The Forever Hero (72 page)

The gray-haired kiosk attendant and the two DomSecs strolled casually up the winding road toward the hot metal that had once been a paunchy man and an electrovan.

Volunza quietly eased himself farther down at the base of the oak, nearly invisible to anyone more than a few meters away, and took out a tattered book. Better to wait for the time when everyone was going home before trying to move anywhere farther.

He reminded himself not to borrow any government vehicles. Their rental rate was more than he wished to pay.

He wished the night would come, and with it the shadows that would offer some concealment.

The purple-shaded squares on the map represented the territory controlled by the government, territory being enlarged by the DomSecs day by day. The light green represented the shrinking area of rebel control.

Gerswin frowned, shook his head, and folded the latest version of the thin plastic into a small oblong which he stored in the thigh pocket of the shipsuit he wore under the winter furs.

“Forsenia rebel file. Interrogative projections.”

“Insufficient data.”

Gerswin nodded again. He couldn't expect the AI of a scout, even his overendowed scout, to have the capability of a tactical AI, but he had hoped.

Despite the advantage of terrain, despite the advantage of surprise, and despite the tactics and stupidity of the DomSec commanders, the rebels were losing, bit by bit, kilometer by kilometer.

Even without the tanks and drones of the security forces, the
rebels had more than adequate weapons, and the DomSecs were so careless about theirs and their supplies that neither weapons nor ammunition were a problem. The rebels had, thanks to the bestmeat plant, local flora, and the carelessness of the government troops, more than adequate food. And no one liked the DomSecs.

Gerswin paused in his mental summary.

At the same time, few of the Forsenians actually hated the security forces or the government. They were minor evils to be endured, like the winter, the snows, the continual freezing temperatures.

Did freedom require an inborn hatred of control and government?

He shook his head tiredly.

What in Hades was he really doing? And why? What would a revolution on Forsenia do for either ecological development or Old Earth?

He had had a reason when he started. Hadn't he?

He shook his head again, and stood, gathering the winter furs around him as he walked toward the lock. Regardless of the questions, he could not leave unfinished what he had started, not yet, at least.

Thumbing the lock stud, he waited for the lock to open fully, before slipping out into the darkness, out onto the thin skis, and into a ground-covering pace toward the town ten kilos to the west.

He expected to arrive there before the small DomSec garrison began the day, perhaps in time to liberate quietly a disrupter or two, or something equally effective.

Anatol Shefsin pursed his lips as his brown eyes passed over the two men who stood on the opposite side of the bank of data screens from him.

“Yes?”

“You asked about the Imperial reaction, First Citizen.”

“I did. It seemed likely that no quarantine would result so long as the unrest involved neither ships nor heavy weapons. Is that the Imperial position?”

Shefsin's brown eyes were as hard and shiny as the polished
brown fabric of his tunic and trousers. He waited without apparent impatience.

“Basically,” answered the blocky man in the dark black tunic used in place of a uniform by all senior DomSec officers on Forsenia. “There were words about evaluations and status of the government, but the Imperial office did not seem enthusiastic about recommending a quarantine.”

“Refreshing change,” observed Shefsin dryly. “Of course, it couldn't have anything to do with the shortfalls an Imperial revenues, could it?”

Neither subordinate ventured an answer. Both stood as if they would stand in the same position until dismissed or forever.

“Of course not,” Shefsin answered himself. “The Empire is as it has always been, insisting on our pro-rata share, holding itself as our sole protection against the alien horrors of the galaxy. In the meantime, population pressures around…” The First Citizen waved an arm toward the exit portal. “You may go. You have done your duty, and well, and the Republic appreciates it. More importantly, I appreciate it.”

Both DomSecs inclined their heads slightly.

“Thank you, First Citizen.”

“Thank you, First Citizen.”

Shefsin watched and waited until both men had departed before smiling.

He recalled the plans he had studied earlier, the ones for the Republic's first armed jumpships. Before long, before long, the Empire would have to pull back from the Forsenian sector.

The Atey rebellion was fortunate in many ways, he reflected, particularly if he could prolong the conflict until the new heavy weapons complex was in full operation.

