King David's Spaceship

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE ARINDELL’S CASTLE

Angus Volker, fourteenth Regent of Prince Samual University, looked at the invitation and sighed. It was a simple card written by someone with beautiful handwriting, and the message seemed harmless enough. “David II, by grace of God King of Haven and Grand Duke of Orleans, Mayor of Halmarch, Prince-Magnate of Stanford, requests the honor of your company at an audience to be held at the residence of Lord Arindell at 1664 hours on Wednesday next.”

Certainly the card was formally correct. It was not a command.

But it might as well have been. Academician Volker looked around his richly furnished tower office and sighed again. When the faculty elected him rector it seemed likely that he would preside over the University’s celebration of its two-hundred-fiftieth anniversary of independence. Now it is likely that celebration would never happen. The very titles King David chose to have placed on the invitation were significant: Orleans, Stanford, and Halmarch had all been prominent in the alliance of free states which by treaty guaranteed the independence of Prince Samual University. Now they were merged into Haven, as were several more so thoroughly subjugated that they had not even the shadow of existence in David’s titles.

I could refuse, he told himself. I could send polite regrets …

But the next invitation would not be so polite. It might even be accompanied by Haven guards. The University proctors couldn’t keep armed Haven troops from entering the campus. Some of the students would undoubtedly riot, but the end of that was inevitable. The University’s independence had never depended on anything as weak as its power to defend itself. And now the alliance which had been its real defense was a hollow shell.

No. Better to accept an invitation. So long as David was being formally correct, there was a small chance that the University might retain independence. If the gloves came off there would be no chance at all.

Volker turned the matter endlessly in his mind as his chauffeur drove him toward Lord Arindell’s palace.

Arindell. Was the meeting place significant? Arindell was a prominent socialite, and it was not unreasonable that the king might host a social gathering at his residence — but Arindell was also Minister of Justice. There were stories about him and the Haven Royal Police; of how suspected enemies of King David had vanished without a trace. There had always been such stories, but lately there seemed to be more. Was it merely because no one understood the role of the Imperials, or was there more to it? Volker didn’t know.

But surely they would not so openly arrest the Rector of Prince Samual University! The University was the most important institution on Prince Samual’s World, above petty national politics, older than most nations and subject to none of them. Surely he need not worry. He told himself that again, then carefully folded his pudgy hands in his ample lap and with an effort of will made them stay there as the car drove on through uncrowded cobblestone streets.

Lord Arindell’s palace had once been a fortress. The moat had long ago been filled in, and the cannon on the terraces were obsolete, purely decorative, their mouths stuffed with fresh flowers. Banners and streamers fluttered from high battlements. Yet despite the festive decorations there was an air of foreboding about the place, and Volker was reluctant to leave his steam car. He wanted desperately to tell the chauffeur to take him back to campus where he felt safe. But if he did, how long would the campus be a place of refuge?

“One step at a time,” he told himself. Then, louder, he told the chauffeur, “Go back to the University. Mrs. Volker will have errands for you. And send another driver for me. Have him come here and wait.”

“I don’t mind waiting, Rector. I could send a telegram to have Andrew help Lady Volker.”

“No. Please do it my way.” He hesitated. “I’m not unhappy with you, Felix. I’ve got reasons.”

The chauffeur looked up at the massive stone walls. “I guess you have, sir. If I was going in there, I expect I’d want somebody to know what time I went in. Somebody outside.”

Volker smiled wryly. “I hadn’t known I was that obvious. I’m certain nothing will happen.”

“Be more certain with me back on campus,” Felix said. “I could stop by the provost’s office on my way to help Lady Volker … I’ve got a cousin who’s a proctor.”

“It won’t be necessary,” Volker said. “Thank you.”

He waited until the steam car was out of sight before he went down the rose-lined path to the great gates.

A hundred of Haven’s most glamorous people were gathered in the ancient palace ballroom. Angus was announced by a butler and greeted by Lord Arindell. The gathering seemed purely social, but Volker remained watchful.

“The king’s upstairs,” Arindell told him. “He’ll join the party presently. Enjoy yourself.” He bowed and left Angus to his own devices.

Curious, Volker thought. It seemed a pleasant enough party. But why had he been invited? I’ll find out sooner than I like…

Most of the guests’ conversations were confined to two subjects: the war of unification, which was going well, and the economy, which was booming but which might be hurt by the consequent inflation, and which was also made uncertain because no one knew what the Imperials would do. Imperial trade would make some rich, others poor, and no one knew which. Yet even these subjects were but lightly treated. There was no serious discussion at all. A number of the people present had sons at the University, and Volker knew of most of them; the University might be independent, but it was only prudent to be wary of students from Haven’s great families. He set himself to the task of being charming, telling anecdotes about student pranks, and acting as if he enjoyed the opportunity. It was an easy act; much of the rector’s job was concerned with obtaining donations.

He had been in the palace for half an hour and refilled his cup at the punchbowl twice when a man in butler’s livery approached. He didn’t look at all like a butler. He stood too straight, and he was too young to be a retired soldier…

“If you would come with me, sir,” the servant said. “You have an appointment—”

“Certainly,” Volker said. He followed the butler out a side door and up back stairways to the third floor. At the end of the hall was a door, and three more liveried servants, all young and very military in appearance, stood outside it. They opened the door for Volker.

“In here, sir,” his escort said.

The room was a large, book-lined study. King David, Sir Giles Og, and a man Volker didn’t know were seated informally near the fireplace. Volker bowed to the still-seated king. David wasn’t his king, but it cost nothing to be polite. By rights, they should meet as equals. They were both sovereigns. It didn’t escape Angus that King David must know that as well as he did. “Your Majesty.”

“You are kind to come,” David said. “You’ve met the Prime Minister, of course. And allow me to present Citizen Dougal, a minister without portfolio.”

They stood, and Volker acknowledged their bows.

That, at least, was protocol, and Angus felt better.

“Won’t you be seated?” the king asked. “Would you care for grua?”

“Yes, please—” Volker had expected the king to ring for a servant, but Dougal went to the small table to bring Volker’s drink. “Thank you.”

“This meeting is confidential,” David said. “I want your assurance on that.”

“Certainly,” Volker said. “Although of course any discussion of importance to the University must be reported to the Regents …”

“That’s why you’re here,” Dougal said. “Let’s be open about this, Professor. You want to preserve the University’s independence. Well, you may get that, but there are conditions.”

“But the Regents-”

“Nothing said here will be reported to the Regents,” Dougal said. He sounded like a man accustomed to being obeyed. “If it comes to formal meetings with the Regents, we’ll have an entirely different conversation. One you and they won’t much care for. Better we settle matters here.”

“Honesty is important,” Sir Giles said. “But we can remain polite. However, we stray from the subject, which is your word on the secrecy of this meeting.”

That wasn’t a hard decision to make, for the same reasons that has brought him here in the first place. He could guess Dougal’s next move. He’d already hinted at it by addressing him as “Professor.” The title was used by the faculty in addressing their rector, but others generally employed more honorific phrases. Angus sighed and submitted to the inevitable. “You have my assurance. This meeting will remain confidential.”

“Excellent,” Sir Giles said. “Now. Let us sum up the situation. Prince Samual University has been an independent institution since just before the Plague Years. You have your own laws and courts and you set your own policies, and you share knowledge equally with all. That’s worked well. We don’t want to change it, even if you are in the middle of Haven. God knows there have been times when your privileges of sanctuary were dreadfully abused, but we’ve always put up with it.

“But times have changed. When there wasn’t any unity to Prince Samual’s World it made sense to have super-national entities like the University and the Brotherhoods, but we’re putting an end to national entities. Haven’s treaties granting you independence were for the large part with states that are now part of Haven. The rest will be soon. So it’s to talk about the future of the University under the new order here.”

“I see,” Volker said. “We have expected this, of course. But I do not see why you have not come to the Regents…”

“Because we need your help,” David said. “And we’ve agreed that you can be trusted.”

“And it is very much in your interest to work with us.” Dougal said. “You can negotiate with us. We understand each other. Your alternative is the Imperials — and they won’t leave you a damned bit of independence.”

Imperials. Interesting, Volker thought. Certainly they would have something to say about Haven’s rule of Prince Samual’s World. Curious that they’d never told anyone their intentions. Even more curious that a Haven cabinet officer would speak that way … “They are your allies, not mine,” Volker said. “Of course you probably know that the Regents have granted the Imperial officers the privileges of visiting scholars. They often come to use the library.”

“We know,” Dougal said. “What you don’t know is why they’re here.”

What’s wrong with the man? Volker wondered. He looks like he’s about to be executed. That’s not a happy thought, given where I am … “No, of course I don’t know. We have always assumed Imperial intentions to be a Haven state secret.”

“I think there’s no choice but to tell him, Sire.” Dougal said.

“We agreed on that some time ago,” King David said. “There’s no real choice in the matter.” “No. I suppose not,"Dougal said. “Very well…”

Volker listened with growing amazement. There was a lot to think about here. Did he believe the part about the Empire’s intentions for Prince Samual’s World? But why shouldn’t I? he wondered. It’s almost reasonable. They have been damned secretive about the way their government works, and they’ve studied our science but given our people very little in return …

“I gee,” he said when Dougal finished. “But what has this to do with me?”

“Everything,” Dougal said. “I won’t say how, but we expect to have a lot of their science and technology soon. Books and books of it. Much of it so far advanced over what we have that most of us can’t even comprehend it. Yet we must comprehend it. If anyone can understand, it will be your people at the University — but we have to keep everything secret. We even have to conceal the fact that we have a secret to keep.”

“How shall we do that?” Volker asked.

“Some of your scholars can be trusted,” Dougal said. “You’ll help us choose them. But we’ll need others even though they can’t keep secrets. Those will have to transfer to one of His Majesty’s research stations. To our naval facilities, or elsewhere. They’ll have to go willingly — or seem so, at any rate. Some of your best students will be cloistered, kept away from the others, so they can study this new science. And—”

“My God, man, that’s the end of the University!” Volker protested.

“Do you see another way?” Sir Giles asked. “If our world is colonized, what do you think will become of the University?”

A good question, Volker thought. I wonder if the Imperials would bargain? Would it be worth something to them to learn of this plot? But that, he decided, was not likely. What use independence for a University on an enslaved planet? With Imperial agents watching his faculty, suppressing discoveries—

And there was the new knowledge itself, new discoveries that Haven was somehow to steal from the Empire. That alone was a deciding factor. But first—

“There remains the matter of confirmation of the University’s ancient privileges,” Volker said.

“You’ll get that. Most of it.” Dougal snapped.

“All,” Volker insisted.

“If we succeed,” King David said. “If we succeed, I will reconfirm your privileges.”

“And if we fail?” Volker asked.

“Then we all fail,” Dougal said. “You can deal with the Imperials, for all the good it will do you. But we won’t fail.”

“I wish I were certain,” Volker said. “I have seen the Imperial landing boats. We’ve never built anything like them.” And that struck a nerve, he thought. In Sir Giles at least.

“Nothing is certain,” King David said. “Yet we must try. Will you help us?”

This might go well, Volker thought. The University might come out of this very well indeed. King’s promise or not, once Haven governs the entire world, the University will never keep all its ancient privileges, but we’ll have a good bargaining position when that’s accomplished. And we’ll have all their new science … “Of course, Your Majesty.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR PROMOTIONS

There was a large map of Prince Samual’s World on Malcolm Dougal’s office wall. It had to be changed at frequent intervals.

Too frequent, Dougal thought. The unification war — if you could call desultory mop-up actions a war — was going all too well. There was very little fighting now. There hadn’t been a lot since the fall of Orleans, although for the first year it had been necessary to march Haven’s armies to the border of a state before it was willing to commit political suicide. Now, though, many of Haven’s victims were ready to negotiate without a visible show of force at all.

It was hardly surprising. For over a century Orleans had been the rock against which Haven’s expansionist ambitions had foundered; with that republic out of the way it was to be expected that a number of other states would surrender. Even so, the speed at which Haven’s Sunburst and Cross spread across the planet was astonishing.

Not that Dougal could blame the others for capitulating. A major point of the treaties of unification put each absorbed state’s military forces at’ Haven’s disposal. Most had to be disbanded, but there were professionals in every army, and they could be recruited. And there was always the military equipment, the artillery and warships … It was an effective way to build power.

The treaties were drafted by the Imperial High Commissioner’s staff. Of course they were only being helpful — but their help was impossible to refuse. Malcolm’s plan to buy time by delaying the final unification of Prince Samual’s World simply wasn’t going to work.

Haven’s forces were now so large that no one could resist. If that weren’t enough, the Imperial Marines stood ready to break any major center of opposition. Lechfeld had its effect; in the years since then, the Imperials had seldom fired their space weapons. The example of Lechfeld was more than sufficient.

Pacification of the barbaric South Continent would probably take a generation more, but within two or three years Prince Samual’s World would be effectively unified under King David.

And thus under the Empire. Dougal looked again at the map and cursed. It was all happening too fast.

