The Silent Warrior

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Gerswin sat back, decided that he might as well return to the shuttle port for the trip to the orbital station. New Augusta was one of the handful of systems prohibiting deep-space ships or, for that matter, any non-Imperial shuttles from entering the planetary envelope.

  The Caroljoy was docked in a magnetolocked position off station three beta.

  Gerswin frowned. At some point, he suspected, it was going to be far too dangerous to travel to New Augusta in person. The time was coming when he and Lyr would have to work out other arrangements. Either that or he was going to have to develop a series of alternative personas with enough depth to pass all Imperial screening.

  When it became more obvious who he was and what he was doing, if he continued as successfully as recently, he would doubtless develop both government and commercial opponents. He hoped that point was years or decades away.

  He almost laughed, but repressed it, knowing how mocking it would sound in the dignified confines of the aristocratic Aurelian Club.

  Instead, he eased himself out of the comfortable chair and around the table, nodding to the waiter.

  “Very good, Commodore. Hope we will see you more often.”

  Surprisingly to him, the term “commodore” was not used with the condescension he had heard in the voices of even the staff of more than a few commercial barons.

  “Never can tell, but thank you.”

  He took a last look around the circular room of less than ten tables, and at the group of three at the single occupied one remaining. Neither the woman nor the two men looked up from their discussion.

  “Would you like transportation, Commodore?” asked the submanager at the front desk.

  “Yes. That would be fine.”

  He might as well be heading back to the shuttle port.

  While he waited for the electrocab, he studied the main foyer, pacing quietly from one side to the other.

  Unlike many clubs, the Aurelian Club had no pictures of individuals anywhere, nor any listing of officers, nor any posting of rules. Gerswin wrinkled his forehead in concentration. Thinking about it, he could not recall any written captions anywhere within the club, except for the signatures on some of the paintings, a few of which he recognized as originals for which any number of collectors would have bid small fortunes.

  “Transportation, Commodore.”

  “Thank you.”

  Gerswin went through the double portals quickly.

  The electrocab was a shocking silver, radiating a light of its own bright enough to make Gerswin shake his head.

  The outside doorman saw the gesture and smiled.

  “Not exactly tasteful, set, but at this time of evening, they’re mostly out for the nighters. This is conservative for that crowd.”

  Gerswin raised his eyebrows, but said nothing as he stepped into the backseat.

  “Destination?” The inquiry was mechanical.

  Gerswin tapped the code for Shuttle Port Beta into the small screen.

  “Thank you. Please authorize the sum of ten Imperial credits.”

  Gerswin used the foundation card for the fare, since the purpose of the entire trip had been strictly for OERF reasons.

  The electrocab hummed from the club portal and after less than a hundred meters dropped into the high speed tunnel that slashed diagonally under the city and toward the shuttle port.

  He closed his eyes as he leaned back in the seat, but his thoughts did not come to a similar rest.

  Should he continue his detailed tracing of the grants issued by the foundation? Was commercialization the only way to produce the products he needed on a wide enough scale? If so, how soon should he start trying to implement such projects?

  What about Corson? Was there a way to channel some of his considerable income from his own investments over the years to his son? Was it wise, given the trust fund already created? Would too much money without a purpose leave the boy, the young man really, adrift? Or make him a target of the unscrupulous?

  What about Lyr? Was he being fair to her in piling more and more upon her? Were additional salary and appreciation sufficient?

  “Destination approaching.” The mechanical voice of the electrocab was almost a relief. Why was it that New Augusta triggered so many questions? Was it the memory of Caroljoy? Or was it that New Augusta symbolized what he must oppose and had not?

  He sat up, eyes flicking toward the window to take in the increasing illumination as the vehicle slowed and completed the climb to the beta concourse.

  As he stepped out into the even flow of bodies heading to or from the various shuttle gates, Gerswin wished he could have worn full-fade blacks. The sheer numbers handled by the Imperial shuttle ports always made him uneasy. Numbers could conceal so much.

  His hands flicked to his belt, where the knives and sling leathers were still in place. He began to scan the crowd while his steps carried him toward the less crowded section of the port that served private ships and travellers.

  Most of the crowd were commercial or in-system travellers, which was the case at most ports throughout the Empire. Few indeed could afford the high cost of either a private ship or interstellar passage.

  The majority of travellers were human. He caught sight of a single Ursan, flanked by an Imperial Marine honor guard, and two Edelians, looking more like walking sunflowers than the sentient beings they were.

  While he should have faxed ahead, he had not, assuming that the shuttle to station three beta would lift on a recurring and regular schedule. The departure portal was closed, with the message board flashing.

  “Next shuttle to beta three in fifty-five standard minutes. Please insert your access card for your shuttle seat. Ten seats remain.”

  Gerswin took his permanent squarish pass from his pouch and inserted it.

  The message board changed to fifty-three minutes and nine seats remaining.

  Satisfied that he could do no more for the moment, he turned to head back to the main terminal lounge for a place to sit down. His steps clicked on the hard tiles, the sound echoing through the predawn lull of the nearly deserted section of the port terminal.

