Island Worlds (27 page)

"I'd never doubt it," Thor said.

"Now for the bad part. The interstellar ramjet was an interesting idea when Bussard first proposed it. That was in 1960, in
Astronautica Acta
. That was also before ultraviolet astronomy came of age in the 1970s. By the 1980s it was established, at least among those specialists working on the problems of the local interstellar medium, that the solar system was imbedded near the edge of a partially ionized gas cloud, which was some twenty light years across and whose mean density was about one atom for every ten cubic centimeters. That's a much harder vacuum than anything duplicated in a laboratory, if you're a little sketchy on this stuff. Outside this cloud, the gas temperature was higher and the density lower by more than one order of magnitude, extending for over a hundred light years. Am I beginning to sound like old Ciano?"

"Actually," Thor said uncomfortably, "he was pretty entertaining when he explained things. Alarming, but fun to watch. You've been perfectly lucid so far, but where's the problem?

She began to gesture with long-fingered, elegant hands.

"The upshot of all this, as far as the ramjet is concerned, is that under these conditions, even if you had a magnetic scoop with an effective collecting area of 100 kilometers by 100 kilometers and traveling at a velocity of a third of the speed of light," she paused for a few seconds to perform the arithmetic somewhere in the back of her mind, "then you collect scarcely a gram per second, which is way too little for the ramjet. That's quite aside from the practical problems of getting your asteroid to that velocity in the first place."

"Hold it," Thor said. "What about the anti-matter drive itself? What about using it all the way to the destination?"

She shook her head. "As with the ramjet, so with anti-matter. People get enthusiastic about a new sort of energy and they want it to solve all their problems. They want it so bad that they ignore the hard physics of the problem. Look, I'll try to keep it simple." She held out a hand against Thor's automatic protest. "I'm not being patronizing, but the calculations are pretty complicated. I'll just sketch in the basic factors of the problem."

She held up a finger. "First, we create anti-matter from energy. The only sources of energy we now have that are suitable for such a purpose are solar power and nuclear fusion. Even if we assume an unrealistic one hundred percent conversion efficiency for the solar power cell with a light collecting area of ten thousand square kilometers, the energy available at the average distance of the asteroids from the sun is equivalent to some half a ton of anti-matter per year. In reality, you will get a lot less. The energy production rate of a usual nuclear fusion plant is at about the same level."

She held up a second finger. "The energy available from a ton of anti-matter could get a
space
ship, massing a few hundred tons, to a velocity of some one-tenth of the speed of light, if we had a one-hundred-percent efficient photon-drive available to us, which we don't. In practice, we'd be lucky to get that hundred-ton space ship to one
hundredth
the speed of light, what with the usual heat loss omnipresent in any engineering. What's more, the mass of a typical asteroid world is not a few hundred tons but is in the range of billions of tons. Even the small ones are millions of tons."

This was not Thor's field, but he was no ignoramus. Her analysis carried conviction. "I think I need a drink," he said, shakily. She drifted to a wall dispenser and drew a beer for him and a Steinhäger and limejuice concoction for herself. They sipped in silence for a while.

"Now that you're a little fortified," she said, "are you ready for the ballistics report?"

"You've ruined my day," he said. "Possibly my life. I might as well hear the worst."

"Even these low speeds involve considerable risk, if the ship is to carry humans. At a velocity of one-hundredth the speed of light, an interstellar grain a few tens of microns across would have an impact greater than that of a bullet from a high-powered rifle. And we can expect
much
bigger particles out there. With the available astrophysical data, we can't estimate the frequency of such impacts, but once is too many. We'd have to devise a new way to protect the ship. The presently practicable protective measures against particle impacts for interplanetary travel, which is at the velocity of less than one-thousandth the speed of light, would be inadequate at relativistic velocities."

"But we're talking about moving whole asteroids!" Thor protested. "We can leave meters of rock on the leading surface. Hundreds of meters, if necessary."

