Flandry's Legacy: The Technic Civilization Saga

by Poul Anderson

  “I take your meaning, sir, after having dealt with him.”

  “What’s happened?”

  “Sir, I don’t want to get above myself in the Imperial presence. Nevertheless, I am a ranking, governing noble of the Empire. Its welfare requires that its leaders get the respect they’re entitled to. He didn’t exactly refuse my commission, but he told me he’d have to think about whether or not he would condescend to accept it. After which he promptly disappeared on unspecified business, and is not expected back till next week. Meanwhile, I cool my heels.”

  Gerhart stroked his chin. “A direct order—putting him under your command—”

  “Your Majesty is foresighted as well as generous.” Look met look in what Cairncross hoped Gerhart would assume was mutual understanding.

  The guestroom door fluted. Banner jerked her head around. She had almost succeeded in losing herself in a starball game beamcast from Luna. At first she was attracted because she was a fan of several sports, and played when she could; but soon the ballet-like, dreamlike beauty of the motion took her. Now abruptly it was unreal, against the leap in her pulse and the dryness in her mouth.

  Angered by that, she told herself to calm down and act like an adult. Aloud, she asked, “Who is it, please?”

  There should be no danger. Flandry had decided his place right in Archopolis was probably her safest hideaway. He could smuggle her in; Chives, in constant electronic touch with his immediate juniors, could fend off any visitors while the admiral was away.

  He had been gone for two achingly idle days. She felt more relief than was rational to hear his voice: “The gentleman from Basingstoke. Come on out, if you will. I bear tidings.”

  “A, a minute, please.” She’d been basking under a sunlamp, after a lengthy swim, while she watched the contest. He had not so much as hinted at a pass. Mostly, in what little conversation they’d held on personal topics, he reminisced about her father and drew forth her own memories of his old mentor. Besides, mores were casual on Terra. Nevertheless, she didn’t want to meet him unclad. She scrambled into slacks, blouse, sandals. Only after she was through the door did she remember that she hadn’t stopped to brush her hair and it must look like two comets colliding.

  He didn’t appear to notice, though she suspected he did. He himself wore inconspicuous civilian garb. His expression was grim. “How’ve you been?” he asked.

  “In suspense,” she admitted. “And you?”

  “Skulking, but busy. I had to keep out of sight, you see, to maintain the pretense that I’d never returned here. At the same time, I had to learn what’s been going on; and my people are as wary as anyone could want, but I dared not simply ring them up and inquire.” He shrugged. “Details. I managed. Let’s have a drink while I bring you au courant.”

  She didn’t recognize that expression. Her knowledge of non-Anglic human languages was limited, and fresh only as regarded terms in the Oriental classics that, translated, she enjoyed. She understood him in context, however, and followed him eagerly. As a rule she was a light drinker, her vice was tobacco, but in this hour she desired a large cognac.

  Rain washed silvery down the outer side of the living room, which had been left transparent. Often lightning flashed. She heard no thunder through the soundproofing, and that made the whole scene feel eerily unreal. They settled into loungers opposite each other, amidst soft-colored drapes whose textures were meant to be touched, art from a dozen worlds, a drift of incense. Chives heard their wishes and departed. They lit cigarettes.

  “Well?” Banner demanded. “Speak up. . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bark at you.”

  “Would you care for some nerve soother?”

  She shook her head. “Just the drink. I—In my line of work, we dare not use much chemical calming. The temptation could get too great—no addiction, of course, but the temptation.”

  He nodded and said low, “Yes, you’ve suffered a lot of tension and pain, as well as excitement, vicariously, haven’t you?”

  “Vicariously? No! It’s as real for me as it’s been for Yewwl!” Banner was surprised at her vehemence. She quenched it. “I’ll try to explain later, if we have a chance.”

  “Oh, we ought to have that,” Flandry said. “We’re off together for Ramnu.”

  “What?” She stared.

