Rise of the Terran Empire

by Poul Anderson

  The rest, such as Solar Spice & Liquors, remained precariously unallied, openly competitive. Most were essentially one-man or one-family fiefs. Does any future lie in them? Aren't they mere fossils of an earlier, freer age? Oh, Nick, my poor devil . . . .

  "Let be the brattling philosophy, and let's get a Hermetian presence at Mirkheim," Eric said. "If naught else, think you what a bargaining lever that gives us against the Seven. Long enough have they been jacking us up. We needn't fear the Commonwealth making war on us. Public opinion wouldn't stand for humans fighting humans while Babur gloats in the background."

  "I'm unsure of that. Nor am I sure Babur will sit passive. Frankly, that realm frightens me."

  "Bluff."

  "Count not on it. Everybody always supposed oxygen breathers and hydrogen breathers would never have any serious conflict because they want not the same real estate, and they're mutually too alien for strife over ideologies. That's why so little attention has been paid to Babur, why it's still so mysterious. But . . . what intelligence I can get shows me the Imperial Band of Sisema as a powerful aggressor that's taken over the whole planet and isn't sated yet. And Mirkheim is real estate that everybody wants."

  Not simply out of greed, Sandra's mind went on. Already the supermetals begin to revolutionize technology, in electronics, alloys, nuclear processes, I know not what else. Did Babur get a hold on the sole source, Babur could deny the stuff to mankind.

  "I agree we humans had best put our feuds aside for a spell," she said. "Maybe Hermes should cooperate with the Commonwealth."

  "Maybe. But see you not, Mother, if we take charge first, we can set conditions for handing Mirkheim over and—Well, elsewise, if we stay put, we must needs take whatever somebody else chooses to dole out."

  Not his spark of idealism but his angry impatience to act reminded Sandra of his father.

  A Wodenite was not exactly inconspicuous among humans, and larynxes must be buzzing throughout Starfall. However, nobody else would listen to what she and Nadi said this morning.

  The room where they met was intended for confidential conferences: long, darkly wood-paneled, its windows open on a lawn where a mastiff kept watch. She had made it her own with souvenirs of her youthful offplanet travels: pictures of exotic scenes, odd little bits of art, weapons intended for nonhuman hands racked on the wall. Entering some minutes in advance of appointment time, she found her eye falling on a battle-ax from Diomedes. Her spirit followed, back through years, to Nicholas van Rijn.

  She had never loved the merchant. In many ways, even at that unfastidious stage of her life, she found him almost unendurably primitive. But that same raw vigor had saved both their lives on Diomedes. And she was looking for a man who would be a partner, neither domineering nor subservient toward her who was the likeliest successor to the throne of Hermes. (Duke Robert was then old and childless. His niece Sandra was a natural choice for the electors, since not much else could be said for any of the other possible Tamarins.) Nobody she had met on Hermes had greatly stirred her, which was one reason why she went touring. Whatever his flaws, van Rijn was not a man she could be casual about. No previous affair of hers had been as full of thunderstorms and earthquakes—nor of memories to laugh or exult at afterward. When a year had passed, she knew he wouldn't consider marriage, or anything else she might want that he didn't. Eric was in her womb, because at the time she had been an ardent eugenicist. Regardless, she left. Van Rijn made no effort to stop her.

  Their parting was not altogether acrimonious, and they had exchanged a few business communications afterward whose tone was not unfriendly. As the years passed, she came to remember him in a more kindly fashion than at first—when she thought of him at all, which was seldom after she met Peter Asmundsen.

  He was Hermetian, not of the Kindred but of respectable Follower family; he had organized and personally led enterprises on sister planets of the Maian System; various deeds had made him a popular hero. When he married Sandra Tamarin and legally adopted Eric, the scandal that had surrounded her return home was laid to rest. Not that it had been much of a scandal. Under the influence of League and Commonwealth, the Hermetian aristocracy had acquired an easygoing attitude toward personal matters. Nevertheless, probably her consort had had a great deal to do with her election to the throne after Duke Robert's death. And when Pete died—she didn't imagine she would ever want anybody else.

