Empire Builders

by Ben Bova

  THIRTY-FOUR

  DAN SHIVERED SLIGHTLY as he sat in the bare wooden chair and hunched closer to the fire. It can’t be the radiation, he told himself for the fortieth time that morning. I’m just not accustomed to the cold. It was snowing again. Through the cabin’s only decent window Dan could see the white flakes sifting down gently, quietly, cold and still as death. He shuddered again inside the quilted coat he had thrown over his shoulders. Then he got up from the chair to toss another stick on the fire. Now I know how Sai must feel, he thought, bottled in liquid nitrogen. His campaign was going well. It was fun to twist their tails, those pompous asses at the GEC. Must be twenty-two zillion security agents and news reporters trying to figure out how I’m able to break into the TV transmissions. Flatlanders, all of ‘em. It had been ridiculously easy, although physically arduous. Nearly four months ago Mason Dickson had taken a vacation in space. From Liechtenstein he drove to Milan and caught the space-plane to Rockledge Industries’ tourist hotel in orbit. He chose Rock-ledge’s space station because, in addition to its famous Zero-G Hotel, the satellite also housed a considerable satellite repair and refurbishment facility. For a suitable exchange of money, one of the Rockledge technicians spent a week in Mason Dickson’s plush luxury suite at the hotel while Dan replaced him at his job. The man was a maintenance technician whose specialty was working on the communications satellites in geostationary orbit, 22,300 miles above the Earth. Dan rode an orbital transfer vehicle to the Clarke orbit together with a team of human and robot technicians. He spent most of his time inside the shielded OTV, as did the rest of the humans, directing the robots who went out to work on individual satellites in the high radiation flux of the upper Van Allen Belt. At week’s end he returned to the hotel, became Mason Dickson once again, and—after a weekend of rest—returned to Earth. Each of the commsats that his crew worked on now carried a miniaturized electronics package that allowed Dan to override the signal coming up from Earth and beam his own signal down the receiving antennas around the globe. The price, though, had been high. Dan had to pay hush money to each of the other four technicians in the OTV. And he been exposed to more radiation than he liked to think about. Dan had to go EVA several times, to make sure that the small-witted robots had done their jobs correctly. Even inside the OTV the radiation dosimeters constantly hovered in the yellow warning area. The standing joke among the four other men and women of the crew had been that they not only belonged to the Zero-G Club, they also belonged to the Zero Population Growth movement. Now he sat in the austere shack in the foothills of the Himalayas , shivering with cold. Or was it radiation sickness? It was unfair to call the building a shack. The lamas had built it solidly, with loving care, as they did every task they undertook. To them it was a retreat house, a remote place of solitude where a man could contemplate his place in the universe without interruption from the outside world. Nobo had made the arrangements for Dan to use it, at the same time he had taken Tamara with him to Kyoto. Dan pulled his chair closer to the fire. He grinned when he thought about the look on Nobo’s face when he first saw Tamara. Talk about being hit by the thunderbolt. Nobo nearly fell over his own feet trying to be polite and helpful to her. The door banged open and Big George stamped in, a blast of frigid air swirling into the room. “It’s snowing again,” George growled. “I thought you liked the snow.” George had never seen snow any closer than a satellite view before he had come to this remote retreat house with Dan. For the first few days he had reveled in the white purity of it. But then he began to grumble that the stuff was “fooking damned cold. And wet.” George tossed his fleece-lined parka onto the bench by the door and came over to the fireplace, rubbing his big hands briskly. He had begun to let his beard grow back; he was starting to look shaggy and fierce again, rather than pinkly cherubic. “How do you feel, Dan?” “Got the shakes.” “I ought to get a doctor for you.” Dan laughed humorlessly. “How? By oxcart?” “By picturephone,” George replied. “We could access one of the medical libraries, find out if you’ve really got radiation sickness or not. Don’t have to call a real person and let them know where we are.” “I’ll be okay,” said Dan. “Even if it is rad poisoning, I’ve got plenty of pills for that.” George looked unconvinced. “It can’t be a very bad close,” Dan said. “My gums aren’t bleeding and my hair isn’t falling out.” “Then what’s bothering you?” With a painful sigh, “Old age, I guess. I haven’t been exposed to winter in a long, long time.” Changing the subject, George asked, “When’s your next broadcast?” Dan glanced at the gray electronics