Bayley, Barrington J - Novel 10 (7 page)

 
          
"Recently
a twelve-year-old girl was sent out as Admiral of Twenty-Three-Fleet,"
Menshek added, in a voice of mild disapproval. "You've probably heard of
it—it was an attempt to put together a sixth fleet from scavenged or
cannibalised vessels, not really a fleet at all. The reason she was Admiral was
that she was the only pure-blooded human in the outfit."

           
"Yes, I know of it,"
Archier said. "I heard she performed very well, for the time
Twenty-Three-Fleet was in operation. It failed mainly through having
insufficient resources."

 
          
"I
agree the appointment was a success in her case," Menshek conceded.
"But what about the eight-year-old boy who became
Three-Fleet's Fire Command Officer . . . just before they invested
Costor."

 
          
₍
"From
what I hear he made an excellent Fire Command Officer."

 
          
"But
such lack of restraint! It was needless to wipe out half a planet like
that-—Costor's ships weren't
that
much
of a danger!" Menshek made a face. "There was a committee of enquiry
over it, you know. The boy had learned his skill on games machines. He hadn't
appreciated reality was different."

 
          
"Adults
can equally be carried away by excitement," Archier pointed out.
"Years don't necessarily make one mature."

 
          
"Well,
you may be right . . . certainly it's the fashionable view, or perhaps I should
say the 'social philosophy.' Yet these ideological notions are what
is
killing the Empire. There's no healthy pragmatism. The
desperate shortage of pure humans, for instance, could be remedied in a
perfectly straightforward manner simply by cloning them in whatever numbers are
required. That would be the military solution. But we can't do it because in
the official purview every pure human must be a consequence of love, not mere
practicality— that is, he must be willed into existence by his parents purely
for his own sake. So this rules out mass cloning or extra-hysterine growth of
foetuses, except where it's to avoid the inconvenience of pregnancy. And the
plain fact is that few humans in Diadem are interested in the bother of raising
children ..."

 
          
Softly,
Archier laughed. Much as he valued Menshek's advice, he had to admit the older
man had some crazy ideas. "Everything we're striving to preserve would be
gone if the human beings were to be produced by the state," he objected.
"It turns the whole purpose of life upside down—we'd be like ants or bees."

 
          
Menshek
shrugged. Changing the subject, Archier said, "I was wondering if you had
any inkling as to the possible nature of this new weapon? It would have to be a
large-scale development, wouldn't it? Something huge, one imagines. Is Escoria
Sector particularly skilled scientifically?"

           
"No, I don't think so. It
includes Earth, the original colonising planet, but I believe that's a pretty
quiet place. To destroy the Empire, one would have to destroy the fleets. So if
there
is
a new weapon, we shall
probably encounter it in the coming engagement ..."

 
          
Archier
shuddered.

 
          
"On
the other hand, the 'weapon' may not be physical at all," Menshek mused.
"As I have intimated, I think the Empire is more likely to be destroyed by
ideas
than by war. Already our social
ideas render us an unlikely candidate for survival. Maybe Oracle has got wind
of some new social message that has arisen in Escoria ... in that case any
battles we fight will be superfluous. We could even unknowingly import the
weapon into the heart of Diadem when we levy taxes and tribute after a victory
..."

 
          
"Need
Oracle be so cryptic? And that could be true of any other region, couldn't
it?"

 
          
"Yes,
it could. But in view of Oracle's warning, I recommend we should interrogate
all Escorians that are brought aboard, before shipping them to Diadem."

 
          
Archier
nodded. "I will remember your advice."

 
          
By
now the cat girl was bored with their talk. She strolled over to where Arctus
was busy scanning reports on his desk screen. Over-familiarly, she stroked his
trunk.

 
          
"Find
me something to do, little elephant. I need some fun."

 
          
Removing
his trunk from her caress, Arctus gave her a sidewise glance from one of his
small, peering eyes. "Have you no duty station?" he asked
reprovingly. "You should have
work
to do."

