“M-m-m, I wouldn’t blame the Troubles entirely on the revelation,” Brodersen said. “The balance that’d been reached earlier was almighty precarious. If anything, I think the idea of the Others helped keep everybody from running amuck—helped keep the real planet-killer weapons from seeing over-much use—so Earth is still habitable.”
“As you like,” Hancock replied. “The point is, that idea has made a tremendous difference, maybe more than any traditional religion ever did.”
She braced herself to go on: “Okay. Suppose the Emissary expedition learned it’s a false idea. As I suggested, maybe the Others are dead, or moved elsewhere, or less than we think, or worse than we think. Let that news out with no forewarning, let hysterical commentators knock the foundations loose from under hundreds of millions of people, and what happens? The Union isn’t firmly enough grounded that it can survive worldwide mania. And next time around, the planet-killers might well get unleashed.
“Dan,” she begged, “do you see why we have to keep silence for a while?”
He puffed his pipe. “I’m afraid I’ll need the details,” he answered.
“But—”
“You admitted this was hypothetical, didn’t you? Well, I don’t buy the hypothesis. If the Others were monsters, we wouldn’t be sitting here; we’d be wiped out, or we’d be domestic animals of theirs, or whatever. If they’re extinct—hunh, tell me how a species capable of building T machines is going to let itself become extinct. Nor do I imagine they’re not better than us; with that kind of technology, wouldn’t you improve your own race, supposing evolution had not already done it for you? And as for them collectively going off to live in some kind of parallel universe—why should they, when this one we’ve got is loaded with more fun than anybody can use up before the last star burns out?”
“I didn’t claim any of those was the case,” Hancock said. “I was only giving you some examples.”
“Uh-huh. Ever heard of Occam’s razor? I’ve shaved with it from time to time.”
“Choose the simplest explanation for the facts.”
“Right. And in this case, what is the simplest? I propose that Emissary did return; that the story she brought was of how we might go beyond these two planetary systems we have; that certain politicians on Earth don’t like that possibility and want to suppress it; and that you, Aurie, have now gotten your marching orders. I imagine you agree in principle anyway. You belong to the Action Party.”
Brodersen barked it forth. He might as well, his back to the wall of a decision already made; and perhaps he could provoke a little truth out of her who had become his enemy.
Yet he was jarred when she said in her coldest manner: “I consider that an insult, Captain Brodersen. But never mind. If you won’t cooperate freely, we’ll have to apply duress. You are not going to continue talking as you have been.”
Chill rammed through him. He had come expecting that she would lay heavy pressure on him, but not a grabclaw. “Ever read the Covenant?” he asked low. “I mean the free speech clause.”
“Have you read the provision for emergencies and the laws enacted under it?” she retorted, though he could see her hurting.
“Yeah. So?”
“I declare an emergency. Come back in five years and take the matter to court.” Hancock reached for a fresh cigarette. “Dan,” she stated unhappily, “I’ve got the cops, as you call them. Until we can agree about this business, you’re under arrest.”
She meant he would be confined to his home, his mail and phone monitored. Maybe she was sincere in her promise that her surveillance men would only activate their electronic eavesdroppers when he had visitors. He could conduct his business as usual from the house—these days, it mostly ran itself anyway—and could give whatever reason he chose, such as a prolonged attack of the galloping collywobbles, for not leaving the place. If he said it was on her orders, though, she’d tell the news media that he was being held while his company was investigated on suspicion of fraud.
She thought she could probably let him go in a month or two. That would depend on what she heard from Earth.
He didn’t waste energy roaring. “You’re being a government, Aurie,” he remarked. When she gave him an inquiring glance, he explained: “The single definition of government I’ve ever seen that makes sense is that it’s the organization which claims the right to kill people who won’t do what it wants.”
He could have gone on to admit that he was oversimplifying, since she was obviously acting on behalf of a group whose own behavior might well be unlawful; but he didn’t think it was worth his while.
