Stranded on Haven

by William Zellmann

  ********

  By the time we got back to the compound, three days had passed. But for my Westin and Refuge ‘assistants’, relief turned to resentment and cold anger in minutes. I couldn’t quite understand it. Oh, perhaps Jess might be a bit irritated, if I wasn’t overestimating her interest in me; after all, I’d been with Heidi for all that time, and women were women, after all. But all of them seemed angry.

  I was down to seven ‘assistants’ now, even counting the recovered Rebecca Towne, and only six of the security squad. Five had been killed in the battle, and one wounded too badly to be saved, even by my med cabinet. Gisele had been sent back to Cellia, and of course, Heidi had a new position. But between the commotion and the uncertainty of my proposal, no one seemed in a hurry to replace spies that might be redundant in days. I mean, if the Council was going to be running things, why spy on the truck driver?

  I wasn’t particularly unhappy about it. Only three of the remaining agents could be considered ‘hostile’, and none of them at the level of the Cellians. It wasn’t easy to see Andrea Parelli, the surviving New Home agent, as an enemy. Her open manner and almost terminal cheerfulness made it necessary for me to keep reminding myself that she was a Lieutenant in Duke Richard’s Security service, and that she was undoubtedly doing her share of listening at speaking tubes and creeping around at night.

  Rebecca Towne, “Becky,” now, to everyone, was so pathetically grateful for the medical care she’d received, that I was certain Duke Richard was less than happy with his East Brent agent.

  Paula Cordo, the Cornwell, was the only one I could really say was ‘hostile’. She seemed to blame me for the death of Tanya Reyes, creeping around, grim-faced, to the extent that she was coming to resemble a comic-opera villain.

  On the Security Squad, only the two Cornwells remained besides the Westins and Refugers, and I was sure they were being watched carefully.

  Which left me free to deal with a never-ending series of radio messages, some in complicated codes whose keys had been mailed or hand-carried to me. There wasn’t an administrator in an educational institution in the nations that didn’t want to be part of the ‘space university’. Those I could simply refer to the Council. But there were still hundreds of people trying to sell me something, or get me to partner with them in some grand adventure, using my information, and my money, of course. Others just wanted to meet or talk to the fabulous man from space. And, of course, there were the usual threats and curses. It got so time-consuming that the "assistants" actually had to begin performing the secretarial duties that were their covers.

  Meantime, I was fine-tuning my school proposal. From my point of view, it was perfect. I would no longer have to try to figure out how to equitably distribute the knowledge aboard Adventurer and Startrader. That would be someone else’s headache. Still, I would have a nice income from my shuttle service, and kidnap would no longer be the threat it had been.

  Oh, I wouldn’t become one of Haven’s richest men, or anything. But then, I didn’t want to be. The rich people I’d seen seemed to be more the servants of their money than its master. I was setting up a nice little almost-self-running business with no competition. And if I could get it going, Haven would have a permanent boost up the ladder. They’d have space travel of their own in less than a century. I was sure of it.

  But opposition was beginning to arise. I suspect Duke Richard was behind most of it. I think he resented the fact that New Home wouldn’t have control of the space school, and his agents wouldn’t be as free to move and learn ‘special’ things. The numbe r of unfriendly speeches and programs increased. Mostly, they had now decided that I was trying to make sure that only some of the people of Haven got the goodies. I suspect the people of New Home, at least, were becoming convinced that I was stealing ‘their’ university. Or their ship. Or something. No one seemed quite sure what, but they were certain I was doing something bad.

  ********

  Duke Richard smiled at the quiet knock. Finally, people were beginning to learn not to pound on the door, or just barge in.

  “Come in.” He tried to make his voice pleasant in recognition of his visitor’s courtesy, but the effect was rather ruined when he sighed as he saw that his visitor was Professor Wain. The old fool had been preening ever since being the first to sight the new starship.

  Since then, he’d been mounting a nonstop watch on both of the starships. Duke Richard had even let him hire some low level help. So far, all he’d collected was launch reports he was already getting from the launch compound, and an increase in ship-to-ship traffic. That was not unexpected of course, since Carver was pushing this university idea.