  Then why am I thinking about Nick, when I should be thinking about what to do with Nadi?

  Because of Eric, I suppose. Eric will inherit this world as I have helped shape it, for weal or woe. So will Joan and Sigurd, of course; but Eric may be saddled with the leadership of it.

  If aught is left to lead.

  She took a restless turn around the chamber, stopped at the ax and let her fingers curl around its haft. How she wished she could be out in this beautiful day, hunting, steeplechasing, skiing, sailing, driving her hovercycle at speeds which horrified her well-wishing subjects. Or she might visit the theatrical troupe she patronized; her fascination with drama was lifelong. Or—

  The door opened. "Madame, Captain Nadi of the Supermetals Company," said the guard, and closed it when the huge body had passed through.

  Sandra had never met a Wodenite before. Most of the dwellers on that planet were at a savage stage of technology, though they had apparently developed several intricate, subtle cultures. A few, in contact with Polesotechnic trading centers, had won scholarships or otherwise earned their way into space. Nadi gravely offered his hand, which engulfed Sandra's. The warmth of it surprised her; she had unconsciously expected a scaly being to be cool, as they were on Hermes or Earth.

  "Welcome," she said a trifle uncertainly.

  "Thank you, my lady." The Anglic was fluent, comprehensible though indescribably accented by the nonhuman conformation of the vocal tract. "I will endeavor not to take unduly much of your time. Yet I feel that what I have to relate is of the highest importance to your people also."

  "Belike true. Ah . . . I'm sorry we've no suitable furniture here. Please make yourself comfortable as best you can."

  "I can quite well stand indefinitely in this low gravity." The pull of Hermes was ninety-seven percent that of Earth. "I realize you humans sit by choice."

  "I will. First, though, care you for a smoke? Not? Mind you if I light up? Good." Sandra took a cigar from a humidor, struck fire to it, and lowered herself into an heirloom armchair. Its carven massiveness was somehow reassuring. The tobacco soothed her palate.

  "I will go directly to the point," Nadi rumbled. "Do you know how and why I departed from Mirkheim?"

  Sandra nodded. She had spent an hour after breakfast getting informed. "You propose that we of Hermes act unilaterally, making ours the government in possession."

  "By the express wish of the original discoverers and rightful owners, my lady. Naturally, we understand you will have to grant access to others. But you can regulate this so that each group will get a proper share, including ours."

  "If the great powers will let us."

  "They may be happy to have you present them with such a formula. Please believe me, this is not a sudden counsel of desperation on our part. We knew from the beginning that our monopoly would be short-lived, and studied possible tactics to use after the news was out. David Falkayn himself suggested Hermes as the eventual caretaker. True, he was only thinking of the Commonwealth versus the League as rivals for Mirkheim. He did not foresee Babur's entry. However, we have decided his idea remains the best we have."

  "David—the hero of the Shenna affair? Said you his name?"

  "You do not know? I took for granted the story would be widespread by now." Nadi stood awhile silent. It was almost as if Sandra could see gears turning ponderously in his head. At length:

  "Well, I will no longer be betraying a trust if I tell you, and it may be that you will understand our position better if you know of its origins."

  She settled back in her chair. He was right. If nothing else, a ba
ckground explanation would give her nerves time to ease, her brain time to rally. "Go on," she invited.

  "Eighteen standard years ago," Nadi said, "David Falkayn, as you doubtless recall, was still a trade pioneer of the Solar Spice & Liquors Company. Together with his partners, he went in secret, deliberately seeking a world like Mirkheim. Analysis of astronomical data showed him that possibly one existed, and approximately where it would be if it did. He found it, too.

