The Avatar

by Poul Anderson

  “Sir, the situation is precarious and worsening. I’m less and less able to stay on top of it by myself. I must have strong help. Of our whole group, you can best supply that.”

  Makarov stubbed his cigarette viciously before he sent it down the ashtaker and reached for another. “What would you have me do, this exact hour?” he growled.

  Quick sighed. “If I knew that, sir, I probably wouldn’t have had to call on you. The truth is though, what will happen soon is unpredictable. If matters go wrong, I may well be unable to maintain secrecy alone. Nor was I ever used to doing so to this extent. Your advice, your connections, your action—Do you follow me?

  “Suppose everything does proceed as we hope. [Chinook comes to the T machine, obediently maintaining outercom silence. The regular watchship is Copernicus, the hastily dispatched special one is Alhazen. Crews of both have been warned that the travelers are wanted on Demeter on criminal charges and must be presumed dangerous. Additionally, Broussard of the European Confederacy has seen to it that the captain and gunner on Alhazen, though not privy to the facts, are men who can be depended on to obey his command to shoot when in any doubt; his national government will protect them afterward before the board of inquiry…. However, suppose Chinook passes through to Phoebus without incident. There Lomonosov waits to conduct her off. When remote from Bohr, Lomonosov sends a boarding party which secures the Demetrians, interrogates them, communicates with Governor Hancock, and waits for further instructions.]

  “We still won’t know for a while exactly what the Brodersen gang has done or can still do. We may get a nasty surprise. For instance, they may have propagandized the Wheel. We had better be prepared to respond fast and decisively.

  “For now, though, what if trouble comes in the next few hours, in any of a hundred unforeseeable ways? What then? I repeat, sir, events are moving too rapidly for us. We’ve had to improvise, we’re overextended, our cover stories are full of gaping holes, too many people—from Hades to the Wheel and back—will shortly be asking too many questions. What shall we do?”

  Makarov blew smoke. It stank. “That will depend on what the reality is,” he said. “You are right, I had best keep vigil with you.”

  After a moment he added, “The absolute reality is always death.”

  Quick sat straight. I half feared this. Did I also half wish for it? “I don’t quite understand,” he faltered.

  “Do they not have a proverb in English, ‘Dead men tell no tales’?”

  Yes; and how many graves have your executioners filled, Makarov? Quick’s mouth was turning cottony. He felt cold, though the office was well heated. “We have… our group has… discussed extreme measures, true. But strictly in case of dire need.”

  “You have been telling me the need has become dire—whether you know you have or not.”

  Quick clutched the arms of his chair. Attack! “Perhaps you should be more specific, sir.”

  Makarov waved his cigarette. “Very well.” His tone stayed matter-of-fact. “I have given thought to this, you realize, and have sounded out others in our team. If you were not included, no insult. Your actions, yes, your leadership demonstrate you are fundamentally a realist.

  “We can have Chinook and her crew destroyed. We can send a trustworthy detachment to dispatch the personnel in the Wheel, including Troxell’s.

  “Faraday—I am not yet sure. We can have Lomonosov destroy her at Hades. Later we can explain these losses as a sad set of accidents, coincidentally happening in close succession. Well, there is no haste about Faraday. If possible, I prefer we spare her, since her crew is primed with hints of monsters from the stars.

  “Ideally, we arrange the scene at the Wheel so it appears the monsters, who had enslaved the Emissary crew, took over the quarantine station as well. Yes, and when Brodersen arrived on his private investigation, they lured him to them, captured him and his men, departed in his ship for their planet. Fortunately, they betrayed themselves to the alert Lomonosov, which blew them to pieces.”

  Despite having entertained similar notions—as fantasies, as fantasies—Quick felt it incumbent on him to whisper, “Do you seriously imagine we could get the whole human race to swallow such a piece of sensationalism?”

  “Enough of it, probably,” Makarov said. “Nothing a government claims is too preposterous for most of its citizens.

