For Arkady Duntov knew his own limitations and his place in the scheme of things and he was content with both. There would always be things in the universe that he could never understand, things he did not really yearn to understand. It was quite enough to know that there were men who did understand them, men, like Robert Ching, in whom he could place unquestioning, but not entirely blind trust. He did not envy Ching or Gorov or Schneeweiss their knowledge. The demand to know was foreign to him. It was important only to believe, and to be able to act upon that belief.
And both had been granted to him. He would play an important part, an active part, in the great events to come. He was content with that and envied no man.
And as he thought back over the weeks of preparation, he wondered if men who knew and, like Robert Ching, could not act for one reason or another, did not perhaps, in some hidden recesses of their minds, envy him. …
Constantine Gorov floated beside Robert Ching in the great globular observation room in the core of the asteroid, the illusion of space and stars engulfing him, surrounding him, and bringing with it a curious kind of vertigo that, like Robert Ching himself, both repelled and fascinated him. He had been drawn to this place often in his month at Brotherhood headquarters—as he had been drawn to the company of Robert Ching.
Ching, he thought, is a most peculiar man. In so many ways, much like myself—a man who respects knowledge, a man with a real mind, and a man who respects others for respecting knowledge, an attitude all too rare in the human race.
Yet there was another side of Ching that Gorov found quite repulsive. How could such an intelligent man have such a backward, superstitious attitude toward the knowledge he acquired? This Chaos obsession of his. … It was a religion with the man, no doubt about it. There was something quite ludicrous—yet also somehow frightening about a man of Ching’s obvious intellect worshipping void, worshipping randomness, worshipping, one might almost be tempted to say, the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. …
“Look at it, Gorov,” Ching was saying. “All those stars, each a sun, each a possible habitat for Man … the utter infinity of Chaos, the sheer size of the universe. …”
But suddenly Gorov was not listening. He had spotted something, a tiny formation of specks movin towards them from sunward, from the direction of the Earth. …
“Look!” he shouted, pointing. “Over there! Ships!”
Ching started, then followed Gorov’s pointing hand. “Tracking command!” he spoke into the empty air. “Ships approaching the asteroid! Can you identify them? Compute their trajectory immediately!”
There was a long, long pause, during which cold resignation alternated with deep despair in Gorov’s mind. Whose ships could they be but the Hegemony’s? he thought. How could anyone hope to stop them? To be deprived of the chance to go to the stars now, at the last moment, with so much knowledge waiting. …
Then the voice of the tracking officer filled the observation room: “They’re Hegemonic cruisers, First Agent. Thirty of ’em. They’re headed straight for us, as if they know we’re here. Estimated time of arrival—three standard hours.”
“Impossible!” exclaimed Robert Ching. “All our installations are hidden. We’ve been maintaining absolute radio silence. Even our reactor is so heavily shielded that no one could possibly detect us by radiation emission. How … ?”
“Sheer Hegemonic thoroughness,” Gorov said. “Torrence must’ve guessed that the Brotherhood headquarters would have to be somewhere in the Belt. After that … well, he’s had a month to investigate. There’s one thing you can’t hide completely—beat. They’ve probably gone over every asteroid in the Belt with supersensitive heat detectors. A tedious task, admittedly. But none of the asteroids have internal heat sources. Therefore, any asteroid that shows a temperature-differential with the space surrounding it obviously has to be inhabited. There was nothing you could’ve done to mask it. Those cruisers … you can’t stand against them. But we have three hours … couldn’t we load the Prometheus in time and lift off ?”
“We could,” said Ching, “but the Prometheus could never outrun the cruisers. It’s somewhat slower than an ordinary ship in conventional drive, and it would be destroyed if the Stasis-Generator were activated this close to a stellar mass, or so Schneeweiss says. There’s nothing we can do. Unless … unless …”
The expression on Ching’s face slowly changed from one of total despair to what seemed to Gorov to be a look of triumph, almost of ecstasy. “Of course!” Ching exclaimed. “An Ultimate Chaotic Act! It’s the only way! The Ultimate Chaotic Act, and fully justified by the circumstances, too! What could be more fitting?”
