Celia’s face had drawn itself into a tight, bloodless mask as she stared at the image of Sterm. “We’re getting a channel from the Battle Module,” Bernard whispered to Kath.
“I know,” Kath told him. “He’s through to Otto and Chester as well via one of our relay satellites. It’s a three-way hookup.”
“A good try, Wellesley,” Sterm said from the large screen. “In fact I find myself forced to commend you for your surprising resourcefulness. Unfortunately from your point of view, however, we now see it was in vain.” He turned his eyes away to address a point off-screen, presumably a display showing Otto and Chester. “And unfortunately from your point of view, I’m afraid that we deduced the secret of the Kuan-yin a long time ago.”
“Bernard,” Kath said quietly from the console screen.
He turned his head back to look at her. “Yes?”
“Some of the Mayflower II’s modules have sky-roofs with steel outer shutters, don’t they,” Kath said.
Bernard frowned uncomprehendingly. “Yes . . . Why . . . What—”
Kath’s voice remained low but took on a note of urgency. “Make sure all of them are closed. Do it now.” Bernard shook his head, mystified, and started asking questions again. “Just do it,” Kath said, cutting him off. “There might not be much time.”
Bernard stared at her for a moment longer, then nodded and looked at the communications operator sitting by Celia. “Can you get Admiral Slessor on line here?” The operator nodded and sat forward to begin entering a code.
From the center of the floor Wellesley asked, “What do you want?”
“Good.” Sterm nodded approvingly. “I detect a cooperative disposition.” He turned his face toward the Chironians. “I take it that we are all beginning to understand one another.”
“We’re listening,” Otto replied tonelessly.
“Perhaps it would be of benefit if I were to summarize the situation that now exists,” Sterm suggested. “We command a complete strategic arsenal, the potency of which I do not have to spell out to you, and the only weapon capable of opposing us is now neutralized. Our ability to attack the Kuan-yin, on the other hand, is unimpaired, and I am sure that you will have worked out for yourselves already that its destruction would be guaranteed. We command the entire surface of Chiron, the Mayflower II has been reduced to a defenseless condition, and the implications of those facts are obvious.”
Sterm allowed a few seconds for his words to sink in, and then made a slight tossing motion with his hands as if to convey to those watching him the hopelessness of their position. “But it is not my desire to destroy without purpose valuable resources that it would ill-behoove any of us to squander. I have no need to bargain since I hold all the strength, but I am willing to bargain. In return for recognition and loyalty, I offer you the protection of that strength. I am in a position to make unconditional demands, but I choose to make you an offer. So, you see, my terms are not ungenerous.”
“Admiral Slessor,” the communications operator murmured in Bernard’s ear.
Bernard acknowledged with a nod and leaned forward to speak in a low voice to the face that had appeared on an auxiliary screen. “This is urgent, Admiral. Make sure that all the sky-roof outer shutters are closed immediately.”
Slessor recognized Bernard as one of Merrick’s former officers. “Why?” he asked, looking puzzled. “What are you doing there . . . Fallows, isn’t it?”
“I’m not sure why, but it’s important . . . from the Chironians.”
Slessor’s brow furrowed more deeply. He hesitated, thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Very well, I’ll see it’s done.” He moved away from view.
“That’s a strange offer,” Otto said to Sterm. “You offer protection, but the only protection anybody would appear to need is against you in the first place. After all, you’ve just told us that you hold all the weapons. You seem to entertain a curious notion of logic.”
For the first time a hint of anger flashed across Sterm’s face. “I would advise you not to use this as an opportunity for demonstrating your cleverness,” he warned. He allowed himself a moment to calm down. Then he resumed speaking more slowly. “Earth is tearing itself apart because it has failed to produce the strong leader who would crush”—Sterm raised a hand and closed his fist in front of his face—” the petty rivalries and jealousies which throughout history have frustrated any chance of expression of the full potential grandeur of collective unity and power. Earth has always been in turmoil because it has inherited a legacy of chaos of global proportions against which the efforts of even its most capable organizers have been of no avail. Is that the future that you would wish upon Chiron?
“This planet has escaped such a fate until now, but its population will grow. It has a chance to profit from what Earth has learned, and to plant the seeds of a strong, unified, and unshakable order now, before the diseases of disunity have had a chance to germinate and become virulent. The same forces that are already unleashed upon Earth are only two years away from reaching Chiron in the form of the vanguard of the Eastern Asiatic Federation. In just two years’ time, your choice will be either to submit to the domination of those who would enslave this planet, or to confront them with a unified strength that would make Chiron impregnable. Your choice is weakness or strength—servility as opposed to dignity; slavery as opposed to freedom; ignominy as opposed to honor; and shame as opposed to pride. Weakness or strength. I offer the latter alternatives.”
Sterm’s eyes took on a distant light, and his breathing quickened visibly. “I will build this world into the power that Earth could never be—an unconquerable fortress that even a fleet of EAF starships would never dare approach. I will build for you the first-ever stellar empire here at Centauri, one people united under one leader . . . united in will, united in action, and united in purpose. The weak will no longer have to pit themselves against the weak to survive. The weak will be protected by the strength that will come from that unity, and by that same unity the strong who protect them will be invincible. That . . . is what I offer to share.”