 
          
"But
I'm a pleasure girl," she said airily. "I'm one of Priapus' People,
that's my duty." She tossed her head. "The Admiral has other things
to attend to, it seems."

 
          
"Hmph.
You should all have something more vital to
do," he grumbled. At this, her mouth opened in mock amazement.

 
          
'What's more vital than—?
Just because you pachyderms only
mate once a year or something . . . Perhaps that's why you're so
serious."
But Arctus was ignoring
her jibes. He keyed the screen, moving through the ship with a flurry,
interpreting each flash-seconded scene with a practised eye.

 
          
"There's
a caryoline party going on on deck four, stateroom eighty-three," he
said. "Though really, you should be resting up for this evening's
relaxation." Caryoline was an inhalant drug, similar in its action to
cocaine,
but
with an added
"sociability vector."

 
          
Her
eyes sparkled. "Oh, I
love
caryoline,"
she said in a husky voice. "See you."

 
          
She
left the office, without bothering to retrieve any clothing, prowling with
expectation. Menshek shared Arctus' disapproval and frowned after her as she
departed. It frustrated him that though Ten-Fleet was staffed by so few pure
humans there
were
many more on board with no military
role. Some, like Priapus' People, were contracted entertainers; but others were
hangers-on, along for the ride, for the fun of it, or merely happening to be
visiting one of the ships when the fleet last set out from Diadem. The fleet
was like a small city; when in dock citizens were able to come aboard without
let or hindrance, and at outwards despatch date some did not bother to leave.

 
          
Menshek,
like many of the animal officers, would dearly have liked to be able to press
some of these passengers into service, but a first-class citizen from Diadem
simply could not be coerced. Clearly many of them did not take the fleet's role
seriously; Archier had sometimes encountered an astonishing ignorance of what
its actual business was.

 
          
And
anyway, even if they were conscripted he doubted they would be much use. He
felt safer with his animals.

 
          
Ten-Fleet
was in Escoria, had announced its arrival by showering hydrogen-lithium
grenades at random over an inhabited (though not densely so) planet. The rebel
fleet had responded as anticipated to the outrage, by springing out of
concealment to give challenge.

 
          
Now
the two hurtled towards one another, and Admiral Archier decided on a
pre-battle inspection tour of some of the
larger
of
the one hundred and forty ships under his command. He and his entourage stepped
from the intermat kiosk aboard the front-line-o'-war class vessel ICS
Lilac
Willow
.
Among the captain and officers who greeted
them there sidled a small man of erect bearing whose hair hung in a neat fringe
over his forehead. His loose toga-like garment, whose cut suggested he did not
hail from Diadem, was daubed with what looked like bright paints of various
colours.

 
          
Boldly
the man approached Archier. In polite tones he asked if he might accompany the
party into "the working areas of the ship." "Particularly the
engines and gunnery," he added. "Your animals have kept me out of
these places up to now."

 
          
"This
man is an item of tax," Arctus trumpeted softly to Archier while the rest
of the entourage stared.
"A native of Alaxis, to judge
by his apparel.
That was the planet we levied before we visited
Rostia."

 
          
"The
ships of the Imperial fleets are reputed to be technically more advanced than
those of the subject worlds," the importuner continued blandly.
"Hence my interest.
And after all; I shall be formally
registered as a first-class citizen once in Diadem. I am one already, of course
..."

 
          
"Oh,
are you an engineer, then?" Archier asked.

 
          
The
Alaxian smiled. "No, I am a writer of space dramas. Interstellar battles
are my stock-in-trade, you might say, and now I have a chance to gain
first-hand experience—as well as some background information which could be
invaluable."

           
Archier, too, smiled. "Perhaps
you will compose a suitably embellished account of the action. It should make
you famous in Diadem. But actually, you should have asked Captain Prenceuse's
permission, not mine."