Again she shook her head. "Sorry. It's the same problem you have with any kind of armor; more mass, more energy required to accelerate it. If that wasn't a factor, you could just put a big uninhabited hunk of solid rock out in front of the occupied asteroid-ship to absorb the particles and forget about collisions. As it is, you're going to have to hollow out your asteroid completely just to get it to any kind of acceleration at all."

If he had had any gravity to assist the gesture, Thor would have slumped and buried his face in his hands.

As it was, he could only look stricken. "For all this time, since the war started, it's been my only real hope. I thought Ugo had given us a way to emigrate to new solar systems. There's just no need for us to be penned up here in this little solar system, snarling and chewing on one another, when there's so damn many places to go! Hundreds of billions of stars in this galaxy alone. Lots of those, maybe even the majority, probably have planets. And the outerworlders by definition are the kind of people who aren't too timid to pull up stakes and jump into the unknown. Hell, they'd leap at the chance. And now you're telling me that not only can we not win, we can't even get away?" For the first time since the news of Bob Ciano's death, he felt tears gathering around his eyelids.

Linde held out her plastic bulb and stuck the straw into his mouth. "Try some of this. It'll make you feel better."

Automatically, he sucked in some of the odd concoction. "God, that tastes awful."

"It grows on you. I know you want to head out. It's what I want, too. There may still be a way."

He was taking another sip of her drink and choked on it. "What! You've been puncturing all my hopes and you had the answer all the time?" He had gone in an instant from despair to utter fury.

"Take it easy! Maybe I have, but it's going to take time. First, I had to show you that the course you and the Aeaeans had been pursuing was a dead end. Or at least a very slow end. But there's another way and it's what Ciano was really working on while he was perfecting his Ciano Field for his anti-matter experiments.

"I've only read what's been published about Ciano's work on the indeterminate n-dimensional field. Even with that limited information, I can see how Ciano might have gone about developing the applied theories of the Ciano field, but even I might need a few years to figure out its practical aspects on my own. Have you kept a copy of the unpublished notes that you gave to the Aeaens?"

"I have the original. I gave them the copies. I also have access to Ugo's old lab."

"Wonderful!" She went into an animated spin. "I won't promise anything just yet, but with those notes and that lab, I might be able to figure out how to get around the luminal limitations on communication in the four-dimensional world. With that, maybe even the limits on transportation."

He grabbed her hand to stop her spinning and held onto it because he wanted to. "You lost me. Reduce that to English."

"If I had Ciano's lab notes, given time, I might be able to figure out a way to get around the speed of light limitation in sending a message from one point in four-dimensional space to another. I might, just might, be able to invent a way, eventually, to transport matter from one point to another without going through normal four-dimensional space, which is governed by the speed of light restriction. I can't promise you anything now. It could take years of hard work, even for me. You're going to have to buy us time at those peace talks, Thor. Buy us all the time you can."

Thor tried to say something but managed only a strangled sound. Never in his life had he been subjected to such extremes of elation and despair in so brief a time. He had entered this room thinking that, soon, he could lead humanity on the first interstellar voyage, equipped with a technology that would allow humans to visit several solar systems within a single lifetime. Then he had been told that the technology in which he had placed such faith would require many generations for even the shortest possible interstellar voyage. Now, if he understood her correctly, she might have a way to cross space instantaneously, so maybe there was no limit to the possibilities of human interstellar exploration.

He found that he was still holding her hand. He pulled her to him and kissed her. When he broke the clinch, he said, "Linde, you can't go on this mission. It's too risky and now we can't take the chance of losing you."

"Do that again," she demanded. He did.

This time, she broke the clinch. "Now you can go to hell. I'm going. I'm the only one who can pull the communications deception and it's essential to the operation. Anyway, there isn't that much risk. I've always been able to get out of anything in one piece. You just don't want to have to worry about me. Well, forget it. I'll take care of myself. You worry about your end of it." She took another swig of her Steinhäger and limejuice. "Now, let's try that again. This time, try not to breathe through your nose so much."

Thor could tell that she was going to be difficult.

