A Thunder Of Stars

by Dan Morgan;John Kippax

  "Yes, I'll second Longcloud's nomination," Ericson said, with a suspicious promptness.

  Yow Thin Thang said: "He has done some excellent practical work in the field of system meteor disposal."

  "A bloody cosmic trash collector," grunted Carter, but he got the message; three down and one to go. He turned his eyes on Suvorov. He, at least, was a real spaceman, who knew the kind of man who was needed for such an appointment.

  "I agree that Longcloud is to a large extent an unproved man," Suvorov said, gazing into the middle distance. "But there's no reason to suppose that he would reflect anything other than credit on our choice."

  "What the hell—?" began Carter.

  "On the other hand," continued Suvorov firmly, "at this stage there can surely be no harm done by looking farther afield for our candidate? There must be a number of experienced officers of the rank of Lieutenant Commander and above who would be capable of handling this appointment."

  Carter subsided, coming to the conclusion that he had underestimated both Suvorov's loyalty and his subtlety.

  "Perhaps Admiral Suvorov had some particular officer in mind?" said Mariano blandly.

  Suvorov breathed deeply and stroked his chin. "No ... I was merely making a general observation."

  Carter sat, head hunched turtle-like between his braided shoulders, his mouth half open as he stared at

  Suvorov. Sam Suvorov, of all people to let him down like this!

  "We can't appoint a general observation to command Venturer Twelve," Carter bellowed. "We need a man And I suggest that the man we need is Commander Tom Bruce."

  "Cosy ... but impractical," Mariano said, shaking his head.

  "What the. hell do you mean, impractical?" demanded Carter, doubly incensed. It had been agreed that the proposition should come from Suvorov. Why had he backed down? And now, to have Mariano sniping as well. ...

  Mariano said: "System Patrol is a very important arm of the Corps. Surely it would be imprudent to deprive such a department of both its Second in Command and Commander?"

  Carter glowered at Mariano. He felt as if he was chewing dirt. "So that was the reason for the Prince Charming act," he said. "I wondered why you were taking it so easy on Lindstrom."

  "Lieutenant Lindstrom, as we have all agreed, is an excellent choice for Second in Command," said Mariano.

  "Only if Bruce is Commander," Carter said. "These two have proved themselves as a first-class team."

  "But the team has already been broken up, Junius," Mariano said smugly. "When such a relationship is ended—even between two highly disciplined officers of the corps—there must be some backlog of resentment on one side or the other."

  "There's something in what he says, Junius," said Suvorov.

  "There are considerable misgivings in certain quarters about the fitness of Bruce for such a command," Mariano said.

  "Certain quarters!" Carter's rage exploded in a great shout. "What in blue hades is that supposed to mean?"

  Mariano was not ruffled. "I'm sure I don't have to remind you, Admiral Carter, of a TOP SECRET file, labelled MINOS IV?"

  "That was ten years ago," Carter said. "Bruce was a very young officer, faced with a difficult decision."

  "But he took irrevocable action," Mariano said. "Without consulting his commanding officer. Surely that weakens any case for him?"

  "There are some who would disagree with you there," put in Admiral Suvorov.

  "I suggest that the choice of Commander Bruce could very easily bring about adverse reactions," Mariano said. "To have such an appointment revoked, on a presidential level for instance, would be a considerable embarrassment to the members of this board."

  Presidential level ... Carter smashed his fist down on the table. "That does it, Mariano!" he shouted. "I've sat here listening to your sly politicking and your innuendoes long enough. And now you've the bloody nerve to threaten me with presidential intervention! Me! The legally appointed chairman of this commissioning board!"

  "Now just a minute, Junius," Suvorov said, gently. "Let's not lose our tempers."

  "Tempers—hell!" roared Carter. "Nobody pulls that kind of crap on me and gets away with it." He bounced to his feet, swelling visibly.

  "Junius—what are you going to do?" asked Suvorov.

  "Do? I'm going to see the World President, of course."

  Mariano got up hurriedly, his bland features showing concern for the first time. "You can't do that"

  Carter's brows came together and he crouched forward. "I can't? Who says?"

