XXXV
NO SOONER HAD he slipped inside the lock than he began to prepare for liftoff.
"Prelift sequence."
"Beginning sequence."
"Full passive spectrum scan. Put the sequence on screen beta."
"Scan results appearing on screen beta," replied the Al.
By this time, he had the furs and the soiled shipsuit off, and was pulling on a fresh singlesuit, stuffing the used clothing into the cleaner. A full cleanup could wait until the Caroljoy was clear of Forsenia.
He strapped into the control couch.
"Interrogative time until liftoff status is green."
"Plus five."
Gerswin scanned the board and screens in front of him.
"Display on main screen the estimated positions of the rebels and the DomSecs. Change to screen delta when liftoff status is green."
The force display showed no marked change from the way things had stood when he had slipped clear of the rebel headquarters the evening before. The DomSecs had the rebels effectively surrounded, but were not using heavy weapons, although they had brought enough to level the rebel encampment, had they chosen to do so.
How could he have so misread the Forsenian character? They might have a tightly controlled society. They might have a few abusive security officers, and they might not like the Domestic Security Forces, and there might be a few malcontents. But few indeed really wanted an alternative, or could have formulated one they would have preferred.
"Nothing to fight for . . . ," he mumbled to himself, low enough for the ship's Al not to interpret it as a command or a question.
So? For what had he disrupted three cities, half a planet, and personally killed several dozen DomSecs?
Some, like Lieutenant whatever-his-name-had-been at Simeons, had certainly deserved what they had gotten. Quite a few had not, Gerswin suspected.
"Live and learn . . ." But what had he learned?
What he'd known in theory long before. That people have to have dreams. That they have to believe in those dreams, and that they have to prefer the uncertainty and the risk of seeking those dreams to the security of the present. Without those, nothing could change.
Nothing would change.
"One minute until liftoff status is green."
Gerswin broke away from his questions and reverie to check the screens.
"As soon as possible, begin switchover to orbit monitoring, including all Imperial bands."
"Standing by for liftoff."
"Lift," ordered the former commodore, his voice cold.
A dull rumble washed out from the lifting and screened scout, a rumble that rained sound into the snow that dropped on the DomSec and rebel encampments, drowning out momentarily the whispering and comm-linked conversation between Commander-Colonel Torbushni of the rebels and Colonel Ruihaytyen of the Forsenian Domestic Security Forces, as a night-black scout older than the Empire raced into the clouded skies toward the deeper night of space.
XXXVI
THE MAN KNOWN as Eye drummed his fingers on the table, as if he were impatient. The two others, also wearing privacy cloaks, may have smiled behind their own hoods, for the timing of the gesture was off slightly, enough to indicate that the mannerism was contrived.
Contrived or not, it fulfilled its purpose, as the whispers died away and the participants sat up, waiting for the business at hand.
"Do these names break orbit?" He paused, then read from the list projected on the screen flush on the table before him. "Patron L. Sergio Enver, MacGregor Corson, C. J. Grace, Ser Delwood Ler Win, N'gio D'Merton, Commander or Commodore MacGregor Corson Gerswin, Captain M. C. Gerswin, Shaik Corso . . ."
"Eye section has had a watch on retired Commodore Gerswin," answered the figure to his right. "Tracks research projects for some foundation—OER Foundation, I believe. He has a retirement place on New Colora and quarters in the Atlantean Towers here."
"That is what he would like you to believe," answered Eye.
"The other names are not linked to his in the records."
"They are not officially linked to his in any case, and the probabilities are less than point two in some cases. Probabilities aside, Commodore Gerswin is the reason for this meeting." Eye looked around the room, away from the projected list, and silently cleared his throat.
"One of my predecessors twice refused an admiralty request to have the Corpus Corps target the commodore. That was after his successful `transfer' of close to two cohorts of landdozers to Old Earth. Those actions led to the creation of Recorps, but Gerswin refused Recorps status and chose exile, although he would have been commandant."
"Why?"
"That is why we are here."
"I don't think I am going to like this." That was from the third figure, the one who had said nothing thus far.
Eye ignored the comments. "The names I listed, plus a number of others without any probabilistic basis, are used by Gerswin in a large number of enterprises spread throughout the Empire. The majority of these enterprises are based in the field of biologics, and in all Gerswin has what amounts to the controlling interests. His verified holdings place him above all the commercial magnates in the Empire and above many of the barons. Yet, he has never sought or accepted such recognition."
Eye swept the shielded room with eyes hidden in the depths of the cloak's hood.
