But his daydream of that woman, like most of the other fantasies by which he tried to live, was fatally flawed. After many decades of life, and connections with a great many women, he still had no idea of who she was.
She was certainly not to be identified with any of his many wives. He had been for some time thoroughly separated from all of them, and it was amazing how little he felt the loss.
It wasn't the idea of the thousands and thousands of people who had denounced the Emperor of the Galaxy, deserted him and opposed him, that Julius found truly unendurable. No. Rather, it was the thought of the trillions, some dead, some living now, who had been untouched by his greatness. Before today's events, the chances had been high that they did not even know his name, and probably never would.
The four berserkers were still standing at attention in front of him, almost like a military guard of honor, and now one of them suddenly spoke. It asked him: "Are there other emperors?"
"Does the question come from Shiva?"
"It does."
"Then let me say that I still await the personal presence of Shiva aboard my ship."
"I am on my way."
Are there other emperors? Julius didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Though usually he managed to avoid thinking about the subject, he knew perfectly well that scattered among the trillions of the Galaxy there were perhaps as many as a hundred of his rivals, other prophets, cult-leaders. Maybe none of them called himself emperor, but that was unimportant. Probably dozens of them, maybe scores, were more successful than the Emperor Julius had ever been, each claiming more followers than Julius had ever had-and the average citizen of the Galaxy had never heard of any of those scores or dozens either.
As soon as the fact and the importance of Shiva had been explained to Julius, he had understood what he must do. For a long time he had misjudged his own true importance in the universe, but now he understood at last just what his destiny must be.
For years, Julius had been isolated on the Galactic backwater of Good Intentions, with defeat staring him in the face, the bitter taste of human ridicule in his throat. But now he had left all that behind him-and his life, his career, were rushing on toward a very different sort of conclusion.
At times over the past few years, he had been strongly tempted by daydreams of someday being able to take a magnificent revenge upon the entire Solarian human population of the Galaxy, to inflict upon them a just punishment for their impenetrable deafness and blindness to his message, their invincible ignorance of his very being. Their hatred would have been a kind of tribute. What was unendurable was to be ignored.
Even now, the folk of the Galaxy in their swarming trillions were totally unaware of the glorious thing that the Emperor Julius was about to accomplish. But such a state of affairs could not persist for very long. Whether Solarian humanity was going to win the battle of Hyperborea or lose it, Commander Normandy's couriers would be going out with news of the event. The news would spread swiftly, and certainly, to all the inhabited planets of the Galaxy. And those who today fought and died for the cause of life would never be forgotten. The name of the human who succeeded in destroying Shiva would be enshrined in human consciousness forever.
And while the surface of his mind was busy with these thoughts, quite a different idea kept trying to take form beneath the surface. Suppose-only suppose-he were to form an alliance with this berserker? But it was only the ghost of a temptation, and it died completely before it could take solid shape. Ruling as the mere puppet of any other authority, human or otherwise, would be unthinkable. Julius was quite willing to play a role when his destiny required it, to take orders in battle from a lowly Space Force commander, for example-but he wanted it understood that this was a gracious concession on his part. He could not acknowledge that any other authority was really greater than his own. Besides, he knew in his heart that berserkers would betray any agreement they might make. In this, at least, they were very much like human beings.
Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, the door of the airlock moved again, and three of his honor guards walked out of his ship, as quietly as they had come. A single berserker lander stepped in, carrying a strange-looking slab of metal. Some kind of solid-state device, the emperor thought, although he was no expert. Once the newcomer was completely in, the fourth member of the original honor guard departed also.
Julius stared at the motionless form that had just entered. "Shiva?"
The speaker of the supporting figure told him: "I have come aboard."
Slowly, deeply, the emperor drew in a breath. Now that the moment had come, he could not resist skirting once more the edges of the monumental betrayal, just to confirm in his own mind that the possibility existed. Feeling reasonably confident that no humans could hear him at the moment, he cleared his throat and said: "A question for Shiva."
"Ask."
"What will you give me in return for an alliance? For control of this ship?"
Shiva needed no time at all to think the proposition over. "Whatever you ask, if it is in my power to give."
Julius felt deep satisfaction. At long last, a truly great Galactic power, and the berserkers were certainly that, was taking him seriously-even if the offer was only to install him as their puppet ruler. And even if he did not believe their offer for a moment. His importance, his own Galactic stature at this moment, was proven by the fact that Shiva was taking him seriously enough to make a very serious effort to deceive him.
Suddenly he hoped devoutly that Commander Normandy and her people had somehow overheard the proposition made him by the enemy. Then history would be sure to grant him the full glory and credit for having turned it down.
Slowly he drew in breath, then let it out in a long, long sigh. His place in Galactic history was now secure.
"Welcome aboard," he said. "I am very glad that you are here." And turned his attention to the mental intricacies of activating his spaceship's c-plus drive.
What was that?"
Even down in the computer room, the ground shook violently with the detonation.
