The Stars Are Also Fire

by Poul Anderson

  “Do you deny it? Let me remind you, if the police find reason to make the effort, they can trace such things back. Databases record where interplanetary calls went from, where to, and when. But me, I’d start with the girl. Her father is dead, Erann. She’s a good kid. Not that she’d suspect you, not right away, but she’d be quite open to skillful questioning.”

  He sank back. “I would not have gone on,” he muttered, “save that I was told the friendship might someday prove valuable.”

  “Exploitable, you mean,” Dagny said heavily. “Your grandfather’s idea? Not that I reckon he had anything definite in mind. It was simply a potential to keep in reserve. Until all at once—” She pointed at his heart. Her voice whipped. The lash went through and through her. “Whose idea was it to try murdering Jaime Wahl? His, yours, the both of you?”

  He began to rise. Maybe he recognized that to break her apart would destroy him and his, for he lowered himself again and whispered, “You do not rave in a dream. You know what you utter. But why do you, my lady? Why?”

  Again Dagny sighed. Grief was a thickness in her throat. “Oh, I’m sure you saw the deed as—patriotic—if you have anything like a conception of what Earth calls patriotism. Do you? Doesn’t matter, I suppose. You’re young, idealistic in your way, born and bred in a hard world where life often goes cheap.

  “The scheme is easy to reconstruct. You sent Wahl a confidential message asking to see him at his place—in the crisis, he wouldn’t be anywhere else unless duty pulled him out—see him about his daughter. You admitted having kept in touch with her. Did you get her to message him as well? I’d rather think you didn’t. It wouldn’t have been really necessary. He’s her father, he loves her, he’d receive you, hoping to talk you out of marriage or whatever you threatened him with. You knew his habit of solitary swimming; everybody on Luna has heard of it. You knew that the right words, calculated to enrage and frustrate him, would soon drive him to the pool, to work off enough fury that he could carry on in his job.”

  “And what of that?” Erann demanded.

  “Only this. You’d slipped into that room and set the water thermostat way low, well under zero. Afterward, of course, you returned and set it high, because the ice had to be melted as fast as possible. Once that had happened, if you’d gotten the chance I suppose you’d have reset it for the regular temperature, but you didn’t, and I doubt you were counting on it. A warm pool would look kind of odd, but still the death would seem—accidental, or natural, if medically peculiar. In the general ruckus, and the Selenarchs touching off whatever hell they have planned, nobody would give the funny detail any close thought. By the time somebody figured out the truth, if anybody ever did, you’d be long gone. And we’d have far bigger problems on our hands.”

  Erann sat expressionless.

  Dagny smiled on the left side of her mouth. “Want me to spell it out, do you? Okay. Supercooling. If it isn’t disturbed, pure water can be cooled well down past its freezing point and stay liquid. Drop anything in, then, and it solidifies in a flash. Wahl plunged, and suddenly he was enclosed in ice. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe. Consciousness would have lasted a minute or two. A bad death, that. He deserved better.”

  Now Erann got up. He stood above her and said, with tiger pride, “Luna deserves better than him.”

  She wouldn’t let his height domineer her. She didn’t want to look into his face anyway. “Suppose the scheme had failed?” she pursued. “The crystallization could easily have been triggered prematurely.”

  “Then, were I accused, I would call it a jape, of intent merely to avenge humiliation. Did they doubt me, the question could not be tried before the contest for liberty had ended. Zamok Vysoki would be no worse positioned than aforetime.”

  “Nobody would buy that plea any more.”

  He shook his head. Brightness slid across the platinum locks. “Nay, clearly not, when he is in fact slain and you have bared the means. Investigation can belike find traces of me in the room. Denial can but degrade me, and I will not make it.”

  He soared across the floor and stood at the wall, as if to let her see him easily and entirely. “Besides,” he said, “you are now the one who grips hardest of any. I will not hamper or delay you. Maychance you can find an escape for all of us.”

  The sight of him blurred. Dagny rubbed her eyes. She would not weep. Damnation, she had work yet to do. But he was honorable, by his lights he was honorable, and having done what he could, he stood ready to suffer what he must.

