Asimov’s Future History Volume 13

by Isaac Asimov

  Biron found himself absorbed in the matter almost against his will. “Hundreds, I suppose.”

  “Five!” replied the Autarch. “Just five. Don’t be fooled by the one hundred billion figure. The Galaxy is about seven trillion cubic light-years in volume, so that there are seventy cubic light-years per star on the average. It is a pity that I do not know which of those five have habitable planets. We might reduce the number of possibles to one. Unfortunately, the early explorers had no time for detailed observations. They plotted the positions of the stars, the proper motions, and the spectral types.”

  “So that in one of those five stellar system,” said Biron, “is located the rebellion world?”

  “Only that conclusion would fit the facts we know.”

  “Assuming Oil’s story can be accepted.”

  “I make that assumption.”

  “My story is true,” interrupted Gillbret intensely. “I swear it.”

  “I am about to leave,” said the Autarch, “to investigate each of the five worlds. My motives in doing so are obvious. As Autarch of Lingane I can take an equal part in their efforts.”

  “And with two Hinriads and a Widemos on your side, your bid for an equal part, and, presumably, a strong and secure position in the new, free worlds to come, would be so much the better,” said Biron.

  “Your cynicism doesn’t frighten me, Farrill. The answer is obviously yes. If there is to be a successful rebellion, it would, again obviously, be desirable to have your fist on the winning side.”

  “Otherwise some successful privateer or rebel captain might be rewarded with the Autarchy of Lingane.”

  “Or the Ranchy of Widemos. Exactly.”

  “And if the rebellion is not successful?”

  “There will be time to judge of that when we find what we look for.”

  Biron said slowly, “I’ll go with you.”

  “Good! Then suppose we make arrangements for your transfer from this ship.”

  “Why that?”

  “It would be better for you. This ship is a toy.”

  “It is a Tyrannian warship. We would be wrong in abandoning it.”

  “As a Tyrannian warship, it would be dangerously conspicuous.”

  “Not in the Nebula. I’m sorry, Jonti. I’m joining you out of expedience. I can be frank too. I want to find the rebellion world. But there’s no friendship between us. I stay at my own controls.”

  “Biron,” said Artemisia gently, “the ship is too small for the three of us.”

  “As it stands, yes, Arta. But it can be fitted with a trailer. Jonti knows that as well as I do. We’d have all the space we needed then, and still be masters at our own controls. And, for that matter, it would effectively disguise the nature of the ship.”

  The Autarch considered. “If there is to be neither friendship nor trust, Farrill, I must protect myself. You may have your own ship and a trailer to boot, outfitted as you may wish. But I must have some guarantee for your proper behavior. The Lady Artemisia, at least, must come with me.”

  “No!” said Biron.

  The Autarch lifted his eyebrows. “No? Let the lady speak.”

  He turned toward Artemisia, and his nostrils flared slightly. “I dare say you would find the situation very comfortable, my lady.”

  “You, at least, would not find it comfortable, my lord. Be assured of that,” she retorted. “I would spare you the discomfort and remain here.”

  “I think you might reconsider if–” began the Autarch, as two little wrinkles at the bridge of his nose marred the serenity of his expression.

  “I think not,” interrupted Biron. “The Lady Artemisia has made her choice.”

  “And you back her choice then, Farrill?” The Autarch was smiling again.

  “Entirely! All three of us will remain on the Remorseless. There will be no compromise on that.”

  “You choose your company oddly.”

  “Do I?”

  “I think so.” The Autarch seemed idly absorbed in his fingernails. “You seem so annoyed with me because I deceived you and placed your life in danger. It is strange, then, is it not, that you should seem on such friendly terms with the daughter of a man such as Hinrik, who in deception is certainly my master.”

  “I know Hinrik. Your opinions of him change nothing.”

  “You know everything about Hinrik?”

  “I know enough.”

  “Do you know that he killed your father?” The Autarch’s finger stabbed toward Artemisia. “Do you know that the girl you are so deeply concerned to keep under your protection is the daughter of your father’s murderer?”