While the Empire might need Forsenia and its contributions, the Republic hardly needed the Empire.

Smiling more broadly, the First Citizen looked at the crest displayed on the wall opposite him.

The jagged lightning sword across the olive branch—right now the lightning glittered with promise.

Gerswin shifted the heavy-duty disrupter to distribute the weight differently and continued trudging toward the center of the rebel camp, wishing he could shed the bulky and heavy furs for his thin and insulated winter whites or grays.

“You there.”

Gerswin ignored the voice.

“You with the 'ruptor!”

Turning slowly, Gerswin faced the caller, a bear of a man who wore the double bands of a force leader.

“Yes, Force Leader,” he answered noncommittally.

“Where are you going with that 'ruptor?”

“Back off patrol. To turn it into the armory.”

“Not through camp center. Around the perimeter.”

“Yes, Force Leader.”

Gerswin turned and let his seemingly tired steps carry him back toward the perimeter, waiting until the big but junior officer had lost sight of him in the gathering gloom and increasing snow.

He pursed his lips. Worrying about whether troops carried disruptors through camp center was scarcely the priority setting one would expect of a rebel command facing an approaching DomSec force with the worst of the winter chill yet to strike.

Whether rebel or DomSec, military or civilian, all Forsenians seemed to share a concern with procedures and routine, sometimes to the apparent exclusion of reality.

The man who wore the white furs of a scout sighed. He knew he had learned a great deal from his experiences on the chill planet, but at the moment he was not exactly certain why he had bothered. Not that it would be long before he left, but that bothered him as well.

The armory was a crude bunker whose entrance was shielded from the snow with a small sport tent.

Gerswin stepped inside. A thin and graying man in fraying Imperial winter whites stood inside, glaring at a weapon on a flat bench.

“Log it in, soldier.” He did not look up.

“New weapon,” offered Gerswin.

The rebel armorer looked up. His eyes widened a touch.

“Where did you get that?”

“The DomSecs were a bit careless.”

“Energy level?”

“About ninety percent.”

“I don't think I'll ask. Wish we had more like you. Your name?”

“Volunza.”

“Oh, you're that one. The scout.”

Gerswin nodded.

The older man returned his attention to the disassembled laser, as if Gerswin were not even in the bunker. Gerswin racked up the disrupter, added it to the listing, and used the small stencil gun to etch a number on the butt plate.

He slipped back out into the snowy evening, drifting toward the center of the encampment, listening, occasionally stopping, picking up fragments of conversations.

“When I was with the Twelfth on Herrara…”

“Not at all like the Service…not at all…”

“…always think the Impies do it best…”

He paused, then turned toward the mess tents.

As the smell of burned corbu wafted toward him, he changed direction again and moved toward the command center, easing up toward the guards outside Torbushni's tent.

“Volunza! What did you bring in today, old man?”

“'Ruptor. Guess the DomSecs are getting even more careless. Don't seem to care.” Gerswin nodded toward the commander's tent. “What goes with the commander?”

The guard looked down at the packed snow, then around the pathways before answering, his voice low. “Now, old Torbi thinks that the DomSecs won't attack, just circle and wait. Circle and wait for us to try to get out. Try to starve us out.”

“Might be right.”

“Sure he's right. What did they cook tonight?”

Gerswin smiled. “Burned corbu.”

“Same as yesterday. And the day before.” Salnki spat into the snow to his right. “Except for you scouts, nothing happens. The DomSecs march closer. A blind man could pick off half of them. Torbi says no. Don't get them mad. All the officers agree. Thought this was a revolution.”

“Me too.”

“Not now. See how many empty tents? Torbi's right, all right. Push comes to shove, and winter really sets down…no rebels left, except a handful. Too few to fight.” Salnki stiffened.

So did Gerswin.

“Salnki? Who's your friend?”

“Volunza, ser. The scout.”

“The one who brought in the case of stunners?” asked the two-meter-high towering figure of Commander-Colonel Torbushni.

“Yes, ser,” answered Gerswin.