IV
TWO COURTEOUS PLAINCLOTHES policemen escorted Brodersen from the governor’s house and rode home with him in his car. By then, Demeter was completing another day, ten percent shorter than Earth’s. The sun was hidden behind Anvil Hill, which loomed blue-gray at the end of Pioneer Avenue with the dome of the Capitol shining gold on its brow. Right and left the city reached, an uncluttered view of intermingled dwellings, small factories, stores, service enterprises, most buildings surrounded by lawns and flowers. At his back, the Europa River gleamed broad on its way to Apollo Bay and thence the Hephaestian Sea. The opposite shore was farmland, fields of wheat and corn vividly green at this season against a few remaining bluish stands of mariflora and raincatch. A moon stood high at half phase, wan and mottled amidst cloudless azure. Wings cruised up there, frailies and bucearos seeking their nests, starlarks rising to hunt through the dusk. The air blew cool and bore wild scents from the hinterland eastward.
How beautiful this is, passed through him as he came outdoors, together with a few lines from his favorite poet, penned more than two centuries ago:
God gave all men all earth to love,
But, since our hearts are small,
Ordained for each one spot should prove
Belovéd over all;
—and at the same time: No, damnation, it isn’t enough! We have a whole universe to live in, if we can break past the powermongers.
Sharply to him came the memories—Earth seen from space, tiny, gorgeously beswirled, infinitely precious; Lunar craters beneath a blaze of stars; a Martial dawn, red, red, red over sands and boulders and colors; the mighty sight of many-banded Jupiter; his first glimpse of Phoebus athwart new constellations. What else had Joelle witnessed? What else could he?
“Nice weather,” said one of the officers. “Looks like we won’t get the summer storms till Hektos or Hebdomos this year.”
“Yeah,” Brodersen responded like a machine. A part of him noted that the young men beside him had been born here. They used the Demetrian calendar automatically. Few were the atoms in them that had come from Earth. What did they individually think about the prospect of humankind getting the freedom of the cosmos? Doubtless they’d say that was a great idea… until some neo-collectivist gave them an estimate of the social cost. What then? He forbore to ask.
Instead he steered for the Eglise de St. Michel suburb. (Traffic was not so thick in Eopolis that autopilots were mandatory.) Hidden Mountain Road lay gold at evening, houses and gardens widely separated, native meadows and woodlands in between. His own dwelling was designed for the climate, a Hawaiian-style bungalow in half a hectare of lodix lawn and Terrestrial flowers. “How do you fellows plan to get back?” he asked as he pulled into the carport.
“We’ll be around here till we’re relieved, sir,” was the answer.
“M-m-m… hm. Want to stop in for a cup of coffee?”
“We’d better not, sir. Thanks anyway.”
Brodersen grinned at his passengers’ embarrassment, which very slightly eased the anger in him, and got out. They moved off the property and vanished behind a tall davisia hedge, doubtless to take stations watchful of both his front and rear entrances.
After patting his German shepherd hello, he went on into the house. The living room was long and high, paneled like the office where he had been, a stone fireplace that he had built himself standing archaic
opposite a broad window showing the patio. It was full of fragrances from the blooms his wife had brought in. She had music going, some of her cherished Sibelius, but softly, while she sat in a lounger, the cat on her lap, and studied an engineering report. (After he hired her, he soon found she rated rapid promotion; after they were married, he made her his full partner. These days Elisabet Leino occupied much of her time with matters outside of Chehalis Enterprises—civic, theatrical, horticultural, not to mention two lively youngsters—but the company still could not have managed well without her.)
“Hi,” she said, laid the papers down and rose, expecting to kiss him. She was a rangy woman, ivory-skinned, brown-haired, husky-voiced, today clad in a dress whose shortness did justice to her legs. Sharp, almost Classical features lost their look of gladness. “You’ve got a faceful of riptides. It went badly, didn’t it?”
“I want beer,” he growled, and hauled a bottle from a cooler cabinet behind a small bar. His manners came back to him. “Uh, you too?”
She walked across to embrace him lightly. “I’ll wait for cocktail hour. What happened, darling?”
