Which Art In Hope (Spooner Federation Saga Book 1)

by Francis W. Porretto

  Charisse sat accusatorily silent.

  Teresza winced. Armand's jaw tightened.

  "Got an objection to either one, Chuck? I could do as I'd planned, go back to Defiance --"

  "Where's that?"

  Armand grinned nastily. "Hopeless peninsula, the southernmost village. My little 'kingdom.' They're doing okay up there, or at least they were when we left. And without having to fight the ecology." He glanced at his sister. "I assume Chary told you about the whole deal?"

  "She did," Chuck said. "Both halves. Including your part in them."

  "Oh? Did she include the expedition that tried to drag me back by force? Did she happen to mention the piddling little restrictions that I was expected to accept? Like being imprisoned underground for the rest of a very unnatural life? Like dying in half a century from progressive brain rot, no matter what I might do?"

  Chuck Feigner's expression froze. He looked a question at Charisse.

  She nodded. "It's true."

  "Armand --" Chuck started. Armand held up a hand.

  "Save it, Chuck. That's what I'm here to explore. As a last resort. In the event that there's no other way of saving a hundred million lives. And you'll note that I wasn't dragged. There's no gun at my back. Any loved ones that might be used as hostages to bend my will are gathered right here around this table. So you can take your imputations of...whatever and shove them up your ass."

  Anger washed over Feigner's features. He started to rise. Charisse laid a hand on his arm, and he subsided.

  "He has every right, Chuck. Terry's father and I tried to bring him back." Her expression was composed; her tone was unemotional. "Then Petrus and Ianushkevich arrived. Armed and ready to use force. He denied us all. If we'd tried anything but persuasion, his...neighbors would have torn us to pieces. The last thing any of us expected was that he'd come back on his own."

  Abruptly she regained her animation and her tone sharpened. "But there's still quite a lot unexplained, big guy. Like that baby in Terry's arms, when Teodor swore by the host of the Great Sacrifice that you and she could never conceive. And what's become of your little kingdom in the wastes. And just how much exploring you intend to do, and how. What should we brace for? Doesn't Hope have a right to know?"

  Armand regarded her steadily for a long moment. Though the rest of the family had departed the kitchen before he'd returned, the sense that the entire mansion was listening intently to his every word was unshakable.

  "Mom," he said, "maybe you should sit down."

  She nodded, squeezed his hand, and sat next to Teresza and Valerie. The baby cooed at her, and she put a gentle finger to the infant's cheek.

  "First we'll do the question you've wanted to ask for months. Our baby's name is Valerie. She's a child of rape. We adopted her a few days after I executed the man who raped her biological mother."

  A murmur circled the table.

  "What's the matter, gang? Isn't that what we do down here in civilized society? It's just that up there where your outcasts live, keeping the pecking order neat is a little bit more important than getting community buy-in. If you want to see justice done, you'd better be the biggest, toughest guy around, and maybe have a little something extra on top of that. Guess who that was in the fair city of Defiance?"

  He swept the table with his gaze. No one spoke.

  "As for my little 'kingdom,' they gave me a nice sendoff, and I told them I'd be back if I could manage it. I didn't promise; it might have turned out to be something I can't deliver. I won't know until I've finished my exploring. But I'll say this much: they deserve to have a lot better life than they've got. Most of them, anyway. Say, did you know that they were confined there? That the Midgard Spacehawk battery has been incinerating anyone who comes south over the land bridge? Until recently, that is. So have the grace to speak no ill of them while I'm still in town and above ground."

  "Armand --" Chuck started.

  "Shut up, roomie. Chary led you into this, didn't she? She asked the questions, and she'll have her answers, here and now. And then you can decide whether her favor is enough recompense for your sarcasm and your angry glare."

  The muscles in Chuck's jaw rippled, but he said no more.

  Armand smiled. "Thanks for your forbearance. Last but certainly not least, Hope's 'right to know.' You've studied rights theory, Chuck. We talked about it a few times, back when. 'Rights are those things you can morally acquire or defend by the use of force.' Those were your words, as nearly as I can recall them. How close did I come?"

