The Sky is Filled With Ships

by Richard C. Meredith

  “No.”

  “May I ask your business with Citizen Franken, Captain?”

  “I’m Robert Janas. Citizen Franken will know my business.”

  “Citizen Franken is very busy,” the girl said in a mechanical voice. “It is customary to have appointments well in advance. Could someone else help you?”

  “No,” Janas said flatly. “Tell him I’m here. I think he’ll see me.”

  “Please have a seat and I’ll call you, Captain.”

  Janas smiled and went to sit down in a plush, overstuffed chair some few meters away.

  The girl punched out a code on the communicator on her desk and in a few moments was speaking to some intermediary in the long chain between her and the man who ran the Solar Trading Company.

  Though he could not hear the girl’s words because of her hush hood, he could see the movement of her lips. Over the years as a commander of men Robert Janas had picked up something of lip reading. He could at least follow the girl’s end of the conversation.

  “There is a Captain Robert Janas here to see Citizen Altho Franken,” said the girl’s moving lips. “No, he doesn’t have an appointment. I don’t know. He wouldn’t say.” Her lips did not move for a few moments. “Yes, ma’am, that’s right. Captain Robert Janas.” “Tall, dark, rather good-looking in an odd sort of way.” Janas smiled to himself. “Oh, I’m not sure. Maybe a hundred.” “It is! Yes, ma’am.”

  The girl looked up at Janas and smiled, but did not speak. Janas smiled back and the girl bent to some papers on her desk, apparently passing him out of her mind.

  Two more persons had approached her particular desk and requested to speak to someone in the STC hierarchy before the light of her communicator began to blink.

  “Maura,” the girl’s lips said behind her hush hood as she flipped the communicator on. “Yes, ma’am,” her lips said after a moment. “Yes, ma’am, I certainly will.”

  The girl rose and turned toward Janas. “Captain Janas,” she said, “Citizen Franken will see you now. Please follow me.”

  Several people looked up in surprise at this stranger who was going in to see Citizen Altho Franken without an appointment weeks in advance. The name “Janas” passed across the lips of a few, and to some of them that name seemed to mean something.

  The girl led Janas out of the reception room and down a long corridor. Twice she seemed about to speak but apparently thought better of it and remained silent. Janas was wondering why when they came to the desk of a dark young man, dressed in a conservative, old-fashioned business suit.

  “Captain Robert Janas to see Citizen Franken,” the girl said to the young man as he rose.

  “Thank you, Maura. How do you do, Captain,” the young man said, offering his hand. “I am Milton Anchor, Citizen Franken’s personal secretary. Citizen Franken is expecting you. Please go right in.”

  Janas thanked him, crossed the office and stood before the two huge, wooden doors, waiting until Anchor signaled Franken and then pressed a button that opened the doors.

  Altho Franken, far across the huge, palatial office, rose to his feet.

  “Bob,” Franken said, “am I glad to see you!”

  “It’s good to see you again, Al,” Janas said.

  “Have a seat.” Franken gestured toward a chair beside his big desk. “Care for a drink? Cigar?”

  “No, thanks,” Janas said, sitting down and taking a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.

  “God, it’s been a long time,” Franken said, sitting back and pouring himself a drink from his desk bar.

  Franken had aged, Janas thought. Ten years had added flesh to his body, creases to his face, grayness to his hair. His eyes seemed oddly recessed, almost hidden by dark, loose folds of flesh. There was a paleness about him that was more than lack of sun; it was a deeper, inward paleness such as prolonged fear gives to some people.

  “How long has it been, Bob?” Franken asked.

  “Ten years.”

  “It seems longer than that.”

  “It’s been a busy ten years,” Janas said.

  “It has. A lot has happened, Bob, maybe more than you realize. You haven’t been on Earth. You don’t know what’s going on here.”

  “Maybe you don’t know what’s going on Out There,” Janas said, gesturing toward the sky.

  “You may be right,” Franken said absently. He was silent for a few moments as he sipped the drink in his hand.

