The Forever Hero

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Ser Corson and Sher Cerdezo, I will do my best.”

  The flitter banked left and swung toward the low hills thirty kays west of the old Gwavara holding.

  As they neared the low hills, covered with a uniform dark green carpet of trees, with scattered clearings that appeared more as gray smudges, Gerswin thought he saw a faint line of smoke.

  “Is that smoke?”

  The pilot and Constanza both stiffened, almost imperceptibly, and the pilot swallowed.

  “Ser Corson, why do you ask?”

  “It seemed strange. Everywhere else the air is so clear. Even in the forests outside Illyam. First smoke I’ve seen.”

  “Perhaps it is smoke.”

  Michel brought the flitter around heading southward, along the gently curved line separating the rising and treed hills from the cultivated fields. Between the trees and the bean fields ran a dustcovered and narrow road. For fifty meters on each side of the road the ground was grassy, the grass a purple-tinged gold.

  From his viewpoint, Gerswin studied the forest reserve. The low trees were gray-trunked, the foliage more purple—olive-green than the green of New Augusta or even of New Colora. He could see no towering monoliths, but a regularity in height, despite the obviously irregular and natural growth spacing of the individual trees.

  Several distant glimmers, either lasers or light reflected from polished metal, twinkled in the distance, from what looked to be the second or third line of the hills that rose gradually as their distance from the cultivated area increased.

  About the reflections Gerswin said nothing.

  “The smoke…?” he asked.

  “Ah, yes, the smoke…it may be smoke.”

  Gerswin turned to Constanza. “Perhaps I understand. Even in the most ideal of societies, there are those who would not work for what they receive, who would rather live like savages…”

  He could sense the relief in the pilot and the land agent, which indicated he was either off-track totally or had reassured them with his observation.

  “Yes, Ser Corson,” answered Constanza, “we do have a few of those. And occasionally their campfires go out of control.”

  “And the Ministry of Forests and Agriculture Development is spread so thin that it would welcome someone who could protect and manage a small section of the forest reserve?”

  As he asked the question, the flitter passed a small clearing, and Gerswin thought he saw the charred remnants of three identical houses side by side before the view was obscured by the flitter’s stub wing and the intervening trees.

  “There have been other lease/purchases granted on that basis.”

  Gerswin nodded, thinking more about the sight of three identically burned ruins in a small clearing.

  “I take it that in normal circumstances, building in the forest reserves is not allowed? That is true on most worlds, I believe.”

  “That is true on Byzania as well. How else could a reserve remain a reserve if any savage could…build a…dwelling…anywhere he wanted?”

  Gerswin noted the hesitancy in word choice and filed it mentally for future reference.

  “Who actually protects the forests? The Ministry of Forests and Agriculture Development?”

  “Protects?”

  “Keeps people out, makes sure that savages don’t destroy the trees, that sort of thing.”

  “All protection is the responsibility of the Chief of Staff. Any guard duty, whether at the shuttle port, or in the forest reserves, is the duty of the armed forces.” That was from the pilot.

  “So your armed forces are concerned with both the prevention of crime and the protection of natural resources?”

  “Ser Corson, we have little crime here on Byzania. Surely you have already noticed that.”

  Gerswin had noticed that and said so before changing the subject.

  “How far would twenty thousand squares go?”

  Constanza had a map on the console screen in front of Gerswin, and with her instructions and the map, he could see how the combined holding would indeed be a most attractive property. Most attractive.

  Attractive as it would be, he thought he also understood Sher Cerdezo’s game.

  RERTA would apply for the forest reserve purchase, and the government would turn it down. The deposit would be forfeit, unless RERTA could bring pressure to bear, in which case the deposit would become the processing fee or the equivalent. Whatever the eventual result, RERTA would be out an additional 1,005,000 credits, of which a large share would probably go to Sher Cerdezo.

  A further refinement would be the requirement that RERTA purchase the estate land before it could apply for the forest reserve purchase. If the forest reserve purchase failed to go through, the foundation, in RERTA’s ostensible name, would have overpriced farming land, unless it resold at a loss, possibly through Sher Cerdezo.

  He almost smiled.

  The locals played rough, too tough to be ultimately successful, particularly if a few experienced Imperials moved in.

  Gerswin could see another smoky patch in the forested distance, which he ignored, as well as a longer flash of light from the same general direction.

  He could not ignore the three combat skitters, presumably carrying troops for which they were designed, which zoomed through a low ridge between two hills and spiraled up into a holding pattern above the smoldering patch in the reserve.

  “Forest fire?” he asked blankly.

  “I do not know,” answered the pilot.

  “Nor I,” chimed in Constanza.

  They both lied. Gerswin did not press the issue, but merely studied the skitters for a moment before turning his head to look at another area of the forest reserve.

  “Most attractive land parcels, Sher Cerdezo. Most attractive.”

  “Do…do you think your client might be interested?”

  “RERTA might indeed be interested. There are several other possibilities I have yet to investigate.”

  “I doubt that they measure up to this.”

  “They may not. If so, then I can honestly report that this is the most attractive.” Gerswin looked at the pilot. “If there is nothing else you think I should see…”

  “Of course. Michel, let us return Ser Corson to Illyam.”