  "Instead of notifying his employer, as a trade pioneer is supposed to do whenever he finds a promising new territory, Falkayn went elsewhere. He went to well-chosen leaders among the backward peoples, the poor peoples, the humble peoples whose neglect and abuse by the League had roused his indignation. He it was who got them to form a consortium for the purpose of mining and selling the wealth of Mirkheim, that the gain might go to their folk."

  Sandra nodded. Since Rigassi's expedition, spokesmen for Supermetals had pleaded their cause in those terms. She remembered one man who had addressed an audience in Starfall:

  " . . . How will planets like Woden, Ikrananka, Ivanhoe, Vanessa—how will the inhabitants of planets like these reach the stars? How will they come to share in the technology that eases labor, preserves health, prevents famine, educates, gives mastery over an indifferent nature? They have hardly anything to market—a spice, a fur, a style of artwork, possibly a few natural resources like oils or easily available minerals. They cannot earn enough thus to buy spaceships, power plants, automatons, research laboratories, schools. The League has no interest in subsidizing them. Public and private charities already face more demands than they can handle. Must whole races then spend millennia full of preventable anguish, in order to develop for themselves everything that has long existed elsewhere?

  "And what of colonies planted by humans or Cynthians or other spacefaring species? Not the prosperous, successful colonies like Hermes; the gaunt ones, the outlying ones, whose settlers have little except the pride of independence. They can modify their harsh environments if they can buy the means. Else they risk final extinction.

  "The Supermetals Company was organized by trustworthy dwellers on such worlds. The profit to be won on a comparatively minor capital investment was fantastic. But would the magnates of the League respect their property rights? Would governments leave them in sovereign peace? The prize was too great for that—"

  "Ah . . . my lady?" came Nadi's voice.

  She started back out of her recollection. "I beg your pardon," she said. "My mind wandered."

  "I fear I have bored you."

  "Not, not. Far from it. In fact, later I'd like to hear details of the tricks you used to keep your holdings hidden. Evasive maneuvers when scouts trailed your ships, precautions against bribery, kidnap, extortion—'Tis amazing you lasted as long as you did."

  "We saw the end was near when Falkayn's employer, Nicholas van Rijn, deduced that the supermetals must come from a world of Mirkheim's type, and used the same method of search to find it . . . . Did I distress you?"

  "No. You, you surprised me. Van Rijn? When?"

  "Ten standard years ago. Falkayn and Falkayn's future wife persuaded him to maintain silence. In fact, he very kindly helped our agents keep the issue confused, to delay the eventual rediscovery."

  "Mmm, yes, Nick would have gotten fun out of doing that." Sandra leaned forward. "Well. This is fascinating, but 'tis past. As you remarked, I knew most of it beforehand, and we can fill in the details later. If you and I stay in touch. I sympathize with you, but you realize my first duty is to Hermes. What can our people gain at Mirkheim that's worth the cost and hazard?"

  The giant being looked helpless and alone. "We beg for your assistance. In return for keeping us in business, you will become sharers in the wealth."

  "And targets for everybody who wants that same share, or more." Sandra drew hard on her cigar. "Maybe you're not aware, Captain Nadi, I am no absolute ruler. The Grand Duke or Duchess is elected from the Tamarin family, which may not belong to any domain, by the presidents of the domains of Hermes. My powers are strictly limited."

  "I understand, my lady. But I am told you can call a legislative assembly, electronically, on an hour's notice. I am told that your leaders, living on a world which still has a frontier of wilderness, are used to making quick decisions.

  "My lady, your intervention could prevent whole armadas from clashing. But very little time remains for you to take action. If you do not move soon, then best you never move."

  Sandra's pulse accelerated. By cosmos, he's right as far as he goes, she thought admidst the bloodbeat, he and Eric and . . . no few others, I'm sure. The gamble isn't too much if we're careful, if we keep a line of retreat open. I'll need more information, more opinions, of course, before I can even raise the presidents and lay a recommendation before them. But at this moment I think we have a chance.