  “How is Enid?” he asked at length.

  Janas did not respond at once but looked at Franken, wondering how he knew about her.

  “Oh, I keep tabs on my friends, Bob,” Franken said with an overly friendly smile. “I know all about you and Enid.”

  Janas felt anger smoldering within him but fought it down. Al Franken had no business prying into his personal affairs—or did he?

  “I’m sorry,” Franken said in a conciliatory tone. “I mean, I had no intention of offending you. I just like to know what’s going on.”

  Janas shrugged. Franken smiled and took a cigar from the ornate case on his desk. After wetting it he lit it with an old-fashioned lighter and leaned back in his chair. Janas let the incident pass, knowing that Franken was going on to an even more serious subject.

  “Did I do the right thing, Bob?” he asked at last. There was something in his voice that told Janas that he did not want the truth but merely agreement. Janas could not do that.

  “No,” he said simply.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Bob,” he said, a slight sinking to his voice.

  “It’s not a feeling, Al,” Janas said slowly. “I know you did the wrong thing.”

  “How can you know?” Franken asked suddenly. “You haven’t sat in this chair and watched the work of a thousand years begin to crumble around you. You can’t know, Bob. You can’t!”

  “Do you know what’s going on Out There, Al?”

  “Of course I know,” Franken said, almost in anger. “Every bit of available data was fed into one of the finest computers in the system. It came up with the conclusions, not me. I just acted on the facts.”

  “Have you been Out There? Have you seen what they’ve done to Odin? Do you know how badly off Isis is? Have you seen what’s left of Antigone? Cassandra?”

  “I haven’t been out there,” Franken said. “I couldn’t go. There’s too much to do here. But I have men out there. I have their reports and I’ve seen their tapes. I know what’s going on Out There as well as you do, probably better.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “I have a thousand agents Out There, Bob. I receive reports almost every day.”

  “Spies, Al,” Janas said. “And how do you know that their reports are true? How do you know that they aren’t afraid to tell you the truth? How do you know they belong to you and not to the Federation?”

  “Don’t be melodramatic, Bob.”

  “I have my own reports, Al,” Janas said. “It took me ten years, every cent I had and the lives of two of my friends to get them. You promised to read them before you committed yourself.” He opened his attaché case. “Now submit these tapes to your computer and see what it says, then make up your mind.”

  “I’ve already made up my mind.”

  “I know,” Janas said bitterly.

  “I’m sorry, Bob. I wanted to wait until I had talked with you but there wasn’t time. I had to make my decision and I did. I’m sticking by it, Bob.”

  “Let me show you these reports!”

  “I haven’t the time,” Franken said slowly. “I appreciate what you’ve done but it really doesn’t matter now. I saw the Federation’s reports and I have my own. You can’t tell me anything I don’t already know.”

  “For God’s sake , Al…”

  “Please, Bob, have a drink. I know it’s been a rough ten years, but you’re home now.”

  Janas leaned back in his chair, savagely snuffing out a cigarette and reaching for another.

  “Okay,” he said slowly. “Give me a Braje
n, Al.”

  “That’s better,” Franken said, smiling and reaching for the bottle.

  “That doesn’t mean I’m quitting, Al.”

  “I think you should. You’re a Terran, Bob. I’d think you’d be arguing for me to give aid to the Federation.”

  “I’m not asking you to help the rebels.”

  “No?” Franken asked. “What do you want then?”

  “I want you to keep the STC alive until this mess is over. I want the STC to live through what’s coming.”

  “With our help the Federation stands a good chance of winning,” Franken said, handing Janas his drink. “And besides, the Federation is the lawful government.”

  “Lawful government!” Janas said angrily. “Your ancestors never talked that way. The presidents in the old days never recognized any government’s right to decide the life or death of the STC. They and the STC existed in their own right and knew that they didn’t need anyone’s approval to do it.”

  “Things have changed, Bob.”

  “They sure as hell have.”