  Chives brought the drinks. Flandry’s was beer. He savored a long swallow. “Aaah.” He smiled. “You know, that’s among the things I miss the most on an extended job. Hard liquor can be carried along in ample supply, or can usually be found if a person isnfussy, but dear old beer doesn’t tolerate concentration and reconstitution as certain people who lack taste buds believe, and it has too much volume for more than a few cases to go aboard Hooligan.” He inhaled above the goblet. “Gather ye bubbles while ye may.”

  “Do you always joke?” she wondered.

  He shrugged again. “Might as well. The grief will take care of itself, never fear.” His mouth fell into harsh curves, his gray eyes locked onto hers. “All right, I’ll get serious. To begin, what understanding of the situation do you have?”

  “Hardly any, for certain,” she reminded him. “I’ve made my guesses, and told you them, but you were, oh, noncommittal.”

  “I’d too few facts,” he explained, “and empty speculation is worse than a waste of time, it’s apt to mislead. Actually, for a person who’s been sheltered from the nastier facts of political life, you made a pretty canny surmise or two. But maybe I’d best retrace everything from my viewpoint.”

  He wet his throat afresh, filled his lungs, and proceeded: “It appeared plausible, from your account, that Cairncross is conducting business that he doesn’t care to reveal before he’s ready. If it doesn’t center at Ramnu, at least Ramnu is critical to it. Several years ago, he replaced the management of the commercial Hermetian enterprise there. Since, it’s expanded operations, but at the same time grown remarkably tight-lipped. It also gives your scientific outfit less and less cooperation. The pretexts are not convincing. This hampers your work, restricts its scope, and may at last choke it off altogether.

  “Meanwhile, Cairncross has declined to consider rehabilitating Ramnu. He might reasonably maintain it’s too expensive for his budget. But why wouldn’t he pass your appeal on to Terra? His rank is sufficient that he’d have a fair chance of getting approval; nowadays the Policy Board likes to start worthy projects, if they don’t cost a lot, to help build goodwill for an Imperium that badly needs it. The influx of technicians and money, the stimulus given local industries, would benefit a Hermetian economy that is not in ideal shape at present.

  “Well, you decided to invoke my influence, for old times’ sake. Your idea of its magnitude was unrealistic, but you couldn’t know that. You could at least have persuaded me to go look the place over, and see if I couldn’t invent a lever that would pry authorization loose from the Board.

  “Before your liner could reach Terra, Cairncross arrived personally in a speedster. He wanted me to flit home with him immediately. Coincidence? He is in fact getting a bad name in some limited Imperial circles. Not bad enough to provoke action by our lumbering, creaky, half-programmed Empire, but still—Nevertheless, why insist on me handling his chestnuts, and no one else? Why so stiffly opposed to traveling in leisure and comfort on the Queen? Could it be that somebody was bound here aboard her, somebody he’d prefer I not meet?

  “You may remember how I inquired at tedious length about what went on at your host’s place in Starfall, including the layout of the house. You’d taken precautions. But neither you nor yonder Citizen Runeberg is a professional in that field. I can think of a thousand ways to eavesdrop on you.”

  Flandry stopped and drained his beer. “Chives!” he bawled. “More!” To Banner: “I require a pitcher of this whenever I lecture on my trade, which is twice a year at the Corps Academy. Excuse me if I’ve droned on. Professoring is a habit that gets hard to break.”

  She comforted her body with cognac. “No, you’ve done righ
t,” she whispered. “That is, most of it had become fairly clear to me, but you’ve put it in perspective.”

  “The rest is more briefly told. For small blessings, give thanks,” he said. Chives brought a fresh goblet, glanced at how Banner was doing, and withdrew.

  “You made an excuse to delay matters,” she said, to demonstrate that she was not lost. “This required you drop out of sight till after the Queen had left Terra, as if you gave her no more thought. But you alerted your staff.”

  “On a basis of guesswork. I had scant notion of who, or what, if anything, would arrive, or even if that arrival would concern me. It was merely a contingency that needed to be covered. If nothing had come of it, I’d have used the time to think of more contingencies and try to provide against them. As was, I played by ear. It seems likely that Cairncross engaged agents to head you off, but I can’t prove it. No use carting away the one I clobbered, for a quiz. He wouldn’t have known. His bosses are professionals too.”