"That was the Galaxy." Normandy had been watching through a remote viewer as that last machine had gone in through the airlock and the others had played out their act of departing. Moments later, the ship had seemed to dissolve into pure light.
"What about Shiva?" Colonel Khodark was almost hanging over her shoulder. "Was that really Shiva that just went on board?"
"I wouldn't bet on it."
Karl Enomoto had had to leave the hospital at about the same time Harry Silver did. Since there was no longer any ship for Enomoto to pilot, he was ordered to join in the ground defense. And since people were watching, he'd had no choice but to obey the order.
But he'd been steadily on the lookout for a chance to get back to the hospital, to get the box of contraband out of the medirobot in which he'd hidden it while he and Silver were out in Silver's ship. That box would be worth a fortune to the authorities on Kermandie, and Enomoto did not intend to let that fortune slip through his hands.
The attempt to take control of one of the remaining Solarian ships had failed, but Shiva could not know disappointment, any more than it could know fear. Only one lander unit had been lost in the explosion, while Shiva itself had remained outside the ship, waiting until the true intentions of the badlife unit at the controls could be confirmed. Many badlife, when facing destruction, promised cooperation, but few indeed could be relied upon. The blast had not damaged Shiva's computational ability, or altered the purpose of its programming. Shiva felt nothing. The impact had been violent enough to cut off all sensory input, severing communication with the outside world, including all of its supporting machines.
Shiva could no longer receive information, or issue orders. It knew nothing of the current status of the battle, or even whether it was still on the surface of Hyperborea. Blind, deaf, and dumb, it could only wait, with nerveless patience, for one of its auxiliary machines to find it and reconnect it to the world.
Karl
Enomoto arrived at the hospital carrying his helmet under his arm and wearing on his face what he hoped was just the proper expression of concern.
In leaving his assigned post, he was taking a chance on being accused of desertion. But it was only a chance-and right now he didn't see any alternative.
Trying his best to achieve a winning smile, he calmly asked the robot desk clerk for information. "I'm looking for Lieutenant Becky Sharp. I'm one of the people who brought her in."
The human nurse who soon appeared recognized Enomoto as one of the heroic volunteers and was willing to go at least a little out of her way to try to help him.
"Good news for you, Lieutenant! Lieutenant Sharp isn't in the medirobot any longer! The unit was needed for someone worse off, and she wasn't as badly injured as you must have thought at first."
"That's great. Where can I find her, then?"
"I'm not sure where she is just now-"
"That's all right. As long as she's okay, I'll track her down." Enomoto paused to draw breath. "About that medirobot." He had memorized the serial number, just in case, and now was able to rattle it off. "Actually, there was an item of mine in that unit-a box with some stuff in it-it has some personal value to me-"
The nurse directed him.
Passing through the indicated door, he saw before him a long room filled almost to capacity.with rows of medirobots, devices like elaborate coffins with clear panels on the top so the body inside was visible. In most units, the glass was opaque up to the neck of the occupant, but this sheetlike modesty covering could be turned down by the movement of a human attendant's hand over the outer surface.
The adjoining ward, or room, was ordinarily reserved for people who were well enough to occupy ordinary beds but still were considered better off here than in regular quarters.
Enomoto started down the line of medirobot units, looking at the inconspicuously engraved numbers. He needed only a few seconds to locate the medirobot in which he'd concealed the box of contraband. Quickly bending to open the storage compartment in its base, he reached inside.
He brought out what he had been looking for-
One of the berserker landers, seeking another way to approach the computer room, detoured through the small base hospital. Recognizing the space for what it was, it began slashing through the power cables of medirobots to right and left as it progressed. The damned thing, already damaged before it got this far, was conserving its dwindling energies, saving its remaining capacity for violence for use against a harder target. It went rolling down the central aisle, between rows of units, like some deranged attendant.
Becky, less seriously injured than had first appeared, had shown strong signs of recovery and was now more or less up and about, but still in the hospital. When the tumult in the adjoining ward told her what was happening, she grabbed up a weapon and took an active role in the defense of the hospital. Or tried to do so.
There were some twenty or thirty patients, survivors of Marut's ambush as well as fresher casualties of the fighting on the ground. When the marauder appeared in the doorway, those who were able to run, or even to crawl, ran screaming, or dove under their beds in a futile search for shelter.
The killer machine need delay only a moment to hurl a bed aside and crush the cowering form beneath.
Heroic human medics tried to stop the invader, shoving furniture in front of it and uselessly smashing and spraying containers of chemicals on its back.
One lunging attendant carved a hole in the back of the invader, using a neutron scalpel. But a fraction of a second later, that valiant human was smashed aside, scattered and spattered, by the swing of a metal arm.
Enomoto was on the scene and fully armed, and he opened up with his carbine at once, conducting what looked like a fierce and almost suicidal defense of the helpless wounded.
Of course he stood his ground and fought, because that was the best means of preserving his own life. Nor did he want any berserker to destroy the smuggled box, not after he'd come this far in his scheme to get away with it.