  “Bear in mind, I do not say this strategy is feasible. That we must find out. For example, will Stedman cooperate fully? His nerve may fail him when he imagines facing his God. If he or somebody else becomes unreliable, what can we best do about them? In any event, how do we explain and justify the fact that so many in the Council, in higher echelons everywhere, were not notified and consulted at once? What evidence can we manufacture, what particulars can clever men invent for us?

  “The advantage of creating invaders from the stars is that we can then easily attain our objective, a guard at both T machines to wipe out any alien ships the instant they appear. Public opinion will support this, yes, require this, and an end to exploration. But we do risk failure and exposure.

  “Maybe the safest course is to destroy Faraday with the rest and make everything look accidental. Or, hm, we could throw some of the blame onto terrorists. In that case, we must find a different political route, more slow, toward our goal.

  “The whole point, Sr. Quick, is that whatever we do, it must not be done timidly. We must have the balls to accept great hazards. Believe me, the danger in shilly-shallying is grossly greater.

  “Yes, I must certainly stand by you in these next hours,” Makarov closed.

  “You’re saying terrible things,” Quick protested. “Why, some of those you’d kill have been freely helping us.”

  “I have heard another English proverb,” Makarov retorted. “‘You cannot make an omelette without breaking eggs.’ Is an excellent saying.

  “In the past I have found it necessary to sign death sentences of followers who had been valuable. I judged they were beginning to follow me too independently; or they had questionable associates; or—Well, I had a state to rebuild from chaos. How could I investigate every single case?

  “For our separate reasons, Sr. Quick, we deem it vital that the human race stay home, carry out its natural tasks, and shun outsiders… at least until it is properly organized to cope with them. Vital. Now in days before cell therapy, what woman hesitated to have a cancerous breast cut off? That harmed her beauty, but she had no choice if she would live, did she?

  “Furthermore, Sr. Quick.” Makarov leaned forward. “Furthermore. You are committed. Our whole little organization is. We had an ideal, we stumbled toward it, we made missteps as people always do, and today we are close to ruin. Is our ideal not correct regardless? How well can we continue to serve mankind from a prison?

  “Prison it will be, if any strong hint of the facts ever comes out. Publicity will lead to investigation. Subordinates of ours will seek to save their own hides by tattling on us. Chinook is forcing us beyond the limits of any legal technicalities. We are quite clearly conspiring to violate the Covenant rights of her crew. We have already violated them, by deliberately causing a groundless warrant to be issued for their arrest. From this will spring countless further charges of malfeasance in office. We will be locked away for a long, long time—unless we strike the right blow at once, and strike it hard!”

  A part of Quick recalled an essay he had read years before, on how intellectuals are chronically fascinated by violence as an instrumentality—drawn, repelled, drawn back, as they might be to the idea of sexual relations with a barely pubescent girl or with a sentient nonhuman; it is a kind of xenophilia, and when a conflict of which they approve (and they approve of most) does erupt, they take the lead in cheering on the warheads and calling for more soldiers to feed the furnace. At the time he had thought what reactionary nonsense this was. Later, cultivating his fair-mindedness, he had had to admit there might be a limited amount of truth to the thesis. Yonder son of a bitch is right in
the present context. You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs. Why, you can’t maintain an orderly everyday society without breaking an occasional head.

  And, Christ almighty, he must indeed go forward. Otherwise—arrest, indictment, trial? An actual jail sentence? A rehabilitative psychiatrist (squat, plump, blue-jowled, fleshy-nosed) probing the psyche of Ira Quick, which his grubby breed would never understand in a geological epoch? Release after he was aged, aged, to whatever drabness he could find in the wreckage of career and social life? His boys, wife, friends, mistresses, the whole world naming him kidnapper and murderer, he who had striven for nothing but human betterment?

  I am well known as being fast on my feet.

  Quick ran tongue over lips. “Sir, I don’t necessarily agree with either of your proposals.” Ah, good, how calmly he spoke despite the thick hammering inside him. “Nevertheless, when a statesman like you speaks. I listen. Would you care to explain in detail?” He felt his brave smile. “We do have to pass the time while we wait.”

  The voices around the cathedral image were marching to their triumphant conclusion.