 
          
The
captain of
Lilac Willow
shrugged.
They moved on, the Alaxian attaching himself to the rear of the group without a
further word. As they entered a traverse-elevator and were conveyed through the
innards of the great ship, however, he sidled close to Archier.

 
          
"Pardon
my forwardness, Admiral, but may I introduce myself person to person? I am
Volsted Magroom ... it is unlikely you have heard of me, but my works are well
known on my own world of Alaxis . . . hence my present sitation, of
course—though let me say at once," he added hastily, "how pleased and
honoured I am to be deemed worth transporting to Diadem.
Flight to Eternity
is perhaps my best known composition. It deals
with a journey into the Simplex."

 
          
Archier,
who had never found time for imaginative literature, looked at the Alaxian with
new interest. The theme was intriguing, if hardly original. "The old dream
of travel to the Simplex," he murmured. "How do you manage to convey
what it's like there?"

 
          
"The
visual effects did cause problems," Magroom admitted, "but I didn't
have to worry about that too much. I only wrote the script."

 
          
"Your
stories mainly take place in the future, I take it? I hope you show the Empire
as
flourishing and
stronger than ever."

 
          
Magroom
was apologetic. "I have portrayed a number of alternative futures. They
are not meant to be predictive and I have no political views of my own. In
some, the Empire has vanished or has been conquered by an alien race to
whom
our worlds are desirable."

 
          
"That
should go down well in Diadem." If Magroom was thinking of continuing his
career there, Archier thought, he could well encounter a more sophisticated
audience that he was used to.

 
          
Artists
imported into Diaderh had an uncertain fate; some met with great success
because of the novelty of their vision. Others found themselves outmoded.

 
          
"Do
you think man ever will reach
ibe
Simplex,
and perhaps other facets?" he asked.

 
          
"I
have been asked that countless times," Magroom replied.

           
"Yes, I firmly believe we will,
one day. The idea is too fantastic for many, of course—but then the idea of
interstellar feetol flight might have seemed fantastic once."

 
          
"Might
it?" Archier gave a
puzzled frown. "Well, to stone age people, I suppose."

 
          
Animals,
men and women saluted with raised forelimbs as Archier and his party emerged
from the travelator into a barrel-shaped hall occupied by a line of similarly
barrel-shaped feetol transformers. The casings took up nearly the whole of the
hall; it was no more than an outer integument with just enough room for
ancillary machinery and staff.

 
          
"Is
all in order?" Archier asked the engine room manager, a loping mandrill.
The ape nodded, briefly showing fangs.

 
          
"Tuned
to perfection!" he said gruffly. "We worked all the way through our
sleep period! Even the robots worked!" He indicated three constructs who
cowered in intimidated fashion in one of the hall's shallow bays.

 
          
"My
engine manager is a rough and ready fellow and gets things done by direct
means," the captain muttered to Archier with a knowing smile.

 
          
'I
hope they are not about to complain to their union," Archier said
doubtfully, with a glance at the robots, at which the mandrill uttered a
chugging laugh.

 
          
"Don't
worry on their account, Admiral. They prefer to stay in one piece!"

 
          
Volsted
Magroom, meanwhile, was staring up at the dully sheened casings in fascination.
The hum that came from them was barely audible; and
even
this close, the effect they had on the surrounding spacetime field was not
perceptible to the senses.

 
          
"Well
here they are," Archier said quietly, stepping close to the fiction
writer. "These are what drive the
Lilac
Willow
along. They are not really so very different from commercial
engines, just bigger.

 
          
'I
presume you are familiar with the principle of feetol flight. As is well known,
nature generally stipulates that no moving material object may exceed—or even
attain—the velocity of light in relation to any other object. This, however,
is a consequence of the structure of space. Put technically, it is a feature
derived from the recession lines which make up spacetime. A feetol generator
alters the characteristics of spacetime in its vicinity by attenuating the
recession lines.

