“What if I’m right? This device is still roving through the galaxy. We have no way of determining which direction along the trajectory Westcott plotted it might be traveling.”
“Correlate with time of occurrence,” snapped Salazar.
“We are talking about random events. This thing might interfere with what we think of as random, spontaneous events. Think of the power, Dr. Salazar! To be able to control radioactive decay—or to predict it. To predict weather exactly.”
Salazar stared out his window. An unexpected rain shower dampened the campus. Even with extensive weather satellite forecasts, mistakes were made, usually on a daily basis.
Ralston saw how the man weakened at the notion of something financially beneficial for the University of Ilium.
“If nothing else, if I can’t unlock the secret, there is always the thought projector inside the dioramas. The later ones might be tainted with this uncertainty, this randomness or forced order—call it what you will—but the earlier ones aren’t.”
“The University could certainly use an influx of fresh funds,” mused Salazar.
“I need permission to return to Alpha 3 immediately.”
“Out of the question. There are preliminary hearings in the de la Cruz matter. And we cannot afford funding for such a venture on your part.”
“We dare not wait. The Alpha primary might go nova at any instant. Seconds might be vital.”
“No,” Salazar said firmly. “I will present your request to the full committee, but under no circumstance could we authorize your return until after the de la Cruz situation is satisfactorily resolved.”
“Time is running out,” said Ralston. He pulled the block from the projector and slid it across Salazar’s desk. “Study this more carefully. And think what might happen if we don’t find out what caused an entire civilization to self-destruct.” Ralston paused, then said, “Can you imagine not learning what controls such chaos, what gives it order and uses it for destructive purposes?” He glanced dramatically out the window. Warm, syrupy sunlight broke through the cloud cover.
“Can you imagine our sun exploding?”
Ralston turned and left Salazar’s office. He didn’t know if the administrator had been convinced of the seriousness of the problem, but Ralston knew one thing: He had certainly convinced himself.
THIRTEEN
“I’m being followed,” the seedy man said, nervously looking around for pursuers.
“Don’t worry,” Michael Ralston assured the man. “You’re safe. It’s me they want.”
“The P’torra?”
Ralston nodded. He hadn’t had an instant’s rest since the abortive riot in front of the office building. Students came to the University of Ilium for many reasons. Some fled here to be away from their family for the first time in their lives. Others genuinely sought education. A few wanted something to do and had nothing better to occupy their time. And then Ralston considered the P’torra in this quagmire of half-realized dreams and frustrations. The alien seemed interested in learning—but what he studied!
Everywhere Ralston turned, the P’torra stood with his impulse driver in hand, tallying up human responses, suggesting alternatives to his pawns, finding new tactics to drive the crowd to a frenzy. By the time the alien left Novo Terra and returned to his home world, he would be expert in psychological techniques.
That he might be one of the select few who had learned what he’d come to the University of Ilium to learn didn’t keep Ralston from cursing him.
“He finds me convenient because of my beliefs,” Ralston said. “I need to know your progress.” The sudden shift in topic took the nervous man by surprise.
“What? Oh, the starship. It’s ready. In orbit. But it’ll cost you dearly. Riot’s got expenses. Have to avoid the authorized traffic. A lot is going into orbit now. Manufacturing season for the orbiting factories. And the patrols might think you’re smuggling something, too. Dangerous.”
Ralston had withdrawn his life savings. It barely covered this man’s finder’s fee for the starship. But Ralston wasn’t above using his University account to the maximum. He hadn’t been shut off completely—apparently Salazar hadn’t considered Ralston’s drawing on funds a possibility. Even with this and Druanna’s loan, Ralston found himself short.
Leonore Disa covered that and furnished the master supervisor he so desperately needed on Muckup.
It paid to have rich, committed graduate students willing to take risks. Ralston smiled. It didn’t hurt to have the hottest discovery of all time, either—and Leonore Disa separated from her lover on that planet.
“Take the shuttle pod up at half past midnight. You’ll star out an hour later. If you don’t show, everything’s off. No second chances, no refunds.”
“I understand,” Ralston said. “Is everything on board now?”
A quick nod was the only answer.
“And Leonore? Is she already aboard?” Ralston still had reservations about allowing her to accompany him, but the need for skilled hands at the machinery outweighed the danger. He was gambling everything. Leonore Disa might die, but if she did, Ralston wouldn’t be in any worse trouble than he was now—he’d be dead alongside her.
Ralston snorted. He doubted that was the proper way of looking at their situation. Their atoms would be intermixed with the superheated gases of the outer edge of an expanding nova. No bodies, no remains, no trace except for a few energetic protons, neutrons and electrons. All his worries would be over in a flash.
But that wouldn’t happen. A better conclusion to this recklessness would be proof of his theories concerning Alpha 3.
Again came the quick jerking movement of the head Ralston interpreted to mean the man assented. Leonore and the equipment spun in orbit above Novo Terra. He had to join them by half past midnight or the entire mad venture came to an end.
