The Gripping Hand (24 page)

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Authors: Larry Niven,Jerry Pournelle

Tags: #Science Fiction, #Speculative Fiction

BOOK: The Gripping Hand
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"Jerusalem? Kevin, why are we discussing this?"

 

 

"So you won't brood about being insulted."

 

 

"I still don't like it."

 

 

"Of course not. Neither does Bury. You're a guest. If you insist on acting like one, Bury will cooperate. God knows what it would cost him, though."

 

 

"Oh." Ruth pulled a sheet up to her chin and wriggled farther down into the covers holding her to the mattress. "All right. Tell me more. Are you making all this up?"

 

 

Renner smiled. "Nope. I'm told that in Medina there's a famous mosque, called the mosque of the Two Qiblahs—"

 

 

"Qiblah. Direction?"

 

 

"Yeah, aspect. Direction the mosque faces. Mohammed sent letters to the Jewish leaders inviting them to join him. They wouldn't. They said you had to be a son of Jacob to inherit the kingdom and get all the benefits of the prophecies, and Arabs didn't qualify since they were only sons of Abraham."

 

 

"And nobody cared about the daughters."

 

 

"Not a bit. But for a couple of years they faced Jerusalem, not Mecca, to do their prayers. But when the Jews rejected his offer, Mohammed brooded about it. One morning, Mohammed was in the middle of his prayers, facing Jerusalem, and all of a sudden he swung round to face Mecca. Everybody else did, too, of course. And that's why Arabs and Jews fight."

 

 

"I never heard that."

 

 

"True, though." Renner looked thoughtful. "Good thing, too. Can you imagine what would have happened to Europe if the Jews and the Moslems had been on the same side? Anyway that's the story of the Two Qiblahs. Now for the fun part."

 

 

"Fun part?"

 

 

"For the next two weeks we have this ship pretty well to ourselves. The supply ship isn't the only one Bury had meet him here. He's got a hospital ship that would make the Navy's doctors drool kittens. In about three hours, Horace and the Viceroy and Buckman are going to board
Mercy of Allah
, and by the time we get to New Ireland they'll be new men."

 

 

"Wow. Aren't you included?"

 

 

Renner grinned. "What's the matter, don't like the old one?"

 

 

"Well, my opinion's on record, but it doesn't seem hardly fair."

 

 

"But who'd keep you company? Actually, I got rebuilt just before we went to the Purchase. Time enough for touch-ups when we're in orbit and I don't have piloting duties. But we'll be pretty much alone with the staff most of the way into New Ireland."

 

 

"I suppose it's just as well. I'm not sure I want to be around a Kevin Renner with more energy than you've already got."

 

 
* * *

 
NEW CALEDONIA: Star system behind the Coal Sack with F8 primary star cataloged as Murcheson A. The distant binary, Murcheson B, is not part of the New Caledonia system. Murcheson A has six planets in live orbits, with four inner planets, a relatively wide gap containing the debris of an unformed planet, and two outer planets in a Trojan relationship. The four inner planets are named Concho-bar, New Ireland, New Scotland, and Fomor, in their order from the sun, which is known locally as Cal, or Old Cal, or the Sun. The two middle planets are inhabited, both terraformed by First Empire scientists after Jasper Murcheson, who was related to Alexander IV, persuaded the Council that the New Caledonian system would be the proper place to establish an Imperial university. It is now known that Murcheson was primarily interested in having an inhabited planet near the red supergiant known as Murcheson's Eye, and as he was not satisfied with the climate of New Ireland, he demanded the terraforming of New Scotland as well.

 

 
Fomor is a relatively small planet with almost no atmosphere and few interesting features. It does, however, possess several fungi that are biologically related to other fungi found in the Trans-Coal Sack sector.