  "There are correct ways of .. "Damn right there are!" shouted Carter. "Any general rank can go and see the President when he wants— and I'm on my way! Meeting adjourned!" The door crashed behind him.

  *5*

  If any man or woman, regardless of rank, underestimates or overestimates his or her ability, then comes disaster. If I were asked to state the basis of the Corps' greatness I would say it lies in technical skill, in trust of one's fellow men and women, and in humility. Nowhere In the Corps can we afford arrogance, for arrogance is selfish pride, arrogance comes from the delusion that you know best and be damned to the others. We cannot afford the arrogant: their price is paid in blood.

  (World Admiral Joseph Hoffner, S.C.

  Jakarta Conference May 2160)

  HENDRIK PERSOONS, the big, quarter Indonesian, was on the bridge of the Athena. His movements were steady: when he turned, it was not hurriedly; when he spoke, it was quietly, slowly, and every outward sign he gave was of a man in control of himself and of the situation for which he was responsible. The piratical takeover of the ship had been a complete success; but it had only been a beginning.

  The shutting off of the drive had been easy: a symbolic, impressive act. But it had been very little more than that as far as the progress of Athena was concerned. She hurtled through the starry wastes of space like a steel coffin. The ship was not accelerating, true, but the panel in front of him showed that she was still travelling at the velocity of point seven two of the speed of light, out of the solar system. If the giant twin Grenbachs of her drive were not reactivated, she would go on travelling at that speed forever, or at least until she met some cosmic obstacle and disintegrated.

  But he was not going to wait for that to happen. The first step was to reactivate the drive, then to begin the manoeuvre that would bring the Athena round in a huge arc, consuming billions of miles of space, until eventually she was heading back toward the solar system. Under normal circumstances, the ship's astrogation officer would prepare a tape which would then be fed into the computer, and under the control of this tape the monstrous engines would bring the ship round in a perfectly calculated course. But the training of a former Second Class General Duty Crewman in the Space Corps did not include instruction on the preparation of astrogation tapes. If Hendrik Persoons was to turn the colonization ship and head her back to Earth, he would have to do so under manual control.

  Joe Kolukwe, the thin, quiet African, came into control and walked across to Persoons. Joe knew where he was and what he was doing, but his mind was filled with the awful memory of a surprised crewman pitching dead at his feet. Joe had never shot anyone before, had never, indeed, seen anyone shot, and he felt as though the mark of Cain blazed on his forehead. Joe had agreed that there was nothing to do but rise up against Lacombe and his crew and try to get back to Earth; he had taken the gun to use as a threat, imagining that killing could be avoided. More fool he.

  As he spoke to Persoons he knew again that he did not like the man. "All of 'em are locked up under guard down there in the cargo holds," he said.

  "Good." Persoons grinned and his face became more

  Eastern than his ancestry warranted., "Hope they'll like that nice steady vibration when we get the engines going again."

  "I've never seen a man change so much, and so quickly," Kolukwe said, thoughtfully.

  "Change?"

  "Yes, Lacombe," Joe said. "One minute he was the iron captain, tongue-lashing us li
ke a madman, and the next he was practically on his knees pleading."

  "Why? What happened?" asked Persoons.

  "Somebody told him we were heading back to Earth. After that all he could do was beg me to let him talk to you; something about giving the senior officers parole so that they could help in the handling of the ship."

  "He can jumble that idea, for a start," Persoons said fiercely. "As far as I'm concerned, Lacombe and his officers are part of a corporation robbery plot to deprive us of our rights, and we'll bring them back to Earth."

  Kolukwe's doubt showed in his eyes. Persoons took him by the shoulder. "Weren't we—aren't we—right? Didn't your kid die through that damned medico wanting to put her into cryogenic suspension until we reached Hegenis III instead of delaying hyperspace breakthrough and treating her properly?" Persoons believed his own propaganda and he sounded like it. "Didn't we discover that they were sending us out without the full establishment? And didn't that bloody Captain Lacombe refuse to turn back, or even get in touch with the corporation about it?"