“Wanted a messenger, but you'll do fine, Volunza. Can you get Senior Force Leader Gruber from communications up here?”

“Yes, ser. If he's in camp.”

“If not, get whoever is the senior comm man.”

Gerswin nodded as Torbushni retreated back into the heated comfort of his insulated bubble tent, retreated without waiting for an acknowledgement.

Salnki shook his head.

Gerswin quirked his lips and turned back downhill. Gruber had already disappeared into the hills, but Torbert, remaining comm force leader, would be happy to confer with Torbushni—even if it were an attempt to negotiate a surrender.

Gerswin shook his own head as he trudged through the snow—a snow that represented fall and not winter—the cold beginning to bite into his cheeks as the wind picked up and the temperature dropped further.

No sooner had he slipped inside the lock than he began to prepare for liftoff.

“Prelift sequence.”

“Beginning sequence.”

“Full passive spectrum scan. Put the sequence on screen beta.”

“Scan results appearing on screen beta,” replied the AI.

By this time, he had the furs and the soiled shipsuit off, and was pulling on a fresh singlesuit, stuffing the used clothing into the cleaner. A full cleanup could wait until the
Caroljoy
was clear of Forsenia.

He strapped into the control couch.

“Interrogative time until liftoff status is green.”

“Plus five.”

Gerswin scanned the board and screens in front of him.

“Display on main screen the estimated positions of the rebels and the DomSecs. Change to screen delta when liftoff status is green.”

The force display showed no marked change from the way things had stood when he had slipped clear of the rebel headquarters the evening before. The DomSecs had the rebels effectively surrounded, but were not using heavy weapons, although they had brought enough to level the rebel encampment, had they chosen to do so.

How could he have so misread the Forsenian character? They might have a tightly controlled society. They might have a few abusive security officers, and they might not like the Domestic Security Forces, and there might be a few malcontents. But few indeed really wanted an alternative, or could have formulated one they would have preferred.

“Nothing to fight for…,” he mumbled to himself, low enough for the ship's AI not to interpret it as a command or a question.

So? For what had he disrupted three cities, half a planet, and personally killed several dozen DomSecs?

Some, like Lieutenant whatever-his-name-had-been at Simeons, had certainly deserved what they had gotten. Quite a few had not, Gerswin suspected.

“Live and learn…” But what had he learned?

What he'd known in theory long before. That people have to have dreams. That they have to believe in those dreams, and that they have to prefer the uncertainty and the risk of seeking those dreams to the security of the present. Without those, nothing could change.

Nothing would change.

“One minute until liftoff status is green.”

Gerswin broke away from his questions and reverie to check the screens.

“As soon as possible, begin switchover to orbit monitoring, including all Imperial bands.”

“Standing by for liftoff.”

“Lift,” ordered the former commodore, his voice cold.

A dull rumble washed out from the lifting and screened scout, a rumble that rained sound into the snow that dropped on the DomSec and rebel encampments, drowning out momentarily the whispering and commlinked conversation between Commander-Colonel Torbushni of the rebels and Colonel Ruihaytyen of the Forsenian Domestic Security Forces, as a night-black scout older than the Empire raced into the clouded skies toward the deeper night of space.

The man known as Eye drummed his fingers on the table, as if he were impatient. The two others, also wearing privacy cloaks, may have smiled behind their own hoods, for the timing of the gesture was off slightly, enough to indicate that the mannerism was contrived.

Contrived or not, it fulfilled its purpose, as the whispers died away and the participants sat up, waiting for the business at hand.

“Do these names break orbit?” He paused, then read from the list projected on the screen flush on the table before him. “Patron L. Sergio Enver, MacGregor Corson, C. J. Grace, Ser Delwood Ler Win, N'gio D'Merton, Commander or Commodore MacGregor Corson Gerswin, Captain M. C. Gerswin, Shaik Corso…”

“Eye section has had a watch on retired Commodore Gerswin,” answered the figure to his right. “Tracks research projects for some foundation—OER Foundation, I believe. He has a retirement place on New Colora and quarters in the Atlantean Towers here.”

“That is what he would like you to believe,” answered Eye.

