by Wren, M. K.
Her frown deepened at the thought of reversion. She was remembering his reaction to Adrien Eliseer’s marriage. Something had happened; the defenses had broken. And she was remembering in the same context that when he had first regained consciousness and she gave him the code word that brought him out of the TAB—his was, almost inevitably, “lamb”—her first question had been. “What is your name?” He had answered dazedly, “Alexand . . .” Then, after a moment, he amended himself, “Ransom. My name is Alex Ransom.”
She knew he had been right the first time.
Now she studied him as he joined two GroundComm officers at the holojector. He’d been in the comcenter less than half an hour, but it was all business as usual. When he first arrived, there had been a flurry of eager greetings, and his responses had been warm, if a little reserved, but the reserve was expected of him and made the warmth more telling than all Ussher’s facile ebullience. Nor did he play on the emotional impact of his appearance as Ussher would, instead passing off expressions of concern with an easy smile that said he appreciated them, but didn’t consider his physical state important.
He had them all in the palm of his hand now. Ussher’s weeks-long rumor campaign of innuendo and character assassination was totally negated. If the outcome of the power struggle within the Phoenix depended on an open confrontation between Alex and Ussher, she wouldn’t be at all concerned. But it would never come to that. All Alex could do now was renew their faith in him; he couldn’t attack their faith in Ussher. Schism. The specter that haunted all their decisions.
Demond was coming through the lock tunnel. Alex walked over to the windowall, accompanied by a cluster of techs and officers. Outside, crewmembers were gathering around the deck, talking excitedly among themselves. The news of Alex’s return went out the moment he set foot in the hangars. When Demond’s crew began to emerge, he turned to Captain Lanc on the comconsole.
“Captain, call a general assembly in Hangar 1, please.”
“Yes, sir.” There was a lively snap in that.
Alex went out onto the deck, responding to the enthusiastic greetings of the crewmembers outside, while the ampspeakers boomed with Lanc’s assembly call. When Jan Barret left the Demond and strode toward the deck, his broad smile making his face seem even more boyish than usual. Erica took advantage of the distraction to slip out to the deck, still staying in the background.
“Alex!” Barret was nearly running by the time he reached the deck. “You’re back! Thank the God, you’re back!”
Alex was less reserved with Barret. He laughed, his hand going out to meet Barret’s in a warm handshake.
“Jan, it’s good to see you.”
“Holy God. it’s good to see you.” Then his smile faltered. “Are you—are you all right?”
“I will be with a little rest.”
Jan’s exhilaration returned. He looked out into the hangar, where every available space around the ships and machines was filling with members drawn by curiosity as much as by Lane’s amplified command.
“Damn, what a day! Three Falcons picked off like they were meant for us, and now to have you back. Hey, there’s Commander Garris!”
Erica smiled to herself. No mere handshakes for Emeric; he locked Alex in a hearty embrace, his words of jubilant welcome lost in the mounting babble of voices as the hangar filled and more officers gathered on the deck.
“This calls for a celebration.” Barret was saying, “and it looks like everybody’s here.”
Almost literally everybody. Erica thought, noting a high ratio of faces that didn’t actually belong in FO; news traveled fast in Fina.
Alex said, “We should be celebrating your obvious success in the last month.” He looked at the rows of berthed ships, then smiled. “My faith wasn’t misplaced, was it?”
Barret flushed. “I—I hope not.”
“You know it wasn’t. But any celebration will have to be postponed. You have a Council meeting in a few minutes, and I have . . . other plans.”
“Damn, I forgot about that meeting.” Barret frowned at his watch. “I’ll ’com Predis and tell him—” Then he looked up at Alex. “But you’ll be going instead of me.”
“No, Jan. You’re still First Commander.” Before Barret could question him, he turned to Captain Lanc, who had left his post at the comconsole to a subordinate. “Captain, I need a mike, and put me on the ampsystem, please.”
Lanc hurried back into the comcenter, and Erica studied Alex closely. The acoustics in the cavern-hangar were excellent; normally, he wouldn’t need a mike, but he wasn’t sure of his voice. Still, it was steady enough, even if there was a hint of huskiness.
