Two to one I get an inquiry or a reprimand. N’Trosia and his let’s-not-make-trouble attitude. If I’d even had an “obsolete” FC under me, the outcome would have been different. But you do what you can.
Speaking of that—what’s the status of the CX? We really could use something like that out here, as if I hadn’t already made that clear enough. Poor old Halley isn’t up to the rough stuff. We lost most of the converter, strained the whole front-frame structure.
More rumors again. I know you can’t comment, but thought you might like to know what’s circulating. My techs say a six-month extension is planned for duty in Sectors Five and Nine. One for the crews on the Rift and one for us. Speaking of the Rift, I haven’t heard anything new, and that’s always a bad sign. Between the ecologs and the Fuards and the damned and honorable Senate, I.S.S. is hurting.
I’ll have my time in by the end of this tour, even if I’m not extended. Helen wants me to put in my papers, and I’m going to have to think about it. There’s no reason to stay in if OpSec flashes a black one on the dossier for this.
Sorry for the complaints, but I have the feeling you’re the only one back there listening. Jock still talks about going to the Academy, and I’m not really sure how I feel about that. Helen sends her love.
Mort
XLIV
MERYL WASN’T IN the Prime’s office, but in the one next to it, the one that Gavin Thorson had occupied. The sliding window was ajar, with a definite chill from the outside filling the office. She was juggling her attention between two screens and a stack of notes. Her hair was mussed and oily, and a smudge of grease across her left cheek resembled a bruise. Her eyes took in Jimjoy.
“She’s fine—relatively. One slightly cracked rib, being splinted,” Jimjoy responded to Meryl’s raised eyebrows.
“That’s what she thought. That wasn’t what I was about to ask.”
Jimjoy shrugged. “Sorry. I got your message. Don’t think I’ve fouled up too much, except for the incident at Harmony, but that was unavoidable.”
“It probably was,” responded Meryl. Her tone failed to agree with her words.
“Look,” said Jimjoy, trying to keep his words even, “your messenger didn’t reach me. I’m trying to develop space-based system defenses with no input from planetside. None. I sent two of my own messages—”
“Who?”
“Kermin Alitro and Jose Delgado.”
“We got them, and that’s why Daniella was sent back.”
“I told Thelina. She never got there. Either to orbit control or to Thalos.” He looked around the room, taking in the two standard all-wooden armchairs, the cluttered console top, and the two mugs half filled with cafe. Then he looked down at the blond woman.
Meryl looked up from the consoles at Jimjoy. “You men aren’t worth a damn at patience, or at balancing personal concerns. You came down here either because you didn’t have any confidence in us or because you hadn’t heard from Thelina.”
Jimjoy flushed, knowing exactly what she was talking about and not wanting to admit it. “You didn’t even have a revolution before I got here.”
“We didn’t need one until you got here.”
A gust of wind from the sightly ajar window threatened some of the papers. Meryl leaned forward and slapped them back into place.
Jimjoy glared at her. “You don’t really believe that. You’d already be dead or in a reeducation camp. And you know it. If you want me to admit I was worried about Thelina…I admit it. But I kept asking for expertise and key supplies. I got no expertise and no supplies, and not one explanation.
“I needed micros for the ships we’re building. I needed to know whether we had any progress on the biologicals. You can’t design and build delivery systems without knowing the biological parameters.
“I needed more pilot trainees. I got neither trainees nor reasons.” His voice was rising in intensity and volume, despite his resolve to keep it quiet. “Patience is not a virtue when there’s no time.”
“So you got your revolution, Professor, and there are at least one hundred unnecessary casualties. If we’d had two more tendays, we’d have had none.” Meryl looked right through him.
Jimjoy ignored the steps behind him.
“Do we control Accord?”
“No,” answered another tired voice. Thelina stepped around him. “We control the Institute, plus all the planetside field stations, plus the shuttleport. You control—I presume—all the off-planet facilities.”
