Men Against the Stars - [Adventures in Science Fiction 01]

by Edited By Martin Grrenburg

  Salvor Hardin compared this large company with the few men attending the first appearance of Hari Seldon, thirty years earlier. There had only been six, then; the five old Encyclopedists – all dead now – and himself, the young figurehead of a mayor. It had been on that day, that he, with Yohan Lee’s assistance had removed the “figurehead” stigma from his office.

  It was quite different now; different in every respect. Every man of the City Council was awaiting Seldon’s appearance. He, himself, was still mayor, but all-powerful now; and since the utter rout of Anacreon, all-popular. When he had returned from Anacreon with the news of the death of Wienis, and the new treaty signed with the trembling Lepold, he was greeted with a vote of confidence of shrieking unanimity. When this was followed in rapid order, by similar treaties signed with each of the other three kingdoms – treaties that gave the Foundation powers such as would forever prevent any attempts at attack similar to that of Anacreon’s – torchlight processions had been held in every city street of Terminus. Not even Hari Seldon’s name had been more loudly cheered.

  Hardin’s lips twitched. Such popularity had been his after the first crisis also.

  Across the room, Sef Sermak and Lewis Bort were engaged in animated discussion, and recent events seemed to have put them out not at all. They had joined in the vote of confidence; made speeches in which they publicly admitted that they had been in the wrong, apologized handsomely for the use of certain phrases in earlier debates, excused themselves delicately by declaring they had merely followed the dictates of their judgement and their conscience – and immediately launched a new Actionist campaign.

  Yohan Lee touched Hardin’s sleeve and pointed significantly to his watch.

  Hardin looked up. “Hello there, Lee. Are you still sour? What’s wrong now?”

  “He’s due in five minutes, isn’t he?”

  “I presume so. He appeared at noon last time.”

  “What if he doesn’t?”

  “Are you going to wear me down with your worries all your life? If he doesn’t, he won’t.”

  Lee frowned and shook his head slowly. “If this thing flops, we’re in another mess. Without Seldon’s backing for what we’ve done, Sermak will be free to start all over. He wants outright annexation of the Four Kingdoms, and immediate expansion of the Foundation – by force, if necessary. He’s begun his campaign, already.”

  “I know. A fire eater must eat fire even if he has to kindle it himself. And you, Lee, have got to worry even if you must kill yourself to invent something to worry about.”

  Lee would have answered, but he lost his breath at just that moment – as the lights yellowed and went dim. He raised his arm to point to the glass cubicle that dominated half the room and then collapsed into a chair with a windy sigh.

  Hardin himself straightened at the sight of the figure that now filled the cubicle – a figure in a wheel chair! He alone, of all those present could remember the day, decades ago, when that figure had appeared first. He had been young then, and the figure old. Since then, the figure had not aged a day, but he himself had in turn grown old.

  The figure stared straight ahead, hands fingering a book in its lap.

  It said, “I am Hari Seldon!” The voice was old and soft.

  There was a breathless silence in the room and Hari Seldon continued conversationally, “This is the second time I’ve been here. Of course, I don’t know if any of you were here the first time. In fact, I have no way of telling, by sense perception, that there is anyone here at all, but that doesn’t matter. If the second crisis has been overcome safely, you are bound to be here; there is no way out. If you are not here, then the second crisis has been too much for you.”

  He smiled engagingly. “I doubt that, however, for my figures show a ninety-eight point four percent probability there is to be no significant deviation from the Plan in the first eighty years.

  “According to our calculations, you have now reached domination of the barbarian kingdoms immediately surrounding the Foundation. Just as in the first crisis you held them off by use of the Balance of Power, so in the second, you gained mastery by use of the Spiritual Power as against the Temporal.

  “However, I might warn you here against overconfidence. It is not my way to grant you any foreknowledge in these recordings, but it would be safe to indicate that what you have now achieved is merely a new balance-though one in which your position is considerably better. The Spiritual Power, while sufficient to ward off attacks of the Temporal is not sufficient to attack in turn. Because of the invariable growth of the counteracting force known as Regionalism, or Nationalism, the Spiritual Power cannot prevail. I am telling you nothing new, I’m sure.

  “You must pardon me, by the way, for speaking to you in this vague way. The terms I use are at best mere approximations, but none of you is qualified to understand the true symbology of psychohistory, and so I must do the best I can.

  “In this case, the Foundation is only at the start of the path that leads to the Second Galactic Empire. The neighboring kingdoms, in manpower and resources are still overwhelmingly powerful as compared to yourselves. Outside them lies the vast tangled jungle of barbarism that extends around the entire breadth of the Galaxy. Within that rim there is still what is left of the Galactic Empire – and that, weakened and decaying though it is, is still incomparably mighty.”