Lanc brought a handmike. “You’re on the speakers, sir.”
“Thank you.” Alex went to the railing, surveying the crowded hangar, then spoke into the mike. “May I have your attention—” He was forced to stop as a cheer reverberated in the vault. At that he raised a hand and quieted them, saying, “I’m glad to be back in Fina, and that can only be an understatement. I’ve heard the word ‘miracle’ several times in the last half hour, and I’d be the first to agree that my safe return is a miracle. But it was one achieved through the faith, perseverance, and courage of members of the Phoenix. Had everyone given up hope for me, I doubt I’d be alive now, and to say I’m grateful is another understatement. There’s only one way I can adequately express my gratitude to those who didn’t give up hope for me, and that is not to give up hope for another of us who is still imprisoned.”
There was a stirring. Erica studied the faces, watched the covert glances passing from one to another. They knew whom he meant, and their expressions reflected a kindling hope, but underlying it a hint of guilt.
“I was freed from the Cliff,” Alex went on, “when by all odds I should already have been dead. From some of the remarks made to me here, I had the impression it was assumed in some quarters that I was already dead. Obviously, that isn’t the case.” A ripple of self-conscious laughter, but Alex’s intent expression quickly renewed the silence.
“Andreas Riis isn’t dead, either,” he said flatly. “The man you justly revere as the founder of the Society and your leader waits as I did in the hands of the SSB. The Phoenix didn’t surrender me for lack of faith or hope, and I won’t surrender Andreas Riis. He’s been my friend, and if I call myself his friend, I can’t forsake him. But more than his life is at stake. The day before our arrest, Andreas told me he had made a breakthrough on the long-range matter transmitter, and none of you need to be reminded how vital that is to Phase I and the future of the Phoenix.”
This was the first open reference to the LR-MT, and it elicited a murmur of surprised speculation.
“In more than one sense, we can be grateful for the MT. The SSB knows Andreas has the equations for it, and he’s alive now because they hope to break his conditioning and force him to reveal them. We can also, in a sense, be grateful that he isn’t a young man. The psychocontrollers can’t use their usual methods of interrogation on him; they want to keep him alive. This gives us time; time to find and free him. But I’m sure you’re aware that the SSB has taken extraordinary precautions to prevent his escape, and our task will be difficult at best. It may be impossible. I don’t know. But I won’t believe that until I have irrefutable evidence of his death.”
A long pause while he surveyed the faces turned toward him, unanimously intent.
“The primary concern of the Phoenix at this time must be finding and freeing Andreas Riis, and, in light of this, I’ve decided to take a temporary leave of absence from FO in order to devote all my time and energies to this mission. It will mean leaving Fina, but I know the fleets will be in good hands. Jan Barret will continue in his capacity as First Commander until I return. I don’t know when that will be. I can only tell you this: When I return, it will be with Andreas Riis.”
A few voices so
unded the beginnings of a cheer of affirmation, but Alex again quieted them with an upraised hand.
“I have something more to say, something I want you to consider carefully. I ask you to remember who you are.” That seemed to intensify the silence, as if no one were even breathing. “You are the Society of the Phoenix. You are the hope for the future of civilization. Remember that. And remember the half century of effort and sacrifice that lies behind you, and the generations of effort and sacrifice that lie ahead. And remember that the Phoenix has but one enemy: anarchy. The Phoenix was born out of disaster, a symbol of light and hope; hope for the future, light to stave off the third dark age that threatens us. That’s our purpose, our goal—to avert the coming dark age. Remember that.”
No one presumed to voice even approval. Erica listened to the silence, feeling out the awed, sober quality of it. Ussher would have let them cheer, but something in Alex’s attitude denied any inclination to an emotional outburst. And they would remember these words. For a while, at least. Perhaps it would be long enough.
A stir at the hangar doors broke the silence, providing a focus for all eyes. And Erica almost laughed.
Predis Ussher. She’d been expecting him.
