The Forever Hero (73 page)

Ping!

Engrossed as he was, the pilot of the Imperial scout jerked his head up from his Strat-Six battle with the scout's computer at the warning.

“Who could that be?”

“Identity unknown,” answered the board.

The pilot glared at the system, which took no notice of the glare, and tapped several plates, then entered additional queries into the system.

“Whew!”

He checked the closure rates again. Then he put them on the display on the main screen, as if he could not believe them.

“Gwarrie,” he addressed the computer, “are those figures correct?”

“Assuming the inputs are correct, the readouts are correct.”

“Are the inputs correct?”

“The reliability of the inputs exceeds point nine.”

The pilot jabbed the transmit stud.

“Hawkwatch, this if Farflung two. Contact. Quad four, radian zero seven zero. Closing at five plus. I say again. Closing at five plus. Data follows.”

He shook his head. “That won't do it.”

With the incoming alien, and it had to be an alien at that velocity—either that or something the I.S.S. had just invented—the stranger would be past him before he received the return transmission from Marduk Hawkwatch.

The Imperial pilot checked the stranger's indices once more.

The incoming ship, if it were truly a ship, had shifted course, directly toward Marduk. By now, the scout pilot doubted he could have caught the stranger.

He relayed the shift in heading with another data burst transmission, not bothering with a verbal tag.

“How close will she pass, Gwarrie?”

“More than two zero emkay.”

“Can we get an enhanced visual?”

“Not within standard parameters.”

The pilot frowned for a moment. “Let me know if there's another course shift. Your move.”

Had it been visible to the naked eye without its lightless full-fade finish, the scout would have looked like an obsolete Federation scout.
The energy concentrations within the dark hull resembled those of a miniature battle cruiser, while the screens could have taken anything that a full-sized light cruiser could have delivered.

Speed and power cost, and the trade-offs were crew size (one); offensive weapons (none); gravfield generators (crossbled to screens); and habitability (minimal by Imperial standards).

The pilot checked the signals from the modified message torps he waited to launch. There were three, each adapted to discharge two dozen reentry packets on its atmospheric descent spiral. Each packet contained the same spores and seeds, though the proportions varied.

“Unidentified craft, this is Marduk Control. Please identify yourself. Please identify yourself.”

Gerswin smiled, but did not respond to the transmission, instead checked the distance readouts and his own EDI measurements of the Imperials who circled the planet ahead.

“Unidentified craft, this is Marduk control. Please be advised that Marduk is a prohibited planet. I say again. Marduk is a prohibited planet.

“Desct Mardu firet ortley…”

The Imperial patrol craft repeated its warning in a dozen different languages, human and nonhuman.

All of them Gerswin ignored as the
Caroljoy
knifed toward Marduk, his hands coordinating the kind of approach he wanted, with enough evasiveness to make it unpredictable.

Gerswin also listened to the I.S.S. tactical bands as they were filtered through the AI and played out through the console speakers.

“Hawkwatch, Torchlove one, one to launch.”

“Torchlove one, cleared to launch. Target course zero nine three, E plus three. One point two emkay.”

“Hawkwatch, Torchlove two, one to launch.”

“Torchlove two, cleared to launch. Target course, zero nine two, E plus three.”

“Hawkwatch, Torchlove three, one to launch.”

“Torchlove three, cleared to launch. Target course, zero nine zero, E plus three.”

The man who had once been a commodore smiled and touched the screens' generator status plate.

Satisfied with the readout, he nodded, then tightened the harness about him, and eased himself into the full accel/decel position, the controls at his fingertips, and the critical screen readouts projected before his eyes.

“Hawkwatch, this is Torchlove one. Target locked on EDI, no visual. Say again. Locked on EDI, no visual. Range point nine emkay.”

“Hawkwatch, Torchlove two. No EDI lock. No visual.”

“Torchlove one, two, three. Opswatch calculates target class one alpha. Class one alpha.”

The
Caroljoy
's pilot grinned sardonically. Class one alpha—high speed, armed, and dangerous. Two out of three wasn't bad for the Impies without even a visual.

“Torchlove one, two, and three. Recommend spread seven, spread seven, with jawbones. I said again, spread seven with jawbones.”