“The other names are not linked to his in the records.”

“They are not officially linked to his in any case, and the probabilities are less than point two in some cases. Probabilities aside, Commodore Gerswin is the reason for this meeting.” Eye looked around the room, away from the projected list, and silently cleared his throat.

“One of my predecessors twice refused an admiralty request to have the Corpus Corps target the commodore. That was after his successful ‘transfer' of close to two cohorts of landdozers to Old Earth. Those actions led to the creation of Recorps, but Gerswin refused Recorps status and chose exile, although he would have been commandant.”

“Why?”

“That is why we are here.”

“I don't think I am going to like this.” That was from the third figure, the one who had said nothing thus far.

Eye ignored the comments. “The names I listed, plus a number of others without any probabilistic basis, are used by Gerswin in a large number of enterprises spread throughout the Empire. The majority of these enterprises are based in the field of biologics, and in all
Gerswin has what amounts to the controlling interests. His
verified
holdings place him above all the commercial magnates in the Empire and above many of the barons. Yet, he has never sought or accepted such recognition.”

Eye swept the shielded room with eyes hidden in the depths of the cloak's hood.

“Most important, nothing he has done is in the slightest bit illegal, not that can be traced, not of which there is the slightest bit of proof. But there is a strong suggestion that he is the one who brought down the government of Byzania, and the use of nuclear weapons against one of his suspected holdings on El Lido raises other questions. Unfortunately, we can prove nothing. In the nuclear weapons case, he was ostensibly the victim.”

“Why our concern? Gerswin has to die sometime. He's certainly no longer a young man, and rejuves have a limited extending power.”

“First, Gerswin has never had a rejuve. He has retained a biological age of roughly thirty standard years for well over a century. His last medical exam by the Service showed superior reflexes and reactions, a neural superiority over the average Corpus Corps member. That was when he was well over a hundred years old chronologically.

“Second, and more important, he seems to have a long-range mission to bring down the Empire.”

“Ridiculous!”

“It might be, except he seems to have time on his side. In addition, he understands technology. He was the commandant of the Standora Base, the one who turned it from an obsolete scrapheap into the best refit yard in the Empire.”

“That Gerswin?”

“But his interest seems to have turned to biologics after his retirement. The majority of his holdings and interests lie with ways to replace high technology with simplified biological processes.”

“I'm not sure I follow that rationale.”

“I am trying to make it simple. But think! The power in Imperial society is based on the allocation of resources, the use and control of knowledge, and the ability to communicate. If Gerswin is successful in his biologics, the need to allocate resources is decreased, the need for high-level technical knowledge is reduced, and thus, communications control becomes less vital.”

“That is rather theoretical, to say the least.”

“One example. One of the products reputed to be his is a so-called house tree. All it needs is some simple wiring and power in
stallation, and really not even that in some climates. What does that do to the construction industry, the heavy durables, the furniture manufacturers? What about the raw material suppliers?

“Another product is a biological spore sponge that cleans up anything. Another line of products features high-protein plants that can't be distinguished from meat in content and taste. They also grow anywhere. Who knows what else he may be getting ready to produce?”

“Wait a moment,” protested the hooded figure to Eye's right. “That's all well and good, but you don't seriously think that the people of New Augusta are going back to growing their own food, no matter how tasty, and living in a tree house?”

“Of course not. That's not the point. If the outlying planets, or even a large number, take up societies based on biologics, what does the Empire have to offer? Why would anyone want to threaten them? Why would they need protection? Why would they need a large military establishment?”

“Ohhhh…”

“You see? Our resource basis is already so fragile that any large erosion of support would be difficult to deal with. But the Emperor and the admiralty believe in due process, and Gerswin has stayed well within the law. Besides, an all-out effort is likely to make him a martyr, assuming that we could even succeed with a direct application of force.

“His profile indicates that he will revert to total survival, including homicide, if faced with a physical threat. This pattern is likely to dominate more as he gets older. There are some indications that this has already happened in one or two instances, but not that we could prove. Were someone to continue such pressure on him, however…”

“I see…”

The other deputy to Eye nodded. Once.