He pushed his way toward the deck, his features flushed with suspicious anger. But that was exchanged for a sick pallor when he recognized Alex, and he was too distracted to take full cognizance of the crowd.
He shouldn’t have spoken a word; anything he said at this time and in his emotional state could only seem anticlimactic and petulant, but he was beyond realizing that. He mounted the steps to the deck, then stopped short.
“What is this?” In the silence, his voice echoed.
Barret answered. “A general assembly, Predis. Commander Ran——”
“Assembly?” Then he seemed to hear the echo of his own voice and glanced uneasily at the members, who watched in patent bewilderment. He lowered his voice, but not enough. “Jan, I scheduled a Council meeting for 14:00. It’s 14:10, and the other councilors are waiting.”
Erica moved then, only the turning of her head and a faint smile; a reminder that all the councilors weren’t waiting. That unnerved him further, but Barret saved him from making the error of saying anything to her.
“Predis, I’m sorry about the meeting, but this assembly was too important to interrupt.”
Alex still didn’t acknowledge Ussher; his next words, spoken into the mike, were addressed to the members.
“Assembly dismissed. You may return to your duties now. Thank you.” As the crowd began dispersing, he turned to Ussher. “My apologies to the councilors, Predis. I’ll offer no further delay to your deliberations.” He paused for a few parting words with Barret and Garris, then glanced at Erica, an ironic light reflected fleetingly in his eyes.
She stayed a pace behind him, anticipating with some relish the encounter that must occur when Alex reached the steps where Ussher stood. A small incident few people would consciously remember, and yet it would be telling, because Ussher would be the one to give way.
Alex walked toward the steps at a steady pace, and Ussher found himself in the awkward position of seeming to block his exit. Alex didn’t pause, and finally Ussher stepped back, so intent on him that his foot slipped off the top stair. He lurched against the railing, clutching at it to avoid falling, while Alex passed him without even recognizing his embarrassment.
But Erica saw the seething rage behind the embarrassment. He’d tried twice to kill Alex Ransom, she thought, feeling a chill as she passed Ussher. And he’d failed twice.
But he wouldn’t give up.
9.
The small suitcase was slightly worn at the seams. Alex smiled at that. Ben had a fine eye for detail.
“Wigs, hair color, plasimask . . .” Ben had the suitcase open on the bed, the verbal inventory continuing as he filled it.
Alex went to the mirror by the closet door and waved on the light. They were in Ben’s Leda apartment, and the windowalls were on opaque to assure their privacy. He shrugged into the borasil vest and pressed the fasteners closed, then pulled on a knit shirt. Next the cloak: dark gray, conservative, and typically Fesh.
The pills. His hand went to his pocket, encountering the hard cylinder. He was still too weak, and a deep breath would start the coughing. Erica had supplied him with antivirals, and he had added a few drenaline tablets from his own supply.
Ben’s inventory went on. “House badges for Hamid, Drakonis, and Eliseer. You have your choice. I’ve got three alternate idents for you.”
Alex nodded. “Let me have the Eliseer badge.”
That called up a brief, questioning look, then Ben gave him the cloth disk, and Alex attached it to the shoulder of his cloak. When the edges were smoothed down, it looked exactly as if it had been sewn in place.
“Stun darts, con-rads, ear ’ceivers, minicorders, jamblers, montector, conditioning aids, aural and visual . . .”
“I’d better have one of the visual mod-stims, Ben. The ring. The light beam works faster for me.”
Ben gave him the ring, with its milky, cabochon lens/stone, then searched through the items on the bed and handed him a small, flat case.
“Iris lenses, Alex. Use the brown ones. I put brown on all your ident. They’ll be looking for blue.”
Alex took the case and went to the mirror. He inserted the lenses, blinking them into place, then returned to look over Ben’s shoulder.
“Extra MT fixes, wallet and ident cards . . .” Ben handed him the wallet, checked the plasex ident cards, and gave him one of them. “Here, that’s your Eliseer ident.”