Jimjoy shrugged. “Then we need to take Harmony.”
Meryl looked at Thelina. Thelina looked at Meryl. Both looked at Jimjoy, waiting.
A faint odor of hospital or disinfectant or both wafted from Thelina.
Jimjoy wrinkled his nose, trying to repress a sneeze, before going on. “You don’t take cities. You put a supervisor in the police office and a coordinator in every media outlet. You suggest certain news stories, and you make sure the police continue to enforce civil laws. You disband the Planetary Council and call for new elections immediately—with the stipulation that since the Empire has repudiated and embargoed us, the Council will function as the civil authority. The Planetary Governor gets shipped back to the Empire.”
“What if someone revolts?”
“Not many will. Liquidate their property and use the proceeds to pay for damages and their transportation to an Imperial system. Let them keep the balance. Anyone who wants to can leave—provided they can find transportation. If the word gets out, and it will, half the high-priced independents will show up looking for passengers.”
“It might work,” admitted Thelina.
“I doubt it,” argued Meryl.
“Give it a try,” suggested Jimjoy.
“Fine,” snapped Meryl, “but who signs the documents? Who acts for the Institute with Harlinn a hopeless vegetable?”
“You,” suggested Jimjoy.
“Not even Accord is ready for a female Prime.”
“Then call yourself something like the acting Deputy Prime, pending formal selections. That will get them used to the idea. If they don’t buy it, it gives us time to come up with someone else.”
Thelina edged over to one of the wooden chairs, wincing as she lowered herself into a sitting position. Jimjoy stepped toward her, but she gave the slightest of head-shakes to wave him off.
Jimjoy and Meryl waited for her to sit down.
“And you? What do we do with you?” demanded Meryl.
“Me?” Jimjoy paused and took the other chair, the one closest to Meryl and her console. “You answer my questions, send me what supplies and the experts you can, and the bodies to crew what I’m building.”
“What exactly are you building?”
“Mostly beefed-up needleboats. You had the hidden production facility on Thalos. We’ve about tripled its capacity. We’re trying to design for the biologicals’ delivery. And we’re working on smart rocks, even big dumb rocks—anything that can disrupt an Imperial squadron.”
Meryl rolled her eyes. Thelina grinned momentarily as she watched her friend.
“How soon can we persuade you to get back to smart rocks?” asked Meryl.
He looked toward Thelina. “As soon as—”
“You can’t wait that long. No pressure on the ribs for at least a couple of tendays.”
“—we can make some plans and I’ve had a chance to fully discuss a few things,” he amended, wanting to throw up his hands. “We still have to take over Harmony and put together at least a shell of an official government. That way, it will give the Halstanis and the Fuards the ability to communicate openly, at least on the pretext of investigating to see if we are a truly independent system. And it will make it that much harder on the Empire to keep calling it a rebellion or a civil war. That won’t change the I.S.S. plan now, but the longer we can exist as an independent force, the sooner it might cross their minds that they’ll have to deal with us.”
“You talk about taking over government as if it were ea
sy.”
Jimjoy sighed, then leaned forward to pat down a stack of papers that threatened to lift off the flat surface with another gust of wind. He glanced over at Thelina. She shivered slightly, wincing as she did.
Jimjoy stood and walked around the console and past Thelina.
Clunk. Jimjoy winced at the sound, realizing he had used far more force than necessary. He turned and headed back to the uncomfortable and uncushioned wooden chair.
“The room smelled of Thorson’s mints,” observed Meryl.
“We’ll survive.” Jimjoy looked from her to Thelina, who mouthed, “Thank you.”
“Besides,” he added, “this way you won’t have to chase hard copy all over the room.”
“Always pragmatic.”
“Harmony,” insisted Jimjoy.
Meryl shrugged. “All right. How would you implement your ideas?”
Jimjoy pulled the chair closer and restacked the papers on the edge of the desk to get a clear spot.
