The Forever Hero (23 page)

The Commander frowned as he read the report again.

“In black and white, no less…”

Commander Byykr had been thorough, exceedingly thorough, exploring avenues Gerswin would not have considered, but the avenues made no difference in the conclusion.

“The ideal world is described as ‘earth-type prime,' or ETP, based on the original biosphere of Old Earth. Those worlds classified as unique or with special hardships are measured in terms of their deviation from ETP parameters….

“…any attempt to classify Old Earth as a hardship station or as severely deviant from existing standards would (1) cast doubt upon those standards; (2) cast doubt upon the original standards-setting process, which could lead to pressure for reconsideration for a number of bases and systems; (3) require an unpleasant explanation of the circumstances leading to the collapse of Old Earth, which, in
turn, would cast some doubt upon the Empire and its traditions; (4) would require a recomputation of all mass-cube ratios and other costs for all out-systems…

“…under such conditions, the ETP model could then be attacked as a mere statistical standard, and one with no basis in reality…”

There was more, phrased in a scholarly manner, but what was left unsaid by the scholarly phrases of the former executive officer was even more interesting.

While Gerswin did not have Byykr's or Manders's background in Service politics, he understood enough. The politics of the situation meant that any attempt to change Old Earth's status would undermine the tacit consent on which all Imperial hardship and transport formulas were based.

Hidden more deeply in the report was that cost ratios and transport formulas were skewed to make a profit for suppliers of energy systems, particularly for those who had backed the Old Earth reclamation effort. While Gerswin couldn't be absolutely certain, Byykr's report seemed to point clearly in those directions.

The commander shook his head. If he attempted to improve the cost ratios, then Old Earth would lose supporters immediately if he succeeded. If he did not, over the long run current Service support would erode, as more and more members of the headquarters staff saw what they regarded as a disproportionate amount of funding going into a planet with no military significance, funding that could go for ships and equipment in short supply.

Gerswin reread the entire report again, looking for other possibilities. Then he stored a copy in his own personal files.

Manders had been right. There wasn't much that could be done—not now, at least.

With a sigh, he flicked his console from the Byykr report to the day's stacked messages, and to the long vertical row of amber lights on the right side of the screen.

Gerswin looked at the empty office, the walls freshly cleaned and resealed, the old furniture recoated with yet another layer of flex-coating, enough to erase all but the deepest scratches.

“Commander?”

He turned in the portal to face his orderly/gatekeeper, Senior Technician Nitiri.

“Captain Geron needs to speak with you, ser.”

Gerswin shook his head. Manders had barely lifted planet-clear and the calls were already coming.

He fingered the linked diamonds on the dress grays. Senior commander yet, if only because they couldn't find anyone else remotely qualified that wasn't more urgently needed elsewhere. Or was it because, if they had to scuttle the base, they could blame it on a native-born?

Wondering how long he really had, Gerswin sat down before the antique but perfectly functional console.

“Gerswin.”

“Yes, Commander. Captain Geron at the river separation plant. We have a difficulty here.”

Gerswin frowned. “Thought you were only at pilot stage.”

“We are, but we still have a problem.”

The new base commander nodded at the image in the screen to continue.

“Do you remember the initial bioassays, which showed a small fish population with high heavy metal and toxic concentrations in their tissues?”

“Recall the problem, but not the specifics. Go ahead.”

“Apparently, that shows more than bioaccumulation. It may signify actual biological adaptation.”

Gerswin winced, realizing as he did that commanding officers were supposed to be impassive in the face of the unexpected.

“It looks like you understand before I finish the explanation.”

“Let me guess. Those fish that swim through the cleaner water you discharge are showing signs of distress. Is that it? One species, or across the board?”

“It's preliminary. Only one species so far, but it could be some sort of benchmark.”

“How much of the total flow are you diverting and processing?”

“Istvenn, this is only a pilot. Less than twenty percent at the lowest possible flow levels. Have to estimate as little as two percent at flood stage flows.”

“Dilute it.”

“What?”

“Dilute it,” repeated Gerswin. “Pump some of the untouched river flow and mix the two streams before discharge back into the river.

“Dilution isn't a solution.”

“I know. But it will give both us and the fish time to adapt. Hate to think we stopped trying to figure out ways to clean up the water because cleaner water proved toxic to one kind of fish. If they adapted one way, there's always the chance they can revert to the original stand, or that we'll end up with two varieties—one that likes arsenic or lead or whatever, and one that doesn't.”

“Commander, that assumption is not fully grounded in any science.”

“Probably not. But we need cleaner river water for the other organisms we'll have to reseed, and we need the metals as well. What's the iron concentration?”

“Low. Lower than the estimates so far. Lead is higher. So is cadmium. Arsenic is about as we suspected. Organics are higher, but they're relatively easy to shunt and reduce.”

“How much iron are you getting?”

“Peak is less than a half kilo an hour in present operations.”