  Gerswin leaned back as if to relax, then sat up and half turned in his seat.

  “Sher Cerdezo…you are so familiar with so many of these estates. Almost as if you had…” Gerswin looked down and did not complete the statement.

  “…as if I had been raised on one?”

  “My apologies if I have created some awkwardness.”

  “No.” She laughed, and the laugh was the practiced easy kind that comes to those who make it their stock in trade. “My origins would be obvious to anyone raised on Byzania, even without the name Cerdezo. My uncle was once the prime minister—before he had an unfortunate accident while hunting turquils in the western reserve.”

  “Then you moved to Illyam, away from the memories?”

  “They are good memories, but times change. I enjoy the city life, and the chance to meet off-worlders now and again. When one has a small household, one has no need for estates, and what I have is adequate, more than adequate, for my needs.”

  “I did not mean to pry.”

  “No, Ser Corson. You did not intrude. You understand a great deal more than most off-worlders, and for that understanding I am grateful.”

  Gerswin turned back to stare out the front of the armaglass canopy at the dim blotch on the brown horizon, the dim blotch that would become Illyam.

  No matter how he turned the problem over in his mind, he couldn’t see any quick solution. Not one that didn’t point the finger at one MacGregor Corson long before he could track down what he needed.

  That left the option of action, and of using others to force the issue before his cover was thoroughly shredded.

  All he could do was wait until touchdown. Wait and hope that there wasn’t a welcoming committee yet, not that he expected
one until the locals had figured out how to get their hands on as much hard currency as possible.

  As he expected, there was no greeting party when the flitter landed at the shuttle port, not if he excluded the small groundcar that waited for Sher Cerdezo at the edge of the tarmac where Michel had set the flitter down.

  Gerswin observed the military style of the landing, which confirmed another of his suspicions.

  As Michel shut down the thrusters, Gerswin stretched, began to unbuckle his belt harness.

  “Uhnnnn…”

  The pilot slumped forward over the stick, his beret sliding off his head and onto the control board.

  “What…what happened?” asked Gerswin, swiveling away from the outside view and leaning over the pilot.

  “Michel!” added Constanza Cerdezo.

  Gerswin pocketed the pilot’s credentials and universal credit card as he laid the man back and across the seat.

  “He’s breathing…heartbeat seems all right…” Gerswin looked at the land agent. “Is there…I mean…how do you call for an emergency health vehicle?”

  “Perhaps we should take him to the dispensary in my groundcar,” suggested the land agent. “By the time—”

  “Good idea.”

  Gerswin fumbled around with the controls more than necessary before locating the door and steps release and activating them.

  As the canopy slid back and the doorway opened and steps extended, the groundcar purred toward the flitter.

  Gerswin edged the limp pilot to the doorway, climbed out, and gave the impression of staggering as he lifted the man into his arms and over his shoulder. With one hand on the single railing, he lurched down and toward the olive drab of the groundcar.

  The driver wore the standard armed forces uniform and had leapt out to stand by the open front door of the car, his right hand on the butt of the holstered stunner.

  “Sher Cerdezo, what happened?”

  “Michel collapsed right after landing. He breathes, but he is not conscious. Can we take him to the dispensary?”

  “That would be no problem.” The driver raised his eyebrows as he surveyed Gerswin.

  “We’ll just bring Ser Corson with us, Waldron. He is a client of mine, but Michel is the important thing.”

  As they talked, Gerswin eased the pilot’s form into the rear seat, and pulled himself in as well, shutting the door behind him. Waldron seated Sher Cerdezo before returning to the wheel to begin the trip toward the dispensary.

  “Medical, medical, this is Waldron. Pilot Michel unconscious. Request emergency team upon arrival.”

  As the car whined toward the low building that was the dispensary, Gerswin could see a glide stretcher and two white-clad figures waiting under the emergency entrance’s portico.

  No sooner had the groundcar come to a halt than the armed services medical technicians were easing Michel out and onto the stretcher.

  The way they handled the unconscious pilot verified another of Gerswin’s suspicions.

  As the medical team bundled Michel off, Waldron turned in his seat so that he half faced Constanza, in the front, and Gerswin, in the rear.

  “What really happened to Michel?”

  Gerswin could have taken offense and been in character, but decided against it. Waldron was more than a driver. More like Constanza’s jailer.

  “He just fell forward. One minute he was fine. The next minute he was slumped on the controls.”

  “Before or after the doorway was opened?”

  “Before, I think,” answered Gerswin. “I wasn’t looking at him at all.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I was considering what I would do with the land parcels that Sher Cerdezo had shown me.”

  “Did you see anything, Sher Cerdezo?”

  “No. I was picking my case up from the floor. When I looked up, Ser Corson was looking at the groundcar. Then Michel groaned and fell forward.” She glared at Waldron. “And if you are through treating us…like trainees…would you be so kind as to take us back?”

  “Of course, Sher Cerdezo. Of course. And what about Ser Corson?”

  “Unless you have any great objection, he comes with me. Michel’s seizure stopped us from completing our business.”