FIFTEEN

It always annoyed Colonel Hughes when the Party "advisers" came calling. He wished they would drop the pretense and call themselves commissars or thought police or something else that really described their function. They were the Party's loyalty watchdogs and they didn't advise anybody. They gave orders and they reported on everyone, including, it was rumored, each other.

The two that had been wished on him and who now sat in chairs before his desk were typical of the breed. Their faces were anonymous and unmemorable, in keeping with the Party's insistence on the utter equality of all mankind. Earth-dwelling mankind, anyway. Their tan coveralls were drab and they wore no insignia of rank, only their gold-on-black armbands with the ©1 sigil.

"The Shaw interrogation hasn't been making satisfactory progress," said the one on the right. "We've given your team instructions to raise the question-intensity quotient one level.

"Such an order requires my authority," Hughes protested, knowing already that it was futile. There was no more authority anymore except Party authority. Although that might not be for long, judging by the latest messages from Earth.

"We had no doubt that you would authorize the intensification," said the one on the left with casual contempt. "We saw no need to bother you with the details."

"The Party wants Shaw alive," he reminded them. "I cannot guarantee his future viability if his interrogation intensity is raised beyond level five." The numbered level system was an obfuscation he used readily. Like most civilized men, he did not like to use the word "torture."

"We shall be responsible for getting him back to the real world alive, Colonel," said one of them, he was not sure which. They and all the others were so much alike he suspected they were stamped out by a cookie-cutter somewhere on Earth. "The Party," one of them continued, "is growing impatient for answers from Shaw."

"From what we hear lately," said Hughes with relish, "the Party may have more serious matters to worry about."

The two bristled and sat up straighter. "Are you speaking disloyalty, Colonel?" said the one on the left.

"Is it disloyal to take seriously the latest broadcasts from Earth?" Hughes said, ingenuously. "After all, the Party controls all such media communication. Or is supposed to, at any rate. Now that I think of it," he glanced at his wall chrono, "it's about time for the latest update. Shall we watch?"

Without waiting for an answer, he switched on the holo. The wall dissolved into a huge great seal of the U.N. There were a few bars of the world anthem, then the familiar face of Patrick O'Halloran, "the most trusted man on Earth," at least according to his network. The signs of stress in the famous holo-journalist's voice and face could not be covered by the best efforts of the holographic enhancers.

"Greetings, people of Earth, loyal citizens in the outerworlds, and all those serving in the space forces." He rushed through the ritual introduction without his customary serenity and launched immediately into his lead story. "The whereabouts of Secretary General Jameson remain a mystery at this hour, and government information sources deny that his unavailability has anything to do with the mysterious explosion earlier this week at the general convocation of the Earth First Party in Nairobi. There are unconfirmed reports that the Honorable Anthony Carstairs, seldom-seen chairman of the Earth First Party, was killed in the bombing."

Hughes saw the two advisers stiffen at that news. If the report confirmed what he suspected, these two were in for a surprise.

"Grand Marshal Gulmen, U.N. Chief of Staff," O'Halloran went on, "has assumed temporary leadership until the situation is resolved, but General Gabriel Edwards, Chief of the North American Department, announced this morning that North American forces will not acknowledge the leadership of a military government directed from Berne. Apparently, the U.N. charter does not clearly define—"

"Treason!" gasped one of the advisers.

"It will take a trial or two to prove that," Hughes said. He turned to the two and smiled slightly. "And I need hardly remind you that this station is administered by the North American Department. A good many things require clarification, gentlemen."

"Whatever the situation at the U.N.," blustered the one on the right, "Earth First is still the majority North American party." The tone was good but the stuffing was beginning to run out of him.

Hughes' comm unit buzzed. "Sir, the Earth Frigate has docked and the authorized party is now entering the facility."

"Inform them that I'll be with them in a few minutes," he said. Then, to the advisers: "It looks as if your interrogation is over, gentlemen. The ship is here to take Shaw back to Earth. Too bad you won't have a full confession to brighten your dossiers but, never fear. It looks as if Party leadership is in a bit of a shakeup stage just now."