He turned to Gorov, and now Gorov could all but feel the mad glow the man seemed to be giving off, an unmistakable aura of religious ecstasy that at once thoroughly repelled and frightened him and yet filled him with a foolish, groudless hope, a hope that made him ashamed of his own illogicality. What was this brilliant fanatic thinking of? There was no way out. And what was an “Ultimate Chaotic Act”?
“Hurry!” Ching said. “To the Prometheus! Get all your things aboard. Man will have the stars, and I … I will be allowed an Ultimate Chaotic Act.”
Gorov paused, was about to ask just what an “Ultimate Chaotic Act” was. But when he looked into Ching’s eyes, into his deep, glowing eyes, which seemed to be fixed upon some far and terrible vision, Constantine Gorov was quite surprised to learn that he had at last encountered something he did not wish to know.
Boris Johnson, after more than two hours of dashing frantically about—helping with the last minute emergency loading, stowing his own gear, and what seemed to him like a thousand other hurried little tasks—now found himself at last swathed in stress-fibers in a Gee-Cocoon in the control room of the Prometheus. Beside him, in the special pilot’s Cocoon which left his hands free, Arkady Duntov was running through last minute checkouts, speeding through the accelerated countdown. The other three Cocoons in the control room were occupied by men he hardly knew while Gorov and a hundred other men were cradled like eggs packed for shipment beyond the rear bulkhead of the control room in the main cabins of the ship. All was about ready for liftoff.
But now, with nothing left to do but wait, with the flurry of feverish activity behind him, Johnson realized how futile all the rushing around had been, how hopeless their position was.
Hegemonic cruisers were less than half an hour away., and the way they were making for the asteroid at top speed made it perfectly clear that they knew exactly where they were going and why. The Prometheus could not hope to outrun them this side of Pluto, and all the small Brotherhood ships on the asteroid could not buy them five minutes’ time against thirty cruisers.
It was hopeless … and yet Johnson had experienced hopelessness too many times in the past few months without actually succumbing to be able to feel that any seemingly hopeless situation was utterly final.
And the whole Brotherhood base had seemed to be busy in a flurry of what had at least seemed like meaningful activity. They were planning something, and several times he had overheard Prime Agents murmuring about something called the “Ultimate Chaotic Act” with peculiar tense-yet-ecstatic looks on their faces. It was clear that there were those who knew something he didn’t—a situation that Johnson had come more and more to accept as normal, lately. But what could that something be … ?
The center screen in the big bank of viewscreens in front of Duntov came on, and Johnson saw the big, tight formation of silvery, graceful yet somehow sinister Hegemonic ships making for the asteroid.
And then the voice of Robert Ching came over the communicator: “Agent Duntov, you will not answer me. You will maintain absolute radio silence from here on in. You will obey orders exactly.” Ching’s voice sounded uncharacteristically tense, and there was a steely new note in it; the note of command.
“Your orders are as follows,” Ching continued. “You will hold the Promets in readiness for immediate liftoff, but you will not lift off u
ntil the signal is given. The signal will be the opening of the doors above the landing pit. The moment the doors open, you will lift off. You will not pause to correct your course for 61 Cygni at this time. You will head in the general direction of 61 Cygni, maintaining full emergency acceleration until the danger of interception by Hegemonic ships is clearly past. Do not worry—you’ll know when that time comes. Only then will you make your final course corrections. Obey these orders to the letter and serve Chaos well. Out—and goodbye.”
“But what about the Hegemonic ships—” Duntov started to say into the communicator, then, apparently remembering Ching’s order to maintain radio silence, redirected the question, rhetorically, at Johnson. “We can’t outrun them, Boris. And they can’t outgun them with the ships they have here. And the nearest Brotherhood base is days away …”
“Don’t ask me, Arkady,” Johnson said. “This is the Brotherhood’s show. But Ching seems to know what he’s doing. He’s always come out on top before.”
