Exile-and Glory

by Jerry Pournelle

  "I think we're getting closer."

  "So do I." Kevin took out his protractor and eyeballed the size of Ceres below. They could no longer see much of the asteroid; they were low enough that there was a definite horizon less than 150 kilometers to each side. "When we get closer, we have to kill our velocity relative to the ground. Otherwise the landing impact will kill us."

  "Where will we hit . . . I mean land?"

  "I don't know. Fifty, seventy-five kilometers from the station, I hope. We brought plenty of spare air tanks."

  For a long time they had seemed to be falling very slowly. Now, as they got closer, they seemed to be moving faster. Much too fast. Kevin couldn't estimate their speed, but it was many meters per second. He used the tillers to turn Galahad directly toward Ceres, opened the steam valve wider.

  Not too wide, he told himself. Not too wide, or we'll use up steam too fast and—

  The temptation to blast as hard as they could was almost irresistible. The craggy ground came up toward them at frightening speed. They were definitely coming down too fast, and they were too close. Desperately he opened the steam valve all the way, and switched full power to the heaters—

  A minute went by. Another. Now they were very low—and they didn't seem to have much approach velocity, but they were moving across the surface much too quickly. Painfully they rotated the tank until the exhaust pointed in the direction they moved over the ground, then tilted it again toward Ceres. Kevin opened the steam valve again.

  "We've still got pressure," he said. "But I have no idea how much water is left in the tank—"

  "Don't talk about it," Glenda said grimly. "We're so close—"

  "Sure." Now they were less than a kilometer high, still moving too fast. Again Kevin rotated toward Ceres, ignoring their lateral velocity to kill their falling speed. "Keep a lookout for large objects in our path—"

  "I'd say we're moving fifty miles an hour," Glenda said. "Enough to kill you—" But slowly the rocket lost velocity toward the ground, and they were able to turn again. "Pick a landing site," Kevin said. "Something under our ground track."

  "Over there. Ahead of us." He looked quickly toward the plateau she had selected. It was rocky but as good as anything else in sight. He rotated the rocket again; they were moving slantwise toward the ground, and Kevin kept the exhaust pointing straight in their direction of travel.

  The steam pressure was falling. They were running out of water, or else they were using steam faster than the fuel cells could boil the water; it didn't matter. A few more seconds and they'd be down, one way or another—

  The plateau came up toward them, but not so fast now. The steam valve was wide open. Nothing else they could do.

  They were over the plateau and falling directly toward it, a hundred meters high and falling-plummeting straight down.

  "Cut loose from the straps," Kevin shouted. "Be ready to jump clear just before we hit."

  He worked frantically at the buckles, but he couldn't unfasten them and keep control of the tillers. The rocket showed a definite tendency to tumble now as Glenda moved in her perch, but there wasn't time for more talk, for more of anything—

  Fifty meters. Twenty-five. Slowing all the time. Maybe they'd make it after all—

  Then the ground came up and swatted them. They hit tail first. The rocket nozzle collapsed beneath, and steam spewed out, forming an ice fog that condensed on the rocks and on his face plate. He worked at the buckles and got them loose—

  And realized he was lying on the surface. He couldn't see, but he heard Glenda's voice in his helmet. "Kevin! Are you all right?"

  She didn't sound hurt. Gingerly he worked each limb. Nothing seemed broken. "We're down," he said.

  Kevin estimated their landing velocity at about ten miles an hour. The crumpled rocket nozzle had absorbed much of the energy of the crash, and neither of them had been more than shaken up. "Any landing you walk away from is a good one. A pilot told me that once," Kevin muttered.

  "What?"

  "Nothing. Something Donnelly told me once. When we were still friends. Glenda, I haven't the faintest idea of where we are."

  "Sure you do. Why do you think we have visibility even though we're on the night side?" She pointed up at the bright disc above them. "The station is just under the synchronous mirror."

  "Yeah. I'm not thinking too well—"

  "You're doing all right." She pointed to the remains of their steam rocket. "Splendidly, I'd say."

  They loaded up all the full oxygen tanks and set out toward the satellite mirror. Kevin stopped to take an observation with his protractor, then punched numbers into his calculator. "I make it ninety to a hundred kilometers," he said.

  "Not too bad. A few hours of following yonder star. We've got enough air."

  "If we don't use it up talking." Kevin started bounding across the surface of the asteroid. Glenda followed.

  They moved in long leaps. It was much easier than walking, almost like ice skating or skipping down hill; as long as they could keep going in a straight line, it took very little effort. Turning or stopping was much harder.

