“Revised Grant Guidelines”—that was the title that lit up on the screen.
“If you hadn’t decided to work in the middle of the night—”
“It was only 2110.”
“—you would have found them waiting for you in the morning. As you have on a few other occasions.”
“That was you?”
“None other.”
“Why all the secrecy? Who are you? Why don’t you want anyone to know who you are?”
By now Lyr was not angry, but furious. She’d nearly stunned her real employer because he’d believed in sneaking around with cloak and stunner, and she could have risked her job and life if she’d toyed around with the wrong parameters in the foundation’s information and control network. To top it off, he had handled her—her!—as if she were a child, mentally and physically.
“You’re angry.”
“I am angry. You’re right. This time you understand. I am very angry.” She forced herself to space out the words, to keep her voice low and even.
“I owe you an apology.”
“You owe me nothing except back pay. I quit. Remember?”
“Didn’t accept your resignation. Yet.” He paused. “Offered an apology. What else will it take to get you to listen with an open mind? To remember that the foundation is not your private fiefdom?” He laughed softly. “You’ve already reminded me that it’s not mine.”
“How about some honesty? I know. You’ve never lied. But there’s too much hiding, especially now. Anonymous calls over the screen I can take, but not anonymous intruders sneaking around my office. I’ll think, think, about reconsidering once you’ve shown me who and what you are.”
“Still better you don’t know. For you. For the foundation.”
“I’m beyond someone else deciding what’s better.”
“You’re sure?”
“Sure enough to quit on the spot.”
“You’re right about one thing. I haven’t been totally fair.”
“No. You haven’t. You expect me to guess what you want or what the founders of the foundation want, then you change the rules without even telling me why.” She sighed, once, twice. “But you’re right in a way, too. You know I don’t want to quit. But I will.”
“Unless?”
“First, untie me. Then we’ll talk. Then I’ll decide.”
He said nothing, but she could feel him bending over her, and his hands touched hers. His were warm against the coldness of hers, with their impaired circulation. The bonds fell away.
She gripped the arms of the swivel and straightened herself. She did not turn around.
“I would like to see you, face to face, but I don’t want to jeopardize my life or my future by doing so.”
“Let’s talk first. I’ll try to answer your questions, and leave the decision in your hands when we’re done.”
“In my hands?”
“After I’ve answered your questions, you decide. Fair?”
“Fair enough.”
“Your first question. Why the secrecy?” He paused, as if to gather his thoughts. “Most important. The fewer people know the foundation exists and what it does, the better the chances for its success without interference. Two people is about the maximum for keeping a secret. You and me. Second, in my own obscure way I am extremely controversial. So controversial I believe considered as possible Corpus Corps target. Third, what you do not know, you cannot reveal. More important, cannot be hurt for it.”
Again he paused. “There are other reasons. Those are the most important.”
“Secrecy implies that there is opposition. That indicates there is a purpose behind the avowed goals. What is it?”
Lyr could sense him behind her, but kept her eyes in front of her.
“The purpose behind the goals? I may have one, but that’s not the same as the foundation. The foundation is set up to do exactly what it is doing. To try to develop biological techniques for improving or reclaiming the environment. Low cost ones. Not that the research has to be low cost, just the eventual techniques.”
“You’re convinced about that?”
“I know that. I wrote the goals.”
“What about you? You said your goals weren’t the same as the foundation’s. What are they?”
“My goals? Not sure they affect what you do.” He sighed. “But you’ll claim that they do. And the foundation needs you. So…”
The silence drew out.
“I appreciate the vote of confidence, but you were right. I am interested in your goals for the foundation.”
“In a nutshell, I have a strong personal and vested interest in the successful application of the foundation’s techniques. Call it, if you will, the only way I can reclaim my heritage.”
“Sounds rather dramatic.”
“No. Just truthful.”
“What else?”
“That’s it. The foundation has to be successful. That, or some other entity, or me personally. Need bio reclamation techniques. Believe me or not, that’s it.”
Lyr could sense the exasperation behind the words, an exasperation that indicated truth, if not the whole truth.
“Did you set up the foundation?”
“No. I know…knew…one of the founders.”
“Would you tell me who?”
“No. Condition of being trustee. Not to tell anyone.”
“Where does the incoming funding in our blind account come from?”
“It’s an account which channels dividends, interest, from a large portfolio. Totally legitimate.”
“How would I know?”
“The firm handling the account is Halsie-Vyr.”
“The Halsie-Vyr?”
“Yes. Think about it. The Imperial Treasury verifies our receipt of funding by matching our blind account number against the one to which Halsie-Vyr deposits. Treasury insures that to make certain taxes are paid. Information stays confidential.”
“How could it?”