"Under the circumstances," said one, sweat in his voice, "might it not be better to, ah, dispose of the terrorist right now?"

"You mean," Hughes said, "just in case the new leadership goes all humanitarian on us and decides to dispose of the foul torturers employed by the former regime?"

"That is treasonous talk, Colonel!" protested one.

"Can it, mister," said Hughes, out of all patience. "From here on in, you're going to cover your own ass and I'm going to cover mine. My orders are to put Shaw on that ship and they'll have plenty of time to pretty him up on the trip back. Good day to you, gentlemen. If you wish, you may join me when I surrender Shaw to the frigate commander. If I were you, I'd talk that commander into a couple of berths back to Earth." The two left without so much as a sneer.

His comm buzzed again. "Colonel, two officers of the supply ship ask to see you. They say it's a matter of security."

Security? Hughes thought. What had the supply ship people to do with security? Well, in these unsettled times it made sense to cover all bases. "Send them in."

The first to come in was the supply ship's skipper, a scar-faced redhead who looked villainous enough to be one of Shaw's people. The records made it clear that he was reliable, though, and had made seven previous supply runs to Elba. With him was his communications officer, a striking little shorthaired blonde. She had a vacuous, stupid expression but was likewise vouched for by the records. A previous commandant had appended a personal note that her expertise at zero-gee sex was little short of miraculous. Hughes had been too busy to try her out himself, and maybe he'd have a little more leisure when Shaw was off his hands.

"What is it?" he asked. "I have to meet some people in a few minutes."

"Won't take up much of your time, chief," said the redhead. "I'm Matt Schuyler, skipper of the
Tarkovskygrad
. This is my comm officer, Melinda Graves."

"I know who you are," he said impatiently. "What's so important that you have to talk to me?"

"Well," the redhead said, "everybody's been nervous, what with the situation back on the dear old motherworld goin' to hell in a handbasket, as my dear old mother used to say. My people are gettin' spooked, and so are yours."

"Please get to the point," Hughes said, tightly.

"Well, sir, some of your people are gettin' so spooked they've asked to stow on my ship when we leave here."

A cold chill touched Hughes's spine. Desertion! Maybe mutiny as well. But where could they desert to? No matter. People didn't behave rationally when they began to panic.

"Give me their names," he said, quietly. "I'll have them put under arrest at once."

The blonde spoke up for the first time. "I was, ah, you might say entertaining Captain Murieta in my quarters last watch," she said. Murieta was the chief of his security force. "He asked if he could stow in my locker when we left. Swore he'd rig the security check so he wouldn't be discovered. Said some of his men wanted to come along."

For a moment he was unable to think. Then his orderly mind got back into gear and began sorting possibilities. He didn't dare have Murieta arrested, until he knew who the disloyal security personnel were. He had to think fast. Then the solution appeared.

"Thank you," he said to the two officers. "Your loyalty will be amply rewarded. For now, return to your quarters and say nothing to anybody. In a few hours, I'll be needing a full report, with the names of all who approached you for passage off Elba."

"Just doin' our bit for the motherworld, Colonel," said the skipper.

And probably hoping I'd reward you with more cash than they offered, Hughes thought. When they were gone, he keyed the security HQ. The broad face of Captain Proski appeared. "Yes, sir?"

"Captain, I've just received an urgent bulletin from the Chief of Ordnance. Sabotage has been detected at the government arsenal at Herschel, on Mars. For several months, faulty power packs for small arms have been going out from there, some of them rigged to explode after a random number of charges have been fired. That's the arsenal our last lot of power packs came from." Actually, he had no idea where their power packs were from. For that matter, he wasn't sure whether the Martian arsenal was at Herschel or somewhere else. He was with the Provost Marshal's office, not Ordnance. "Turn all weapons in to the armorer for examination and replacement of power packs. That's to include officer's sidearms, Proski. See to it immediately."

"Yes, sir!" said Proski. He drew his own pistol and slid out its power pack. "Sabotage, by God!" he said, indignantly.

Hughes switched channels. "Has the commander of the frigate left his ship yet?" he asked his comm officer.

