“You are a killer, Shaik. Nothing but a killer.”
“Admit to being a killer. But not just a killer. Never said this would be easy.” Corso laughed once, the same annoying bark that was not a laugh. “You’re as much to blame as I am.”
“Me! I didn’t unleash Lucifer. I didn’t kill ten thousand innocents! You did! Not me! You!”
Corso sighed, and his shoulders dropped. “You really don’t understand, do you?”
Rodire wanted to scream. Instead, he frowned. What was there to understand?
“Farscreen shows energy concentrations,” interrupted the cool voice that had chilled Rodire before. “Standard heavy search pattern.”
“Interrogative time before reaching detection range.”
“Estimate fifteen standard minutes, plus or minus five.”
“Stet. Commence checklist. Hold at prelift. Hold at prelift for voice command for liftoff.”
“Understand checklist to prelift. Commencing immediately.”
“Commence checklist at full-power status.”
“Full-power status. Commencing checklist.”
“Stet.”
Rodire felt as though the Shaik was living in a different universe, and squinted, trying to let the younger man’s words penetrate, trying to understand why Corso would say that he, Rodire, didn’t understand.
“Hamline. Not enough time to explain. I’ll dump what I can. Fast. Hope you can understand. Then I’m throwing you out.”
As he talked, Corso had approached the bunk and touched something Rodire could not see. The harness released and retracted away from the attorney.
“Don’t move. You’re going to be dizzy if you move your head quickly, and you can’t afford to pass out. Now. Where to start? All right.” Corso’s words were quick, more clipped than usual, and burst out in short groups. “You live on a repressive planet. Law controlled by a few firms. Food by a few family enterprises. Bureaucracy by a few others. People don’t have much freedom to change. Personal freedom adequate, until Carlina started linking with DomSec. Declining now. Probably get worse, possible police state.
“Not enough education for most people to resist. Change has to come from the top, to begin with. People like you.
“Thought you might help. Thought a new business, built on new lines might start people thinking. It did, except Carlina, her type, decided CE was another route into the standard oligarchy. You let her do it, when you could have stopped her. Could have sent a message to me.
“Could have set up another administrator strong enough to stop her. Maybe I expected too much of you. You’re a product of your culture. Unable to see beyond the patterns.”
“But . . . my family . . . ,” protested Rodire. Didn’t the man understand? Carlina had no children, no heirs, no hostages to fortune.
“The future of your family was lost the moment you put their immediate comfort above your ideals, Hamline. So were you. I didn’t know. Should have. My fault. Precedent here is terrible.”
“Precedent? Is that all you think about?”
“Precedent is everything in your culture. Carlina’s precedent means that everything new, everything that offers hope, can be turned into another instrument of repression. How could anyone ignore that? But you did. We’ll both pay.”
“ETA ten minutes, plus or minus four,” added the cool voice from the control room.
“Get up. Slowly,” commanded the hawk-eyed man. “You have to survive. For your remaining children. If not for them, for the people you betrayed once already.”
“Betrayed? Who betrayed whom?”
“Hamline, would you please use your brains?” Corso’s hard voice seemed tired. “You betrayed them when you refused to stand up to Carlina. You betrayed them again when you failed to notify me. You betrayed them a third time when you let her join forces with the secret police. You put your immediate family and comfort above the needs and rights of all the people. Don’t talk about betrayal to me.
“So what did I do? I destroyed—crudely, but time was short—both the top of DomSec and CE, Limited. Shows that the system can be brought down. That might makes right doesn’t always triumph, or at least, that there is a greater might to fear. Gives you an opening. That’s all. The rest is up to you. Now get moving.”
“Where?” Rodire slid to his shaky feet.
“Home. As soon as you get out of the scout, head for the far bay. Remember? Tunnel there. Comes out about a hundred meters from your estate. Take it and move. DomSec will blast anything in the air and around here, you included. Turn this into rubble.”
Rodire stumbled as he entered the lock. “But what do I do?”
“What you should have done in the first place. You run the damned company. You treat the people like people. Not serfs. If you don’t, you and your descendants will suffer. I mean suffer! Now get down the ramp. I’m lifting. If you’re around when I power out, you’ll be fried. Wasted too much time talking.”
Rodire fell on the hard pavement as the ramp retracted. He staggered to his feet as he heard the lock door clank shut, and lurched toward the far bay and the tunnel.
Wheeeeeeee.
The whine spurred his lurch into a shambling trot.
When he finally reached the oval portal, he rested against it momentarily before hauling himself upright to survey the mechanism.
No access plates. No levers, and only a small wheel. He tried it. It spun easily clockwise, and the portal began to open. He peered inside, where the lighting was dim, but adequate.
Whhheeeeeeeeeee!
Staggering inside, he took a step before turning back and spinning the other wheel, the one on the tunnel wall. The portal closed smoothly, cutting off the sound.
As he remembered what Corso had said about the security forces, he trotted raggedly down the tunnel, gasping with each step.