  Fourteen: The Autarch Leaves

  THE TABLEAU REMAINED unbroken for a moment. The Autarch had lit another cigarette. He was quite relaxed, his face untroubled. Gillbret had folded into the pilot’s seat, his face screwed up as though he were going to burst into tears. The limp straps of the pilot’s stress-absorbing outfit dangled about him and increased the lugubrious effect.

  Biron, paper-white, fists clenched, faced the Autarch. Artemisia, her thin nostrils flaring, kept her eyes not on the Autarch, but on Biron only.

  The radio signaled, the soft clickings crashing with the effect of cymbals in the small pilot room.

  Gillbret jerked upright, then whirled on the seat.

  The Autarch said lazily, “I’m afraid we’ve been more talkative than I’d anticipated. I told Rizzett to come get me if I had not returned in an hour.”

  The visual screen was alive now with Rizzett’s grizzled head.

  And then Gillbret said to the Autarch, “He would like to speak to you.” He made room.

  The Autarch rose from his chair and advanced so that his own head was within the zone of visual transmission.

  He said, “I am perfectly safe, Rizzett.”

  The other’s question was heard clearly: “Who are the crew members on the cruiser, sir?”

  And suddenly Biron stood next to the Autarch. “I am Rancher of Widemos,” he said proudly.

  Rizzett smiled gladly and broadly. A hand appeared on the screen in sharp salute. “Greetings, sir.”

  The Autarch interrupted. “I will be returning soon with a young lady. Prepare to maneuver for contact air locks.” And he broke the visual connection between the two ships.

  He turned to Biron.” I assured them it was you on board ship. There was some objection to my coming here alone otherwise. Your father was extremely popular with my men.”

  “Which is why you can use my name.”

  The Autarch shrugged.

  Biron said, “It is all you can use. Your last statement to your officer was inaccurate.”

  “In what way?”

  “Artemisia oth Hinriad stays with me.”

  “Still? After what I have told you?”

  Biron said sharply, “You have told me nothing. You have made a bare statement, but I am not likely to take your unsupported word for anything. I tell you this without any attempt at tact. I hope you understand me.”

  “Is your knowledge of Hinrik such that my statement seems inherently implausible to you?”

  Biron was staggered. Visibly and apparently, the remark had struck home. He made no answer.

  Artemisia said, “I say it’s not so. Do you have proof?”

  “No direct proof, of course. I was not present at any conferences between your father and the Tyranni. But I can present certain known facts and allow you to make your own inferences. First, the old Rancher of Widemos visited Hinrik six months ago. I’ve said that already. I can add here that he was somewhat overenthusiastic in his efforts, or perhaps he overestimated Hinrik’s discretion. At any rate, he talked more than he should have. My Lord Gillbret can verify that.”

  Gillbret nodded miserably. He turned to Artemisia, who had turned to him with moist and angry eyes. “I’m sorry, Arta, but it’s true. I’ve told you this. It was from Widemos that I heard about the Autarch.”

  The Autarch said, “And it was fortunate for myself that
my lord had developed such long mechanical ears with which to sate his lively curiosity concerning the Director’s meetings of state. I was warned of the danger, quite unwittingly, by Gillbret when he first approached me. I left as soon as I could, but the damage, of course, had been done.

  “Now, to our knowledge, it was Widemos’s only slip, and Hinrik, certainly, has no enviable reputation as a man of any great independence and courage. Your father, Farrill, was arrested within half a year. If not through Hinrik, through this girl’s father, then how?”

  Biron said, “You did not warn him?”

  “In our business we take our chances, Farrill, but he was warned. After that he made no contact, however indirect, with any of us, and destroyed whatever proof he had of connection with us. Some among us believed that he should leave the Sector, or, at the very least, go into hiding. He refused to do this.

  “I think I can understand why. To alter his way of life would prove the truth of what the Tyranni must have learned, endanger the entire movement. He decided to risk his own life only. He remained in the open.