Gerswin studied his own readouts.

The Hawkwatch Commander wasn't exactly rolling out the welcome mat, not when he was ordering a tachead spread for the
Caroljoy
to meet.

He also wasn't terribly bright, doing so in the clear. But then, it had been a long time since anyone challenged the Impies, and perhaps they were too slow on scrambles and codes to react. Or, more likely, who cared?

Gerswin touched the full-screen activation button, slumping into his seat under the acceleration as the screens took power diverted from the gravfield generators.

“Hawkwatch, Torchlove one. Lost EDI lock. Lost EDI lock. Still no visual.”

“Hawkwatch, Torchlove two. Lost EDI.”

“Torch three. No EDI. No visual.”

“Torchlove one, two, and three. Launch spread seven based on DRI, Spread seven based on DRI…”

Gerswin eased the controls, tensing his stomach as the
Caroljoy
veered slightly—enough to confuse the DRI at his speed and with the screens the modified scout carried.

A sliver of blinding light appeared in the forward exterior screen—momentarily—before all exterior signals were damped to blackness.

The detonation of twenty-one tactical nuclear devices created a glare that would have been observable from the day side of Marduk itself, had there been anyone there to watch the fireworks.

Gerswin edged up his scout's speed, using his own screens and fields to bend the additional energy from the detonations into further boosting his own velocity.

“Torchlove one, two, three, EMP bleedoff indicates target fully
operational and extremely dangerous. Probably position two eight five, E minus two.”

“Hawkwatch, this is Torchlove one. Interrogative target position.”

“Two eight five, E minus two. That's from you, Torch one, at point two emkay.”

“Nothing's that fast!”

“Torchloves, interrogative last transmission.”

“…ssss…”

Gerswin would have laughed at the obvious silence had he not been pinned down in his shell, but smiling was difficult under the four plus gees.

“Hawkwatch, this is Torchlove two. Probability of contact of non-Imperial origin.”

“Probability point eight. Calculated characteristics impute either higher gee tolerance or non-Imperial technology.”

“Blithing alien…”

“Torchloves, interrogative last transmission.”

A faint signal returned. “Interrogative yours.”

“Torchloves, mission abort. Mission abort. Estimated target beyond spread range. Return to base. Return to base.”

“Hawkwatch, Torchlove one. Stet. Returning to base.”

Gerswin scanned the indicators, altered course again fractionally. The
Caroljoy
would skim by Marduk before lifting above the ecliptic for the long trip back to Aswan.

“Three until drop,” the console informed him.

The pilot left his ostensibly obsolete scout on course until the three lights winked red in quick succession, then green.

“Torps away. Launch path is clear and green through reentry.”

“Hawkwatch, Torch two. Target discharged missiles on reentry course for Basepath.”

“Torchlove two, interrogative interception.”

“Hawkwatch, that is negative.”

“Understand negative.”

“That's affirmative. Negative on intercept. Missile reentry curve will commence prior to intercept.”

“Torchlove two, hold data. Say again. Hold data for analysis.”

“Hawkwatch, stet. Holding data for analysis. Returning base this time.”

Gerswin debated releasing full screens to return normal gravity to the
Caroljoy
, but decided to hang on for another few minutes. It would be just like the Impies to have a few jokers planted around the system.

He altered course again, well within the general departure corri
dor, but enough to confuse a DRI tracker using the launch curves for the torps as its data base.

His screens blanked again.

“Distance and weapon?” he asked the AI.

“Three triple em cluster at point one emkay.”

Nothing like proving yourself correct on the spot. He checked the screens, but they seemed to have held under what had been an extremely close miss.

“Impact near previous course line?”

“Impact less than point zero one from previous track.”

Gerswin decided to leave the screens up longer than he had decided a few moments earlier.

“Hawkwatch, this is Turtlestrike. Target evaded DRI line, on high exit course Hawk system.”

“Stet, Turtlestrike. Interrogative status.”

“Status is red five from EMP backblast.”

Gerswin translated. Turtlestrike, whatever craft that represented, had also been too close to the detonation and would be down for at least five stans, long after the
Caroljoy
had made the first of the return jumps toward Aswan.

