The Endless Twilight

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

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 finalize 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.

  “Coming?”

  “Now . . . ?”

  “One and only chance.”

  She looked around the port, from the civilian receiving area where amber lights alternated with white, to the flat western horizon where the golden greened sun was able to touch the flat smudged line that represented the endless squares of synde beans, to the muddied gray of the tarmac, and across the gray to the armed services compound a kay away where sirens blared and intermittent lights seared the late afternoon sky.

  At last, her glance strayed to the groundcar and the slumped figure within.

  Constanza Cerdezo swallowed, and squared her shoulders.

  “Yes. I’ll go.”

  “We’re not done yet, you know?”

  “I’m scarcely surprised at that, Ser Corson, if that is indeed even your real name.”

  Gerswin was half listening as he jumped the screen out over them and began to guide the former land agent/prisoner toward the Caroljoy.

  VII

  GERSWIN TAPPED HIS fingers on the bottom edge of the control keys as his eyes darted from the main screen to the representational screen to the data screen in a continuing scan pattern.

  “Private yacht Breakerton. Private yacht Breakerton. This is Byzania Control. Byzania Control. Please acknowledge. Please acknowledge.”

  “Request instructions,” the AI asked.

  “Do not acknowledge. Maintain screens.”

  “Maintaining screens. Unidentified object departing orbit control. Probability exceeds point seven that object is orbital patrol with tachead missiles.”

  “Query!” growled Gerswin. “Interrogative probability of orbit control destruction through field constriction drive swerve.”

  “Inquiry imprecise.”

  “If we force the patrol to fire at an angle that will cause the missile to skip off the atmosphere, can we use the mag band constrictions to control the missile course for a return to orbit control, with subsequent detonation?”

  “Probability of damage to Caroljoy exceeds point four. Probability of damage to orbit control exceeds point nine.”

  “No good. What kind of tachead does orbit control use?”

  “EDI proximity is employed by more than point nine five of all orbit defense systems.”

  “Can you maneuver us so that, when you blank out EDI traces, the tachead will seek out orbit control?”

  “Not within current gee restriction envelope.”

  “What is the minimum gee load requirement for a probability of orbit station destruction exceeding point nine with a probability of damage to the Caroljoy of less than point one?”

  “Point eight probability of successful maneuver, defined as a point probability of destruction combined with a point one probability of damage to Caroljoy, can be obtained with an internal gee force loading peak of six point three for up to ten standard minutes.”

  “Interrogative time before maneuver commencement.”

  “Ten standard minutes, plus or minus two.”

  Gerswin stood up and walked across the narrow space and into the tiny crew cabin that was normally his.

  Constanza Cerdezo sat on the built-in bunk that doubled as an acceleration shell.

  “Constanza?”

  She turned, letting her feet hang over the side. “You have a problem?”

  “I need an answer. What sort of physical condition are you in?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I need to know. Do you have any heart or lung problems? What’s your chron age? Estimated bio age?”

  “A lady . . . ,” She broke off. “You are serious. I know of no heart or lung problems. My age is fifty-seven years standard, and three years ago my biological age was set at fifty.”

  “Query,” Gerswin asked the empty air. “Interrogative probability of severe biological damage, assuming standard profile, female, biological age fifty-three, slender frame.”

  “Probability of severe bruisi
ng exceeds point eight. Probability of internal bleeding less than point one. Probabilities based on maximum maneuver time of less than ten standard minutes at peak gee load of six point three.”

  Gerswin looked down at the white-haired and tanned woman, straight into her black eyes.

  “The problem is simple. We have two choices. Cut and run. That’s one. Without finishing my mission. Or use some fancy shipwork to knock out orbit control.”

  “You cannot come back and try again?”

  “No. Excluding the costs, after what I did to the communications net, and to their air defenses on the way up, they will doubtless change things to prevent any recurrence. Next time, they just might destroy any untoward private ships who visit.”

  “There are risks?”

  “Risk to you. About a five percent chance you’ll be injured. Maybe more.”