There were advantages, he thought. There was plenty of money now. The secret research center in the Corliss Grant Hills, and the others, the shipyards and Magnate Vermuele’s foundries, got plenty of support. There was also money for the University, and that institution was invaluable.

Dougal nodded in satisfaction. In the months since they’d recruited him Angus Volker had kept his bargain. Haven’s research centers were well staffed. They didn’t dare launch big rockets, but they’d fired several models. Static tests of larger motors continued satisfactorily. The shipyard facilities had developed air-tight compartments and now worked to make them lighter. They could almost build a ship which would keep men alive in space.

Almost.

Almost meant anything from three to thirty years, depending on who you talked to. Three might just be enough — but Malcolm had had too much experience with eager engineers to believe that estimate. And more than five years would certainly be too late. He would not have that long. When the Imperials first arrived, they seemed in no hurry; lately, though, they were anxious to finish unifying the planet. At the same time, there were fewer Imperial civil servants at Government House. Sir Alexei Ackoff was as affable as ever, but he seemed distracted, as if Prince Samual’s World had lessened in importance — but he was also in a greater hurry than ever.

We need either time or help, Dougal thought. And we can’t get time, so it’s got to be help, and that’s MacKinnie.

It had been a year since they heard that MacKinnie and all his people had set out to cross Makassar in a small ship. They’d gone against the Navy’s advice and despite plentiful warnings. The Imperial High Commissioner had been emphatic about that. It wasn’t the Empire’s fault that the expedition had been lost …

Malcolm didn’t believe the expedition was lost, but it was difficult to wait.

Difficult or not, there was nothing else to do. Weeks passed.

The large, square, metal box in Malcolm Dougal’s office squawked unintelligibly. Irritated, Dougal got up to adjust the small dial set on its front. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but they’d shown him how to operate the thing, and as he turned the dial slightly the words became clearer.

“Calling Citizen Dougal, calling Citizen Dougal. Answer please.”

He leaned close to the wire grill on the front of the thing and shouted, “Dougal here.”

Nothing happened. He cursed and pushed the button on top. “Dougal here.”

“Navy reports Makassar expedition returning. Will land in twenty days,” the box said.

This time Malcolm remembered to push the button. “Thank you. Send details by messenger. Anything more?”

“That’s all, sir.”

“Thank you.” He returned to his desk. Probably the communications man knew more details, but Malcolm didn’t want them discussed on the wireless. The Imperials might not be listening, but certainly they could if they wanted to. Dougal laughed mockingly at himself. The only way anyone could learn that the expedition was returning would be from the Imperials; they’d know anything Malcolm could learn from a messenger. It was wise to be cautious, but it could be carried too far.

Not that it mattered. He’d learn nothing really important until MacKinnie’s people were down and safely hidden.

Details. MacKinnie’s crew would be a sensation. Everyone would want to see them. Parliament, the newspapers, the University; hundreds of opportunities for one of them to let something slip, the merest hint that would warn the Imperials and end their chances.

Something would have to be done about that. But first there were other preparations. He took a speaking tube from the wall behind his desk and whistled into it.

“Sir.”

“Send Captain Gregory to me.”

“Sir.”

Dougal waited impatiently for the knock on the door. It was only a few minutes, but it seemed hours, and Dougal cursed himself for his impatience.

Hans Gregory was a middle-aged officer, nondescript and harmless in appearance; a man much like Malcolm Dougal. He stood in front of Malcolm’s desk. “Yes, sir?”

“You look well,” Dougal said. “I had meant to see you anyway, but now it may be more urgent. Please be seated.”

“Thank you, sir—”

“I take it that all is well and there if no difficulty in your friendship with Citizen Liddell?”

“None, sir. I see him at least weekly now that I had him elected to my club. He very much appreciated my sponsorship.”

“Excellent. It is now time for him to repay the favor.

Things have reached a critical stage, and we will need a great deal more information about the Imperials. How well do you know Elaine Liddell?”

“Fairly well, sir. She’s friendly enough. I used to see her when I called on Liddell — we play Go fairly often. Unfortunately, as I’ve reported, lately she’s out as often as not.”

“So you don’t know if she would work with us?”

“No, sir.” Gregory shrugged. “She certainly fancies herself in love with that young Imperial. If it came to a choice of loyalties, I wouldn’t bet either way.”

“Even if the king himself asked for her help?”

“I just don’t know, sir. They’re pretty thick, those two.” He gave Dougal a knowing look. “You’ve seen the reports.”

Dougal nodded. “If she’s not in love with Lieutenant Jefferson, she ought to be. I do not understand how her father tolerates the situation.”

“He has very little choice, sir.” Captain Gregory said. “He could hardly challenge an Imperial officer. And of course Freelady Elaine does speak — privately — of Lieutenant Jefferson as her ‘fiancee.’ ”

“But not publicly. Does Jefferson acknowledge the relationship?”

“That’s more complicated than you would suppose,” Gregory said. “He has made no objection to being called that by Elaine in the presence of Citizen Liddell. However, he cannot officially become engaged to a local without permission of his commanding officer — or says he cannot.”

“Sounds as if Jefferson has found a good thing,” Dougal said. “Privileges without obligations.”

Gregory nodded agreement.

“I can’t think the girl would much care for the situation.”

“No, sir. I know her father doesn’t, “Gregory said.

“You’re certain of that.”

Gregory smiled. “Oh, yes. Laurence Liddell and I are very good friends — in fact, I am the only one of his friends who knows the situation.”

“But why does he tolerate it?”

“He has little choice, sir. When Elaine began seeing Jefferson privately, Liddell was horrified, of course, but when he tried to do something about it, she threatened to get a job working for the Imperials and move into an apartment on their compound. He’d have had no control over her at all if she did that—”

“Is that still possible?” Dougal asked.

“I suppose so.”

“We might get a lot of information — no, of course that can’t work. Liddell would have to disown her. We’d never see her.” Dougal looked thoughtful. “But we do need her cooperation. Have you suggestions for how to approach her?”

Captain Gregory held his fingertips together under his chin and looked up thoughtfully. “Have you considered how she must feel?” he asked. “She has thoroughly compromised herself, but she has no commitment whatever from Jefferson. If under those circumstances she found he was unfaithful to her—”

“Umm. And Jefferson has certainly been known to be interested in tavern girls. A good suggestion, Captain. Keep it in mind. Better — perhaps before we speak to her directly, we should have, uh, evidence—”

“I can arrange that,”

“Excellent. And Jefferson himself might be vulnerable,” Dougal mused.

“I can’t think his superiors don’t know of his adventures. One more wouldn’t make a difference.”

“I wasn’t thinking of his rather libertine ways with tavern girls,” Dougal said. “Tell me, Captain, have you any reason to believe that Freelady Elaine is sterile?”

“No, sir-”

“Yet if she has obtained a birth control device, she has been exceedingly discreet. Might Jefferson have given her what the Imperials use? Something called ‘The Pill’ is mentioned prominently in the novel we found. If he has given her Imperial technology, he may be in violation of one of their regulations.”

“Isn’t that a lot to deduce on little evidence?” Gregory asked.

“Some of it isn’t deduction, Captain,” Dougal said. “I have a number of agents watching those two. One is the concierge at the apartment Jefferson keeps in the suburbs.”

“Even if you’re correct, he would probably report any approach from us to his superiors,” Gregory said. “From what I’ve seen of him he is rather admirably loyal to the Empire.”

“Yes. Unfortunately. I suppose you’re right, it was only a thought. Now, to return to the matter of Citizen Liddell. Will he cooperate?”

“Yes. He’s very loyal. Favors the unification wars and all that. And this business with Jefferson hasn’t made him love the Empire.”

Dougal looked thoughtfully at the dossier on his desk. “Roads and public works,” he mused. “Good recommendations from his superiors. Fairly senior civil servant — tell me, do you think he’s competent to be one of the roads commissioners?”

“Yes.”

“Good. He’ll have that.” Dougal made a note on the memo pad in front of him. “Sir Giles Og’s political managers aren’t going to be too happy about losing that appointment, but that can’t be helped. Time to show Liddell he has friends who appreciate his talents — make sure he knows it was your influence that got him promoted. What else does he want?”

“A knighthood on retirement, but he has no reason to expect it—”

“Offer him that, too. If his daughter will cooperate with us. If not—” Dougal shrugged. “If not, a Haven knighthood won’t be worth a lot anyway, but we can’t tell him that. Captain, Elaine Liddell is potentially one of our best sources of information about Imperial policies, and I need that information badly. Especially now.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will. That’s all.”

“Sir.” Gregory stood.

“Your very best, Commandant,” Dougal said.

Gregory was halfway to the door. He stopped and turned in surprise. “Commandant?”

“Yes. I’ve just promoted you. See that you deserve it.” Dougal made another note on his memo pad.

This is dangerous, Dougal thought. The expedition is returning and we will need information on Imperial activities. Elaine Liddell is potentially invaluable, our only real source, but she could also arouse Imperial suspicions.

But, he thought, there is nothing else to do. It is worth the risk, but that risk will have to be minimized. He took a report from his desk and scanned through it. Freelady Liddell and Lieutenant Jefferson liked sailing. They often went out alone in small craft, but only in the daytime. They did have some sense of discretion …

He continued to scan the report. Citizen Liddell owned a pair of Mannheim pacers, and Jefferson took Elaine riding at least weekly. Mannheims, he thought. Very spirited horses. Took controlling. You could break your neck falling off a horse. The Imperial High Commissioner would be saddened by the loss, but what suspicion could be attached to a riding accident? He nodded to himself. Best see Inspector Solon. Just in case the interview with the girl went badly.

And there were endless other details to be attended to before the expedition returned. Dougal’s fingers drummed on the polished wooden desk, and a thin smile came to his lips. The waiting was over. Now they could get to work.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE DECISION FACTORS

The small boat skipped across the water, running directly downwind and going like a corkborer chased by an eagle. She had a nasty tendency to roll, and it took all of Jefferson’s skill to keep her heading straight. He stood in the cockpit, his legs spread wide, the tiller behind him, feeling the following seas as they lifted the stern, throwing his weight against the tiller to correct any deviation from center, careful not to overcorrect and let her fall off the other way. It would be easy to broach, and in these seas the boat might swamp.

“You look like you’re having fun.” Elaine leaned against the forward cockpit coaming with her knees drawn up to her chin.

“I must be. I’m grinning a lot,” Jeff said. He glanced thoughtfully at the boomed-out spinnaker, then down at the wake. “We must be making twelve kilometers! I’ve never gone this fast before …”

She laughed. “You travel in starships, and you’re impressed by a small boat?”

“It’s not the same,” he said defensively. Now why did she have to remind him of starships? And how was he going to tell her? Maybe now was as good a time as any. Just say it. “And I may not have many more opportunities.”

Her look was enough to wrench out his heart. “Why?” she asked, But she knew.

“Something’s happened out in Trans-Coalsack Sector,” Jefferson said. “Something big. They discovered an alien civilization.”

She frowned. “But you told me yourself there aren’t any intelligent creatures other than humans—”

The boat took a rogue wave and he struggled with the tiller for a moment before he could answer. “It’s a big universe. We were mistaken. Actually, they were discovered some time ago, and the news is only just getting here.”

“But how does that affect us?” she asked.

“They sent an expedition to the alien planets,” Jefferson said. “I don’t know what they found, but they’re ordering a main battle fleet to Trans-Coalsack.”

“War?” She shuddered. “We have stories about the last wars. And those were with humans.”

“I just don’t know,” Jeff said. “It might be. Why else would they want a fleet?” A big fleet. To be commanded by Kutuzov! Kutuzov the butcher, Kutuzov the hero … it depended on your point of view. “They’re sending a lot of ships out there, so the rest of us have to cover more territory. I don’t know where Tombaugh will be sent. Maybe even Trans-Coalsack.”

“Is that far?” she asked.

“Yes. Very far. And behind the Coalsack — that’s a mass of interstellar dust so thick it hides the stars behind it. You can’t see the sector capital from here.”

“I knew it would happen,” she said. “My father told me not to — not to fall in love with a Navy man. So now you’re leaving me.”

“Hey, I haven’t left yet,” he said.

“Can you stay?”

“I don’t know.” Possibly, he thought. I’d have to resign from the Navy and go into civil government. Do I want that? Oh, damn. He thought of Tombaugh ordered away, his shipmates leaving without him. Would that be harder than leaving Elaine?

He’d been planet-bound for two years except for brief tours aboard the orbiting Tombaugh. It was a pleasant relief from ship duty. But if he resigned to stay here, he’d never go to space again except as a passenger. He’d known he’d have to face this decision one day, but not so soon, not so soon. He tried to imagine his life as a civil administrator building an industrial civilization. He’d have honors enough. Possibly a barony. Almost certainly a barony on retirement. Another title in the family. His father would be proud of him. And he’d have Elaine.

Would that be enough?

