Binary, Jay Caselberg [top business books of all time txt] 📗

Principal Men Darnak grunted, then crossed to sit next to Kovaar behind the desk. He fussed with things on the desk's top for a moment or two, before finally lifting his gaze and meeting Tarlain's eye. He looked distracted. Finally, he frowned.

"Tarlain. What is it?"

It was as if their previous confrontation had never taken place. Tarlain didn't know where to start.

"Father, I..."

"Yes, what is it?"

"Father, can we not be alone? I'd prefer to have this discussion in private." He looked pointedly at Witness Kovaar.

Leannis Men Darnak glanced from his son's face to Witness Kovaar and back again. He paused, as if considering, and then, with a slight frown, he said, "No. He stays."

"But can't you just -- ?"

"Just what?"

Tarlain sighed. "All right. Fine, he stays. Seriously, Father, on the matter of our earlier disagreement, I know things got a little heated. I apologize. I would ask you to reconsider."

"Reconsider what, Tarlain? Tell me exactly what it is I should reconsider?" The Principal's tone was short, clipped.

"Everything. What you said about my role in the Principate. We both spoke in haste. Don't let what that Sandon Yl Aris said influence you, Father, I beg you. Together, Roge, Karin and I can make the Principate stronger, not weaker."

"Stronger? Just as you would have made it stronger by acting against Roge, I suppose." Men Darnak shook his head. "What I have decided, I have decided, Tarlain. This has nothing to do with Yl Aris. Nothing. Yl Aris has been relieved of his position."

Tarlain sat back in his chair, stunned. "But Sandon has worked for you for years. He's always been like a rock to you. What could he possibly -- ?"

Men Darnak waved his hand to cut off Tarlain's speculation. "Nothing that need concern you. What's done is done."

Tarlain looked from his father's face to Kovaar's and back again, but there was nothing to be gleaned from either of them.

"Fine," he said. "But I can still be useful in the Principate, Father. Surely, you must see that. We've been trained for this. All of us. You've always taken the care and trouble to teach us what's right, how to act. You've been a good teacher, Father. Don't throw that all away."

Men Darnak fixed him with a long hard stare. "Perhaps trained too well, Tarlain. I cannot risk your, your..." A frown flickered across his face, then disappeared. He shook his head and the frown was back again. "It's done, Tarlain. It is done. You should leave now." The last was filled with a depth of tiredness Tarlain had rarely heard in his father's voice.

"But -- "

"No."

Tarlain looked desperately at the priest, seeking support where ultimately he knew he'd find none, but blank disinterest met him in return. He looked back at his father, but the old man was no longer looking in his direction. He was staring down at the desk, his forehead cupped in one hand, gently rubbing his brow.

Tarlain pushed the chair back and stood. "So there's nothing I can say." Anger was starting to creep into his voice.

"Nothing. No, nothing. You disappoint me, Tarlain. That's all." There was no anger in return, only weariness.

Tarlain stood waiting for his father to lift his gaze and meet his eyes, but the old man remained sitting as he was. Closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath, Tarlain turned and stalked from the room. He had tried. There was nothing further to be done. Karin would be disappointed.

Outside the door, he stood and took stock. Roge. He had to see Roge, tell him of his decision. Despite the underlying tension between them, he could not just leave. Where was Roge likely to be? There was no point going back into the room and asking. That leave taking was done. He didn't know where Roge might be, but he could guess. The main business center of the Principate was the most likely choice. Knowing Roge, he would be quick to cement himself in the seat of power. Tarlain headed up the corridor in that direction.

Roge was exactly where Tarlain thought he would be. He looked up as Tarlain entered the central offices. Large desks, screens, a few low tables and couches filled the room. This was the nexus of the Principate's business affairs, and there, planted behind the central desk in the heart of the Principate buildings sat his brother, looking already at home.

"Tarlain. I did not expect to see you."

Tarlain took a few moments, considering, his brother looking at him expectantly. "No, I don't suppose you did," he said finally.

Tarlain was torn. His father and Roge would have already talked about him, already made their judgments. He could have pleaded, asked Roge to intercede on his behalf. It was what Karin wanted, but it was unlikely that Roge could think far enough ahead to worry about that or even consider the implications. Karin had always been more of the thinker.

"Roge, I'm leaving."

His brother nodded. That was all. He simply nodded.

"Did you understand what I said?"

"Of course I did. What do you want me to say, Tarlain? You've made your choice. Father and I have already discussed what it means for us. We will do what we need to do to fill the gap."

Tarlain bit back his first reply. "Do you really think it was my choice? Do you really think this is what I want?"

Roge waved his hand dismissively. "You've shown it by your actions, little brother. What do you want me to say? Father told me exactly what you'd been planning. Do you think I'm just going to ignore that?"