  A thrilling went through her. He said that, had his plan miscarried, his cause would be no worse off. She couldn’t stop to quiz him further, nor to wonder whether it had slipped from him or was purposeful, a signal and an appeal to her. But it fitted in with what else she figured.

  “Stay put till you hear from me,” she ordered. “Look into yourself and think. Understand that you are the first Beynac who was ever a murderer. Then make what peace with your spirit you can.”

  She left him there and hastened back down the halls. Pain stabbed in her left knee and right shoulder, her pulse fluttered, she snatched after air. Mais vas-tu, ma vieille. “—when the journey’s over,” she thought, “there’ll be time enough to sleep.”

  Haugen awaited her. “I have Selenarch Brandir ready for you,” he announced as if it were an accomplishment.

  Dagny mastered her wheezing. “I assumed he wouldn’t stray far from a secure phone,” she said drily. “Okay, I need to speak with him in private. That means private. The communications room, right? Meanwhile see if you can get Anson Guthrie of Fireball on a similar line and ask him to stand by for me likewise.”

  She didn’t pause to note how the governor general of Luna took to being commanded around by an old female wreck, but continued on her way.

  With no personnel present, the communications room seemed doubly big and empty. Screens stood in blind rows, air hissed from the grilles, a fallen piece of paper rattled underfoot like a dead leaf. One holo-cylinder glowed live. Dagny sat down before it and pushed the Attention key.

  The head and shoulders of Brandir appeared. Behind him the image held a piece of a mural wall. The art was half naturalistic, wholly enigmatic to her. Her son’s face was lean, sharp, hollowed and honed by time. It was not quite real that once those lips had milked her breasts while she crooned a nonsense song over the tiny bundle.

  Yet: “Lady Mother,” he greeted formally. “In what may I serve your desire?”

  She turned her voice frosty. “You know full well.”

  “Nay. With deference, lady Mother, I tell you not to plead. You remember how I have refused calls from that Council of yours. Decision lies no longer with words.”

  “But you took this call because it was from the governor’s headquarters, and you’re hearing me out because obviously I’m there too and you’d God damn well better find out why. Okay, listen.”

  In a few short sentences, Dagny described her past several hours. His countenance stayed immobile. Flittingly she recalled an eagle she saw once in a zoo when she was a child. Such were the eyes that looked into hers.

  “I’m not about to pass judgment,” she finished. “You murdered a decent man whom I sometimes worked together with and sometimes fought but always liked; and you did it by means of a boy who’ll never quite get the corruption out of his soul; but we haven’t time for trivia like that, do we? What’s beyond argument is that you’re desperate.”

  Then Brandir smiled. “On the contrary, lady Mother, Luna is poised to seize what is rightly Luna’s.”

  “Don’t shovel me that shit.” He was the least bit taken aback at hearing that from her, she saw. “If you and your gang were really confident, you wouldn’t have wanted to change any factor in the equation. You’re an intelligent son of a bitch, if I do say so myself, and you’ve had a long experience in the unforgiving history you helped bring about. You know how easily human arrangements go to chaos. This assassination was as wild and precarious an operation as I’v
e ever heard of. It’s got to have been done in a mood of ‘What have we to lose?’

  “Wahl reacted faster and more firmly than you counted on. He was about to hit you with everything he had, if you didn’t back down, and you knew how slim your chances were. So try killing him in a way that didn’t seem like murder. Haugen’s not formidable, he’d dither and temporize while Wahl’s military preparations went to pieces and your faction had time to build up strength as you meant to do in the first place. Then, come the showdown, you’d have your full house, and you could hope the Federation would fold.”

  “I sorrow that you, of all folk, demark the cause of liberation evil,” Brandir said quietly.

  “Son of mine, son of mine, don’t insult me with slogans.” Don’t strike at my heart. “You know how I’ve worked for what I believe the Moon deserves. Today that is not my business. Frankly, I think in this case ‘liberation’ is a catchword for the aggrandizement of a clique among the Selenarchs. But that is neither here nor there, nor is the question of whether a Selenarchy is maybe what Luna needs. What I want is to prevent people getting killed.”