Certainly he’d thought so when he first met her. But now he wasn’t sure. That frantic need to be with her was gone, and while he didn’t go looking for other women, he no longer felt repelled by them. Like that tavern girl he’d met the other night, the really friendly one — he pushed that thought away. Jeff didn’t believe in telepathy, but Elaine had surprised him before.

She was at her loveliest today. The wind brought a bloom to her cheeks, and her hair, tied with bright ribbons, blew wantonly in the gusts. His eyes met hers and he smiled, and her answering smile was warm and trusting.

Trusting. Certainly she was that. Far too much so by the standards of this world.

You owe her, Jefferson thought to himself.

Not really. Happens all the time. Why make such a big thing out of it?

Because she does, and her father does, and all her friends do, and you knew it all along, and—

Another rogue wave threatened to swamp them, and he tried to force his worries and doubts from his mind to give all his attention to the tiller.

He almost succeeded.

Jefferson looked at his crowded “work-to-do” screen and frowned. It was all trivial stuff, but it took time to process, and it was hard to keep his mind on his work. Remembering last night’s stormy scene with Elaine after they got ashore didn’t help. She’d sensed his uncertainties, and although she hadn’t accused him of not caring for her, she’d thought it. Worse, it was true. Or almost true. Or partly true. He cared for her, but enough to abandon his shipmates, his whole career? It came to that. She’d never fit into Capital social life.

And the choice would have to be made within the year. Just now High Commissioner Ackoff was trying to recruit naval officers for his civil service, and Navy policy was to let him; but if Tombaugh got war orders it would be too late. Captain Greenaugh would never let one of his officers resign under those circumstances.

He was keying in data on platinum production — surprisingly high on a world so poor in copper — when his door opened and Lieutenant Adnan Clements came in. “Got a minute?”

“Just that,"Jeff said. “What’s up?”

“Blivit, of course. Old man’s got a new job for you.”

Jeff gestured toward the screen. “I’ve got plenty of jobs-”

“So now you have another one. That Makassar expedition’s coming in. Somebody’s got to give Navy clearance for passengers and cargo. You’re elected.”

“Oh, hell. Why me?”

“Because the skipper’s not about to do it, and I’m being sent down to South Continent to bust up a pirate fleet, that’s why.”

“Hey, that sounds like fun—”

“Sure, if your idea of fun is shooting up wooden boats that can’t shoot back.” Clement’s face showed his distaste.

Jeff nodded agreement. “Guess I’d rather look for contraband at that.” He turned to the keyboard and punched in the assignment. The schedule screen looked more cluttered than ever. “Get me a coffee?” he asked.

“Sure,” Clements said. “Back in a minute.”

Might as well see what the job involves, Jeff thought. He went back to the keyboard. “Let’s see,” he mused. “Keywords ‘MAKASSAR’ and ‘EXPORT CONTRABAND.’ Now the library search function …”

“MAKASSAR EXPORT CONTRABAND: NO ITEMS LISTED” appeared on the main working screen.

“Aha, “Jefferson said.

“Coffee time.” Clements came in carrying two plastic cups and set one on Jeff’s desk. “I just remembered, you’ve been to Makassar. Job’s natural for you.” He glanced at the screen. “Looks like you drew an easy one.”

“Maybe. It’s for sure there’s not much there.” He typed in “CONTINUE DETAIL TRADE/TRAVEL POLICY” and waited.

“MAKASSAR IS CLASSIFIED ‘CLASS 5 PRIMITIVE’ WITH NO SIGNIFICANT TECHNOLOGY NO EXPORT RESTRICTIONS. SUFFICIENT SAMPLINGS INDICATE NO EPIDEMIC DISEASES. FULL SPECTRUM IMMUNIZATIONS REQUIRED FOR LANDING OR EXIT FROM PLANET.

“THREE ADDICTING DRUGS ARE KNOWN TO BE PREPARED ON MAKASSAR BUT THEY ARE UNATTRACTIVE AND THERE IS NO MARKET FOR THEM. FOR FURTHER DETAILS SEE ‘MAKASSAR — GENERAL.’

“IMPORT RESTRICTIONS: SEVERE IM—” The flow of words was cut off as Jeff touched more keys.

“See?” Clements said. “An easy job.”

“Still takes time I don’t have.”

“Poor you. How’s your romance going?”

Jefferson shrugged. “I told her about Moties,” he said. “And the possible alert.”

“I gather she wasn’t pleased.”

Jeff snorted. “You could say it that way.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“Hell, Adnan, I don’t know. I like the Navy.”

“Five hundred hours ago you couldn’t talk about anything but resigning. Get married and become a colonist. Found a new dynasty, to hear you talk.”

Jeff nodded. “Yeah, but now we really have to decide-”

Clements laughed. “What’s the problem, laddie? Afraid to admit you’re just another sailor feeding bushwa to his girl? Hell, I knew you were never going to resign.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Jeff said. “But damn it, this girl’s different-”

“Sure. They all are,” Clements said. He drained his coffee. “My screen’s not like yours, but it’s full enough. Best get at it.”

“Yeah.” Jefferson turned back to his work. More reports. Mining and refining capabilities. Steam generation facilities. All important, he knew, but-

If I give up the Navy, this’ll be my career, he thought. God Almighty, how could anyone spend his entire life at this? Better a naval battle. Better a long, dull patrol. Better almost anything!

The days passed, and Jeff was no further ahead. As soon as he finished one task they’d give him another. He had five locals gathering data, and they brought it in faster than he could code it into the machines.

Twice he’d sent memos to the High Commissioner’s office explaining the desirability of hiring and training locals for elementary clerical work of this type. It wouldn’t harm this planet for some of its people to learn how to produce machine-readable data. He’d had no answer.

Which, he thought philosophically, is better than a definite “No.”

And Elaine was — strange. They’d patched up their quarrel. He didn’t tell her how soon he’d have to make a decision, and she didn’t bring up the subject. She did encourage him in his work, and seemed interested in what he was doing. She hadn’t cared before, but now of a sudden she encouraged him to talk about his work, as if—

“Landing boat’s on final approach now, Lieutenant.”

“Ah. Thanks, Hawley.” He went out onto the pier to wait. In moments he heard a growing thunder and the sharp clap of a sonic boom. He shaded his eyes to stare out over the water and made out a small speck just at the horizon. It was coming directly toward him, angling in a long glide path toward the water.

“There it is!” Someone shouted from behind him. Jeff grimaced. There were a thousand civilians out there, all eager to see the locals who’d been off-planet. They weren’t allowed on the pier itself, but they were close enough. A lot of them were shouting now.

The landing boat settled onto the water. Jeff nodded approval. It was a smooth landing. Two small local steam tugs went out to tow it to the pier. They’d be a while doing that. Jeff wondered whose idea it was. The landing boats were hard to maneuver, but they weren’t so difficult to handle as to need local assistance. Some boondoggle to employ locals? Maybe the local harbormaster was worried about the big landing craft losing control and smashing up the docks. He tapped his foot impatiently as he waited.

Finally the craft was alongside and the gangway lowered. Three naval officers got off first. Junior lieutenants, very young. Just up from middie, Jefferson thought. Proud as peacocks. He remembered when he’d sewn that stripe on his sleeve. It had been a good feeling.

They looked around uncertainly and Jeff went over to them. Although they were nominally the same rank as Jeff, two of the newcomers saluted him. Jeff grinned. “Assigned here?” he asked.

“Yes, si— Yes, thank you. Were you sent to meet us?”

Jeff laughed. “Hardly. But wait around and I’ll see you get to headquarters. Know anything of what you’re supposed to do?”

“Not really,” the spokesman said. “What’s this place like?”

“Takes a bit of getting used to, but not bad,” Jeff said. “Oops, excuse me, that’s my crew.” He left them and went to the gangway.

The group getting off had to be native to Prince Samual’s World. Jeff wasn’t sure how he knew that, but they had the look about them. They were led by a tall, broad-shouldered man with straw-colored hair going away to steel gray. Distinguished, Jefferson thought. The files said Trader, but that man had obviously been a soldier.

He examined the others. The girl was all right, but no raving beauty; there were plenty of prettier ones in Haven. She looked self-possessed, though, more poised than Elaine, and that made her attractive. There wasn’t much to notice about the others.

“Trader MacKinnie?” he said to the leader.

“Yes, sir.”

Sir. A word that man doesn’t mean. Not to me. “I’m Lieutenant Jefferson, sir. I’ve been assigned to conduct your landing interviews and inspection.”

“Will this take long?”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Jefferson said. “Just formalities. Shall we go inside?” He led the way into the building to the interview room and ushered MacKinnie inside. “Have a seat, please.” He turned on his recorder and put his pocket computer on the desk. “Here, I’ve got your records on here somewhere — ah. ‘Jameson MacKinnie, Trader, citizen of Haven. Expedition leader.’ Successful trip?”

MacKinnie shrugged. “Moderately. I expect the cargo we brought will cover the expedition costs, but there won’t be a lot of profit.”

Jefferson nodded. “I don’t recall seeing much there I’d want to buy, “he said. “Where did you go on Makassar?”

“Well, we landed at the Navy base at Jikar and went from there,” MacKinnie said.

Man’s nervous, Jefferson thought. Is there a special reason? Or does he just dislike Imperial officers? “The report from the Makassar garrison says you went to Batav.”

MacKinnie nodded.

“I was there once. Did you see the temple?”

“Certainly. Most prominent building on the whole planet.”

“It is, isn’t it? Get inside?”

“Not beyond the courtyard,” MacKinnie answered. “It’s a holy place, and the unconsecrated don’t get into the inner buildings.”

Jefferson grinned to himself. “Right.” It had been that way when Jefferson visited. Of course other Navy people had been inside, all the way to the crypt where they kept the remains of the old library. What might this chap have done if he’d known what was in there? Or did he? “Why is the place holy?” Jefferson asked. “I didn’t stay long enough to find out.”

“Relics, they say,” MacKinnie answered. “The building’s very old. We ran into a party of Imperial missionaries in Batav, and they said something about stuff left over from the First Empire.”

Jefferson glanced down at his computer. There it was. A note from the commander at Jikar. ‘Archbishop Casteliano found this group helpful and sent a note of commendation.’ So. They had friends in the Church. Might as well get this over with. “Any injuries or diseases?” he asked. “And I’ll need your cargo manifests. …”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX HOMECOMING

When MacKinnie saw Lieutenant Jefferson waiting for him at the gangway his first reaction was panic. Somehow they must have found out…

But the only armed Marines in evidence were a pair of sentries looking very bored, and there was no evidence of suspicion at all. Jefferson acted as if he’d never seen MacKinnie before. Given his condition the only time they’d been in the same room together that was hardly a surprise. And his greeting was polite. Everything seemed routine.

For all that, it was unnerving. Nathan followed the Imperial officer into the stone warehouse the Imperials had converted into their customs office, and tried to act relaxed about the interview. It seemed to go well enough, and Jefferson’s interest in the Temple was natural. The real test would come when they inspected the cargo. The carefully copied library records were concealed inside handcrafted statuary. It wouldn’t take a lot of ingenuity to find them, but Nathan could think of no other place to conceal them. He’d almost left them behind, but Kleinst had said he couldn’t rely on his memory, and that left few choices.

MacKinnie found he needn’t have worried. The cargo inspection was cursory. Jefferson had a couple of the crates opened, but mostly seemed curious to see what they’d brought.

“Copper statues,” Jefferson commented. “I didn’t see anything like this on Makassar.”

MacKinnie laughed. “Nor did we. But copper is cheap enough there, so we had artists copy their work in it.”

“Clever of you,” Jefferson said. “Should fetch a good price here.” He continued to look through boxes. “Ah. I should have picked up one of these myself,” he said. He held up a tusked sea creature carved in one of Makassar’s ultra-hard woods. “What’s your price for it?”

MacKinnie shrugged. “We’ll have to hold auctions. How else can you establish prices on rare artworks? But that’s yours if you’d like.’’

“I should pay for it—”

MacKinnie shrugged. “Set a price, then.”

“I don’t suppose I could afford what you can get for it here-”

“Probably not. It’s still yours if you want it.”

“I’d better not. Thank you for the offer.” He made notes on his pocket computer. “You’re cleared,” he said.

MacKinnie was surprised and looked it. “Thanks.”

“That’s Navy clearance,” Jefferson said. “You’ll get a customs bill later.” He glanced at the small screen on his pocket computer. “Since this expedition was owned by a sovereign ally, that won’t be very high. May even be waived. Have you arranged for a crew to transport?”

“No, but I expect His Majesty’s government has.”

“Good.”

“What’s next?” MacKinnie asked.

“Immigration,” Jefferson said. “Nothing to that. Just identification. To be sure you’re the same people who left. Are you all here?”

“Not quite. Barstonic and Danvers and Stark were killed on Makassar.” He was surprised at how easy it was to say that. Of course Hal wasn’t dead. Or wasn’t when they left Batav.

“Sorry to hear that.” Jefferson glanced at his pocket computer. “Stark was your guard leader?”