 

 
The two outer planets occupy the same orbit and are named Dagda and Mider in keeping with the system's Celtic mythological nomenclature. Dagda is a gas giant, and the empire maintains fuel stations on the planet's two moons, Angus and Brigit. Merchant ships are cautioned that Brigit is a Navy base and may not be approached without permission.

 

"Which we won't need to do, thanks to Bury's supply ship," Renner said, wiping the screen. "We're good all the way to New Ireland."

 

 

 
NEW IRELAND: Second planet of the New Caledonia system. New Ireland was terraformed by First Empire scientists under the influence of Jasper Murcheson and was the original site of the Trans-Coal Sack branch of the Imperial University until the campus was moved to New Scotland.

 

 
The inhabitable areas of New Ireland are comparatively small and confined to the temperate-zone areas adjacent to the single major sea. Climate in the inhabitable zone is warm and pleasant. The soil is fertile and there are few insects or other predators. Crop yields are high.

 

New Ireland joined the Secessionists and continued the war long
after both New Ireland and New Scotland had become isolated from
their respective allies. '"

 

 
Little industry has been rebuilt since the destruction sustained during the Secession Wars. This was originally due to opposition from New Scotland, but is now apparently the choice of the New Irish Parliament. Consequently New Ireland remains a backwater with tourism as the major source of hard currency.

 

 
New Ireland, and particularly the region known as Derry, is fiercely sought by Imperial Navy crews as a place for shore leave.

 

Sinbad
's B lounge was an add-on pod the shape of a lima bean. Ruth Cohen had set the wall transparent. Andrew Mercer found her reading at a viewscreen, with stars blazing around her and the Coal Sack behind her. The blackness in the other direction was New Ireland's night side.

 

 

He'd been watching the Coal Sack on and off ever since
Sinbad
arrived in New Cal system. He preferred not to let himself know that the view made him uneasy. The vast black blot stretched across thirty degrees of sky, in the shape of a hooded man with one glowing red eye. Murcheson's Eye, the red supergiant, had a yellow fleck in it: the Mote. And Ruth was a child in the arms of the Hooded Man, her face eerily lit from underneath by the computer screen.

 

 

Mercer moved around her to see over her shoulder.

 

 

"Greetings, Your Highness," Ruth said.

 

 

"Not for two more hours. I don't become Viceroy until we land."

 

 

"But you've been in the New Cal system for three weeks. And I know you've been reading reports and sending instructions."

 

 

Mercer shrugged. "Two weeks of that was in the hands of Bury's djinni." He stretched. "Do I look different?"

 

 

"As a matter of fact, yes. Not much, but I can tell. I wonder how long Bury will keep Mercy here?"

 

 

"A while, I gather. He plans on some touch-ups. Thinking of taking a turn in the tank?"

 

 

"I just might once we settle in. It's not an opportunity I'll get very often. So tomorrow's the big day. Why New Ireland instead of New Scotland?"

 

 

"Actually, Sir Kevin suggested it. After I thought it over, it did seem a good idea to have the formal installation on New Ireland. Patch up the old wounds. Let the New Irish know they're accepted. Even if I can't begin work until we get to New Scotland."

 

 

"Well, Trujillo got here first."

 

 

"Eh?"

 

 

Ruth scrolled back to the beginning of the news squib. Mercer read over her shoulder.

 

 

 
Dateline Montenth 32, 3047, Derry, New Ireland, Mei-Ling Trujillo.

 

 
His Highness arrives tomorrow. Not only is this the first official visit of an Imperial Viceroy to New Ireland since the wars ended, but Arthur Calvin Mercer will be formally installed as Viceroy for His Majesty's Domains Beyond the Coal Sack in the New Ireland Parliament building.

 

 
The Government clearly expects this to be a big deal and has gone all out to bring in official guests to witness the event. There will be three days of official holiday. The New Cal branch of the Imperial Traders Association has arranged for fireworks and is paying for an all-day banquet.

 

 
There's no question that among the best people of New Ireland the installation will be the biggest show since INSS
Terrible
bombarded Derry and ended New Ireland's secession eighty years ago.

