The Guild Conspiracy (8 page)

Rupert nudged her arm with a grin. “I think he's starting to like you.”

 

CHAPTER 6

P
etra knocked at the door to Vice-­Chancellor Lyndon's office and peered inside. “You wanted to see me, sir?”

The vice-­chancellor glanced up from his desk, a sheaf of paper in his hands. “Ah, Petra . . . Have a seat. I'll be with you in a moment.”

She opened the door wider and stepped inside the stately office, planting herself in one of the hard wooden chairs across from his desk as she waited for him to finish. Shelves and cabinets lined the walls of his office, displaying various awards and certificates, photographs, trinkets, and small mechanical inventions. She hadn't forgotten the time she had torn this room apart, trying to find evidence pinning him as a conspirator within the Guild, the same night she discovered the truth of the conspiracy and failed to put an end to it . . . the night she lost Emmerich to his father.

“Now . . .” Vice-­Chancellor Lyndon set aside the stack of paper and regarded her over the rims of his glasses. “I asked you here because I received the list of engineers proposed for the quadruped project,” he said, producing a thick sheet of paper from the top drawer of his desk. “I understand that your first review meeting for the quadruped design is scheduled for later this week, and I thought you might like to review the list before I signed off on it.”

She took the list from his hands and immediately scowled at the name of her supervising engineer, scrawled in thick black ink at the top of the page.
“Calligaris?”
She dropped the list in her lap. “He's the one leading the project?”

“I'm afraid so,” said Lyndon. “Professor Calligaris is Julian's personal appointment. Not my first choice of supervisors, but I couldn't actively challenge the nomination without—­”

“I know.”

If Lyndon openly challenged Julian in front of the council, Julian might begin to suspect the vice-­chancellor of aiding Petra and working against him. Lyndon had told her as much before.

But Calligaris was Julian's spy, so deep in his confidence that whatever Calligaris might see or hear, Julian would know about it within the hour. She scanned the rest of the list, wondering who else was in Julian's pocket. How many more of his spies had been placed on the project? She paused at the last name on the list and glanced up at Lyndon.

“I didn't know Yancy was a Guild engineer.”

“Student engineer. He devotes his workshop hours to Guild projects in conjunction with his studies.”

“What does he specialize in?”

Lyndon sighed and removed his glasses. “Weapons,” he said darkly, forcing a grim smile to his face as he cleaned the lenses of his spectacles. “My son is our resident weaponry specialist. He'll be designing the weapons for the quadruped, as he did for the original automaton.”

Petra frowned. “I didn't know that was him.”

The vice-­chancellor nodded gravely, replacing his glasses on his nose. “It's certainly not the field I would have chosen for him.”

She stared at the list of names in front of her, her stomach sinking.

“Does he know?” she asked. “About Julian and the war?”

The vice-­chancellor shook his head. “No. He has too much else to concern himself with to question the Guild's leadership. He's only doing what he thinks he must, to protect his country, his family. For him, that means building weapons with which to defend ourselves. I'm sure he thinks it's noble.”

“But you don't.”

“No,” he said. “There is nothing noble about war.”

Petra pressed her lips together, biting back the urge to ask him why he made no effort to stop it, why he played so willingly into Julian's plans, letting this war happen without so much as a complaint. He had a part to play, so he said, and that involved faking ignorance of Julian's plot, but he had played the part so well she sometimes wondered if he was trying to stop the war at all. He needed to take a stand, to put a stop to Julian's madness, but he just sat behind his desk, ruminating over his inability to do anything.

The vice-­chancellor cleared his throat and gestured to the list of names in her hand. “Do you find the proposed engineers acceptable?”

She handed him the paper. “Everyone but Calligaris.”

The vice-­chancellor leaned forward in his chair, his face stern as he took the list back from her. “You need to be careful, Petra—­especially now. Julian already suspects you of planning to sabotage the quadruped project. After the stunt you pulled in the proposal meeting, withdrawing your project from consideration unless the council offered you access . . .” He shook his head. “If he catches you acting against him—­”

“I know the risks, Vice-­Chancellor,” she snapped. “Everything I've done, everything I've
tried
to do to stop this war, I've done it on my own, knowing full well what will happen if I'm caught. And what have you done? You said you would help me, but all you've done is sit back and tell me to wait. You're the vice-­chancellor, for goodness' sake. Why can't you
do
anything?”

“I've
tried
, but there is only so much I can do when I'm overruled on every decision we make. The rest of the council is all but convinced of Julian's cause. But you still have allies here, Petra. I'm on your side. Emmerich is too.”

“And what exactly has he done?” she asked, her chest growing tight. “At least I'm
trying.
While you and Emmerich sit there, I'm still fighting, still trying to find a way to stop him. Which is more than I can say for either of you.”

The vice-­chancellor removed his glasses and kneaded the crease in his brow. “I know you're frustrated, Petra. I know you want to fight back, but it isn't the right
time
. We must be patient. We must wait until we have the evidence we need, only acting when the opportunity is right,” he insisted, the same argument she had heard a hundred times before. “Emmerich understands this. I wish
you
would.”

She glared at him. “And
when
will it be the right time? The longer this goes on, the harder it will be to stop him—­don't you see that?”

“The time
will
come. We just have to be ready when it does.”

Petra wanted to growl her frustration at him, but she bit back the urge. It was no use arguing. She wasn't going to change his mind. She had tried enough times before to know that nothing she said was going to make any difference.

She stood up from her chair and started toward the door.

“Just be careful, Petra,” he said, his voice soft. “You're all that's left of your mother. She'd never forgive me if I let anything to happen to you.”

Petra hesitated at the door, her fingers outstretched, hovering over the curved handle. “I would think she'd rather you helped me.”

“I'm doing what I can, Petra. I wish you could see that.”