“Yes. Your people there took a full report—”

Lieutenant Jefferson sighed. “They don’t seem to have sent it along,” he said. He did things to his pocket computer and looked at it again. “No, I’m afraid not. You’ll have to tell that story again. Unless — Just a minute.” He used a small stylus to write something else on the machine’s face. “Aha. They did send it after all. Illustrated with satellite photos.” He read for a moment, then looked up at MacKinnie. “You seem to have fought a proper little war at Batav.”

“There were a few barbarians,” Nathan said.

“Yes.” He read more. “No superior weapons—”

“Of course not. Look, we. were inspected when we landed on Makassar.”

“I know.”

What else do you know? MacKinnie wondered. “What’s the problem?”

“Just wondering if tactical innovations come within the limits of the technology transfer laws,” Jefferson said. “Well, that’s not my business. If the Makassar garrison didn’t have a complaint there’s no reason for me to raise the question.” The frown faded and he smiled at MacKinnie. “Forgot to say it. Welcome home.”

There was a large crowd outside, with a dozen reporters in front. They all shouted questions at once. Then, suddenly, they fell silent.

Inspector Solon came through the crowd. His black uniform opened a way as if by magic. “Welcome back, Trader. Freelady. Gentlemen.” His voice was cold even though his smile was broad. He turned to the crowd. “His Majesty requests that he be given the first interview,” Solon said. “Surely that is reasonable? You will all have your opportunities, but I am commanded to bring the members of the expedition to the palace.”

There were murmurs from the reporters, but no one actually protested. Solon led them across the broad avenue to waiting steam cars. “We will go directly to the palace,” he said.

It was as if Stark had come up behind him. Nathan heard him as clearly as if he’d been there. “Bets on our ever gettin’ out of there alive, Colonel? That guy gives me the creeps. So does his boss.”

There were three cars. “Trader, you and Freelady Graham and our scholars will ride in the first car with me,” Solon said. He held open the door.

Nathan and Mary climbed into the vehicle. It was new, a model he hadn’t seen before, and the interior was luxurious. When they were inside, Solon handed each a sheet of paper.

“SPEAK ONLY PLEASANTRIES. DO NOT DISCUSS THE EXPEDITION UNTIL YOU ARE TOLD IT IS SAFE.”

MacKinnie read it and nodded. Solon waited until each one acknowledged the message, then collected the papers and put them in his pouch. “Was it a pleasant journey?” he asked conversationally.

“Return trip was dull,” MacKinnie said.

“Yes,” Mary said. “There were no other passengers. Just three young naval officers, and they stayed forward in the crew area. We were left to our own devices.”

“Not like the trip out,” Longway said. “The Navy craft we returned on had few luxuries. Not even windows to look out of.”

Kleinst had been silent. Now he said wistfully, “I saw Prince Samual’s World from space when we left. Magnificent! And Makassar when we arrived there. Worlds so different — I think of what we could learn about weather and climate by observing different worlds from space. It is no wonder the Imperials are able to predict weather accurately. They know so much—”

Solon gestured with an upraised palm. “I’m certain they do,” he said. “Well! You will have much to tell His Majesty.”

MacKinnie glanced back through the rear window. The other cars were following. “The Navy released our cargo,” he said. “Arrangements must be made to move it—”

“At once,” Solon said. “When we reach the palace I will go myself. Thank you.”

The palace was hidden in a maze of scaffolding. That, too, was new. They were taken inside, and quickly led to the living quarters in the rear of the building. “I am sure you will wish to wash and change your clothing,” Solon said. He gave them more papers with instructions.

MacKinnie nodded agreement.

The clothes were his own, but they felt too large. As he had expected, there were no weapons. He dressed quickly and followed the guide upstairs to a small sitting room.

Malcolm Dougal was alone in the room. He stood when MacKinnie entered, and his smile of welcome seemed genuine. “So. You returned,” Dougal said. “Were you successful?”

“You’ll pardon my suspicions, but where are the others?” MacKinnie asked.

Dougal frowned and looked genuinely puzzled. “Changing their clothing, of course — ah. You are concerned because I had Inspector Solon bring you here? How else could I have extracted you from that crowd?”

“We were told we would be meeting King David.”

“As you will, when all are ready,” Dougal said. “Your guardsmen will not be needed. They will be entertained by some of my men.”

“Entertained how?”

“With whatever they want,” Dougal said. “Why are you so suspicious? Are you expecting punishment? Did the mission fail?”

“Not exactly. But I’ve been wondering what you had in mind for us. You had a dozen people killed to protect your secret — and you don’t need me and my troopers any longer.”

“That was then,” Dougal said. “Since you left there are many who know our plans. We’ve had no choice but to tell them. As a matter of fact, two of your former officers are now part of the security force at our research station.

Which is what I had in mind for you and the guardsmen. You disappoint me, Colonel. I am neither bloodthirsty nor evil. Simply determined not to fail. Now, what success have you brought me?”

MacKinnie spread his hands. “I honestly don’t know. We secured the library, and Kleinst read a number of the old books. We made copies of many of them — but Kleinst wasn’t sure we could make them readable with anything we have on Prince Samual’s World. And once we left Batav — that’s the city the old library was in — we couldn’t discuss any of this among ourselves. Too many locals aboard our ship. It was worse when we got the Navy’s base at Jikar, and on that spaceship. I thought Kleinst was going to burst for lack of someone to talk to.”

“I see. And you don’t know if we can build a ship?”

“I know damned well we can’t build anything’ like their ships,” MacKinnie said. “Dougal, you can’t imagine what their equipment is like. Even the library. A box no larger than that sideboard there — we were told that could contain every book on Prince Samual’s World with room to spare. The things we brought home are about this big.” MacKinnie held up thumb and forefinger to indicate the size. “And each one holds a whole library. If we can read them.”

“So you learned nothing?”

“It wasn’t my job to learn,” MacKinnie said. “I was hired to get them there and bring them back. I did. All but two guardsmen.”

“So we must rely on Kleinst.”

“Kleinst and Todd. They spent days in the library. Not as long as they’d have liked to, but I didn’t dare wait any longer before starting back. As it was we only had five days to spare before the ship left, and I gather there won’t be another for a while. Something strange is going on in another part of the Empire. They wouldn’t tell me what, but they take it seriously.”

“Indeed?” Dougal looked thoughtful. “We will have to see if we can find out,” he said. “It may affect us.”

He’s a good liar, MacKinnie thought. But he knows something he’s not telling me. I wonder if it’s important …

“As for this audience,” Dougal said, “there will be many present who know nothing about your true purpose in going to Makassar, and we suspect the Imperials can listen to conversations in the audience chamber. You will continue the pretense of a simple trading mission.”

“You didn’t even tell the king?” MacKinnie demanded.

Dougal laughed. “His Majesty knows all,” he said. “But many in the government do not. We intend to keep it that way. Come, let’s get this over with. I am anxious to talk to all of you, and I will not feel really comfortable until we are out of Haven.”

“Where are you taking us?”

“We have a large military research post in the Corliss Grant Hills,” Dougal said. “Most of what goes on there is weapons research, which the Imperials know all about. But it is a large place, and much goes on that we do not tell them.”

“I see. You’ve organized well,” MacKinnie said.

“As best we could. But now it all depends on what you have brought us. And we are running out of time.”

Their quarters in the Corliss Grant research station were comfortable, but they were prisoners.

“I prefer you do not think that way,” Dougal told MacKinnie. “You have weapons. You are all housed in the same building. All of you, including your soldiers. From time to time one of you — I prefer Academician Longway, he has a knack for talking — will go to Haven to be seen and speak to the press. But think, Colonel. You will be recognized if you are seen often. And if there is no one to tell your secrets to, you will not reveal them.” He threw up his hands as if in dismay. “I have given you every possible assurance of your safety. I make no doubt that with your skill and the number of men I have left you, you could escape at any time. I rely on your word, Colonel. You have sworn loyalty to Haven and Prince Samual’s World. Can I not trust you?”

There wasn’t any answer to that, as MacKinnie later told Mary.

“So we’re our own jailors,” she said.

“It comes to that,” MacKinnie said. “He even has me in the security department. I don’t really blame him. I’d do the same thing myself. But as Hal would say, this spy business gets old pretty fast.” He tried to laugh, but the sound was unpleasant.

“Are you sorry?” she asked.

“Sorry I lost Hal? I’ll always be sorry.”

She moved closer to him, and he held her, clinging to her. They stood for a long time. Finally he let her go. “But I’m not sorry I found you. Which reminds me, I have to speak to your father—”

“No.”

He frowned. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” she said. “That’s not what either of us wants. Haven is ruled by customs and duties — we don’t need them with each other.”

He was silent for a moment. “All right, let’s say I want to speak to your father. It’s time I made an honest woman of you-”

“Or an honest man of yourself.”

They lived in luxury, but there was nothing to do. The research station was isolated, far from any town, sealed from the rest of Prince Samual’s World, and keeping it “secure” required no effort at all.

Since no one objected, Nathan went to technical conferences. Much of the discussion involved forces, and specific impulse, and other meaningless terms. He did understand that Kleinst had no way of reading the cubes they had brought back.

“It’s enough to drive me mad,” Kleinst said. A dozen older engineers seated around the conference table nodded sympathy. “It’s all right here.” He held up one of the small plasticine cubes. “And if I had nothing else to do, I might, in ten years, be able to read this. I know the theory-”

“We’re working on it,” Academician Taylor said. Taylor headed a group who worked on long-distance communicators and other electrical matters. They thought they had a method of reading the Makassar data, but so far it had not worked.

“But I have to spend time on the ship also,” Kleinst said. “And I fear that is hopeless.”

“We’ve got your liquid oxygen,” Todd said. He looked pleased with himself, and MacKinnie thought he had a right to be. In his days in the library on Makassar, Todd had found books on ancient technology — methods ancient even in the days of the First Empire — and studied how they’d done things. MacKinnie had never thought of air as something that could be made liquid, but Todd had done it by putting oxygen under high pressure, then rapidly letting it expand and cool. It all seemed simple once it was done-

“Yes,” Kleinst said. “But we can’t build pumps. And the stabilizing mechanisms.” He shook his head sadly. “We have large gyroscopes, but every attempt to make small ones with electrical connections to guide the ship has failed. Everything we can make is large, too large—”

“In time we can make it smaller,” Douglas Starr said.

“Time is what we don’t have,” MacKinnie said.

Starr glared at him. “My mechanics are working themselves to death now. I can get no more from them. There are no more hours in the day!”

“I know. I meant no disrespect,” MacKinnie said. And I shouldn’t even be here. But what else do I have to do? Every day he examined the political maps. Haven’s reach extended far to the east, all the way to the eastern ocean. In one memorable four-day period seven city-states capitulated to King David. One large kingdom on the eastern coast of the continent was holding out, and even though it looked as if it would take only a short campaign to conquer it, MacKinnie had asked for a command in Haven’s army. Of course Dougal refused to consider his request.

“Go back to first principles,” Todd said. “We can’t build true spacecraft. We can’t even build anything like the Empire’s landing boats.”

“So we must build rockets,” Kleinst said. “And large liquid rockets are very complex—”

“Why rockets?” Todd asked.

Kleinst frowned. “What else is there?”

“It largely depends on what you mean by a spaceship,” the midshipman said. “Or rather, what the Empire will accept as a spaceship …”

“If it will take us to space, it is a spaceship,” Kleinst muttered. “We have no time for senseless debate on definitions. What have you in mind?”

“There was an ancient document,” Todd said. “I hesitate to say how ancient—” He saw the intense interest of the others and laughed self-consciously. “Before the second millennium of the Christian era,” he said. “In the time of the first spacecraft, on Earth.”

There was a long silence. Earth, MacKinnie thought. Before the Empire, before the CoDominium, before space travel. Those times were no more than legends, yet Todd had seen copies of works written then.

“The first spacecraft used rockets,” Kleinst said firmly.

“Yes, but they had another concept,” Todd said. “It was not used, but it might have been. And it is something we can build …”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN WITNESS

Lieutenant Jefferson tapped nervously at the door to High Commissioner Ackoff’s office. Jeff could think of no reason why the Imperial governor would want to see him. In the past few months he’d worked on a dozen assignments, all routine and all dull, and as far as Jefferson knew he’d done them all satisfactorily; Ackoff couldn’t be unhappy with him. On the other hand, he’d done nothing outstanding either. Jeff didn’t like economic intelligence work, and longed for a space assignment.

“Come.”

Commissioner Ackoff’s office might have been used as a textbook example: office, one each, governor’s, minor colonial planet. There was the large wooden desk and leather chairs; conference table and more chairs; conversation group with couch and soft chairs off to one side; computer screens and input console discreetly hidden in the desk; portrait of the Emperor draped with the flags of Empire; shelves of curios including models of ships Ackoff had served in; large sideboard filled with liquor—

Ackoff was seated at his conference table. So was Captain Greenaugh.