After fifty meters he slowed to a walk, his legs cramping with the aftereffects of the stun jolts his body had taken, but he kept putting one foot in front of the other, one in front of the other. Underfoot, the flooring began to vibrate, first lightly, then enough to make his steps feel unsteady.
As quickly as it had come, the vibration halted.
Rodire kept walking, but looking back over his shoulder. He could no longer see the tunnel port where he had started. In front of him, the smooth-walled tunnel began to slope upward, and a dark splotch appeared ahead in the faint ring of light that the walls reflected into the distance before him.
Even though he was walking slowly, he was still panting.
Crump. Crump.
The muffled concussion shook the tunnel, hard enough to make him stagger, but he continued to move forward toward the exit portal.
Crump.
Reaching out with his right hand and touching the smooth p!asteel of the wall, he steadied himself, then plodded upward.
Whhhirrr. Crump!
The tunnel no longer seemed to stretch forever, but only a few yards toward a round black doorway of some sort.
He stopped and took two deep breaths.
Crump!
The floor beneath vibrated, and he lurched forward.
Finally his right hand touched cold metal, and he halted, trying to catch his breath, hoping that the wrenching cramps in his calves would ease.
He waited, wondering if the explosions would continue.
Crump!
He began to spin the wheel, watching carefully through the ever widening slit, and listening.
Stepping into a moldy cellar, he frowned as he looked up to discover that just the foundation remained of whatever structure had once stood above him. Then he glanced back at the still open portal, which was beginning to close itself, to see how the vines had been planted to conceal the relative newness of the tunnel exit. There was no exterior wheel to open the portal, and the exposed portal looked no different from the rest of the weathered foundation.
Rodire dragged himself toward the overgrown ramp that led to the ground level of the forest.
&nbs
p; Wheeeeeee.
At the sound of the eastbound flitter, he ducked, then straightened. No one, assuming they could scan under the old and gnarled trees that covered this end of Corso’s lands, was going to bother with a tired old man on foot.
Once out of the foundation, Rodire could see enough through the wide-spaced and massive trunks to get his bearings. His own lands lay less than a half a kilo ahead.
He limped forward.
Wheeeeee!
Crump!
Rodire shook his head. The security forces were late. Everyone was always late. He’d been late. Corso had been late, and now the remainder of the DomSecs were late, as if more force could undo what had already been done.
He shrugged as he plodded toward the immaculate white, stone wall that marked his estate. He could see Eduard and some of the staff standing higher on the upper lawn peering toward the column of smoke behind him where he knew the Hitters were still circling.
He supposed he had some work to do. He shrugged again. Not doing it wouldn’t bring back Lisa. If Corso didn’t like the way he ran CE, then Corso could have it any way he wanted. Rodire wouldn’t block him. Carlina had, and what was left?
He refused to think about what might happen if the terrible Shaik were thwarted a second time. “You will suffer . . .” That had been clear.
Rodire sighed. No walls and fortresses for him. He might survive, and he might not, but one experience in watching
Corso had been enough. One trip through hidden tunnels had been enough. And one daughter lost because he had not done what he had promised to a stranger was quite enough. Quite enough.
Corso might be the devil himself, but he kept his word. Both ways. And few enough did that.
The trees thinned as he neared the white, stone wall.
Eduard caught sight of his father and began running down to the wall.
Rodire smiled at the sight of the long-legged teenager covering the bluish grass more in leaps than in strides.
He waved, and his son waved back.
LXXI
AS RODIRE STUMBLED down the ramp, Gerswin launched himself at the control couch, throwing the harness straps around himself even before he settled fully into position.
“Retract power connections.”
“Power connections retracted.”
“Retract ramp, and seal for liftoff.”
“Ramp has been retracted, and locks are sealed. Ship is fully selfcontained.”
“Interrogative power status.”
“Power status is point nine nine plus.”
As he spoke to the Al, Gerswin tapped out the Omega code on the comm link to the nerve center of the facility he was about to leave. Shortly, hopefully well after he had lifted clear, the inside of the hangar bunker would self-immolate in a raging inferno, leaving no trace of its history or recent usage. With the DomSecs likely to pinpoint his base of operations . . . he shook his head.
Nothing had gone exactly as planned. Now—another perfectly good retreat, another perfectly good source of revenue, both lost. Lost because . . .
He could dwell on that later, assuming there was a later. His eyes scanned the data and representational screens, checking the reported positions and projected search patterns of the approaching DornSec flitters.
His fingers continued through the liftoff checks as he studied the screens and as he spoke again.
“Get the DomSecs on audio. Local tactical.”
“Local tactical on audio,” the AI repeated without inflection.
A hissing began as the Al tried to raise the signals to audibility without the direct link to the facility antenna array.
“Fareach two . . . negative on energy flows . . .”
“. . . port, three zero. Vector two six zero . . .”
“. . . Thunder three. Say again . . . three . . .”
“. . . casualties estimated at three zero thousand . . . three zero thousand . . .”
The man in the counterfeit Lidoran DomSec uniform tightened his lips, wiped his damp forehead, and touched the control keys once more, watching the screens to ensure that the departure gates were fully retracted and clear of obstructions.