  They could leap crevasses up to forty meters wide, and it was easy enough to go around bigger ones. If they had to climb, they could jump thirty meters upward, or jump down steep slopes.

  It was like a combination of flying and skating, leaping across the surface of Ceres, and Kevin shouted with the sheer joy of being alive. They were alive, and for a while they were safe.

  In seven hours they were within sight of Ceres Station. They paused on a hilltop looking down on the leveled plain which served as the spaceport.

  "We could try to steal one of the scooters," Kevin said. "I think we can trust John Eliot and the Daedalus people."

  "Except that the scooters are guarded, and our best chance is the plan we already worked out. Everyone on Ceres can't be corrupt. Most of the people here believe in the future of the Belt—"

  "All right," Kevin said. "Let's go."

  They went directly to the main entrance to the station. There was no one in the airlock, and once inside, they went into Fat Jack's bar.

  The bar was crowded with people singing and shouting. One by one they fell silent as they stared at Kevin and Glenda.

  "You're dead," Joe Harwitt said. "Damn it, Bill Dykes said you were dead! He said you'd been killed by Ralston!"

  "Did he say it to you?" Glenda asked. "Did you hear him say it? Or did Henri Stoire and Hal Donnelly tell you that's what he said?"

  There was a short silence. Then one of the miners said, "Hell, Stoire and Donnelly were the only ones with Bill when he died. You saying they lied to us?"

  "Damn right," Kevin said. "They're the ones who marooned us on C-2."

  "On C-2?" Joe Harwitt seemed to have difficulty comprehending that. "C-2?"

  "Yes. Jacob is still up there."

  "He's supposed to be dead, too," one of the miners said. "Supposed to have had some kind of fight with you, Senecal. What the hell's going on here?"

  "Henri Stoire is stealing Interplanet blind," Kevin said.

  "We'll find out about that," another miner said. "He's coming now."

  Stoire came in with four armed company police. "What is happening—Miss MacMillan! We were told you were dead."

  "Good act, Stoire, but it won't work," Kevin said.

  "Have you gone mad?" Stoire asked. "What are you talking about?"

  "He claims you've been doing some embezzling," Joe Harwitt said.

  "And what have I been stealing?" Stoire asked.

  "Arthurium," Kevin said.

  "Nonsense. All the Arthurium is accounted for. Six thousand, seven hundred and nine grams. No great amount, but more than has ever been seen on Earth—"

  "It won't work," Glenda said. "I know precisely how much Arthurium was mined. Almost four hundred kilograms. And I know where it is."

  "Ridiculous," Stoire said. "Young lady, I am trying to be patient with you and your impetuous friend, but it is obvious that y
ou must be restrained for your own good." He turned to the others. "I don't know what she wants, but I do not have to listen to accusations from a common prostitute. Lieutenant, arrest those two."

  "Yes, sir." The company police stepped forward.

  "I'm no prostitute," Glenda said. "You know who I am, Mr. Stoire."

  "Who?" Joe Harwitt demanded.

  "I think I'll let someone else tell you," Glenda said. She looked at Stoire. "Does this mean anything to you? Balaclava, 17 September, 1976."

  Stoire suddenly looked worried.

  Glenda smiled faintly. "That's the code phrase he used in his secret transactions with the company's computer. Without it the computer won't deliver the full records. Jacob Norsedal figured it out from the machine language. And now—" She was quiet for a moment, a look of concentration on her face.

  "HER NAME IS GLENDA HANSEN-MACKENZIE," the overhead speaker said.

  "What the hell is that?" a miner shouted.

  "She's making the computer say that," Stoire said.

  "And how the hell is she controlling your computer, Mr. Stoire?" the miner asked.

  "Implant," Joe Harwitt said. "A rich young lady indeed. Only I never knew the computer could accept instructions from implants."

  "Done in Zurich," Kevin said.

  "Where is the missing Arthurium?" Glenda said aloud.

  "I DO NOT HAVE THAT INFORMATION."

  Stoire looked smug.

  "How much was refined?" Glenda asked.

  "THREE HUNDRED AND NINETY-TWO THOUSAND SIX HUNDRED AND NINETEEN GRAMS."

  "Four hundred kilos!" Joe Harwitt whistled. "Is there that much money in the whole solar system?"

  "Enough that each one here can have one million francs," Henri Stoire said. "One million for each of you, if you help me."

  "Jeez, that's a lot of money," someone said.

  "Where will you spend it?" Glenda asked. "I have already had the base computer send a message to Hansen headquarters on Luna. You shouldn't have 'fixed' the high-gain antenna, Stoire."

