The Complete LaNague

by F. Paul Wilson

  They all must have thought he was crazy by the looks on their faces. But Daro Haworth had expected that. He waited for the first question, knowing ahead of time what it would be and knowing that either Cumberland or Bede would ask it.

  It was Cumberland. “Are you crazy? How's that going to get us out of this?”

  “Through trade,” Haworth replied. “By opening new markets to us out there. The latest calculations show that there's another interstellar race in the Perseus arm, outward from here. It lives a damnable number of light years away, but if we try, we can reach it. And then we'll have billions of new customers!”

  “Customers for what?” Metep said. “The only thing we've got to trade in any quantity is grain. What if they don't eat grain? Or even if they do – and that's unlikely, I'm sure – what makes you think they'll want to buy ours?”

  “Well, we've got plenty of grain at the moment,” Cumberland said. “Let me tell you–”

  “Forget about grain!” Haworth shouted, his face livid. “Who am I talking to – the most powerful men in the out-worlds or a group of children? Where is your vision? Think of it – an entire interstellar race. There has to be a million things we can exchange – from art to hardware, from Leason crystals to chispen filets! And if we don't have it, we can ship it out from Earth. We could arrange trade agreements and be sole agents for whatever alien technology is found to have industrial uses. We could corner any number of markets. The out-worlds could enter a golden age of prosperity! And” – he smiled here – “I don't think I have to remind you gentlemen what that could mean to each of us in the areas of political clout and personal finances, do I?”

  The undertone began again as each man muttered cautiously at first to his neighbor, then with growing enthusiasm. Only Krager had a sour note to sing.

  “How are we going to pay for all this? To build and equip a fleet of probe ships will take an enormous sum of money. Billions and billions of marks. Where are we supposed to get them?”

  “The same place we get all the other billions of marks we spend but don't have – the duplicators.”

  Krager began to sputter. “But that will send inflation into warp. It'll go totally out of control! The mark is already weakened beyond repair. Why it's still holding up in the Interstellar Currency Exchange, I can't fathom. Maybe the speculators haven't figured out how bad off we are yet. But this probe ship idea will completely ruin us!”

  “That's why we've got to act now,” Haworth said. “While the mark still has some credibility on the Exchange. If we wait too long, we'll never be able to get enough credit to purchase the drive tubes and warp units necessary for the probe fleet. The mark has been holding up better than any of us ever expected. That indicates to me that the people active in the Interstellar Currency Exchange have faith in us and think we can pull ourselves out of this.”

  “Then they're dumber than I thought they were,” Krager muttered.

  “Not funny,” Haworth said. “And not fair. You forget that Project Perseus will also create jobs and temporarily stabilize the tax base in the interim.” He walked back to his place at Metep's side. “Look: it's a gamble. I told you that before I broached the subject. It's probably the biggest gamble in human history. The future of the entire Imperium and all our political careers is riding on it. If I thought there was another way out, believe me, I'd try it. Personally, I don't give a damn about getting in touch with the aliens in the Perseus arm. But right now, it's our only hope. If we succeed, then all the extra inflation caused by Project Perseus will be worth while and eventually compensated by the new avenues of trade we'll establish.”

  “Suppose we fail?” Metep said. “Suppose there's something out there that gobbles up probe ships. Suppose they find nothing but the ruins of a dead civilization.”

  Daro Haworth shrugged with elaborate nonchalance. “If we fail, every out-worlder will spit when he hears our names five years from now. And in perhaps a dozen years, Earth will reinstate her claim to the out-worlds.”

  “And if we do nothing?” Metep asked, afraid of the answer.

  “The same, only the spitting stage won't be reached for perhaps ten years, and the return of Earthie control won't occur for twenty. Face it, gentlemen: this is our only chance. It may not work, but I see no other alternative. We're all to blame; we've all–”

  “I won't take the blame for this mess!” Krager shouted. “I've warned you all along, all of you, that someday–”

  “And you went right along, too, old man.” Haworth's lips twisted into a sneer. “You okayed all the increases in the money supply. You made noises, but you went along. If your objections had had any real conviction behind them, you would have resigned years ago. You flew with us, and if we go down, you'll crash with us.” He turned to the others. “Shall we vote, gentlemen?”

  IT WAS THE FIRST TIME LaNague could remember being happy to see Broohnin. He and Doc Zack and Radmon Sayers had waited in the warehouse office into the hours toward dawn. The money drop earlier in the evening had gone off as smoothly as the heist that morning. Things were looking up all over, at least as far as his plans for the revolution were concerned. Everything was going according to schedule, and going smoothly. Too smoothly. He kept waiting for a kink to develop somewhere along the line, waiting and hoping that when it appeared he would be able to handle it. The meeting tonight between Metep and his Council of Five could possibly produce a kink, but that was unlikely. There was no way out for the Imperium now. No matter what they did, no matter what they tried, they were unaware of the purpose of Boedekker's activities on Earth. The Imperium was going to crumble, that was for certain. The Boedekker aspect of the plan would enable LaNague to control the exact moment of its fall, its rate of descent, and its force of impact. The Boedekker aspect would ensure an impact of such force that no trace of the cadaver would remain.