Gerswin left the screens up, though he dropped acceleration to allow a gee drop to three gees, until he was within minutes of the jump point. Then, and only then, did he return to normal operations for the jump. The switch from three-gee acceleration to near weightlessness nearly cost him the pearapple he had eaten before he had entered the system.

He swallowed hard, gulping back the bitter taste of regurgitated fruit, and plowed through the prejump checks.

While the modified message torps carried enough of the spores and seeds to transform Marduk back into a livable planet, given several thousand, or more, years, the Imperial Interstellar Survey Service would still have Marduk as a source of supply for its toxic warheads for several dozen centuries, hopefully longer than the Empire would be around to use them.

He shook his head and touched the jump stud.

The stars winked out; the blackness swam through the
Caroljoy
; and, after a short infinity, another set of stars dropped into place as the scout resettled in real spacetime twenty systems from Marduk.

The controls moved easily under his fingers, even though Gerswin had not used the flitter in more than a year. All indicators were green, and the preflight check had been clear.

Perhaps he was being overcautious. Even after setting down the
Caroljoy
on his own secluded property on Mara, theoretically a hunting preserve not directly traceable to Gerswin and the foundation or to his identity as Patron L. Sergio Enver and the local subsidiary, Enver Limited, which had taken over the commercial culturing and production of the biological sponges that could remove and decompose nearly any organic toxic, he was skeptical. Skeptical about the workings of a sealed flitter in a hidden bunker.

On top of the skepticism, he had doubts about the wisdom of continuing to build biotech enterprises and continuing to collect ever-increasing income, income he was having more and more difficulty investing and handling.

“So why do you keep at it?”

He wasn't sure he knew the answers to his own questions, outside of the fact that Old Earth wasn't ready for his return, outside of the
fact that stopping would require some serious thoughts and self-evaluation. He pushed that away.

The contracts with New Glascow had represented a nice boost to his personal holdings, besides leading to the first steps in turning that smelter/manufacturing planet into someplace livable—not that the New Glascow Company knew that would be the end result of using Enver products. All they knew was that if they dumped the spores into waste piles they got total organic breakdowns and heavy metals on the bottom of a settling pond. In short, some water, some oxygen, carbon paste, free hydrogen, and a gooey mess worth its weight in metal for easy refining and recycling.

Someday, Gerswin suspected, when the air began to clear and fish began to appear in all the streams, they'd discover the overall picture. In the meantime, with a modest take from the enterprises created from the application of grant research, all properly licensed, of course, Gerswin, under close to a dozen names, was able to finance his own operations with but a token tap on the foundation budget, while pouring additional contributions into OERF.

He hoped that his efforts to keep separate from the foundation would limit the Imperial scrutiny, or delay it somewhat.

As far as Enver, Limited, went, he was Patron L. Sergio Enver, who preferred play to work, but who occasionally visited the facilities and didn't complain too much if his senior executives voted themselves expensive bonuses—provided production and sales continued to increase and provided they kept their eyes open for new biological technology opportunities.

Already, on Mara and other nearby systems, half a dozen other competitors were using information stolen from Enver.

Gerswin smiled as he thought of it. If they knew how easy he had tried to make such theft! You could offer knowledge on a silver platter, and no one would take it. Once you made money with it, suddenly people would cut throats for it.

He cocked his head as he listened to the whine of the turbines. Despite its inactivity, the flitter handled well, and the engine indicators were normal.

Sooner or later, he knew, the Empire would come calling, and he would have to leave precipitously. Perhaps that was why he avoided worrying about continuing, preferring to leave that decision up to the Empire. The coward's way out…

He tapped the signal for the homer as the flitter neared the local Enver headquarters. While he did not announce his visits in detail, he did not want to catch his loyal employees totally by surprise. Usually
he sent a message torp indicating the general time of his next inspection.

Here, on the main continent, the sun had dropped behind the western hills, and the twilight had fled for solid night.

Gerswin dropped the flitter into a sloping descent toward the rooftop pad reserved for the patron on Enver, Limited. The homer signal remained green on the screen.