  “For nearly half a year the Tyranni waited for a betraying gesture. They are patient, the Tyranni. None came, so that when they could wait no longer, they found nothing in their net but him.”

  “It’s a lie,” cried Artemisia. “It’s all a lie. It’s a smug, sanctimonious, lying story with no truth in it. If all you said were true, they would be watching you too. You would be in danger yourself. You wouldn’t be sitting here, smiling and wasting time.”

  “My lady, I do not waste my time. I have already tried to do what I could toward discrediting your father as a source of information. I think I have succeeded somewhat. The Tyranni will wonder if they ought to listen further to a man whose daughter and cousin are obvious traitors. And then again, if they are still disposed to believe him, why, I am on the point of vanishing into the Nebula where they will not find me. I should think my actions tend to prove my story rather than otherwise.”

  Biron drew a deep breath and said, “Let us consider the interview at an end, Jonti. We have agreed to the extent that we will accompany you and that you will grant us needed supplies. That is enough. Granting that all you have just said is truth, it is still beside the point. The crimes of the Director of Rhodia are not inherited by his daughter. Artemisia oth Hinriad stays here with me, provided she herself agrees.”

  “I do,” said Artemisia.

  “Good. I think that covers everything. I warn you, by the way. You are armed; so am I. Your ships are fighters, perhaps; mine is a Tyrannian cruiser.”

  “Don’t be silly, Farrill. My intentions are quite friendly. You wish to keep the girl here? So be it. May I leave by contact air lock?”

  Biron nodded. “We will trust you so far.”

  The two ships maneuvered ever closer, until the flexible airlock extensions pouted outward toward one another. Carefully, they edged about, trying for the perfect fit. Gillbret hung upon the radio.

  “They’ll be trying for contact again in two minutes,” he said.

  Three times already the magnetic field had been triggered, and each time the extending tubes had stretched toward one another and met off-center, gaping crescents of space between them.

  “Two minutes,” repeated Biron, and waited tensely.

  The second hand moved and the magnetic field clicked into existence a fourth time, the lights dimming as the motors adjusted to the sudden drain of power. Again the airlock extensions reached out, hovered on the brink of instability, and then, with a noiseless jar, the vibration of which hummed its way into the pilot room, settled into place properly, clamps automatically locking in position. An air-tight seal had been formed.

  Biron drew the back of his hand slowly across his forehead and some of the tension oozed out of him.

  “There it is,” he said.

  The Autarch lifted his space suit. There was still a thin film of moisture under it.

  “Thanks,” he said pleasantly. “An officer of mine will be right back. You will arrange the details of the supplies necessary with him.”

  The Autarch left.

  Biron said, “Take care of Jonti’s officer for me for a while, will you, Oil. When he comes in, break the air-lock contact. All you’ll have to do is remove the magnetic field. This is the photonic switch you’ll flash.”

  He turned and stepped out of the pilot room. Right now he needed time for himself. Time to think, mostly.

  But there was the hurried footstep behind him, and the soft voice. He stopped.

  “Biron,” said Artemisia, “I want to speak to you. “He faced her. “Later, if you don’t mind, Arta.”

  She was looking up at him intently. “No, now.”

  Her arms were poised as though she would have liked to embrace him but was not sure of her reception. She said, “You didn’t believe what he said about my father?”

  “It has no bearing,” said Biron. “Biron,” she began, and stopped. It was hard for her to say it. She tried again, “Biron, I know that part of what has been going on between us has been because we’ve been alone and together and in danger, but–” She stopped again.

  Biron said, “If you’re trying to say you’re a Hinriad, Arta, there’s no need. I know it. I won’t hold you to anything afterward.”

  “No. Oh no.” She caught his arm and placed her cheek against his hard shoulder. She was speaking rapidly. “That’s not it at all. It doesn’t matter about Hinriad and Widemos at all. I–I love you, Biron.”

  Her eyes went up, meeting his. “I think you love me too. I think you would admit it if you could forget that I am a Hinriad. Maybe you will now that I’ve said it first. You told the Autarch you would not hold my father’s deeds against me. Don’t hold his rank against me, either.”

