To Save the Sun

by Ben Bova

  And yet Earth's sky seemed so much friendlier. You could pick out old companions there: the two Bears, the Lion, the Twins, the Hunter, the Winged Horse.

  Already I think of Earth in the past tense. Like Kyle. Like my son.

  He thought of the Earth's warming Sun. How could it turn traitor? How could it… begin to die? In his mind's eye he hovered above the Sun, bathed in its fiery glow, watching its bubbling, seething surface. He plunged deeper into the roiling plasma, saw filaments and streamers arching a thousand Earthspans into space, heard the pulsing throb of the star's energy, the roar of its power, blinding bright, overpowering, ceaseless merciless heat, throbbing, roaring, pounding…

  He was gasping for breath and the pounding he heard was his own heartbeat throbbing in his ears. Soaked with sweat, he tried to sit up. The bed enfolded him protectively, supporting his body.

  "Hear me," he commanded the computer. His voice cracked.

  "Sire?" answered a softly female voice in his mind.

  He forced himself to relax. Forced the pain from his body. The dryness in his throat eased. His breathing slowed. The pounding of his heart diminished.

  "Get me the woman scientist who reported at the conference on the Sun's explosion, thirty years ago. She was not present at the conference; her report was presented by a colleague."

  The computer needed more than a second to reply, but finally: "Sire, there were four such reports by female scientists at that conference."

  "This was the only one to deal with a plan to save the Earth's Sun."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Medical monitors were implanted in his body now. Although the Imperial physicians insisted that it was impossible, the Emperor could feel the microscopic implants on the wall of his heart, in his aorta, alongside his carotid artery. The Imperial psychotechs called it a psychosomatic reaction. But since his mind was linked to the computers that handled all the information on the planet, the Emperor knew what his monitors were reporting before the doctors did.

  They had reduced the gravity in his working and living sections of the palace to one-third normal, and forbade him from leaving these areas, except for the rare occasions of state when he was needed in the Great Assembly Hall or another public area. He acquiesced in this: The lighter gravity felt better and allowed him to be on his feet once again, free of the powerchair's clutches.

  This day he was walking slowly, calmly, through a green forest of Earth. He strolled along a parklike path, admiring the lofty maples and birches, listening to the birds and small forest animals' songs of life. He inhaled scents of pine and grass and sweet clean air. He felt the warm sun on his face and the faintest cool breeze. For a moment he considered how the trees would look in their autumnal reds and golds. But he shook his head.

  No. There is enough autumn in my life. I'd rather be in springtime.

  In the rooms next to the corridor he walked through, tense knots of technicians worked at the holographic systems that produced the illusion of the forest, while other groups of white-suited meditechs studied the readouts from the Emperor's implants. Even though the machinery was so highly automated as to be virtually sentient, Imperial tradition—and bureaucratic insistence—kept triply redundant teams of humans on duty constantly.

  Two men joined the Emperor on the forest path: Academician Bomeer, head of the Imperial Academy of Sciences, and Supreme Commander Fain, chief of staff of the Imperial Military Forces. Both were old friends and advisors, close enough to the Emperor to be housed within the palace itself when allowed to visit their master.

  Bomeer looked young, almost sprightly, in a stylish robe of green and tan. He was slightly built, had a lean, almost ascetic face spoiled by a large mop of unruly brown hair.

  Commander Fain was iron gray, square-faced, a perfect picture of a military leader. His black and silver uniform fit his muscular frame like a second skin. His gray eyes seemed eternally troubled.

  Emperor Nicholas greeted them and allowed Bomeer to spend a few minutes admiring the forest simulation. The scientist called out the correct names for each type of tree they walked past and identified several species of birds and squirrels. Finally the Emperor asked him about the young woman who had arrived on the Imperial planet the previous month.

  "I have discussed her plan thoroughly with her," Bomeer said, his face going serious. "I must say that she is dedicated, energetic, close to brilliant. But rather naive and overly sanguine about her own ideas."