She swallowed against the tightness in her chest and curled her fingers around the rigid brass handle. “It's not enough,” she whispered, pushing through the door into the hall.

It would never be enough.

P
etra arrived first to the conference room, ten minutes before the scheduled review meeting with the rest of her engineering team. She took a seat at the far end of the table and waited, her stomach in knots. If the other engineers found her sabotage, if they recognized it for what it was . . . She clutched her bag in her lap, gripping the fabric until her knuckles turned white. No, she had been careful, deliberate. They wouldn't find it—­
couldn't
. Her sabotage was meticulously hidden. She was safe.

As four o'clock neared, the others began to arrive, eyeing her with equal measures of curiosity and suspicion. She wondered what they'd been told, if they knew what project they would be working on, or who had designed it. Yancy was one of the last to enter. He spotted her at the end of the table and nodded in greeting before taking the seat across from her, a bemused look on his face.

At precisely four, Professor Calligaris entered the room, and conversation settled to a quiet murmur as he took up position at the head of the table. “Afternoon, gentlemen,” he said, pointedly ignoring Petra. “Now that we are all here, I would like to—­”

The door creaked open, cutting Professor Calligaris short, and everyone turned their attention to the man standing in the doorway. Petra's mouth soured, a cold chill creeping up her spine.
Of course he'd show.

“Oh, don't let me interrupt you, Alonzo,” said Julian, his charismatic smile almost venomous as he took the nearest open seat. He surveyed the assembled engineers with a genial expression, casually crossing one leg over the other. “I am merely here to observe on behalf of the council. Please continue.”

“Of course, Minister,” said the professor. “As I was saying . . . now that we are all assembled, perhaps we may make introductions. Then we can get on to discussing the project.” He gestured to the nearest engineer. “If you please.”

The engineers introduced themselves one by one, giving their name and expertise. When the circle of introductions reached Petra, Calligaris did the honors for her. “This, as you may have guessed, is Miss Wade,” he sneered. “She is here on probationary appointment by the Guild to observe the development of the project and provide whatever input is required of her. Though I should like to impress upon you all that she is
not
an active Guild engineer—­student or otherwise. She is our project consultant, nothing more.”

“Consultant?” said one of the older engineers. “And what expertise could she possibly have for a project of this caliber?”

Petra bristled at his tone. “Well, I know exactly how it's supposed to work, for one. I'm the one who designed it.”

Across the table, Yancy arched an eyebrow at her.

The engineer scoffed. “She can't be serious.”

“She is,” said Julian, regarding the engineer with a sedate stare before rising from his seat. He walked the perimeter of the room in silence, each step deliberate and precise. He stopped just behind Petra and rested his hands on the back of her chair. She heard him take a deep breath, his imposing presence drawing the attention of the entire room. “As the quadruped's designing engineer, the Guild believes her expertise will be vital to the project's success, and I am sure Miss Wade will more than prove herself in the months to come,” he said, his words edged with double meaning—­she would prove her loyalty, or else. “If you have any issue with her designs, now would be the time to address them,” he went on. “We can afford
no
mistakes.”

The pressure of his shadow loomed over her, and she struggled not to shy away from his close proximity, her skin prickling like mad. Finally, after an eternity of smothering silence, he withdrew and returned to his seat on the other side of the room, but the itch between her shoulders remained.

“I trust you will all do your part to ensure the production of the quadruped proceeds to the
best
of your ability,” he said, surveying the table of engineers with languid ease. His copper eyes wandered to Petra then, and she felt the full impact of his weighted words. “Now, please . . .” he said, gesturing for them to continue. “I should like to see what you think of this machine and its capabilities.”

With a nod from Julian, Calligaris withdrew the copies of her schematics from his leather portfolio and divided them among the engineers. The collected men examined the pages with undivided scrutiny, retrieving pencils and drafting paper, mechanical calculators, slide rules and mathematical compasses, writing notes in the margins of the schematics. Petra distracted herself from Julian's keen stare and glanced over the familiar designs. Her imperfect calculations and measurements were still there, the numbers determined within a hairsbreadth of an error. The failsafe remained intact.

No one had found the faults in the design.

Yet.

And if they did . . . she hoped her errors would seem genuine, not the deliberate mistakes of a desperate plan. The others already doubted her as an engineer; perhaps they would expect such faults, or write them off as a product of her supposed inexperience.

After several minutes of concentrated silence, Yancy was the first to speak up. “What sort of combat are we expecting this particular model to see? I assume active battle rather than defense, judging by its proposed mobility,” he said, glancing at Julian and then Calligaris for affirmation before turning back to the designs. “In that case, according to these load calculations, we could mount two Agars on either side of the control cabin here,” he said, pointing to the designs, “using rotating barrels to compensate for overheating. Without a gunner, I'll need to equip the interior with hoppers for reloading and maintenance, but I should be able to fit both guns with an automatic firing mechanism instead of a manual crank. For reload, we can design an automatic system to repack the shells and feed them back into the hopper at a rate of . . .” He scribbled some figures down on a piece of paper. “Sixty rounds per minute. Maybe ninety if I divided the reload between two chutes.”

He drummed his fingers across the design. “Now, if we're looking for more firepower, we could hang a Gatling gun underneath, mounted to the base of the leg frame here,” he said, pointing to the empty space between the machine's four crablike legs. “Anything larger and the recoil will knock it off balance, but a Gatling and a pair of Agars should be enough for general battle, with smaller sidearms attached for close-­range combat. While the Agars are slower, the Gatling more than makes up for it. Up to ten times the rate of fire with an automatic ammunition feed.”

Petra blanched at the thought.

Julian spoke up from the far end of the table. “That should suffice. The quadruped is intended for general combat, designed to equip one soldier with the firepower of a dozen.”