Empire & Ecolitan

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “I bow to your superior knowledge, Ecolitan Andruz.” Jimjoy picked up his tumbler and stood. “What about the chairs?”

  “They’ll be fine. They’re oylwood.” Thelina closed the book, picked it up, and reached for her now-empty mug. She did not look back.

  Jimjoy closed the louvered door, nearly bumping into Thelina. “Excuse me.” He stepped back quickly, pushing away the thought triggered by her standing so close. Why, he still didn’t understand, not with her continual hostility.

  Halting, he turned and watched the clouds darkening and tumbling upward even as the rain began to spatter on the deck outside. A single shaft of sunlight played upon a tree-covered mountainside kays westward. As Thelina ran water in the small kitchen, he watched the line of sunlight disappear.

  “How about an amendment to my last statement?”

  “No apologies this time?” She had replaced the mug with a tumbler of water. She set it on the table and eased into the chair, tucking one leg under her.

  “Thelina, I am what I am. I probably should change some of that, but to apologize for what I am is hypocrisy.” He sat down in the chair opposite hers and sipped from the glass he still carried. “You are right about life being a journey. That was what I was thinking about when I drifted off. But…”

  “Surely you aren’t going to claim that you are indispensable?”

  “Not indispensable…not exactly. The universe, or most of the people in it, could care less whether you or I exist, or about what we do. The universe could also care less whether we enjoy life and the journey it represents.

  “Now, I can’t claim to know history the way old Sergel Firion and his staff do. But there have been times in human and alien histories when individuals have made a difference. There have been discoveries that no one else besides a single scientist has even understood for decades. There have been political actions taken, battles won, and conquests made that have changed history because of a single and unique individual.” He paused and took another sip from the glass, grateful that Thelina was still at least seeming to listen.

  “Likewise, some discoveries could have been made by dozens of individuals, and some battles and political actions were taken by possibly the worst of all possible candidates.

  “As far as Accord is concerned, only a handful of individuals understands more than a fraction of the structural and political problems involved. You and I happen to be in that handful. Denying that is like denying”—he glanced out at the wet deck—“that it’s raining outside. If we don’t act, someone else will have to. Someone besides an ex-Imperial Special Operative and a former Hand of the Mothers.” He grinned at her and waited.

  Thelina met his grin blankly. “What else have you figured out, Professor? Besides the obvious? That just makes what you did worse.”

  “If you please, what did I do that was so inexcusable? And what is this rewriting of history?”

  “Your whole warfare class is talking about it. How you pointed out how convenient it was for the Matriarchy—”

  Jimjoy’s stomach turned upside down.

  Thelina stopped talking as she saw his face. “How can you be so perceptive and so dense? You didn’t even realize…”

  “No. It was used only as an example of how ideology by itself cannot gain control, of why force is required to obtain control.”

  Thelina looked at the woodstove in the corner.

  He took a deep swallow and finished the water, looking for somewhere to put the tumbler besides on the finished wood of the table.

  “You destroyed Military Central.”

  “You gave up.”

  “No price too high for you, Professor…no burden too great?”

  “There might…” He looked at her face and stood up. “You’re angry because what I’ve said threatens your tight little conception of the universe. Because I’ve put my neck on the line and think you might have to also, if you believe what you say you do.”

  “How can you even suggest that?”

  “Because all you do is poke holes in what I’ve said and done. That’s easy. Lord knows I’ve said and done a lot wrong. But you won’t accept the fundamental truth of what I’ve said. You didn’t like it when I told you in that cell in your mining station that first principles are first. I’ll admit you’re right. There is more to life than the end. But the Empire doesn’t think that way, as you have so clearly pointed out. If you want to preserve the idea that the journey is more important than the destination, it means putting your sweet little ass on the line. Not once, but time after time. And I still don’t like games. Games are different from love, and sunsets and sunrises.” Surprisingly, he had managed to keep his voice even.

  Thelina’s face was still expressionless, although her eyes looked cold.

  “I’ll think about what you said,” he finished. “Then…someday when you’re in the mood…let me know.”

  Thelina remained immobile in the chair, and started to open her mouth.

  “Don’t bother with another flip or sarcastic answer. Good day, Ecolitan Andruz.” Jimjoy walked straight to the front door, not looking back, and closed it quietly behind him.

  As he walked down the wooden steps, he started to shake his head, then remembered and pulled at his chin instead. The dampness and splatter of the rain were welcome, despite the dull ache in his muscles from his ongoing efforts to regain his conditioning. All he’d wanted to do was apologize, to get a warm word or two, and now he’d made it ten times worse.

  He began to run, heading out around the lake and hoping that his muscles would hurt even more by the time he reached home.

  XII

  “I’D PREFER YOUR permission,” stated the tall, silver-haired man.

  “You have my permission and support, but not the Institute’s. Right now the Board wouldn’t support such an action.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Governor’s on the Board.”

  Jimjoy pulled at his chin. Nothing was straightforward. He paced around the end of the table, then back again. “That’s the choke point. With the Haversol System Control gone, it would take the better part of six months to mount an attack. So long as it stays, they can have a squadron here in days.”