boxes piled in a corner of the room. Wonder what the lamas would say if they knew their retreat house had become a television studio? “Did you hear me?” George asked. “I’m not deaf,” said Dan. “Some of my faculties are still working.” “So? When?” “They’ll be expecting me to pop in on Jane’s news conference. So, instead, I’ll hit the evening news shows the night before. Give the reporters more questions to ask when Jane meets with them.” “That’s tomorrow, then.” Dan nodded. “We might as well do it on the Japanese news networks. Won’t have to worry about time zones so much. Then all the others will pick it up, all around the world.” “Sounds good to me,” said George. Dan grinned at him. “You want me to wear makeup for the camera, George?” “I just wish you looked better.” Gaetano flew from Paris to Naples aboard a regular commercial airliner the night before Jane Scanwell’s scheduled news conference. It will be best if I am far from the scene of the crime, he told himself, with plenty of witnesses to vouch for my whereabouts. Besides, Kimberly was waiting for him in Naples . In so many ways she reminded him of Kate: the same red hair, the same fiery spirit, the same wild heat when her passion overwhelmed her. And yet they were different, as well. Kate was reluctant and had to be controlled. She disliked the little games that Rafaelo enjoyed playing. Kim, on the other hand, invented games of her own. She could be demanding, but they were demands that he enjoyed meeting. And exceeding. She did not even know that she was on a drug-induced high virtually all of the time. Gaetano’s servants saw to it that the drugs were in her food. Nothing truly harmful. Just enough to keep her wired. When he wanted her to be obedient, like the time he invited his friends from Messina to share their bed, he saw to it that other dosages were applied. And then there was always Kate. It’s probably better that she remains on the Moon. If she knew what’s happening to her precious sister, she would probably try to murder me. Gaetano smiled to himself as the plane crossed the Alps . No, better to keep Kate where she is. Whenever I have to go to Alphonsus I will have her there waiting for me, obedient to my command, willing to turn herself inside out for me, because she is afraid for her sister. He almost laughed aloud. If she could have seen what that trio from Messina did with her, she would know that her worst fears have already come true. Then he sobered. What will happen once Jane has been removed? Will she lead us to Randolph ? Everything depends on finding that American bastard before he does any more damage. He paid no attention to the magnificent Alps gliding past outside his plane’s window. Nor did he notice how brown they looked, how little snow remained on their jagged peaks. Josh Pollett was literally quivering. Like a hunting dog who knew there were birds hiding in the bushes, the wiry, sharp-featured reporter was atremble with anticipation as he sat at the tape console. He was running videotapes of Dan Randolph’s unauthorized broadcasts. Harriet McIntyre and Wayne Manley stood behind him in the darkened workroom. She too was wide-eyed with eagerness. Manley was frowning, his sleekly handsome face distinctly unhappy. “How does he do that?” Manley asked, his voice a low rumble. ‘What difference does it make?” Pollett snapped. “He’s doing it.” “Every network on Earth has teams of experts checking their equipment. The GEC has an army of investigators looking into it.” “I’ve been pushing every source I’ve got,” said Pollett. “Nobody can figure out where he’s broadcasting from, or how he’s breaking into the regular broadcasts.” On the screen, Dan Randolph was saying, “This is real, folks. We’re all facing a terrible disaster. Don�
��t take my word for it. Ask the scientists. Ask Zach Freiberg at the California Institute of Technology. Ask Vasily Malik or your own representative on the Global Economic Council. They’ve got to act! And fast! But they won’t unless you make them act.” Pollett flicked an eye to the digital timer beside the screen. “That’s the longest he’s stayed on the air: fifty-three seconds.” “He’s looking grimmer,” Mclntyre said. “More desperate.” “He’s got good reason to be desperate,” said Manley. “They’ll catch him soon.” “I wish we could catch him first,” Mclntyre said. “Nobody knows where he is, or where he’s broadcasting from.” Pollett swiveled his chair around and got to his feet. “Listen, Wayne, we’ve got to do something about this. Whether Randolph is right or not, this is the biggest story of the decade maybe of the century? “Don’t go off the deep end,” Manley warned. “We’re all going to be in the deep end if Randolph ’s telling us the truth,” Mclntyre snapped. Manley turned and made a move for the door, a well-fleshed man in an expensive three-piece suit. His two reporters, in faded jeans and T-shirts, scampered to cut him off. Manley glared at them in the dim light coming from the viewer’s screen. “Come