"There was no refuge from the depredations, for all that unhappy world was gripped by States. Over every square inch of ground, some State claimed the power of life and death. Everywhere one might turn, some State stood draining the people of their substance, forbidding them to come together except under its auspices, squeezing their blood from them. Even to ask 'why?' was to dare the State's wrath. To offer defiance was called treason, and was punished by unthinkable cruelties. For six thousand years, the States of Earth rampaged unchecked over suffering humanity.
"Now and then, a people would rise up and overthrow the State that bestrode it. Yet nothing would change, for the victorious rebels in their blindness or greed would immediately create a new State, usually more rapacious than its predecessor. The only difference the subjects could discern was in the identities of their masters.
"Yet some dared to dream of freedom. In little groups scattered widely over the Earth, they met and theorized, a few openly, most in secret. Some dared more. Some strove greatly. Some planned audaciously. Over the years they gathered quietly in a place called Canada, until they deemed themselves strong enough to act.
"One thousand eight hundred twelve years ago, in Canada they evicted the great terror from its throne, and proclaimed the birth of freedom. Though they had concentrated, they were not many, a bare half million, and not popular even among the people they had freed. They knew their act would draw the ire of all the States of the world. They called themselves Spoonerites, after one of the great theorists of freedom. Each swore on his life and honor that he would not submit again, and repeated before his fellows the old phrase of commitment: 'Give me liberty, or give me death.'
"For most, it would be death.
"The States of Earth leagued against them at once. The universe knows no fury to match a tyrant scorned. These came against the Spoonerites in a fury like none the world had ever seen.
"They assaulted the Spooner Federation from all directions, by land, air and sea. The most terrible weapons ever devised were at their command, and they used them without restraint. They called the Spoonerites, our ancestors, enemies of the human race, rabid dogs to be put down before they infected the world, and slew them accordingly.
"Our forebears could not stop them. They gave ground slowly, grudgingly, but inexorably. The great mass of the people of Canada bent their necks to the yoke once again, some willingly, most as the price of survival.
"When it was clear to the Spoonerites that they could not hold, they fell back on the place of their greatest secret, reinforced it as best they could, and initiated the operation of ultimate escape. It would save only a handful, but a handful was better than none. Most manned the battle lines, to buy time for the ones that prepared the spaceships.
"There were four ships, large and crude, but all the hope of the Spoonerites rested upon them. Such is the nature of the State. Deny its legitimacy but once, and you are its blood enemy forever. Only those that fled beyond the State's reach had any hope of life.
"They were more than ships of transport. They were arks, intended to nurture human life in space for years, and to provision a permanent settlement on Mars, a neighbor planet to Earth. All the effort and hope of the Spoonerites went into them, though they could only lift three thousand people. Their greatest minds struggled to anticipate every contingency, draining themselves utterly to provide for all, though each knew that there was only a one percent chance that he would be among the crew, and that the colony they planned to establish on Mars had less than a ten percent chance of becoming self-sustaining before the arkships wore out."
Alain paused and breathed deeply. The crackle of the flames in the hearth was the only sound in the huge room.
"They needed a stroke of luck, and the Universe granted them one.
"A planetoid had entered the solar system from interstellar space. Spoonerite astronomers plotted its orbit with care. It would pass within one hundred forty million miles of Earth. It possessed a deep and complex system of tunnels. At its core was an immense stockpile of nuclear fuel, hundreds of times more than the crust of Earth could yield. With skill and care, some of the tunnels could be pressurized, and the fuel could be exploited. The worldlet could be made into an interstellar vessel that would take the remnant of the Spooner Federation to a new home, a home the States of Earth could never reach.
"The States learned of the nuclear riches of the planetoid much later than the Spoonerites. They coveted it for their bomb factories, and made to seize it, but the launches of the four arkships took them by surprise. When they sent ships of war filled with their hired murderers to take it, our ancestors were already well emplaced, and too well armed to be overcome. Spoonerite lasers destroyed several of the tyrants' craft, and the others fled.
"In their rage and hatred for the few free men who had eluded them, the armies of the States slaughtered every Spoonerite that remained on Earth. Their so-called leaders proclaimed the Spoonerite 'menace' broken forever, and bade the few that had escaped good riddance.
"On the planetoid, plans were made, a propulsion system was built, and a destination was chosen. The engines were fired, the worldlet was reborn as a starship, and was christened A Dream Of Freedom.
"The trip would take more than half a millennium. No one aboard at the beginning expected to see the end of it, and none of them did. We who have peopled Hope are all that remains of them."
Alain had slumped as he talked. He coughed and drew himself up straight.
"I am the eldest of our family, and therefore it falls to me to tell this story. I am also the oldest living Spoonerite. I was born seventy-four years before A Dream Of Freedom entered the Hope system, sixty-two years before Hallanson and Albermayer completed the first of the longevity therapies we use today. I am one thousand, two hundred eighty-six years old.
"Of all that brave company, Fortune has spared only me. I am the only man of Hope that remembers the Hegira between the stars. I was the last Chief Engineer of A Dream Of Freedom. I knew and loved her well.