  A scraping sound, barely a whisper, rustled ahead of him, as if someone had brushed the archway to the public fresher three meters ahead of him on his right. The clarity of the faint sound bothered Gerswin, and he edged his steps toward the far left-hand side of the five-meter-Aide corridor.

  As he drew abreast of the fresher entrance, he saw the shadow of a man, presumably about to leave, but the shadow did not move as the retired commodore continued onward.

  Gerswin glanced over his shoulder as he entered the main lounge area, with its circles of padded seats mostly vacant. Behind him walked a heavyset businessman carrying a black sample case, his expression blank, as if his thoughts were systems away.

  Gerswin sat down in the middle of a three-seat row, facing the direction from which the businessman had come. In turn, the heavy, brown-haired man slumped into a seat perhaps three meters away and to Gerswin’s right. He did not look at Gerswin, but opened the case in his lap and pulled a folder from it.

  A smile quirked the devilkid’s lips.

  For whatever reason, the man was looking for Gerswin. His build ruled him out as a Corpus Corps type, which meant he was either an intelligence operative for some out-system government, for an out-of-the-way Imperial bureaucracy, or a private operative contracted to find Gerswin.

  Gerswin dismissed government intelligences immediately. Out-system governments would not send operatives into New Augusta, particularly after obscure and retired commodores, and all the Imperials had to do was to monitor his reservation on the shuttle and wait for him at the lock to his ship.

  Since the man had required a clear look at Gerswin and a comparison of facial profiles, that further supported the fact that he was representing a nongovernment source. And since the operative was on New Augusta, whoever hired him had money.

  Gerswin pursed his lips.

  The Guild?


  That meant trouble he had not anticipated this early.

  The commodore sat relaxed, waiting, letting the minutes pass as he watched the watcher without obviously doing so.

  Finally Gerswin stood and stretched, then ambled toward the still open dining area. Coincidentally, his path would take him by the seat occupied by his hunter.

  The man unhurriedly closed his case and stood, adjusting his tunic, and fiddling with the case itself. He turned as Gerswin neared, and his face screwed up as if in recognition.

  “Commander Gerswin?”

  Gerswin looked puzzled in turn, but said nothing, although he stopped where he stood.

  “Don’t you remember me? Lazonbly, from the Valeretta?”

  “Can’t say I do. But what could I do for you?”

  Gerswin wondered how far he could push before the operative panicked.

  Lazonbly stepped closer and shook his head, as if he could not really believe it was Gerswin. “You haven’t changed at all.”

  Gerswin smiled. “Who’s paying the Guild for this?”

  Lazonbly blinked, but only once. “I don’t believe I understand.”

  “Lazonbly died in Feralta ten years ago. The Guild has accepted a contract on me. I’d like to know who your client is, not that you’d know.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Commander.”

  “Very good. Very good. You realize I know you can’t use long range energy weapons here. Standard knife or laser cutter?”

  Lazonbly moved his arm, showing a glint of blue. “Laser cutter, Commodore. Shall we go?”

  “At least you’ve dropped the pretenses.” Gerswin stepped back so quickly that Lazonbly could not react without appearing obvious. “As you wish. Toward which dark corridor?”

  “The public fresher serving beta three. You first.”

  “How about side by side?”

  “You first.” Lazonbly’s voice remained jovial.

  “Rather not.” Gerswin eased back slightly as he disagreed.

  “Commodore, don’t force the issue.”

  “And what do I have to lose? You don’t want your kill recorded on the public monitors. You’ve obviously taken care of the monitors on that corridor. So why should I go with you?”

  “Because you think you might have some chance of getting away.” Lazonbly shifted his weight in an attempt to move closer to Gerswin.

  “And you’re willing to gamble on that?” asked Gerswin.

  “No gamble.”

  “No, it’s not.” Gerswin frowned. “Lazonbly, where did you get your orders?”

  “Haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Commodore. Not the faintest. But you talk well, especially for a man of your advanced age. Rejuvs may give you back muscle and appearance, but they don’t improve old reflexes. So . . . shall we go?”

  “I see you are rather hard to reason with.” Gerswin smiled. He half turned and walked away from Lazonbly in even steps, toward the corridor the operative had indicated.

  The heavyset man followed easily, trying to close the gap between the two without making it too obvious.

  Gerswin let the other approach, glancing over his shoulder and listening for a change in breathing patterns or steps. He would rather have faced the Guild assassin down in the lounge except for one thing—the Imperial inquest, which would doubtless have delayed his departure long enough for another Guild assassin to strike.

  As he walked, Gerswin slipped the leather thongs and rounded stones from his belt.

  The corridor narrowed as the two men neared the three beta concourse, then made a gentle left turn.

  Gerswin decided Lazonbly would move as soon as they were screened from the other monitors. He readied the thongs of the sling.

  Click. Click.

  Gerswin threw himself to the left, rolled, and came up with the thongs whirling.

  Thunk!

  Thud!

  Lazonbly’s body pitched forward onto the tiles, his face as impassive in death as it had been in life. The laser cutter lay centimeters from his hand.