  XXVI

  Chinook WAS OVER a million kilometers from her goal, decelerating, when the first communication struck her. Brodersen took it in his office.

  The screen showed him an angular visage speaking British English: “Vincent Lawes, commanding watchship Alhazen on special duty. You are Chinook of Demeter, are you not?” It was scarcely a question. “Give me your captain.”

  “You have him,” Brodersen answered. “What can I do for you?”

  The seconds ticked away while light beams flew forth and back again. Caitlín, seated beside Brodersen, gripped his forearm, which was bare. He was acutely conscious of that warmth and pressure, of her hasty breath and faint sweet woman-odors.

  “Now hear this well, Captain Brodersen,” Lawes said. His tone was harsh and a tic jumped near his right eye. “You are wanted on serious charges. Your ship is armed. My orders are to see that you pass through to the Phoebean System to be taken in charge there. I am to consider you dangerous and take no chances with you. None. Do you understand?”

  “What procedure shall we follow?”

  Time. “You will maneuver as usual, except under direction from us, not Copernicus. In fact, you are to have no contact whatsoever with Copernicus. You will beam every message at us, and in English. Copernicus has been directed off her usual orbit. She’ll keep on the far side of the T machine from you as you make transit. To contact her, you’d have to broadcast—and in Spanish, since nobody aboard her knows English. We will detect that. Any untoward action of yours can provoke our fire. I repeat, do you understand? Make sure you do, Captain Brodersen.”

  “My, my.” The Demetrian clicked his tongue. “You are tight in the sphincter, aren’t you? How come? What harm in a little chat?”

  Time. Caitlín chanted, a whisper—a Gaelic curse, Brodersen thought.

  “I have my orders,”“ Lawes replied, scissoring off each word. “Among other things, you stand accused of trying to disseminate technological information which would endanger public safety. Without questioning the dutifulness of the Copernicus personnel, I am to see that you send no word to them or anyone else. Needless to say, they are not to tune you in. If we become engaged with you, they will join us.”

  “I see. M-m, how about yourself, Captain Lawes? Our side of the story is pretty interesting. We’ve quite a bit we can show you, too.”

  Time. The sole surprise, if it was that, was the appalled vehemence of Lawes’ “No! Absolutely not! At the first sign of any such attempt, I’ll switch off. If you persist when I call back later, I have discretion to attack.”

  “Okay, okay. What else?”

  Time. Brodersen muttered to Caitlín, “They’ve sure got to him, haven’t they? Prob’ly by more than an appeal to his loyalty. He’s an officer of the Union, after all, not of Europe. Bribe, blackmail—”

  “Your path and vectors are incorrect for a transit,” Lawes said. “Explain.”

  “Yeah, I was coming to that. We’ve developed collywobbles in the main control system. Acquired a wrong momentum and have to compensate. Instead of making straight for our first base, we’re applying parameters which will bring us to zero relative velocity near Beacon Bravo. From there, we’ll move to the proper location for a standard approach. I have the figures here, if you’d like me to transmit them.”

  Discussion went into technicalities for several minutes. At last, reluctantly, Lawes said., “Very well. We will be tracking you continuously, remember. Stand by for possible further instructions. If nothing suspicious happens, I will re-establish direct communication at nineteen-thirty hours. Is that clear?” Receiving his acknowledgment, he blanked without a goodbye.

  Brodersen leaned back. “Wow,” he said. “For a while there, I wondered if he would shoot. His finger’s awful twitchy on the trigger. But of course, at this distance, Frieda can intercept whatever he might send—I presume.”

  “It’s desperate our enemies are, I’m thinking,” Caitlín said.

  “Right. And the more desperate people get, the more dangerous. Us included.” He turned to smile at her. The darling face drew close to his. “Well, we’ve three to four hours before things get spiny. Better rest up, macushla, if you can.”

  She ran fingers down his cheek. “I’ve a more interesting idea, my life.”