  “What's the word from the meeting?” LaNague asked as Broohnin entered the office.

  “Nothing,” Broohnin said, scowling through his beard. “A complete waste of time. You wouldn't believe what they wound up deciding to do after hours in hush-hush conference.”

  “Spend more money, of course,” Zack said.

  Sayers nodded. “Of course. But on what?”

  “Probe ships?” Broohnin looked around at the uncomprehending faces.

  “That's right – probe ships. I told you you wouldn't believe it.”

  “What in the name of the Core for?” Sayers asked.

  “To find aliens. Haworth wants to jump over to the next arm of the galaxy and sell stuff to aliens. He says they're over there and they can save the Imperium.”

  As Zack and Sayers began to laugh, Broohnin joined in. The three of them whooped and roared and pounded the arms of their chairs until they noticed that LaNague was not even smiling. Instead, he was frowning with concern.

  “What's the matter, Peter?” Sayers said, gasping for breath. “Have you ever heard of a more ridiculous idea?”

  LaNague shook his head. “No. Never. But it may ruin everything.”

  “But how could–”

  LaNague turned away from the vidcaster toward Broohnin. “When does construction start?”

  “Immediately, from what I can gather.”

  “Is it going to be a military or civil project?”

  “Civil. They're going to run it through the Grain Export Authority.”

  “And monitoring?”

  Broohnin looked at him questioningly. LaNague's intensity was alarming. “I don't–”

  “Communications! The probes have to have a place to report back to, a nerve center of some sort that'll co-ordinate their movements.”

  “That'll be the GEA comm center, I guess. That's where all the grain pods reported to as they assembled for a run. It's got all the necessary equipment.”

  LaNague was up and pacing the room. “Have you got any contacts in there?” Seeing Broohnin nod, he went on. “How many?”

  “One.”

  “Get more! Slip our
people onto the duty roster in the communications area. We need people on our side in there.”

  “That's not going to be easy. With the grain runs falling off, they've cut the comm staff. Not enough work to go around.”

  “If we have to, we'll bribe our way onto the staff. Beg, plead, threaten… I don't care what you do, but get us enough people in that comm center to keep it covered at all times.”

  “But why?” Sayers asked.

  “Because I want to be the first to know what those probe ships find. And if I don't like what they find, I'm going to see to it that the information takes an awful long time getting to the Council of Five.”

  Doc Zack spoke from his seat. “You don't really think finding aliens to trade with could open up a large enough market to offset what the Imperium's already done to the economy, and what the cost of this probe ship program will do on top of that, do you? Let me say as an authority on economics that there isn't the slightest chance of success.”

  “I realize that,” LaNague said from the middle of the room.

  “Then why the sudden panic? Why tell us that it could ruin everything when you know it can't.”

  “I'm not worried about them trading with whatever aliens are out there. I'm worried about them stumbling into something else – the one thing that might turn everything we've worked for around; the one thing that's always helped the Meteps and the Imperiums of history out of slumps. And you of all people, Doc, should know what I'm talking about.”

  Doc Zack's brow furrowed momentarily, then his eyes widened and his face blanched.

  “Oh, my!”

  PART THREE

  “Above All Else: KYFHO”

  The Year of the Sickle

  XVI

  Do you wish to become invisible? Have no thought of yourself for two years and no one will notice you.

  Old Spanish saying

  “Meat?” Salli cried, her gaze shifting back and forth between the roast on the table and her husband. “How did you get it?”

  Bought it.” Vincen Stafford was smiling. For the first time in two years he was feeling some pride in himself.

  “But how? You just can't get meat any more, except in–”

  He nodded. “Yeah. The black market.”

  “But they don't accept Food Vouchers. And we don't have any money.”

  “Yes, we do. I signed up as a pilot for Project Perseus today.”

  “You mean that probe ship thing? Oh no, Vin! You can't mean it! It's too dangerous!”

  “It's the only thing I know how to do, Salli. And it pays thirty thousand marks a year. They gave me half in advance for signing.”

  “But you'll be out there all alone… nobody's ever been out there before.”

  “That's why I got such a premium for signing. It's nothing to pilot those one-man ships. All the skill's in the navigation. And that's what I do best. It was made for me! I've got to take it.” The light in his face faded slightly. “Please understand. We need the money… but more than that, I need this job.”

  Salli looked up at her husband. She knew he needed the job to feel useful again, to feel he had control over something in his life again, even if it was just a tiny probe ship in the uncharted blackness between the galactic arms. And she knew it would be useless to argue with him. He had signed, he had taken the money, he was going. Make the best of it.

  She rose and kissed him.

  “Let's get this roast cooking.”

  “…AND ONCE AGAIN there's news from Earth about Eric Boedekker, the wealthy asteroid mining magnate. It seems that he has now sold his fabulous skisland estate to a high bidder in one of the most fantastic auctions in memory. As far as anyone can tell, the estate was the last of the Boedekker holdings to be liquidated, and the former owner is now living in seclusion, address unknown.