“Come in, Jefferson,” Ackoff said. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you, Your Excellency—”

“Haven’t seen you for a while,” Sir Alexei said. “I miss those government seminars. Really ought to start them up again. Only time I get to meet my officers.” The

Commissioner shook his head slowly. “Too much work, no one to do it. I’m afraid we’ve an additional job for you.”

“Sir?” Jeff looked to Greenaugh for some hint of what was happening.

“Not in space,” Greenaugh said. He laughed at Jefferson’s expression. “Tired of this place already? I’m told you’re practically engaged to a local girl—”

“Not yet, sir. “Jeff was emphatic.

“But you still see her,” Greenaugh said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, sir.”

“Quite often.”

“Yes, sir,” Jeff said. Often, and the relationship was certainly one that Elaine might take as “practically engaged.” Certainly her father had a right to think so. The less said about that the better.

“Not trying to pry into your private affairs,” Greenaugh said. “But I take it you do not intend to apply for transfer to the civil service.”

“No, sir,” Jeff said. “I’m ready for space duty whenever there’s an assignment—”

Greenaugh chuckled. “And you’d like to know when that will be. So would we all, Lieutenant. So would we all. But I’m afraid not even Sir Alexei knows that. Meanwhile, we’ve a job to do here. Know anything about Haven’s military research establishment?”

“Well, a little-”

“A lot, I’d say,” Ackoff interrupted. “It was your economic analysis that got us interested. Haven has a big research station in the Corliss Grant Hills. From what we can see it siphons off a good part of their budget and a lot of their technical talent. We can’t think why.”

“Any ideas?” Greenaugh asked.

“Not really, sir,” Jefferson said. “Frankly, I can’t see any need for a big military research effort. Haven has just finished the consolidation of this continent, which effectively means the whole planet. They’d have finished the job sooner if they hadn’t dragged their feet. They’ve no one to fight.”

“Precisely,” Greenaugh said. “Which is what disturbs us. One, they did drag their feet. From what we know of their history, unification of the planet has been Haven’s dream since the present dynasty took over. We gave them the chance to do it, and they went very slowly. Then all of a sudden they speeded things up and finished with a bang. Two, they’re spending a lot of money and sending the cream of their engineering talent to a military research station that’s working on weapons they’ll never need. Quickfiring cannon. War rockets — big ones, too; Tombaugh’s radar tracked one six hundred kilometers. Balloons, for Christ’s sake. And that’s just what they tell us about. What else are they doing out there?”

Jefferson frowned. “I don’t know, sir-”

“No, and we don’t expect you to,” Greenaugh said. “But we do want to find out. You get along with the locals. Come to that, you’ve got more purely social contacts in Haven than most of us.”

“Yes, sir, but Elaine’s father is a roads commissioner. He wouldn’t know about the Corliss Grant station.”

“Didn’t expect him to,” Ackoff said. “But you go to social gatherings. What’s the mood here? Officially they love us, but what do they really think?” He spread his hands helplessly. “Are they mad enough to be working on weapons to fight us?”

“I’ve heard no hint of that,” Jefferson protested.

“Nor would you,” Ackoff said gently.

“Christ,” Greenaugh snorted. “Aliens in Trans-Coalsack. Half the fleet sucked off to that godforsaken corner of the Empire. Outies not twenty parsecs from here, and nowhere near enough ships to deal with them. All we’d bloody need is some kind of abortive revolt just when we’re ready to report this place pacified.” He shook his head grimly. “Christ, what would we do? We don’t have enough Marines to occupy the place—”

“They’re hardly a threat to the Empire, sir,” Jefferson said.

“They are if they’ve linked up with the outies,” Greenaugh said.

“But — do you have some reason to believe—”

“No,” Ackoff said. “We’ve no reason to believe anything at all. But the fact remains that they’re spending enormous sums for no reason we can determine, and their explanations don’t make sense.”

“I wish we’d never found this damned place,” Greenaugh said. “But that’s neither here nor there. This whole conversation is about to be mooted. Apparently they’re going to tell us what they’re doing out at Corliss Grant.”

Jefferson looked puzzled. “Sir?”

“They’ve requested an official observer,” Ackoff said. “An Imperial officer as official witness to some important test they’re going to conduct.”

“But why would they want a witness?” Jefferson asked.

Ackoff shook his head. “We haven’t any idea. Of course colonials do strange things.”

“I admit enough curiosity to consider going myself,” Greenaugh said. “But the governor won’t let me.”

“Not without sufficient escort,” Ackoff said. “And since our best guess is that what they’re doing is harmless, it would be impolitic for the captain to arrive with a company of fleet Marines.”

Whereas, Jeff thought, lieutenants are more expendable than captains. “Surely they know the Empire’s policy on negotiating with kidnappers,” he said.

“They ought to. We told them often enough,” Greenaugh said.

Imperial policy on the subject was simple. The hostages were counted as dead from the moment they were kidnapped. Imperial forces might storm the place the hostages were kept in, or they might bomb it. The one thing they wouldn’t do was negotiate for their safety. The policy was supposed to take away any incentive for kidnapping Imperial officials, and Jeff had always approved of it. Now he wasn’t so sure …

“It’s possible they don’t believe us, of course,” Greenaugh continued. “But I don’t think so. It’s too raw. Invite an Imperial officer out to their most secret place just to kidnap him? Easier to grab one of you chuckleheads in a local bar after a long night. Also, there’s the matter of the weather.”

“Weather?” Jeff asked.

“Yes,” Greenaugh said. “They want an observer as soon as possible, but only on a day that we can guarantee will have clear weather, no storms or high winds, in the Corliss Grant area.” The captain shrugged. “No difficulty this time of year, of course.”

“But no explanation given?” Jeff asked.

“None ”

“Whatever they intend,” Ackoff said, “this is an opportunity to find out what they’re doing out there. I will give you credentials — meaningless, of course — certifying you as an official witness, and you’ll be sent in answer to this request. The computer says the weather down there ought to be fine for at least another five or six days, so you can leave tomorrow.”

“Take a couple of Marines, lad,” Greenaugh said. “And keep an open communication line to headquarters. I’ll have someone listening in, just in case. We’ll get you out if we possibly can.”

The Corliss Grant Hills were located on a long peninsula jutting southward nearly a thousand kilometers from Haven City, the most southerly portion of the Kingdom of Haven. Jeff sat in the first-class compartment of the surprisingly fast train and watched the countryside roll past. There was little else to do. The palace equerry assigned to escort him was not talkative. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to see, either. This part of Haven was mostly farmland dotted with patches of swamp. Once something large and dangerous-appearing reared out of the swamp, but it didn’t challenge the train itself, and they were moving too fast for Jeff to see what the beast really was.

After a while the rail line cut inward through rolling brown hills cluttered with low brush. Jeff shook his head in perplexity. The compartment grew hotter with each kilometer they traveled southward; now it was downright uncomfortable. As a location for a secret research station, the Corliss Grant Hills had nothing to recommend them except isolation. Why, he wondered, why would the government of Haven choose to send a large part of their budget and increasing numbers of their all-too-scarce trained personnel to this godforsaken area?

The train slowed with screeching of brakes and hiss of steam. Jefferson collected the two Marines Greenaugh had sent with him and allowed himself to be led off the train. There was a small group led by an officer of the Haven Royal Army waiting on the platform. The officer — a colonel by his insignia — seemed vaguely familiar. Jefferson frowned, trying to recall him.

“MacKinnie,” Jefferson said. “Trader MacKinnie. I hadn’t known you were in the Haven army.” Although, he thought, I might have guessed. “Does this mysterious event you want us to observe have something to do with the expedition to Makassar?”

MacKinnie’s smile was noncommittal. “Less than we’d like,” he said. “But I suppose you could say so. Welcome to Corliss Grant, Lieutenant. Our transport is just over here-”

The steam car was luxurious. Jefferson declined a drink from the built-in bar and tried to question MacKinnie, but the Haven officer wasn’t answering questions.

“All in due time,” Jeff was told. “All in due time. Fortunately the weather is perfect—”

“As you knew it would be,” Jefferson said.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Four times they passed through guarded gates. The soldiers on duty seemed quite alert, and were highly deferential to MacKinnie. Curiouser and curiouser, Jeff thought. “I take it you’re not in charge of this show?”

MacKinnie shook his head. “No, you’ll be meeting some of His Majesty’s ministers shortly. I’m just supposed to get you on post and feed you lunch.”

“Skip the lunch,"Jeff said. “Let’s get to why I’m here.”

“Can’t skip the lunch.” MacKinnie said. “Timings rather critical, I’m afraid.”

MacKinnie’s half smile was irritating. There was something else, too, an air of tension. Colonel MacKinnie’s worried about something, Jeff thought. Worried and trying not to show it. I wonder—

There was a series of loud explosions. Jeff sat bolt upright. His hand flew to his sidearm before he noticed that MacKinnie hadn’t moved. “Put it away, Donivtsky,” Jeff told his Marine escort. “I will say I’m pleased to see how fast you can draw that weapon.”

“Sir.”

“Colonel, what the devil was that?”

“Experimental cannon. Fires several hundred rounds a minute,” MacKinnie said. “They’re testing it. You’ll see it soon enough.”

“Did you drag me down here in this heat to look at a cannon?”

“Not exactly. Ah. Here we are.”

The car pulled up in front of a large wooden building. There were armed sentries on duty outside it, and more soldiers waiting to open the car doors for them. Again Jeff had the impression of tension, of something about to happen, but there was nothing definite, and certainly nothing threatening.

He was led inside to an ornate dining room where white-uniformed mess stewards served an excellent meal. Jeff declined wine, but was persuaded to have a small glass of grua after he ate. Conversation was minimal, and once again MacKinnie avoided answering his questions.

When they finished, MacKinnie stood. “And now it is time to meet my lord Dougal, His Majesty’s cabinet officer in charge of this establishment. If you’ll come with me-”

They didn’t have to go far. Jeff was privately amused. It wasn’t unknown for colonials to show their importance by insisting on elaborate rules of precedence. Obviously a mere lieutenant wasn’t important enough for a cabinet officer to have lunch with.

There could have been a scene at the office door. Jeff’s Marines didn’t want to be separated from him. “My apologies, Colonel,” Jeff said. “The sergeant has been ordered to protect me—”

“Surely not from us,” MacKinnie said. “On this post that’s my job.”

And he looks plenty insulted, too, Jeff thought. Oh, hell. “I’ll be right out, Sergeant,” Jeff told Donivtsky. “Please wait for me here.”

The Marine wasn’t pleased. His “Sir!” made that clear. Jeff went into the paneled office musing on just how much expression a senior NCO could put into a monosyllable.

The man seated at the large desk certainly didn’t look dangerous. Jeff remembered meeting him briefly at some palace function or another.

“My lord Dougal, minister without portfolio,” MacKinnie said. As Jeff shook hands with Dougal, MacKinnie closed the door.

“Very kind of you to come,” Dougal said. “Please have a seat. Thank you. Grua?”

“I’ve been entertained well, my lord,” Jeff said. “If you’ll pardon me, I’m overcome with curiosity about why I’m here.”

“Yes, of course you are,” Dougal said. “If you could please give me your credentials as an official observer for the Empire?”

Jeff handed over the documents. They were studded with seals. “Dazzlers,” Ackoff had called them. Since there wasn’t any such office as “official witness” the text had been cobbled up by Ackoff’s secretary. It was possible that the locals could read some of the Imperial language — their own wasn’t all that different from Angelic — so the documents states, in flowery terms, that Lieutenant Jefferson was empowered to observe and make an official report.

Dougal examined the papers, then put them in his desk. “If you’ll excuse me one more moment?” He lifted a small tube from the desk and put it to his ear, listened, then spoke into it. “Excellent. Please ask H.M. to be ready to come in.” He put the tube back on the desk and turned to Jefferson. “Indeed, it is time we had a long discussion, Lieutenant. I would rather your government had sent a more senior officer, but you’ll have to do. First, though, I must make a strange request. Would you allow me to lock your sidearm in my desk?”

MacKinnie spoke from behind him. “No sudden moves. Please.”

“I regret that the colonel is armed,” Dougal said. “As am I. And of course this office is under observation by several of my agents. Believe me, Lieutenant, you are not being kidnapped. No demands will be made on you, and your weapon will be returned to you shortly. But I must insist that you surrender it. You see, we have a silly law that only the king’s officers may be armed in his presence, and His Majesty is waiting to come in.”

And Colonel MacKinnie is behind me, Jeff thought. These blithering idiots are going to get themselves in trouble. Already have. He could imagine what was happening at headquarters. The duty officer listening would have sent for Greenaugh — if Greenaugh weren’t already there. Jeff hoped he was. He didn’t really need to be rescued.

“No problem,” Jeff said. “You didn’t have to be so dramatic. A simple request—”

“Which is all we have done,” Dougal said.

Jeff carefully drew his pistol and held it out. MacKinnie stepped forward and took it.

Dougal lifted the speaking tube again. “All clear,” he said pleasantly.

The door opened and King David came in.

