"No- I mean, hold on." Quick marshalled words. "I do appreciate your efforts, Miz Palamas, and won't forget them. But this matter is more critical than I'm free to tell you. I'm afraid I must call further on your patience."
He leaned nearer to pickup. "This has to be done as secretly as possible," he said. "Nothing must leak to the news media, not a hint, not a whisper. Basically, I'm invoking my ministerial powers under the Covenant of the Union. That spaceship will be ordered to head straight for the T machine and return to the Phoebean System, maintaining outercom silence, under the severest penalties for noncompliance.
"Do you understand me, Miz Palamas? The severest penalties. You and I have a long night's work ahead of us. I have to notify the appropriate people, confer with them, get the arrangements made. You have to call your superiors, refer them to me, take for granted that their consent will be forthcoming while you start space units scrambling to enforce my order. Do you read me well, Miz Palamas?"
"I think. . . think I do. . . Mr. Minister."
"Good." Quick flashed a taut smile. "I repeat, your service in this emergency will not be forgotten. Now let's take a few minutes to discuss exactly what all this means and how we can best operate."
She was middle-aged and dumpy; a check during the day had revealed she was placidly married and a registered member of the Constitution Party; but Quick had gotten eager cooperation out of harder cases than that.
The fear in him began to melt. Brodersen & Co. were fugitives from the law on Demeter, accused of conspiracy against public order. He had the warrants that said so. He also-given support in the right quarters-had authority to dispatch them back through the gate, incommunicado, subject to a nuclear warhead at the slightest sign of rebellion. Meanwhile he'd alert Aurie and she could prepare to take them in charge.
The details and contingencies were endless, of course. For instance, no vessel was anywhere near the Wheel except for Chinook herself and empty Emissary. Brodersen might attempt something desperate. No matter how smoothly the business went, Ira Quick had no limit of work to do, and afterward no limit of trail covering and explaining away. He would need strong help, yes, on the highest level.
Moreover, this crisis made him see with full clarity that he and his fellows had stalled too long, too weakly merciful, about the final disposition of Emissary and her personnel. The time was over past to act, for the sake of humanity.
That knowledge was unexpectedly exhilarating. Quick practiced a fighting grin. By heaven, Brodersen, he thought, I've got you corraled, I'm about to saddle and mount and break you. . . but thanks for the challenge!
XVIII
When the directive reached Chinook, her captain's first response was to issue a command of his own: "Cut the engine, five minute phasedown." A siren hooted warning. Crewfolk hastened to secure loose objects and find handholds for themselves. Meanwhile thrust dropped steadily until the ship fell free, under no acceleration save that of the distance-dwindled sun toward which she was bound.
Caitlin arrowed from their apartment into the office where Brodersen was. She had quickly and gleefully mastered weightless motion. Trouble could not altogether sober away from her face and body the joy of flying. The slim, coverall-clad form shot through the doorway between, banked off two successive bulkheads with a hand and a foot, reached the desk, seized a crossbar on its edge, came to a halt with an effort that sent blood surging to cheeks and bronze locks tumbling about them, and, floating, stretched across to plant a kiss on the man's mouth.
"Easy, hey, easy," he said. His own massive frame sat buckled into a chair. "We got a decision or three to make, fast."
She turned grave. "What is it hauled you in here?"
"That call from Stef," he said unnecessarily. The mate, on watch in the command center, had received the message and summoned Brodersen to the private line.
"You've thunder on your brow. What's wrong, my life?"
"You'll hear when the rest do." His arm brushed her and nearly tore her loose as he reached for the intercom switch.
"By God, you may be right. Hold on, everybody." Brodersen
Temper flared. She reached to slap back at him. "Would you be shoving me about like a dead thing?"
"Damnation," he half snapped, half pleaded, "we may have to make for the Wheel, and every second we're a couple of hundred kilometers closer to passing by it."