  Her arms were around his neck now. Biron could feel the softness of her breasts against him and the warmth of her breath on his lips. Slowly his own hands went upward and gently grasped her forearms. As gently, he disengaged her arms and, still as gently, stepped back from her.

  He said, “I am not quits with the Hinriads, my lady.”

  She was startled. “You told the Autarch that–”

  He looked away. “Sorry, Arta. Don’t go by what I told the Autarch.”

  She wanted to cry out that it wasn’t true, that her father had not done this thing, that in any case–

  But he turned into the cabin and left her standing in the corridor, her eyes filling with hurt and shame.

  Fifteen: The Hole in Space

  TEDOR RIZZETT TURNED as Biron entered the pilot room again. His hair was gray, but his body was still vigorous and his face was broad, red, and smiling.

  He covered the distance between himself and Biron in a stride and seized the young man’s hand heartily.

  “By the stars,” he said, “I’d need no word from you to tell me that you are your father’s son. It is the old Rancher alive again.”

  “I wish it were,” said Biron, somberly.

  Rizzett’s smile faltered. “So do we all. Every one of us. I’m Tedor Rizzett, by the way. I’m a colonel in the regular Linganian forces, but we don’t use titles in our own little game. We even say ‘sir’ to the Autarch. That reminds me!” He looked grave. “We don’t have lords and ladies or even Ranchers on Lingane. I hope I won’t offend if I forget to throw in the proper title sometimes.”

  Biron shrugged.” As you said, no titles in our little game. But what about the trailer? I’m to make arrangements with you, I take it.”

  For a flickering moment he looked across the room. Gillbret was seated, quietly listening. Artemisia had her back to him. Her slim, pale fingers wove an abstracted pattern on the photocontacts of the computer. Rizzett’s voice brought him back.

  The Linganian had cast an all-inclusive glance about the room. “First time I’ve ever seen a Tyrannian vessel from the inside. Don’t care much for it. Now you’ve got the emergency air lock due stern, haven’t you? It seems to me the power thrusters girdle the midsec
tion.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Good. Then there won’t be any trouble. Some of the old model ships had power thrusters due stern, so that trailers had to be set off at an angle. This makes the gravity adjustment difficult and the maneuverability in atmospheres just about nil.”

  “How long will it take, Rizzett?”

  “Not long. How big would you want it?”

  “How big could you get it?”

  “Super deluxe? Sure. If the Autarch says so, there’s no higher priority. We can get one that’s practically a space ship in itself. It would even have auxiliary motors.”

  “It would have living quarters, I suppose.”

  “For Miss Hinriad? It would be considerably better than you have here–” He stopped abruptly.

  At the mention of her name, Artemisia had drifted past coldly and slowly, moving out of the pilot room. Biron’s eyes followed her.

  Rizzett said, “I shouldn’t have said Miss Hinriad, I suppose.”

  “No, no. It’s nothing. Pay no attention. You were saying?”

  “Oh, about the rooms. At least two sizable ones, with a

  communicating shower. It’s got the usual closet room and plumbing arrangements of the big liners. She would be comfortable.”

  “Good. We’ll need food and water.”

  “Sure. Water tank will hold a two months’ supply; a little less if you want to arrange for a swimming pool aboard ship. And you would have frozen whole meats. You’re eating Tyrannian concentrate now, aren’t you?”

  Biron nodded and Rizzett grimaced.

  “It tastes like chopped sawdust, doesn’t it? What else?”

  “A supply of clothes for the lady,” said Biron.

  Rizzett wrinkled his forehead. “Yes, of course. Well, that will be her job.”

  “No, sir, it won’t. We’ll supply you with all the necessary measurements and you can supply us with whatever we ask for in whatever the current styles happen to be.”

  Rizzett laughed shortly and shook his head. “Rancher, she won’t like that. She wouldn’t be satisfied with any clothes she didn’t pi «k. Not even if they were the identical items she would have picked if she had been given the chance. This isn’t a guess, now. I’ve had experience with the creatures.”