The Avatar

by Poul Anderson

  A red light flashed. What the hell? He jabbed the number sequence required. The screen lit with his name and Aurelia Hancock’s return address. His heart lurched. He pressed for the next frame, saw gibberish identified by a number, and brought in the appropriate decoding program. Plain English appeared.

  Dear Ira,

  I pray this isn’t terrible news, and you get it in time to do whatever you judge best. You remember about Daniel Brodersen, don’t you? Reference: [More numbers and letters. Quick could have summoned the file of correspondence forth, but felt no need. It remained vivid in his mind how he had approved Hancock’s suggestion of shutting that troublemaker up.] Well, I’ve discovered he’s escaped and is on his way to Earth. [Details followed up to the present, the insolent silence of Elisabet Leino and the weasel of a lawyer she’d retained. It didn’t seem practical to arrest her, she had too many friends, but Aurie had threatened her with the Emergency Powers Provision, the Dangerous Instrumentalities Act, and the Finalist precedent if she infringed any more.]

  I checked, on pretext of surveying traffic patterns, and found Chinook went through the gate exactly according to her flight plan [appended]. She ought to be at or near Earth when you get this message.

  I don’t know for sure what Brodersen intends. Maybe he doesn’t either. It’s a safe bet, though, he’ll try to contact his former in-laws the Ruedas and get their help.

  Ira, dear Ira [she wasn’t his type of woman physically, but he’d found her responsive to heavy flirtation, which had helped bind her undoubted competence firmly into his cause], I can’t say how sorry I am for letting this get by me, or what I’d give to be able to make it good. I’ll do anything you order me. Meanwhile I’ll sit as tight as possible. I’m certain you can handle the problem, same as you can handle every other, but it makes me cry that you have the extra work and worry.

  Sincerely,

  Aurelia

  Quick took pride in his cool, swift reaction. He intercommed for word on the ship; his staff would obtain that for him promptly and discreetly. Then he reviewed the letter and its addenda with care, sat back, stroked his beard, and considered what to do.

  First, refrain from panic, from any outward fuss. Second, put full-powered surveillance on Brodersen and each member of his gang from the moment they landed, or from this hour if they had already done so. (What a damnable uncertainty! The time when a vessel emerged from a gate, as measured at that end, bore only a loose relationship to the time when she had entered it at the other end, presumably because of variations in the path she followed around the T machine. None had yet arrived ahead of her pilot fish, but some had been very close behind, and some as much as three days late.) He could commandeer the North American secret service—or, rather, several well-chosen agents thereof—through the same channels as he’d used to get cooperation about Emissary.

  Yes, watch Brodersen and see what happened, what might be learned. But the instant any of them tried to get hold of the Ruedas, grab him and his whole bunch. A warrant for their arrest was among the contents of Hancock’s message. They could join the prisoners in the Wheel, to share whatever disposition was made of those.

  Quick turned to other matters. After an hour, his chief of staff called in. Chauveau looked worried. “Sir, about the Chinook spacecraft,” he said. “She’s overdue, and hasn’t sent any word, either.”

  “What?” Quick clutched the arms of his chair. “Isn’t Traffic Control interested?”

  “I didn’t know their exact routine or whom to query at the Astronautical Control Board, and it took a while to find out. Seems that when a vessel enters, the Solar System, the watchship beams her flight plan to her destination—in this case, Earth—but that simply goes into the data bank. They think anything more would be complicated and unnecessary, because a ship forced to change plans can always notify one of the stations that take emergency calls.

  “Well, this person I got hold of retrieved the record for me, which said Chinook ought to have made Earth orbit yesterday. Next she checked with Traffic Control, then with its Iliadic opposite number, and—well, in short, boss, nobody knew anything. My contact is quite concerned, but I managed to make her wait—hinting at a special mission which may have developed a slight hitch wait before alerting the Safety Division. She won’t for long, I’m afraid.”

  “Good man,” Quick said with an extra dose of warmth. Through him flared a hope. The one-in-a-million accident, that’s never happened yet, did happen, and destroyed them. He rallied his wits. No.

  “What shall we do, sir?” Chauveau asked.

  Quick’s mind sprinted. None of the staff knew why he was concerned. To pursue the matter as hard as was needful, he must give out a story. He had one prepared by now.

  Donning his most serious demeanor, he said, “Jacques, this is strictly confidential, and perhaps I shouldn’t tell you at all. But I trust you, and I want you to feel motivated. You know about discontent growing on Demeter, complaints, formal protests and petitions, a couple of actual riots.” Mainly, colonial businesses object to paying taxes to their mother countries and the Union—claim they’re getting almost nothing in return—as if they weren’t still part of humanity and obligated to help their

  less fortunate brethren…. No need to preach the gospel to

  yourself Ira Quick! And I must admit a few gripes are legitimate. The government has not been as solicitous of their welfare as it should be. “What’s not been publicized is the development of out-and-out revolutionary sentiment, gradually moving from seditious talk toward action.” Not strictly a lie. I am anticipating what I fear may someday come true if the right people don’t stay alert and in control. “Oh, among a tiny minority so far, of course. But you know what damage a few terrorists can do.