  “Please, Bob.” Franken paused. “We owe the Federation this much.”

  “We owe the Federation nothing, Al,” Janas said, lifting the Brajen to his lips. “The STC built the first starships and opened up the stars. We made it possible for Earth to become united and to form the Federation with the planets we colonised. The STC made the Federation, Al. We owe the Federation nothing at all.”

  “You and I are citizens of the Federation,” Franken said. “We owe it allegiance.”

  “Allegiance to a mockery? The Federation’s a denial of the very principles that created it. It’s an empire, Al, a sick, rotten empire. Henri Kantralas was a citizen too—is he the sort of man who avoids his responsibilities?”

  “Kantralas is a rebel!”

  “And Jonal Herrera is a tyrant,” Janas replied. “He’s a two-bit dictator who bribed and blackmailed his way to the chairmanship. He’s dirt under your feet, Al. How can you deal with a man like that?”

  “He is the Chairman,” Franken said.

  “Does that make everything he does right?”

  “No,” Franken said slowly, “but at least he has the law behind him.”

  “Law!” Janas snorted. “You always fall back on that. What does law mean to people like him? What does law mean to the Federation now? Do you think a man like Kantralas would involve himself with the rebel side if there were any justice in Herrera’s cause?”

  “Kantralas is a rebel,” Franken said again. “He broke his oath to the Federation.”

  “He broke his oath, yes, and he did it in public, before the whole Federation. He hasn’t kept anything a secret. Herrera breaks his oath of office a dozen times a day.”

  “I don’t like Herrera either, but…”

  “Why do you think Kantralas joined the rebels, Al?” Janas interrupted. “You don’t know what the Federation’s done Out There. They’ve left you and the STC alone because they weren’t sure they could take on the STC while they were fighting the rebels, but that didn’t stop them Out There. Why do you think the rebels have the popular support they have— and they have popular support, Al, despite what the Federation says. The people are fed up with the Federation and are willing to die rather than endure its tyranny any longer.”

  “I know they’ve had trouble Out There, Bob, but a lot of it couldn’t be helped.”

  “And a hell of a lot more of it could have been!”

  “What do you think I should have done?” Franken asked. “Thrown my support to Kantralas?”

  “No,” Janas answered. “Any open move to support the rebels would have brought the Federation down on you. Herrera wouldn’t have wanted to open a second front, especially when things were going so badly in the Cluster, but he would have done it to keep you from helping the rebels.

  “You should have kept out of it, Al, remained neutral. The STC has operated that way for twelve hundred years, and it should have stayed that way. The Federation wouldn’t act against us as long as we didn’t openly support the Alliance, and Kantralas would have recognized our neutrality.”

  “How do I know that?”

  “You know what kind of man Kantralas is,” Janas said, “and you know that Herrera is afraid of the STC.”

  “Look, Bob, try to see it my way. If I had failed to support Herrera, he would have held it against me. If the Federation wins, Herrera would take the first opportunity to crush the STC.”

  “He’d do that anyway,” Janas said. “But the Federation won’t win. It can’t.”

  “Wait,” Franken said, an almost hysterical edge to his voice, “suppose Kantralas does win. He’s an old man and there are a lot of younger men waiting to grab his power—and they aren’t the kind of man he is. Kantralas will die or somebody will kill him, and then there’s going to be hell to pay. One of those hotheads will try to take over the STC because he’ll be afraid of us.”

  “Yes, I agree,” Janas replied. “That’s the point I’m trying to make. Look at the facts, Al. Read my reports. Once the Federation is beaten, the Alliance of Independent Worlds won’t hold together. There are a hundred and one systems just waiting for that moment to declare their total independence. The Alliance will fall apart within a year without a really strong personality—and a really strong reason—to hold it together. Then there won’t be a single man or group strong enough to attack the STC and hope to win. We’ll be the strongest power in the Spiral Arm.”

  “I still think our chances are better with the Federation.”

  “You wouldn’t if you knew the facts.”