  Chuck nodded, his eyes wary.

  "Well, what's your opinion of 'Hope's right to know?' Do the hundred million people not sitting at this table have any right to beat my intentions out of me? Does it have any bearing on the question that I don't know them myself?"

  Chuck turned to look at Charisse. She met his gaze for only a moment before turning away and fixing her eyes on the table.

  Armand spread his arms as if in invocation. "So much for the morning's questions. Now, will you kindly be a council of war for me, and help me think this damned thing through? Because by Rothbard, Rand, and Ringer, I am heartily sick of having to deal with this mess all by myself."

  Around the table, the faces went pale.

  "War?" Charisse whispered.

  He nodded. "Since Terry and I confronted those...thugs at the Midgard battery. Maybe since Ianushkevich and Petrus dropped in on us in Defiance. The war between the secret society that rules the world and the last man in it who doesn't need to bow to them." He speared them with his gaze, each in turn. One by one, they nodded.

  "All right, then where shall we begin?"

  "Armand?" Teresza said.

  "Yes, love?"

  "Maybe we should get my father in here."

  He considered it.

  "Maybe so."

  Teresza rose, handed Valerie to Elyse, and headed for the alcove that housed the radio.

  ***

  The radio crackled and hissed with unusual force.

  "Are you perfectly certain it was Armand Morelon?" Dmitri Ianushkevich croaked at the microphone.

  "That's the name he gave, sir."

  "Was he alone, or did he have companions?"

  "He was traveling with a woman and a baby. He said the woman's name was Teresza. I can't recall the name he gave for the infant."

  "That's quite all right, Mr. Boren. But you're sure he came south over the land bridge?"

  "Absolutely, sir."

  "Why..." The parapsychologist's throat closed around the question. "Why didn't you shoot?"

  "We tried, sir. The laser refused to fire. When we opened it up, we found nothing but powder in the sapphire chamber."

  Had Ianushkevich been a believer, he would have fallen to his knees at that moment.

  "Thank you, Mr. Boren. You've been a great help."

  "Our pleasure, Dr. Ianushkevich. Good luck with your search." The carrier wave hiss dwindled to a low background rumble.

  Ianushkevich rose creakily from his chair. Behind him, Charles Petrus and Walter Durrell gaped uncomprehendingly.

  "Well," the parapsychologist said offhandedly, "I suppose there's no point in going back there, now."

  He yawned, stretched, and blinked several times. Neither Petrus nor Durrell spoke.

  "Has Terra stirred at all?" he said.

  Petrus shook his head and glanced at Durrell.

  The physician's face was unreadable. "It's not a coma. I'd call it a trance state of some sort. Based on the little I've seen of her, it's more likely to be transient than permanent, but I have no way of telling how long it will take to dissolve."

  Ianushkevich nodded. "Thank you, Walter. I assume you'd recommend against waking her by force?"

  "Definitely," Durrell said at once. "A trance of this sort can be jarred into catatonia quite as easily as dispelled. If you need this girl --"

  "Terra, Walter."

  Durrell caught himself and nodded. "If you need Terra conscious, you must wait for her to re
gain consciousness by herself, or take a...a terrible risk."

  Ianushkevich repressed a chuckle. Petrus caught the signs. "What is it, Dmitri?"

  Ianushkevich turned and stared at the monitor screens. The Goddess of Hope remained completely still, three days gone into a place where they could not follow.

  "What Walter said. I was just struck by the similarity between the word for mortal fear and the Goddess's ceremonial name. The old Latin name for the world that gave birth to our kind. Our terrors are of the earth itself: sinking into it, being swallowed by it, entombed, forever severed from light and air and the company of the living. The final surrender, to powers unknown and unknowable, whom our Earthly ancestors strained to propitiate in thousands of ways, in the hope of...of I don't know what. A renewal of life, perhaps? It doesn't matter." He waved at the screens. "There lies our guardian, who keeps us from being swallowed by the soil of this world. And what have we done to her? What have we chosen to call her, and her predecessors in her position?"