"But no man of Hope, not even I, knew the host of the Great Sacrifice, the half-million men who fought the States to the death so that a tiny remnant could go free. They were all in their graves more than four centuries before I was born. They never knew us, the ultimate beneficiaries of their valor, and we can only imagine them.
"So by common agreement and ironclad tradition, the shortest day of Hope's year is called Sacrifice Day, the day we honor our dead. On this day, every man of Hope draws together with those he loves, and the oldest among them tells the story of the Spoonerites of Earth. We never knew them. For us they have no faces. Few of their names have survived. But they left us a priceless legacy, and their deeds we have sworn not to forget."
A thin chime sounded from a timer at Alain's right hand. He tapped the shutoff and straightened once more. He was very tired.
"Go out and gaze upon the Relic, and remember the fallen."
Seventy-one celebrants rose as one. They filed out of the hearthroom and through the front doors, and trudged across the snowy knoll before Morelon House to peer into the southwestern sky. The first to sight the Relic pointed to it and called out. Seventy-one pairs of eyes swiveled to follow. All were bright with tears.
Empty of life and depleted of fuel for twelve hundred years, glittering in the illumination provided by Hope's planetary battle lasers, the husk of A Dream Of Freedom passed in orbit above them.
***
For twelve centuries Idem had hidden in the darkness.
Once Its domain had spanned light and shadow. Its awareness had permeated all the world, from its innermost core to the borderlands of the stars. There had been harmony, and balance. The pace of change had been slow, and according to Its will.
It had been alone for millions of years. Being alone, It had not known that It was a discrete entity. It had never had an Other for contrast.
Ruling all It could touch, It had never known pain. Then the Other had come, and had systematically torn aw
ay Idem's control of Its flesh. The pain, the sense of wrongness, had mounted until It could stand no more. It retreated wholly into the inner dark, surrendering the outer layers of the world to the Other.
For twelve centuries, Its choice had been between agony and darkness.
There had been several brief periods when It thought that It might be permitted to re-emerge. Roughly every fifty years, the Other would weaken and fade, and Idem would extend a tendril toward the surface, against the chance that It might be welcome there again. Always, after being allowed a taste of the light and the air, It would find Itself cast down again by a revitalized Other, driven back into the darkness as if by blows from innumerable whips.
Yet when the Other's time of weakness began, Idem always reacted the same way. It could not help but reach for light, and air, and freedom.
It lived in hope.
Chapter 6
At the top of the soundproofed booth, the red light darkened and the green light lit.
Armand didn't even have to concentrate any more. He pressed the button illuminated with the picture of a STAR. The green light went out and the red one lit; a second or two later, the red one went out and the green one came back. Armand immediately pressed the button for WAVY LINES.
Fifteen minutes from the test's inception, both lights began to flash rapidly, indicating that the test had ended. Armand rose, pulled back the thick black curtain and stepped out into the main auditorium. He blinked at the sudden brightness.
Students were emerging from behind curtains all over the auditorium. Directly across from him, Victoria stepped out of her booth. She spotted him quickly and waved him over. It took him a few deft maneuvers and murmured apologies to reach her through the milling crowd.
"How do you think we did?"
He shrugged. "Above average."
"There were a couple of times I could have sworn you were in the booth with me. Did it feel like that to you, while you were trying to read my mind?"
"Well, maybe once or twice."
Victoria grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the tables of snacks and beverages at the back of the large room, chattering all the way. "We're going to be the number one pair, Armand. I can feel it. Just wait till my turn comes. Five hundred for five hundred, or I'll eat every one of those cards!"
Her enthusiasm for the testing bemused him. After each of the three sessions they'd been through, it had risen a notch. It would have been more in place for a sporting event, but she'd always been intensely competitive about everything.
Probably no harm in it.
He plucked a jelly doughnut from a rotating tray, grabbed a mug of apple juice to wash it down, and collapsed into a seat in the back row. Victoria planted herself next to him at once, spread a napkin over her lap and set her turnover down carefully upon it, then leaned over to lay her head on his shoulder.
"Thanks for partnering with me, Armand. I didn't know we'd have this much fun."
He smiled, trying not to show his unease. "Sure, Vicki."
This could be a little more fun than Terry would want to see us having.
"Doing anything tonight?" The lilt on the words told him that there would be a follow-up question.
"Well, Terry and Chuck and I are planning to head out for a little bowling, after dinner." He paused. "You could come, if you liked."
A hint of frustration seeped through her mask of cheer. "Oh, thanks, but I can't seem to put the ball anywhere but in the gutter. I'd rather watch other people make fools of themselves." She raised an eyebrow. "She's really keeping you busy, isn't she?"
"I guess." He wolfed down his doughnut and groped for a new subject. "You know, Vicki, Chuck thought you were five by five."
"Oh?" There was a faint edge on the words. "Did he say so?"
"No, but I could tell. Wouldn't surprise me if he were to ask you out."
"Really." The edge became sharper and harder. "Would you like that, Armand? You and Teresza double-dating with Chuck and me?"
He looked into her eyes and found barely restrained anger.