  Oh, there was nothing wrong with the idea. The problem was that New Home University wouldn’t be in charge of it. He had some good people at the University. He dragged his mind back to the present.

  “What is it, Professor?”

  The old man bobbed his head. “Excellency, I was looking through some of my peoples’ reports, and it seems something odd happened last Fourthday."

  Duke Richard fought to control eyes that wanted to roll. “What is ‘odd’, Professor?

  “Oh, uh, well,” the old man began, “It seems that at about 2300 last Thirdday, one of the big landers they call ‘workboats’ pulled up alongside the new ship, right at one of those strange bulges we’ve noticed. The workboat actually seemed to remove the bulge. It then proceeded to spend the next twelve hours orbiting. Very fast orbits, and in a, well, a pattern.”

  Duke Richard wished he could get a report from Wain that didn’t have to be dragged out, detail by detail. “What kind of pattern?”

  “Well,” Wain replied, “it began in a high orbit, then it would speed up for three orbits, then one fast, low orbit before climbing back up and starting the pattern again.

  The Duke frowned. “Almost as though it were practicing,” he murmured.

  “That’s not all, sire,” Wain continued. “About six hours later, the small lander they call the ‘gig’ dropped down from orbit over Cellia. Cellia! About four hours later, it returned to orbit. Then, about an hour after that, it descended again. This time it returned to orbit after an hour. At about the same time, the work boat ceased its orbital activity, and returned the bulge to the ship.”

  Duke Richard frowned. Cellia. Last Fourthday. What happened last Fourthday? After a moment, he chuckled. Only the most important thing that’s happened there since Len took power! Okay, so what connection could the spacer have to Len’s death?

  He turned to Wain. “Do you have a written report of this, Doctor?” He asked. At Wain’s nod he continued, “Good. I want a copy of that report as soon as you can get it for me.”

  Wain bowed. “Yes, Excellency. I’m having it copied now. I was sure you’d find it interesting.” He allowed himself to be ushered out.

  Interesting! Yes. Perhaps very interesting indeed. Duke Richard blew into a speaking tube. “Rol? Do you have the reports from our people in Cellia for last Fourthday? Good. Please collect them and bring them to my office. Yes, right away. It may be important.”

  Rol was one of his best people. One of those people who could infer information from patterns of behavior. When he retired … He pulled his mind away from that track. Not for many years, yet.

  Rol didn’t have to work very hard to locate the patterns here. One of the spaceship’s landers had circled Lake Cellia dodging the antiaircraft and artillery fire with ridiculous ease. It had broadcast a loud message ordering all boats off the lake within five hours. Panic had been widespread, with wild rumors flying everywhere. The most common one claimed that the spacer was invading with an army of metal men. Cellians had been having obedience ground into them for years. They scrambled to obey, especially when boats began being sunk by Cellia’s own artillery.

  And then — nothing. The lander had disappeared, though other reports had it reappearing later near the palace. The deadline had passed, with no unusual occurrences. Even the bravest fishermen had waite
d for at least another hour before returning to the lake. But nothing happened.

  And a few hours later, Maximum Leader Len had died of heart failure. Interesting.

  Professor Wain personally brought down the copy of the observation reports. Duke Richard didn’t send him away. Instead, he and Rol compared the timelines. And stared at each other.

  “Professor,” Duke Richard asked casually, “What happens when a comet hits a planet?”

  The professor seemed caught by surprise, but answered easily. “An explosion. Much bigger than our largest bomb. If it was big enough, it could destroy all life on the planet.”

  “What if it were smaller? Only a few tonnes?”

  Wain shrugged. “Still a huge explosion. I’d say a comet like that could easily destroy a city the size of Firstlanding.”

  Duke Richard decided that Rol’s stare was as alarmed as his own. “Thank you, Professor. Once again, you’ve done well.” He escorted the old man out.