Thelina sighed, very softly. Her eyes went from her friend to her lover and back again.
Meryl cleared one console screen, coughed softly, and met Jimjoy’s eyes unblinkingly.
Jimjoy smiled wryly. It would be a long afternoon.
XLV
JIMJOY GLANCED OVER his shoulder, through the clear glass of the window to the pair of flitters waiting on the grass in Government Square. A squad of Ecolitans in full field gear, including projectile rifles, cordoned off the flitters, technically a poor defense position. But the squad’s mission was not to defend, but to state the Institute’s power. The second squad, the unseen one, was there to protect the men and women in plain sight.
Then there was the third squad, the grim-faced men and women who controlled the corners of the theaterlike Council room.
Jimjoy took a last look at the scene outside before heading down the steps from the landing to the heavy wooden double doors into the Council chamber.
One of the heavyset planetary guards glared as Jimjoy approached. The guard glanced at the tall Ecolitan, then at the armed Ecolitans, before letting his eyes drop toward his now-empty holster.
Taking over the chamber had been simple. Jimjoy and his three squads had arrived well before dawn, opened the building, and quietly disarmed everyone who arrived for the meeting. Then the flitters had been landed in the square.
Jerold caught sight of Jimjoy, stopped riffling through his notes, and waited for the Ecolitan to reach the smaller podium serving the elected delegates when they wished to bring an issue before the Council.
A series of murmurs swept over the nearly full gallery as the two hundred or so spectators caught sight of Jimjoy. Of the other eight members of the Council, five were present—four men and a woman. The woman, Charlotta deHihns, also watched from her carved dark wooden Council chair as Jimjoy approached. Only one of the men did, the white-haired Sylva Redark. The other three refused to look up as Jerold stepped to his podium.
Tap…tap, tap, tap…
“The Planetary Council will come to order. The purpose of the meeting is to discuss possible Council action in response to the Imperial embargo of the entire Accord system.” Jerold paused, moistened his lips, coughed gently, and finally cleared his throat. “The Institute of Ecological Studies, less formally known as the Ecolitan Institute, has petitioned the Council for action. Therefore, the first speaker will be the representative of the Institute, Senior Fellow and full Professor of Applied Ecologic Management, James Joyson Whaler the Second. You have the floor, Professor Whaler.”
Jimjoy stepped up to the podium, looked at the Council members in their chairs on the dais slightly above him, and swallowed. With his back to the gallery, he hoped his Ecolitans had been effective in removing weapons from the spectators and the few media in the gallery above. “Members of the Council, citizens of Accord. Today we face a decision. Should those of us who live in colony systems, those of us who have left the ecological disasters of overpopulation, overindustrialization, and mindless mechanization—should we continue to pay for the sins of an Empire that has repudiated us? Should we surrender our freedom of thought to the Imperial reeducation teams? Should we surrender our schools, our customs, and our personal freedom in the hope that, by some miracle, those few who do survive the Empire’s tender mercies may see their grandchildren gain a fraction of the freedom and prosperity we now possess?
“The Institute cannot guarantee victory—only a chance at freedom and self-determination. The Institute cannot guarantee comfort or prosperity—only the chance to make our own future. The Institute cannot promise that any success will come easily—only a fighting chance for that success.
“The first step in that effort is to declare that we are free of the Empire’s heavy hand. For this Council to freely step down, to declare that it will hold free and open public elections for delegates, and that those delegates will select the next Council. In the interim, the Council will express to the Empire our determination to remain free and will continue to minister to the needs of Accord.
“The Institute proposes no major changes in our way of life—except that the Institute will undertake with all of its resources the defense of the system. In return for that defense, the Council will provide reimbursement for those expenses it and the newly elected delegates deem reasonable.
“The Institute will accept and train volunteers, but not anyone coerced into volunteering. The Institute will work to guarantee the physical safety of any individual who wishes to leave Accord permanently until that individual is embarked upon a neutral vessel.