  At this point, Hari Seldon lifted his book and opened it. His face grew solemn. “And never forget there was another Foundation established eighty years ago; a Foundation at the other end of the Galaxy, at Star’s End. They will always be there for consideration. Gentlemen, nine hundred and twenty years of the Plan stretch ahead of you. The problem is yours!”

  He dropped his eyes to his book and flicked out of existence, while the lights brightened to fullness. In the babble that followed, Lee leaned over to Hardin’s ear. “He didn’t say when he’d be back.”

  Hardin replied, “I know – but I trust he won’t return until you and I are safely and cozily dead!”

  <>

  ~ * ~

  L. Ron Hubbard

  WHEN SHADOWS FALL

  Earth, the mother of a star-flung civilization, was dying> old and unremembered—but could earthmen really forget her?

  ~ * ~

  T

  here came a day when Earth lay dying, for planets also die. About her crept a ghost of atmosphere, the body eaten full away by iron rust and belching smoke until the plains, stretching wide, were sickly red, and no green showed from range to range and pole to pole.

  As red as Mars, she was—dead, or nearly so, with the broken tumble of her cities peopled with the lizard and the wind. And the spaceports, which had given birth to the empires of space, were charred and indistinct upon the breast of Mother Earth.

  So thought Lars, the Ranger, sitting in the window of the Greater Council Hall, watching from this eminence above the world and the red plains. He too was getting old. Strong and young he had voyaged far on dangerous ways to bring the treasure back, but now he voyaged no more. Science had prolonged the beating of his heart a thousand years beyond his time, but now he was old and stiff and the Council Chamber was cold. The voices were thin behind him. They echoed oddly in this reverberant tomb. Seats were here for all the Council members of full six hundred systems. But the seats were empty now and their metal threw back the reedy whine of the clerks who called them all to order, reading names which had been gone these seven hundred years, all formal, all precise, and noting that they were not here.

  Mankin, Grand President of the Confederated Systems, sat hunched and aged upon his dais, looking out upon his servants, listening to the threadbare rite.

  “Capella!”

  Silence.

  “Rigel Centaurus!”

  Silence.

  “Deneb and Mizar and Betelgeuse!”

  Silence.

  And onward for six hundred names.

  Silence.

  For they were mighty there in the stars a
nd Mother Earth was old. They were thriving across a mighty span of ten thousand light years. And Mother Earth no longer had any fuel. They had taken the oil from her deepest springs and the coal from her lowest mines. They had breathed her air and forged her steel and taken their argosies away. And behind them they had scant memory.

  ~ * ~

  Earth had no power of money now, no goods, no trades, no fleet. And the finest of her strong young men had gone this long, long while. The lame, the halt, these and the dimmest of sight had strayed. Now there was nothing.

  “Markab!”

  “Achenar!”

  “Polaris!”

  No one sat there in those seats. No one.

  Lars, the Ranger, stood and stiffly shook out his cloak. He couched the ceremonial space helmet in the crook of his arm and advanced formally to the dais. He bowed. He might have reported there in the ritual that the fleets were ready and the armies strong, that as General of Space he could assure them all was at peace in space.

  But he was suddenly conscious of who they were and how things stood and he said nothing. There was Greto, once a wizard of skilled finance, sitting chin on breast in an adviser’s chair. There was Smit, the valiant warrior of five hundred years ago. There was Mankin, tiny in his robe, crushed down by years and grief.

  About Lars swirled, for an instant, the laughing staff of centuries back—young men with the giddy wine of high risk in their hearts. About Lars thundered the governing mandates of Earth to Space, to System Empires everywhere.

  Then he saw the four of them and the clerks, alone here on a world which was nearly dead.

  He broke ritual softly.

  “There are no fleets and the armies have melted away. There is no fuel to burn in the homes, much less in the cannon. There is no food, there are no guns. I can no longer consider myself or this Council master of space and all that it contains.”

  They had all come there with a vague hope that it would break. It had broken. And Greto came to his feet, his wasted body mighty and imposing still.

  There was silence for a while and then Greto turned to the dais. “I can report the same. For fifteen long years I could have said nearly as much. But I admit now that Earth is no more.”

  Smit lumbered upright. He scowled and clenched a black fist as he looked at Lars. “We have our fleets and our guns. Who has been here these last decades to know that they are without fodder. Bah! This thing can be solved!”

  Mankin hunched lower, opened a drawer and brought out a tablet. As he set down his water glass, he belched politely and looked from one to the next bewildered, a little afraid. He had been able to handle many things in his day.

  He fumbled with his reports and they were all the same. People were old and children were few. The food was gone and winter would be cold.

  He cleared his throat. Hopefully he looked at Smit. “I was about to suggest that some measure be taken to remove the few thousands remaining here to some planet where food and fuel are not so dear. But I only hope that I can be advised—”

  “You could remove nothing,” said Greto, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “You could take nothing away. For there’s not fuel to lift more than twenty ships from the surface of Earth. The cause may be lost, but I am not lost. Earth is no longer tenable as she is. I propose that, with credits long past due, I force the purchase of atmosphere manufacturing equipment and other needful things.”