As the flitter slowed, he closed his eyes and triggered the flash strobes, searing the roof with a blaze of light. In the following instant, he cut all exterior lights, and the flitter settled onto the hard-surfaced building.

Releasing the canopy of the old-fashioned combat model flitter, Gerswin dropped to the roof on the right side, the side of the fuselage that had no handholds or extended footbars.

With his own unhampered night vision, he could see the watchman rubbing his eyes. But beyond the control bubble…was there another figure?

The pilot flattened behind the right stub skid, bringing his stunner to bear.

Two figures with long rods that suspiciously resembled projectile rifles were sighting on the flitter. Their quick reaction to the blinding glare he had flooded the landing pad with meant that they wore night glasses to protect their vision. Night glasses on the roof meant some level of government. Competitors would have used poison, long-range sniping, or some other less violent or more stealthy method.

Government involvement also meant that the pair wore conductive stun armor and helmets.

Gerswin estimated the distance from the flitter skid to the low wall from behind which the two agents waited. Slightly more than thirty meters.

He had to act, and quickly!

In seconds, they would start looking for the pilot, one Gerswin, and, on finding him, calmly riddle his position with whatever projectiles they were carrying—fragmentation, straight shells, or gas.

Thirty meters was too far for the stunner, even without their armor to consider, and certainly too far for the throwing knives.

Gerswin settled on the watchman, who had to be an accomplice, tacitly or otherwise.

A weak distraction, but better than none.

The watch bubble was fifteen meters away, on an indirect line between him and the agents.

Thrumm!

The first stunner bolt flared on the bubble, the second through the open door. It staggered the watchman.

Gerswin sprinted.

He made it halfway to the pair before the taller of the two agents, catching the motion from the corner of his eye, whirled.

Gerswin pumped his mad rush an instant longer, then dived low and rolled to the left, zigging forward, and coming up with the knife.

Scrtttt
.

Clunk
.

The other agent brought her weapon around, hampered by its length, even as the taller one went down, his weapon echoing on the roof.

Whuppp
.

Before she could get the barrel toward Gerswin, he knocked it from her hands and swept her feet from underneath her.

The woman tried to bring her legs into play, but he twisted and dropped his full weight onto his right knee, which slammed into the side of her neck. The dull crack and instant limpness of her body signaled her death.

Gerswin followed her down, dropping behind the ledge that had not been sufficient shelter for the agents, and reached for the projectile rifle.

Strummm!

The frequency of the stun bolt—heavy-duty military model—confirmed his earlier impression of the watchman.

Still flat, he glanced at the first agent, wearing a full marauder-issue camouflage armor and matching helmet, twitching with the knife through his chest, though each shudder was slower and the time between each longer.

Gerswin edged along the walkway, head below the coping level, until he could retrieve the knife. Before he could pull the knife out, the man shuddered a last time and was still.

As the man in business gray checked the long weapon, he discovered it was configured for frag rounds. He squirmed another meter toward the watch bubble, keeping his body well below the wall.

A quick look, and he squeezed off one round.

Crummppp
.

He squirmed farther, and tried another.

Crummppp
.

There was no answering fire.

Several meters farther, nearly at the corner, he darted another look, then slowly peered once more.

The watchman was sprawled halfway through the open bubble port, and the darkness spread across his shoulders was not sweat.

Now what?

He could leave, if he left immediately, before the reinforcing troops discovered that the wrong man had survived. But then he wouldn't know what was behind it all.

Besides, if the Impies had really known what was happening, they would not have pulled such a weak operation. So it hadn't been organized by the Imperial government.

A good Imperial records check would have resulted in a direct assault or investigation of the foundation itself, either with more finesse or with overwhelming force.

He would have shrugged as he moved toward the watch bubble and the lift house behind it, but he saw the glimmer of light.

“Once again.”

He took a deep breath and charged the portal, managing to cross the ten meters and drop into the darkness behind the side of the portal as the two replacement guards walked out. The portal closed before they were even fully aware that something might be wrong.

The right-hand guard turned toward Gerswin, something in his hand.

Crummpp!

The shot turned the marauder uniform into scraps of flesh and cloth.