Instantly contrite, she did not waste time apologizing, but stroked fingers across his head. "Captain to crew," he declaimed. "Attention. We've received word from Earth-long-range `cast, and they must've gone to a lot of trouble to locate and identify us. It's got a government call sign. We're wanted on Demeter on, quote, `grave charges of conspiracy against public order and safety.' We're to proceed straight to the T machine. No, not quite straight. They specify the flight parameters. We'll come nowhere near enough to anyplace to make our announcement, with the outercom equipment we've got. Besides, we're forbidden to speak to anybody, except an official vessel that contacts us first. We're warned that watchships have been assigned to enforce all this by, quote, `strictest means appropriate.' The writ is in the name of Ira Quick, Union Minister of R & D, and invokes nothing less than full emergency powers."
He drew breath. "In short, brethren and sisters, the enemy is onto our game, faster'n I feared, and we're ticketed for the same oblivion that Emissary is in, or worse. What to do about it?"
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!" had burst from Caitlin before she steadied herself, clung white-knuckled to the bar, and regarded him through eyes gone emerald-hard. A babble came over the intercom. "Quiet!" Brodersen shouted.
When he had it, he said: "Either we go along like good little taxpayers or we take counteraction of some kind. But counteraction will have to start right away, I imagine. That's how come I stopped thrust. Which don't gain us much time, though. Think fast, people."
"We should be meeting together, the way we are not only voices to each other," Caitlin protested.
"Yeah, but I told you, our sunward speed-"
"Could we not be cutting it the while, aye, and aiming toward that Wheel of infamy? If we do decide to be meek after all, then they'll not know on Earth what we did beforehand, will they, now?" he tugged his chin as he reflected aloud. "Let's see. . . killing our present vector and applying one for rendezvous . . . yeah, I'd guesstimate we can maneuver for two-three hours before radars that're a.u. distant from us can spot the difference. . . finite signal speed, large probable error . . . and besides, the way we're supposed to go lies in that general direction-Yes!" He slapped his desktop, a gunshot noise and a violent countermotion of his harnessed body. "I'll bet my left ball against your virginity, Pegeen, we can lay a course clear to the Wheel, such that none of `em yonder, no closer than the orbit of Mars, can tell we aren't working toward the path they want us in."
His tone approached a roar: "Stef and Phil! Start us braking. Half a gee. That won't commit us beyond redemption in a couple of hours."
"Had we not best beam a message to Earth at once, to say we will obey?" Zarubayev asked.
"Sure, sure," Brodersen agreed. "The order specifies the form of our reply. Nothing but the number one-oh-one, addressed to a particular Astro Board official but with no identification of us. They really are leaning into the secrecy, aren't they? Okay, Stef, put it out on the laser.
"So," he went on, "do you savvy what this is about? Before we can plan, we need more facts. Hook yourself up and compute if we can reach the Wheel while looking, from the inner System, as if we're just angling toward the prescribed track. That is, how long might we reasonably be occulted by it? Take account of every station which may be fingering us, but don't forget to figure in how much the radar disc of the Wheel may be enlarged by its radiation shield. Can do?"
"Wiz probability only." Granville's reply was cooler than anyone would have awaited who did not know her well. "No guarantee."
"Shucks, all we ever do in this universe is play odds, How long will you need?"
"All an
hour, per'aps, mostly for to search out the data."
"Good. If your answer is positive, we'll start boosting whichever way you figure is optimum for getting to the Wheel unbeknownst Then we'll meet in the common room and wrangle. I favor a rescue operation for the Emissary people. You may disagree," Brodersen told his crew at large. "Put your arguments together while you wait. Think hard. Pray for guidance, if you're so inclined. . . but think!"
Afterward, in his mind, he rehearsed what they said-not the actual words, which were scattered in fragments, spoken into each other's mouths, disorganized as words always are when several human beings try to reason together-but a kind of synopsis, an attempt to frame the different spirits wherein they left the gathering.
Sergei Zarubayev, glacier-practical: "What choice has the cabal left itself except to kill us?"
Stefan Dozsa, roughly, his fist punishing his knee: "And they will continue in the government. They may well become the government. So it goes from despotism to tyranny."
