“Absolutely insane…absolutely…”
“We’re not savages…”
“They’d just destroy Accord…and then where would we be?”
Jimjoy waited for the exclamations to die down.
Then he sighed once. Loudly.
“Let’s get this straight. First, you don’t have any choice. Because we’ve already been identified as stirring up this secession movement, everyone in this room is dead if we don’t win. So is most of Accord. We attack, or we die. That’s your choice. Second, if you think things will get easier for those you leave behind if you do choose surrender…forget it. The Empire won’t take assurances, but blood. Does anyone remember what happened on New Kansaw?”
He scanned the room. Thelina had shaken her head minutely at the New Kansaw reference. Most of the others were looking at the floor.
“So far, by destroying the key system control stations, by planting ideas and rumors, by indirect action, we’ve managed to avoid an obvious and direct response from the Empire. By obtaining diplomatic recognition, we’ve managed to retain some trade and obtain critical technology. Sligo was not known for subtlety, and they took a confrontational stance before they were ready to back it. They were also practically next door to the Fleet headquarters.
“That made it easy for the Service to send a message without over-extending itself. Accord would be different, and don’t think the Empire doesn’t know it. What they’re trying to do is to isolate us through force and fear, and if we play dead and let everyone else do it, we are dead.”
“That’s fine in theory, Mr. Ecolitan Whaler,” noted Marlen, “but we don’t exactly have a fleet to put up against the Empire.”
“We do have a fleet. We have the equivalent of one small fleet, or two without capital ships. That’s more than most independents—not Halston, Tinhorn, New Avalon, of course. But we don’t need more than one fleet. We need applied knowledge, applied psychology, and some applied mayhem and leverage. And some unique weapons. We have all that. All we need to do is apply it.”
“And you think the Empire will stand aside and give us that time?”
“That’s about all they’ll give us. They’re still hoping we’ll capitulate. If they made another move right now, with both Halston and the Fuards as jumpy as they are…it’s too great a risk, especially as far out as we are. Their fleets could be blocked near the Rift.”
“So…they will be spending the next few tendays getting ready to move against us…and you’re proposing we do the same?” asked Sergel.
“We don’t have a choice. We have some time. They won’t expect an immediate reaction to Sligo, and they’ll give us time to think about it. And we should make noises about thinking about it.”
“But what can we do, really do?” asked Kerin Sommerlee.
“Spread the faith…spread the ecological faith to new converts…while working like hades to stop the one fleet they might think about throwing at us.”
“The one fleet?” prompted Meryl.
“No one will admit it publicly, but they can’t back down without some sort of armed confrontation. Otherwise everyone will be trying to rebel. Whatever the cost, we have to destroy that one fleet totally. If we do, then the Fuards will try to gobble up something like the three-system bulge, and the Halstanis will pressure the independents into changing their high-tech and info trade patterns.” Jimjoy shrugged. “At that point, as far out on the Arm as we are, Accord suddenly becomes either ignored or a potential ally.”
“Ally? You’ve got to be crazy.”
“I said potential. We still have more in common with the Empire than the Fuards do, and the Empire needs a peaceful border with us to address them.”
Thelina nodded with a faint smile.
Tap, tap…
Meryl applied a wooden gavel, bringing the mutters around the room to low whispers or outright silence. “We still need to agree on exactly what to tell the new delegates and Council members.”
Thelina stood up. “If Professor Whaler is correct, and so far at least his analyses have been more accurate than those of, say, the philosophy department, then we have very little to say. We provide them with the outline just employed by Professor Whaler. If we can beat back the Empire, we gain great credit. If we don’t, no one will be alive to care about it.”
The silence became absolute.
“Any questions?” asked Meryl softly. “Then the suggestion as proposed is adopted as Institute policy, and the meeting is closed.”
Jimjoy almost smiled as he caught the brief eye exchange between Thelina and Meryl, but he kept his face impassive.
“…can’t believe it…” muttered Marlen as she and Sergel left.
“…impressive…” murmured another voice Jimjoy could not identify.
Meryl motioned to Jimjoy.
He made his way slowly to where she stood by the Prime’s desk. “Yes?”
“You’re clearly elected to brief them. I’ve already scheduled it for tomorrow morning. Do you have any problem with that?”
“Same place as before?”
“Yes. The main Council chamber.”
He shrugged. “Why me?”
“Who else will they believe? You told them there would be free elections, and there were. You can tell them about sweat, toil, and tears—or whatever you chose to call the coming disaster…”
“Tomorrow’s fine. Then I’ll have to get back to Thalos, unfortunately.”
“Why so soon?” Meryl looked at Thelina, who had turned from a brief discussion with Althelm and was headed toward them.
“Because we need to stage a preemptive strike within the next two tendays. That’s as soon as Arlyn will have the first load ready.”
Meryl frowned. “Isn’t that pushing it?”
“We have to strike and announce it first. Preferably to the whole Galaxy. Has to be done before they launch a fleet. Then, when we destroy their retaliatory strike, we’re even. Otherwise they have to retaliate again.”
