Harvest of Stars

by Poul Anderson

  “—swimming close to the raft when a pair of dolphins—O-o-oh!”

  Still full, the Moon rose aft. Sudden silver flew across the ocean to cast halos upon heads. Kyra felt herself lean against Valencia and lay an arm around his waist.

  He tautened. “Ah, Pilot Davis—”

  “Outrageously beautiful,” she said from down in her throat.

  “Yes. M-m, can you find Alpha Centauri for me?”

  “I, I think we’re too far north yet. Why?”

  “Chain of association.” Guthrie.

  “Who cares? Demeter, only live planet we’ve reached, yes, but primitive and doomed and all it does is make me wonder what everything means if life is so rare an accident.” Kyra drew breath. Her blood thrummed. “What it means is that it is, no? We’re here for a little while, we’re here tonight, you and I, and that can be enough. We can make it be, can’t we?” She lifted her lips toward his.

  His response was not altogether steady. “Pilot Davis, I explained about relationships with clients.”

  She grinned. “Suppose the client starts it?”

  “Policy—”

  Her spark of mirth went out. “Nero, listen, I’m not a bold buccaneer. Nor am I a coward, but down underneath right now I’m scared and lonely and in want of comforting.”

  His eyes met hers. “I’m not sure whether I believe that,” he said. “I think too well of you, Kyra.”

  Joy kindled anew. She brought her hands up—his hair was springy between her fingers—and tugged downward. “Besides,” she whispered after a while, “the loping of this deck underneath us is almighty sexy.”

  21

  THE MAN SEATED before the desk was gray-haired but trim as a boy, straight as a drive shaft. Pale eyes were set deep in a face seamed and craggy. Colonel’s insignia and action ribbons brightened the crisp uniform. “Subject to the vital interests of my country, I am under your orders, sir,” he agreed.

  “That shouldn’t cause us any problem, seeing as how your government assigned you and your detachment to me,” new Guthrie replied. “About those men, though. I know you by reputation.” Old Guthrie would. Sayre had provided an account. “You can be trusted to do your job, do it well, and keep your mouth shut afterward. But can your men, every last one of them?”

  “I chose them myself, sir,” Felix Holden told him.

  “Okay, that’s good enough for me.” Perforce. “But I underline, the bunch of you have got to be discreet. Not just reliable but tactful. Or, at least, not aggravating. When my consejeros find out I’ve engaged space-trained members of the North American Security Police for special duty, the excrement will hit the blower. I’ll have to talk them out of mutinying and then smooth the collective feathers of Fireball. Don’t make that harder for me than it has to be.”

  “I understand, sir. May I ask how you propose to explain our mission?”

  “The simplest way. Begin with the truth, that our personnel aren’t trained in police work, never having had to do more than stop the occasional fight or nab the very rare thief, swindler, et cetera. They’ll ask me, if we need detectives to help against terrorists who’ve infiltrated us, why not borrow them from some other country than the Union—in spacer eyes, some free country? I’ll answer that it’s because your corps is the one that knows the situation, that’s actually wrestling with it, and we haven’t time to educate anybody else. I’ll say that I’m not fond of the idea myself, but in this emergency I don’t see any choice.

  “I can talk my people around. I am their jefe, the founder of this whole shebang, the figure they’ve looked up to all their lives, like their parents and grandparents and maybe great-grandparents before them. I repeat, though, your boys can make it impossible for me, and might not survive what follows. You aren’t dealing with meek tax-payers any more. Spacers are an independent, stiff-necked, hot-blooded squall of cats.”

  Holden cracked a smile. “I expected you’d say what you have, sir. Don’t worry. My corps aren’t the high-handed bullies of the popular stories. Por favor, credit us with more competence than that. We’ll stay in the background, speak low, and not throw our weight around unless it becomes absolutely necessary. If it does, we’ll keep our action to the minimum of what seems required.”

