Hal Wilding looked around the council chamber, cloaking his disgust beneath his usual sardonic smile. Nine of the twelve chairs around the circular table were occupied, but in three cases the occupant was only physically present.
The McLain was senile.
After a series of brutal tongue-lashings by the Callahan, the Hinson had learned to keep his mouth shut during council meetings; a success of some degree for a man with an IQ of 70, but a dog could have been trained more easily.
The Platt had mixed recreational drugs in an unfortunate combination. For the past ten years he had little more brain activity than a wax dummy. His family continued to send him to council meetings, because if they acted to remove their titular head, they would be faced with an internal struggle for succession.
The Wilding's seat was filled by the eldest son of the House. . . .
"I called this meeting when I saw the catch projections for the next twelve months," said the Callahan with his usual lack of ceremony. "They can be expected to drop to sixty percent of their current levels in that time—and current levels are already a third down on really satisfactory quantities."
The Galbraith frowned and fluffed his lace shirt out from beneath the sleeves of his frock coat. "Can't we build more netters and bring in more food, then?" he asked.
"That's the problem, you see, Galbraith," Wilding said. "We're already overfishing our grounds. That's the main reason the stocks have crashed."
The Callahan nodded. "Yes, that's correct," he said. "The problem is with empty holds, not lack of netting capacity."
Whenever the Callahan looked at Wilding, it was with cool appraisal for a potential rival. Wilding understood the attitude very well.
Wilding smiled coldly. With the rate of mutation and adaptive radiation on this planet, it was easy to imagine the appearance of life forms able to prey upon even the huge submarine netters which supplied the keeps with fish.
"Well, it's not as though anybody's going to starve, is it?" the Penrose said. "There'll still be plenty of vegetable protein."
"It's not starvation we need to worry about, it's riots," said the Callahan.
"You'd riot too, Penrose, if you had nothing to eat but processed algae," gibed the Galbraith.
The Penrose chuckled and patted the vest over his swollen belly. "No, no," he said. "We certainly can't permit that. What's the alternative?" He was looking at the Callahan.
Wilding interjected crisply, "We could colonize that land. That would provide additional resources." Wilding felt cold. He hadn't been consciously aware of what he was going to say until the words were out of his mouth. As soon as he spoke, he realized that the sub-strata of his mind had planned the statement from the moment he decided to attend the council meeting.
He wasn't sure of what response he expected. What he got was averted faces from everyone in the room except the Callahan.
The Callahan said in an icy voice, "Master Wilding, if you wish to dance through life, that is your right. You do not have the right to interfere with those of us who are keeping the system going."
The two men stared at one another. At last, Wilding shot his cuff, withdrew a snuffbox carved from a block of turquoise, and snorted a pinch from the crease of his hand and thumb.
"I believe the best course is to send our netters into the grounds of Asturias Keep," the Callahan resumed. "That will mean war within six months, so I suggest we start negotiations with one of the mercenary companies at once."
"Wysocki's Herd did a good job for us three years ago," the Galbraith said. "Shall we try them again?"
"I'm not sure six months is soon enough," said the Penrose, frowning. "The shortages will be obvious well before then. Perhaps we ought to speed matters up by leaking our plans directly to Asturias, rather then letting them learn when our netters are spotted."
"Oh, I believe the time frame should be adequate," said the Callahan. "We'll just need to inflate all their initial statements before we release them to the public. Say, three months before Asturias realizes what we're doing, and another three months of drawing out negotiations before it comes to war."
The Dahlgren was by far the eldest of the functional council members, but he lacked the drive that made the Callahan a leader. He nodded and said, "Yes, that's the better course. Twice the effect for the cost, very practical."
"I fail to see the practicality," said Wilding in tones of chilled steel, "since Asturias Keep has almost certainly overfished its own grounds as badly as we have ours. We need to expand our sources of sup—"
"I'm afraid you've missed the point, boy," said the Callahan. "The war emergency will take the mob's attention off the shortages. Shortages will be expected, in fact. Then, in the six months or so that our grounds go uncropped, the stocks will rebuild—whether or not the netters bring an ounce of protein from Asturias' grounds."