  "Wait a minute." Harwitt looked from Glenda to Stoire. "I don't know what to make of this. You're saying that you are Laurie Jo Hansen's kid—"

  "Hell, she is," Fat Jack said. The bar owner launched himself in a smooth curve that took him next to Glenda. He looked at her intently.

  "Yep. I worked for Hansen Enterprises, twenty, twenty-five years ago now. She looks like the big boss did back then. Same eyes. Yeah, I think she is. Look at her!"

  "Where is the Arthurium?" she demanded.

  Stoire shrugged. "It appears that you know something I do not. I never knew there was any more."

  "You're a liar," Kevin said.

  Stoire shrugged. He turned to Glenda. "I really suggest that we go somewhere and talk quietly."

  "Out here." She led the way to the corridor. Kevin and the others followed. The company police looked to someone, anyone, for orders.

  Glenda and Stoire moved away from the crowd. Kevin was just close enough to hear.

  "It really is simple," Stoire said. "If no excess Arthurium is ever found, there is no real evidence of any crime—"

  "Kidnapping—"

  He shrugged again. "Possibly. But the question is, do you want your superconductors? Because if any harm comes to me, you'll never see that Arthurium again."

  "It's on C-4; we'll find it." Kevin said.

  "Of course," Stoire said. "With a hydrogen bomb next to it. I doubt your superconductor would be much use after it is vaporized by a one-megaton bomb."

  "You're bluffing," Kevin said.

  Stoire smiled thinly. "You have reason to know I believe in insurance. This is another form. Now—shall we negotiate?"

  Chapter Eighteen

  The H-bomb went off in silence. A bright flower of intolerable blue-white, dying to a dull red glow.

  "Just off center," Jacob Norsedal said. He looked at the computer read-out. "They'll have no trouble correcting the slight tumble. The next detonation will go off on schedule."

  Aeneas MacKenzie nodded. "So C-4 is on its way. I'm surprised you didn't go with them, Jacob."

  Norsedal laughed. "Three's a crowd. Newlyweds don't need company, and they can certainly manage the navigation."

  "Yes. I suppose they can," MacKenzie said. He glanced at the wreckage of Galahad. It hadn't been easy to find, but he'd offered ten thousand francs to the miner who could locate it. He told himself that Laurie Jo would want to see it. "I still can't believe that thing worked. Ingenious young man, my son-in-law," MacKenzie said.

  "Sure is. I've got good reason to know it," Norsedal said. "What will happen to Stoire?"

  MacKenzie shook his head. "We'll pay his debts and send him home."

  "Rich."

  "Yes, but I doubt he'll stay away from the gaming tables long."

  "It seems a shame that he gets off so easily," Norsedal said.

  MacKenzie's voice was gruff. "Bill Dykes was a good friend. I don't like it much that Stoire gets off, but I don't doubt the price for vengeance was damned high. Higher than I could pay, and I doubt Bill would have wanted us to waste that much revenge."

  "Yes," Norsedal said. "He had the entire cargo ready to blow. Arthurium, gold, all the refined metals—"

  "And not even Laurie Jo could have put more money into space without some return," MacKenzie finished. "Glenda made the only deal possible. The human race advances, but sometimes we pay in strange coin, Jacob."

  "Time," Norsedal said. The viewscreen flared again, a point of brilliant white fading rapidly. Norsedal studied the radar returns. "Well done," he said. He watched the computer read-out a moment longer, then looked up. "Will you be staying long?"

  "No. I'm taking the Arthurium back to Luna in Valkyrie. We can be back months before C-4 arrives, and our fusion people are anxious to get to work. They think they may have a demonstration reactor by the time the kids arrive."

  "If Kevin doesn't come up with a better design," Noresdal said. "He's got a good computer and lots of time to work." Norsedal typed inputs. The viewscreen blurred, then showed a map of the solar system and C-4's orbit from Ceres to Earth. "THREE HUNDRED AND FOUR DAYS," it announced.

  "A long trip," Aeneas said.

  "I doubt they'll notice." Norsedal's grin was wide.

  Aeneas MacKenzie looked wistfully at the viewscreen. "Laurie Jo and I once had sixty days to ourselves. Sixty days with nothing to do but get to know each other. I think you're right, Jacob. They'll find this a short trip."

  Norsedal grinned slightly and typed again.

  "PROGNOSIS CONFIRMED," the computer announced.

  THE END

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  Exile-and Glory

  Table of Contents

  HIGH JUSTICE

  A Matter of Sovereignty

  Power to the People

  Enforcer

  High Justice

  Extreme Prejudice

  Consort

  Tinker

  EXILES TO GLORY

  CERES

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

 

 

 
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