Philip Weisenberg, ashiver with emotion he seldom showed:
"This looks like our first chance, man's first chance, to find the Others. Will we let it be the last?"
Martti Leino, furious: "No! God damn you, Daniel Brodersen, haven't you gotten the family you're supposed to be responsible for in enough trouble already?" -but later he yielded, sullenly, in part because he was alone, in part because Dozsa gibed at his courage till the skipper stopped that.
Caitlin Muiryan, aloud and ablaze: "What do you mean, saying I must stay inboard whilst you make your raid? I'll have you know.-" and she too needed calming down before she gave reluctant consent to his tactics.
Susanne Granville, softly: "Why would I `ave come along, my captain, if not to follow you?"
Himself: "Maybe I overplayed my hand, making for here. I do honestly think not. I did underestimate the opposition-mainly, I suppose, Aurie Hancock. But it stands to reason they'd've acted as fast and decisively if we'd gone straight to Earth; and we'd've had far less room for maneuver; and for sure we'd not have the evidence we do, that Emissary is back.
"Well, `twill be mighty easy to send her off toward Sirius, manned by the corpses of her crew, and not much harder to dispose of us. I'm not saying this will happen, but I am saying `twouldn't surprise me. You want to sit idle under such a risk?
"If we can snake Langendijk's band out of you jail -I'm personally convinced it is a jail- 'What then?' you ask. I don't know, except that then we've got the real clinching proof. The pictures we've taken of Emissary through the scanners we might have faked, but how can we have faked the people? And, you know, they may have picked up some useful capabilities wherever they've been.
"We mustn't count on that, of course. I've developed a couple of alternative battle plans which I'd like to sketch out for you. They're strictly tentative. We'll have to see how the bones roll. We're not playing poker any more, you realize, we're shooting craps.
"If you accept my notions, I'll next have to try and find out if there is any possibility of us pulling off a whizzer at the Wheel. Maybe there isn't."
Weisenberg cut insignia out of sheet metal, Caitlin did a little retailoring, and Brodersen was attired like a rear admiral in the space corps of the Peace Command. Alone in the command center, he waited for the outercom to establish contact for him.
Silence enfolded his head, somehow deepened by the low weight which settled him in his chair. He heard the breath in his nostrils, felt the collar at his throat. Stars glistened multitudinous in the screens, the Milky Way gleamed around its lanes of darkness, the Solar disc stood pharaonic between wings of light. High magnification in one display showed him his target, spokes and rim slowly turning as if to grind an unknown grist. The captive ship was not in that field and he didn't reset the scanner toward her, for he had seen and made a record; he had seen.
Leino's initial protest rose while he waited, to move spookily around within him. Have I the right? I'm committed now, but should I ever have begun? It could be that Quick and his bunch are trying to protect us from something ghastly.
Ha! his rational and his willful selves responded together.
Well, but should I have stayed home anyway? the ghost wondered. Less on account of Lis, though she's who Martti was thinking of, than Barbara and Mike. Their own dear fetches came to snuggle in his lap; he could nearly feel the warmth and scent the gentle odor that only small children have. it's not as if Demeter won't be ample for their lifetimes. In fact, an opening to the galaxy `ud mean all sorts of revolution, maybe good-I believe that but might be wrong-or maybe bad, but nothing for sure any longer . . . the kind of surety their father ought to make for them.
He stiffened. Horse shit! he flung forth for an exorcism. Must I tramp over this ground again? The Union isn't stable, no country is, the real for-certain hell is brewing on Earth itself, and Demeter's a hop through the gate from here. But everywhere around is a universe full of newness, new homes, new knowledge, new ideas. The single thing it hasn't got is absolute security. No part of it does. The closest we can come to that is through opportunity.
Hoy, the buzzer. End of sermon, huh?
He pressed accept. The telescreen presented the image of a young man, in civilian garb but of disciplined bearing. Nonetheless, astonishment registered. Brodersen's anxieties went down a notch. Obviously they'd received no word at the Wheel.
"Peace Command special mission," he said. "Matthew Fry, admiral, commanding transport Chinook." His pseudonym he borrowed from Caitlin's housesitter. As for his ship, a fictitious designation was unadvisable; Reina-class craft were too few.