  “Thus, one of the largest fortunes in human history has been completely liquidated. Whether it sits in an account for future use or has been surreptitiously reinvested remains a tantalizing question. Only Eric Boedekker knows, and no one can find him.

  “And here on the out-worlds, Project Perseus is proceeding on schedule. A crew for the fleet of ships has been picked from the host of heroic applicants – most of whom were underqualified – and all that is necessary now is completion of the tiny probe ships themselves…”

  THE SAME OLD ARGUMENT, over and over again. Broohnin was sick of it. So was everyone else. LaNague still refused to let them know where it was all heading. He was promising them the full story by the end of the year, but Broohnin wanted it now. So did Sayers and Doc Zack. Even the Flinters looked a little uncertain.

  “But what have we done?” Broohnin said. “The Imperium's inflating itself out of business. But Doc says that'll take another ten years. We can't wait that long!”

  “The Imperium will be out of business in two,” LaNague said, calmly, adamantly. “There won't be a trace of it left on Throne or on any other out-world.”

  “Doc says that's impossible.” Broohnin turned to Zack. “Right, Doc?” Zack nodded reluctantly. “And Doc's the expert. I'll take his word over yours.”

  “With all due respect,” LaNague said, “Doc doesn't know certain things that I know, and without that information, he can't make an accurate projection. If he had it, he'd concur with two years or less as a projected time of collapse.”

  “Well, give it to me, then,” Zack said. “This is frustrating as hell to sit around and be in the dark all the time.”

  “At the end of this year, you'll know. I promise you.”

  From the look on Doc Zack's face, that wasn't what he wanted to hear. Broohnin stepped back and surveyed the group, withholding a smile of approval. He saw LaNague's hold on the movement slipping. His rigid rules of conduct, his refusal to let anyone know the exact nature of his plan for revolution, all were causing dissension in the ranks. Which meant that Broohnin had a chance to get back into the front of everything and run this show the way it should be run.

  “We fear Earthie involvement, LaNague.” One of the Flinters had spoken. Broohnin had to squint to see whether it was the male or the female. With the bunned hair and red circles on their foreheads, and their robes and weapons belts, they looked like twins. He noticed the swell of the speaker's chest. It had been Kanya.

  “Yes,” Sayers said. “I'm sure Earth's planning right now when and how to move in and take over.”

  “I'm sure it is,” LaNague said, concentrating his reply on the silent, standing forms of Josef and Kanya. “But Earth will also be projecting a ten-to twelve-year period before the Imperium smothers in its own mark notes. When it crumbles two years from now, they'll be caught off guard. By the time they get organized, their chance will be gone.”

  Doc Zack was speaking through clenched teeth. “But what can you do that will cause it to crumble so quickly?”

  “You'll know at the end of the year.”

  The meeting broke up then, with the frustrated participants leaving separately, at intervals, via different exits. All that had been decided was that the next Robin Hood robbery should be put off for a while until a new device the Flinters had ordered from their homeworld could be smuggled in. The Flinters had made their own arrangements for delivery, which was expected any day. It would give the Merry Men a totally new approach to robbery. Conventional methods were out now, due to the heavy guard that had been placed on anything that even looked like a currency shipment. The imperial Guard had been caught looking the other way due to the long interval between the second and third heists. It appeared they did not intend to be caught again.

  Broohnin watched the two Flinters as they stood by the front exit, waiting for their turn to depart. For all the fear they inspired in him, Broohnin found the Flinters infinitely fascinating. He saw them not as people but as weapons, beautifully honed and crafted, staggeringly efficient. They were killing machines. He wished he could own one. Pulling his courage together, he sauntered over to where they stood.

  “You two have any plans fo
r the evening?” They looked at him but made no reply. “If not, maybe we could get together over a few drinks. I've got some things I'd like to discuss with you both.”

  “It was previously agreed,” Josef said, “that we would not allow ourselves to be seen together outside of the warehouse unless we lived together.”

  “Oh, that was LaNague's idea. You know what an old woman he is. Why not come down to the–”

  “I'm sorry,” Josef said, “but we have other plans for the evening. Sorry.” He touched his belt and activated a holosuit that covered his Flinter garb with the image of a nondescript middle-aged man. Kanya did the same. They turned and left without so much as a “Next time, perhaps.”

  Broohnin watched them stroll down the darkening street. There were no other pedestrians about. At night the streets had become the property of the barbarians of Primus City – the hungry, broke, and desperate, who jumped and stole and ran because there was nothing else left to them, were bad enough; but then there were those who had found themselves beaten down, humbled, and debased by life, who had retreated once too often and now needed proof that they were better than somebody – anybody. They needed to force someone to his or her knees and for just a moment or two see another human being cringe in fear and pain before them. To taste power over another life before they snuffed it out was, in some twisted way, proof that they still had control over their own. Which they didn't.