Renner laughed. “Well, Horvath, you’ve got to hand it to Quinn, the fool who rushes in where Science and Technology fears to tread.”
Horvath was furious, grim. “Are you at least in communication with Barthes?”
HG shook his head. “No. I couldn’t even get through to you until I was well out of atmosphere. I had to use Naval communications. We’re close to the tramline opening, I think. I’m no astrophysicist, but I’m guessing that neutron star is getting close enough to suck matter off its mate. New Utah’s sun. And spitting it back out as RF energy. Or pulling sunspots from the sun. Or both. ” He glowered at Renner. “It’s touch-and-go even getting through to Bonneville from Saint George on anything but landline. Even then.”
Renner nodded. “That’s the old report. A good yellow star; a neutron companion in an eccentric orbit around their mutual center of mass. And the TC’s little secret was that every twenty-one years, they both swing in close enough to each other to open up the Alderson tram—”
Horvath cut in. “They have landline?”
“Oh, yes. Backup fiberoptic, you know. Especially out into more remote areas. Old mining camps and such. Simple emergency communications. Ancient, but they keep it patched together. But sometimes it’s so bad even that doesn’t work right. As far as contacting you, there’s just the one TCM satellite, but of course that’s even less reliable. Anyway, they control it, so I was hardly going to use it for classified communications. Even encrypted.”
Renner said nothing. Horvath became thoughtful. “OK, so you came back here to report. Damned waste of time, all this traveling. Still.” He sighed. “I suppose it couldn’t be helped. One way trip, and all that?”
“Yes, precisely. I think the mate’s exact words were: ‘On, or off, mister-bloody-scientist. This is a scheduled ferry, not a personal-bloody-chat line.’ So, I got on. And told Colchis to stay and keep an eye out for Quinn.”
Renner smiled. “Sounds like a business opportunity, that.” He knew he shouldn’t be goading HG, but it was just so easy to raise his hackles, he couldn’t quite resist. And he was gearing up to do Renner again for the crowd. “OK, let’s get the others in here. Sounds like opportunity’s knocking. That tramline opens, we need to be first through the door. Time to finalize the Accession Delegation.”
HG didn’t rise, though. Dry as dust, level as a playing field, finally, he looked directly at Renner. “And you, Sir Kevin, are involved in this process—because? I should have thought it was the Governor’s prerogative?”
Renner grinned. “Ah! Doctor Science Minister, didn’t you let him in on what good friends we’re all going to be?” He leaned forward, and dropped the grin. “Because I own—and pilot—the ship that’s bringing the delegation in. Because if it weren’t for her previous owner’s commitment to proper investigation, there’d be no New Utah, let alone a second Jackson delegation.”
Horvath sighed. “You really should know, I suppose. Sir Kevin and I go way back. I don’t like him—never did.” He didn’t even bother to look at Renner. For his part, far from flinching, Renner resumed grinning. “Before he died, Horace Hussein Bury detected certain financial—irregularities—in the system. Given the relative proximity to the blockade—”
His social failings aside, HG was not stupid. “—he suspected Motie involvement?”
Kevin nodded. “Feared, more like. Sent me in to check things out—”
“ His own initiative? His own expense?”
“Yes on both counts. Not that it constituted much of an expense for him—just let me finish!”
HG bit off his next word before it began; nodded; sat.
“I went down to Maxroy’s Purchase, and the whole damned planet was “gripping hand” this, and “gripping hand” that. Made me more than a little suspicious, and then I got mugged by some True Church goons when I tried to report in. Bury was ready to nuke New Utah and hand Maxroy’s Purchase off to the Empire for the Navy to deal with in an equally draconian fashion.”
Horvath was twiddling with his fingers, bored to death by Renner’s grandstanding. He’d heard this story at least a dozen times. But it was new to HG, who looked horrified.
