by Ian Miller
"And what did this Harry do?"
"First off, he observed your arrival, located your base, and gave a pretty fair estimate of your capability," Marisa started. "He led half the defence of the space station, he helped capture each of the vessels we took from you, on Mars and Miranda, and finally he flew the M'starn ship that did most of the damage to your fleet and saved my life."
"Perhaps this Harry is of the opposite sex?"
"Correct," Gaius smiled.
"He should be your mate."
"That could well happen." Gaius' smile deepened, as Marisa began to blush.
"I would like to meet this Harry," the leader said. "Where is he?"
"Yes," Natasha asked, with a touch of puzzlement. "Where is he?"
"He's in his room," Marisa said, with a look of extreme embarrassment, as if she had realized she should not have mentioned his name at all. "He's working."
"Working?" Gaius asked with a look of puzzlement. "What at?"
"Katya," Natasha said, "would you please go and get him."
"With your permission," Gelemt asked, "I would like to go as well. I would appreciate seeing how your heroes live."
"As would I," Kuyrill Hadell added. Kazyn's tail began flicking, in anticipation.
"If you wish," Natasha shrugged, "although I don't think you'll see much. I'll get a couple of soldiers to escort you."
"With deference, Commissioner, I don't think that's a good idea," Marisa blurted out. "I don't think they should go."
"And whyever not?" Natasha asked, with a touch of irritation.
"Well, look at it this way," Marisa stumbled as she attempted to recover. "Harry's never seen an Ulsian or a Ranhynn. You'll forgive me," she added, bowing to the three guests, "but he's been working very hard, he's very tired, and if he opens the door and sees, well . . ."
"I understand," Kuyrill said. "I'll withdraw in the interests of –"
"No need," Natasha said firmly. "Marisa, you go as well. I presume you will not terrify him."
"I'm not sure –"
"I am," Natasha said. "Consider it an order."
"Yes, Commissioner," Marisa said, without enthusiasm.
"What on earth can Harry be up to," Natasha muttered, as the party was leaving the room.
"I have a feeling I can guess the answer to that," Gaius said softly, "but I suspect he is overstretching himself."
* * *
"Harry, it's me!" Marisa called, as she knocked on the closed door. Along the corridor, a small cluster of pilots had gathered to observe the strange creatures with her. As they advanced more closely, Kuyrill Hadell turned and bared her teeth. There was a frantic scurrying for safety, and Marisa heard again what she now recognized as a Ranhyn laugh from Kazyn.
"Come in! The door's not locked."
"I have an Ulsian and two Ranhynn with me. I think they want to see what you're up to."
"Oh!" came the reply, then, after a pause, "I suppose so, provided they promise to tell me if a statement I make is correct."
"There," Marisa said, turning to the Ulsian. "That's his condition. Now, I know how reluctant you are to give information, so perhaps I should just get him out and we can go back to the Commissioner."
"Not at all," Gelempt said quietly. "Harry, we agree with your terms, provided the answer adds nothing that was not in the question, apart from separating true or false."
"Then I suppose I'd better open the door," Marisa said, as she shook her head slowly.
She opened the door gently, and walked in. She signalled for Gelempt to enter first, on the basis that he was much less fearsome than the Ranhynn. The sight to greet the three visitors was not that which would have met with an inspecting sergeant's approval during their early days at Tashkent. There was a desk beside the large computer wall screen; the end of the desk nearest the screen was relatively tidy, with a keyboard, a printer, and a light pen placed in reasonable clear space. Various crumpled sheets of computer printout littered the other end of the desk. In the centre of the room, a small table held a large pile of neatly stacked and folded sheets of brown paper, and a small tub of various coloured marking pens. The walls of the room were almost entirely covered with these sheets of brown paper, on which mathematical equations were written in various colours. On the floor, in one corner was a large rubbish bin, but one that was clearly not large enough; the remains of several pre-packaged meals and countless sheets of brown paper, with equations crossed out, spilled out across the floor. In another corner, near the window overlooking the sports field, the small cooking facility showed signs of heavy use; at one end was a large pile of spent coffee grounds.