Ralston said nothing to the man as he turned and walked off. To have spoken even a simple good-bye would have triggered paranoias best left untouched. The friendly environment of the University campus spread around Ralston like a green ocean wave, interrupted here and there by buildings. But whatever serenity he’d felt here before had evaporated. He walked quickly toward the administration building. With luck he could catch Salazar and the committee before they got down to serious discussion of how best to remove him from their school.
“Dr. Ralston, wait!” cried the secretary as he hurried past. Ralston didn’t slow down. He got through the door and had it closed before the secretary could stop him. Inside the room, a half dozen heads swiveled to see who intruded on their deliberations.
“Dr. Ralston, this is a closed meeting,” said Salazar in an icy tone that meant they’d been discussing the termination of a professor: Dr. Michael Lewis Ralston.
Ralston held on to the door handle and prevented the secretary from entering. Muscles stood out in thick cords on his arms as he applied more and more pressure to keep the door shut.
“I only need a few minutes of your time, Doctor.”
“Very well.” Though Salazar seemed resigned to such intrusions, he didn’t appear to be receptive to anything Ralston might say.
Ralston released the door handle and abruptly stepped to one side. The secretary slammed through the suddenly unresisting door and fell facedown on the floor. The sheepish expression and mumbled apology covered Ralston’s move across the room to seat himself before the committee that would decide his fate. Salazar waved the secretary back to his post outside.
“I’m not here to plead my case,” said Ralston. “Rather, I’d like a firm commitment from you to exploit the valuable technology we found on Alpha 3.”
“What?” Salazar frowned.
“After the de la Cruz matter is settled, and I am certain it will be terminated in my favor, I’d like permission to return to Alpha 3 to expedite removal of the technology.”
“This is premature, Ralston.”
“Not really, Dr. Salazar. It takes time to get even a skeleton expedit
ion put together.” One of the committee snickered at the small joke. Ralston gratefully acknowledged and rushed on. “It’ll have to be done quickly, in and out before the nova.”
“I appreciate your eagerness, Doctor, but…”
“All I’m asking is for the committee to give a tentative agreement that, should I be cleared of all charges in the de la Cruz unpleasantness, that I be allowed to return to Alpha 3.”
“The telepathic projection device might prove a boon,” murmured one of the committee members Ralston didn’t recognize. “A financial banquet from which the University might feed for many years.”
“Remember the Vegan spider steel,” another said. “We missed out on that entirely. We dare not permit another financial opportunity to pass us by.”
“Exactly,” Ralston gushed. “We owe it to the University to exploit this discovery to the fullest.” He had their attention, and he knew what Salazar would say next. Ralston almost laughed when it came.
“Dr. Ralston, I’m sure you’ll agree that this discovery is too, uh, significant to be bypassed, should you become mired down in litigation over Citizen de la Cruz’s demise.”
Ralston surprised Salazar by volunteering what the man hinted at. “If such occurs, I’d be willing to allow others to exploit my find. For the good of the University, of course.”
Salazar sat speechless, taken back. Archaeologists, like all researchers, had insufferable egos when it came to protecting their discoveries. Ralston casually passed it over to another simply because he discounted any possible involvement in Yago de la Cruz’s death. The wicked smile of triumph crossing Salazar’s face couldn’t be stopped.
Ralston didn’t mind. He needed this agreement, no matter the price in emotional terms.
“Let it be so recorded,” said Salazar. He punched a button hidden on the desktop. “There. If there’s nothing else, Ralston, please excuse us. We have considerable business to attend to before the public hearing tomorrow.” Salazar glanced at a screen out of Ralston’s line of sight. “Be here for the opening recitation of preliminary statements at eight hours, sharp.”
“Yes, sir.” Ralston stood. “Thank you for your confidence. I’m sure we’ll be free of this quickly.”
He left, not caring that Salazar smirked and that the secretary shot daggers at him with his eyes. Ralston didn’t slow until he came to a computer console down the hall in the administration building. While this sort of larceny required quiet for total concentration, Ralston knew he didn’t have much time. And to return to his office and the console there might take too long.
One of his students had long ago showed him how minutes from all administration meetings were filed in the University data banks. Every five minutes the voice record dumped into memory. In this way, not more than that five minutes could be lost, should an equipment malfunction occur, yet unwanted or unacceptable testimony could be deleted before permanent entry.
Ralston intercepted the agreement as it went into a buffer. He worked quickly, perhaps too quickly. Sweat beaded his forehead. He might miss editing something significant, but he didn’t have the benefit of infinite time to work.
Ralston leaned back and let out a pent-up breath. The effort looked crude to his eye, but then he had been present in the room and knew what really had been said. A deletion here, a changed word there and the computer record now authorized Ralston to leave for Alpha 3, with no mention made of the de la Cruz hearing or sending someone in his stead to the find. Ralston pushed the transmit key and the screen blinked clear, the altered record now a permanent part of University records.
Ralston tried to remember all his student had said about access to other files. He hadn’t paid that much attention to what he had considered little more than a prank. Now he struggled to call up the University vidnews account and leave a message. Ralston failed, but he did find a way to send a memo to the reporter who had tried to interview him. He struggled to remember her name. He finally addressed it simply to Citizen Tranton, unable to call back her first name.
“Dr. Ralston,” came the voice that dug into his consciousness like a nail pounded into wood.
