Page 26 of Skinwalker's Bane
“I don’t think even Frost would go so far as to set up the Cavers as the voice of the people,” Magorian said.
Devin wasn’t sure if he meant it as a compliment or a back-handed criticism. “That’s a fine double-edged comment,” she observed. “You sound just like Bishan. He says things like that all the time.”
Magorian smiled. “That’s politics for you. Although you just handed out a double-edged comment of your own. I’m not sure if I’m pleased or disgusted that I sound just like Bishan.”
Did that mean he admired Bishan or not? Did the Bridge not approve of her using Bishan as her manager? Did he have an unsavory reputation she had not been aware of? The Dreamhawks management had implied that having Bishan as her manager would go a long way toward building their favor. She had hurried to secure Bishan’s services in response, barely looking beyond their recommendation.
Did other high-powered people not like Bishan?
That was a thought for another time.
Magorian took her through the big administrative room to the door on the farthest side. The door opened as soon as he got close, which meant it was keyed to his bio markers. This had to be the Captain’s office, then.
Magorian didn’t step aside at the door the way Everett had done. He went right into the office, leaving Devin to follow.
Aware of the glances and whispers going on behind her, Devin squared her shoulders and walked in.
Zsoka Owens was a lot smaller than Devin thought she would be. She seemed very tall on the videos and footage and Forum venues. The Captain looked shorter than Devin, who was only average height herself.
The second shock was the degree of gray and white in the captain’s famous halo of hair. There was far more of it than Devin remembered seeing. Either it was a recent development, or the Captain disguised the extent of gray when she appeared in public.
Not that it mattered. It was all part of the recent obsession over appearances, Devin realized. Perhaps Captain Owens had merely been catering to the popular demand for attention to details and flattering appearances, in order to maintain her approval.
There was a screen running on the edge of the desk, oriented so only the Captain could see it. Video of some kind was running. Devin could hear someone speaking in a loud, strident voice. A man.
Captain Owens got to her feet—another surprise. Her smile was warm. “Devin Bronson. Finally, I get a chance to talk to you.”
Devin didn’t hide her surprise. “Isn’t that what I’m supposed to say?”
Owens laughed and came around the desk, leaving the screen running. “I hope you don’t mind. Sauber is talking in the Aventine market and I need to watch the last few minutes. I thought you might be interested, too.”
“I’ll turn the screen,” Magorian said and swiped at the controls on the desk. The screen reassembled, this time facing Devin.
Captain Owens sank into one of the two chairs sitting facing her big desk and waved to the other. “Sit,” she said.
Devin settled in the chair and focused on the screen. She knew who Sauber was, just as everyone on the ship knew. He was a frequent speaker in the Aventine. He wrote lengthy essays full of exclamation points, that earned a lot of Forum traffic. Devin had read several of his essays and had quickly discarded them because the rhetoric and redundant writing had made it impossible to keep track of what he had been trying to say.
His speaking, though, was different. Sauber was a thunderous speaker, with gravitas and a mesmerizing quality that made it hard to turn away. He spoke with passion on a number of subjects, although his theme was constant—whatever the Captain had done or said, it was wrong.
Bishan called Sauber the voice of eternal opposition, which was a neat way of summing up what seemed to be Sauber’s mission in life.
Devin watched him speaking on the small screen. Even on the screen he looked very tall and slender. His hair was dark and long and brushed back behind his head, although he was a physical speaker, throwing out his arms and gesticulating, so by the time he had finished speaking, his hair tended to be splayed in all directions, which added to the passion and fire of his personal appearances. His eyes snapped with the power of his convictions, too.
He was wearing a long, dark green coat. Devin couldn’t remember seeing him wearing anything else. It was distinctive and not because it was modern or fashionable. It made the most of his narrow shoulders, though and gave him physical presence.
He was railing at the crowed in the Aventine. This had to be a live feed because Devin had glanced at the Aventine general market as the train had passed by and there had not been a crowd there like the one gathered around him now.
“…the insult of hiding such critical information from everyone on theEndurancecan’t be ignored. It is yet one more demonstration that Zsoka Owens was born to privilege and wealth and finds nothing reprehensible about arranging matters to suit herself, regardless of the morals of the decision.
“Only someone who has been raised to understand hard-working values like honesty and integrity and grit would make a decision that benefited the majority on the ship.”
“Oh, I think that’s enough,” Magorian said quietly and turned the screen off.
Owens sat back. “The usual nonsense.”
“Same message, just a new channel to plant it upon,” Magorian said. He shook his head. “I always listen in hope that he’ll find something new to say. His ‘I’m from the Wall and I’m therefore better than everyone, especially the Captain’ is growing very stale indeed.”
“Only, lots of people agree with him,” Devin pointed out.