Harry looked up from behind the desk as the visitors entered. He had not shaved for several days, and the red eyes gave a clear indication as to his level of sleep. His cheeks were gaunt, and his hair was sticking out in all directions. He smiled wanly at Marisa, then at the Ulsian, then gave a startled leap as the first Ranhyn entered.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Marisa muttered. "My big mouth reminded the Commissioner you weren't there," then she paused, shook her head, and added, "Harry, you look awful. You've got to eat properly, and get some sleep."
"Soon," Harry nodded.
There was suddenly a sound of thumping noises. "Hey! Inertial field theory!" Kazyn squealed. "You mean humans actually like doing this sort of thing? Even enough to give up eating?"
"I have been eating," Harry protested.
"You call that food?" Kazyn shook his head, as he pointed at the remains of a meal. "Yuk! Real junk food! Even for humans!"
"That's what I've been telling him," Marisa said. 'Hey! what did you mean, inertial field theory?"
"Kazyn spoke out of turn," Hadell growled. "That was naughty!"
"Question!" Harry said, turning to the Ulsian. "I believe you cannot make a stationary teleport wave that terminates at a tangent to a flat surface. True or false?"
"Now, what would make you believe that?" the Ulsian said, with the rounding of the mouth that Marisa later found out was the Ulsian equivalent of a smile.
"This should only work with a standing wave," Harry replied. "Now, the field that defines the information also delocalizes it. If I am right, the localization is achieved with an additional wave, which forces the information at specific points, defined by the wave amplitude, and to get the stationary wave, we need a feed-back wave. The amplitude of the reflected wave depends on the sine of the angle of incidence multiplied by a booster function, and sine zero is zero. If there is zero amplitude feedback, according to these calculations, there cannot be a stationary wave, and . . ." he paused.
"Correct reasoning," Hadell nodded.
"It's the booster function that is really interesting, though," Harry mused, as if almost to himself. His eyes, however, were fixed keenly on Kazyn as he went on, "The amplitude of the return wave has to be exactly the same as that of the incoming wave, and this can only arise if energy is generated from the other surface." He paused, as if hoping for some reaction, then when none came, he continued quietly, "It almost seems to require another wave, to activate what is required to generate the return wave."
"Primitive teleport systems will only work normal to a suitable surface," Gelempt shrugged, "as, for that matter, do ones that carry a certain level of information. As you seem to have noted here," he added as he pointed to a piece of paper, "your so-called booster function has to approximate to a cosecant of the angle. A fuller answer to your question is that even Ulsian teleports can't get reasonable sized energy packets teleported at a reception angle of less than thirty degrees."
"But the smaller the packet being moved, the smaller that angle can be?"
"Correct."
"Harry!" Marisa started, as if only beginning to realize what was going on. "I didn't know you were thinking about teleports. You're not going to invent one, are you?"
"No," Harry grinned. "I'm nowhere near that. I was looking at this inertial stabilization field, and it operates inside wave-guides. The solutions to the equa
tions always have two signs, and the field arises from two running waves going between the guides, equally and oppositely, so they form a standing wave. It just occurred to me to take the equations outside the wave-guides. They don't make much sense out there, unless you can get a reflectance wave, in which case, the object that does the reflecting acts like a piece of a larger guide. Now the peculiar thing about these equations is the symmetry around the centre of the stationary wave. The M'starn use the centroid of the ship as one pole, and with only one anti-node there's only one solution, but if you have an external 'other end' the positional equations actually have two locations, and hence . . ."
"An energy packet can be at one or the other," Marisa gasped. She turned to Gelempt, and said, "I know you're not going to approve of this, but –"
"Not approve of what?" the Ulsian asked.
"Technology leakage."
"Do not worry," Gelempt replied, with the mouth clearly rounded. "It is not our objective to hold your civilization back. We just do not want you to depend on someone else's. We applaud your trying to invent something. Even more, we applaud your trying to understand what you're trying to invent. I find this quite exciting."