“All right. Go ahead and figure out a dilution mechanism to use until you have a chance to figure out a better solution.”

“Yes, ser.”

The captain's cool tone told Gerswin that the scientist was not pleased. Neither was Gerswin. Some forms of carp could, and had, adapted to anything. That didn't mean the water should stay dirty. Besides, the pilot operation was just the first step. If the mechanism worked, Gerswin intended to duplicate what could be duplicated and see if he could wrangle the spares necessary to open another station, the second one powered by natural sources, like the tidal bore in the Scotia area.

If all the remaining metals on Old Earth were dissolved, then they'd have to be undissolved.

At least
that
problem could be defined and resolved.

Gerswin studied the text on the console, frowning as he did so. The ambiguities troubled him, but any good regulation should have some just to allow for local flexibility.

Still…B.P.R. 20012(b) was specific. “…all officers and technicians, as well as any detailed or civilian personnel under contract, shall be housed within the base perimeter in all but Class II (b) installations…”

Old Earth Base was not a Class II(b) installation. Period.

Gerswin leaned back in the swivel he had inherited from Manders and pursed his lips.

Sitting forward after a period of reflection, he tapped another inquiry into the console.

As the response began to appear, he smiled.

“Had to be there, somewhere…”

The intercom buzzed.

“Gerswin.”

“Commander, the executive officer is here.”

“I'll be ready in a minute.”

“Yes, ser.”

He scanned the lines on the console, picking out the key phrases.

“…as defined by either (a) the Standing Order of that Base's establishment…or (b) a current survey of the boundaries as entered in the Base Operating Procedures and as maintained by the Service…”

Gerswin put the regulation on hold, blanked the screen, stood up, and headed for the portal.

“Come in.” He nodded at Commander Glyncho, who wore dress grays, as he usually did.

Gerswin had on a new flight suit, the only concession to rank being the linked diamonds of a senior commander on his collar. He turned, knowing Glyncho would follow him back into the office.

Gerswin motioned to the swivel at the corner of the console.

“Seat?”

“Thank you. I do appreciate your courtesy in seeing me, especially given your busy schedule, and the heavy demands on your time.”

Gerswin inclined his head and raised his eyebrows in inquiry.

“I have been thinking about this awhile. As you know, my family has remained on New Augusta, what with the close family ties that exist there. I'm sure you understand. While I was hoping that I could make a unique contribution to the reclamation of Old Earth, sometimes things seen from New Augusta take on a different perspective when experienced in person. I'm sure you also appreciate that.”

Gerswin nodded. “New Augusta does have a unique perspective.”

“My talents, as you have pointed out, are mainly administrative in nature. Frankly, on a base which has become more and more involved in actual hands-on reclamation, my special expertise just isn't fully applicable and can't be utilized to the degree I had originally hoped for when I was assigned here as executive officer.”

Gerswin nodded again. “Afraid this has become a highly tech operation, not at all a normal Service base, Glyn.”

“That's just it. The mission is important, but it's not the typical I.S.S. mission. And I don't have the specialized technical knowledge to be much more than a supervisor of the clerical staff and a high-powered screen monitor.”

Glyncho swallowed. “Now—”

BUZZZ!

“Excuse me, Glyn.”

Gerswin turned and jabbed the stud.

“Gerswin here.”

Captain Lerwin's face filled the screen.

“Captain, emergency report from the Scotia station. Class I spout caught their research sampler on the water.”

“Damage?”

“The sampler's fusactor cracked. They shut it down, abandoned it, and it's sunk in twenty meters of water.”

“That in the tidal bore?”

“No. Offshore.”

“Stet. If you can reclaim it, lift the team out there and do it. If you can't, send the techs with that silicon fusing gel and encapsulate it. Then we can lift it out safely.”

“Cost?”

“Blast the cost. Need the fusactor if we can save it. If not, we'll let the mass cool and reclaim what we can later.” Gerswin paused. “Lerwin?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Find out why that sampler wasn't secured with a Class I spout incoming.”

“Yes, ser.”

Gerswin broke the connection and turned back to Glyncho.

“You were saying, Glyn?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Take it you're thinking about transfer, or retirement?”

“You saw the response to my transfer request.”

Gerswin nodded.

“That doesn't leave me much choice. I can either stay and route screens, or retire. Since my family can't come here—”

Gerswin did not bother to correct Glyncho. Any family that wanted to could come, provided the sponsor opted for a double tour. What the executive officer was saying was that his wife was not about to leave New Augusta for more than ten years on Old Earth.

“…you would rather retire and spend some time with them,” Gerswin finished the sentence.

“That's right.”

Gerswin smiled his official pleasant and warm smile.

“I can't say I blame you under the circumstances, and if you want, I'll be happy to endorse your request with an observation that I recommend speedy approval in view of your past service, and for humanitarian reasons.”

“That would be most appreciated.”

“No problem. Look right to it.”

Gerswin stood.

“Like to talk further, but you heard the problem that just surfaced.”