  "Could her plan work?" asked the Emperor.

  "Could it work?" the scientist echoed. He had tenaciously held on to his post at the top of the scientific hierarchy for nearly a century. His body had been rejuvenated more than once, the Emperor knew. But not his mind.

  "Sire, there is no way to tell if it could work! Such an operation has never been done before. There are no valid data. Mathematics, yes, but even so, there is no more than theory. And the costs! The time it would take! The technical manpower!" He shook his head. "Staggering."

  The Emperor stopped walking. Fifty meters away, behind the hologram screens, a dozen meditechs suddenly hunched over their readout screens intently.

  But the Emperor had stopped merely to repeat to Bomeer, "Could her plan work?"

  Bomeer ran a hand through his boyish mop, glanced at Commander Fain for support and found none, then faced his Emperor again. "I… there is no firm answer, Sire. Statistically I would say that the chances are vanishingly small."

  "Statistics!" The Emperor made a disgusted gesture. "A refuge for scoundrels and sociotechs. Is there anything scientifically impossible in what she proposes?"

  "Nnn… not theoretically impossible, Sire." Bomeer said slowly. "A star's life span can be increased; it has been known for centuries that some stars rejuvenate naturally. Massive stellar collisions at the centers of the globular clusters have been known to transform dying red giants into young blue stragglers, although the process is obviously highly destructive in itself. But her theories involve something entirely different, and in the practical world of reality… it… it's the magnitude of the project. The costs. Why, it would take half of Supreme Commander Fain's fleet to transport even the most basic equipment and material needed for such a venture."

  Fain seized his opportunity to speak. "And the Imperial fleet, Sire, is spread much too thin for safety as it is."

  "We are at peace, Commander," said the Emperor.

  "For how long, Sire? The frontier worlds grow more restless every day. And the aliens beyond our borders—"

  "Are weaker than we are. I have reviewed the intelligence assessments, Commander."

  "Sire, the relevant factor in those reports is that the aliens are growing stronger and we are not."

  With a nod, the Emperor resumed walking. The scientist and the Commander followed him, arguing their points unceasingly.

  Finally they reached the end of the long corridor, where the holographic simulation showed them Earth's Sun setting beyond the edge of an ocean, turning the restless sea into an impossible glitter of opalescence.

  "Your recommendations, then, gentlemen?" he asked wearily. Even in the one-third gravity his legs felt tired, his back ached.

  Bomeer spoke first, his voice hard and sure. "This naive dream of saving the Earth's Sun is doomed to fail. The plan must be rejected."

  Fain added, "The fleet can detach enough squadrons from its noncombat units to initiate the evacuation of Earth whenever you order it, Sire."

  "Evacuate them to an unsettled planet?" the Emperor asked.

  "Or resettle them on the existing frontier worlds. The Earth residents are rather frontier-like themselves; they have purposely been kept primitive. They would get along well with some of the frontier populations. They might even serve to calm down some of the unrest on the frontier worlds."

  The Emperor looked at Fain and almost smiled. "Or they might fan that unrest into outright rebellion. They are a cantankerous lot, you know."

  "We can deal with rebellion," said Fain.

&n
bsp; "Can you?" the Emperor asked. "You can kill people, of course. You can level cities and even render whole planets uninhabitable. But does that end it? Or do the neighboring worlds become fearful and turn against us?"

  Fain stood as unmoved as a statue. His lips barely parted as he asked, "Sire, if I may speak frankly?"

  "Certainly, Commander."

  Like a soldier standing at attention as he delivers an unpleasant report to his superior officer, Fain drew himself up and monotoned, "Sire, the main reason for unrest among the frontier words is the lack of Imperial firmness in dealing with them. In my opinion, a strong hand is desperately needed. The neighboring worlds will respect their Emperor if—and only if—he acts decisively. The people value strength, Sire, not meekness."

  The Emperor reached out and put a hand on the Commander's shoulder. Fain was still rock-hard under his uniform.