“What do you want?” he asked harshly. The P’torra moved around to a point where he might view the screen. Ralston hastily punched the transmit button again; the text of the falsified interview now went into the reporter’s file. The University vidnews would pick up the story since anything dealing with Ralston constituted front-page news. And Ralston believed that it would be a banner headline because he had emphasized the financial returns possible to the University from the telepathic projector he’d supposedly promised to bring back.
Fail and he might be the butt of jokes. Ralston vowed that wouldn’t happen, either—he wouldn’t go up in a puff of plasma nor would he let one tidbit of knowledge slip through his fingers.
“You call up to the others of your department of archaeology?” the P’torra asked.
“I’ve been leaving dirty notes for all the female students.” Ralston swung away from the computer console and tried to get past the P’torra. The alien blocked him.
“This I do not understand. How can computer memos be soiled?”
Ralston glanced past the P’torra, expecting to see another mob forming. Wherever the alien went, trouble followed. But not this time. If anything, this worried Ralston even more.
“Excuse me. I’ve got business elsewhere.” When the alien didn’t move, Ralston took a half step back. Seeing that the professor might unleash another attack, the P’torra moved. Ralston thought he noticed a slight jerkiness to the movement in the alien’s knee. He hoped so. But they were tough. It’d take more than a swift kick to a joint to disable the P’torra.
“Dr. Ralston, we should gather for food-eating and speak to each other.”
Ralston almost vomited. The idea of eating with a P’torra nauseated him. He walked out the side door of the administration building, then wandered aimlessly through the campus, no destination in mind. All he wanted to do was walk off the nervousness that had accumulated while he altered the computer files.
The soft green of the grass, the blue skies, and caressing breezes took the edge off his tension, but Ralston knew that he couldn’t linger to savor them. If Salazar called back the minutes of the meeting, he’d notice immediately how they had been falsified. Since the only one with a motive for such a crime was Ralston, it wouldn’t be hard finding the guilty party.
Ralston couldn’t miss the late-night deadline for starring back to Alpha 3. He looked up into the morning sky and saw nothing, but somewhere in a low parking orbit spun the starship that meant his future.
He turned and retraced his steps, then made a sudden right angle turn. Shielded by a row of shrubs Ralston waited. The P’torra came waddling along, head swiveling back and forth on the thick neck as he vainly sought his quarry. Ralston had no idea what the alien wanted, but it wasn’t likely to be beneficial.
He considered removing the alien permanently, then immediately discarded the notion. Killing the P’torra might be gratifying, but it only raised the ugly specter of police intervention. They might close down all his possible escape routes, especially if the University vidnews released the story on how Salazar authorized Ralston to return to Alpha 3 immediately.
While he couldn’t read it at this distance, he stared across the Quad at one of the vidnews kiosks. All he saw was the slow march of lines up and off the screen top; the words weren’t distinct. Ralston hurried on until he topped a rise and looked down at the gymnasium. He hated to involve Druanna Thorkkin but had no other choice now.
Trying not to appear as if he thought everyone on Novo Terra chased him, Ralston went down the hill toward the large building.
“I suppose that will have to keep me happy until you get back,” Druanna Thorkkin said. She rolled over in bed and stared at Ralston. He paced to and fro, then stopped and smiled at her. Ralston bent over and lightly kissed her.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dru,” h
e said. “You and your optimism.”
“What optimism?” she said, sitting up. “I’m a realist. I look at you and what do I see? Someone whose drive won’t let him stop until he wins. It comes out when you fence. You’re relentless.”
“Is that another way of telling me I’m a better fencer than you are?”
“It’s why you are. I’m quicker, but it doesn’t matter. You don’t give in. Besides, you owe me money.”
Ralston peered out the window of Druanna’s small, quaintly furnished home and saw the sun setting. Less than four hours until the deadline for reaching the starship. By early morning, Novo Terra reckoning, he’d be returning to Alpha 3.
“You set goals well and you’ve got the tenacity to carry through. This isn’t ego-building on my part. It’s just the way you are. Don’t get me wrong. I like it.”
“You don’t think Alpha Prime will go nova and turn me into a cinder?” Ralston only half joked.
“It wouldn’t dare. Not until you’ve stripped everything you want from that muddy planet.” Druanna rose and began rummaging through her closet. “Can’t find a thing. Maybe I ought to get that robot valet I saw advertised on the vid.”
“You’d hate it. I tried one and it organized me out of my home. Everything was in its place. Awful,” said Ralston.
“For you, that must be purest hell. Your place always looks as if you intend for it to be the primary dig site for archaeologists a thousand years from now. You people do revel in debris, don’t you?” She selected and quickly dressed. Ralston watched with appreciation and a little sadness.
Accepting. That summed up Druanna Thorkkin’s attitude well. She made no demands, yet she gave willingly. And in that giving lay the true strength of their relationship. Ralston never—quite—dared deny her anything. It wasn’t—quite—freely given on his part, but he owed it to her. That always struck him as unfair. Dru deserved more from him. But it wasn’t in him to give it.
[Weapons of Chaos 01] - Echoes of Chaos Page 15