  “It was never our intention.”

  “Maybe not, but you’re skirting too bloody close to it, and you did already send one man to the firecoils.” Dagny sighed. “Brandir, I’m getting very tired. I’ve no more time or patience to spare. Hear what I propose.

  “You and your fellows will make an honest offer to negotiate a peaceful settlement I guess that has to include taking down your catapults, unless government crews operate them for you, and maybe surrendering assorted heavy weapons; but surely you can get concessions in return. Quid pro quo, tomorrow is another day, and so forth. The main point is that you make peace. If you do, we can pass Jaime Wahl’s death off as natural, send young Erann home, and, not so by-the-by, free you to cook your next cabal.”

  “Otherwise, my lady?”

  “There is no otherwise, really, if you aren’t suicidal. After you and I are through here, I’m getting in touch with Anson Guthrie. Yes, Fireball does not mix in politics, but also yes, he doesn’t approve of murder either, and Fireball stands to lose as much as anybody if civil war breaks out. Between us, we should be able to stiffen Haugen, With just a daycycle or two of delay, he’ll repeat Wahl’s ultimatum. If you still refuse, we’ll release the story of how Wahl died. Imagine the reaction on Earth. Only imagine.”

  Dizziness whirled, black rags blew across vision, she had been talking far too long and fast. She sagged in her chair and breathed.

  After a minute, Brandir laughed low. “It is my highest pride that my lady mother is you,” he said. “Come, we will make terms.”

  No, she would not condemn him. He was what he was, forever her son, his children and their children forever hers too; let the future a thousand years hence sit in judgment on us all.

  Of course they couldn’t settle matters on the spot. They simply discussed, in sketchy wise, what he would set forth before his confederates, and how she might help restrain the government. At the end, though, he said to her, the first glimpse of his inner self that she had had for longer than she could tell, “Abide in life, I pray you. Else shall we fare ill.”

  Guthrie made a gruff remark to the same effect at the conference that followed between him and her. Eventually Haugen waxed fulsome on the subject. But this was well after the crisis had been resolved, for the time being. By then, Moondwellers in general, however much or little they knew about these events, took for granted that Dagny Beynac was their fountainhead of wisdom and leadership.

  33

  Winnipeg Station was turbulent with color and laughter. The crowd numbered more than a hundred, Kenmuir judged: male and female, teens and twenties, drawn in from far across the plains and maybe farther. Snatches of overheard exuberance told him they were bound for a camp in the Rockies, a spell of mountaineering, Whitewater kayaking, fires and song and falling in love under the stars. Many tunics bore the emblem of a snowpeak and pine tree with the name Highland Club. He wondered how often they met like this. Probably it was mostly over the net, their experiences mostly by vivifer or in quiviras. Besides demands of school and, perhaps for some, work, they’d have to wait their turn for reservations. Population hadn’t dwindled enough nor had wilderness preserves been restored enough that anybody could go anywhere into them, anytime and anyhow.

  He had seen extrapolations which forecast that day for about a hundred years hence in North America. Elsewhere it might take longer, except in those regions where it already obtained.

  Well, let him wish these youngsters a good holiday, and stave off envy. For them this was a happy world.

  He stood aside with Aleka, as inconspicuously as possible, and watched them board. Around them the building soared in opalescence and airy arches. Close by, a tubeway lay like a wall, invisible save for supporting members and an electromagnetic coil. A coach hung in its vacuum, boxiness relieved by vivid hues and broad windows. The passengers funneled jostlingly and joyously to the gangtube and through. Aboard, they milled about, found seats and seatmates, stowed personal items, waved to friends and family who had come to see them off.

  At the opposite end of the station, a smaller coach slid to a stop, connected to the gangtube at that point, and discharged a few people. A few others entered it. Not much eastbound traffic at the moment.

  Sam Packer returned from a voucher outlet. “Here you be,” he said. Kenmuir and Aleka took the cards he had brought. “You’re on mini 7, predicted for, uh, about twenty minutes from now.”

