Free Exile by Al Sarrantonio Page A

nest of sores from everywhere at once. Even on the far outskirts of the empire, in places like Athens and Manchuria, riots had broken out over food and work conditions. These in turn had given birth to further riots over government attempts to control what little stores had not been hoarded or destroyed in the rioting.
    But still, after weeks of escalating trouble, Dalin was loath to use the iron fist.
    "Your father would have done so without hesitation!" Minister Faulkner counseled, with the mixture of mild exasperation and calm reserve that characterized him. "It's obvious that rebel cells have been at work within the various governorships—you must let the army do its job!"
    There had been, that morning, a bomb scare in the palace itself, and this meeting was being held underground, in the lower chambers Dalin's father had had built during the early consolidation of the empire, when threats had been a daily occurrence. Dalin vaguely remembered playing down here: the hushed, tense voices around him while he ran from dank room to dank room with toy soldiers clutched in his fist.
    The present room was little different than it had been in those days; the years of disuse had inspired disrepair, though, and there were dusty paintings on the dented walls and stacks of abandoned and broken furniture in the corners. Dalin's advisers had had to sift through this mess to arrange a table and chairs for Dalin and his ministers to occupy.
    Somewhat to his chagrin, Minister Faulkner discovered that the ancient wall Screen, an early and small model, did not work at all, depriving them all of the minister's ever-present data—a development which did not bother Dalin in the least.
    "You must not, under any circumstances, use the army, Sire!" Defense Minister Acron shouted, red-faced. "It would only make you look like a tyrant!" Acron was a man who almost never acted calmly, and Dalin had tried to keep him away as much as possible, which had been impossible lately.
    "I disagree with Minister Acron utterly," Faulkner said.
    "I had no doubt you would," Dalin answered.
    Acron's face reddened to deep ruby. He pounded his fist on the table, which shook on its three good legs, the fourth being propped on a stack of old aluminum cartons.
    "There is no rebellion as Minister Faulkner keeps suggesting! Merely a bit of civil unrest in reaction to the events on Mars!"
    Minister Faulkner shook his head at this last suggestion.
    Down the short table, Minister Besh nodded.
    "I agree with Minister Faulkner," he said quietly. "There is more than enough evidence to prove that Prime Cornelian is behind the Afrasian uprisings. I believe the military should be used without delay."
    Acron turned on the new voice with sarcasm. "That is why you are finance minister, Besh! Tend to your ones and zeros, please!"
    There were a few titters, but mostly silence. Besh said, "And how have we handled the current shortages in food and supplies?"
    This last question was directed at Labor Minister Rere, a stout man with a deep voice, who now cast a malevolent glance at Besh and said, "I authorized a discreet holding back of certain items to prevent hoarding and further rioting. This is standard practice."
    "Is it standard practice to ration water and wheat?" Besh said.
    Rere turned his hands palm upward. "When necessary—yes!"
    "Where did the rioting begin?" Dalin Shar asked.
    Minister Faulkner answered, "In Canton, Sire. A week ago yesterday. As you know, there was an attempt on the governor's life, followed by a general labor strike. This led to shortages and then Minister Rere's attempts to bring those shortages under control."
    "What prompted the labor strike?"
    Minister Faulkner hesitated before answering. "We had . . . certain information that rebels had infiltrated many of the guilds. This influence has spread. That is why I believe that immediate military measures
    Dalin found his anger level beginning to rival that of Minister Acron, though he was able to