Dougal stood when the king entered, so Jeff did also. And what’s the protocol for a disarmed Imperial officer meeting a colonial king? Jeff wondered. Can’t hurt to be polite. “Your Majesty,"Jeff acknowledged, and bowed.

“This is not an official audience,” David said. “Please be seated.”

Jeff waited until both the king and Dougal were seated before he resumed his chair. As King David took his seat, Jeff studied him. Not a bad looking fellow, he thought. And not an idiot, from everything Greenaugh says. This is a pretty stupid move, but they’ll never know just how stupid. By now Greenaugh himself is certainly listening—

As if he were reading Jeff’s thoughts, King David said, “My lord, you are convinced we are not being overheard?”

“Nearly certain,” Dougal said. “All through lunch the technicians detected some kind of radio wave. After the lieutenant came in here and the door was closed they couldn’t detect it any longer. I suppose it’s possible they have some other kind of secret communication we can’t stop, but I doubt it.”

“How long have we?” King David asked.

Dougal shrugged. “As best we know, we’re duplicating that signal exactly. At this moment, three actors who sound very much like myself, MacKinnie, and the lieutenant are exchanging meaningless pleasantries.”

“What the devil does this mean?” Jeff demanded.

“Please,” King David said. “Lieutenant, you have my word that no harm will come to you and that you will shortly be given your weapon and taken to a place where you can communicate with your superiors. Indeed, we will insist that you communicate. All we want is to be certain you will not interfere with our test.”

“Then may I suggest that Your Majesty conduct his test and not interfere with an Imperial officer on duty?” Jeff said.

“Please,” Dougal said. “If you’ll listen for a moment all will be clear. We have one question we need answered.” He looked sourly at MacKinnie. “The colonel insisted we find this out before we allow the flight. Lieutenant, we know your spaceship is in orbit around this planet. We’ve been tracking her.”

Jeff stood abruptly. “If you damned fools fire some kind of rocket at Tombaugh you really are stupid—”

“Sit down.” Colonel MacKinnie stood close to Jeff. “Now you’ve been blunt, let me. We’re not trying to hurt your goddam warship. What we want to know is, if we launch someone into orbit can your ship rescue her?”

“Rescue? What — Your Majesty, just what do you contemplate doing here today?”

“Surely that is obvious from the question,” King David said. “We are launching a spaceship. Our only problem is that it cannot return to Prince Samual’s World. Thus we need to know how long it will take your ship to rescue our helmsman.”

“Helmswoman,” MacKinnie said.

“The colonel’s fiancee,” King David said. “He is understandably worried about her.”

“I see. “Jeff sat down. “May I take out my computer?”

“Please do,” Dougal said.

Jeff scrawled numbers across the screen. “You’re launching due east?”

Dougal nodded. “They tell me that’s best, although I confess I don’t know why.”

“I do.” Due east from this latitude … what orbit was Tombaugh in just now? Not true polar, but highly inclined. No problem to intercept a ship coming up from Prince Samual’s World, but to match orbits … “Your Majesty, you must not do this. Tombaugh’s defenses will be on automatic, and they might shoot down your ship—”

“We’ve timed our launch pretty carefully,” Dougal said. “Your ship will be on the other side of Prince Samual’s World precisely because we supposed something like that. Once our ship is up you can warn your people.”

“I see.” Jeff scrawled more numbers. “Assuming your craft actually makes orbit — which I doubt, that’s tougher than you can possibly know — then Tombaugh should be able to match orbits in a bit more than three hours.”

“You see,” Dougal said. Jeff noted the cabinet officer was speaking to MacKinnie. “Plenty of margin.”

“I suppose,” MacKinnie said.

“If Your Majesty will forgive a blunt question,” Jeff said, “I really would like to know why you’re doing this.”

“But surely that, too, is obvious,” King David said. “As of last week I am in effective control of this planet. Presumably we will now be admitted to the Empire. Since we are about to demonstrate that we can construct a spaceship, we wish to apply for a status somewhat higher than that of a colony.”

“Jesus Christ on a crutch.” Jeff said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT LONG PAST THUNDER

There were a dozen officials waiting on a platform behind the office building. It had been too hot inside the office, but at least there had been air motion provided by fans. Outside there was not a breath of wind, and Prince Samual’s bright sun stood high overhead. Instantly, Jeff felt sweat running down his chest inside his tunic.

He fingered his sidearm to be sure it was still there. As soon as he was outside the building he spoke. “Whoever’s on duty, get Captain Greenaugh at once.”

The acknowledge symbol appeared on the screen of his pocket computer. Moments later the computer spoke to him. “Greenaugh here.”

“Captain, there’s a lot happening. First thing is that they’re about to launch a one-way spaceship.”

“Lieutenant, what have you been drinking?”

Jeff patiently explained. “And they’re about to launch it now,” he finished. “I haven’t seen the ship yet, but any moment now—”

“I don’t suppose you could delay this launch?” Greenaugh asked.

“There are about five hundred of their troops here, and the three of us,” Jeff said.

“Yeah.” Greenaugh was silent for a moment. “And their king is there,” Greenaugh said. “I’d better get His Excellency brought up to speed. What the hell kind of spaceship have they got, anyway?”

“They haven’t told me, sir. I assume it’s some kind of primitive rocket. I don’t see any ship, but everyone’s acting expectant. They’re coming back now; they went off to give me privacy — although nothing’s private about it; they know what kind of communications I’ve been using. They’re probably listening.”

There was another long silence from the other end. Then, “We didn’t even know they suspected. What else don’t we know?”

Jeff was tempted to say they hadn’t known anything about a spaceship, but decided not to.

“Look just over there,” Dougal told Jeff. “Just at that hillside.”

There was a roar of thunder, a series of explosions so close together it was impossible to distinguish between them, but still it seemed like many explosions because it went on far too long to have been just one. It did not at all sound like a large rocket.

The ship that rose above the hill was like nothing Jeff had ever imagined. It looked like an artillery shell mounted above a large inverted cup. Impossibly bright flashes came downward from the cup. They were so close together they appeared to be one long tongue of flame, yet once again Jeff had the impression of many small explosions rather than one continuous burn. He cringed involuntarily. There was no protection at all if the — ship? — exploded. He wondered why they would expose their king to so much danger. “What is that thing?” Jeff demanded.

“A piloted spaceship,” Dougal said proudly.

“It doesn’t look much like a spaceship,” Jeff said. “It doesn’t even look like a rocket.”

“It’s not a rocket.” The newcomer’s voice was high-pitched and almost querulous, but filled with pride.

“Allow me to present Academician Kleinst,” Dougal said.

“Kleinst,” Jeff said aloud. “You were also on the Makassar expedition.”

“I had that privilege,” Kleinst said. He turned to stare after the rapidly rising ship.

Jeff watched it also, and willed it to succeed. There was something highly dramatic about this ship rising on a thunder of fire. “If it explodes we could be killed,” Jeff said. “Didn’t you think of a bunker for the observers?”

“Your pardon,” Dougal said. “His Majesty thought that as the pilot was willing to take the risk, we should all share it. Perhaps we had no right to assume you would feel the same way. It is not your ship—”

“It’s academic now,” Jeff said. “How does the ship work, then?”

“For God’s sake,” Greenaugh’s voice interrupted. “Call it a goddam craft, or a probe, or anything else, but don’t be on record as calling it a ship! His Excellency almost excreted bricks when I told him what your colonial friends are up to.”

“Craft,"Jeff corrected himself. “How does it work if it’s not a rocket?”

Kleinst preened. “There is a rapid-firing gun, a multi-barreled gun that fires explosive shells downward. The shells explode in the hemispherical chamber beneath. The explosion drives the ship upward.”

“I never heard of anything like that,” Jeff said. “Captain, have-”

“I’m looking it up,” Greenaugh’s voice said. “Primitive spacecraft, propulsion by explosive — Jesus Christ!”

“Sir?”

“The earliest known reference is 1899.”

“Sir, did you say 1899?”

“I did. We don’t have the text, but the reference is here. And in 1957, Goddard applied for some kind of license to build such a ship. Dyson experimented with them, too.”

Goddard. Dyson. Names from ancient history, people who’d lived in legendary times. Jefferson had been aboard a luxury liner named Goddard, and thought he recalled a scout survey ship named Freeman Dyson as well.

The ship was almost out of sight now. Its thunder was muted as it plunged eastward and rose into the ultra-deep blue of Prince Samual’s skies.

“How are you stabilizing it?” Jefferson demanded.

“It’s largely self-stabilizing,” Kleinst said. “From the geometry of the explosion chamber. We also have peroxide rockets to correct the heading.”

“And your pilot’s a girl—”

“A freelady,” Colonel MacKinnie said coldly.

“The gyroscopes do most of the steering,” Kleinst added.

MacKinnie was staring toward the east at the spot where the oddball ship was now almost invisible. Jeff didn’t care much for the expression on the colonel’s face. “Captain, you’d better alert Tombaugh not to shoot it down,” he said.

“Already done,” Greenaugh said.

“Colonel,” Jeff said, “am I being too personal in asking why you sent your fiancee as pilot?”

“Weight,” MacKinnie said through clenched teeth.

“Mass,” Kleinst corrected. “We needed a pilot who had experience in no gravity. Of those few available, Freelady Graham and I mass the least. I was needed on other duties.”

“And what’s your plan now?” Jefferson demanded.

“There is a transmitter aboard,” Kleinst said. “When the ship achieves orbit it will be turned on to provide a signal so that Prince Samual’s Hope can be located in space. We had hoped your ship would be able to assist.”

“No reentry capability, “Jefferson said.

Kleinst looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded. “Correct. We were unable to provide for a return from orbit within the time limits available.’’

“And you call that a spaceship?” Jefferson demanded.

King David had been listening quietly. “That, I think, is a matter to be discussed between your superiors and my advisors, is it not, Lieutenant? Prince Samual’s Hope has carried one of my officers to space. Does that not make it a spaceship?”

“Don’t answer,” Greenaugh’s voice said. “Don’t even discuss the matter with them! ”

“Yes, sir,"Jeff said.

He tried to remember Mary Graham’s face, but he couldn’t. It had been too long ago that he inspected the Makassar party. She’s one hell of a lady, Jeff thought. I wouldn’t have got in that gunpowered coffin for an earl’s coronet. Hope she makes it.

He turned and like the others stared at the empty indigo skies.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE S.O.S.

The ship rose in fire and thunder.

Mary Graham lay on the leather-strip couch, unable to move, her face drawn into a rictus grin by the acceleration. Despite the couch and its shock mountings, the vibration was fierce. She felt sharp, stabbing pains in her abdomen.

For all that, she felt better than she had while she was waiting for the launch. That had been a time of real terror, an hour stretched into years of waiting and wondering and remembering.

You wanted to be important, she told herself. Well, lassie, you’ve managed that, if you haven’t got yourself killed. But I wish it didn’t hurt so.

The noise gradually died away as the ship rose above the atmosphere. The vibration was no better, and the acceleration continued to increase. With the cannon’s roar muted she heard other sounds. The clatter of the feed mechanism pushing an endless stream of heavy shells into the rotary feed hopper. The steady whirr of the big gyros. Clicking sounds as punched steel ribbons fed through the clockwork mechanism. The ribbons controlled the gear mechanism that controlled the gyros; they might call her a pilot, but she knew better. Those steel ribbons were the actual pilot, and she was no more than a passenger.

How long does this go on? I can’t stand a lot more of it. What am I doing here?

Finishing a job.

Maybe. And maybe not. Even if I live through this, there’s no guarantee the Empire will accept this thing as a real spaceship. But it’s all we have, and they certainly

wouldn’t accept it if there were no passengers at all. Somebody had to ride Prince Samual’s Hope, and she was the most logical choice. Young, strong, with experience in space…

It had made a lot of sense at the time she proposed the idea. First to Kleinst, then to Malcolm Dougal. She hadn’t convinced Nathan, but there hadn’t been much he could do to stop her. She wasn’t married to him yet.

Would she ever be? Did he want her? He’d been furious, and could he live with someone he couldn’t control? That’s silly, he’s known since Makassar, and he’s always wanted me as much as I wanted him, and O God, do I want him now.

She felt dizzy, and the acceleration and vibration increased constantly. She couldn’t open her eyes.

O God, make it stop!

She woke to silence and the sensation of falling. The silence wasn’t complete. The gyros continued to whirr, but the cannon was silent. She unbuckled the straps holding her to the couch.

Her body ached. Not just the dull ache she’d expected from the acceleration. This was stabbing pain, pain so intense it was like a bright red veil across her eyes, pain all through her lower abdominal region, pain made worse when she touched herself or moved her legs.

I’ve got to get up. I’ve got to turn on that — transmitter. Or what Kleinst called a transmitter. Nothing like the box Lieutenant Farr kept at Navy House in Jikar.

But first I’ve got to know. Are we in orbit, or—

She floated to the viewport. A river of stars swung past, then Prince Samual’s World. The ship was rolling, not fast enough to create artificial gravity, but definitely rolling.