The wallet, suitably worn, was filled with the kind of odds and ends a man forgets to throw out, and two hundred ’cords. Alex put the ident card in its slot, wondering if he’d ever have an opportunity to make use of it. Not today. The ident, the tickets, everything, would pass the closest SSB inspection, yet it was a waste of effort on Ben’s part. But Alex couldn’t explain that to him now.
Ben asked, “You have the contact info on Vandyne memorized?”
“Yes. ’Com seq, 5-396-342. Code opening, ‘You must be busy,’ etc. Have you contacted Jael?”
“I told Harv to fill him in, and I’ve alerted Dr. Perralt and Kahn Telman.”
Alex nodded, studying the contents of the case critically. Ben took another item from the bed and handed it to him, an X1 laser in a spring sleeve sheath.
“It doesn’t have a hell of a lot of power, Alex, but at close range it’s enough.” Then, as Alex strapped the sheath on his left wrist, he frowned. “When did you become a left-hander?”
“Whenever I use a gun, Ben. Fenn Lacroy’s tutelage.”
Protect your right hand, Ser Alex. . . . Learn to use your whole body, Ser Alex. . . . You’re too strongly right-handed, Ser—
His mind kept wandering. He hadn’t thought of Fenn for years, hadn’t thought of . . .
“Anything else?” Ben was frowning at the suitcase.
“No, it looks good.”
Ben slid the lid of the false bottom into place, then filled the remaining space with clothing—from his own closet—and finally closed the suitcase and set the locks.
“Alex, you press this hinge here to activate the destruct mechanism on the false bottom. There’s an airtaxi waiting on the roof to take you to the IP port. Loren Eliseer is due there just before your ship lifts off, so the terminal will be jammed with Conpol and Eliseer guards, but there’ll be plenty of crowd—reporters and oglers. That’ll give you an advantage in spite of the extra uniforms. They’ll be busy with his Lordship.”
Alex looked at his watch and picked up the suitcase. “I’d better be going.”
“Sure. Don’t miss your ship. And that’s no joke. Pollux won’t be exactly healthy for you with both the SSB and Predis after you. The shuttle is your only way off.
”
Alex nodded. Ben was wrong, but he didn’t correct him. There was another way, another ship that would leave Leda and arrive in Helen at approximately the same time as the passenger shuttle: Adrien Eliseer’s private planethopper.
The Bel. Another straying memory. He knew the little ship, could even pilot her himself, and had once long ago. Long ago in that other time, that other life.
He was approaching another nexus of timelines, and perhaps it was an error, the decision that brought him to it. Ben would regard it as an error, even a betrayal. But it wasn’t his decision. Alex faced him, seeing his downcast eyes, his rough-hewn features rigid.
“Ben, be careful. And keep an eye on Erica.” He put his hand out, and the pressure of Ben’s handclasp revealed more than his tense features.
“Don’t worry about us. We can stay on top of things here. For a while, at least. Alex . . .” His breath came out in a long sigh. “Just take care of yourself, damn it.”
PHOENIX MEMFILES: DEPT HUMAN SCIENCES:
BASIC SCHOOL (HS/BS)
SUBFILE: LECTURE. BASIC SCHOOL 15 FEBUAR 3252
GUEST LECTURER: RICHARD LAMB
SUBJECT: POST-DISASTERS HISTORY:
PANTERRAN CONFEDERATION (2903–3104)
DOC LOC #819/219–1253/1812–1648–1523252
I wonder sometimes why historians arc so enamored of “golden ages.” Almost every textape on Post-Disasters history delights in telling us when our Golden Age occurred, bracketing it neatly with the dates 2903 and 3104. It is, unlike so many historical periods that shade indeterminately from one era to the next, beautifully demarked with the founding of the PanTerran Confederation at the beginning, and the Mankeen Revolt at the end. Perhaps it was a Golden Age, but it is also simply the lifespan of the PanTerran Confederation. (That was always its formal title, although after the establishment of the extraterrestrial colonies, it became simply the Confederation in general usage. Only historians and teachers or students of history have to worry about differentiating it from its predecessor, the Holy Confederation.)