  “What have you done since?”

  “Research, and assorted preparation-making, and—Yesterday, checking with this office, I found it had received a direct Imperial order placing me under the Duke’s command, to report to him without delay and be prepared to depart for Hermes pronto if not sooner.” Flandry’s grin was’ vulpine. “Since it’s clear that I would not break contact with my staff, I couldn’t stay away on plea of ignorance. As an experiment, I requested an audience with his Majesty, and was quite unsurprised to be told that no time will be available for me until next month.”

  He sipped. “Therefore I’ve returned like a nice boy,” he said. “His Grace was equally nice. If he thinks I may have had a part in the sudden sleepiness of that agent and in your disappearance, he didn’t let on. And perhaps he doesn’t. A heavy stun gun blast has an amnesiac effect on the preceding few hours, you know. For all that chap can tell, you admitted him and shot him yourself before you fled. The Duke knows how leery of him you are, and that you’ve spent many years partaking in a violent milieu. One thing I have ascertained is that he’s put the rent-a-thug organization on a full-scale hunt for you. But in any event, he was glad to learn I can leave tomorrow early.” He winced. “Exceedingly early.”

  Dismay smote. “But what shall I do?” Banner asked.

  “The plan, such as it is, is this,” Flandry told her. “I’ve explained that it’s best I go in my own speedster. She’s equipped for field work, you see. I can commence in a preliminary way as soon as I reach Hermes. She doesn’t have room for him and his entourage—polite word for bodyguards, plus an aide or two and perhaps a mistress—but his craft is nearly as fast.

  “Once there . . . well, he’ll suppose, maybe I can be won over. Surely I can be stalled, bogged down, put on false scents, possibly hoodwinked altogether. If not, I can be made to die. My distinct impression is that his Grace doesn’t need much longer to launch his scheme. Else he wouldn’t be acting this boldly; he’s too committed by now to dare be timid.”

  “Can’t you tell anyone?” she breathed.

  “Oh, yes, if I want to endanger those persons needlessly,” he answered. “For what could an underling do? I’ve left a record of what I think, keyed into a computer, which will release it to selected individuals upon my death or prolonged vanishment. A gesture, mostly, I’m afraid. After all, thus far it amounts to scarcely more than conjecture; no firm evidence. Besides, my insubordination will gravely discredit it.”

  “In . . . insubordination?” Her scalp tingled.

  He nodded. “Yes. I won’t be steering for Hermes but for Ramnu. That is, if you’ll come along as my absolutely necessary guide. Ramnu’s apparently a vulnerable flank that he may or may not have covered well enough—probably not, since he’s so anxious to keep me from it. We might discover what we need to discover, though time will be damnably short. If we fail, or if it turns out there really is nothing amiss—then we’re liable to charges of treason, having disobeyed an order of the very Emperor, and they will certainly be brought.”

  His smooth manner was gone; he looked miserable. “I’ve committed my share of evil, in line of work,” he said. “Inviting a daughter of Max Abrams to accompany me may be the worst of the lot. I hope you’ll have the sense to refuse.”

  It blazed in her. She sprang to her feet. “Of course I don’t!” she cried, and lifted her glass on high.

  Lightning glared. The rainstorm grew more wild.

  VI

  Hooligan raised her lean form off the spacefield and hit the sky as fast as regulations allowed. Thunder trailed. Beyond atmosphere, she curved away as per flight plan, accelerating harder all the time. Presently she was far enough distant from regular traffic trajectories that she could unbind the full power of her gravs. Before long, Terra was visibly dwindling in eyesight, more quickly for each second that passed.

  None of this was felt inboard, where fields maintained a steady one gee of weight. Only the faintest susurrus resounded, and most of that was from the ventilators which kept vernal breezes moving. Hooligan was a deceptive craft: small, but overpowered, with armament to match a corvette’s, equipment and data banks to match an explorer’s (and an Intelligence laboratory’s), luxury to match—but here Banner’s experience failed her.