  “Fine. Now let’s get specific. You’re our provision against the possibility that our object of search will escape into space. It’s remote, but I wouldn’t put anything past me. Should that happen, he can’t, realistically, aim for any place but L-5 or the Moon. I want a unit of yours at each facility, under an officer whom you’ll have told what to look out for. I’m assuming you have two officers who can be trusted with a secret that explosive. I’ll order the Fireball folk to cooperate with them. How soon can they and their detachments go?”

  “Within an hour after I return to them from here.”

  “Hoo, you really are good at what you do! I can’t arrange transport for them quite that fast. Ecuador space-port’s always busy, you know. However, they should be at their stations tomorrow.

  “You stay in Quito, Colonel, with a few men, the pick of the pick. You’ll be in reserve against the bottom-worst case, the one that’d call for desperate measures.”

  Discussion became swift and incisive.

  Holden rose, saluted the robot body, and wheeled about. His heels clacked on the floor.

  When he was gone, Guthrie called Sayre in Futuro. “Your collie dog and I have just had an interesting conversation,” he said. “I believe we can keep things under control at my end. How’re they going at yours?”

  “The quarry is still at large,” Sayre answered redundantly. After a moment: “Deep-quizzing a suspect who was brought in has established that his hiding place was the Erie-Ontario site. The suspect’s memory of events around the time of our raid was irretrievably wiped out by a drug. Otherwise the only indications we have suggest the download was spirited off to Portland, but they may be coincidental or may have been managed for the purpose of laying a false scent. Presumably he’ll try to get into Mexico, and we’re drawing the mesh especially tight along that border, but he may get past somehow.”

  “Or he may double back,” Guthrie suggested.

  “Yes. He’s not without resources inside the Union. He couldn’t have eluded us like this unless people helped him. By now, perhaps a number of people, some of whom have probably been told the facts about him. Any of them could at any time try to make the matter public, and might succeed.”

  “Yeah. From your viewpoint, the second worst night-mare. What have you got planned to cope with it?”

  “Denial, of course. Arrest them as nihilists and hold them incommunicado, or dead. You will join in the denial.”

  “It’s customary to say, ‘Will you, por favor, Sr. Guthrie?’”

  “I … apologize. The stress on me … is considerable.”

  “I may want to produce my spare self in evidence, newly awakened after his return from Alpha Cen. Is that copy ready?”

  “Not quite. The software, naturally. But the hardware, an exact duplicate of something that was custom-made—Give us another two or three days. Then we’ll have him back in Fireball’s Northwest building where he was stowed before.”

  “That should do. For my part, I’ll put it to the company, ‘Who’re you going to believe, me or a few homicidal fanatics and their possibly well-meaning dupes?’ Some will have their doubts, but I’m pretty sure the large majority will go along.”

  “Yes, yes. We’ve threshed this out already, haven’t we?”

  “Well, we haven’t taken time to consider the very worst case in any detail. What if it isn’t a matter of somebody broadcasting a story, but of my rogue self surfacing, in Mexico or wherever? Can your goons mount a raid fast enough to grab him or blast him before the damage goes beyond repair?”

  “Goons? I resent that word.”

  “Resent away. Can they?”

  “Perhaps. I’m working on the problem of disguising their identities. The legal consequences of us carryin
g out such an operation in a foreign country are appalling.”

  “Embarrassing, you mean, if you’re caught at it. But you know bloody well your government can stall the Federation. At most, it’d have to fire a few ‘overzealous ministers’ and promise they’ll be reeducated. However, if the loose me isn’t squashed almighty fast, I’ll face appalling consequences.”

  “It shouldn’t come to that. Let’s hope not. For everybody’s sake.”

  “Listen, I don’t propose to go down without a fight. I’m having a torch ship made ready for me to pilot. If my rival does break free and your commando fails to take him out, I’ll see what I can do myself.”

  22

  MAUNA LOA AND Mauna Kea stood over the western rim of the sea like a dream, but when Caravel reached the Big Island they were lost behind everything nearer. The hydrofoil lay to outside Hilo harbor and called a water taxi for her passengers. The captain bade them goodbye at the gangway. Kyra resented his grin and wink at Valencia. Nero went expressionless. He was a gentleman, she thought warmly.