“Yes …” Duntov murmured. “Robert Ching won’t fail us.”
I wish I had your blind faith, Arkady … Johnson thought bleakly. Or do I … ?
The great observation room in the center of the honeycomb asteroid was packed with Brothers—Prime Agents, field agents, technicians—every man on the asteroid who was not on the Prometheus floated somberly in the gravityless pseudo-space, ominously quiet and still.
The only clear area was near one quadrant of the globular viewscreen wall that enclosed the chamber, where Robert Ching floated, back to the viewscreen wall, facing a series of devices which hung weightless in the air before him with cables leading from them, through the solemn throng and up the open end of the droptube which sat like a hole in space itself high above him: a small control box with two toggle switches, two viewscreens, and a radio transceiver.
One viewscreen showed the false rock covering of the doors above the landing pit; the other a superficially-similar stretch of barren, comparatively flat, rocky plain on the other side of the asteroid.
Ching turned from the viewscreens jury-rigged before him and faced the far vaster panorama of stars and space that curved behind, above and below him, surrounding him with the majesty of infinite space—a majesty now marred by the formation of Hegemonic ships that he could see now making orbit around the asteroid, swinging now above him, now behind, below, and in front again, circling like wolves closing in for the kill.
Ching stared longingly at the stars, at the stars he would never see, at the wonders the Prometheus would probe, the wonders he would never know of now. …
But death, he thought, is the one moment every man must sooner or later face. It cannot be avoided, at best one can only hope to die a death filled with meaning. And how many menhad ever been fortunate enough to choose the most meaningful death of all—the Ultimate Chaotic Act, Victory through suicide, paradox of paradoxes? What more fitting end to a lifetime in the service of Chaos … ?
But now, he thought, tearing himself away from the jewels on velvet panorama and returning to his instruments, now I must act. There will be moments for final reflection and contemplation later.
He activated the radio transceiver, feeling the tension of the men crowding the chamber mount as the first act of this final drama began.
“Brotherhood base to Hegemonic flotilla commander …” Ching said as the formation of ships spiraled ever closer to the surface of the asteroid. “Brotherhood base to Hegemonic flotilla commander. …”
A crisp, harsh voice answered over the transceiver: “This is Vice-Admiral Lazar, Commander, Hegemonic Flotilla Thirty-four, speaking. Your asteroid base has been cordoned off. We have sufficient firepower to vaporize the entire asteroid. You will not attempt to escape. You will not attempt resistance. Half of my force will land and the other half will stand by ready to destroy you should you be so foolish as to attempt to resist capture. You will acknowledge immediately.”
Ching’s mind worked in an uncharacteristic frenzy. The Ultimate Chaotic Act he had planned required that all the Hegemonic ships land on the asteroid. They must all be destroyed if the Prometheus was to have a clear path to the edge of the Solar System and thence to the stars. If even one of the cruisers escaped, it would be able to overhaul the Prometheus and destroy it. … This Admiral must be made to land his entire force!
Robert Ching smiled a grim little smile. The way to make a man do what you want him to do, he thought, is to forbid him to do it.
“Brotherhood base to Vice-Admiral Lazar …” he said. “We realize that we have no hope of escape. However, there are several thousand well-armed Brothers on this base, and if we choose, we can make your victory a most costly one. But we are willing to negotiate a peaceful surrender in order to avoid pointless bloodshed. You will land your flagship alone and the rest of your ships will remain in orbit while we negotiate terms. Anything else will be met by resistance to the last man.”
“You dare to dictate to me!” the Hegemonic Commander all-but-hissed in cold fury. “You think me imbecile enough to land alone on a base swarming with armed men? 1 will do the dictating here. I have thirty ships with a hundred armed assault troops on each; I fully intend to land all of them immediately, whether you like it or not. You may resist if you choose. See how far you get against three thousand Guards.”