  Kolukwe, his mind still filled with the memory of the killing, nodded slowly.

  "And didn't the rest of 'em on board accept me as leader and trust me to get 'em back to Earth?" A faintly hysterical overtone crept into his voice. "Trust me, Joe, trust me!"

  "Sure, Hendrik," Kolukwe said. "If you say so. After all, you've got space training. You know what you're doing."

  Persoons turned back to the console and switched the manual controls of the drive to the warm-up position. There was an increase in the clattering of relays, the sound of the Grenbach engines recommenced, coursing through the very structure of the ship like the low growling of two enormous, captive beasts.

  "Are we turning?" asked Lesage, who had followed Kolukwe onto the bridge.

  "No, not yet," Persoons said. "First we warm up the engines. Then we switch in the gyros and correct spin— then we begin to turn."

  "Spin?" Lesage queried.

  "Of course, spin," Persoons said. "How else do you think a constant gravity situation is maintained on this type ship?"

  "All right, all right, so I'm a mudbound Earthie," Lesage said, raising his hands.

  Persoons grinned, his confidence reinforced by Lesage's deference. He walked across to the master intercom and pressed the button that would make his voice heard on every loudspeaker throughout the ship.

  "Attention please! Attention please! This is Hendrik Persoons speaking. In three minutes, the gyros will begin to cut down the ship's spin, and gravity will gradually drop to zero." The confident sound of his own voice gave him more assurance. "This means that conditions of free-fall will then exist temporarily aboard the ship. To minimize the effects of this condition, all of you who are not engaged in work directly connected with the running of the ship should get onto our acceleration couches and fasten safety belts."

  As Persoons switched off and turned away from the intercom, he saw the thick-set figure of Connor by the doorway.

  "It's all right now, priest," he said, sneering. "The fighting is over."

  Connor ignored the jibe. His face was quite calm as he came closer and said: "You're really determined to take her in, on your own?"

  "Of course, can you think of any alternative?" Persoons said.

  "Yes, I can," said the priest. "I've just been talking to Captain Lacombe. He begs you, for the sake of everybody on board, to accept the help of his astrogator and chief officer at least."

  "To hell with him and his officers!" snarled Persoons. "I don't need their help."

  "You can't possibly take this ship right in and land her on Earth single handed."

  "I don't intend to. Once we're back in the system I shall contact System Patrol. Commander Bruce will send a couple of scout ships out to guide us in. No sweat, priest."

  . "Provided all goes according to plan," Connor said. "This is no flycar you're handling. What makes you think you'll be able to keep those engines in balance without any help?"

  Persoons' broad face twisted in a malicious grin. "IH tell you what you do, priest," he said. "You go back to your friend Lacombe, then the two of you get down on your knees and pray to that God of yours that nothing does go wrong. Meantime, don't come around here bothering me with your whining—I've got work to do!"

  Connor heard the speech out, his face dark with foreboding. "The Lord have mercy on all of us," he said, quietly.

  The room was lofty, silent and austerely luxurious. In the centre of half an acre of carpet, Henry Fong was seated at a desk several sizes larger than Carter's own. Given an engine, it would have made a good satellite vehicle. Henry Fong was confidential secretary to World President Oharo. Dressed in sober black and white—in a position as high as his, such exterior show as uniform was unnecessary—he was middle aged, slim, lightly brown and quite imperturbable. He put together his slender, beautifully manicured hands and beamed at Carter, who had just steamed in.

  "Hello, Junius. I've been watching your progress for some time," said Henry Fong. "I figured you were about ready to blow."

  "You've been spying on me?"

  Henry tut-tutted. "Spying? What an old-fashioned word!" He produced a box of cigars and offered them. "Sit down, Junius—and simmer down."

  Carter accepted the cigar, then subsided into a chair which took hold of him as though it needed a symbiotic relationship.

  "Mariano?" Fong said.

  "Head on," grunted Carter. "The man's impossible! I’m sorry Henry, but I've tried to be reasonable ..."