Meryl and Thelina both nodded. Then Thelina frowned.
“We’ll discuss this later,” Jimjoy added hastily. There was no way he wanted to discuss who was going to pilot the missions to either Alphane or Old Earth. Besides, he wanted Thelina to read the card he had left her, and to talk to her personally.
Thelina and Meryl both raised their eyebrows as they looked at him.
He shrugged. “After I deal with the Council.”
“We will discuss it,” said Thelina softly, but her voice was firm.
“I know. I know.”
LXV
JIMJOY ADDED TWO split logs to the fire, noting that his supply of split wood was getting down to near zero.
“What happens when you’re never here…”
Outside, the freezing drizzle of the morning and afternoon had changed into a freezing mist that drifted down in the twilight almost like snow, swirled occasionally by the gusty winds out of the north.
Should he have been more direct? Asked Thelina to have dinner directly?
He glanced at the kitchen. If he had to eat alone, it would be rich and fattening. His eyes went to his wrist. 1643. Still early, especially if she had work to do after the interruptions that were bound to have followed the noontime meeting that had led to his assignment to brief the Council.
He pulled at his chin. How unlike the Empire. A briefing would have required a staff and days of preparation. Instead, here he was, one former agent, part-time professor, and full-time troublemaker, off to tell the unpleasant truth.
The Imperial conditioning persisted. Upstairs was the third draft of his remarks, briefing, whatever it would be. A good chunk of the afternoon had been devoted to that—except for the time at the commissary to pick up the ingredients for dinner.
1645. Still no Thelina.
“Do you just expect her to read your card and show up? You’re nuts, Whaler,” he told himself as he closed the woodstove.
WWWWhhhhhhhuuuuuuuu…The wind outside picked up, threshing t
he icy crystals on the deck.
Moistening his lips, he walked back to the kitchen and checked the ingredients—standard chicken, lightlons, the herb pack. In the cold box were the chilled and lightly brandied fruits. The skillet was laid out.
“And so is your common sense….”
1648. He glanced out the small garden window, then walked to the narrow slit window by the front door, peering through the glass into the darkening ice crystals and snow swirls.
Nothing. Not a soul outside.
With a sigh, he walked to the closet and pulled out his parka. He had hoped…but if the mountain refused to budge, he wasn’t going to stand on pride.
He eased into the heavy coat, yanked on a pair of thin black gloves, and checked the time again. 1650. No Thelina.
According to her schedule, her last meeting had been at 1500. He rubbed his forehead and stepped to the door, easing it open.
A gust of wind nearly tore it from his fingers, and he clutched it, using his other hand to grab the lever and close it behind him.
Thud.
He started down the steps. Should he try the office—or home?
As he reached the bottom step, he glanced in the direction of the main Institute complex. No one in that direction. Then he looked toward the other quarters complex and began walking. Even if Thelina intended to see him, the odds were that she would go home and talk it over with Meryl, unless she were really angry. In that case—He winced and kept walking.
Although the temperature was not much below freezing, the wind and the dampness of the tiny crystals and flakes chilled as they whipped by his uncovered ear.
Jimjoy followed the path around the corner and stopped. Ahead was a woman headed his way. Then he resumed walking. Who ever she was, she was too small for Thelina, or even Meryl.
“Chilly afternoon, Professor, isn’t it?”
“Oh…yes. In more ways than one, Cerla.” He managed to remember the woman’s name, the one who had helped Carill. “Take care.”
“You, too.”
Was he crazy to think anything could change?
Thud. A muffled door slam echoed down the hillside as he turned his steps up the rough stone path toward Thelina’s.
He loved her, and he thought she loved him. But was love enough? Or was there too much in his past for her to accept? He took another deep breath, blowing steam into the darkness. Another figure appeared on the path leading toward him.
A glint of silver…he found his steps quickening…then he was running, and damning himself for caring with every step.
For a long moment, he could see her standing there…stock-still.
His footsteps faltered…and he slowed.
Then, suddenly, she began to hurry toward him.
“Ooooofffff…”
She almost rebounded as his arms encircled her, and his left foot started to slide on the instantly treacherous grass beside the path.
Stumbling, he managed to plant both feet, holding on to Thelina as if he never wanted to let go.
“…do want to keep my ribs…” she mumbled into his coat.
Jimjoy slowly eased his hold.
“Came to find you…worried…” His words were uneven, hesitant.
She drew back slightly, studying his face. “Why?”
He forced a grin. “Ask you to dinner.”
“Serious?” She smiled briefly. “After the way I pushed you off?”
“Deserved it, especially after thinking about it. Why I…” He paused. Had she even gotten his note? “Did you ever get back to your office?”
“My office?”
Was she hiding a smile?
He nodded slowly. Had she read it? Was it too sentimental? Unrealistic? His stomach turned to ice, colder than the snow falling around them.
“I read your poem…”
“Not poetry,” he protested. “Just how I feel…”
“Jimjoy…writing that took more courage than storming Haversol.”