"But I wasn't�"

"Of course you'd say that."

Tarlain stepped forward and placed his hands flat on the desk, leaning across the surface and bringing his face closer. Roge leaned back in his chair, moving away, looking slightly uncomfortable.

"By the Prophet, Roge," said Tarlain. "What do you think I am? Will you stop and think for a minute? Listen, I'm worried about father, the way he's behaving. You must have noticed it too. Doesn't that matter to you?"

Roge avoided meeting his gaze. "Of course it matters. It matters because we need to be strong now. Father's time is done. He's had some good years. Now, it's time for him to step aside. We can't afford your na�ve little ideals, Tarlain. There's too much to do." He looked up at Tarlain, then, the accusation clear in his face. "You should care about now. You should care about what we have to do. I can't afford to let you make any more trouble. You'll have to work things out for yourself. We will just have to make do without you. I always thought you weren't really good enough for the job anyway."

"Do you care about anything but your grand plans, Roge?"

"Of course I care." His brother stood. "I care about what matters for the order of things, for the Guilds. What do you want me to do for you? Just forget about all that?" He moved around behind the chair, placing one hand on its back, the chair's body serving as an extra wall in addition to the desk.

Tarlain looked at his brother, hope starting to fade. "Will you at least talk to Father?"

Roge shook his head slowly. "It's too late. Far too late. Why the hell should I?"

Tarlain looked at his brother for a long time, then narrowed his eyes. "All right. That's how you want it. I wish you luck, Roge. I wish you all the luck in the world."

"It won't be me who needs luck, little brother."

Tarlain shook his head, rubbed the back of his neck, then sighed. "Fine. Then I'll say goodbye." The words were spoken quietly.

Roge simply nodded and Tarlain turned, his steps filled with heaviness as he crossed to the door. Just before opening it, he turned back to look at Roge, but his brother was already seated back in the chair, keying commands into one of the screens. He glanced up briefly.

"Well, what do you want now?"

Tarlain slipped from the room and closed the door gently behind him.

Six

Sandon stood gazing across the parking area outside the Principate buildings. There was something wrong here -- something very wrong. Despite his protestations, Principal Men Darnak hadn't even been prepared to discuss the matter further. The realization hit him yet again and the bottom went out of his stomach. He'd just been removed from office. Men Darnak had just dismissed him. It wasn't possible. Everything he had worked for, all of his careful moves, gone in an instant. It just didn't make sense.

He'd spent his life devoted to supporting the old man, supporting his plans and his actions. Leannis Men Darnak was the only man that held their world together, gave them the stability that they needed. Everything that Sandon was, everything he did, was because of Men Darnak. The old man was the only person capable of holding the complex structure of the Guilds together. What was he going to do now? He needed the Principate. He needed the Principal. Men Darnak needed him. The old man had invested in him, made him what he was. Years of work, of support, of faithful duty. Years of careful counseling, of patient teaching. This simply couldn't be happening. He slapped his hand down on the roof of the groundcar and uttered a curse through gritted teeth.

Shaking his head, he slipped into the groundcar, not even sure which direction he should take. He had a few options: his country estate; one of the many hunting lodges scattered across the rich landscape surrounding Yarik's rocky plateau. He sat, not doing anything for some time, just staring out of the front window. Large stone blocks filled his view, solid, thick, meant to last. A blank stone wall. If they had a large enough quake though, even that expanse of solidity, that smooth surface, might end up as little more than a tumbled mass of broken stones. He'd seen it happen before. So much for permanence. Nothing in life was truly permanent, but there had been things in his world that Sandon Yl Aris had thought he could rely on.

He reached forward to punch in a destination, but then paused, his hand hovering over the controls. He drew back the hand slowly, reconsidering. Concern about his personal circumstance had clouded his perspective. He could see that now. There was something at work here that was clearly wrong.

Leannis Men Darnak had always been a reasonable man -- stern, unforgiving, but all his decisions had been informed with good sense, even wisdom. Sometimes they seemed crazy at the time, but the long view invariably told otherwise. Sandon frowned. He should have noticed it sooner and he could not understand why he hadn't. He spent his entire life watching, observing people, but to miss something as basic as this was wrong. Over the past few weeks, the Principal had been preoccupied, moody. Things that would have previously been trivial angered him. True, the approach of Storm Season was always a time of tension, but Men Darnak had lived through more Storm Seasons than Sandon himself. It could hardly be that. He had also been spending far more time with Witness Kovaar, listening to him more readily, actually seeking his advice on important Principate decisions, something he would not have even considered in the past. Men Darnak had always been careful to show appropriate respect for the Church of the Prophet, at least in public -- it was expected of a man in his position. The traditions handed down from the First Families, their religious foundations, were an essential part of Guild life. That was a given, but