  "You have sworn an oath to protect and defend this realm," the Emperor said. "If necessary, to die for it."

  "And to protect and defend you, Sire." The man stood straighter and firmer than the trees around them.

  "But this Empire, my dear Commander, is more than blood and steel. It is more than any one man. It is an idea."

  Fain looked back at him steadily, but with no real understanding in his eyes. Bomeer stood uncertainly off to one side.

  Impatiently the Emperor turned his face toward the ceiling hologram and called, "Map!"

  Instantly the forest scene disappeared and they were in limitless space. Stars glowed around them, overhead, on all sides, underfoot. The pale gleam of the galaxy's spiral arms wafted off and away into unutterable distance.

  Bomeer's knees buckled. Even the Commander's rigid self-discipline was shaken.

  The Emperor smiled. He was accustomed to walking godlike on the face of the Deep.

  "This is the Empire, gentlemen," he lectured in the darkness. "A handful of stars, a pitiful scattering of worlds set apart by distances that take years to traverse. All populated by human beings, the descendants of Earth."

  He could hear Bomeer breathing heavily. Fain was a ramrod outline against the glow of the Milky Way, but his hands were outstretched, as if seeking balance.

  "What links these scattered dust motes? What preserves their ancient heritage, guards their civilization, protects their hard-won knowledge and arts and sciences? The Empire, gentlemen. We are the mind of the Hundred Worlds, their memory, the yardstick against which they can measure their own humanity. We are their friend, their father, their teacher and helper."

  The Emperor searched the black starry void for the tiny yellow speck of Earth's Sun, while saying:

  "But if the Hundred Worlds decide that the Empire is no longer their friend, if they want to leave their father, if they feel that their teacher and helper has become an oppressor… what then happens to the human race? It will shatter into a hundred fragments, and all the civilization that we have built and nurtured and protected over all these centuries will be destroyed."

  Bomeer's whispered voice floated through the darkness. "They would never—"

  "Yes. They would never turn against the Empire because they know that they have more to gain by remaining with us than by leaving us."

  "But the frontier worlds," Fain said.

  "The frontier worlds are restless, as frontier communities always are. If we use military might to force them to bow to our will, then other worlds will begin to wonder where their own best interests lie."

  "But they could never hope to fight against the Empire!"

  The Emperor snapped his fingers and instantly the three of them were standing again in the forest at sunset.

  "They could never hope to win against the Empire," the Emperor corrected. "But they could destroy the Empire and themselves. I have played out the scenarios with the computers. Widespread rebellion is possible, once the majority of the Hundred Worlds becomes convinced that the Empire is interfering with their freedoms."

  "But the rebels could never win," the Commander said. "I have run the same war games myself, many times."

  "Civil war," said the Emperor. "Who wins a civil war? And once we begin to slaughter ourselves, what will your aliens do, my dear Fain? Eh?"

  His two advisors fell silent. The forest simulation was now deep in twilight shadow. The three men began to walk back along the path, which was softly illuminated by bioluminescent flowers and fireflies flickering through the dark.

  Bomeer clasped his hands behind his back as he walked. "Now that I have seen some of your other problems, Sire, I must take a stronger stand and insist—yes, Sire, insist—that this young woman's plan to save the Earth is even more foolhardy than I had at first thought it to be. The cost is too high, and the chance of success is much too slim. The frontier worlds would react violently against such an extravagance. And," with a nod to Fain, "it would hamstring the fleet."

  For several moments the Emperor walked down the simulated forest path without saying a word. Then, slowly, "I suppose you are right. It is an old man's sentimental dream."

  "I'm afraid that's the truth of it, Sire," said Fain.

  Bomeer nodded sagaciously.

  "I will tell her. She will be disappointed. Bitterly."

  Bomeer gasped. "She's here?"

  The Emperor said, "Yes. I had her brought here to the palace. She has crossed the Empire, given up more than two decades of her life to make the trip, lost half a century of her career over this wild scheme of hers… just to hear that I will refuse her."