  “Huh? I—Look, I’ve got to make the rounds, jolly the troops, check everything out—”

  “If those responsible have not their departments in good shape by now, you’re too late,” she said firmly. “They do, though. I’ve sounded them out in ways the Old Man cannot. The morale of most is flying banners; the rest are at least of stout heart. Aye, we might hold an assembly, for a few rousing songs of revolution and freedom. But that’s best done as late before our plunge as may be.” She grinned. “Thus you’ve better than an hour free, Daniel Brodersen, and sure I am you’ve the wit to pass it in style.”

  “Uh, well, uh, look, frankly, I’m so full of worries, I doubt—”

  She stopped his lips with hers. Her hands roved. Presently she laughed. “See? That fret of yours was for naught.” Springing to her feet, grabbing his wrist: “Come along, me bucko. No use to struggle. You’re doomed.”

  Stars blazed in every viewscreen of the command center. The dimmed image of Sol hung like a burning moon, Earth hidden from sight behind it. Elsewhere a globe glowed wanly golden, the sign at which the ship had halted. In another direction, the cylinder that was the T machine whirled, its mass and might brought by a tiny distance—about fifty megameters, hardly more than the circumference of a terrestroid planet—down to a bit of jewelry adrift in heaven.

  Brodersen floated alone, harnessed, listening to his blood. Those tides went more easily than he had expected. He would not have taken a fear suppressant in any event, for he needed each millisecond he could shave off his reaction time, but he had figured on being strung tight. Pegeen is heap good medicine, he thought.

  If only she could be here. She wouldn’t distract him … willingly. He just wasn’t sure that in her nearness he could remain the complete robot he ought to be. It was plenty hard curbing the knowledge that soon she might die.

  And Stef poised at detector and communicator consoles in the electronics shack; Joelle as holothete and Su as linker were parts of the ship, her pilots through the shoals and breakers ahead; Phil and Martti occupied the engine room, though likely they were condemned to do no more than sweat; Frieda had the armament center, with Carlos—who had learned something about it earlier—to give partial assistance. That left Caitlín to comfort Fidelio. Tuning briefly in, Brodersen had heard her swapping music with the Betan.

  A blink and beep sent his attention to the outercom. Lawes’ haggard countenance jumped into its screen. “Watchship—there you are. Are you prepared?”

  “More or less,” Brodersen replied. “We’ve still got problems. I do hope the apparatus doesn’t suddenly run wild. T
hat could send us off to Kingdom Come, you know.”

  Time lag here was imperceptible. Dozsa had reported Alhazen as being a few thousand kilometers off. Magnification could have made the lean shape visible, but Brodersen saw no cause to bother. “I… hope the same… for your sake,” Lawes said. “Proceed according to your declared flight plan. I’ll stay in touch…. Proceed!”

  “Yes.” Brodersen addressed the intercom. “Captain to crew. You heard the man. Get busy.” He saw Lawes flush and clench teeth, as if twice convinced this was a pack of pirates.

  Weightlessness yielded to a small, varying sideways drag and a sense of Coriolis twist, as Chinook rotated from her gyros. That stopped; for an instant she orbited; full thrust awoke and she darted forward. Acceleration crammed Brodersen into his seat.

  It took a minute for Lawes’ instruments and computers to determine what was going on and inform him. “Hold!” he screamed. “You’re aimed wrong!”

  “God damn it, I know,” Brodersen snapped in his best imitation of a person fighting dismay. “I told you we’re having troubles. Hang on, don’t bother me.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “You think we want to go off on a random path and disappear forever? Get off my back. I’ve got to see about stopping us.”

  “I’ll give you a short chance, Captain.” Lawes clamped his mouth shut. Brodersen and his followers exchanged words which they had rehearsed.

  The ion drive cut out, as it must if Chinook was to tread the measure Joelle had calculated for her. Falling toward the next point of inflection, she turned her nose again. A radar could spot the movement if it was set to do so, but he gambled that that wouldn’t occur to Lawes for a while.

  “Navigation estimates we can stay on this trajectory for six hours without getting too far into the field,” he said. It was true. “The engineers expect they’ll repair the breakdown well before then.”

  Lawes squinched eyelids close together. “I want to know more about it. Why didn’t you call in sooner?”