“Our recommendation is spelled out in detail in the document presented to the Council and released to the people and the news media.” Jimjoy paused. “I respectfully request that the Council unanimously adopt the proposal.”
Jerold stepped to the Council podium. “As acting Chairman, I bring the proposition to the Council and recommend its adoption. Is there a request for debate?”
The five remaining Council members exchanged glances. Charlotta deHihns, with a faintly amused smile, gave a minuscule and negative shake of her head.
Jimjoy waited. According to the script, nothing should happen, but scripts were no guarantee, even with three squads of armed Ecolitans to view the play.
“The Council will consider the proposal. All in favor, signify by voting in the affirmative. All opposed, in the negative.”
Six green lights flashed on the voting board.
“The ayes have it. The proposal is adopted as presented.”
“Mr. Chairman!” added Jimjoy. “I request that the Council set the date for elections as 20 Quintus.”
“The proposal on behalf of the delegates is that elections be set for 20 Quintus. Is there any debate?” Jerold’s forehead was damp and shiny.
Again, according to the script, there was no request for debate.
“There is no request for debate. The question is on the proposal to set elections for delegates on 20 Quintus. All in favor, signify by voting in the affirmative. All opposed, in the negative.”
Six green lights flashed.
“Mr. Chairman, on behalf of the delegates and the free people of Accord, the Institute thanks you.”
As Jimjoy spoke, Jerold produced a white handkerchief and wiped his forehead, then shook it as if to fold it. “There being no other business—”
At the flash of white, Jimjoy dropped from the podium.
Crack!
Thrum! Thrum!
As a single Ecolitan lifted a limp figure from the center of the media gallery, three others watched the crowd, weapons leveled. Two others pointedly turned their weapons on the Council.
“Traitor…” hissed one voice.
“Impie swine…”
“Served them right…”
Jimjoy stepped up to the delegates’ podium again before the audience could fully recover. “Mr. Chairman, now that the Council has accepted the proposal and recessed, and you have declared your intention to leave Accord, I strongly suggest you
accompany us to the Institute. Under no other circumstances will we be able to guarantee your safety.
“On behalf of the delegates, I declare the Council in recess until its replacements can be elected by the new delegates.” He turned and walked out, not looking back, praying that his troops could keep him from being gunned down.
Once through the double doors, he turned right and sprinted down three steps and through a single door to the de facto command post.
There, Elias half stood as he burst in. “Professor! You all right?”
“Fine. This time they missed. Amateurs. Hades, a white flag yet. Can you alert the relocation team to get ready immediately? We’ll see some Impie symps at the Institute within hours. Use the old transient quarters.” Jimjoy took a deep breath. “Have you heard anything from the Halstani independents?”
“The latest word is that the Blass is en route. Ready to take up to three hundred. Nothing else. Meryl says that the planetary police will cooperate. They don’t like us much, but they like the thought of either Impie reeducation teams or chaos even worse.”
“That figures.” Jimjoy pulled at his chin, aware that the gesture still wasn’t perfectly natural.
XLVI
“WE JUST CAN’T do that kind of pilot project here, Professor,” Stilsen added slowly. “We just can’t. The risks are too high.” He took a sip from the steaming mug of cafe.
Jimjoy tried not to wrinkle his nose at the odor. Unlike most I.S.S. officers, or former officers, he disliked cafe. “I thought you did most of the design work on the computer.”
“We do. That takes most of the time, and, these days, we can predict with better than ninety percent accuracy that we’ll get what we designed.” Stilsen set the mug back on the edge of the table.
“But?” Although Jimjoy didn’t see exactly where the genetic engineer was going, he had a good idea.
“You want biohazards. I understand the need. But what good does it do you if it escapes here? The idea, as I understand it,” continued the scientist in a drier tone, “is to inflict damage on the Empire, not on Accord.”
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