by Isaac Asimov
But still Aratap could bring himself to rebel against that tradition to the extent of saying, ruefully, “The tight collar irritates my neck.”
Major Andros, whose collar was as tight, and who had been seen in no other than military dress in the memory of man, said, “When alone, it would be quite within regulations to open it. Before any of the officers or men, any deviation from regulation dress would be disturbing influence.”
Aratap sniffed. It was the second change induced by the quasi-military nature of the expedition. In addition to being forced into uniform, he had to listen to an increasingly self-assertive military aide. That had begun even before they left Rhodia.
Andros had put it to him baldly.
He had said, “Commissioner, we will need ten ships.”
Aratap had looked up, definitely annoyed. At the moment he was getting ready to follow the young Widemos in a single vessel. He laid aside the capsules in which he was preparing his report for the Khan’s Colonial Bureau, to be forwarded in the unhappy case that he did not return from the expedition.
“Ten ships, Major?”
“Yes, sir. Less will not do.”
“Why not?”
“I intend to maintain a reasonable security. The young man is going somewhere. You say there is a well-developed conspiracy in existence. Presumably, the two fit together.”
“And therefore?”
“And therefore we must be prepared for a possibly well-developed conspiracy. One that might be able to handle a single ship.”
“Or ten. Or a hundred. Where does security cease?”
“One must make a decision. In cases of military action, it is my responsibility. I suggest ten.”
Aratap’s contact lenses gleamed unnaturally in the wall light as he raised his eyebrows. The military carried weight. Theoretically, in times of peace, the civilian made the decisions, but here again, military tradition was a difficult thing to set aside.
He said cautiously, “I will consider the matter.”
“Thank you. If you do not choose to accept my recommendations, and my suggestions have only been advanced as such, I assure you”--the major’s heels clicked sharply, but the ceremonial deference was rather empty, and Aratap knew it--”that would be your privilege. You would leave me, however, no choice but to resign my commission.”
It was up to Aratap to retrieve what he could from that position. He said, “It is not my intention to hamper you in any decision you may make on a purely military question, Major. I wonder if you might be as amenable to my decisions in matters of purely political importance.”
“What matters are these?”
“There is the problem of Hinrik. You objected yesterday to my suggestion that he accompany us.”
The major said dryly, “I consider it unnecessary. With our forces in action, the presence of outlanders would be bad for morale.”
Aratap sighed softly, just below the limits of hearing. Yet Andros was a competent man in his way. There would be no use in displaying impatience.
He said, “Again, I agree with you. I merely ask you to consider the political aspects of the situation. As you know, the execution of the old Rancher of Widemos was politically uncomfortable. It stirred up the Kingdoms unnecessarily. However necessary the execution was, it makes it desirable to refrain from having the death of the son attributed to us. As far as the people of Rhodia know, the young Widemos has kidnapped the daughter of the Director, the girl, by the way, being a popular and much publicized member of the Hinriads. It would be quite fitting, quite understandable, to have the Director head the punitive expedition.
“It would be a dramatic move, very gratifying to Rhodian patriotism. Naturally, he would ask for Tyrannian assistance, and receive it, but that can be played down. It would be easy, and necessary, to fix this expedition in the popular mind as a Rhodian one. If the inner workings of the conspiracy are uncovered, it will have been a Rhodian discovery. If the young Widemos is executed, it would be a Rhodian execution, as far as the other Kingdoms are concerned.”
The major said, “It would still be a bad precedent to allow Rhodian vessels to accompany a Tyrannian military expedition. They would hamper us in a fight. In that way, the question becomes a military one.”
“I did not say, my dear Major, that Hinrik would command a ship. Surely you know him better than to think him capable of commanding or even anxious to try. He will stay with us. There will be no other Rhodian aboard ship.”
“In that case, I waive my objection, Commissioner,” said the major.
The Tyrannian fleet had maintained their position two light-years off Lingane for the better part of a week and the situation was becoming increasingly unstable.
Major Andros advocated an immediate landing on Lingane. “The Autarch of Lingane,” he said, “has gone to considerable lengths to have us think him a friend of the Khan, but I do not trust these men who travel abroad. They gain unsettling notions. It is strange that just as he returns, the young Widemos travels to meet him.”
“He has not tried to hide either his travels or his return, Major. And we do not know that Widemos goes to meet him. He maintains an orbit about Lingane. Why does he not land?”
“Why does he maintain an orbit? Let us question what he does and not what he does not do.”
“I can propose something which will fit the pattern.”
“I would be glad to hear it.”
Aratap placed a finger inside his collar and tried futilely to stretch it. He said, “Since the young man is waiting, we can presume he is waiting for something or somebody. It would be ridiculous to think that, having gone to Lingane by so direct and rapid a route--a single Jump, in fact that he is merely waiting out of indecision. I say, then, that he is waiting for a friend or friends to reach him. Thus reinforced, he will proceed elsewhere. The fact that he is not landing on Lingane directly would indicate that he does not consider such an action safe. That would indicate that Lingane in general--the Autarch in particular--is not concerned in the conspiracy, although individual Linganians may be.”
