Between the Stars by John Maddox Roberts, Eric Kotani Page A

and power of the state. Every wall, pillar and decoration was outsized, scaled to inflict the viewer with a sense of awe and of the insignificance of the individual.
    Larsen considered it to be garish and horrid, but he had to admit that it served its intended purpose well. The corridor they now occupied was floored with a single Bokhara carpet more than one hundred meters long and ten meters wide. The walls were of sea-green marble, covered with famous paintings. Many of the world's great masterpieces had been removed to the Palace for "safekeeping."
    Larsen paused before one of his favorites, a Picasso from the artist's Blue Period, depicting an old man playing a guitar. "So, is policy to be formulated for the happiness and well being of the military?"
    "Naturally," Shevket said, ignoring the painting. "At this moment, there are only two power structures of any consequence: the Party and the military. Over the years, all other organizations claiming rival power have been demolished. On this planet, the only power that can destroy the Party is the military. The Party cannot threaten the military at all. Therefore, the military wields the whip. Logical, is it not?"
    Shevket strolled across the corridor and stood before a gigantic painting of lurid color and furious action. "That is my favorite," he said. "The French of the First Empire had spirit, unlike your bloodless Picasso and his whining post-World War One generation."
    The painting was Delacroix's Death of Sardanapalus . From atop his funeral pyre, the monarch whose city was about to be overwhelmed calmly surveyed the spectacle below him. On the slopes of the gigantic pyre, his wives, concubines, horses, dogs, slaves and treasure were being slaughtered or placed for immolation. It would be impossible, Larsen thought, to find a painting that more accurately expressed the personality of Mehmet Shevket.
    Shevket pointed with the handle of his whip at the most prominent group in the foreground. A savage-looking warrior held a beautiful, naked odalisque by her pinioned wrists. The painting froze him in the action of plunging a serpentine dagger into her breast as she struggled futilely for her life. "This is a wonderful detail. Do you notice how the curve of the soldier's yataghan precisely echoes the curvature of the woman's body? A nice touch, the yataghan : It's a Turkish blade."
    The idea of Shevket as an art critic was mind-numbing. "Your plans of military supremacy are a bit premature, aren't they? Carstairs is still there, and neither of us truly knows the extent of his power."
    "His power is a myth," Shevket insisted, slapping the knotted thongs of his whip against the side of his boot. "Now is the time to prove it!"
    "No," Larsen said coolly. "Now is the time to find out what the Rhea Object represents. A few weeks ago, I might have agreed that this was a good time for a test of power. Now, I do not. The heads of the Academy tell me that this could be one of those rare discoveries that changes everything. To act, one must have the greatest possible certainty of the situation. A situation of such fluidity, with so many unknown factors—" He shrugged his narrow shoulders. "It is not a good time to take irrevocable action."
    "You think too much, Aage. If you think too much, you never take quick, decisive action. But then, that is probably why we make a good team, you and I. Rest assured, though; when I know that the time is ripe for action, I will act without consulting your overcautious advice." He whirled on a chrome-spurred heel and strode down the corridor. Larsen hurried to catch up, cursing this sudden loss of initiative.
    "I agree, though," the Turk went on, "that this alien artifact business is of great importance. It could be a powerful new weapon. I've assigned some of our best teams to the task."
    "I know," Larsen said. "I've gone over the reports from Intelligence. Who is your personal operative on this?"
    "I've given it to Daniko Vladyka. The other teams