on, now,” Manley said. “No, you come on,” Pollett said heatedly. “We can’t sit on this story any longer. Holy shit,Wayne , we’re talking about half the world being flooded! This is bigger than Noah and the ark? “Any ‘gentleman’s agreement’ that the network might have made with Washington is out the window now,” said Mclntyre, more reasonably. “Surely even the Empress can see that.” “That’s no way to speak of Theodora.” “Come on,Wayne ,” Pollett chivvied, “let me interview Freiberg . I’ve interviewed him before. He’s a responsible scientist, not some nutcase or quack.” “And I can get to Jane Scanwell,” McIntyre said. “And maybe this guy Malik, through her,” Pollett suggested. Manley put up his hands. ‘I’ll speak to Theodora about it.” “When?” “It’s got to be today!” “This evening,” Manley answered, clearly irritated. “I’m having dinner with the family.” “Okay,” said Pollett. “I’m catching the next flight to L.A. ” “And I’ll go to Paris .” The two reporters burst out of the viewing room like eager schoolchildren running out to play, leaving Manley standing there alone. A slow smile crept across his fleshy face. Let them go, he told himself. Even if Theodora refuses to listen to reason they can get their interviews and then we’ll present the Empress with a fait accompli. She wouldn’t fire me if things go sour. She’ll fire Pollett and Mclntyre. After all, I didn’t authorize these interviews, did I? Jane sat at the gracefully curved little walnut desk in the study of her apartment, bent over the screen of her laptop, poring over every detail of the data Dan had given her. She knew the give-and-take of a live meeting with the reporters. She wanted to have as much information in her head as possible for the morning’s news conference. She had come home from the GEC office and immediately launched into her preparation for the morning’s news conference, stopping only to get out of her business clothes and into a comfortable terry-cloth robe and to fix a light dinner tray. Far into the night she sat studying, memorizing facts, numbers, dates, names. The dinner tray sat on the desk untouched. A noise. Just a soft whisper, really, but it made her jerk her head up and glance around the little room. The window was closed and locked. It must have been something down on the street, Jane thought. Nothing to be alarmed about. Still, she got up from the desk and walked through the apartment, checking all the windows and especially the French doors that led out onto the balcony. Then she went back to her computer and accessed her own security system. All the lights were green. Everything was fine. You’re being melodramatic, Jane told herself. On the roof of the apartment building two Japanese men in ordinary business suits walked slowly along the edge, speaking quietly of their plans to enter the martial arts tournament in Saigon during their vacation time. A third sat in the deep shadow of the air-conditioner shed, visible only by the tiny red glow of his cigarette. Down on the street across from the building’s front entrance another pair of Japanese, one of them a woman, loitered in a dark doorway. In the alley behind the building, a lone Japanese man prowled, fading into the shadows at the slightest sound. In an apartment on the first floor of Jane’s building, an older Japanese man sat in front of a TV screen. He seemed to be drowsing, except that every few moments he lifted his hand to inspect the small black electronic box it held. Six green lights shone steadily. All was well with the people he had deployed. His TV screen showed the lobby of the apartment building, quiet and empty except for the concierge, who was truly asleep behind his desk. Jane knew nothing of this. Nobuhiko had informed her that she was being guarded, but she had never noticed any bodyguards. She had the right to ask for protection from the GEC security department, but she feared that Gaetano had infiltrated that office before any of the others. So she checked her electronic security system, then shut down her computer and went to her bedroom. For the first time in her life she felt personally endangered. It was not exciting; it was frightening. She wished there were some way to avoid the danger that she knew was pressing in on her. But Gaetano and his criminals had to be exposed, she told herself. If we’re going to save the world, we’ve got to get rid of the crooks. She knew that her real reason was Dan. He loves me and he needs me. He’ll get himself killed if I don’t help him. The silly fool, butting his head against the GEC and the Mafia and anyone else who stands in his way. Silly, stubborn, egotistical, glorious, wonderful fool. She stopped and looked at herself in her bedroom mirror. “And what are you’?.” she asked the image. “Just as foolish as he is.” Then she laughed, knowing that this was the way it had to be. The phone buzzed. She called out, “Answer,” and the screen lit up with: MUST SEE YOU AT MIDNIGHT AT SACRE COEUR. IMPERATIVE. YOU KNOW WHO.