Once each minute her world was below. Not a whole world, only a large disc. She wedged her head against the port and waited, cautiously experimenting with her legs to see if she could find a position that might alleviate the pain even a little.

Gradually she detected motion. She was moving across the Major Sea, and if anything she was drawing away from Prince Samual’s World.

Later she’d get out the sextant and take angles, but it looked good. The Hope was in orbit. Maybe. Time for the transmitter. She pushed away from the port and over to the bulkhead. The transmitter was nothing but a vibrator, some coils, and a gap across which a fat electrical spark jumped when she pressed the keys.

Dit dit dit. Dah dah dah. Dit dit dit. Which stood for S.O.S., which stood for something so ancient that no one knew what it might be. Did the Empire still use S.O.S. as a distress signal? The First Empire had. Longway was certain of it. So why wouldn’t the present day Imperials?

Not that it mattered a lot. The Empire knew she was there. Nathan had arranged that. Their observer would tell the Imperial Navy ship all about her. She wound the clockwork that controlled the spark gap. An endless tape fed through it. Dit dit dit. Dah dah dah. Dit dit dit. A thick wire from the spark gap led through insulators to a mess of fused quartz, through that to outside the ship. She tried to imagine the signal going through space, reaching out to Tombaugh. Dit dit dit. Dah dah dah. Dit dit dit.

Now they’d hear it and come get her-

But there was nothing to do but wait, and time passed slowly.

If only I didn’t hurt so bad. We didn’t expect this. What’s wrong with me? Acceleration? Vibration? Something awful. God, it hurts …

Gradually, though, the pain lessened. It wasn’t as bad if she stayed curled into a tight ball. She pushed herself to the couch and drew a strap loosely across herself and lay there.

Time passed slowly. There was a counter on the tape mechanism driving the transmitter. Not a very accurate clock, but the best she had. It told her that thirty minutes had gone by. She stretched her legs experimentally. Not too bad. Painful, but she could stand it. And there was something wrong with the gyros. Batteries weakening. They were slowing down.

If they slowed enough, she’d have to try to control the ship herself. There were big wooden levers by one of the ports, and she could use them to control the jets mounted in a ring around the ship. If they didn’t run out of peroxide for the jets, she might be able to control tumbling. She hoped she wouldn’t have to. Kleinst wasn’t sure she — or anyone else — could do it by eye with nothing but the viewports to guide her.

The stars were still rolling past, first the stars, then Prince Samual’s World. The ship was rolling, but it wasn’t tumbling yet. She wondered if she should cancel the roll motion. Kleinst hadn’t been sure about that. It might be difficult, and the Empire surely had ways to stabilize the ship.

No, damn it, she thought. We’ll do as much of this ourselves as we possibly can. She took off the cords that held the control levers in place, and experimentally moved one of them. There was a subdued sound, more a rushing than a roar, and the stars swung more slowly.

Not so hard, she thought. Not hard at all. She moved the lever again, held it a bit longer, then waited to see what that did.

Three more times, and she had almost done it. Now the ship rotated very slowly, Prince Samual’s World visible for long minutes at each of the three viewports. Good enough, she thought. No point in taking chances. There still didn’t seem to be tumbling, although the sound of the gyros was definitely weaker.

If she listened carefully, she could hear the hiss of the air tanks. Five hours of air. Then-

Don’t think about that.

What should I think about?

It’s beautiful up here. Prince Samual’s World is lovely, a big saucer with wispy clouds, and the stars above, rivers of stars, and—

Where is that ship?

Dit dit dit. Dah dah dah. Dit dit dit.

CHAPTER THIRTY DEFINITIONS

There were three senior civil servants with Ackoff and Captain Greenaugh when Jeff arrived at the High Commissioner’s office. The massive conference table was littered with overflowing ashtrays and dirty coffee cups.

Ackoff was preoccupied and his introductions were perfunctory. That was telling; Ackoff was generally impeccably polite. “Lieutenant, you know our First Secretary, Dr. Boyd? And Madame Goldstein and Mr. Singh. I presume you’ve completed your inspection of that colonial craft?”

“Yes, sir.”

“An official inspection,” Greenaugh said. “By our official observer.”

Jeff winced at the irony in his commanding officer’s voice.

“Report says the pilot’s not in good shape. Is she all right?” Greenaugh asked.

Boy, and how! Jeff wanted to say. “She was shaken up rather badly, sir. They have her in Tombaugh’s sick bay. She’s cheerful enough. I think she’s rather flattered by all the attention…”

“Hardly surprising,” Goldstein said.

“We will need your observations, Lieutenant,” Commissioner Ackoff said. “We have a problem. What do we do with this?” He held up a parchment. “As you suspect, it’s King David’s formal application for admission of Prince Samual’s World as a second-class space-faring planet. I expect it comes as no surprise to learn it begins with great professions of loyalty to the Empire… He’s got his prerogatives right, too. Self-government under Imperial defense and Imperial advice on extra-planetary policy. Official observers at Court. Representative in the lower house of Parliament. Willing to accept reasonable trade restrictions. And while this doesn’t ask for it, you can be certain the next document we get will be a request for technological assistance. I would be interested in knowing how they learned so much about Imperial politics.”

Dr. Boyd was a tall man, well rounded, going to fat but not quite there yet. “To be precise, about the structure of Imperial government as it existed before the last Reform Act,” Boyd said. “They obtained excellent information, but much is somewhat out of date. A deficiency I think Mr. Soliman’s people will remedy shortly.”

Jeff muttered something.

’"Yes, Lieutenant?” Ackoff asked.

“Nothing, sir. It doesn’t seem to me that Trader Soliman’s firm would be too happy at losing a colony world since they’ve got the trade concession.”

“On the contrary,” Dr. Boyd said. “Trader Soliman’s on-planet factor has already attached a letter recommending that this application be approved.”

“I don’t understand,"Jeff said.

Ackoff smiled grimly. “The situation is rather delicate … Tell me, Lieutenant, how much of that craft represents imported technology?”

“It’s hard to say, sir,” Jeff answered. He spoke carefully, knowing his career was at stake in this meeting. And not just mine, he thought. All of us. We let them do this right under our noses, and someone’s going to pay — “The, uh, craft is unbelievably primitive. I wondered why they were so mass-conscious, but it’s obvious as soon as you board the thing. Take the gyros for instance. They’re huge. They have to be, because they’re mechanically coupled to the attitude jets.”

“Mechanically coupled?” Rosa Goldstein said. Her voice was incredulous. “Mechanically?”

“Yes. They didn’t know how to do it electronically. The whole craft is that way. Good ideas, but very primitive in implementation. Some of the workmanship is splendid, but it was all done by handcraft.”

“It was implemented well enough to get to space,” Ackoff said.

“It’s ridiculous on the face of it,” Third Secretary Singh said. “A tiny handmade capsule able to put one person in orbit is not a spaceship!”

“Have you found a technical definition of a spaceship?” Ackoff asked.

Singh looked chagrined. “No, Your Excellency.”

“Nor have I. I suspect there is none,” Dr. Boyd said. “Therefore we may accept their definition or not, as we choose. If we do not, they will certainly appeal.” He paused thoughtfully. “I wonder just how we’d look pleading this case before a high tribunal?”

“Fairly silly,” Goldstein said. “Some of the Lords Judges have a sense of humor. And of course we would have to explain how we let it happen.”

“Not to mention the time and trouble involved in preparing the case,” Boyd continued. “Transportation of witnesses. Investigations. Depositions. The cost would not be trivial.”

“Returning to my previous question,” Ackoff said. “Lieutenant, would you swear that ship was locally designed without benefit of knowledge obtained on Makassar?”

“No, sir. I’m certain it’s not. Do they say it is?”

“No,” Greenaugh said.

“Which is why this is no small matter,” Ackoff said. “And why Trader Soliman’s firm will provide them with the best possible legal assistance if it comes to trial.” He smiled thinly. “Very clever, that Lord Dougal of theirs. He pointed out to Soliman’s factor that if Prince Samual’s world is admitted as a Classified Member, then their importation of space-flight technology is quite legal. If not — then we’ve all failed in our duties. Especially Soliman.”

“And the Navy,” Greenaugh said. “We inspected their cargo on return.”

Jeff nodded. He’d been ready for that one. “To be exact, I did.”

“Not that you’ll be the only one with his arse in a crack,” Greenaugh said. “I’ll have to stand up with you.”

Dr. Boyd cleared his throat. “I really see little to discuss,” he said. “If we accept their application, we will look slightly ridiculous, but it’s not likely to become a notorious decision. Few families have been selected as colonists, and no important ones. The ITA won’t be troublesome. Quite the opposite; it’s very much in Soliman’s interest to keep things quiet. The Church has never approved of colonization, and I understand King David is preparing the documents submitting his state church to New Rome, which cannot displease His Holiness.” He ticked off points on his fingers. “Thus if we accept, there is little opposition to our decision. If we reject their application, we will be subject to well-financed appeals, including, I should fancy, a personal appeal from King David to the Royal Family itself.” He spread his hands wide and brought them together. “QED. Lieutenant, are you not prepared to testify that Prince Samual’s World has launched a spaceship and therefore technically qualifies as a world with limited space-faring capabilities?”

“Sir, I’d hate to defend calling that thing a spaceship,” Jeff said. “At least not in a courtroom.”

“With any luck, you won’t be in court,” Ackoff reminded him.

And it’s obvious what answer they want, Jeff thought. How the devil did I get in this mess? But there sure as hell doesn’t look like but one way out. “I just don’t know.”

“Let’s see how to put it,” Goldstein said. She looked thoughtful. “The supporting documents ought to be signed by Captain Greenaugh as well as the lieutenant. Captain, will you accept this: ‘In the absence of challenge by any interested party, we conclude that the craft qualifies as a spacecraft of marginal performance characteristics, and may be accepted as evidence of limited space-faring capability existing on Prince Samual’s World at the time of application for membership.’?”

Greenaugh thought for a moment. “Yes. I can sign that. Jefferson?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Then are we agreed?” Ackoff asked. “Good. Madam Goldstein, if you would be so kind-”

There was a slight whirring, and a paper emerged from a slot in the end table next to Ackoff. He took it and scanned it quickly, then passed it to Greenaugh.

Greenaugh signed and handed it to Jeff.

“If you please, Lieutenant,” Ackoff said. “Thank you.” He took the document and laid it carefully on top of King David’s parchment. “That’s settled, then.”

“There’s another matter,” Greenaugh said.

“And that is?”

“We’ve been made fools of. Someone’s going to pay for that.”

“I shouldn’t be too hasty,” Ackoff said.

“Allow me, Sir Alexei,” Dr. Boyd said. “Captain, while your desire is understandable, have you thought through the consequences? What end would be served?”

“You can’t let colonials make fools of the Navy and get away with it,” Greenaugh said.

“It is hardly a situation likely to arise again,” Boyd said. “As to being made a fool, I’d rather be thought a generous fool than a mean and petty one.”

Greenaugh stood and bowed coldly to Ackoff. “I see there’s no point in my being here,” he said. “With your permission, I’ll leave.” He turned and stalked out of the room.

“That could be a problem,” Goldstein said. “He wants someone’s blood.”

“I’ll speak to him later,” Ackoff said. “After all, we are the ones who must live with the consequences of what he does.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, then turned to Jefferson. “Lieutenant, I don’t think it would be wise to repeat anything you’ve heard in this room today.”

“No, sir.”

“Also, you will probably want to put your affairs in order. I doubt that your ship will be in this system much longer. Given the changed state of affairs here, we will need a somewhat different sort of naval assistance.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“Yes, sir,” Jefferson said. “If you’ll excuse me—” As Jeff left the office, Boyd was saying, “It does seem possible to comply with the captain’s wishes and at the same time solve another pressing problem—” Jeff let himself out of the office. By the time he reached the stairway, he was whistling to himself.

Regular Navy not needed, he thought. Colonists not needed. Well, that’s one decision made for me, not that I really needed help making it. They won’t be accepting transfers from the Navy to the civil service. Particularly not mine!

Now how am I going to tell Elaine?

Tell her any damned way you like, he told himself. You’re going to space again!

He took the steps three at a time.

An octopus of wires stretched upward to a bewildering array of dials and buttons. At one end the octopus terminated in electrodes attached to Mary’s abdomen; its other end vanished into a bulkhead of Tombaugh’s sick bay. She’d already learned to call it a bulkhead rather than a wall.

The Navy physician removed the last of the electrodes from her belly. “You can put your clothes on now,” he said. He seemed quite impersonal, although he’d been friendly enough in the wardroom two hours before. He held a shadowy photograph to the light. She’d heard him call it an X-ray, and he’d told her it showed a picture of her insides. She would have liked to study it, but she didn’t quite know how to ask.

“How am I doing?” Mary asked.

“You’ll be all right,” Lieutenant Commander Terry said. He looked at the X-ray again. “That treatment should do it. If it doesn’t, we’ll need to do some slicing.” He saw her look of dismay. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Routine, actually. You’re a standard chromotype. Regeneration stimulators work fine on you. Problem is, sometimes it’s easier to remove something and get it to grow back than to fix the original parts. Either way, you’ll be fine.”