  “I know the facts, Bob.”

  “I don’t think you do. Take Odin, for example. That’s the most advanced planet in the Federation outside of Earth, or was. Odin has been building starships for centuries. It had the finest university in the Federation. It’s ruins now, Al. The university is gone. The factories are destroyed. The spaceports have been all but smashed. Without help it will be five hundred years before Odin has the industrial facilities to build another starship. And Odin is better off than most. You don’t build starships with the same industrial facilities you build steam engines, and the star worlds will be doing well to build steam engines when this is over.

  “Someone’s got to survive this war and the wars that will follow, Al. Someone who can help keep interstellar civilization going.”

  A strangely blank expression had come across Franken’s face while Janas spoke. Finally he slowly rose from his desk saying, “I know you mean well, Bob, and I appreciate it. But I’m the one who has to make the decisions.”

  The door at the end of the large office opened and Franken’s personal secretary, Milton Anchor, stepped in.

  “Yes, Citizen Franken?”

  “Captain Janas is leaving, Milt. Would you see that he has comfortable quarters? Nothing but the best.” Turning to Janas he said, “Milt will read over your reports, Bob, and when he has given me a digest of them I’ll talk with you again. Perhaps I can show you some Federation reports that will change your mind.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “You are planning on staying here in the hostel, aren’t you?”

  Janas shrugged, wondering where there was to go now. Earth was no longer his home but he could not go back starward now, not yet, if ever. “I’m staying,” he said slowly.

  Chapter VIII

  The greatest armada of starships in Earth’s history moved phantom-like through the grayness of Non-space, out to meet another fleet that might be larger still, and between them they would decide the fate of the thousand-year-old Terran Federation.

  Nearly a millennium before, in the year 2504 by the old calendar, the city-states of Terra and the fledgling colonies of the star worlds, established by the great interstellar corporations that had dominated Terran political life for nearly two centuries, sent their representatives to the city of Geneva, South Central Europe, Earth. The Articles of Federation, drafted by that convention, bound all mankind into a s
ingle whole, a free and democratic republic. Pax Terra settled across Man’s expanding domain, an era of peace during which the starships of the Solar Trading Company, older by nearly three centuries than the Federation and, in those days, more powerful, spread farther and farther into the stars, opening the Rim, colonizing the worlds of the Cluster.

  The “Golden Age” of the Federation gradually became the “Imperium.” Power and authority slowly gravitated to Geneva, into the hands of the Chairman, so subtly that few men even knew that it was taking place. As the centuries passed, a sickness grew out of the dark places of the minds of the men who ruled the Federation, eating at the ancient freedoms of its citizens until, one after another, those freedoms existed only as privileges subject to revocation at any bureaucrat’s despotic whim.

  Eight hundred years after the Federation’s founding, the burden became too great, the sickness too vile. Here and there, on a dozen, then two dozen scattered worlds of the thousand ruled by the Federation, men began to gather together, to form grievance committees, to draft petitions, to demand redress.

  In the beginning, the Chairman could afford to ignore the isolated demands, could send in his hand-picked troops to quell disturbances and uprisings, but only for a while. Inexorably, beyond the control of any man, the idea of rebellion sprang from world to world. “Down with the Federation!” became a rallying cry, and the motto of the rebels became these words from an anonymous pamphlet: “Let us have done with old Earth; she has had her time. We shall offer up our lives, if need be, but somehow, someway, we shall strike out and make our own destinies.”

  The year 846 of the Federation was the year during which the worlds of the Rim, Orpheus, Loki, Prometheus, a dozen others, joined together and pledged themselves to bringing an end to the Federation. The Alliance of Independent Worlds was born.

  Aware of the potential threat, the Chairman sent a fleet to crush the upstarts, warning others to stay clear of them or they too would feel the wrath of Federal indignation. The warships from Earth entered the Rim, bore down toward Orpheus—and met another, smaller, hastily assembled, poorly armed fleet. The rebels, what there were of them, had come to do battle.