  "In the palace?" Fain echoed. "Sire, you're not going to see her in person? The security—"

  "Yes, in person. I owe her that much." The Emperor could see the shock on their faces. Bomeer, who had never stood in the same building with the Emperor until he had become Chairman of the Academy, was trying to suppress his fury with poor success. Fain, sworn to guard the Emperor as well as the Empire, looked worried.

  "But Sire," the Commander said, "no one has personally seen the Emperor, privately, outside of his family and closest advisors"—Bomeer bristled visibly—"in years… decades!"

  The Emperor nodded but insisted, "She is going to see me. I owe her that much. An ancient ruler on Earth once said, 'When you are going to kill a man, it costs nothing to be polite about it.' She is not a man, of course, but I fear that our decision will kill her soul."

  They looked unconvinced.

  Very well, then, the Emperor said to them silently. Put it down as the whim of an old man … a man who is feeling all his years … a man who will never recapture his youth.

  She is only a child.

  The Emperor studied Adela de Montgarde as the young astrophysicist made her way through the guards and secretaries and halls and antechambers toward his own private chambers. He had prepared to meet her in his reception room, changed his mind and moved the meeting to his office, then changed it again and now waited for her in his study. She knew nothing of his indecision; she merely followed the directions given her by the computer-informed staff of the palace.

  The study was a warm old room, lined with shelves of private tapes and ancient paper tomes that the Emperor had collected over the years. A stone fireplace big enough to walk into spanned one wall; its flames soaked the Emperor in life-giving warmth. The opposite wall was a single broad window that looked out on the real forest beyond the palace walls. The window could also serve as a hologram frame; the Emperor could have any scene he wanted projected from it.

  Best to have reality this evening, he told himself. There is too little reality in my life these days. So he eased back in his powerchair and watched his approaching visitor on the viewscreen above the fireplace of the richly carpeted, comfortably paneled old room.

  He had carefully absorbed all the computer's information about Adela de Montgarde: born of a noble family on Gris, a frontier world whose settlers were slowly, painfully transforming a ball of mineral-rich rock into a viable habitat for human life. He knew her face, her life history, her scientific accomplishments and rank. But n
ow, as he watched her approaching on the viewscreen built into the stone fireplace, he realized how little knowledge had accompanied the computer's detailed information.

  The door to the study swung open automatically, and she stood uncertainly, framed in the doorway.

  The Emperor swiveled his powerchair around to face her. The viewscreen immediately faded and became indistinguishable from the other stones.

  "Come in, come in, Dr. Montgarde."

  She was tiny, the smallest woman the Emperor remembered seeing. Her face was almost elfin, with large curious eyes that looked as if they had known laughter. She wore a metallic tunic buttoned to the throat, and a brief skirt. Her figure was childlike.

  The Emperor smiled to himself. She certainly won't tempt me with her body.

  As she stepped hesitantly into the study, her eyes darting all around the room, he said:

  "I am sure that my aides have filled your head with all sorts of nonsense about protocol—when to stand, when to bow, what forms of address to use. Forget all of it. This is an informal meeting, common politeness will suffice. If you need a form of address for me, call me Sire. I shall call you Adela, if you don't mind."

  With a slow nod of her head she answered, "Thank you, Sire. That will be fine." Her voice was so soft that he could barely hear it. He thought he detected a slight waver in it.

  She's not going to make this easy for me, he said to himself. Then he noticed the little stone that she wore on a slim silver chain about her neck.

  "Agate," he said.

  She fingered the stone reflexively. "Yes… it's from my homeworld… Gris. Our planet is rich in minerals."

  "And poor in cultivable land."

  "We are converting more land every year, Sire."

  "Please sit down," the Emperor said. "I'm afraid it's been so long since my old legs have tried to stand in full gravity that I'm forced to remain in this powerchair… or lower the gravitational field in this room. But the computer files said that you are not accustomed to low g fields."