“But wh—”
“Let me finish. So I went on a little hunting expedition. Got a nice double catch: one snow ghost; one secret spaceport under Hand Glacier. That’s when we copped to the periodic tramline. True Church was getting all primed to jump a big shipment in. Scared the crap out of ‘em. Told ‘em that if they didn’t prove to me, on the spot, that there was no Motie technology involved in any of it, and no Moties anywhere, Bury would turn New Utah into glass just to be on the safe side, and ask permission later. Which he would have done.”
HG was even more confused. He looked from Renner, to Horvath, to Renner, to Horvath, waiting for a volley of salvation.
Horvath sighed. “Now you see the earnestness of this mission. ”
“No, I don’t. I’m sorry, but I just don’t—”
Horvath continued. “A little over thirty years ago—my God Kevin, has it been that long?—thirty years ago I was—about your age—and science minister for the Trans-Coal Sack sector. I was assigned to the First Contact mission.”
HG nodded vigorously. It had made Horvath famous. My God, the first scientist to have exclusive access to a newly discovered sentient civilization, with unimaginable technology and—
“Kevin here was sailing master on the MacArthur. We disagreed on just about everything to do with the Moties. Did. Disagree. Don’t now. Once we understood their phenomenal reproduction rates; their endless internecine warfare; their sheer capacity to overwhelm our own economies with their constant technological innovations—”
“Yes, yes, I know this. Everyone does. Every taxpayer does. The blockade is hideously expensive.”
“Yes, and hideously necessary. Even I have come to understand this. But even then, Bury was positively adamant.”
“Yes, yes, but since second contact and the C-L worm—”
“Now let me finish. Think about that. Horace Bury, Magnate of Imperial Autonetics, fully supported absolute blockade and a Motie technology import ban. He could have made—well, he already had made billions. Trillions maybe. But he saw the Moties as a direct, personal threat to the existence of humankind. After that, Bury made Kevin an offer he couldn’t refuse. Kevin signed on as Sinbad’s pilot.”
“Bury’s personal ship.”
“Yes. Kevin and Bury did a lot of things together, but one of them was to fully, rigorously investigate anomalies that could indicate that Moties had somehow broken the blockade.”
“But there are no Moties on Maxroy’s Purchase!”
Renner cut in again “Nope. Turned out all that “gripping hand” crap was Jackson himself. Making much of his tour as an Able Spacer on the first expedition.”
“Yes,” said Horvath, “but more to the point, it meant Sinbad was on hand when the Crazy Eddy jump point from Mote Prime shifted last year.; the Sister opened; all of that.”
HG’s eyes widened. “You mean Sir Kevin—”
“Yes. Fewer than two dozen people have ever had direct contact with Moties. Precious few of us have ever been to the Mote system. Sir Kevin Renner’s done it twice, and lived to tell the tale. The second time, with Sinbad. Bury did it twice as well, but didn’t make it back the second time. Died on the final jump. Like Moses, who saw, but could not enter, the promised land.”
He let HG chew on that. Renner continued. “So, here I am again. Like a bad penny. Johnny on the spot. The Navy’s strapped beyond limits maintaining this blockade, plus policing the Motie Consortium blockade at the Sister. It’s not going to dedicate a ship just to play ferryboat. The Imperial Traders Association—”
“—and the True Church, and Governor Jackson—”
“yes, all of them, offered, but they aren’t exactly neutral ground, are they?
“Neither are you.”
“Well, no, neither am I, but Imperial Autonetics already passed on the opal me
erschaum trade when Bury was alive. And profitable as a few containers of selenium supplements and medical supplies might be for a small trader, not really my style, is it? Get bogged down shipping vitamins, fertilizer, and rocks? I’m as neutral as you’re gonna get right now.”
Renner gave that grin again. HG detested that grin. Renner was getting to old to play fighter-jock cocky. “I still don’t see where Moties come into it.”
“They don’t. Let’s just say I’m curious. Back to where it started last year. The True Church thinks New Utah is Heaven, all evidence to the contrary. Thought I’d take a break and see what all the fuss is about.” And, he thought, Bury always felt there was too much money in this system, opal meerschaum aside. We never found out why.
