To Save the Sun

by Ben Bova

  "The references to the nations of Earth, and to her mountains and rivers, have no correlation to our world, of course. The message behind the words, however, is clear; but were it not for the efforts of these people from Earth we might have destroyed ourselves before understanding that message. To them, we owe a debt of thanks."

  He motioned for Adela and Montero to stand, then waved a similar invitation to Woorunmarra and the others from the starship. Some in the crowd might still have harbored a few reservations regarding those who, only a few months earlier, had been looked upon as "invaders" from the Hundred Worlds; but a resounding noise of approval arose now for the off-worlders. Even those from Eastland who had staunchly supported their secession from the Joint Dominion, Speaker Salera included, were relieved at the global tragedy that had been narrowly averted and joined in the applause.

  Later, at a reception held at the Joint Dominion Capitol, Speaker Niles called Adela aside.

  "I know you're leaving soon," he said over the music, "and wanted to thank you—in person, not over a holographic link."

  Adela's face grew suddenly warm, and she wondered idly how long it had been since she'd last blushed. "We're all very happy that everything turned out so well. Commander Montero—"

  He took her hands in his, a gentle squeeze cutting her off. "I spoke earlier to the Commander. I know that the quarantine was your idea."

  A wave of cold washed over her, as if she'd just been caught in the act of committing a vicious crime. She felt a guilty lump forming in her throat and looked away to hide the tears she felt gathering in the corners of her eyes.

  "I… I'm sorry," she began, fighting back her emotions. "I just couldn't stand to see you destroying each other; destroying all you've worked so long and hard to accomplish here. It… all just seemed so stupid."

  "You're right, Doctor. It was our own stupidity we were fighting for. Dying for. As those lines from Lincoln said, we were becoming the author of our own destruction." He fished a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his formal attire, handed it to her. "Please, feel no regrets for what you did. It was your idea that terrified us enough to make us stop the killing. For that, we will be forever in your debt."

  Marabell came out of the crowd, accompanied by Kip Salera and his wife. The Eastland Speaker spoke to Adela politely, introducing her to his wife, Jailene. "I thought I might find you here," Marabell said lightly once the introductions were completed. "The dinner is about to begin, whenever you two"—she indicated Niles and Salera—"are ready to join Jailene and me at the main table."

  "Thanks, I'll join you in the dressing room in a few moments." Marabell smiled and turned away with the other couple. As she did, Adela noted the similarity between the two women.

  "They seem very close," she said. "Have they become friends?"

  Niles smiled. "They're sisters. Kip Salera is my brother-in-law."

  The shimmering globe that was Pallatin began to dwindle in the display as the Levant picked up speed. Their mission here a success, they were leaving, heading "home" for Luna.

  She would miss Billy Woorunmarra. He had stayed behind, along with several other Imperial officers, to help the Joint Dominion as they set about the task of rebuilding the Pallatin government and economy. He and the others would then become the first crew of one of the first starships to be produced in the new shipyards, and would follow Levant back to Sol system, arriving a few years later. His expertise at negotiations, not to mention his warmth and good humor, had made this trip bearable for her.

  Alone again in her private suite, the planet glowing in the holographic display in the corner the only light in the room, she sat in silence.

  The quiet was at once calming after the wearying ordeal on Pallatin, and frightening for the thoughts it now allowed to come creeping back into her consciousness after so long an absence. During the long months here she had managed, with varying degrees of success, to put Javas' message out of her mind. But now, alone, with little left to be done before returning to the tank for the long voyage home, she found the image of his message playing over and over in her mind.

  "System," she said. There was an edge to her soft voice that she heard immediately. An edge that asked, what are you afraid of?

  I'm afraid because I finally have to deal with this, she answered inwardly, and I still don't know what I'm going to say to him.

  "Ma'am?" the room system responded.

  "Please cancel the current display and retrieve my personal file." The image of Pallatin dissolved, leaving the room in near darkness.

  "Personal files are ready for playback."

  "Display personal string one-A, message one."

  The corner of the room brightened, and coalesced into Javas' study at Woodsgate on Earth. Just as the first time she'd viewed this file upon waking from the long voyage from Luna, Javas sat in the leather chair, the blanket-wrapped bundle cradled gently in his strong arms.

  "Adela, my love, we have a son…"

  "Cancel playback." The image froze, and dissolved. "System."

  "Ma'am?"

  "Retrieve edited file of personal string one-A, message one."

  "Ready."

  "Playback."

  Javas stood before her in the looped edit she had made of his message, smiling down at the infant in his arms. As she had before, she approached the image and looked into the eyes of her son.

  He's sixteen now, she thought. Almost a man. He'll be thirty-six by the time I return.

  She turned away from the image and went to a mirror, palming the light plate as she did. She brushed her long hair—lightened from spending so much time in the Pallatin sun—and noticed how it stood out against her darkly tanned skin. She considered changing from the hot-weather uniform she still wore, but decided against it and returned to the display area of her suite.

  The edit loop was still running and she lingered a few moments in loving awe of the beautiful child in Javas' arms that was her son. Their son.