Before the second guard could turn, Gerswin reversed the weapon and brought the stock into his diaphragm even as he knocked aside the guard's weapon hand.

Leaving both the dead guard and the unconscious one where they lay, Gerswin scrabbled around to the back side of the lift shaft, looking for the concealed access port he knew was hidden there.

His fingers traced the outline, and he backed away. A snap kick, and the plate fragmented, as designed.

He reached down and punched the three studs in one of the preset combinations and, without waiting, scrambled back to the front of the lift where the remaining living guard was dragging himself toward his weapon.

Gerswin kicked it away, pulled the stunner from his pouch, and fired.

Thrummppp!

At that range, even the guard's armor offered little protection. His knees and legs buckled him into an untidy heap.

Keeping one eye on the lift portal, Gerswin picked up the body of the unconscious guard and carried it to the flitter, quickly locking the now disarmed man into the cargo bay.

His return flight was likely to be very quick, followed by an even quicker departure on the
Caroljoy
.

Before he made that flight, he needed to claim whatever he could from the latest of the ongoing work and see if he could determine what exactly had occurred.

Returning to the lift shaft access portal, he pulled a respirator pack from the recesses and pulled it over his nose and mouth, then, stunner in one hand and frag gun in the other, he returned to the lift port and touched the stud.

While the light poured out, no one stood on the lift landing. He crossed the landing and peered down the shaft. Empty.

First things first.

He dropped to the private loading dock where his shipments were assembled, not that they were addressed as such, nor did even the Enver company employees know the real addressee. The official labels announced a destination as Research Center, c/o Drop Five, New Aberdeen.

There were three packages, total weight roughly ten kilos. Gerswin debated, finally dropped the stunner. Anyone who was awake after the dosage of sleep gas that had flooded the building and the others in the complex would be hunting and shooting to kill.

With the frag gun in his left hand and the three packages tucked under his left arm, he eased up the three flights of emergency stairs to his office, officially the office of the Patron, Enver, Limited.

Instead of using the main portal, he walked to the storage closet at the end of the corridor, avoiding the three sprawled bodies in Planetary Guard marauder suits, and opened it, twisting the end of a shelf like a lever, then tapping a code on the plate that appeared.

Inside the spacious office were five more unconscious forms, one in a marauder uniform, two in dress Guard uniforms, and two in civilian dress.

Gerswin studied the office, since he wouldn't see it again, ran his eyes over the Enver seal on the wall behind the wood-paneled executive console, and surveyed the twin leather and chrome couches, the conference table with the underslung recliners, and the Saincleer replica on the inside wall above the low old-fashioned bookcase.

The original Saincleer was for Lyr; she'd mentioned once how
she admired the artist. It looked as though she would receive it a bit sooner than he had thought, provided he finished up and stopped meandering.

Gerswin turned his attention to the older of the two civilians—the one with the short blond hair and square chin, with the incipient potbelly.

The planetary premier—the same man who had taken the credit for landing Enver, Limited, as a major new employer—had apparently regretted his action.

Why?

Gerswin frowned. He would love to know why Alerio had decided on or accepted such strong-arm tactics.

He shook his head, glanced back at the Saincleer replica, then at the premier. The only possibility was the Empire—the only possibility.

He gathered a few small items from the console as he considered the implications.

Item—if the Empire had actually decided to move against Gerswin and the OER Foundation, then there would have been some rumors on New Augusta.

Item—if the Empire were to move, then the I.S.S. or the Corpus Corps would have been involved, not the Maran Planetary Guard.

Item—Alerio could not have had access to the Privy Council or the Emperor.

Conclusion?

Gerswin laughed once, silently, behind his respirator pack.

Eye Corps had set up Alerio to set up Gerswin, to give Eye the excuse to declare him an enemy of the Empire.

The decisions were already made. All he had to do was to move faster than the Empire.

He stood by the executive console and tapped in a series of numbers, waiting for the acknowledgment. When the confirmation came, he tapped in another set of numbers on a tight beam to the
Caroljoy
. Those would begin the evacuation options for Lyr. Once he returned to the ship and broke orbit, the message torps would take care of the rest. At least in that area, he had anticipated the need.