  “And if you succeed?”

  “I will get what I came for and, in the process, probably upset the current government.”

  “Would the Empire step in?”

  “No. Against policy. Never have, and never will. Could quarantine the system until a local government regains total control.”

  The silence stretched out.

  “Time until arrival of orbit patrol is five minutes plus or minus one.” The AI’s clear tones echoed in the small cabin.

  The silence dropped over the two, with only the background hissing of the ventilation system.

  Constanza Cerdezo looked at Gerswin, then lowered her shoulders. “Do what you must. I can do no less.”

  Gerswin lifted her off the bunk and set her standing on the deck. Next he ripped the sheet and quilt off the bunk and slammed them into a locker beneath. He touched the controls to reconfigure the bunk into an acceleration shell and, as quickly as he had made the changes, just as quickly lifted Constanza and placed her in the shell. Three quick movements, and the harnesses had her webbed firmly in place.

  “Now. Once the acceleration hits, don’t even move your head. Leave it straight between the support rests here. Don’t lift it, and don’t try to shift your weight once the gee forces start.

  “At times you may have no weight, or things may seem normal. Don’t believe it. Don’t get out of here for anything. Is that clear?”

  “Time for orbit patrol arrival at estimated firing point is three plus or minus one.”

  Gerswin dashed from the cabin to the control, scrambling into his own shell and adjusting the overrides for fingertip control.

  “Use your six point three gee maneuver to get that tachead orbiting back at the control station.”

  “Command imprecise.”

  “Commence the maneuver you computed earlier, using a six point three gee envelope, to place the Caroljoy in a position where any tachead fired at the Caroljoy can be skip-deflected or otherwise placed in a position to allow it to home back on orbit control.”

  “Instructions understood. Due to delays and the position of the orbital patroller, maneuver with same probability of success requires an envelope of seven point one gees.”

  “Do it! Commence maneuver.”

  A giant fist slammed Gerswin deep into his accel/decel shell.

  He tightened his stomach muscles to fight off the blackness, to keep his eyes open enough to see the readouts projected in red light into the sudden darkness of the ship.

  “Orbit patrol readjusting position, holding on tachead release.”

  The pressure on Gerswin eased, back to five plus gees, he estimated. Because of the differentials in orbits, the strategy was to change positions rapidly enough while moving toward the patroller to force the patroller to fire quickly enough not to be able to compute the probabilities. Plus, the patroller did not know the configuration of Gerswin’s ship would allow him to blow all EDI traces.

  Gerswin hoped it was enough.

  The gee force continued to ease as the Caroljoy boosted her speed at a decreasing rate.

  “Closing on patroller. Tachead released. Commencing evasive maneuvers.”

  This time, the gee force blow to Gerswin did roll him into the blackness, though only momentarily.

  “Patroller has released second tachead.”

  “Evade it, idiot,” grunted the pilot.

  “Stet. Evading.”

  Gerswin felt like he was being stretched across the couch. Supposedly, yachts, not even former scouts, were not capable of maneuvers like atmospheric craft, but Gerswin felt the Caroljoy was being handled more like a flitter than a deep-space ship.

  For a moment, the Caroljoy went weightless, almost seeming to flip on her longitudinal axis.

  The pilot’s stomach ventured toward his throat before being jammed back below his hips by the next gee blast.

  When the acceleration eased, Gerswin rasped out another command before he was pressed farther into his shell.

  “Put Byzania tactical comm on audible.”

  “Stet. Frequency available.”

  Another gee burst slammed more breath from Gerswin than he thought he had left, and just as suddenly, all weight left him.

  “Full screens, and complete EDI blockage,” announced the Al.

  The minutes dragged by.

  “ByzOps. Hammer one. Returning. Target avoided both persuaders.”

  “Stet, Hammer one. Understand persuaders avoided.”

  “That’s affirmative.”

  “Do you have visual on target?”

  “That is negative.”

  “Interrogative EDI.”

  “Negative. Lost EDI after first release. No visual.”