  Yes, we! I've been soberly hard-working too bloody damn long; and I am commander-in-chief of the navy. If Hermes sends an expedition, I'm going to lead it.

  III

  The Council of the Polesotechnic League met in Lunograd to consider the Mirkheim situation. Hastily convened, it did not include a representative of every member. Several heads of independent businesses could not be reached in time or could not leave their work on notice that short. However, between them the Home Companies and the Seven In Space almost made up a quorum, and speakers for enough of the unallied organizations arrived, or were already on hand, to complete it.

  After the first twenty-four hours of deadlock, Nicholas van Rijn invited two delegates to his suite in the Hotel Universe. They accepted, which they would scarcely have done for any other independent. Van Rijn's enterprise was sufficiently large and spread its tentacles sufficiently wide to make him powerful. Many observers found it hard to believe that, even with modern data and logic systems, one man could stay on top of it without having to incorporate like the giants. He was the natural leader of those outfits which had entered into no close-knitting agreements such as bound together the Seven In Space or the five Home Companies.

  For their parts, Bayard Story seemed to be the guiding genius of the first group and Hanny Lennart of the second.

  It was close to Lunar midnight. From the main room of the suite, the view through a transparency was awesome. Buildings stood well apart and were not high. They must stay below the forcefields which kept air in this bubble and the ozone layer beneath. But between them were parks wherein the low gravity let trees soar and arch like the fountains, amidst fiercely colored great blossoms. Lamps, on posts formed to resemble vines, glowed everywhere. They did not haze view of the stark crater floor beyond the fields, of Plato's ringwall shouldering in cliffs and steeps over the near horizon, or of the sky. Against infinite darkness, stars shone in their myriads, keen, jewel-hued, unwinking; the Milky Way was a quicksilver river; Earth's heart-snaring loveliness hung blue and white in the south. Confronting that sight, the opulence of the chamber seemed tawdry.

  Lennart and Story arrived together. Van Rijn skipped across the floor to let them in. He had left unused the unit that could have supplied Terrestrial weight. "Ho, ho, you been confabulating before you come here, nie?" he bawled as the door opened. "No, don't deny, don't tell lies to a poor old lonely fat man who got one foot in the gravy. Come drink his liquor instead."

  Story swept a glance across him and said genially, "For as far back as I've heard about you, Freeman van Rijn, and that's farther than I could wish, people tell how you've been lamenting your age and feebleness. I'd give long odds that you still have twenty years or more of devilment left."

  "Ja, I look healthy, me, built like a brick wedding cake. But low gee helps more than you think, you two what could be my son and daughter except I always had better taste in women. How I long for to retire, forsake the bumps and inanities of this wicked world, wash my soul clean of sin till it squeaks."

  "In order to make room for new and bigger sins?"

  "Please stop that nonsense," Lennart inter
rupted. "This is supposed to be a serious discussion."

  "If you insist, Freelady," Story said. "Myself, I feel ready for a little fun. Might as well take it, too. The Council is an exercise in futility. I wonder why I bothered to come."

  The others regarded him narrowly for a moment, as if they also wondered. They had never met him before this occasion; they had only known—as a result of routine information gathering—that for the past ten years his name had been on the list of directors of Galactic Developments, in that corporation's headquarters on Germania. Evidently he was so rich and influential that he could kill publicity about himself and operate almost invisibly.

  He was a rather handsome man, medium-sized, slender, his features regular in a tanned rectangular face, eyes blue-gray, hair and mustache smooth brown with a sprinkling of white. An elastic gait indicated that he used his muscles a good deal, perhaps under intermittently severe conditions. His soft speech held a trace of non-Terrestrial accent, though it was too far eroded by time to be identifiable. An expensive slacksuit in subdued greens fitted him as if grown from his body. Beside him, dark-clad Lennart looked dowdy and haggard. Beside either of them, van Rijn was outrageous in his favorite clothes of snuff-stained ruffled blouse and a sarong wrapped around his Jovian equator.