  Waldron said nothing as he squared himself in his seat, seemingly oblivious to the lady’s biting tongue. The whine of the electrics increased, and the car pulled away from the dispensary. The front glass darkened automatically as the car turned into the late afternoon sun.

  Constanza sat straight, facing forward, silent. Gerswin followed her example, hoping he had read the lady correctly.

  As the electric vehicle pulled up the long circular drive to a house—which, while appearing modest by the standards of the larger estate holders, would have been the envy of many an Imperial functionary—Gerswin had to wonder in what sort of splendor had Constanza Cerdezo grown up. She had referred to her quarters as small and modest.

  At the portico waited two other men, both of whom wore livery that marked them as servants, but both with the manner of military personnel.

  Before the car pulled away, Gerswin turned as if to help the white-haired lady from the front seat. One of the guards had already opened the door for her.

  “Sher Cerdezo, I am not familiar with this section of Illyam. Once we are completed, finished, is there some sort of transportation?”

  “I am sure that Waldron would be more than happy to drive you back to your hotel.”

  “Most assuredly,” said Waldron, smiling broadly.

  At the smile, Gerswin hastily revised his plans again.

  “My study would be best,” said Constanza, “since I have my console and the larger maps there.”

  Gerswin followed her through the double doors and through the hardwood-floored foyer to another doorway on the right and a smaller hallway, with rough-finished white walls. At the end was the study, a long high-ceilinged room with rows and rows of built-in wooden bookcases, nearly all filled with old-style books, on the right, or the exterior wall. On the left was a nearly solid expanse of glass looking into the low gardens of the central courtyard.

  “Might I borrow your console for a moment or two?” asked Gerswin.

  “Certainly. I will get the maps out.”

  Gerswin used Michel’s card to ask for the planetary directory and three names. General Juen Kerler and General Raoul Grieter had been mentioned in the faxnews, while Jaime Hylerion was the name he really wanted.

  Hylerion was not listed. Period. The generals were, but only by name, with just a vidscreen drop number for messages.

  As he sat at the console, Constanza walked over, placed her hand on his shoulder. Gerswin looked up, ready to remove her hand at the first sign of trouble. Her eyes widened at the Hylerion name.

  Gerswin took a sheet of print paper from the console and printed an inquiry.

  “Does the armed services keep samples of the house trees?”

  He studied her face.

  She looked at the question and shook her head. “Could we finish up now, Ser Corson?”

  He crumpled the paper and put it in his belt pouch.

  “If it does not take too long. I do have other engagements, and I would like to finish.”

  Translated loosely, he didn’t have much time.

  Gerswin pulled a datacube from his belt pouch and dropped it into the scanner, tapping out the five lines of instructions he had memorized. He hoped the information worked as advertised..

  Then he stood.

  “I’m not sure what else we have to discuss, unless you have some recommendations on guarantees for obtaining a forest reserve purchase. Without that, it would be difficult to recommend buying only the estate lands. It is the combination which is so desirable.”

  “I am afraid I misunderstood you, Ser Corson.”

  Gerswin took her arm in his, and guided her back toward the front of the town villa.

  “No misunderstanding, Sher Cerdezo. We may not be far enough along to final
ize this. I have sent off the information, and I thank you for the use of your console, for further relay. Now, if you would care to see me off. Or do you have to meet someone in town?”

  He squeezed her hand gently with the question.

  “Perhaps I should. I had not thought…ah…it is no matter.”

  The car, and the smiling face of Waldron, were waiting at the portico for them.

  “Are you going somewhere, Sher Cerdezo?”

  “Yes. I had forgotten that Diene had asked me to stop by. So you can drop me there, and then take Ser Corson to his hotel.”

  “But…Sher Cerdezo…”

  “I am sure you can arrange this, Waldron.”

  Gerswin helped the slender woman into the backseat, then walked around and sat down behind the driver.

  “Hotel D’Armand,” he offered in his most helpful voice. He could see the driver shrug slightly.

  “En route Boulevard Fernadsa, then to the Hotel D’Armand,” Waldron mumbled into the speaker.

  Constanza shifted her weight as the car whined forward and down the drive.

  Gerswin watched as Waldron wheeled out onto the nearly vacant boulevard, then stretched, his hands extended near the driver. He waited.

  As the driver started to slump, Gerswin slid over the seat into the front, yanking the man from his spot behind the wheel with a single-armed vengeance that left the older woman openmouthed.

  The car careened toward the left curb. Gerswin twisted it back on course, while removing Waldron’s beret and jamming it low on his own forehead.

  Already, Gerswin could see some of the results of his handiwork as lights began to flash on and off at random throughout Illyam.

  After touching his datalink to the Caroljoy and punching in the emergency standby code, he twisted the electric’s power up full and headed down the Boulevard Eglise toward the shuttle port.

  Their arrival was anticlimactic, since the Caroljoy was grounded on the civilian side with a single military guard, still looking bored as Gerswin whined up.

  “Halt!”

  Thrummm!

  The sentry never even had the time to look surprised.

  Gerswin continued with the groundcar right to the point where the ship’s shields, now pulsing blue, touched the tarmac. He jumped out, opening the rear door.