“It was hard.”
“But you did it.” Her gloved hand touched his cheek. “Did you mean it about dinner?”
He swallowed and nodded.
“Good. We need to talk—about us, not revolutions and institutes—and I could use a good meal.” She eased out of his hug, somehow keeping his right hand in hers as they walked back toward his quarters.
The snow had shifted into a heavier fall. The footsteps he had left in the dusting that had already fallen were covered now.
“Any fallout from the meeting?” he asked, not wanting to deal with anything heavier yet.
“No. Everyone’s relieved that you’ll be the one facing the Council.”
He squeezed her hand. She returned the pressure.
“Sort of unreal, like a white fantasy,” he offered as they reached the steps to his front deck.
“If I weren’t so cold, I’d stay out here and watch it with you.”
Jimjoy took the hint and started up the stairs. “There is a fire going.”
“Good.”
The warmth billowed out the door as he opened it.
“You weren’t exaggerating.”
He closed the door, made sure the latch caught, and turned to help her out of her parka—except she had it off and was hanging it up.
“Sorry—just habit.”
He shook his head. No matter what, Thelina would be independent.
“What were you thinking?”
“That I’m still not used to you being extraordinarily able, independent, and feminine.”
She smoothed her hair unconsciously and stepped toward the stove. “Feels good.”
“Would you like liftea, cafe?”
“Liftea, please.”
He put on the kettle, wondering whether she would follow him or sit before the stove to get warm.
She stood at the end of the kitchen island, her back to the woodstove. “Why did you write me?”
“Because I love you. Because saying that isn’t enough. Because…words don’t come easily.”
“You spoke well today. You were outstanding when you dissolved the old Council.”
He set out the teapot and two large cups. “That’s different. You know it’s different. No sugar, right?”
“No sugar.” Thelina flexed her shoulders.
He waited for the kettle to boil, not clear what else he could say.
“Did you mean what you wrote?”
He nodded, then answered, “Yes. Hard to write it down.”
“Because you don’t trust women?”
“Partly. Partly because I don’t trust me.”
“You don’t want to love me?”
“Sometimes I think about that. Then I think about how empty every thing seems. Sometimes I feel like I’m just going through the motions. You…you always seem so alive.”
The kettle began to bubble. He lifted it and poured the boiling water into the teapot. Then he replaced the kettle and turned off the burner.
Clink. The heavy earthenware lid clattered as he placed it on the teapot.
“Jimjoy?”
He looked up from the cups and the teapot.
“Do we have to circle around everything?”
He looked back at the teapot.
“Do we?”
He took a deep breath. “When you want to talk about things, I always feel like you’re ready to cut me down. Like there’s something else I didn’t understand, or something else I did wrong.” He swallowed. “When we make love, I know you care, and I know you aren’t ready to cut me apart.”
He looked down at the counter, then lifted the teapot and began to pour into first one cup, then the other.
“Don’t you see?” Thelina stepped around the island and stood almost behind him. “I need to talk to you. I need you to be able to hear my complaints, my fears, to make me feel special. When you want to love me without that, I feel used. I know that’s not what you mean…now. But that’s what it could become.”
Jimjoy turned to face her, one cup in hand.
He wanted to hold her, but that wasn’t what she had in mind. “Let’s sit down where you can get warm.”
She took the cup, and he reached for his, following her to the other end of the room. He took one end of the couch, which, although upholstered, was neither soft nor cushiony. Nothing created by Accordans was soft or cushiony.
Thelina sat at the other end, leaving half a meter between them.
He shifted his weight, holding the cup in his left hand, to face her. She looked toward him, but crossed her left leg over her right, her body facing the stove. “You feel…used?” he asked.
“Not always. Sometimes I feel like all you want is a body. I feel what I want and feel doesn’t count, and that everything will be all right so long as we make love. And it won’t be.”
Jimjoy swallowed. “That’s not…Maybe in a way, though, it is how I feel…because words—women’s words—have hurt so much.”
She transferred the teacup from her left hand to her right. The fingers of her left hand squeezed his free hand gently, warmly, but only momentarily. “We can work this out.”
“How?” He sipped from the cup, not looking at her. “If every time I want you without hours of conversation you feel used…?”
“It’s not every time. It’s the pattern.” She uncrossed her legs and set the cup on the low table. “That’s why your note was so important. For you especially. Why your coming to find me was important. I knew you wanted me to come to you. I just couldn’t.”
“Uncouugh…” Jimjoy almost choked on the tea. “Uuuchhhhuffff…” He cleared his throat before setting his own cup down and turning to face her. “Wait a moment. I heard your door open and saw you coming toward me.”
Thelina smiled, almost sadly. “I couldn’t wait any longer. Wrong or not, I was going to come to you.”
He wanted to reach for her. Instead, he said, “I thought you should come, but I couldn’t wait either. I kept looking at the time, and looking outside, and looking at the time.”
Empire & Ecolitan Page 60