"Most important, nothing he has done is in the slightest bit illegal, not that can be traced, not of which there is the slightest bit of proof. But there is a strong suggestion that he is the one who brought down the government of Byzania, and the use of nuclear weapons against one of his suspected holdings on El Lido raises other questions. Unfortunately, we can prove nothing. In the nuclear weapons case, he was ostensibly the victim."
"Why our concern? Gerswin has to die sometime. He's certainly no longer a young man, and rejuves have a limited extending power."
"First, Gerswin has never had a rejuve. He has retained a biological age of roughly thirty standard years for well over a century. His last medical exam by the Service showed superior reflexes and reactions, a neural superiority over the average Corpus Corps member. That was when he was well over a hundred years old chronologically.
"Second, and more important, he seems to have a long-range mission to bring down the Empire."
"Ridiculous!"
"It might be, except he seems to have time on his side. In addition, he understands technology. He was the commandant of the Standora Base, the one who turned it from an obsolete scrapheap into the best refit yard in the Empire."
"That Gerswin?"
"But his interest seems to have turned to biologics after his retirement. The majority of his holdings and interests lie with ways to replace high technology with simplified biological processes."
"I'm not sure I follow that rationale."
"I am trying to make it simple. But think! The power in Imperial society is based on the allocation of resources, the use and control of knowledge, and the ability to communicate. If Gerswin is successful in his biologics, the need to allocate resources is decreased, the need for high-level technical knowledge is reduced, and thus, communications control becomes less vital."
"That is rather theoretical, to say the least."
"One example. One of the products reputed to be his is a so called house tree. All it needs is some simple wiring and power installation, and really not even that in some climates. What does that do to the construction industry, the heavy durables, the furniture manufacturers? What about the raw material suppliers?
"Another product is a biological spore sponge that cleans up anything. Another line of products features high-protein plants that can't be distinguished from meat in content and taste. They also grow anywhere. Who knows what else he may be getting ready to produce?"
"Wait a moment," protested the hooded figure to Eye's right. "That's all well and good, but you don't seriously think that the people of New Augusta are going back to growing their own food, no matter how tasty, and livin
g in a tree house?"
"Of course not. That's not the point. If the outlying planets, or even a large number, take up societies based on biologics, what does the Empire have to offer? Why would anyone want to threaten them? Why would they need protection? Why would they need a large military establishment?"
"Ohhhh . . ."
"You see? Our resource basis is already so fragile that any large erosion of support would be difficult to deal with. But the Emperor and the admiralty believe in due process, and Gerswin has stayed well within the law. Besides, an all-out effort is likely to make him a martyr, assuming that we could even succeed with a direct application of force.
"His profile indicates that he will revert to total survival, including homicide, if faced with a physical threat. This pattern is likely to dominate more as he gets older. There are some indications that this has already happened in one or two instances, but not that we could prove. Were someone to continue such pressure on him, however . . ."
"I see . . .”
The other deputy to Eye nodded. Once.
XXXVII
PING!
Engrossed as he was, the pilot of the Imperial scout jerked his head up from his Strat-Six battle with the scout's computer at the warning.
"Who could that be?"
"Identity unknown," answered the board.
The pilot glared at the system, which took no notice of the glare, and tapped several plates, then entered additional queries into the system.
"Whew!"
He checked the closure rates again. Then he put them on the display on the main screen, as if he could not believe them.
"Gwarrie," he addressed the computer, "are those figures correct?"
"Assuming the inputs are correct, the readouts are correct."
"Are the inputs correct?"
"The reliability of the inputs exceeds point nine."
The pilot jabbed the transmit stud.
"Hawkwatch, this if Farflung two. Contact. Quad four, radian zero seven zero. Closing at five plus. I say again. Closing at five plus. Data follows."
He shook his head. "That won't do it."
With the incoming alien, and it had to be an alien at that velocity—either that or something the I.S.S. had just invented—the stranger would be past him before he received the return transmission from Marduk Hawkwatch.
The Imperial pilot checked the stranger's indices once more.
The incoming ship, if it were truly a ship, had shifted course, directly toward Marduk. By now, the scout pilot doubted he could have caught the stranger.
He relayed the shift in heading with another data burst transmission, not bothering with a verbal tag.
"How close will she pass, Gwarrie?"
"More than two zero emkay"
"Can we get an enhanced visual?"
"Not within standard parameters."
The pilot frowned for a moment. "Let me know if there's another course shift. Your move."
XXXVIII
HAD IT BEEN visible to the naked eye without its lightless full-fade finish, the scout would have looked like an obsolete Federation scout. The energy concentrations within the dark hull resembled those of a miniature battle cruiser, while the screens could have taken anything that a full-sized light cruiser could have delivered.