"Nobody said that to me while I was trying to follow all this at school," Kazyn growled.
"You made more mistakes, with less excuse," Hadell noted.
"Mistakes?" Marisa gasped.
"There's a pile of them," Hadell pointed to the trash. "You don't catch me out that way," she added, nodding at Marisa.
"This part is interesting," Gelempt said, as he pointed to a large sheet of paper. "I see you assume this constant of integration is zero."
"I can't see how I can get any further otherwise," Harry shrugged.
"Out of the infinite range of possibilities, it just happens to be zero?"
"It just has to be zero," Harry said.
"Why does it have to be?"
"There's no option, if I am going to get anywhere."
"You must be tired," Gelempt remarked. "You misunderstand. Think! When, mathematically, must it be zero?"
"Well, I suppose a definite integral between . . . Hey! The two poles!"
"You would have got there sooner or later," Gelempt remarked. "I have saved you some time. In return, you must clean up, and return to the Commissioner. You have some M'starn who wish to see you. They think you're a hero, so try to look a little like the part."
Harry looked vacantly at the calculations, then suddenly smiled. "Give me five minutes," he said, and grabbed a marker pen and began scribbling furiously. He stopped, put the pen down, then reached for a shaver. He smiled to himself. If he had properly interpreted the twitchings of Kazyn's tail, he knew exactly which areas to focus on.
Part Six
NEW YORK, CHRYSE PLANITIA, TARSIS
September-December, 2286
Chapter 1
Imre Halas placed his meeting notes and agenda on the writing table and stared at the wall. He tried to swallow, but there was insufficient saliva. Tomorrow's meeting of the Executive Council had one major item: Commissioner Kotchetkova's proposal for assisting the return of the M'starn to their own planetary system. The proposal was vintage Kotchetkova; it ended with the cryptic comment that upon the M'starn departure, the external threat would be deemed to be over, and the extraordinary powers vested in the Commissioner for Defence would no longer apply. In other words, vote for the proposal, or vote Kotchetkova the powers of autocracy.
Exit the M'starn! That would leave the most powerful armed forces Earth had ever seen at Kotchetkova's and that Roman fossil's disposal. Not that that would have mattered, if only it was possible to deal with them. But Natasha's wretched puritanism could lead to only one end: the end of the comforts of privilege. How far would she go? She could pre-emptively strike against the corporations, especially if she had evidence of Munro's treachery. Perhaps, Halas mused, he should go to Kotchetkova. The difficulty was, to tell her what? His only evidence had been used in an unsuccessful attempt at extortion, and he was the only one for whom it was unsuccessful.
If Munro were left alone, he would almost certainly have Kotchetkova and the Roman killed. If he did, what would happen next? A power grab! With Kotchetkova gone, Streckov would gain control of Defence, but he was weak and would stop there, and would align himself with the winner. That left the Council. Surely it would be much easier for Munro to take power if the Council acquiesced; that would give him respectability. Even Munro wanted respectability! He must, mustn't he? In which case, if he, Halas, could demonstrate that he could sway the opinions of the otherwise neutral and independent Council members, Munro would have to be impressed. The problem was, how to do it?
Munro would swallow the other Corporates, except Reiner, while many of the other Councillors could be led like sheep to the slaughterhouse. Mars, Moon and the Lagrange settlements fitted that description. If there was one thought that terrified them, it was that they might have to leave Earth and return to the places they were supposed to represent, to leave luxury and power for the Spartan life of the settlement. Although, from what he heard, life on the Lagrange stations was probably more pleasant and predictable than that on Earth. Perhaps the truth was they all enjoyed their positions of power. With the right vote they could keep that.
The members representing the independents would be more trouble. He had to give them something. That was it! He had to give! Emphasis on the he! Whoever wanted their vote would be in the same position, but the independents would never believe Munro or a Corporate. They might believe Environment and Justice. If he could only swing Elizabeth, then Kleppe would follow. That could do it. If he took the votes to Munro, he would be off the hook. He had to talk to Elizabeth, without her tearing her nails into his face. Perhaps a Comscreen call; at least she would have to be polite, because she could not be sure who else was there. He sat in front of the screen and keyed in the code.