“Plenty, and all ungood.” He poured into a silver mug from a set he’d brought back from his last trip to Earth, baggage charges be damned, for their ninth wedding anniversary this Demetrian year. The feel of it in his fist and the chill pungency in his mouth were comforting.
She studied him. “You’ve made up your mind what to do,” she said.
“I’m working on it. You’re involved, of course, starting as chief consultant.”
“Then tell me.” She took his hand and led him toward the couch.
He let her sit down while he paced and talked, gulping between harsh passages. At the end, he summarized: “Seems obvious to me. A bunch of antistellar types have formed a cabal. They must have members in several national governments, plus doubtless the Union Council, the bureaucracy, and the space corps. Quite likely they took more seriously than they let on, the notion that Emissary might return earlier than expected, and kept sort of on the ready. So she’s being held incommunicado while they decide how to handle her. Meanwhile I’ve been getting too noisy. So Hancock got word to muzzle me. I doubt she was ever in on any conspiracy, but she is loyal to the Action Party in general and her political sponsors in particular. If they tell her it’s her duty to enforce silence, she’ll accept that without asking inconvenient questions.” He shrugged. “I suppose I should give thanks she isn’t the type to take stronger measures than she has.”
Lis let silence fall for a moment, together with twilight, before she murmured, “I don’t suppose there is any possibility that they may be right?”
“What do you think?”
“Oh, we’ve been over this territory often enough, and you know I agree with you. I simply wondered. One does hate to imagine corruption in high levels of the Union—the Union!—doesn’t one?… What do you plan to do?”
He stopped, stared down at her, and said, “What can I, except be a good boy? And you be a good girl. Hancock understood I’d tell you how things are, but warned me you’d be in Dutch too if you talked. We’ll let out that I’m—um-m, ‘indisposed’ for weeks isn’t believable…. I’ve turned hermit inorder to work on a new idea for the business, which has to stay secret till it’s ready. You take over in the office for me.”
“What?” She was astounded. “You, Dan, that tamely?”
He shook his head and laid a finger across his lips. “What choice have we got? I could be worse off than taking an enforced vacation. Might read some of those books you’re always urging me to. Now look, sweetheart, I’m tired and grumped and won’t appreciate your dinner unless I can relax first. Okay?”
Her gaze upon him grew knowing. “Okay,” she said.
Accordingly, for the next while, they went through their family routine. After a second beer he took the children to the rec room for the half-hour-plus with Daddy which was theirs by right. Mike, going on three (two, Earth calendar), was content to stump around laughing, get jounced on an ankle, and join wordlessly in some songs. He came closer to carrying the tunes than his father did, though that wasn’t saying much. Barbara, at seven, demanded as well that he draw a picture and tell her the latest installment of his saga of Slewfoot the orosaur. (In his childhood, Captain General John had told him about Slewfoot the bear, but that was on Earth.) He ended the current adventure rather abruptly, with a safe return to Queets Castle.
She sensed his haste. “Are you goin’ away again?” she asked.
“I’m not sure, darling,” he said. It twisted within him. “I may have to.” How warm she sat between his hands.
“For long?”
“I certainly hope not. You know how I’ve got to make trips sometimes to find money. If I must go, well, I’ll come home as soon as may be, with a load of presents and a lot of new stories.” Hugging her: “You’ll help Mother same as before, right? That’s my lassie.” She cast her arms about his neck.
He supposed that eavesdroppers, who might be using pickups in spite of Hancock’s promise, wouldn’t attach any importance to such an exchange. Nevertheless, after the kids were back in the nursery and he had settled down for a drink with Lis, he took the precaution of remarking, “About my confinement to quarters, I do wonder if I can’t get leave to visit Chinook. There are several things that need my personal attention. Even Barbara could feel I’m anxious to take care of ’em. They can send a couple of their damn guards along to make sure I don’t blurt.”
“Well, you can try,” she answered.
“In a few days I might, when tempers have cooled.”
