark but controlled, rage smoldering in his eyes, only half-cloaked by an air of civility.

He’s angry, Frederick thought, pursing his lips briefly and crossing his arms.  But how angry?  Angry enough for what?  To betray his own, I wonder?

This one bears a great deal of watching.  There was something about D’Arcy that reminded him of the past, of the old days when he was still with the Inspector General’s office.  I wish I could put my finger on what about him is tripping that synapse in my brain, though.  It could bloody well be important.

“I third,” Kara Grace said after a moment, sitting forward in her seat and swallowing hard.  “If the Council wishes, we can carry it to a vote.”

“Not so fast,” D’Arcy said carefully.  His words were measured, his tone far calmer than the storm in his eyes.  “If I recall correctly, there is room for a challenger.”

Sergei’s eyes narrowed slightly.  “There is,” he agreed.  “Are you putting yourself forward, then, D’Arcy?”

“I fear I must,” the spymaster said.  “Since there is no one else in this Council that will raise their voice against the growing influence of the Guard refugees on this Council, it falls to me to be the voice of those of us whose legacies stretch back to the foundations of the colony.”

Stunned silence met his words.  The members of the Council looked at each other, no one daring to speak.

Then, Rachel stood up, shaking slightly, jaw set and eyes smoldering dangerously.  “D’Arcy, I know that you’re not suggesting that there is some kind of conspiracy going on here.  I know you’re not suggesting that I have some kind of nefarious agenda up my sleeve.”

“Not you,” D’Arcy said, his voice soft.  “But perhaps your fellow refugees do.”

Interesting.  So that’s his game.  Frederick tapped a fingertip against his lips, leaning forward slightly.  Sow the seeds of mistrust in the Council and hope that they spread.  When Rachel is still elected to the Speaker’s chair, he’ll be able to leverage his conspiracy theory.  Her election puts him into a strange position of strength among those who might believe that there really is some kind of plot afoot.

Then again, Rachel has an advantage that I doubt he’s taken into consideration, as bright as he may be.

“I don’t answer to the refugees,” Rachel said.  “I answer to everyone here—everyone who’s thrown in their lot with the Foundation.  The Foundation, I might remind you, founded by Sarah Farragut.”  Her lips thinned, eyes aflame.  “Contrary to what you may or may not believe, D’Arcy, Ian Farragut’s blood runs through my veins same as it does anyone who’s been here longer that can claim the same descent as I.”  She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly before she plunged on.  “This world is the only hope humanity has left.  We know that now—all of us do.  This council cannot stand divided in the face of the threats that are out there, ready to destroy us at the first opportunity.  This world, the Foundation, humanity as a race—none of us can afford that.  This world cannot be allowed to fall and this council being horribly divided by lies and supposition is nigh unto treason.  We would become our own worst enemy.

“I will not allow that to happen.  Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.  Count on it.”

Frederick smiled.  Bravo, Squeaks.  Bravo.

Rachel stared at D’Arcy, a challenge in her eyes, as if she was daring him to speak.

The spymaster met her stare for one long moment.

Then, he sank down into his chair, lips pressed tightly together.

“I withdraw my nomination,” D’Arcy said quietly.  “You have my vote, Farragut.  Do not make me regret giving it to you.”