  Gerswin walked away after pocketing the round stone, not looking back. There was nothing to connect him to Lazonbly, and nothing on Lazonbly to connect him either to Gerswin or to the Guild.

  And there was no record anywhere of one Commodore Gerswin’s proficiency with the sling weapons of Old Earth, let alone anyone on New Augusta who would deduce with certainty the exact cause of death of the Guild agent. Gerswin had no doubt “Lazonbly” was at least noted as a potential Guild agent in Imperial files.

  He turned the last corner. Several other shuttle passengers now waited near the portal, obviously ready to board the same shuttle on which Gerswin was booked.

  Gerswin and the Caroljoy were now headed for Scandia, which represented a sudden change in destination. He wondered if he would be in time, or if it were a false alarm. If so, so much the better.

  If not, there was not much else he could do. No one else could get there sooner, not even a message torp.

  Would he lose another son he scarcely had known? He shook his head at the thought.

  With less than ten minutes before the shuttle lifted, Gerswin doubted that even the Imperial authorities would be able to react in time to block off the entire shuttle port to resolve the strange incident with Lazonbly. Particularly when the tools which were doubtless in Lazonbly’s case were found to have been those that disabled the corridor monitors. Either that or the entire case had melted itself down, which would certainly intrigue Imperial intelligence.

  Fifteen minutes later he sat on the shuttle as it hummed toward the accelerator. His thoughts were already in orbit, already plotting the jump points for Scandia.

  XXXIX

  It is an article of faith for the Believers that their captain destroyed the first and only Empire without legions, without loss. A number of scholars, Elender among them, have made the case for such a sweeping generalization.

  Certainly, what records were salvaged from the rape of New Augusta do contain limited references to a foundation promoting biologics, and the fragmentary information which outsiders have been allowed to examine in detail would seem to show a definite series of links between the foundation’s research grants and the systems where the biologic innovations which brought down the Empire were first introduced and commercialized.

  That biologics hastened the fall of the Empire is not the question, though some have questioned the importance of that hastening, nor is the fact that the biologic revolution foreshadowed the development of the Commonality in question. Neither, for that matter, will this commentary question whether the captain actually developed or merely spread such biologic techniques.

  This, of course, lays aside the central question of whether there was a captain in the sense that those on Old Earth or the Believers have consistently claimed. That is a question for another time, since someone, or some series of individuals, did in fact promote biologics, and that promotion was the cause of a great and widespread unrest among the majority of systems then associated with the Empire.

  What must be questioned most strongly, however, is the naivete that unhesitatingly assumes that such tremendous social and political changes were accomplished “without legions, without loss.” It is conceivable that the initial introduction of such techniques may have been accomplished with minimal unrest, but the subsequent history has been, if one wills, illustrated in the blood of the casualties.

  One can only wonder, at times, assuming there was a captain, at either the callousness or the obsessions which could have motivated him, not to mention the personal burden . . .

  From COMMENTS

  Frien G’Driet Herlieu

  New Avalon

  5536 N.E.C.

  XL

  SINCE CORSON HAD not left Scandia yet, if the Guild were after him. that was where the Guild operatives would be, reflected the pilot with the impassive face.

  He had debated not using the orbit station and grounding directly on Scandia, but coul
d find no advantage to doing so. He had not yet been forced to reveal that capability of the revamped scout, and did not want to any sooner than he had to, especially with the Guild involved.

  So now he sat in a rear seat in a Scandian shuttle as it dropped toward the port below.

  He wished he had been able to reach Allison, but orbit comm center indicated that her receiver had been blanked. Corson had no separate outlet. He had been forced to leave a message that he was arriving, and hoped that he was either in time or unnecessary. He was afraid he was simply too late.

  His fingers drummed on the armrest, and he looked at the pale metal overhead. Scandians did not believe in passenger ports or screens in their shuttles, and he always worried about the piloting of others.

  He sensed the nose lifting into a slight flare as the shuttle came out of the port turn, and he imagined the view as the pilot centered in on the landing grids, stark black against the winter white of the Scandian hills.

  “Please recheck your harnesses. Three minutes until touchdown”

  The shuttle pilot’s voice was repeated by the overhead speaker with the metallic overtones of equipment typically Scandian—durable, long-lasting, and not designed to do a single bit more than necessary for the complete job at hand. No stereo or full fidelity capabilities for mere voice repeating speakers.

  Clump.

  Gerswin’s grip on the armrests relaxed as the shuttle touched the grids, and one hand reached for the harness release as the other rechecked the belt knives and sling leathers. He wore no stunner for the simple reason that all energy projection weapons were forbidden on Scandia. While he had no doubts that the Guild had circumvented that prohibition, he saw no sense in wearing one only to have the Scandians secure it for the length of his stay. If he used it, then more explanations would be required.

  Gerswin stood at the lock before the others had even begun to unstrap, forcing himself to remain relaxed as he waited for the ground crew to open the double portals.

  A senior commander, I.S.S., his brown hair shot with gray, joined him, while the couple who had been sitting in front of him waited in their seats.