  “They couldn’t otherwise?”

  “Oh, they could. But with no guarantee of power reserves…with no clear support trail…blocked by the Rift…there’s not an admiral in the Service who would want to do that. Not with the Fuards looking for any weakness. Not with the Halstanis ready to use any Imperial military action as a lever to gain trade concessions from the other independents.”

  “If what you say is right, what would keep the Empire from immediately associating the action with us?”

  “We might have the best motive, but the ‘accident’ would be staged not to have Accord’s fingerprints. The Fuards would be as likely a set of suspects as anyone.” Jimjoy licked his lips, pursed them together, then waited.

  “All the way out here?” The other’s voice was amused.

  “Right now they’re everywhere.”

  “That takes care of the military aspect, for a little while. But why won’t they replace the station immediately?”

  “Immediately means six or seven weeks—five tendays—”

  “I understand both weeks and tendays.”

  “—at the earliest. If nothing is happening elsewhere in Sector Five, and if they have a spare fusactor. That’s what they need.”

  “They couldn’t just lift one from in-system?”

  “No. Civilian systems aren’t compatible without rework. It could be done, but it would probably take more time than bringing one halfway across the Empire.” The former Imperial Special Operative cleared his throat. “Then, if we could take out the five system control stations inward from there…”

  “…you’ve effectively buffered us. Which is fine, except that there’s limited political support.”

  “I’ve been working on that, too.”

  “The manifestos?”

/>   “Some of them. Someone else seems to be publishing their own…and there’s that new Freedom Now Party. They’re so radical that mere independence seems conservative.”

  The other man laughed softly.

  “I thought so,” noted Jimjoy. “Is there anyone else?”

  “No, but a number of us are using several other avenues.”

  “Not enough people.”

  “Not enough we can trust—at least until you take out orbit control. I assume that’s the second step.”

  “I need a team for that. Destruction’s easy. Capture isn’t. We need orbit control. Need it to act as if it were still Imperial under our control.”

  “Buying time.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I can provide you with what you probably cannot obtain alone—for the first step. You may be on your own after that.”

  Jimjoy looked into the shadowed eyes of the older man.

  “You’re telling me that if I act, you become the target.”

  “Since you asked…yes.”

  “After all you’ve done, I’m supposed to go ahead?”

  “Do we have any choice? Really?”

  Jimjoy stopped pacing. “What about Thelina? Can’t she help?”

  “She won’t approve anything you do. Not now. Not anything that threatens me, even if it’s for the long-term good. She has the resources to block you. She would. By the time you convinced her, we’d have a reeducation team here. She hates what you stand for, and you don’t have time to change that.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Gavin will get you what you need. Don’t let anyone else know. You’re having additional medical treatment.” His eyes twinkled.

  Jimjoy nodded slowly. “Are you sure?”

  “No. Are you?’

  “No. I don’t see any other alternative that will protect Accord.”

  “Neither do I. Neither do I.”

  XIII

  “CAPTAIN ERLIN WHEILE, Technical Specialist,” Jimjoy announced to the Imperial Marine at the military lock.

  “Your orders, sir?”

  Jimjoy handed over the folder to the Marine technician, along with the databloc that contained far more information than the folder. The folder was for people, the databloc for his ostensible destination’s personnel control system—in more ways than officially intended.

  “Have a seat over there, Captain.” The Marine handed back the orders and the cube and pointed to the black plastic seats through the gate to his left.

  Buzz. The gate opened to allow Jimjoy to enter.

  “You’re lucky,” added the Marine. “The next shuttle to SysCon will be locking in less than a standard hour.”

  Jimjoy nodded politely. “Needed some luck after the transshipping…”

  “Getting here isn’t always easy.”

  “Not from Demetris.” Once through the gate with his ship bag, Jimjoy hesitated briefly.

  “You got all the luck, Captain.”

  “Right.”

  Jimjoy carried his baggage into the nearly empty waiting area. Both an older woman wearing the insignia of a medical tech and a young man in a general technician’s uniform looked up. The medical tech immediately dropped her eyes from the chunky and aging junior officer to her portable console. The technician studied Jimjoy until Jimjoy caught his eyes and held them.

  After a moment, the young tech looked away.

  In turn, Jimjoy eased himself into one of the unyielding black plastic chairs, setting his ship bag at his feet.

  The Council was going to be upset, very upset, when they discovered what he was doing, if they discovered. They hadn’t seen an Imperial reeducation team. As for Thelina—he didn’t want to think about that. She might not speak to him again, assuming he escaped from the mess he was about to create.

  He shifted his weight on the hard seat, glancing over at the older technician, who was engaged in some activity with a pocket console—chess, redloc, or something more esoteric. She did not react to his scrutiny, but continued to touch the tiny keys with precise movements, far too quickly for chess, standard games, or data manipulation. If she were playing redloc at that speed, even against a pocket console’s memory, she was good, very good.