“I don’t know if we can always trust the obvious solution to be the correct one.”
“My dear Major, this is not merely an obvious solution. It is a logical one. It fits a pattern,”
“Maybe it does. But just the same, if there are no further developments in twenty-four hours, I will have no choice but to order an advance Linganeward.”
Aratap frowned at the door through which the major had left. It was disturbing to have to control at once the restless conquered and the short-sighted conquerors. Twenty-four hours. Something might happen; otherwise he might have to find some way of stopping Andros.
The door signal sounded and Aratap looked up with irritation. Surely it could not be Andros returning. It wasn’t. The tall, stooped form of Hinrik of Rhodia was in the doorway, behind him a glimpse of the guard who accompanied him everywhere on the ship. Theoretically, Hinrik had complete freedom of movement. Probably he himself thought he had. At least, he never paid any attention to the guard at his elbow.
Hinrik smiled mistily. “Am I disturbing you, Commissioner?”
“Not at all. Take a seat, Director.” Aratap remained standing. Hinrik seemed not to notice that.
Hinrik said, “I have something of importance to discuss with you.” He paused, and some of the intentness passed out of his eyes. He added in quite a different tone, “What a large, fine ship this is!”
“Thank you, Director.” Aratap smiled tightly. The nine accompanying ships were typically minute in size, but the flagship on which they stood was an outsized model adapted from the designs of the defunct Rhodian navy. It was perhaps the first sign of the gradual softening of the Tyrannian military spirit that more and more of such ships were being added to the navy. The fighting unit was still the tiny two-to-three-man cruiser, but increasing the top brass found reasons for requiring large ships for their own headquarters.
It did not bother Aratap. To some of the older soldie
rs such increasing softness seemed a degeneration; to himself it seemed increasing civilization. In the end--in centuries, perhaps--it might even happen that the Tyranni would melt away as a single people, fusing with the present conquered societies of the Nebular Kingdoms--and perhaps even that might be a good thing.
Naturally, he never expressed such an opinion aloud.
“I came to tell you something,” said Hinrik. He puzzled over it awhile, then added, “I have sent a message home today to my people. I have told them I am well and that the criminal will be shortly seized and my daughter returned to safety.”
“Good,” said Aratap. It was not news to him. He himself had written the message, though it was not impossible that Hinrik by now had persuaded himself that he was the writer, or even that he actually headed the expedition. Aratap felt a twinge of pity. The man was disintegrating visibly.
Hinrik said, “My people, I believe, are quite disturbed over this daring raid upon the Palace by these well-organized bandits. I think they will be proud of their Director now that I have taken such rapid action in response, eh, Commissioner? They will see that there is still force among the Hinriads.” He seemed filled with a feeble triumph.
“I think they will,” said Aratap.
“Are we within range of the enemy yet?”
“No, Director, the enemy remains where he was, just off Lingane.”
“Still? I remember what I came to tell you.” He grew excited, so that the words tumbled out. “It is very important, Commissioner. I have something to tell you. There is treachery on board. I have discovered it. We must take quick action. Treachery--” He was whispering.
Aratap felt impatient. It was necessary to humor the poor idiot of course, but this was becoming a waste of time. At this rate he would become so obviously mad that he would be useless even as a puppet, which would be a pity.
He said, “No treachery, Director. Our men are stanch and true. Someone has been misleading you. You are tired.”
“No, no.” Hinrik put aside Aratap’s arm which, for a moment, had rested upon his shoulder. “Where are we?”
“Why, here!”
“The ship, I mean. I have watched the visiplate. We are near no star. We are in deep space. Did you know that?”
“Why, certainly.”
“Lingane is nowhere near. Did you know that?”
“It is two light-years off.”
“Ah! Ah! Ah! Commissioner, no one is listening? Are you sure?” He leaned closely, while Aratap allowed his ear to be approached. “Then how do we know the enemy is near Lingane? He is too far to detect. We are being misinformed, and this signifies treachery.”
Well, the man might be mad, but the point was a good one. Aratap said, “This is something fit for technical men, Director, and not for men of rank to concern themselves with. I scarcely know myself.”
“But as head of the expedition I should know. I am head, am I not?” He looked about carefully. “Actually, I have a feeling that Major Andros does not always carry out my orders. Is he trustworthy? Of course, I rarely give him orders. It would seem strange to order a Tyrannian officer. But then, I must find my daughter. My daughter’s name is Artemisia. She has been taken from me, and I am taking all this fleet to get her back. So you see, I must know. I mean, I must know how it is known the enemy is at Lingane. My daughter would be there too. Do you know my daughter? Her name is Artemisia.”
His eyes looked up at the Tyranni Commissioner in appeal. Then he covered them with his hand and mumbled something that sounded like “I’m sorry.”
Aratap felt his jaw muscles clench. It was difficult to remember that the man before him was a bereaved father and that even the idiot Director of Rhodia might have a father’s feelings. He could not let the man suffer.
He said gently, “I will try to explain. You know there is such a thing as a massometer which will detect ships in space.”
“Yes, yes.”