“Very well,” Ching said, feigning tired resignation. “I see we are outnumbered. We will not resist as long as your troops do not open fire on us. You may land on the sunward side of the asteroid.”
“I will land my ships where I choose!” Lazar barked.
“Admittedly, the choice is yours,” Ching said dryly. “However, to protect ourselves, I feel I must warn you that the farside of this asteroid is but a false face—nothing more than struts and a thin camouflage skin simulating rock and concealing our installations. Should you attempt to land there, your ships will crash onto our installations—killing all of us and yourself as well.”
“Very well,” Lazar said sullenly. “We’ll land on the sunward side and our full troop compliment will proceed to your base overland. Remember, any resistance will result in your total annihilation. Out.”
Robert Ching turned off the radio transceiver and raised his eyes from his instruments to gaze squarely upon the Brothers gathered in the globular chamber.
“The die is cast and there is no turning back now,” he said gravely. “We have but minutes of life left as all of you know. The sequence is simple. All the Hegemonic ships will be allowed to land. Once they are all down, it would take them several minutes to lift off again. When they are all landed, I will throw the first switch”—he gestured toward the control box hanging weightless between himself and the assembled Brothers—”and the doors of the landing pit will open and the Prometheus will immediately lift off.”
He paused, sighed, then continued. “It has been calculated that none of the Hegemonic ships will be able to lift off in less than three minutes from the moment they spot the Prometheus. Therefore, the Prometheus will be given two minutes and fifty seconds to clear the asteroid before the second switch is thrown. I don’t have to tell you what that will mean. …”
Ching was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke again, it was as a man transfigured, speaking more to himself than to the Brothers, more to posterity, to Chaos, than to himself. A cold, chilling yet glacially calm ecstasy turned his features into the face of a totem, staring through the men and beyond and by its very Olympian indifference transforming them into willing acolytes.
“The Ultimate Chaotic Act,” Robert Ching said with solemn ecstasy. “Victory through Suicide. Immortality through death. Never before in the history of the Brotherhood of Assassins has victory been within our grasp. Therefore never before has an Ultimate Chaotic Act been conceivable. We die willingly, with the greatest of honors, that Chaos may triumph, that Man may have the stars, and freedom, and immortality. But what is our death? All men die; few choose the moment of their death. Such a choice may be exercised by
any man at any time—suicide is the one right that no tyranny can repress—but never before in our history could suicide bring victory. It has been given to all of us to share in an Ultimate Chaotic Act. No more fitting death is possible to a servant of Chaos. We die, as men do, but the Brotherhood lives on, as it always has. Men pass, but Chaos endures and those who serve it prevail through it. There will be no time for farewells later—so now, goodbye. AH of you have served Chaos well in life. Now you will give Chaos the ultimate service in death. Chaos, gentlemen—Chaos and victory!”
Not a man moved orspoke. Robert Ching was proud of his Brothers. They had been preparing for this moment since the Hegemonic flotilla had been spotted he knew. But in a larger sense, they had been preparing for it all their lives. All that had to be said had been said. It remained but to act.
Ching turned his attention to the viewscreen which showed the sunward side of the asteroid, on the opposite side of the rock from the landing pit. Already, the rocky surface was growing a small forest of graceful, silvery ships. More ships came down, and Ching began to count them … fifteen … seventeen … twenty. …
Now outer airlock doors were opening on some of the earlier arrivals, and the ships began to disgorge armed and spacesuited men onto the surface of the asteroid, even as more ships landed.
Twenty-three … twenty-seven … thirty! They were all down.
Ching’s hand paused over the switch that would open the landing pit doors. Best to wait till all the ships had debarked men, in order to insure the maximum confusion when the Prometheus lifted off. …
Men continued to pour forth onto the surface, and the area around the forest of ships became a hubbub of activity as ranks were formed, heavy weapons unloaded. …
“Now!” Robert Ching cried aloud. He threw the switch.
Agent of Chaos M Page 17