Speed and power cost, and the trade-offs were crew size (one); offensive weapons (none); gravfield generators (crossbled to screens); and habitability (minimal by Imperial standards).
The pilot checked the signals from the modified message torps he waited to launch. There were three, each adapted to discharge two dozen reentry packets on its atmospheric descent spiral. Each packet contained the same spores and seeds, though the proportions varied.
"Unidentified craft, this is Marduk Control. Please identify yourself. Please identify yourself."
Gerswin smiled, but did not respond to the transmission, instead checked the distance readouts and his own EDI measurements of the Imperials who circled the planet ahead.
"Unidentified craft, this is Marduk control. Please be advised that Marduk is a prohibited planet. I say again. Marduk is a prohibited planet.
"Desct Mardu firet ortley . . ."
The Imperial patrol craft repeated its warning in a dozen different languages, human and nonhuman.
All of them Gerswin ignored as the Caroljoy knifed toward Marduk, his hands coordinating the kind of approach he wanted, with enough evasiveness to make it unpredictable.
Gerswin also listened to the I.S.S. tactical bands as they were filtered through the AI and played out through the console speakers.
"Hawkwatch, Torchlove one, one to launch."
"Torchlove one, cleared to launch. Target course zero nine three, E plus three. One point two emkay."
"Hawkwatch, Torchlove two, one to launch."
"Torchlove two, cleared to launch. Target course, zero nine two, E plus three."
"Hawkwatch, Torchlove three, one to launch."
"Torchlove three, cleared to launch. Target course, zero nine zero, E plus three."
The man who had once been a commodore smiled and touched the screens' generator status plate.
Satisfied with the readout, he nodded, then tightened the harness about him, and eased himself into the full accel/decel position, the controls at his fingertips, and the critical screen readouts projected before his eyes.
"Hawkwatch, this is Torchlove one. Target locked on EDI, no visual. Say again. Locked on EDI, no visual. Range point nine emkay."
"Hawkwatch, Torchlove two. No EDI lock. No visual."
"Torchlove one, two, three. Opswatch calculates target class one alpha. Class one alpha."
The Caroljoy's pilot grinned sardonically. Class one alpha-high speed, armed, and dangerous. Two out of three wasn't bad for the Impies without even a visual.
"Torchlove one, two, and three. Recommend spread seven, spread seven, with jawbones. I said again, spread seven with jawbones."
Gerswin studied his own readouts.
The Hawkwatch Commander wasn't exactly rolling out the welcome mat, not when he was ordering a tachead spread for the Caroljoy to meet.
He also wasn't terribly bright, doing so in the clear. But then, it had been a long time since anyone challenged the Impies, and perhaps they were too slow on scrambles and codes to react. Or, more likely, who cared?
Gerswin touched the full-screen activation button, slumping into his seat under the acceleration as the screens took power diverted from the gravfield generators.
"Hawkwatch, Torchlove one. Lost EDI lock. Lost EDI lock. Still no visual."
"Hawkwatch, Torchlove two. Lost EDL"
"Torch three. No EDI. No visual."
"Torchlove one, two, and three. Launch spread seven based on DRI, Spread seven based on DRI . . ."
Gerswin eased the controls, tensing his stomach as the Caroljoy veered slightly-enough to confuse the DRI at his speed and with the screens the modified scout carried.
A sliver of blinding light appeared in the forward exterior screen—momentarily—before all exterior signals were damped to blackness.
The detonation of twenty-one tactical nuclear devices created a glare that would have been observable from the day side of Marduk itself, had there been anyone there to watch the fireworks.
Gerswin edged up his scout's speed, using his own screens and fields to bend the additional energy from the detonations into further boosting his own velocity.
"Torchlove one, two, three, EMP bleedoff indicates target fully operational and extremely dangerous. Probably position two eight five, E minus two."
"Hawkwatch, this is Torchlove one. Interrogative target position."
"Two eight five, E minus two. That's from you, Torch one, at point two emkay"
"Nothing's that fast!"
"Torchloves, interrogative last transmission.
". . . ssss . . ."
Gerswin would have laughed at the obvious silence had he not been pinned down in his shell, but smiling was difficult
under the four plus gees.
"Hawkwatch, this is Torchlove two. Probability of contact of nonImperial origin."
"Probability point eight. Calculated characteristics impute either higher gee tolerance or non-Imperial technology."
"Blithing alien . . ."
"Torchloves, interrogative last transmission."
3.The Endless Twilight Page 17