  "Cancel playback and prepare to record outgoing message." Father and son disappeared and the room lights came up enough to make a clear recording.

  "Ready."

  Adela sat in the chair, then changed her mind and decided to stand instead as she spoke. Before starting the recording, however, she changed her mind again and went back to the chair. She remained seated for a full minute before doing anything further and breathed in deeply, then exhaled, then breathed in again, forcing herself to relax.

  "Ready," the system repeated.

  At the sound, she looked up into the recorder. "Record." A red light glowed above the lens.

  "Hello, my love," she began.

  "I'm coming home."

  PART FIVE

  TEST

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  "Continue with the tests, then," said Javas, Emperor of the Hundred Worlds. "In the meantime…" He turned away for a moment, as if listening to an unseen speaker. As he paused, his image on the screen stretched and distorted. His movements slowed, even froze for several seconds, before the computer reassigned the transmission matrix and brought the visual portion back up to normal speed. Unlike the recorded tachyon transmissions, which were computer-corrected before playback and could be viewed normally without undue visual or audio distortion, the realtime FTL transmissions were subject to the vagaries of the tachyons that carried the signal itself.

  Even when the picture on the screen had settled into normalcy, Bomeer had to look at the image carefully to tell if the image was still frozen, or if Javas was merely holding still. Even after more than forty years, he reflected as he studied the Emperor's face, you still have difficulty hiding your link to the Imperial computer net. Your father never had that problem.

  Emperor Nicholas had been adept at hiding the fact that he was consulting the Imperial computers through his integrator, often pulling pertinent information from the data banks with ease even as he spoke to someone. But not Javas. While Bomeer had seen Nicholas' son occasionally use the link unobtrusi
vely during pauses in a conversation, he invariably stopped a conversation when something important was being relayed to him. Bomeer tilted his head as he regarded the Emperor, then shot a glance to Supreme Commander Fain, seated at his side. The man sat quietly, patiently; he seemed to sense he was being stared at, and turned his head toward Bomeer, a faint smile crossing his lips for just the briefest of moments.

  And in that moment, something became suddenly clear to the academician; something that Fain had apparently known for some time: Javas wasn't hiding the fact that he was accessing the Imperial computer through his integrator for the simple reason that he'd chosen not to.

  Bomeer turned quickly away from Fain and searched his memory. He had been in attendance at hundreds, perhaps thousands, of meetings and discussions with Javas; meetings that involved dozens of attendees—and intimate chats with only the two of them present. But it occurred to him that he could recall no time during a meeting with anyone but Fain and himself when Javas had been so open with the integrator.

  It's respect, he realized as he turned back to the screen to study the unmoving image of the Emperor once more. You respect us more than I realized. The revelation carried with it an uneasiness; although whether his sudden discomfort was caused by the fact that Javas held him in higher esteem than he'd thought, or by his own inability to recognize what now seemed abundantly obvious, Bomeer couldn't be certain. He was grateful to be spared any further introspection when Javas turned back to them.

  "I've just been informed that the Levant is decelerating toward Sol system. Commander Montero believes he'll arrive in fewer than four months."

  Fain raised an eyebrow. "They made excellent time."

  Bomeer nodded in agreement. "Should we continue with the modeling, then, or wait until Dr. Montgarde arrives before we proceed to the next step? I imagine she would like to see this phase of the experimentation for herself."

  Javas thought a moment; the pause punctuated by a sudden, but brief, bit of distortion in his image on the screen. "No," he went on. "Go ahead with the next phase and we'll relay your results to Dr. Montgarde on board the Levant, although there will still be a bit of lag time until she's in-system. I suspect she'll need a good bit of assimilation time after coming out of cryosleep anyway. A lot has happened in the last forty years, after all. No; you're making good progress at the test site, and I don't want to slow you down any more than necessary."

  "Thank you, Sire," Bomeer replied. "It is becoming increasingly difficult to hold Rice back as it is."

  "Oh?"

  There was an uncomfortable silence. Fain turned to face him, his characteristic raised eyebrow offering not a hint of help. Bomeer inwardly cursed himself for his loose tongue.

  "Well," he offered finally, "Dr. Rice seems to have developed an… enthusiasm for the project that defies—"

  "Academician, are you in charge of this venture or are you not?" His face impassive, the Emperor stared silently from the screen. "Perhaps you should spend more of your time on the Kowloon, and less on the flagship."

  "What Anastasio says is true, Sire," Fain cut in, saving Bomeer further embarrassment. "Dr. Rice and the alien have become quite excited over their own progress and are quite anxious to proceed. Their enthusiasm has not been easily dissuaded."

  "I see. And the attending Sarpan fleet?"

  Bomeer ran a hand through his unruly hair and breathed a sigh of relief that the discussion had shifted to one of Imperial security rather than the project itself. He sat quietly in his chair and attempted to make himself as invisible as possible.

  Fain straightened in his chair as he addressed the Emperor. "Actually, Sire, the close bond that has developed between Dr. Rice and the alien has worked to our advantage. While he has not been given free run of their ships, Dr. Rice has certainly been made to feel considerably more welcome than anyone in the Imperial command structure. Myself included."