  “Excellency …” Rol began. “The spacer was going to … to throw a comet into Lake Cellia!”

  Duke Richard shook his head. “A man-made comet, perhaps. Probably a small asteroid, picked up on their way in. With great effort taken to ensure that the lake would be empty of boats. Carver even risked one of his precious landers to make sure of it.”

  He shook his head. “No, I think this was to be a demonstration. A warning to Len. And perhaps a gentler one to us. But why didn’t he go through with it?”

  “That was the day Len died,” Rol reminded him.

  “Of course! Carver didn’t want to mount this demonstration; it too much resembles a threat. But he couldn’t tolerate endless kidnap attempts by Len, either. So, he planned the demonstration, and only Len’s death kept him from going through with it!”

  “Perhaps Len’s death was … convenient?”

  Duke Richard thought for a long moment. “Assassination? No. Carver went to far too much trouble for it to have been a cover. Runtz, perhaps. That old warhorse could have used the spacer’s activities to help cover up an assassination.” He shook his head. “But no. Runtz is far too honorable. I’m amazed he lasted as long as he did with a linta like Len. I think the spacer just got lucky.

  “I don’t believe in luck, Excellency.”

  “I’m not fond of it myself,” Duke Richard replied. “But coincidences really do occur. And it appears that Carver is not as defenseless as he proclaims. Interesting.”

  ******

  George Cass was relieved when the knock came. More and more people were feeling entitled to use that blasted telephone to disturb him whenever they felt the urge. He’d pleaded with the Director to let him have the thing removed, but the Director claimed that the orders came from the President herself.

  Still, it felt good to have a real visitor, instead of a voice on a silly wire. He was even happier when he saw that the visitor was Edward. George was very fond of the young man. He was bright, enthusiastic, well, perhaps just a bit too enthusiastic, but George could forgive that in a young man. Give him a few years. That would settle him down.

  Right now, though, Edward was dancing with excitement in front of his desk. “All right, Edward, what is it?”

  Edward’s face became solemn. “Sir, I … I think Captain Carver killed Len.”

  George struggled to control his face. Ridiculous. Even the Cellians weren’t claiming Carver’s involvement. In fact, they weren’t claiming anyone’s involvement. They were claiming heart failure.

  But Edward had rolls and stacks of paper. They showed spacer activity on last Fourthday, along with a timeline. That workboat was doing some unusual maneuvers. And those agent’s reports about the spacer lander clearing the lake. Definitely odd. Then, later, some reports had it reappearing at or near the palace.

  And apparently, only a few hours later, Len was dead of a heart attack.

  But Edward was determined. He showed George a plot of the orbits the workboat flew. And flew, and flew again, for twelve hours. Almost as though a pilot were practicing. But practicing what?

  There was a report from an astronomer that said that the workboat actually removed one of the ship’s odd bulges. Then it had flown fast orbits, carrying the bulge for twelve hours. It had then returned the bulge to the ship.

  All right. Assume the astronomer is correct. The workboat removed one of the bulges, which means it’s not a bulge, but something attached to the ship. But why take it off now, and not bring it down to the planet?

  And what did this have to do with their agents in Cellia reporting that one of the landers spent several hours dodging antiaircraft fire (were the landers that good? Or was Cellian marksmanship that lousy?) to order people to clear the lake?

  Edward was prattling away, but George shushed him. He needed to think. He needed to see the whole picture.

  Suppose I was a man alone on a ship approaching an unknown, but occupied planet. The ship is unarmed, and that’s not a good thing. For all you know, you will be attacked before you even reach orbit. If so, there’s little you can do.

  But suppose you can reach orbit. How do you protect yourself from being hijacked the first time you ground? Well, he knew what Carver had done. But there must be more. From what he’d been told, a hollow sphere was the most efficient design for a spaceship, giving the most ‘cubic’ whatever that was, for the least material. So, why build on bulges? Why not build the sphere an extra few cems in diameter?