  “. . . don’t like this. . . ,” Gerswin smiled wryly.

  “Maneuvers completed,” stated the AI.

  “Interrogative closures? Position status?”

  “One quarter orbit distance plus two relative Byzania orbit control.”

  “Aren’t we close to an orbit relay?”

  “Relay inoperative.”

  “I take it you rendered the relay inoperative.”

  “That is correct.”

  Gerswin shivered. That was one facet of releasing control to the AI that he did not relish. It was also the reason why neither the I.S.S. nor any commercial ships linked their AIs to the controls directly. No one yet had figured out a workable system that embodied the day-today ethical and human considerations required. Every direct “ethical” system ever attempted froze or took too much time to make decisions. The only workable systems were those designed without ethical parameters.

  “Return to advisory status.”

  “In advisory status.”

  “Give me at least five minutes warning of any approaching object, anything at all.”

  “Five minutes warning of all objects.”

  “Stet.”

  Gerswin scrambled out of his shell, wincing at the instant stiffness his muscles seemed to have acquired, and staggered into the small crew cabin.

  A quick study indicated that Constanza was breathing, but her face and tan and white tunic were streaked with blood.

  The white-haired woman’s chest rose and fell regularly, but the beginnings of heavy bruises were showing on her uncovered forearms.

  He fumbled for the medstar cuffs, finally plugging them in and attaching them.

  “Interrogative medical status of subject.”

  “Subject unconscious. Probability less than point zero one of internal bleeding. Gross scan indicates no fractures.”

  From what he could tell, the blood had come from a nosebleed. He wiped her slack face as clean as he could, but left her in the harness to wake up naturally.

  No sense in taking chances.

  Back before the controls, he also strapped himself in.

  The audio crackled.

  “ByzOps. Unidentified object approaching orbit station.”

  “Hammer two, scramble. Launch and destroy.”

  “Two scrambling. Interrogative clear to launch.”

  “Cleared to launch. Cleared to launch.”

  “Affirm. We’re cradle go
ne. Cradle gone and clearing.”

  “Vector on incoming, plus one five at two zero seven. Plus one five at two zero seven.”

  “Understand vector plus one five at two zero seven.”

  “Stet. Vector and intercept. Intercept and destroy.”

  “Intercept impossible. Intercept impossible.”

  “Can you impact?”

  “You want me to ram it?”

  “That’s affirmative.”

  “ByzOps, this is Hammer two. Clarify your last. Clarify your last.” “Hammer two. If intercept not possible, use full thrust to impact and deflect incoming. Identified as persuader, class two.”

  “That’s impossible, ByzOps. That’s—“

  EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

  “Energy pulse indicates probable destruction of Byzania orbit control.”

  “Does that mean all incoming traffic will have to communicate planetside directly?”

  “That is correct.”

  “And the planetary commnet is effectively out of commission,” mused Gerswin, “at least until they scrub the entire link.

  “So it’s time to drop in on our friends, the savages, and see if they do have those tree houses of Hylerion’s.”

  The Caroljoy began to drop from orbit toward the patches of forest reserve Gerswin had tentatively marked from his orbit and map scans.

  VIII

  THE TALLER GENERAL looked over his shoulder. Three silver triangles glittered on his shoulder boards. Otherwise, his khaki uniform tunic was unadorned.

  “Are you sure it’s secure?”

  “Nothing is secure now. With the communications links down, we’re operating on emergency power, and we don’t have the energy for sonic screens. I doubt anyone else on Byzania has the energy for peepers.”

  “Gwarara, summarize.”

  Colonel Gwarara squared his shoulders and faced the three generals.

  “Generals, the situation is as follows. First, Ser Corson, whoever he is, dropped a trap program into the comm-link system. It was an expanding and replicating program. Furthermore, it ordered a printout of the program itself from every hard-copy printer on Byzania that linked into the net before we shut down the power grid.”

  “Shut down the power grid? The entire grid?” That was General Somozes, Chief for Atmospheric Defense, blond, stocky, clean-shaven, and square-chinned.