Glyncho stood in turn.

“I understand. I just wish I'd been able to take more of the load off you.”

“I know. I know.”

Even before the portal had fully closed behind Glyncho, Gerswin
was back at the console, checking the status of the fusactors assigned to the base, to see if there were any spares left.

No spares remained in inventory. The virtual freeze on high tech shipments to all but the highest priority bases was beginning to tell in more ways than one.

The old dozers were getting harder and harder to repair, and simpler and simpler to operate as Glynnis and her technicians eliminated and cannibalized to keep them running. While the town was starting to sprout some local technology, there was neither the technical nor the personnel background for sufficiency, and there wouldn't be for years to come.

Besides that, there was the bigger resource problem. The Empire's military and its machines were equipped with metallic support systems or those based on complicated and high tech synthetics. Old Earth had no metal deposits left, not to speak of anywhere near the surface. That meant no local metal to replace plates worn by years of struggling against unyielding clay and the corrosiveness of the land-poisons. No metal with which to convey power beyond the single new town outside the base. No metal for trinkets such as jewelry. No metal—except through the Empire, or from Imperial mining of the system's few remaining metallic asteroids. Both sources were expensive.

The only local source were the few kilograms produced from the Scotia and river reclamation works. While those small stocks were insignificant, over the years they could help.

But even the reclamation metals required energy. And the cost of either transport or reclamation energy was dear, Gerswin knew, so dear that every piece of equipment sent to Old Earth cost as much, if not more, to ship than to build, and required the commensurate paperwork and elaborate justifications.

He bit his lip. For a time, he had hoped that Glyncho could have helped in circumventing the Imperial bureaucracy, but the man had simply no real understanding of technology, or ecology. Without either he had been unable to comprehend the needs, the rationales, or the sheer magnitude of the task.

More than rock-bottom basic sufficiency in nonrecycled food and wood replacement for synthetics was a decade away.

“Decade?” he muttered as his fingers closed out the arcdozer inventory check.

Glyncho, he reflected, unable to dismiss the commander from his mind, had been nice enough, just incapable of dealing with the situation.

Gerswin sighed. Who knew what sort of replacement the Service would throw at him?

Already, the base had far too much deadwood. Lerwin ran Ops, rather than Major Trelinn, who was no improvement on Major Limirio, who had resigned after one year of her tour. Trelinn still had three years left on a tour that unfortunately might well be extended.

Major Hassedie, who was nominally in charge of Administration and Facilities, was smart enough to give most of the real work to either Glynnis or Kiedra. But the native personnel gap was still a problem. The devilkids were one generation, but there weren't any more coming along, not more than two or three since Gerswin had drafted the first batch. Devilkids were good, but scarce, and the oldest of the children from the new town were a good ten years away from an Imperial education, those that could qualify. That was assuming the Empire would even continue the policy of educating the brightest of the outworld youngsters with the continuing cutbacks.

Personnel, metals, energy—his head pounded with the concepts and numbers he juggled.

The amber light on the console reminded him of the housing question, the one he had laid aside earlier, before the Scotia problem and Commander Glyncho.

Lerwin—Lerwin and Kiedra—if they wanted to live in the town, as opposed to the cramped base quarters, that was all to the good if he could find a way to do it, and a way that represented an advantage to Old Earth, the Service, and the base. A cursory look at the regulations only exempted agricultural and research personnel, and they were certainly neither.

Buzz!

“Gerswin.”

Lerwin's face appeared on the screen.

“The exec gave the number one and three research techs on the sampler R&R back at base. Number two broke her arm when a sampler sling snapped. She was flitted back here for regeneration therapy. Number four was left with two warm bodies and asked for replacements, but the exec never got around to handling it.”

Gerswin sighed again.

“Glyn has requested retirement, and I have concurred. Need me to work on the techs?”

“No need. No sampler. Have to encapsulate.”

For a moment, the two exchanged looks through the screen.

Finally, Gerswin laughed. “Still think this is a better place than your hills, devilkid?”

Lerwin snorted.

“Better you than me there, Captain. Encapsulation team on the way. No spouts expected for another forty hours in Scotia. Should be enough.” The captain and former devilkid paused, then licked his lips. “About our request, Captain?”

“Think I may have a way to do what the regs say I can't. Let you know.”

“Thanks.”

Gerswin tapped the stud, stared at the blank screen, then touched the intercom stud.

“Yes, Commander?”

“Would you tell Major Hassedie that I need to talk to him about a base survey, in order to update the Base Operating Procedures? Later this afternoon, if possible.”

“You're scheduled clear at 1445.”

“That would be fine.”

As the screen returned to dark gray, Gerswin looked at the line of blinking lights on the console and shook his head.

First things first, like resurveying the base perimeter to include the new town. He might even get more equipment that way. If not, at least the native borns wouldn't have to stay cooped up in the burrows of the old base, and that would help morale.

He touched the first light on the console.