“But what was wrong?”

“Vibration. Enough to tear some intestinal mesenteries. They’ll grow back, but I’m worried about adhesions.”

“That sounds serious.”

“Not really. You’ll have to take it easy for a bit, that’s all. Nothing strenuous.”

“I—” She was embarrassed, but it had to be said. “I was hoping to be married. Quite soon.”

“Hmm. Honeymoon wouldn’t be very interesting for a while,” he said. “But we’ll get all that fixed, too. You’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure?” The honeymoon could wait. It wasn’t as if they were impatient virgins. But — “Are you really sure?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Commander Terry’s smile was reassuring. “I may not have had a lot of experience treating women’s problems, but yours is quite simple. Nothing wrong with the reproductive system. Just intestinal tissue. I’ll have you right in a few weeks.”

“I didn’t think you could treat colonials,” Mary said.

“We can’t, as a usual rule, but of course the rules don’t apply to prisoners.”

“Prisoner? But-”

“Didn’t you know? Sorry,” he said. “I thought they’d told you. Captain Greenaugh sent up an arrest order three hours ago. You’ve been charged with interfering with the orderly development of Makassar.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE HORSE COLLARS

The Imperial Marine officer was polite, but very insistent. “Colonel MacKinnie, I have my orders. You are to accompany me to Empire House immediately.” He looked around Dougal’s office, then at Dougal. “I have a squad of Marines outside, and I am in communication with Marine Barracks.”

“Calmly, calmly,” Dougal said. “We have offered no resistance. I merely asked what Colonel MacKinnie is charge with. I assume he is under arrest?”

“I’d rather not put it that way,” the officer said. “But I could.”

“But what am I charged with?” MacKinnie demanded.

The officer shrugged.

“What should I do?” MacKinnie asked.

Dougal looked grave. “I would prefer that you go with him. Until this matter is settled, we should be prepared to go to any lengths to show how well we cooperate with the Imperial authorities.”

MacKinnie shrugged. “All right.”

“We will protest to the High Commissioner at once,” Dougal said.

“While you’re doing that, get them to set Freelady Graham free,” MacKinnie said, “We’ve got a wedding scheduled.”

“We will do our best,” Dougal said. “I’ll talk to the King immediately.”

Nathan sat in an ornate chair in the study at Government House. A cheerful fire burned on the hearth, but he hardly noticed it.

Where is Mary? Have they brought her here, or is she still up in that ship? Damn them, damn them to hell. They’ll have to let her go. They can’t hold her, she’s the most famous person on Samual, better known than King David.

That thought was disturbing. Dougal would see that, too. What would Dougal do about it? He can’t have one of David’s subjects more popular than the king, not if he plans to control the development of this planet.

Wonder if he’ll get that control? He’s certain the Empire is going to approve his application for Class II status. He seems to know a lot about Ackoff. Or says he does, and I’ve no evidence one way or another.

Suppose he’s right, they approve David’s application and bring Samual into their Empire. What happens then? What have they done with Mary?

The door opened and a large man, formally dressed, came in. “Colonel MacKinnie? I am Dudley Boyd, First Secretary. His Excellency will see you now.” MacKinnie stood, remembering that it was in this room that he’d first met the Imperials. That seemed like a long time ago.

And it is interesting, MacKinnie thought as he followed the diplomat down the hall. The First Secretary for escort. I’ve come up in the world …

Mary was in the High Commissioner’s office. He went to her without waiting to be introduced to the Commissioner, but then he stood self-consciously. He wanted to hold her, but old habits die hard. “Are you all right ? You look pale.”

“I’m fine-”

“The Navy’s surgeon says she will recover,” Boyd said. “There was internal bleeding, and perhaps an intestinal adhesion may need minor surgery.”

“Was it bad?” Nathan asked.

She grinned lopsidedly. “No worse than the carts on

Makassar.” Her reserve broke, and she stepped toward him. He opened his arms and held her.

Boyd cleared his throat. “Your Excellency, may I present Colonel Nathan MacKinnie. Colonel, High Commissioner Sir Alexei Ackoff.”

“Your servant,” MacKinnie said automatically.

“Hardly,” Ackoff said. “Have you any idea of how many man-hours of planning you two have wrecked? No, I wouldn’t suppose you would. Sit down, Freelady, Colonel. We have much to discuss.” He led the way to the comfortable couches arranged at the far end of his office. “Would anyone care for a drink? This will be quite informal.”

“Informal but official,” Boyd warned. “Colonel, you and Freelady Graham have been charged with interfering with the orderly development of a primitive world, to wit, Makassar.”

“But we didn’t interfere,” Mary protested.

Ackoff waved impatiently. “Don’t be nonsensical, There’s always interference when an advanced people move among primitives.”

“I see,” MacKinnie said. “You were embarrassed by our ship, and you’ve chosen us to pay for it.”

“Pronouns,” Dudley Boyd said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Wrong pronouns,” Boyd said. “You said ‘you,’ meaning us, and that’s not true. You’ve been arrested by Navy orders, not ours.”

“Makassar is under Navy jurisdiction,” Ackoff explained. “There is no civil government there. Captain Greenaugh is within his rights, and he could try you by court martial. You would then have the right to appeal to civil authority, which is to say, to me. We’re trying to save time by dealing directly with you.”

“But what did we do?” Mary asked.

“Captain Greenaugh is still building his case,” Ackoff said. “But as it happens, I can put one precise specification to his charge. Horse collars.”

“Horse collars?” MacKinnie frowned. “I hadn’t thought the Empire concerned itself with trivia.”

Ackoff laughed. “Trivia? Colonel, the horse collar effectively ended slavery on Earth in pre-atomic times. I see you don’t understand.

“Consider that if you harness a horse by fastening a strap around its neck, the poor beast can’t pull very hard because when it pulls it strangles itself. Improperly hitched horses can do about five times as much work as a man. But a horse eats five times as much as a man. Given the choice between a horse and a slave there isn’t much in it.

“But. Add the rigid horse collar so the load goes on the shoulders, and the horse can do ten times as much work as a man — and it still eats only five times as much. Horses are then clearly preferable to humans for heavy work. Prior to the invention of horse collars there were as many slaves as free people on Earth. Afterwards, slavery became fairly rare and only imposed on people thought inferior. And I see I am indulging my tendency to lecture.

“My point is simple. I know from the reports — from your own admissions — that you introduced rigid horse collars. Probably a lot of other seemingly minor innovations will have a profound impact. Privately, I expect you did them far more good than harm, but if we want to charge you, we have all the evidence we need.”

“And you can’t say you weren’t warned,” Boyd said. “Captain Greenaugh is adamant on that point. He warned you himself.”

“But—” Graham protested.

Nathan shook his head. “They’ve obviously got more to say. Let’s hear them out.”

“A good attitude,” Ackoff said. “Colonel, you know very little of Imperial politics. I can be certain of this, because it’s true of everyone on this planet. That’s going to change, of course. Once Prince Samual becomes an actual member world, there’ll be travel and trade. And intrigue. I doubt that King David and Lord Dougal have any suspicion of what’s in store for them, of how hard it will be for them to maintain control here when new technology begins to flow unrestricted.

“Have you any place in that struggle?”

“Not much,” MacKinnie said. “I thought of that already. Even that Dougal might see us—” He took Mary’s hand. “Might see us as a threat.”

“Discerning,” Ackoff said. “And actually — the situation is more complicated than I described it.” He pointed upward, out the arched window above his desk. “Out there in Trans-Coalsack Sector they’ve discovered aliens. The fleet’s being sent there. Sparta’s attention will inevitably follow. There won’t be a lot to spare for Samual. My staff will remain, and we will bring in our intelligence people, but this will be, after all, a rather minor provincial world for some time to come. You two have won King David the right to a measure of independence, and he’ll have to endure the consequences.”

“I don’t see where we come in,” MacKinnie said.

“Think upon it,” Boyd said. “The contest for power on this planet is hardly over. You two will shortly be the best-known people on Prince Samual’s World. You cannot avoid being drawn into politics.”

“That’s not my game,” Nathan said.

“It is tempting, “Mary said. “We could-”

“To be blunt,” Boyd said, “you can work with Dougal or be killed; and it will be difficult to fit into Dougal’s plans. Also, understand that there’s no way we could protect you even if we wanted to. Pardon the interruption, but were I you I would think of few less tempting alternatives.”

“Nor could we allow you to raise an army of your former soldiers for protection,” Ackoff said. “We will not permit a civil war on this planet.”

“You’re working up to something,” MacKinnie said. “Make your offer.”

Ackoff nodded. “You are admirably direct. But then you’re a soldier, not a diplomat. There is one other point of background you ought to be quite certain of. Captain Greenaugh does not like you.”

Mary Graham laughed. “We hadn’t expected him to.”

“The matter is serious,” Dr. Boyd said. “The Navy has great influence, and Captain Greenaugh is adamant. Someone must be punished — visibly punished — to assuage his embarrassment.”

“And we’re elected,” Mary said.

“It seems that way,” Boyd said.

“The Navy arrest warrant is quite genuine,” Ackoff said carefully. “It cannot be ignored. But we would very much prefer to avoid a trial.”

“Why?” MacKinnie asked.

“No one would win,” Ackoff said. “Your King David would defend you, but I doubt his heart would be in it. He’d want us to win, and thereby prove that we are tyrants. We, on the other hand, would prefer to lose the case and thus demonstrate the fairness of Imperial justice. If Greenaugh insists on a court martial, then you will appeal. If we grant that appeal, Greenaugh will insist the case be opened at a higher level. A waste of time all around, with no profit for anyone — and unpleasant for you in the bargain. Fortunately, there is an alternative. You can plead guilty and ask for Imperial clemency.”

“Why should we do that?” Mary asked.

“Because we would then determine the sentence, which would be permanent exile.”

“Exile?” Nathan said.

“Yes. To Makassar.”

“Makassar?” MacKinnie asked. “I don’t see—”

“Simple, actually,” Boyd said. “If you accept voluntary exile on Makassar, Greenaugh will be satisfied. You made fools of the Navy, and you paid for it. But of course there are side benefits. You will also be removed as a factor in this world’s politics.” The First Secretary examined his fingertips. “That makes our task just a bit easier.”

“And Makassar could benefit as well,” Ackoff added.

“If we can’t give much attention to Prince Samual’s World, what have we to spare for that place? A world of no importance. But there are nearly a million people there, people as human as you and I.”

“You really want us to go back?” Graham asked incredulously.

“Precisely, “Boyd said.

“You impressed the churchmen,” Ackoff said. “And now that you are a citizen of a classified world, it would be legal for you to hold an official appointment. As, say, civil advisor to the Archbishop. His memorandum makes it clear that he would welcome your assistance.”

“You could do a lot of good,” Boyd said. “No one will govern Makassar for a long time. Certainly not with the resources we can spare. But Makassar will inevitably fall into Prince Samual’s sphere of influence, and someone must see that the ITA doesn’t absolutely plunder that unfortunate world until it is capable of protecting itself. “You might make a difference in their development.”

Mary and Nathan looked at each other in amazement. Were these two actually pleading with them?

“It’s quite a logical position for you,” Ackoff said. “You know as much about Makassar as anyone in the Empire. You even had access to the old library.” Ackoff smiled thinly. “Not that I expect you to admit it, but your ship rather proves that, doesn’t it? And while you don’t know a lot about modern technology, Makassar’s not likely to get much modern technology. What’s needed is someone who knows how to make do.”

“How can you trust me?”

“We don’t have to,” Boyd said. “No matter what you do, you’ll be no threat to the Empire.” He shrugged. “Assume the worst, that you make yourself king of all the barbarians. The ship that takes you there will remove most of the tapes from that Old Empire library. What can you do to us? And Makassar is unlikely to be worse off with you than without you.’’

“And if I refuse?” Nathan asked.

Ackoff shrugged. “We’d have to consider our other alternatives.”

“The threat isn’t needed,” Mary said. “We want to go back. Nathan never wanted to leave.”

MacKinnie nodded agreement. “I left some obligations back there. But — Mary, are you certain you want this?”

“What makes you think you’re the only one who wants to be needed?” she demanded. “For a moment I was mad enough to suppose that because I was a passenger in Dougal’s ship I could be a match for Dougal, but that won’t work. And — I was needed on Makassar too, Nathan MacKinnie. Not just by you.”

“We’ll give you time to think about it,” Ackoff said.

“We won’t need it,” Mary said. She turned to MacKinnie. “Will we, Your Excellency?” She made no attempt to hide her laughter.

Ackoff nodded. “If it were done, ’t were best done quickly. We’ll arrange transportation in a ship with proper medical facilities. You should be as good as new when you arrive on Makassar.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, I can see there’s a chaplain aboard also. I understand congratulations are in order … That’s settled, then.”

Ackoff smiled warmly, then turned to his computer screen. That was one problem solved. There would be others. There always were.