  A ground cab brought him and her, with his weapons and Guthrie in their luggage, to the hotel she had proposed. It was large and soulless, therefore nobody would pay them any special heed. It was fairly new—few commercial buildings of any importance had gone up in the Union, this past decade—and not much run down, therefore they could get a room with a capable computer terminal. Nevertheless, when the door closed behind them Kyra felt stifled. She had come from a soft breeze, the palm trees that it rustled and the boundless blue overhead. Her look sprang to the outside view. No sound from yonder reached her.

  The feeling passed. There was work to do. Valencia was unpacking Guthrie. His movements flowed feline. The sight set her aglow.

  He put the case on the dresser. Eyestalks extended. “Well, you’re both still hale and footloose,” Guthrie rumbled. “How was the trip?”

  Kyra felt the heat in her face. Did he notice? “Estupendo,” she murmured, and couldn’t stop a sidewise glance at Valencia. The man stayed impassive.

  “What day is it? What time? God damn it, I’ve been in that box for what was like a week of blue-law Sundays.”

  “I wondered how you’d stand it,” Kyra ventured.

  “I dozed. I thought. I played mind games. I ran through memories. Especially the raunchy ones. Now brief me.”

  Valencia did in economical words. “And what’s the latest news?” Guthrie demanded. The humans stared at one another. They had forgotten to tune in.

  Kyra keyed the terminal for a summary. It rammed into them. Evidence had been found of terrorist cells in L-5 and on the Moon. At Anson Guthrie’s urgent request, Sepo units had been dispatched to the colony and to Port Bowen. He ordered all Fireball personnel to give them full cooperation.

  “Grace and goodness,” Kyra whispered, for no profanity or obscenity would serve.

  Valencia held to a bleak calm. “This throws quite a comet into our plans, doesn’t it?” he said. “Difficult enough getting you onto a spaceship and away. Now you won’t even find any safe haven there, will you? And these islands will be the devil and all to get away from. I’m sorry. I should have insisted we try for Mexico or Québec, in spite of the guard on the borders.”

  Kyra harked back to their conference that night in Portland. When Valencia brought up the possibility of escaping by sea out of San Francisco, she had cried that then they need only make for some such port as Mazatlán. He pointed out that under present conditions, the authorities would assuredly not clear a vessel belonging to the notorious Gentlemen Adventurers for any foreign destination. A pleasure jaunt to Hawaii and back was the most they would permit. Caravel would have to transmit continuous radio location, and no doubt TrafCon aerostats would also keep an eye on her from the stratosphere. If she deviated significantly from her allowed course, patrol craft would give immediate chase. At that, she’d been stopped along the way and searched for unregistered passengers she might have taken aboard.

  Kyra shivered. The thought that a government, any government, could wield so close a control was terrifying.

  “No, don’t apologize, son,” Guthrie said. “I’d have overruled you. The prospect of sailing here delighted me. As a matter of fact, I considered that my twin could make arrangements to head me off if I got into space. Sure, I hoped he wouldn’t manage it till too late—I knew he’d think of it—but as it turns out, he did. Just the same, I still guesstimate our chances are better than if we’d tried one of the other stunts we discussed.”

  “Hm, yes.” Valencia nodded. “Lift the spacecraft, set it down again in Ecuador or Australia.”

  “A beautiful thought. Unfortunately, it’s bound to have occurred to anti-me. Whether or not we can pass off our launch as legitimate, we’ll be tracked from the first. Armed police flyers are aloft in force, all the time. They have to be, to make this Chaotic scare plausible, but they’re ready for business. If we do anything funny, like doubling back to Earth, they’ll move to intercept. They’re fast, while a descending spacecraft is necessarily slow. They carry light missiles as well as guns, and a spacecraft is completely vulnerable to a single well-placed shot. Never mind if the kill takes place over somebody else’s territory. The Covenant gives national police the right of hot pursuit of criminals. Futuro can claim the vessel was hijacked—which, in a way, will be true.”