  The technician apprentice kept looking first at Jimjoy, then at the senior technician, and then down at the scuffed plastiles. His black hair barely covered his pale scalp, and the gray of his coverall, which retained its original creases, was still a distinct and recognizable color.

  Jimjoy stretched and began to consider how he might have to modify his plans once on board the system control station. The theory was simple enough. The Empire would find it difficult, if not impossible, to maintain easy access to the systems leading to the Rift without at least some functioning system control stations for repowering and replenishment.

  Since jump drives and functioning fusactors did not coexist—for more than milliseconds—system control stations became essential tools for conquest or control. They had the fusactors, the long-range lasers, and the overall fleet support ability. Removing the system control stations made invasions problematical and conquest impossibly expensive. Of course, removing an orbit control station wouldn’t stop a cruiser with a sunburster or a planetbuster—just make it difficult. Besides, most of the time, destroying real estate eliminated the resources you needed to control in the first place.

  He pulled at his chin, looking up as another Imperial technician, female and only a shade older than the recruit, plopped herself into one of the hard plastic seats midway between the two men.

  “…friggin’ screen jockey…cruddy bitch…”

  Jimjoy took in the clear complexion and the angelic face with the less-than-heavenly language and stifled a grin, noting how the initially disgusted expression on the recruit’s face was followed by a speculative look. The woman ignored both glances and bent down to yank her kit bag closer to her feet.

  “SysCon shuttle now docking,” announced the overhead speakers.

  Only the recruit stiffened. Jimjoy and the two women knew the delay before the process was completed, especially if cargo and equipment were involved.

  Clunk.

  Wsssshhhhtttt. The familiar sounds of docking and off-loading continued for a time.

  “…glad to see some new faces…”

  “Not like Vandagilt, you mean?…”

  “…I could have died when I saw her there…”

  Jimjoy smiled at the chatter of the two young Marines first off the shuttle. Behind them trooped a handful of technicians, most carrying full kits.

  Cling.

  “Shuttle for SysCon now ready for boarding.”

  Jimjoy straightened, but the young recruit was quicker, making it to the lock door even before the barrier had dropped away. The senior medical technician stowed her pocket screen and shook her head as she watched the youngster’s haste. The physically attractive junior technician awkwardly hauled a bulging bag over her shoulder and followed Jimjoy.

  No one else entered the shuttle.

  Jimjoy looked around the windowless cabin with twenty utilitarian couches and strapped his kit into the locker under a couch.

  “Prepare for departure for SysCon. Please strap in. Regulations require all passengers remain in their couches during the shuttle run. We anticipate locking at SysCon in less than two stans. Thank you.”

  Jimjoy strapped in, then stretched out for whatever sleep he could get. He would be getting precious little of that after he reached SysCon. His eyes closed even before the shuttle had unlocked from Haversol orbit control.

  “Approaching SysCon.”

  He blinked, trying to reorient himself. Had he really slept almost two standard hours?

  The medical technician was yawning as he looked her way. The recruit merely looked tired, and the other technician was still mumbling obscenities.

  Clunk.

  “Locking complete.”

  Jimjoy began to unstrap, thinking about his next steps.

  To
make an Empire work required standardization, and standardized equipment and installations led to standardized responses by standardized personnel. All of which made destruction easier. The technology, the patterns, and the weak points were always the same. Every SysCon station had the same in-depth defenses, with outlying sensors, remote lasers, and off-station patrol craft. All controls were centralized in the operations center.

  Theoretically, the way to destroy a station’s capability was to destroy the operations center. Unless you used planetbusters, or their equivalent, destroying the ops center meant suicide. Since he had decided against suicide on general principles, and since he had no planetbusters in his kit bag, he had developed an equivalent.

  Cling.

  “Personnel may use the forward lock. Please exit in single file.”

  Jimjoy retrieved his bag, letting the efficient-looking medical technician and the technician apprentice lead the way. The beautiful, if candid-tongued, technician rummaged through her oversized kit, looking for some last-minute item—like her orders or personnel databloc.

  Swsssshhh. The inner lock door irised open. Over the shoulders of the recruit and the medical technician, Jimjoy could see that the station lock was already open.

  “Step up, please.”

  Jimjoy eased forward as the medical technician dropped her kit back in front of the console and handed over her orders and databloc.

  “Technician Meirosol?”

  “Yes, Technician?”

  “You’re cleared to return to SysCon.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Next.”

  Jimjoy waited while the sentry processed the recruit.

  “Next.”

  Jimjoy handed his orders and databloc to the sentry, a bored-looking woman seated behind a half-shielded console. Behind her, encased within a set of screens, sat a professionally intent Imperial Marine with a laser.

  Jimjoy almost shook his head. The screens prevented use of projectile weapons, and the theory was that no one could get a laser power pack through the locks without triggering alarms. All true enough. But the kinetic velocity of an old-fashioned hand-thrown knife was below the threshold of the screens, and there was nothing to prevent an intruder from wearing ablative reflection thins under makeup to give himself the instants needed to disable both guards.