           
This causes the velocity of light
itself to be raised within the feetol bubble. The ship carrying the generator
may then accelerate itself up to the new limit, whatever that may be.

 
          
"Popular
writers sometimes describe the feetol drive as 'breaking the laws of physics';
of course, this is not so. It remains impossible to travel faster than light in
the spacetime vicinity one occupies. The limiting velocity, formerly a
constant, is turned into a
variable, that
is all.

 
          
"Many
commercial ships carry a double drive: a feetol generator to attenuate local
space and a separate drive unit to propel the ship through it. Larger
generators, such as those you see before you, allow a further refinement and
can serve both functions, both space modifier and propulsion unit. They do this
by 'seizing hold,' so to speak, of the recession lines they attenuate. The ship
is then able to move in reaction against the general electromagnetic field of
the galaxy—a piece of ingenuity which considerably reduces the working
machinery that is needed.

 
          
"Under
its own generators alone the
Lilac Willow
can move at some hundeds of times the normal velocity of light. The fleet
as a whole, however, is actually able to shift considerably faster than that,
travelling in formation. Feetol bubbles can merge, and the larger the bubble
the more attenuated the spacetime within it becomes. Only the fleets of Star
Force are permitted this facility; it is why they are able to move around the
Empire so fast."

 
          
"So
that's why the interstellar service lines are practically forbidden to own more
than one or two ships?"

 
          
Archier
nodded. "We don't want private operators to gain experience in meshing
feetol drives."

 
          
He
felt pride as he stood by the Alaxian, drinking in the sight of the big
armature-like casings. Delivering his exposition to the writer made him feel
as though he were back at training academy; in fact he had largely been quoting
from one of the preliminary lectures he had heard there.

 
          
"The
other facility that comes from the composite bubble method is something few who
have never travelled in a Star Force fleet are even aware of," he
continued. "That is the intermat system. You have probably seen it in
action by now. It becomes possible when space is attenuated to a certain
degree."

 
          
"There
are always rumours the Empire has developed the instantaneous transmission of
matter," Magroom said. "Frankly I hadn't believed it until now."

 
          
"It
is limited in scope," Archier explained-. '"It works only within the
group bubble developed by a fairly large fleet, that is to say, from ship to
ship while we are formating in feetol flight. Also, the transposition is not
permanent. The intermat user must eventually return to his departure
point."

 
          
He
paused,
then
decided to add something. "There's a
historical detail that will interest you. Intermatting was discovered only a
few decades ago, by accident. At first it was thought to operate directly
through the Simplex. You can appreciate what excitement that caused."

 
          
"Don't
I
!" The Alaxian sounded stunned.
"Instantaneous access to the whole of our physical universe,
at the very least!
To say nothing of communication with other facets!
That's what my novel was about. But I hadn't thought science was even close to
it yet.''

 
          
"It
isn't," Archier said, thinking to himself that the writer's concepts of
what contact with the Simplex would bring were a trifle fanciful. It would open
up the
possibility
of what he
mentioned, true . . . but the realization of those capabilities would probably
still be a long way off. "It soon became clear that the Simplex isn't
involved in intermatting in any way. Present intermat theory makes use of
Kantorian transformations, if that means anything to you. Put briefly, you know
that prior to the discovery of recession lines spacetime seemed to have
contradictory qualities: to be
both continuous or
infinitely
divisible, and yet to allow discrete quantum effects which are discontinuous.
We now know that this is because the recession lines of which space is composed
are continuous along their direction of recession, but discrete in
cross-section. Continuity of recession means that relative distances can be
handled as Kantorian transfinite sets; the lateral measurement, on the other
hand, is finite and irreducible, and provides space with 'grain.' If the lines
are sufficiently stretched or attenuated by artificial means, the two factors
together make it possible to bring about sudden changes in relative location.
Once you see the maths, it isn't so very remarkable."

 
          
"You're
going way over my head, I'm afraid," Magroom said ruefully. "Are you
sure it isn't all done with mirrors?"