He laughed. “What I asked. Star in the sky principle. Last time there was a public report, five years ago, Treasury reported 100,000 blind trusts with assets over ten million credits. Safety in numbers. Who could match? Depository bank only knows that Halsie-Vyr deposits and that deposits are posted to another account number in another bank. Treasury doesn’t care, so long as they get their cut.”
“Cynical, aren’t you?”
“No. Creating the foundation wasn’t my idea. Presented to me as sort of legacy. Came unasked and unanticipated.”
“You have another occupation, then.” Her statement was more seeking verification than inquiring.
“Yes. That’s why the foundation needs an administrator of independence and nerve.”
She almost turned to catch a look at him, but stopped herself, looking instead at the knotted Targan wall hanging in the right corner, just beyond the portal. Its curves seemed to fade into oblivion, yet twisted back upon each other with abrupt changes in the thread colors.
“What was wrong with my grant policy?”
“Too conservative. Need to take chances. We’ll lose credits. Know that, but best chances lie with the researchers and professors outside the clear mainstream. Someone not tied to orthodoxy. The kind others say, ‘He’s brilliant…strange…never know where he’s going.’ That sort of thing.”
“How do I tell who’s unorthodox and who’s fractured?”
“Design a questionnaire, as a condition of grant application. Make it simple. ‘How do you propose to solve your problem, Honored Scientist?’ ‘What science or evidence do you have to support your theorem?’ If you make it too complicated, too orthodox, the really creative types won’t play, and you’ll get lots of second-raters who are first-rate at filling out forms.”
“I think I get the idea. How do I know, with a limited scientific background, what’s good?”
“After you’ve read several hundred, you’ll know.”
“Are you willing to waste all those creds while I learn?”
“The foundation…you really are looking for a pure research solution, aren’t you?”
“No. Looking to support research that will lead to practical solutions. Simple ones.”
“How simple?”
“Spores that break down chlorinated organics. Plants that reclaim poisoned land. Biological solutions that primitive or resource-poor cultures could use.”
“Primitive cultures haven’t poisoned their lands,” Lyr objected.
“Not yet. Not in the Empire. Foundation has to look forward and back. Could use Marduk, if we could reclaim it.”
“Don’t tell me—”
“No. No one knows how long ago that was.”
Lyr rested her head in her hands. Her legs were shaking as the muscles contracted involuntarily, trying to rid themselves of the paralysis imposed by the stunner.
“Nothing makes any sense. You don’t make sense. I can’t even ask questions that make sense. You won’t answer the ones that would help me understand.”
“Such as?”
“Who are you?”
“How about starting with what I am?”
“That’s a start.”
“Mid-grade officer in Imperial Service. Technically, I can serve as a trustee of an Imperial chartered foundation, but cannot permanently administer a trust.”
“How can you keep who you are a secret?”
“I don’t. Same star in the sky principle. My name is on the foundation charter. Charter lists are not subject to public search. The bureaucrats who monitor foundations and trusts are not the same bureaucrats who monitor officers of Imperial Service.”
Lyr wanted to turn and grab him, shake him, or stamp her foot…or something. The more he answered, the less she knew.
“So why shouldn’t I see who you are?”
“Decision is in your hands. Finished asking all your questions?”
“What questions have I missed?”
“Is there a danger to you from knowing who I am? Do you really want to know, or are you angry that you’ve been kept in the dark?”
“I am, but that won’t be why I decide. Is there a danger to me?”
“Thought there was. Not so sure now. Probably more danger to me than you.”
“Why?”
The trustee did not answer. Finally she could hear him take a deep breath.
“Because I’m out to change the galaxy.”
“You sound too sensible to be that crazy.”
“Wish I were. If the foundation is successful, could change popular perception enough to upset the Empire’s economy, perceptions, and power base. Might not, but it could.”
“How? Even if we publicized grants, who would care about reclaiming a poisoned spot here and there with plants instead of machines? That’s assuming we get these grants to a workable state.”
“Look beyond the near orbit. Techniques that let you clean up chemicals are the same techniques that can be used to make them. Bio techniques, when they work, are usually cheaper, less energy intensive. Right now, less efficient. But we could change that.”
Lyr frowned. He seemed to be assuming that the foundation would be successful, as if there were no doubt at all.
“You’re assuming a great deal.”
“Could be.” He laughed. “Maybe the fact that the foundation is the only one supporting biological technology means we’re the only crazy ones. Maybe I’m just paranoid.”
Lyr frowned again, but said nothing.
“Any other questions?”
“I’m sure I have dozens. I just can’t think of them.” Her leg twitched involuntarily and threw her off balance.
His hand touched her shoulder as if to keep her from pitching sideways.
“Thank you.”
“Any last questions?”
“No.” Her lips were dry, and she licked them once, then again. “I’m probably wrong, but I just don’t think I could stay here, not unless I have some better idea of who and what you are, what you look like.”