 

 
At tomorrow's ceremony the Fleet will be represented by three ships, the largest a light cruiser, It seems none of the others in the New Scotland naval yards is spaceworthy, When His Highness has had enough pomp and ceremony and wants to get to work, he might start by looking into the Yardmaster's records.

 

 
Meanwhile, for most of New Ireland it's business as usual, and an unusual business it is.

 

 
For fifty-six years the province of Derry has been visited by the Navy on leave. They were not always welcome; but they have always been the source of money, and money heals many wounds. Today Derry is famous for its welcome.

 

 
The scars from
Terrible's
visit have long disappeared. Elsewhere on the planet, much of Murcheson's careful terraforming has also disappeared, leaving vast desert regions. But from the top of Romance Crag, Derry still looks like farmland, miles of it in all directions. The town is not one clump; it stretches arms along the crests of the hills, with farmland below.

 

 
In the streets it is quite different . . .

 

 
The whores have a wholesome look. I questioned several, and I always had the feeling that they were laughing at me. Uncorrupted. Part of the answer is that I was never able to find one twice. "We come for a little day trip, and maybe we make some money. Then it's back to work with the pigs and the corn," Deirdre told me.

 

 
She knows who her father is. Jaynisse doesn't. Both thought it an odd question.

 

 
If you walk the streets of Derry, you'll find there aren't any brothels, but there are whole blocks of hotels that will provide rooms by the night or by the hour. Most of them have splendid room service.

 

 
It is estimated that the average Able Spacer will leave three months' pay on Derry. It you count in the petty officers, the average Navy man spends nearly eighteen hundred crowns here. It is, by the way, very much an average. The Navy people save for their visit here, but they also gamble heavily.

 

 
Navy men—I haven't found any women spacers who'll admit being interested in Derry—tend to spend heavily, but it isn't all wine and women. "I always go to the Dream Palace," the midshipman I'll call Carlos Meredith told me. "You can bring your own game cassettes and interface them and play the locals, Anything new from Sparta, the locals love it. I usually win for the first day."

 

 
Then he finds a girl and goes off to sleep and comes back the next day and loses what he has left. "The locals are pretty quick with a new game."

 

Ruth glanced up at Mercer. "There's more, but here's the tag." She skipped to the end of the file.

 

 

They find a lot to worry about in Government House, but in the Fleet there's only one topic of conversation. Will the new Viceroy close down Derry?

 

"Humpf," Mercer said.

 

 

"Sir?" Ruth asked.

 

 

"She can't mean that. No columnist could be dumb enough to think my first act would be to close the one thing that makes blockade duty tolerable."

 

 

"Oh."

 

 

"Not much work for you here," Mercer said. "No Outies anywhere, and I can't see how the Secret Service could learn more about the Mote. Maybe you'll find a plot on New Ireland."

 

 

"It may not be that funny. There aren't many active anymore, but the Rebel Alliance still exists, you know."

 

 

"They threw a bomb at Governor Smelev. But that was twenty years ago. I think the worst we have to worry about on New Ireland would be getting too far behind on our shots."

 

 

The intercom saved Ruth from having to answer. "They finally called," said Renner's voice. "All personnel, strap in. Ruth, come forward. You don't know how to steal a spacecraft until you can land it."

 

 
* * *

The inauguration ceremonies had begun at noon and lasted six hours. The celebrities had gone their own ways. Now trucks were moving between the barricades that lined Skid Street. The sun was still well up.

 

 

Kevin and Ruth strolled along the main drag. Here was the Falling Ship, a hotel made up of two-story buildings laid in squares, flowerbeds between, aerial ramps linking the roofs. Kevin wondered what they were charging for rooms with a view of Skid Street. A taller hotel could have made considerably better profits on a day like this . . . but nothing stood tall on New Ireland, not even the Palace.

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