"Good evening, Elizabeth," he said cheerfully as her image came onto the screen. "I hope you had a pleasant flight here."
"Oh, it's you!" came the frosty reply. "Have you found your million fecus yet?"
"Please, Elizabeth, I have a proposition."
"Charming!"
"No! No! Please don't turn off, at least until you've heard what I have to say."
"Well?"
"Elizabeth, the war's over, and now Kotchetkova's extremely popular."
"You've disturbed my meal preparations just to tell me this?"
"I know you know that," Halas said with a touch of irritation, then he remembered that he was trying to sell, so he forced the smile back onto his face. "The point is, the Balance is irretrievably disturbed. We discussed this, and –"
"And we came up with a plan, and you played silly buggers with it."
"All that's water under the bridge," Halas said, exasperation now barely concealed. "You'll agree the problem's still there, and I've got a plan –"
"Aren't you just the lucky one."
"Elizabeth, please! I've got to see you. I want to discuss it with you. I know you'll agree it's workable once you've had a chance to think about it, and believe me, you're absolutely essential. Without your influence and ability to oppose her, I think Kotchetkova's unbeatable. Nobody else can –"
"Imre, I don't care if you've got twenty plans," came the caustic interruption. "I really don't want to see you again any more than I absolutely have to. If my participation in your plan is the only thing that'll stop Natasha, then all I can say is that I'd rather take my chances with Natasha." With that, the Comscreen signal dissolved into noise
"Damn it! Don't turn me off!" Imre shouted. He keyed in the number again, but only received the engaged response. "You bitch!" he shouted, and thumped his hand down on the keyboard. A surge of strange lines flashed across the screen, then the vertical amplitude collapsed and he was left staring at an intense white line across the middle of the screen. "Oh shit!" he muttered, as he tried to resuscitate the screen. Finally he had to admit defeat, and he switched the
screen off. "Garrett," he muttered to himself. "You don't leave me any choice. You're going to be like a screen with no vertical amplitude! Still and horizontal!"
He began to pace around the room. Another complication! Now he had to do something about Garrett. It was getting more and more difficult all the time. More and more to do, and fewer and fewer ideas on how to do it. Because killing Garrett was only half the problem. Someone had to replace her; someone more amenable. But who? And how? Perhaps this latest hero, Baxter? Baxter was a good choice, because he was on Mars, and Mars was now getting close to disappearing behind the sun. Soon, for a brief while, communications would be difficult, if not impossible. The Justice officials would not like it, but they would be helpless. So perhaps . . .
But not if Kotchetkova and the Roman were there. So he was back to square one. What he needed was some air. He picked up his jacket and left the room, carefully locking the door behind him. He walked down the seemingly endless corridor, then found an elevator. When he left the elevator, had he been asked, he could not have told how many people were in it with him, and he could not have described the man who entered it from the same floor as he did. He did not notice that this man followed him at a discreet distance as he left the building, and he could not have seen the man smile as he turned to the right, thus walking in the same direction as the kerb-side traffic. Halas barely noticed the car pull alongside, but he most certainly felt the pair of hands grab him and drag him into the vehicle. With a quiet hum, the electric motors allowed the car to surge forward and quickly merge back into the traffic stream. Before Halas had realized what was happening the car was screaming around the next corner and speeding towards a transit tunnel.
"What the hell do you think you're doing!" Halas screamed. "I'm a Commissioner! Let me go at once, or else –"
"Shuddup, Halas!" a burly man beside him said. "Yeah! We know who you are. Now sit back an' enjoy the ride. See the sights of New York. Behave yourself, an' soon you'll be right back at your hotel. Piss us around, and you can swim in the Hudson!"
"Maybe then you'll wish you'd done your job better," the driver added sourly.