“Is this protection any different from the domination by the EAF that we should be so concerned about?” Chester asked.
Sterm looked displeased at the response. “Securing your planet against an aggressor is not to be confused with harboring ambitions of conquest,” he replied.
Otto shook his head. “If Earth is tearing itself apart, it is because its people allowed themselves to believe the same self-fulfilling prophecies that you are asking us to accept, Mr. Sterm. But we reject them. We need no more protection from you against the people in the EAF starship than they need from their Sterms to protect them against us. We have no need of that kind of strength. Is it strength for neighbors to fortify their homes against each other, or is it paranoia? You must feel very insecure to wish to fortify an entire star system.”
Sterm’s mouth clamped into a grim, downturned line. “The EAF is committed to a dogma of conquest,” he said. “They understand no language apart from force. You cannot hope to deal with them by any other means.”
“On the contrary, Mr. Sterm, they understand the same language that people everywhere speak,” Chester said. “We will deal with them in the same way that we have already dealt with you.”
“And exactly what is that supposed to mean?” Sterm demanded.
Otto smiled humorlessly. “Take a look at the other lunatics around you,” he suggested. “What happened to all the people? Where did your army go? They’re all Chironians now. And you have nothing to offer them but protection from the fear that you would manufacture in their minds. But they have Chironian minds. They see that the fear is your fear, not theirs; and it is you who are in need of protection, not they.”
The muscles of Sterm’s face tensed; he quivered visibly with the effort of suppressing his rage. “I was willing to bargain,” he grated. “Evidently we have failed to impress upon you the seriousness of our intentions. Very well, you leave me no furt
her choice. Perhaps a demonstration will serve to convince you.” He turned to Stormbel. “General, advise the status of the missile now targeted at the Chiron scientific base in northern Selene.”
“Primed and ready for immediate launch,” Stormbel replied in a monotone. “Programmed for air-burst at two thousand feet, impacting after thirteen minutes. Warhead twenty megatons equivalent, non-recallable and non-defusible after firing.”
“Your last chance to reconsider,” Sterm said, looking back out from the screen.
“We have nothing to reconsider,” Otto replied calmly.
Sterm’s face darkened, and his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace. His suave veneer seemed to peel away as his eyes widened, and for an instant, even from where he was sitting, Bernard found himself looking directly into the depths of a mind that was completely insane. He shivered involuntarily. Beside him Celia gripped his arm. “General,” Sterm ordered. “Launch the missile in sixty seconds.”
Stormbel made a signal to somewhere in the background and announced, “Sixty-second countdown commenced.”
“The countdown can be halted at any time,” Sterm informed them.
Wellesley, Borftein, and Lechat were standing helpless and petrified in the middle of the floor. “He’ll do it,” Celia whispered, horrified, to Bernard.
Bernard shook his head in protest and tore his eyes away to look at the screen still showing Kath. “You can’t let this happen,” he implored. “Those are your own people up there in Selene. This will just be the first example. Then it’ll get worse.”
“We don’t intend to let it happen,” Kath said.
“But you are. What can you do to stop it?”
“You’ve already worked most of that out.”
Bernard shook his head again. “I don’t know what you mean. The Kuan-yin can’t fire effectively. It’s eclipsed from the Battle Module.”
“It couldn’t fire anyway,” Kath replied. “It’s modifications aren’t completed yet. We’ve already told you that.”
Bernard frowned at her in bemusement. Nothing was making any sense. “But—its antimatter drive . . . that’s your weapon, isn’t it?”
“We never said it was,” Kath replied. “You assumed it. So did Sterm.” Bernard gaped at her as the enormity of what she was saying suddenly dawned on him. Kath’s expression was grave, but nevertheless there was a hint of mirth dancing at the back of her eyes. “We could hardly disguise our scientific work,” she said. “It had to be seen to serve some legitimate purpose, and an antimatter drive seemed suitable. But the Kuan-yin project has been low down on our list of priorities.”
Bernard’s eyes widened incredulously. “But if the Kuan-yin isn’t finished, then what made the crater in Remus?”
“Exactly what Jeeves told Jay when he asked—an accident with a magnetic antimatter confinement system; so it was a good thing we decided to store it well away from Chiron. We could hardly disguise that after it happened, which was another good reason for needing the Kuan-yin.”
“We—we never believed that story,” Bernard said weakly.
“Well, that was up to you. We told you.”
Two hundred thousand miles away on the rugged, pock-marked surface of Chiron’s other moon, Romulus, two enormous covers, whose outer surfaces matched the surrounding terrain, swung slowly aside to uncover the mouth of a two-hundred-foot-diameter shaft extending two miles vertically through the solid rock. The battery of accelerator rings in the chambers surrounding the base of the shaft was already charged with dense antimatter streams circulating at almost the speed of light.
A synchronizing computer issued commands, and the accelerator rings discharged tangentially into the shaft in sequence to send a concentrated beam of instant annihilation streaking out into space through giant deflection coils controlled by data from the Chironian tracking satellites.