There was a pause. "No, sir, he's still on the bridge."

"Put me through to him, under confidential seal."

"Yes, sir." The bridge of the frigate materialized on the holographic wall. A man of about thirty, blond and with a scarred face, appeared. He looked familiar, somehow. Probably some young hero, lionized in the holos for a few days before a new hero came along.

"U.N.S.S.
Fearless
here," said the blond man. "I am Captain Jefferson. Is there any problem, Colonel?"

"Captain, I realize that this is irregular, but an emergency has come up here. Have you a full complement of Marines aboard?"

"Yes, sir. Two companies, all veterans."

"When you come into Elba to pick up the prisoner, please bring a platoon, fully armed. I have a serious disloyalty problem here, and I'm having all my security personnel disarmed. I'll have to arrest some people and I need trustworthy people to back me up."

"You can count on us, Colonel," said Jefferson. "There've been incidents like this in a lot of the garrisons. Never a mutiny in the regular Navy, though, or in the Marines."

"Thank you, Captain," Hughes said. "I knew I could rely on you. Out." Pompous ass, he thought as he switched off. He poured himself a brandy and sipped it as he waited for a few minutes. He wasn't worried. In fact, he felt satisfied with the resourceful way he had dealt with the situation. Maybe he'd talk to Jefferson about a transfer into the space Navy. A less political position looked desirable just now, With a few well-placed bribes, he might be able to get his tenure in command of Elba expunged from his records.

He finished the brandy and keyed the armory. "Are all the small arms turned in yet?"

"All in," the armorer said.

"Is Captain Murieta's pistol among the weapons?"

"Well, yessir. Captain Proski brought it in with the others. I'll start checking 'em right away, but I'm not really sure what to look for. It can be dangerous, prying open power packs, even if they ain't sabotaged. Don't have the right equipment for it."

"Don't bother, just keep the arms locked up. I'll tell you when to reissue them shortly."

"Reissue? Well, yes, sir."

That was odd, Hughes thought as he walked toward the entrance hall serving the dock. He would have expected Murieta to try to hold back his personal side-arm. But then, he reflected, a man contemplating desertion would be very careful to avoid the slightest appearance of disloyalty.

He arrived at the hall just as the frigate's people were filing through. Jefferson came in, followed by a knot of his people and a tough-looking unit of armed Marines. Jefferson saluted smartly. Behind him was a stunning, dark-haired woman, built like a—my God! Hughes thought, can those be real? An equally beautiful but less well-endowed woman with slightly Asiatic features stepped forward. She wore medical corps insignia.

"Colonel," said the medical officer, "is the prisoner going to require special medical consideration?"

"Rather extensively, I'm afraid," Hughes told her. "We've, that is to say, the Party advisers have been conducting an over-rigorous interrogation, if you ask me." He felt a bristling tension at the words, and it struck him that these might all be staunch Party members. Young officers often were. "Not that the terrorist bastard doesn't deserve it," he added, to cover his gaffe.

Attendants wheeled out the gurney with its terribly disfigured burden. Hughes heard several sharp gasps from the frigate's personnel. Used to long-distance mayhem, he thought. Do 'em some good to see what it looks like close up.

"Oh, my God!" said one of the women, he couldn't tell which. "Martin!" What's this?

Behind the gurney came the two Party advisers. One of them stared at Jefferson with an expression of growing disbelief.

"That's right," Jefferson said. "I look a little different in the Party-doctored holos, don't I?"

"Jesus!" one cried in a strangled voice. "It's Thor Taggart!" Hughes couldn't tell how many of the frigate's people shot the Party advisers, but they all seemed to draw and fire at once.

Hughes broke and ran. To his great surprise, he made it to the external corridor and managed to hit the emergency close control just as a few projectiles lanced through. If he moved fast enough, he might make the evacuation dock. Then, in front of him, he saw the red-haired skipper of the supply ship. There was an expression of indescribable rage on the man's face, and—was that a
flamethrower
he was holding? The last thing Hughes saw was the fireball that engulfed him.