About three seconds passed while light waves bore his statement across space, plus reaction time at the far end, plus the time for a reply to arrive-eleven heartbeats; Brodersen counted them, and at the back of his brain~ felt pleased that they were no more. "Sir, you-pardon, sir," the young man gulped. "We had no inkling anyone was anywhere near us."
What I reckoned on. Why should you keep a lookout? And why should Quick notify you? That might cause you to wonder a bit. Nor will his radars show if we go the whole way to you, because you'll be occulting us for hours.
I did fear that you might've overheard the radio message to us. But again, you had no cause to be listening. A fly communication to you will go on a nice economical laser beam, your orbit being exactly known.
"You weren't supposed to have that information till now,"
Brodersen said. "Connect me with your chief: sealed circuit." Time. "Sir, he's off duty, asleep. Can it wait?"
Brodersen had been alert for such a chance to learn more. He put on his martinet expression. "Insubordinate, are you?" he barked. "State your service, rank, and name."
Time. It was hard to browbeat a person through a transmission lag like this. However, a top-deck PC officer was impressive, especially in space where he held almost life-and-death powers. "Pardon, sir? I, yes, of course, I'll buzz Colonel Troxell at once."
"I required your service, rank, and name. You will give them to me."
Time. He in the Wheel blanched and said helplessly: "North American secret service, Lieutenant Samuel Webster, sir."
So that's who I'm dealing with. Yeah, Quick's North American.
It figures. "You'd better learn to snap to orders if you don't want to get busted, Lieutenant Webster. Well, I won't put you on report. Get me the colonel."
Time. "Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"
More time passed, minutes. Brodersen wished his image allowed him to light his pipe.
A burly man, hair hastily brushed and tunic hastily thrown on, appeared in the screen. "Troxell speaking." His gaze probed. "Admiral, uh, Fry? Welcome, sir. You catch us unprepared, I'm afraid, but we'll do our best." The closing of his lips which signified that he was through talking had a military snap.
"Very good," Brodersen said. "First, you will maintain total outercom silence except to this ship. If you happen to get a message, I want to know what it is and dictate your reply. I'll give you the reason short
ly. Second, I want to raise my acceleration to a gee, which will let me dock at the Wheel in five or six hours. Is that feasible?"
Time. "Well. . . yes. . . but-Admiral, as a routine matter I'd like to see your orders."
Not unexpected. `Will you transmit me yours, Colonel?"
Time. "What? Pardon. Kindly explain."
Brodersen chuckled as he supposed Admiral Fry would. "You're operating under extreme security. The North American secret service isn't noted for passing confidential documents around carelessly. Neither is the Peace Command. We'll put both our Omega spools in your reader when I arrive, and compare." Scanning for transmission would automatically wipe the encoded information.
Time. "Your mission's really that secret?"
"Since it relates to yours, yes. Colonel, brace yourself. You've been guarding the members of the Emissary expedition. Are you ready to add a follow-up load of nonhumans?"
The effect was as powerful as Brodersen had hoped. (Otherwise he might have turned tail then and there and tried to convey his news to another spacecraft or two, an isolated asteroid base or two, before the watchships hunted him down-poor though the chances were that that would do any good.) Troxell's doubts vanished. They had been feeble from the outset, for he had no grounds for suspecting that anybody outside the government and the Faraday crew had any intimation of the facts.
Still, Brodersen must work warily, though with unlimited brass. In effect, he, holding two pair, was seeking to bluff out a full house. Pretending to knowledge he did not possess, he must get it from Troxell under guise of telling his own story.
As for that: After Emissary returned, the PC had planted an extra guard on the Phoebean T machine. A strange vessel did emerge. She was boarded and her crew made prisoners without resistance. Having already leased Chehalis' well-equipped but idle exploratory ship, the PC took them and their essentials away for safekeeping. To forestall any speculations, Fry declared when he entered the Solar System that his destination was Vesta, and went spaceward of his true goal before doubling back toward it.
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