Horvath looked at him sharply, but let it slide. “So, from a science and technology standpoint, the earnestness of this mission is twofold. First, all the normal accession concerns—accurate assessment of existing levels and accomplishments; whether introduction of Imperial technology would be destabilizing, and so forth. And related to that, prevention of S&T leeks during the assessment and classification phase. No leading questions; no idle chatter, all that.”
“Yes, yes.” HG was flapping his hand. He really was good at that part of his job, which is why he’d been chosen as ground man.
“But in this case, given the proximity to the New Caledonia System, and the Crazy Eddy jump point from the Mote, there’s the added concern of inadvertent transfer of Motie technology.”
“What Motie technology? I mean, Imperial Autonetics pretty much has a lock on what’s available for public sale.” He trailed off. “Oh. I see.”
This time, Kevin did not grin. He smiled. “Yes. And Imperial Autonetics would very much like to maintain that prerogative. We have a keen interest in preventing—and detecting—piracy.”
“So your interest isn’t just personal.”
“Let’s call it professional curiosity.”
In the end, like most well-run meetings, there were no surprises. Kevin and the Sinbad crew would host; Kevin would pilot; Kevin would have broad discretion to determine whether any violations of Imperial Autonetics licensing, production, trademarks, or copyrights had occurred.
Governor Jackson would head the delegation, not in his official capacity as governor of Maxroy’s Purchase, but as Emissary of the Viceroy. The True Church would send Bishop Ohran, who had led the secret supply missions from Maxroy’s Purchase for decades.
Horvath himself would not go. He was not a young man. He had other duties elsewhere in the Empire and, since the Trans-Coal Sack Science Minister was tied up with Motie issues, HG would have to soldier on.
To his mortified disappointment, the Maxroy’s Purchase ITA representative was upstaged by another from out-of-sector. Officially, there had been no trade with New Utah during the embargo, so initial ITA representation was reserved for a “neutral,” meaning not-Maxroy’s-Purchase, party.
Since he was already on the ground, Colchis Barthes would get a temporary appointment as cultural attaché. There would be a small uniformed Marine bodyguard. No mention was made of Asach.
So, all-in-all, Jackson was satisfied: he and Ohran covered Church and State; HG was from New Cal, so local and presumably sympathetic; Barthes didn’t matter; the ITA rep could angle all he wanted, but MP held proximity, which was the biggest fact on the ground; and Renner was, well, Renner. Nominally acting on behalf of himself; Imperial Autonetics; of service to the Empire. Renner was the loose cannon, but it couldn’t be helped.
They’d be ready to leave within the week, as soon as the ITA rep arrived. Sinbad would travel to Maxroy’s Purchase, then hold station at the jump point. Jackson would keep a shuttle on standby, so that the delegation could work planetside as needed, then rejoin Sinbad once the jump point opened.
6
Hostile Takeover
I came to hate nations. We are deformed by nation-states. I wanted to erase my name and the place I had come from,…not to belong to anyone, to any nation.
—Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient
Mesolimeris, New Utah
The Masters’ dais, warmed by geothermal swells, glowed faintly in the crisp air of The Keep. Sargon lounged, the smooth curves of the seat cupping the lines of his hips to provide effortless repose. Stragglers were still arriving, some with finesse; some grandstanding, using the gripping hand to lever themselves, with one brute-force jerk, over the final ascension step into the cave. Only old Lagash had been too weak to complete the climb.
A pity, thought Sargon. Old Lagash had been a good ally. He had tended to his ar, Kept three counties, and in a pinch could lend a Master’s Hand for planting. A pity. Now redistribution of his ar and cattle would be decided, for Lagash had no offspring. It would make for a long, dull Meeting.