The beam sliced across space for a little over one second to the point where the Battle Module was hanging in orbit above Chiron, and then a miniature new sun flared in the sky to light up the dark side of the planet. The flash of gamma rays ionized the upper atmosphere, and the sky above Chiron glowed in streaks that extended for thousands of miles. Sensitive radiation-monitoring instruments were burned out all over the outside of the Mayflower II, and because of the electrical upheaval, it was twelve hours before communications with the surface could be resumed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Wellesley stood to deliver his final address from in front of the Mission Director’s seat at the center of the raised dais facing out over the Congressional Hall of the Mayflower II’s Government Center. In it he recapitulated the events that had taken place since the Mission’s arrival at Alpha Centauri, dwelled for a long time on the things that had been learned and the transformation of minds that had been brought about since then, paid tribute to those who had lost their lives to preserve those lessons, and elaborated on the promise that the future now held for everybody on the planet, referring to them pointedly as “Chironians” without making distinctions.
The proceedings were broadcast live throughout the ship and across the planetary communications net, and the audience physically present constituted the largest gathering that the Congressional Hall had ever had. All of the members who had been absent had returned for the occasion, and the only seats left vacant were those of the Deputy Mission Director, the Director of Liaison, the Commanding General Special Duty Force, and two others who had chosen to throw in their lot with Sterm. Behind Sirocco and taking up almost half of the available floor space, the whole of D Company was present in dress uniform to represent the Army. Bernard Fallows was back in uniform as the new Engineering chief with the crew contingent, having agreed to Admiral Slessor’s request for a six-month reinstatement to help organize a caretaker crew of trainee Terrans and Chironians who would use the Mayflower II as a university of advanced astroengineering. Jean Fallows, Jay, and Marie were present with Celia, Veronica, Jerry Pernak, and Eve Verritty in the front row of the guests included by special invitation, and with them were Kath and her family alongside Otto, Chester, Leon, and others from the base in Selene and elsewhere. As if to underline and reecho Wellesley’s acknowledgment of how the future would be, there was no segregation of Terrans and Chironians into groups; and there were many children from both worlds.
Wellesley concluded his formal speech and stood looking around the hall for a moment to allow a lighter mood to settle. In the last few days some of the color had returned to his face, his posture had become more upright and at ease, and his frame seemed to have shed a burden of years. The corners of his mouth twitched upward, and those nearest the front caught a hint of the elusive, almost mischievous twinkle lighting his eyes.
“And now I have one final task to perform,” he said. He paused again, and the hall grew curious and attentive, sensing that something unexpected was about to take place. “May I remind the assembly that the declaration of a state of emergency has never been revoked, and that therefore, by the processes that we are still formally pledged to uphold, that emergency condition continues to remain in force, along with its attendant suspension of Congress and the vesting of all congressional authority in me.” Puzzled expressions greeted his words, and a ripple of surprised murmurings ran around the hall. “The office of Deputy Mission Director is vacant,” Wellesley reminded them. “Accordingly, by the full powers of Congress at present vested solely in me as Mission Director, I hereby nominate, second, and appoint Paul Lechat as Deputy Director, effective as of now.” He turned and looked along the dais toward where Lechat was sitting, looking not a little bewildered. “Congratulations, Paul. And now would you kindly take your rightful place.” He gestured at the empty chair next to him. Lechat rose up, moved along behind the intervening places, and sat down in the Deputy Director’s seat, all the time shaking his head at the other members to convey that he was as confused about what Wellesley was doing as they were. Wellesley looked slowly around the hall one last time. “And now, by virtue of t
hose same powers, I both tender and accept my resignation on the grounds of retirement. It has been an honor and a privilege to serve you all. Thank you.” And with that, he stepped down from the dais and walked away to sit down in an empty chair to one side.
Lechat stared at the Director’s seat next to him, and while he was still turning his head perplexedly from one side to the other, the first approving murmurs and ripples of applause began coming from among the members as one by one they realized what it meant. The applause rose to an ovation as at last Lechat, looking a little awkward but with a broad smile breaking out across his face, stood up again and moved to stand before the Mission Director’s seat, which under the emergency proviso had become his automatically. Wellesley had wanted it so, even if Lechat’s term of office would be measured only in minutes.
Lechat waited for the noise to die away and managed to bring his feelings under control sufficiently to muster a semblance of dignity appropriate to the moment. But simplicity and brevity were appropriate too. “I am honored and privileged by this appointment, and I will dedicate myself for the duration of my term to serving the best interests of our people to the best of my ability,” he announced. “In accordance with that promise, my first official act is to restore the full powers of Congress as previously suspended, and my second is to declare the state of emergency ended as of this moment.” Another round of applause, this time briefer than before, greeted the statement. “Next, I have two proposals to put to the vote of the assembly,” Lechat said. “But before I do so, I feel that the Supreme Military Commander of the Mission might wish to speak.” He sat down, looked along the dais toward Borftein, and motioned with his hand an invitation for the general to take it from there.
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