“All right. Will you consider staying, then?”
“I’ll consider it.”
His hand squeezed her shoulder gently, and he stepped around the swivel and stood before her, next to the screen.
She looked up.
The familiar hawk-yellow eyes caught her attention first, that and the hint of darkness behind them, a darkness that hinted at a man far older than the one who faced her. She studied his face, the sharpish nose, the unlined and smooth skin, thin lips, and the short and blond curly hair cut military-style. He had neither beard nor mustache.
While his chin was not pointed, it narrowed in a way that almost gave him an elfin look, had it not been for the penetrating power of his eyes and the strength of his nose.
Once more, she tried to focus on his body, but the black of the formfitting singlesuit he wore kept pushing her eyes away from his form and toward the floor or his face.
He noted her confusion. “It’s a full-fade combat suit.”
“You aren’t…”
“No. Just something useful.”
She licked her lips again. His face, even with the hawk-eyes, looked familiar, but she could not say why. She had never met him, outside of the interview years ago, that and the scattered screen contacts. That she knew; yet he seemed familiar.
“No horns. No black cloud.” He smiled.
“No recognition, either,” she countered.
“Didn’t say you’d recognize me. Said the ability to recognize me might be dangerous.”
Lyr cocked her head to one side. For all the clipped sentences, the shortened words, his speech pattern had a touch of a lilt, an odd tone that she had never heard before. She wondered why she had not picked it up earlier, even though there was no doubt now that he was the man who had interviewed her. The unique hawk-eyes were enough to confirm that. Perhaps the screen speakers did not reproduce the lilt, underlying his speech as it did.
“Shall we dive for the event horizon?” she asked.
He raised his eyebrows in inquiry, but said nothing.
“Who are you?”
He shrugged. “If you insist…MacGregor Gerswin, at your service.”
“I don’t recognize the name, either.”
“Never said I was famous. Glad to know I’m not.” He took a step to the side. “How are your legs?”
Lyr tried to lift her right foot, could feel the effort, but the leg did not move. “Better, but I still can’t move them.”
“Shouldn’t be too long.” He spread his hands. “Now that you’ve unmasked me…what next?”
“I don’t know.”
“Still want to quit?”
“Common sense screams that I should, but I wouldn’t want to force anyone else to go through one of your employee searches, Ser Gerswin.”
“What can I say?”
“Don’t. Just be thankful I’m as crazy as you are. But,” and her voice hardened, “don’t sneak in again and change the files without at least warning me that you might be in the area. And fax me directly without that damned hood and mask.”
He laughed. “I’ll do both, unless I can’t reach you. Promise me you’ll look before pulling your stunner.”
“I promise.”
A frown crossed his face. “I should have left some time ago.”
“Another woman. I knew it.”
He shook his head. “Duty, so to speak. I have…other obligations. I will stay in touch. How is your leg?”
“The feeling’s back.”
“Good.” He nodded, bent, and picked up a small case from beside the base of the console, a case she had never seen, for all the time it had apparently lain there.
With a salute, he turned and was gone.
So quickly had he departed that Lyr shook her head to make sure he had indeed gone. What else had she missed? Besides everything?
MacGregor Gerswin? Was he in any of the lists?
She bent over the console, nearly losing her balance again as her legs twitched. Feeling had returned to both, along with the faint sensation of needles jabbing at her skin.
“Might as well search while you wait,” she said softly to herself. She did not trust her legs to bear her weight yet.
No MacGregor Gerswin appeared in any of the New Augustan Imperial Government directories, not even an M. Gerswin.
Imperial Service? Which one?
She tried the Marine Directory.
Nothing.
Aeorspace Defense?
Nothing.
Retirees?
No such listing.
Interstellar Survey Service?
“Individual names and assignments are not available for security reasons. An alphabetical listing of names is available with rank and communications locator code. Do you wish to continue search?”
She tapped in “Yes.”
“Gerswin, MacGregor Corson, Senior Commander, 455 NC 466/OS.”
That was all.
Lyr shook her head tiredly, conscious of the fatigue in her legs as the stunner wore off. It had been a long day before the evening’s events.
“Just a senior commander. Not even a commodore?
“But he never claimed anything,” she answered her own question.
She tapped the screen and erased the inquiries. She’d have the time. Cursing and damning herself for a fool, she knew she would have the time.
XXIII
What forecast the fall of the Empire?
Was it the increasing development and resource requirements of the associated systems, pushing inevitably as they did for use of those resources for more local needs? Was it merely a turning away from the Imperialist nature of the Empire? Was it a repudiation of the growing corruption manifested in New Augusta?
Was it the development of the totally impartial Galactic Communications Network by the fanatically honest Ydrisians, whose peaceful intentions were never doubted and with whose fairness the biases of the Empire contrasted so unfavorably?
The Forever Hero Page 42