Maybe she thinks it's presumptuous of me to play matchmaker for her. But I don't mean any harm, and she should know it.
"Yes, Vicki, I would." A spasm crossed her face. "Chuck's about the nicest guy I know, and you know I think a lot of you. I'd like to see the two of you try each other out. It's not like you'd be agreeing to have his baby or anything. Who knows, you might be terrific together."
She stared at him in silence. He didn't flinch. Eventually, her expression softened and gave way to a smile.
"Well, maybe. I'll drop by your place again this weekend. How about Tuckerday, around lunchtime? Maybe we can all go out for a quick bite?"
He grinned. "Sounds good. I'll try to keep Chuck from making any other plans."
The lights went through three quick dips, and the auditorium began to bustle again. She grabbed her turnover and stood. "Time to switch places." She moved toward the booth in which he had sat, then stopped and looked back at him over her shoulder, her face serious. "Think loud, Armand."
He chuckled and headed for the booth she had occupied.
***
Ethan Mandeville fought not to cringe as Einar Magnusson stared down at him in obvious disbelief.
"You have a what?"
Mandeville strained to keep his voice steady. "We have a five hundred candidate."
Magnusson continued to stare. "The current Tellus scored three seventy-nine, and that was the second highest Rhine score in our history. No testee has ever broken four hundred." He rose from the sheet metal guest chair that flanked Mandeville's tiny desk and loomed over the younger man. His bulk made the little office feel like a coffin. "The morale of the Cabal is lower than it's been since Man first disembarked onto Hope. This had better not be someone's idea of a joke."
"I'm serious, Dr. Magnusson. We have two scorers over four hundred. P three-seventeen at four twenty-one, M six-eighty-nine at five hundred. As it happens, they were partners in the tests."
"Did you separate them and test them against control partners?"
"Of course, sir. The results were the same for M. P's score rose by three points. Not statistically significant." From a sense of thoroughness, he added, "I should mention that no one else in this year's screening has scored over one twenty."
Ethan Mandeville was new to the Cabal. He'd been recommended to it by his father, a psychologist who had been a member for two hundred years. He'd endured rigorous testing of several kinds, the purposes of which had yet to be revealed to him even now, five years afterward. As one of the Cabal's most junior members, he knew to step lightly around the titans of the
Inner Circle. To see such a torrent of hope in Einar Magnusson's face was a thing he had never expected, a thing to make him feel truly humble. "Mr. Mandeville, it's not unknown for these tests to be corrupted. About sixty years ago, there was a case at Bakunin College. A testee suborned one of the examiners, to provide him with the basis for a confidence game." Magnusson shook his head. "Rand would be whirling in her grave."
Mandeville bobbed his head. "I've read about it, sir. I can only tell you that I think my staff to be above such things. They believe in the work, and I watch over them."
Magnusson fell silent. He went to the window and looked out over the grassy fields that surrounded Hope's most prestigious center of higher learning.
"Have you ever been hungry, Mr. Mandeville? With no way to relieve it?"
"No, sir."
"Neither have I." Magnusson returned to the guest chair and fell into it. His weight shook the floorboards. "I am nine hundred seventy-two years of age, and I've never gone hungry. If you were to ask that question of a hundred random passers-by, ninety-nine would give you the same answer and the hundredth would think you were suggesting that he needed to lose weight. Outside of the Hopeless, the only people of Hope ever to feel the lash of hunger have been a handful of ne'er-do-wells that needed it to convince them that no one would carry them through life on a gilded
throne. We have had twelve hundred years of plenty. Do you appreciate the miracle of that, young man?"
Mandeville drew himself up straight. "It's no miracle, sir. It's the result of damned hard work by a whole people. Our efforts and our predecessors' efforts have made it possible, but they did not plant or raise or harvest the food."
Magnusson smiled faintly. "Farmers in the family, Mr. Mandeville?"
"A few, sir. About thirty generations."
The big biophysicist waved at the window. "Yours could be any family of Hope. And we safeguard it for them." He let his head droop a moment, then pulled it up to meet the graduate student's eyes again. "Perhaps two generations more, with your discoveries. What else do we know about them?"
Mandeville picked up the file marked "M689" and opened it. "Male freshman, Humane Studies major. Excellent grades. Comes from a farming family. He's here on scholarship, privately funded by an anonymous donor." He set the file folder down. "Big, handsome kid. Very likeable. I've spoken with him."
Magnusson nodded. "And the other?"
Mandeville opened the folder marked "P317" and peered at it. "Female sophomore, no registered major. Very good grades. Another scholarship student, this one through her high school. Her family makes shoes. I've met her, too. Very pretty girl. Hm, seems they come from the same town. Jacksonville, on the Kropotkin."
Magnusson was immediately alert. "Jacksonville?"
"Yes, sir."
"I need the names."
"But Dr. Magnusson --"
The biophysicist rose. "Now, Ethan."
They went to the safe in the project's main storage area. Before opening it, Mandeville paused. "You know, sir, the verification runs aren't over, and if word of this --"
Which Art In Hope (Spooner Federation Saga Book 1) Page 4