  Fong's smile was beatific. "Now that is something I would like to see personally. And the subject of the difference of opinion, Lieutenant Commander Bruce?"

  Carter sagged. "How do you do it?"

  "I have certain psionic talents, shall we say? Plus a multiplicity of technical resources, naturally."

  "In other words, you've got spies," Carter said, scowling. "Then you know the bluff that Mariano is trying to pull. It is a bluff, isn't it?"

  Henry Fong gave the tiniest of shrugs and studied the ash at the tip of his cigar. "That's hardly something I am at liberty to discuss."

  "All right, don't discuss it," Carter said. "Just give me an inkling of the President's feelings in the matter."

  Fong remained absorbed in his silent study of the - cigar, his light brown face as clear of commitment as an

  egg-

  "Look, Henry, I've got a right to know where I stand," Carter growled. "Mariano is brandishing the idea of presidential intervention. Even if I don't believe him, there are others on the board who will, and this is sure to influence any vote."

  Henry Fong became brisker. "Let us do some supposing. Suppose that I helped the President with the compilation of a list of candidates for command of Venturer Twelve, and suppose, for the purposes of discussion, that the name of Lieutenant Commander Bruce were included on that list."

  "Just a minute!" Carter intervened. "I’ve seen no such list!"

  "My dear Junius, don't excite yourself. We are merely supposing. To continue—suppose the name of Lieutenant Commander Bruce were included on that list. There would have to be reservations about his eligibility; for instance there was a certain occasion on Minos IV when his actions caused him to be a centre of controversy at the highest level."

  "Nobody's going to bring up that Minos IV business again," Carter said. "They wouldn't dare!"

  "Not in detail, of course," Fong said. "Our friend Mariano well knows the danger he would be placing himself in if he did so. On the other hand, as a skeleton in the closet, a bogey with which to influence members of the Commissioning Board more susceptible than yourself, this could be useful."

  "Then he is bluffing?"

  Henry Fong resumed the study of his cigar. "You are the Chairman of the Commissioning Board of Venturer Twelve, Junius. That's for you to decide. But is it really worthwhile sticking your neck out for Bruce when there's a perfectly good man like Longcloud waiting on the sidelines?"

  Carter's squat face darkened. "Longcloud?
Is that your recommendation?"

  "Recommendation?" Henry Pong's eyebrows raised. "My dear Junius, I make no recommendations; we are merely supposing, remember?"

  Carter's face had a purplish tinge as he extricated himself from the affectionate chair. "It won't do, Henry!" he bellowed. "Bruce has pulled up System Patrol to the highest standard of efficiency it has ever known; he's hard, meticulous, a first-class planner and organizer. Beside him, Longcloud is an untested, academic nonentity."

  "It's a point of view," said Fong mildly.

  "One that I insist on putting to the President," Carter said.

  "Consider it put."

  "No, Henry—this is something that has to be done personally," Carter insisted. "I'm standing on my right as a general officer to see the President."

  "I wish you wouldn't," Fong murmured.

  An expression of puzzlement mingled with Carter's anger. "Why? What's going on?"

  "The President is not available," said the secretary firmly.

  "Not to anyone?"

  Henry Fong's black eyes were like pieces of polished coal. "Bull's-eye, Junius."

  "Then he's not here?”

  "No."

  "There was no announcement."

  "There doesn't have to be. He's gone on a little trip."

  "Guard of Honour?"

  "One—World Admiral Hoffner."

  "Where?"

  "Moon," Henry said, with studied negligence. "One or two new little things there that he wanted to see for himself."

  Carter's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't fool me, would you, Henry?"

  "No, Junius," said Fong. "What I have just told you will be on the newscasts within the next day or so. But, until it is, I must warn you to treat the knowledge as confidential."

  "Of course," Carter said. "The last thing I heard was that he wasn't carrying out any engagements for—"

  "And now," said Fong, "you hear this." He shook his head, seemingly genuinely regretful.

  Carter's anger had died a natural death. He stood looking at the bland features of the secretary, realizing that he had been told just as much as was considered good for him, and no more.