  The others remained silent.

  "Well," Ianushkevich said, "at least we've saved ourselves a long trip."

  "Dmitri," Petrus murmured, "are you giving up?"

  Ianushkevich allowed that chuckle to bubble forth.

  "Give up? Certainly not, Charles. Terra is still among the living, and apparently still functioning as Goddess, conscious or not. We are once again three together. Walter will put his powers to the task of keeping Terra's body in good repair. And Armand Morelon, for whatever reason, has returned from the Hopeless enclave. Remember where we stood just three days ago? Short of a miracle, how much better could things have gone?"

  "Then --"

  "We make ready, Charles. Walter will watch our sleeping Goddess, and you and I will prepare for another apotheosis. Armand won't come to us, so we will go to him. After all, there's only one place he could possibly have gone."

  Petrus's mouth twitched.

  "Of course."

  ***

  When the knock came, Teresza bade the others remain as they were, handed Valerie to Elyse, and went to the door herself.

  The huge oaken slab was amazingly heavy. It took her full strength to yank it open. As she'd expected, her father stood there, regarding her with an expression of doubt.

  "Hello, Dad," she forced out. "Come in. The others are in the kitchen." She stepped back a pace and waited. After a moment, he nodded, stepped lightly into the entranceway, and allowed her to lead him to the Morelon kitchen.

  At the entrance to the kitchen she bade him halt. She watched his eyes move first to Elyse and Valerie, then to Armand, and then to Charisse and Chuck Feigner. Feigner sat up straight and put his big right hand on the surface of the table, Charisse's fingers tightly interleaved with his own.

  "You already know Elyse, Charisse, and Armand," Teresza said. "This gentleman is Etienne Feigner, a classmate of Armand's from Gallatin. He's been...helping Charisse with some researches. Chuck, this is my father Teodor." She turned a commanding gaze on her father.

  Feigner released Charisse's hand and rose to his full height. He waited for Teodor to extend a hand of greeting, and enfolded it in his own. The two big men eyed one another uncertainly, as if each had disturbed the other's calculations in some unspecified way.

  "Do you prefer Etienne or Chuck?" Teodor said softly.

  Feigner smiled. "Chuck will do fine, thanks."

  Teodor nodded.

  A moment of uncertain silence later, Teresza bade them sit and went to stand next to Armand. Armand glanced up at her, clearly expecting her to sit, but she gave him a warning look, and he settled back into his seat. Teresza's eyes moved to Charisse, who met her gaze, shrugged, and re-entwined her fingers with those of his roommate. Elyse sat silent, all her attention on Valerie.

  Teresza swallowed and cast about for words.

  I think I've just been handed the gavel.

  She turned to face the little gathering squarely and mustered as much authority as she could.

  "There were some strong things said earlier," she said flatly, "but I think we're past that part of the day. Whatever's happened among us in the past, I hope we can treat one another as friends and colleagues from here on."

  None of the others spoke.

  "I don't know what we're here to do, really," she said. "Everyone knows the situation now. If there's more to be said about it, I don't think I'm the one to say it. I just want you all to know that Armand and I are here by choice. We could have stayed in Defiance. We came back out of love. Love of Hope, and love of you. So please --"

  "Love of me?" Feigner said.

  She stared directly into his eyes.

  "Yes, Chuck, love of you. Why, don't you think you deserve it?" Her eyes flicked to the ball his hand had made with Charisse's. "I doubt Charisse would say that."

  Charisse flushed and pulled their joined hands toward her. She looked up at Feigner with an expression of defiance. He repressed a grin.

  "The important thing," Teresza continued, "is to...to find some sort of constructive direction. I'm not abandoning the world to live in a cave underground. Neither is my daughter." She felt her jaw tighten. "And neither is my husband. So our first order of business ought to be to look for some alternative way of saving the ecology that doesn't involve those things."

  She swept the gathering with her eyes. All were silent but Valerie, who cooed. Elyse hefted her against her cheek, and the baby smiled.