As aware of his mood as their daughter, she changed the subject. They always had plenty to talk about. The business itself was endlessly varied. Chehalis held most spacecraft in the Phoebean System and conducted most undertakings off Demeter, on its own or under contract—transport, prospecting, mining, manufacturing, exploration, pure research. This inevitably involved it in widespread aspects of the colony’s economy and politics, and increasingly with Earth. Beyond that, without having ambitions for public office, they both took a close interest in public affairs; they went sailing or on wilderness trips together, skied, figure skated, played tennis and slapdash chess and Machiavellian poker, worked on their house and grounds; they often strolled out to watch the stars and wonder what dwelt yonder. This evening they got onto some recent discoveries, about an odd relationship between the dominant hypersauroids and the primitive theroids along the Ionian Gulf littoral, and almost forgot their troubles. Afterward the children made dinner enjoyable.
But when man and wife alone were awake, Brodersen said, “I feel restless. Think I’ll tinker with that monofilm recorder. Why don’t you come along and help?”
Such projects were not among Lis’ hobbies, but she caught his meaning and replied, “Sure.”
They sought his workshop. In half an hour he had cobbled together the apparatus he wanted from an ample supply of spare parts and activated it. A whine filled the equipment-crowded chamber. He clicked his tongue. “Dear me. Inefficient.”
“Is that to cover our voices?” she inquired.
She had realized what worried him. People spoke Finnish on her parents’ farm in the Trollberg region, and he had acquired a few extra languages in the years when he knocked about Earth. But all he and she had in common were English—their everyday tongue—and Spanish, both of which would be known to any detective.
“No,” he explained. “Sonics wouldn’t work, at least not without a lot of fancy heterodyning gear. This is no more’n a high-powered wide-band radio noise generator, which ought to jam electronic communications within a couple hundred meters, and seem accidental. I’m assuming the opposition has planted bugs along our walls, to pick up speech inside and buck it on to a receiver. Easy to do. Those things are small. You could lob ’em into the shrubbery with a slingshot.”
Dread touched her. “Do you really believe Aurie Hancock would order that, or the police would obey? Demeter’s s
upposed to be a free society.”
“Supposed to be. It’s actually a set of societies, you know, and a lot of mother countries aren’t exactly libertarian. If I were governor, I’d keep a few men on the force whose background doesn’t include scruples about privacy. Might need ’em someday to deal with criminals who were finding this planet a happy hunting ground.” Brodersen hitched himself onto the workbench and sat swinging his legs. “Anyway, Lis, I don’t believe we’re bugged, I’m assuming it. This matter’s too big for optimism. Tomorrow you have Mamoru Saigo come around with a detector and check for spy gadgets. If he finds any, hm, I’d suggest you destroy them, but first speak a sharp message that if this happens again, you’ll go to court and the news media both.”
She was mute among the tools while her gaze searched him. The window behind her was closed and blinded, but from it breathed a slight chill, like a sense of the darkness beyond.
“You won’t be here, then,” she foreknew.
He fumbled after pipe and tobacco. “‘Fraid not, honey. We can’t let the bastards ream us out, can we? Judas priest, the whole future of human spacefaring! Besides—have you forgotten?—the mate aboard Emissary is Carlos Rueda Suárez, my friend, Toni’s cousin. I don’t write family off.”
“Also Joelle Ky, if she’s alive,” Lis said quietly.
He winced from the pain he saw on her. “Yeah, well, an old friend too.”
“More than a friend.” Lis raised a palm. “No, don’t bother pretending. I’ve never objected to your little flings, have I? I’d like to meet Joelle myself. She must be rather special, to mean this much to you. You’ve never mentioned her to me as casually as you imagined you did.”
“You win,” he said, fiery-faced. “Not that we got romantic, understand. She’s too… strange for that. But—Anyway, the main point is, I don’t see how the cabal can ever let Emissary go. The publicity would wreck their whole aim, and their personal careers to boot. At the same time, it’s dangerous maintaining prisoners. They may decide on a massacre.”
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