  Javas nodded in understanding.

  "I've made no attempt to press the relationship—you know how scientists can be." Bomeer stirred in his chair at the unintended insult, but Fain either didn't notice or made no effort at this time to apologize for the slur. "Meanwhile, through careful debriefing, it allows us considerably more access to the aliens than we would otherwise enjoy."

  Javas nodded again. "Very good, Commander." He turned to the academician. "In any event, please instruct Dr. Rice to proceed to the next phase of testing. Thank you both for your time."

  "Sire," said both men, nodding simultaneously.

  Javas' image on the screen faded immediately and was replaced with a soft blue glow. Centered in the screen was the communications code identifying the transmission number and source of the communication as having come from Luna, several light-years distant. A large Imperial crest was superimposed over the data displayed on the screen.

  "I'm not adjusting to this," Bomeer offered candidly after a long silence.

  "I know." The Commander of the Imperial fleet turned his chair to him, his face deadly serious. "What I don't understand is why. What is it about this"—he indicated the screen—"that bothers you so?"

  Fain had never spoken this bluntly to him before. In the four decades that had passed since Javas' ascension to the Imperial throne, the two had spoken privately about their feelings to one another only on rare occasions.

  Bomeer shrugged and again ran a hand absently through his thick hair. He stood and paced the room uncertainly. "I'm not sure, really. The technology. It all seems to be happening so quickly." He approached the tachyon screen, the Imperial crest and identification code from the just-concluded conference with Javas still emblazoned in the center of the blue field. "System! Screen off, standby mode." The glow disappeared instantly and Bomeer stared at the darkened plastic screen for several seconds before turning away to pace nervously again. "Maybe too quickly."

  "It is happening quickly," Fain conceded, still sitting in his chair as he followed the academician's movements around the room. "But I'm not as convinced as you seem to be that it's a bad thing."

  Bomeer approached another screen on the opposite wall, this one a simple viewscreen, and whispered a command that brought it to life. Against a starry backdrop, two ships glowed brightly. One of them, far enough from them that even the larger details of its construction were indiscernible, was the Sarpan vessel with the unpronounceable name. The other craft, floating only a few hundred meters off the flagship's starboard side, was one of three Imperial ships that had accompanied them to this desolate, empty point in space far removed from travel lanes. By its markings he recognized it as the science ship Port of Kowloon, where the testing of Dr. Montgarde's theories was being conducted. Where an alien was even now intimately involved in Imperial research of the highest order. Bomeer shuddered at the thought, but said nothing further.

  "Progress is inevitable, my old friend." Fain swiveled around further, addressing Bomeer's back. "Do you remember when Emperor Nicholas first told us that he'd decided to back this project?" Bomeer remained silent, but the Commander was not deterred. "It was back on Corinth, nearly seventy years ago. He promised then that this project could save much more than just Earth's Sun. Had I known then how much Imperial technology would be advanced in only that time, and how close it has drawn the Hundred Worlds, I might have followed his wishes willingly from the start, instead of by his command."

  Bomeer chuckled softly and turned away from the screen. "You've been seduced," he said, smiling, and came to stand behind the empty chair. "You see much of what has happened only in terms of how strong the fleet has become. This ship"—he raised an arm, sweeping it around him—"built expressly to your personal specifications." He leaned on the back of the chair, nodding at the tachyon screen. "The ability to communicate almost instantly with any ship or world that's received the technology."

  "The ability to communicate with any point in the Empire," Fain countered, just a hint of ire in his voice, "is perhaps the single greatest achievement that mankind has made to date. The tec
hnology to harness tachyons for communication has spread to more than half the worlds; even now the Empire has been drawn closer together, and is all the stronger for it." He paused, checking the anger in his tone before continuing. "In a few more years, even the most remote of the Hundred Worlds will have constructed tachyon dishes. We will truly be one people then."

  Bomeer raised a questioning eyebrow. "And how does one retain control of that many people, eh?"

  Fain tilted his head, not quite sure of the point Bomeer was making.

  "When even the closest of the worlds was many light-years distant," Bomeer went on, "it was the strength of the Emperor that drew them all together. The gift of technology from Imperial research—not to mention the benefit of Imperial protection—was there only for those worlds that allowed our control. But now that instant information is becoming available to all the members of the Hundred Worlds…" He straightened up, casting a sidelong glance at the ship hanging silently in space. When he regarded Fain once more, the Commander sat impassively, stroking his chin in thought.

  Enough, Bomeer thought, I've at least given him something to think about. Then, aloud: "Anyway, I think the dissemination of technology should be handled more slowly and more carefully."

  Fain turned suddenly. "The Council of Academicians has, perhaps, been moving too slowly for too long," he snapped.

  Bomeer smiled broadly, allowing that there was at least some truth to the man's statement. "Perhaps." He turned for the door, but when he reached it he turned back as another thought struck him.

  "You do know, Fain, why we—you and I—have been sent here."

  The Commander swiveled to face him, leaning back in the chair and crossing his legs. "Suppose you tell me."