  "That's about all I have to contribute," Teresza said. She sat, took her daughter back from her mother-in-law, and waited for someone else to break the silence.

  They'd sat unspeaking for several minutes when her father cleared his throat.

  "In my admittedly limited experience," he said slowly, "this sort of thing -- saving the world, I mean -- goes better with coffee. A lot of coffee." He cocked an eyebrow at Teresza. "Will you do the honors, or shall I?"

  Teresza rose and made for the stove.

  Chapter 47

  It took time for Victoria's mad flailings to have an effect on the world that lived in sunlight, but time was all it took.

  Her telekinetic jackhammering of her imagined confinement translated into powerful blows against the core of Hope, the nickel-iron sphere that turned slowly at the center of the world. They set that sphere to quivering with a steadily increasing amplitude that set off pressure waves in the magma above. At first those waves attenuated swiftly in the dense, roiling medium, but there came a point when the pulsing of the core found the resonant frequency of the magma above it. The waves propagated outward at the speed of sound in molten rock.

  A little less than eight hours later, the first tremors were felt in the world of men.

  From the arrival of the First Settlers to that day, there had never been an earthquake reported on either Alta or Sulla. If tectonic energies were released into the oceans now and then, the waters swallowed them before men could notice them. In all, the crustal stability of the planet was as complete and remarkable as its seeming benevolence toward Earth-born life.

  The changes wrought by Victoria's panic were dramatic.

  The continents themselves were elevated between three and five inches by the magma waves crashing into them from below. The rise was gradual enough that most persons felt only a tremor beneath their feet. None of Hope's denizens suspected that their homes were being elevated by the most powerful forces ever unleashed by a human will. If that had been the only effect, Victoria's agony might have gone forever unnoticed.

  By geologic scales, the continental plates were young; there were few faults in them. But those plates ended rather abruptly a few hundred yards from the water's edge. The energies streaming up from below didn't just cause the plates to rise in place; it also caused them to move away from their neighbors, upon which the oceans rode. As they loosened, the plate boundaries, which had been plugged with the gravel and silt of eons, sucked the loose matter within them into the magma layer below. One unclogged convulsively to become a great fissure in the
ocean floor, precisely outlining the northwestern coast of Sulla.

  The boundary gave way in the vicinity of Heinlein, the largest and busiest port of the southern continent.

  Millions of tons of water flowed down through the fissure. It met the stream of magma rocketing up, flashed immediately into steam, and became a bubble that exploded through the water above at eleven hundred yards per second. When it broke the surface, it became an atmosphere wave of live steam at sixty psi overpressure. As it spread over the water, it overturned seventeen cargo vessels of varying size while scalding their crews to death. Its touch killed too rapidly for any of its victims to call out a radio warning. Not that it would have done any good.

  The bubble streaked outward with equal speed and force. It razed Heinlein level with the earth. Buildings and trees from the harbors to four miles inland were flattened and scalded.

  No accurate count of the casualties was ever after possible.

  ***

  The ninety-mile power cable run from Gallatin to the reactor at Bakunin was one of the narrowest and least frequently groomed on Alta. Despite the popularity of the sport and the shortage of places to pursue it, it was almost never used for cycle racing. It didn't matter that there had never been the slightest problem with any reactor on Hope; people simply didn't like to get too close to them.

  Ianushkevich guided the truck carefully down the rutted path, the cable itself barely two feet from the driver's side of the vehicle. The weeds and scrub brush to their right whizzed by almost as closely. Petrus stared straight ahead, his leather folio clutched against his chest. He'd said no word since they'd embarked.

  We have a hard duty to perform. He's lived through twice my years, and never thought it would come to this.

  There's no evading the core of it. We have to abridge a man's rights to save the rest of the world. To give us another fifty years to find a way to defy this planet's desire to extinguish us.

  Rights have no part in it. It's pure utilitarian calculus. The sort of thing the masters of a State would say to their subjects. Endless apologies, Madam, but we have to conscript your son and torture him to death for the greater good. So sorry. Breed another, would you please? We might need more than one.