  “Credits!” said Smit. “What do I know of credits. If this thing is at last in the light and the need is desperate, I can give them the promise of guns in their middles. Need they know?”

  Mankin looked from one to the other. He was heartened a little, for he had begun to see these fabulous men as little more than companions of his desultory chess games. But he did not heed them too much.

  He turned to Lars. “What says the General of Armies and Admiral of Fleets?”

  ~ * ~

  Lars, the Ranger, laid his helmet on the clerk’s table. All semblance of formality fell from him as he took a pipe from his pocket, loaded it and lighted it with his finger ring. He looked from Mankin to Greto.

  He said, “My fleet has not fired a jet in so many years that I have quite forgotten how many emergency charges were left aboard. I do know that mechanics and even officers have long since used all reserve atomic fuel for the benefit of lighting plants in the cities and our few remaining factories. At the most, on all our five continents I seriously doubt whether or not we retain enough fuel for more than two or three hundred light years. That is, of course, for one of our minor destroyers. Hardly enough for an extended cruise of space.

  “At the old navy yard at the Chicago spaceport I daresay there may be four destroyers in more or less workable condition. Certainly there are enough spare parts in the battleships to complete them and make them usable. In our service lists we have a handful of technicians who though they may be old, still retain some of their touch.

  “We could probably beg enough food in the way of voluntary contributions to provision the trip. Perhaps we are just dreaming. We may be at best only old men sitting in the sun and thinking thoughts much better carried out by young sinews. But I for one would like to try.

  “Today I walked through the streets of this city and an illusion gripped me. Once more I was a young man returning from a colonization in the Capella system. The sidewalks were lined with people, the unbroken pavement glittered before me, thick with roses. Young boys and girls darted in and out amongst the crowd adding their shrill cries. I knew how great, how strong Earth was. And then, the illusion faded and the pavement was broken and the roses were thorny weeds, and an old woman whined for bread at the street corner. I saw but one child in half a hundred blocks of walking, and he was ill.

  “An old man is old and has nothing but memory. It is youth which plans, endeavors and succeeds. Frankly, gentlemen, I have but little hope. But I cannot stay, while even a few years remain, and know that Mother Earth which I served for all my thousand years is dying here, forgotten, and unmourned.”

  He sat looking at them a little while, puffing his pipe, swinging an ancient but well-polished boot, not seeing them but remembering.

  Smit again blustered to his feet. “We are speaking of dreams. I know very little of dreams but I demand to be told why our friend desires to beg for food? Are we still not the Government? Must we dig in garbage cans to provision our Government’s expeditions and crawl in dungheaps for a few crumbs of combustium? The first right of any government is to enforce its will upon the people.

  “I highly approve of the expedition. I demand that I be allowed to take one section of it. And I desire, if this matter be agreed upon, that all necessary writs and manifestos be placed in my hands to make it a reality.”

  Mankin looked nervous, took another tablet and washed it down. It had been three hundred years since an expedition of any major import had been planned in this chamber. All the major expeditions were formed on Centauri now, where food, fuel, and crews were plentiful. The bombastic tone of Smit had battered Mankin. He looked at Greto.

  Greto was aware of the eyes upon him. He shifted his feet nervously. Hesitantly he said, “I approve of this expedition even though I have little hope of its success, for it will be very difficult to attend to the financing here. Our funds are in an impossible condition. Our currency is worthless. I take it that at least two units, perhaps four will be sent. I myself would like the command of a unit. But how we are to finance the voyageurs is a problem I cannot readily solve. One Earth dollar can be valued no higher than one-thousandth of a cent on Capella. This means I must assemble millions.” He rubbed his thumb against his forefinger. “They like money out there in those systems.”

  “Print it,” said Smit. “Who’ll know the difference? And if you are to command one of the units then my advice is to print a lot of it.”

  ~ * ~

  Mankin coughed. He looked at the three of them and knew that it was he who must make the decision. A small flame of hope was le
aping up in him now. He thrilled to the thought that Earth might once more prosper and send forth and receive commerce and trade. The strangely renewed vitality in Smit’s voice gave him assurance.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “you give me courage. Unless one of you has some objection to offer, I hereby decree that, if possible, three units be dispatched singly on this mission. They will progress as far as possible through the empires of space and the outer worlds and will return with whatever succor or tidings each has been able to obtain. This mission would be worth while even if you return with no more than a few hundred pounds of Element One Hundred and Seventy-Six. There must be some way, gentlemen, there must be some way.”

  Lars the Ranger stood up. “I shall order the preparation of three destroyer units and do what I can to provide them with fuel and food. If it is your will, I shall command one of them and place two at the disposition of Smit and Greto.”