  “Governor Hancock has warned me that the owner-captain of Chinook may be involved and may have come here for no innocent purpose. She approached me rather than anybody else because we are close political associates, you know, and she relies on me to proceed cautiously. Remember, she has no firm proof against this Brodersen. He could be honest. False arrest would provoke more antagonism back there, as well as violating his rights.”

  Quick combed fingers through his beard. “His behavior does look suspicious, though, eh?” he finished. “Let’s start by finding out where he is.”

  “I’d better put you in touch with Assistant Commissioner Palamas, the person I spoke to on the Board,” Chauveau said.

  “Yes. While I talk to her, establish standby connections with—” Quick named them. A few had helped him take the initiative of sequestering Emissary. More knew nothing about that, but one way or another could be persuaded to exert their influence in useful directions, without requiring much elaboration of his story. They trusted him, or owed him for past favors, or would be glad to put him in their own debt. Between them, they wielded considerable power.

  His conversation with Palamas proved satisfactory. She’d instigate a search, System-wide if necessary, and report the results straight back to him.

  After that, however, the hours set in like gnawing rats.

  Those reaches out yonder, hundreds of millions upon hundreds of millions of kilometers, were not exactly patrolled. Here and there—on ships, moons, asteroids, manmade stations—were powerful radars or other instruments such as multiplying spectrometers, mostly for scientific purposes. They could be pressed into service, but that could not be done in a fingersnap, the more so when goodly fractions of an hour often must pass between message and response. And then they must sweep across distances more enormous yet, through degree after degree of arc, while time bled away.

  Quick had a gut-cold idea where Chinook probably was. He hadn’t dared do more than suggest it to Palamas, hinting that the studies going on at the San Geronimo Wheel were more important than the government had indicated and it would be too bad if an ion trail disrupted them. He could but hope that somebody out in space would agree, and would be in a position to check. It would certainly not be wise to
communicate directly with Troxell.

  Somehow he lasted out the day, shook the humble hand, congratulated the scholarship winner, conferred about strategy for the next election over a lunch that he even noticed dimly was excellent, coped with assorted desk business, kept a drumhead affability stretched across his face. At seventeen hundred hours he called Alice to say he wouldn’t be home that evening either. “Working late, may be all night,” he explained.

  “Yes,” she said tonelessly.

  Her look pains me. I am a compassionate man. “Truth,” he said. “Call me back later if you don’t believe it.”

  “Why?” she sighed.

  He frowned. “Are you getting depressed again, dear? I’ve told you over and over that simply because my job requires me to move around a lot, you shouldn’t stay in the house and mope. You need to develop outside interests, activities—”

  “You told me not to join the Galaxy Club, they’re too much a pressure group for interstellar exploration. I was loyal and didn’t. Now I’ve reached my limit of things you do want me to belong to.”

  “Hey, let’s not start fighting.”

  “Oh, no. My problem is I love you.” Her voice still sounded flat and tired. “And the kids. I think they need some protection I can give them. Have you ever speculated what kind of love relationships the Others have?”

  Pricked, he snapped, “I’ve heard fifty thousand speculations about everything conceivable concerning the damned Others—and claims of contact, creeds, crankeries, bad songs, worse writings, never a bloody thing constructive, never anything but avoidance of our proper human business.”

  “Goodnight, Ira,” she said and broke the circuit.

  He rolled his eyes ceilingward. “God, give me strength, if You exist,” he declaimed, “and if You don’t, do it anyway, huh?”

  Preparations soothed him a trifle, as they might a dog turning around before lying down in the grass. This wasn’t his first vigil here, and the place was equipped for it. In theory he could manage everything from his house. In practice that required interconnections—for example, to special data systems—which would be expensive to install and imperfectly secure. He sent out for dinner, made the couch into a bed, loosened his clothes, settled full length in the embrace of a lounger, and considered what entertainment to screen. Maybe a classic book he’d always meant to read or a classic show he’d always meant to see? No, he was too tightly wound. Either mindless relaxation or else an affirmation, playing back one of the noble speeches by the founders of the Party—or, wait, why not a couple of his own addresses, to study the form and possibly find details to improve? He reached for the retrieval control.

  His phone chimed.

  He was halfway out of the lounger before he had brought himself back down into calm. And still he sweated and shivered underneath.

  “I’ve finally heard,” Palamas said. Background indicated she was calling from her apartment or whatever it was. “They appear to have located Chinook, approaching the Wheel from the far side.”

  Brodersen, may his figurative soul burn forever in mythical hell, guessed—“What precisely is your information, please?”

  According to her answer, the probability looked high. A metallic object of about the right size had been detected at the edge of the forbidden zone. It was inbound, currently under low acceleration or none. A couple of days earlier, a Solar weather monitor had happened to record a jet trail outbound along what would be an appropriate path. The facts all pointed to Chinook’s having made for the vicinity of the San Geronimo Wheel, coasting by, using enough boost to swing around and get aimed sunward again, coasting once more (for a better look), presumably soon to accelerate for Earth at a full gee and arrive with whatever yarn her crew had concocted. No, arrive with a broadcast that thousands of receivers will pick up, as soon as she’s in range.

  “I expect we can reach her,” Palamas said. “Lasers might miss, but if her radio is open as regulations require, she ought to hear a strong signal.”

  “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 the 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 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 overpast 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.

  Caitlín 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.

  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, ‘the 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 Caitlín 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.”