  Too long, Kenmuir groaned within himself. At any instant—No. He put down his fears. After all, he and Aleka had chosen a private car, where they could talk freely, although places on a larger one were available earlier. If the hunters hadn’t detected them here, it wouldn’t likely happen by then. Besides, traveling in plain view could be more dangerous.

  “Muchas gracias,” Aleka said. “What a poor little phrase that is.”

  Alarm sounded in Kenmuir. She shouldn’t have spoken so. It made the matter seem important.

  Packer smiled, a white flash against brown skin. “My pleasure, señorita.” His look upon her was frankly appreciative. She gave it back with an interest that Kenmuir told himself should not annoy him.

  Parker’s glance turned his way. The man went serious. “Troth,” he added, almost too low to hear through the hubbub.

  Filled, the coach decoupled from the gangtube and slipped forward, swiftly out of sight. Its twin came after, to halt and accept the rest of the party.

  Impulse overwhelmed Kenmuir. “You’ve gone above and beyond the call, Sam.”

  “Nah. We’re Fireball, aren’t we?”

  Wistfulness dwelt in the words. Packer’s father was only a public relations agent for the Space Service, and the son had found a career only as a live musician—half a career, as infrequent as engagements were, although added to his credit the earnings let him live rather well. But Packers had been in Fireball and of it since Enterprises days.

  Luck, getting hold of him and the loyalty in him. Or, no, not really. It was chance that the first airbus out of St. Louis had been to Twincity, a fairly quick groundway ride from Winnipeg. However, Fireball folk were scattered around the planet, and Kenmuir knew several of them well enough to believe they’d take him and his companion in and give help without asking questions. He could have tried someplace else, hoping not to be caught in transit.

  Packer shrugged. “And, what the Q, I enjoyed your visit,” he added. “The tickets are nothing. Pay me back whenever it’s convenient, or stand me dinner the next time we meet.”

  He had declined immediate cash compensation, remarking shrewdly, “I’ve a hunch you may be a tad low in that department right now.” What counted was his debiting the fares to himself, leaving no trace of Kenmuir and Aleka for the system to smell out. At the previous two stages of the journey the machines had accepted bills, of course, but Venator might order every transaction of that unusual sort reported to him.

 
If it led him here and he decided on an intensive investigation, it might well point him to Packer.

  “Someday, Sam, if things go as they should, I’ll explain this to you,” Kenmuir mumbled.

  “When they have gone that way, I’ll be interested,” Packer answered. He was intelligent, he knew something was damnably amiss, and that counted most of all.

  “Maybe I’d better say adiόs,” he suggested. “I’ve been thinking about a vacation trip, just me alone to wherever I take a notion.”

  Kenmuir caught his hand. “Clear orbit.” Packer squeezed hard. Tears stood forth in the dark eyes. The men let go. Aleka threw her arms about him and kissed him.

  He responded heartily and departed with a smile.

  “Wonderful kanaka,” she breathed.

  “Fireball the whole way through,” Kenmuir said.

  She cocked her head and regarded him for a second. “Then you do understand the Lahui Kuikawa. Don’t you?”

  He could merely nod.

  The second coach drew away. A lesser carrier arrived and stopped. Being empty, it must have been shunted in from a local cylinder to accommodate the assorted score who now boarded. Aleka and Kenmuir could have been among them.

  A mini came and took on a man, woman, child, doubtless a family who wanted to travel by themselves.

  Three more minis let their riders off. Aleka’s hand stole into Kenmuir’s.

  Another appeared. “Number 7” stood on the side and sounded melodiously from a speaker. Aleka started to run, curbed it, and walked step by step alongside Kenmuir. Ahead of them, the gangtube made connection to the carrier’s airlock. Valves opened at either end. They passed their cards through the gatepost and went on in. Valves shut. The gangtube withdrew. The mini accelerated, smoothly but gaining speed moment by moment. In the windows, the station fell from view. A glimpse of handsome old buildings went by, then the prairie lay open everywhere around.

  Aleka let out her breath in a gust. “Free!”

  “For now,” Kenmuir said.