  Move on. What advantage do you have in space compared to a planet? That was easy. Gravity well. A ship in orbit is at the top, and a planet is on the bottom. Wait a minute! What if … What if you could drop rocks down that gravity well? What if you could figure out where they were going to land?

  “Edward, what do you know about asteroids?”

  “Asteroids? Not a lot. They’re just rocks, left over from the formation of the planets. Drift around far out in space.”

  George frowned. “Do we know what they’re made of?”

  Edward shook his head. “Well, sort of. I think most of them are nickel-iron.”

  “Iron. That would make them magnetic, wouldn’t it?”

  Edward looked a bit confused. “All right, Edward, follow my reasoning here, and let’s see where it goes. Carver is alone on an unarmed ship. He has learned that the planet he’s spent two years reaching is inhabited. He doesn’t know the capabilities of these people, but he knows he doesn’t want to be robbed and killed without even being able to fight.

  “So what does he do?” Edward shrugged, and George continued, “how about stopping along the way and picking up some small asteroids. You have those landers, and magnetic clamps and grapples. You locate some small asteroids, and clamp them to the outside of your ship.

  Edward snapped erect. “Of course! That way, if you feel threatened, you can threaten back! If you dropped a rock weighing a few tonnes onto a city from space, there wouldn’t be much left of the city. Are you saying Carver was going to drop a bomb?”

  George shook his head. “Not exactly. But remember, that workboat picked up one of those, well, let’s call them ‘rocks’, and spent twelve hours running the same three-orbit pattern. I imagine it would be difficult to calculate the impact point on a rotating planet of a rock launched from space.

  Edward’s eyebrows rose. “It would take months of ballistic calculation.”

  George nodded. “Or a machine that thinks. So, your thinking machine works out a ballistic path. Wouldn’t it make sense to run some practice patterns, and measure how they affected the impact point?”

  Edward’s excitement level was climbing again. “Of course! And that explains all the issues. Except … where was it supposed to land, and why didn’t they drop it?”

  George shook his head in disappointment. He’d expected Edward to see it by now. “Now factor in the odd occurrences in Cellia that day.”

  “Well … Of course!” Edward cried. “The lander that had so much fun dodging Cellian guns! The one that ordered the lake cleared. They wer
e going to drop it into Lake Cellia! But why the lake?”

  “Because Carver didn’t want to hurt anyone. He wanted to send a message to Len, and indirectly to us, that he wasn’t completely helpless.”

  “And he didn’t drop it because Len died, and he no longer had to worry about being kidnapped, right?”

  George smiled. “Well, the timeline there is a bit foggy, but that’s probably the best information we’ll be able to get. Come on, let’s go brief the President. She needs to know that our homeless kitten has teeth.”

  “So, why do you think he stopped it at the last minute, after all that preparation?” Ada Curran asked. “Why not go ahead and issue his ‘warning’?”

  George frowned. “I’m guessing, of course, Madam President, but I suspect it was because of Len’s death. The only one really threatening him was Len, and the attack on the compound left no doubt that Len was a dangerous enemy. I’m certain that’s why he selected Lake Cellia for his target. Still, he went to great lengths to minimize damage and injuries, even risking one of his irreplaceable landers to make sure the lake was clear of boats and people.

  “I think he stopped it because he didn’t want to threaten us. His display was to be a warning to Len, and indirectly to the rest of us, that unarmed does not mean helpless. But Len was the most immediate and most serious threat. Once that threat was removed, he had no desire to threaten us. Actually, I rather admire the man for that.”

  Ada chuckled. “Actually, I think I do, too. It’s not much of a threat if it takes a George Cass or a Duke Richard to figure out it is a threat. I’d say he’s going to great lengths to not threaten us. The more I deal with this young man, the better I like him.”

  ********

  I was beginning to get worried about the vote on my ‘university’ idea. The counter- propaganda was getting louder and more strident, hinting that I planned to take over Haven, sitting in my ‘palace in the clouds’, beyond the reach of the people, handing out edicts. Their only real evidence, of course, was my refusal to train locals to fly shuttles. But that seemed to be enough.