  “I might be able to evade,” Kyra said slowly.

  “Given more luck than skill,” Guthrie retorted, “and we agree you’ve got skill in tonne lots. No, if we can lift off, we’ll continue outbound. There are no armed ships in space. As for L-5 and Port Bowen, I have some ideas.” His eyestalks swung from the woman to the man and back again. “Enough talk for now. It’s a waste of time till we have further information. The ravenous snails are over-taking us. Contact Wash Packer.”

  His confidence freshened Kyra’s heart. She stepped toward the phone. Valencia caught her by the wrist. His grip was light and, she sensed, unbreakable. “Por favor, no, Pilot Davis,” he warned. “The director’s lines are certainly monitored.”

  “Damn, I forgot. Gracias, Nero.” She gave him her lingering smile. “Besides, we’d better figure out what to tell him.”

  He released her. “I suggest we screen a map of the area and a classified directory.”

  Mission first, yes, yes. But did he have to maintain that persona of an armed butler? Guthrie wouldn’t care, would he? Kyra thrust her exasperation down. She could make things clear to Nero later. Maybe no later than their next free hours actually began.

  Deboost that!

  The data retrieval was primarily for his benefit. She knew this town pretty well. Guthrie took only a small part in their planning. “You’re a coyote, Valencia,” he said at the end. “It’s a bloody good thing you’re on the side of God, motherhood, and apple pie.” The remark bemused Kyra—something from his life’s antiquity, she supposed. “Go to it, kids.”

  They left him watching the multi, for if anyone came in to snoop he’d be found regardless, and went their separate ways. Kyra walked about a kilometer before she looked for a public phone. No sense in giving a clue to her location. It should otherwise be safe. Valencia had used a second false ident to register them as man and wife. (The glow tingled.) If the Sepo checked her out through their computer net after they listened to her talk with Packer, nothing would point to the Bill Mendoza who’d driven her south from Portland. She doubted they’d be that suspicious. She’d try to avoid causing it. But Valencia took every reasonable precaution. He was one workmanlike hombre.

  When she rang Kamehameha, her name got her straight through to the boss. That was no big surprise. The spaceport had been idle for days. The lean, white-polled visage stiffened, then broke into a grin doubly brilliant against the chocolate complexion. “Pilot Davis! Wonderful! I’ve been worried about you, chica.”

  “Really?” Kyra’s back between her shoulderblades ached with tension. This had to sound convincing, and she was no actress. “I’m sorry. I took for grant
ed the call from Québec had explained the situation.”

  Packer blinked. “What call?”

  “When I’d decided I should report back here. A few days ago. You spoke with Pierre Thibodeaux, actually, I think. Don’t you remember? Maybe you, uh, had a lot of Fireball business on hand, more urgent than this.”

  “Oh, that call. It slipped my mind for a second.” Packer shrugged. “To be frank, I haven’t much to do, the way things are. That’s precisely what is blasting me out of my wits.”

  Relief cascaded. Her knees shook. He was as quick in the brain as she’d counted on.

  “Come around anyhow,” she heard through the drumming blood. “Everybody will be glad to see you, especially now while we’re on hold. I’ll have to get clearance for you to enter, so be sure you do at the main gate.”

  She thought a mantra. A measure of coolness returned. “Sir, I can’t. Not right away. It’s personal. You see, I went first to Portland where I have a good friend, and something came up—”

  He peered from the screen. “You choked?”

  “Uh, no. No. A stray thought.” Hurriedly: “I need your counsel, sir. Could we meet somewhere private? I mean, these days, your office, even your home—It’s personal, but, but very personal, and it will affect me professionally, and you’re such an understanding man—”

  He smiled. She thought she saw the grimness behind that show of teeth. “Me, a father figure?”

  “You’ve raised two fine daughters, sir.”

  “And have a boy at home yet,” he said—warily?

  “Sir, por favor, I am a consorte of Fireball, and … I’m in want of help.”

  She recognized that he caught her real meaning.