  In her stateroom, which gave on a private bath cubicle, she removed her disguise. It came off easier than she had expected, not just the dress and wig but the items which had altered her looks and prints to fit the passport Flandry had given her.

  Sarah Pipelini—“Is this anybody real?” she had asked.

  “Well, several real persons have found it convenient to be her for a while,” he replied. “She’s got the standard entries in official records, birth, education, residence, employment, et cetera, plus occasional changes to stay plausible. I’ve a number of identities available. Sarah’s is the easiest to suit you to. Besides, creating her was fun.”

  “I’m no good at playacting,” Banner said nervously. “It’s too short notice even to learn what her past life is supposed to have been.”

  “No need. Simply memorize what’s in the passport. Stay close to me and don’t speak unless spoken to. No harm if you register excitement; that’s natural, when you’re off on a trip to far-off, exotic Hermes. It’ll also be natural for you to clutch my arm and give me intermittent adoring glances, if you can bring yourself to that.”

  “You mean—?”

  “Why, I thought it was obvious. We have to get you aboard. Besides the regular Naval clearance procedures, Cairncross will doubtless have agents unobtrusively watching. No surprise if I bring a lady along to help pass the time of voyage. In fact, that will reinforce the impression—together with just Chives coming otherwise—that I am indeed going where I’m supposed to. If I brought any of my staff, then his Grace might well demand that men of his be included. As is, I’ve already filed our list, the three of us, you described as a ‘friend.’ Cairncross may snigger when he reads it, but he should believe.” Flandry’s tone grew serious. “Of course, this is strictly a ruse. Have no fears.”

  When he applied the deceptive materials, her face had burned beneath his fingers.

  Now she showered the sweat of tension off her. For a moment she regarded her rangy form in the mirror and considered putting the glamorous gown on again. But once more she flushed, and chose the plainest coverall she had packed. She did brush her hair till it shone and let it flow free under a headband of lovely weave.

  Emerging, she found the saloon where Flandry had said they would meet, and drew a quick breath. She had often seen open space, through a faceplate as well as a viewscreen. Yet somehow, at this instant, those star-fires crowding yonder clear blackness, that icy sweep of the galaxy, and Terra already a blue jewel falling away into depths beyond depths—reached in and seized her.

  Music drew her back. A lilt of horns, flutes, violins . . . Mozart? Flandry entered. He too had changed clothes, his uniform for an open-necked bouffalon shirt, bell-bottomed slacks, curly-toed slippers. Is he being casu
al on my account? she wondered. If so, he still can’t help being elegant. The way he bears his head, and the light makes its gray come alive—

  “How’re you doing?” he greeted. “Relaxed, I trust? You may as well be. We’ve a good two weeks’ travel before us.” He grinned. “At least, I hope we can make them good.”

  “Won’t we have work to do?” she inquired hastily.

  “Oh, the ship conns herself en route, and handles other routines like housekeeping. Chives handles the meals, which, believe me, will not be routine. He promises lunch in an hour.” Flandry gestured at a table of dark-red wood—actual mahogany? Banner had seen literary references to mahogany. “Let’s have an apéritif meanwhile.”

  “But, but you admitted you know almost nothing about Ramnu. I’m sure you’ve loaded the data banks with information on it, but won’t you need a lot of that in your mind, also?”

  He guided her by the elbow to a padded bench that curved around three sides of the table. Above it, on a bulkhead that shimmered slightly iridescent, was screened a picture she recognized: snowscape, three trudging peasants, a row of primitive houses, winter-bare trees, a mountain, all matching the grace of the music. Hiroshige had wrought it, twelve hundred years ago.

  “Please sit,” he urged. They did. “My dear,” he continued, “of course I’ll have to work. We both will. But I’m a quick study; and what’s the use of laying elaborate plans when most of the facts are unknown? We’ll do best to enjoy yourselves while we can. For openers, you need a day off to learn, down in your bones, that for the nonce you’re safe.” Chives appeared. “What will you drink? Since I understand a seafood salad is in preparation, I’d recommend a dry white wine.”