“It is sensitive to gravitational effects. You know what I mean?”
“Oh yes. Everything has gravity.” Hinrik was leaning toward Aratap, his hands gripping one another nervously.
“That’s good enough. Now naturally the massometer can only be used when the ship is close, you know. Less than a million miles away or so. Also, it has to be a reasonable distance from any planet, because if it isn’t, all you can detect is the planet, which is much bigger.”
“And has much more gravity.”
“Exactly,” said Aratap, and Hinrik looked pleased.
Aratap went on. “We Tyranni have another device. It is a transmitter which radiates through hyperspace in all directions, and what it radiates is a particular type of distortion of the space fabric which is not electromagnetic in character. In other words, it isn’t like light or radio or even sub-etheric radio. See?”
Hinrik didn’t answer. He looked confused.
Aratap proceeded quickly. “Well, it’s different. It doesn’t matter how. We can detect that something which is radiated, so that we can always know where any Tyrannian ship is, even if it’s halfway across the Galaxy, or on the other side of a star.”
Hinrik nodded solemnly.
“Now,” said Aratap, “if the young Widemos had escaped in an ordinary ship, it would have been very difficult to locate him. As it is, since he took a Tyrannian cruiser, we know where he is at all times, although he doesn’t realize that. That is how we know he is near Lingane, you see. And, what’s more, he can’t get away, so that we will certainly rescue your daughter.”
Hinrik smiled. “That is well done. I congratulate you, Commissioner. A very clever ruse.”
Aratap did not delude himself. Hinrik understood very little of what he had said, but that did not matter. It had ended with the assurance of his daughter’s rescue, and somewhere in his dim understanding there must be the realization that this, somehow, was made possible by Tyrannian science.
He told himself that he had not gone to this trouble entirely because the Rhodian appealed to his sense of the pathetic. He had to keep the man from breaking down altogether for obvious political reasons. Perhaps the return of his daughter would improve matters. He hoped so.
There was the door signal again and this time it was Major Andros who entered. Hinrik’s arm stiffened on the armrest of his chair and his face assumed a hunted expression. He lifted himself and began, “Major Andro--”
But Andros was already speaking quickly, disregarding the Rhodian.
“Commissioner,” he said, “the Remorseless has changed position.”
“Surely he has not landed on Lingane,” said Aratap sharply.
“No,” said the major. “He has Jumped quite away from Lingane.”
“Ah. Good. He has been joined by another ship, perhaps.”
“By many ships, perhaps. We can detect only his, as you are quite aware.”
“In any case, we follow again.”
“The order has already been given. I would merely like to point out that his Jump has taken him to the edge of the Horsehead Nebula.”
“What?”
“No major planetary system exists in the indicated direction. There is only one logical conclusion.”
Aratap moistened his lips and left hurriedly for the pilot room, the major with him.
Hinrik remained standing in the middle of the suddenly empty room, looking at the door for a minute or so. Then, with a little shrug of the shoulders, he sat down again. His expression was blank, and for a long while he simply sat.
The navigator said, “The space co-ordinates of the Remorseless have been checked, sir. They are definitely inside the Nebula.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Aratap. “Follow them anyway.”
He turned to Major Andros. “So you see the virtues of waiting. There is a good deal that is obvious now. Wherever else could the conspirators’ headquarters be but in the Nebula itself? Where else could we have failed to locate them? A very pretty pattern.”
And so the squadron entered the Nebula.
>
For the twentieth time Aratap glanced automatically at the visiplate. Actually, the glances were useless, since the visiplate remained quite black. There was no star in sight.
Andros said, “That’s their third stop without landing. I don’t understand it. What is their purpose? What are they after? Each stop of theirs is several days long. Yet they do not land.”
“It may take them that long,” said Aratap, “to calculate their next Jump. Visibility is nonexistent.”
“You think so?”
“No. Their Jumps are too good. Each time they land very near a star. They couldn’t do as well by massometer data alone, unless they actually knew the locations of the stars in advance.”
“Then why don’t they land?”
“I think,” said Aratap, “they must be looking for habitable planets. Maybe they themselves do not know the location of the center of conspiracy. Or, at least, not entirely.” He smiled. “We need only follow.”
The navigator clicked heels. “Sir!”
“Yes?” Aratap looked up.
“The enemy has landed on a planet.”
Aratap signaled for Major Andros.
“Andros,” said Aratap, as the major entered, “have you been told?”
“Yes. I’ve ordered a descent and pursuit.”
“Wait. You may be again premature, as when you wanted to lunge toward Lingane. I think this ship only ought to go.”
“Your reasoning?”
“If we need reinforcements, you will be there, in command of the cruisers. If it is indeed a powerful rebel center, they may think only one ship has stumbled upon them. I will get word to you somehow and you can retire to Tyrann.”
“Retire!”
“And return with a full fleet.”
Andros considered. “Very well. This is our least useful ship in any case. Too large.”
The planet filled the visiplate as they spiraled down.
“The surface seems quite barren, sir,” said the navigator.
“Have you determined the exact location of the Remorseless?”