“Target contact, Beta class flitter, at ten kays, bearing zero eight zero,” the Al’s cool voice interjected, overriding the Lidoran transmissions momentarily.
“Thanks.”
Gerswin’s fingers touched the last key on the board prior to the liftoff sequence, and the whining that signified full power-up began to build.
“Going to be a full power lift,” he remarked to no one in particular.
“Acknowledging full power lift,” the Al answered his remark that needed no answering.
The Caroljoy edged from the center of the hangar into position before the tunnel.
Whhhhheeeeeeeeeeeeee!
The scout slipped up the tunnel and burst through the carefully maintained gap in the trees, a black streak screaming like lightning back toward the heavens from which it had struck .
“. . . target at two six five. Target at two six five . . . tentatively identified as deep space craft.”
“Gnasher two, cleared to attack. Cleared to attack.”
Gerswin had already dismissed the flitters. Most atmospherics didn’t carry high acceleration missiles, nor missiles with any range. Even if the DomSec flitters had, unless they had launched those the moment they had acquired the Caroljoy on their screens, it would have been impossible for them to have caught any scout on a full power departure.
The real problem would lie with orbit control, and whether there were system patrollers close at hand.
His departure was programmed for atmospheric envelope exit on the opposite side of El Lido from orbit control. While DomSecs could speculate, they couldn’t be absolutely certain until he actually broke orbit.
“Switch to orbit control frequencies.”
“Orbit control on audio.”
Gerswin continued to scan the screens, checking the ever increasing gap between the Caroljoy and the DomSec patrols, noting how the security flitters began to use their shorter range missiles on the recently vacated retreat.
The Caroljoy’s auxiliary screen showed the energy concentrations around the facility as the DomSecs turned their thwarted fury on the concealed hangar-bunker already far behind and below.
“Facility self-destruct has commenced,” the AI noted.
Gerswin nodded at the announcement. Shortly, between the destruct thermals and the DomSec bombardment, there would be nothing left but fused and broken metal, stone, and ceramics, over which the DomSecs could pore to their hearts’ content.
“Orbit control, this is Thunder three. Interrogative intercept on outbound target. Interrogative intercept.”
Instinctively, Gerswin checked his position. The Caroljoy was almost clear of the envelope, and, as he had plotted, in position with the planet between him and orbit control.
“Thunder three, outbound target screened from orbit control. Projected course beyond range of either orbit control or patrollers on station.”
By now the rear screen showed an El Lido whose image was rapidly becoming a disc that would fill less than the entire rear screen.
Monitoring the scout’s power status, Gerswin shook his head. Eighty percent, down twenty percent just for liftoff. No wonder he had gotten clear so quickly. But power was expensive, even on Aswan, if one considered the acquisition costs, and speed was paid in power terms.
Then, everything about El Lido had been expensive, he reflected as he returned his attention to the representational screen, which now displayed the entire system, including El Lido and its orbit control.
Two winking red dots along the general course line to system exit corridor one indicated the two on-station system patrollers.
Gerswin had already sent the Caroljoy hurtling along a different course—the one to the less favored exit point. The second corridor, because the system’s irregular gas corona extended farther on one side of the system, required more travel
time in-system before a ship could reach space clear enough for a jumpshift.
He calculated, hands hovering above the console. Roughly, at his present screamingly uneconomical acceleration, he could have reached the jump point along corridor one in two hours.
Worrying at his lip with his teeth, he checked the screens again.
“Time to jump?”
“Three hours, plus or minus point five.”
The farscreens were clear, except for the distant patrollers, not surprisingly, since jumpship travel anywhere was scarce, and to El Lido, isolated as it was, even scarcer.
The red lights of the patrollers, flashing against the darkness of the representational screen, seemed almost accusing.
“Accusing about what?”
“Inquiry imprecise. Please clarify,” requested the AI.
“Disregard,” snapped the once-upon-a-time commodore.
What had gone wrong? Or had anything?
The biologics would continue to be produced, and Hairline would doubtless exert some effort to improve social conditions. And thirty thousand casualties represented . . . what? An initial payment?
“Are you still asking too much of people?” he muttered, not letting his eyes leave the screens.
“Question represents a value judgment. Without further data, no answer is possible.” The AI’s cool feminine tone was like ice down his spine.
Whose values? Whose judgments? He had killed or injured thirty thousand people, some theoretically innocent, because he felt it necessary; because he felt his own creation had been perverted to serve an already too-repressive government. Did he have that right?
“You took that right the day you decided to restore Old Earth.”
Did that make him right?
He shook his head. Right was a value judgment, as the Al had said so coldly.
Had he been too hard on Rodire? Had he expected too much of the young idealist when he and his children had grown older? Did the children make that much difference?
Corson, what would you have been like, had we shared a life? Would you have turned me, too? Turned me from fire and ice?
He pushed that thought away from the trails down which it had led him too many times before.
“Time to jump?”
The Silent Warrior Page 25