Then the berserker was suddenly right on top of him, and something smashed with crushing force at Enomoto's armored legs, which broke like dry sticks inside their armor, collapsing under him. He could feel himself falling, going under momentarily with the pain and shock of his wounds.
His last thought before losing consciousness was of the box.
Harry Silver heard the sudden uproar from some distance down a corridor and came on at a dead run. By the time he reached the scene, the invading berserker was down, its legs shot out from under it, its armor breached, and then a finishing jolt administered through the hole. Patients were being wheeled and carried away from the steaming, glowing wreckage. He could see Becky at a little distance, out of her medirobot and looking to be in amazingly good shape.
The next thing that Harry noticed, lying inexplicably right on the floor of the hospital ward, was a small box of distinctive shape. He had last seen that box several days ago in the cabin of his own ship. Now it was simply lying there, and he picked it up.
"That belongs to Lieutenant Enomoto," said a nurse. She held out a hand. "I saw him holding it a moment ago. I'll see that he gets it."
"Like hell it belongs to him." Harry tucked the object tightly under his arm. "Who told you that?"
"Why, the lieutenant came here asking about his personal property. And then I saw him with the box in hand."
"Ah. Interesting. Very interesting. I see now why he was so gung ho to come with me to my ship. He must have found this lying around and just stuck it inside the medirobot while I was looking after Becky. And it rode into the base that way."
Harry and some others stood guard in the hospital for a while for fear there might be another invader coming through. Commander Normandy was soon present on the scene by means of a holostage. After more important matters had been dealt with, the controversy over the box was brought to her attention.
Turning to Harry, her image demanded: "If it's yours, why would Lieutenant Enomoto claim it?"
"Only one good reason I can think of. Because he's an agent of the Kermandie government."
"That's a strong accusation. When the fighting's over, I will have to have some explanation of this, Mr. Silver."
Some time ago, she had begun to wonder privately whether one of the six brave volunteers might not be the Kermandie agent that Intelligence had warned her to expect. There were, after all, very few ways for an outsider to obtain entry to this base. But she hadn't wanted to disrupt the battle preparations by an investigation.
"I can give you one right now, Commander. You told me your secrets, I'll tell you mine. Actually, that box, or what's in it, has a lot to do with my being here on Hyperborea." Harry shook his head slowly. "It's a long story."
Commander Normandy said: "Perhaps I'd better take custody of the property in question until this can be investigated."
Silver said: "I don't think that would be a good idea, Commander. It's mine, and it goes with me when I walk out of here."
"Before I can agree to that, Lieutenant, I'll have to see what its contents are. If they are contraband of some sort-" Claire was shaking her head.
"Only by Kermandie rules-I wouldn't call them laws. Want to see?" And before anyone could respond to the question, Harry was working at the latch that held the container shut. He said: "I expect that the dictator's people would pay pretty well for what's in here."
Commander Normandy was scowling. "The authorities on Kermandie are offering a reward for contraband? And you mean to take it to them?"
Silver exploded in three foul words. Then he added: "Just take a look, Commander. That'll explain things better than I can." Moving in front of an empty table, he flipped up the lid and dumped the box's contents out.
Normandy for once looked stunned. Instead of the drugs she had been expecting, she found herself gazing at what appeared to be a modest collection of personal belongings, including some torn and bloodstained clothing. Harry held up a long
shirt of some fine, silky fabric, running the material through his fingers, displaying the ugly stains for the woman on the holostage to see.
Silver was saying in a tight voice: "They belonged to a man whose holograph I've seen hanging on the wall of your office. Most decent folk think a lot of that man. The Kermandie government had him murdered some years ago."
"Hai San?"
"Who else?"
There were beads and other small objects, some less easy to classify, strung into a kind of necklace. No spacefarer's garments here. Nothing of real intrinsic value. A long shirt, with rents in the fine fabric, showing where and how the fatal wounds were made. A pair of pants, made from the same thin stuff. A few small coins. A leather belt, some sandals-
"As I told you, this was stolen from my ship, and I claim it as my property. By the way, I resign my commission."
No one paid any attention to his resignation. Well, if they didn't take him seriously, they wouldn't be able to say later that he hadn't warned them.
Hai San's relics, if they could be authenticated-and Harry knew these could be-ought to have enormous psychological value to certain factions of the population in Kermandie. The current rulers would go to great lengths to prevent their being found, or to discredit them.
"But you're not taking this to Kermandie," Normandy observed a little later, when they had a chance to talk in private
Silver shrugged. "I know some other people who'll pay me pretty well."
"Probably not as well as Kermandie would."
He squinted. "Am I going to have trouble with you, too? By the way, have we heard anything recently from Mr. Havot?"
Havot, after getting out of Harry's ship, had felt it necessary to return to the base. In doing so, he was taking a chance on being locked up again, but this was the only way to get someone to pilot his escape.
Shiva in Steel Page 26