Sargon was tempted by this, but only briefly. A mess, indeed. No doubt, most of the ar would be wasted settling fictitious land debts. A better tactic: watch for the Landholder most eager to grasp the least of the ar. That Landholder would be the one to court. That’s how he’d come by Farmer John, and look how well that had turned out. Started with a Field, turned it to a Grasp, and that very nearly to a Hand. Not that John admitted to it all, but all you had to do was count his cattle. Cattle, anyone could come by—foolish ones by selling ar. Sell the bowls; sell the cattle; but never, ever part with ar. And of all your cattle, treat your Farmers best. Buy the best; raise the best—and they will deliver you a post for a span.
The dais was filling—nearly full. Head to head, feet to feet, only Lagash’s place empty. The sun had climbed enough to send liquid rays slanting up into the ceiling. They reflected off that glassy dome and suffused the chamber with warm light. As senior Keeper, Gilgamesh began the round, and each joined in response:
By the light cast from
beneath the waters
By the light cast from
the rim of the world
By the light cast from
within the mountain
By the light cast from
the vault above
By the light cast on the fields of
Uruk
By the light cast on the fields of
Ur
By the light cast on the fields of
Eridu
By the light cast on the fields of
Umma
By the light cast on the fields of
Shurrupak
By the light cast on the fields of
Mesolimeris
By the light cast on the fields of
—
But of course, Lagash did not answer.
“Does no light shine on the fields of Lagash?”
“The light of Lagash has not risen.”
By the water cast on the fields of
Uruk
By the water cast on the fields of
Ur
By the water cast on the fields of
Eridu
By the water cast on the fields of
Umma
By the water cast on the fields of
Shurrupak
By the water cast on the fields of
Mesolimeris
By the water cast on the fields of
—
“Does no water flow on the fields of Lagash?”
“The fields of Lagash lie barren.”
This went on for rather a lot of formulaic time, in Sargon’s estimation. Long enough, presumably, for the dead to rise, hand-over-hand up the mountain. But Lagash’s days of rock-climbing were over. Old Lagash had left it too long to induce a successor; had nearly died giving birth to a stillborn rat, and the mourning howls had been heard all the way to Mesolimeris. Rumor had it that all but the bedside Warriors had already been put down, and it was only a matter of time.
Finally, the ritual invocation was done. “Let us rise and deal justly with the ar of Lagash.”
At which point the accountants really got into it. Sargon ignored most of this juridical clamor: depositions fr
om wailing dependants of every stripe; reputed creditors; their antagonists. Of more interest was the Farmer’s Council. Farmers didn’t talk much; when they did, it was generally worth listening to. Interesting was a green, weedy stalk of a lad, more like a planter than a Farmer, who was quietly but furiously clacking the fingers of all three hands. Finally, at a lull in accountancy, the stripling chirped. All heads turned.
“Lagash Post 3,” he said. “Eighty ar. Two planters.”
Most of the Farmer’s Council rumbled amusement. Umma and Shurrupak flipped back their hands: no sale. Interesting, thought Sargon. Lagash Post three was a useless bit of scrubland abutting the northeastern periphery of Mesolimeris. The stripling was offering to hold it, to the value of eighty ar, and to throw a payment of two planters into the bargain.
Sargon looked over at Farmer John. Farmer John was very, very carefully staring at the floor, and sitting on his hands.
“Assessment?” barked Sargon.
The estate Accountant looked shocked. It was a worthless scrap of land, but heavily indebted. Sargon would be mad to settle the ledger. “Two post, five span, five hand small cattle. Freehold”
Had his face been capable of such an expression, Sargon would have smiled. Instead, he flipped his gripping hand.
“Well, my young Farmer. Let’s see if you can earn some get.”
A low murmur circled the room. All attention was on Sargon. Which had rather been the point.
“On the subject of Lagash Post 3,” he flipped the gripping hand again, “that is, Mesolimeris Post 27” —accountants scribbled furiously— “may we move on to new business?”
There was no dissent.
Sargon stood. He used The Voice. The Voice rumbled and screeched in registers above and below the human range of hearing.
“Anathema has come. Their vermin have arrived at my western Posts! John, inform them!”
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