The Gripping Hand (26 page)

 
Arthur MacDonald, Ph.D. Professor of cultural biology, University of New Scotland. Holds Blaine Institute Chair of Xenobiology.

 

 
Richard Geary, baronet. Investor. Member of Board of Regents, University of New Scotland.

 

There was more, but Mercer was tapping on the table with his gavel. "I call this meeting of the Imperial Commission to order. Let the record state that this is a public meeting. If there is no objection, we will record the names of attendees. . . ."

There were various chirps like a hundred crickets as the palace central computer queried everyone's pocket computer to get the meeting attendance list. Renner's computer beeped twice and then rattled. Heads turned. Renner grinned.

Mercer turned to the Commission secretary. "Mr. Armstrong."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Armstrong said. His voice was thick with the accent of New Caledonia. "In deference to our guests, His Highness has changed the meeting agenda to omit the opening formalities and routine business. We therefore proceed directly to Item Four, the report from the blockade squadron. His Highness has requested that the fleet prepare a summary report covering the principal activities of the squadron through the years, as well as a more detailed report of current actions. The report will be presented by Lieutenant the Honorable Kevin Christian Blaine, executive officer of INSS
Agamemnon
."

Chris Blaine stood near the large screen that dominated one wall of the room. "Thank you, Mr. Secretary. Your Highness.

"The blockade force is formally known as the Eleventh Fleet, or Battle Fleet Murcheson's Eye. The mission of Battle Fleet Murcheson's Eye is to intercept any and all ships entering the Empire from the Mote—to enforce the blockade decreed by this Commission. Blockade duty is hard duty, and the officers and men of the Blockade Fleet are proud of our record of one hundred percent success. We have achieved that success in spite of many very real difficulties."

Renner's thoughts chased each other:

I wonder who wrote that for him?

Still, the Crazy Eddie Squadron would have driven me nuts.

Heyyy
 . . . He dared not speak his next thought.
Chris doesn't sound that bloody convincing, does he? Why not? Raised by Mediators—

He doesn't believe what he's saying.

Blaine gestured, and the wall screen lit up to show a wide-angle view of a dozen blobs ranging in color from black to dull red in a bright red glowing background. "The Alderson point from the Mote lies within the supergiant star. Ships can't stay on station very long, so there's a continual circulation of ships from outside the star to the blockade station. They stay until they're too hot, then they go outside to cool off.

"Motie breakout attempts can happen at any time."

Four new blobs, all dead black, popped into existence on the screen. Imperial ships became floodlight beams as fusion drives lit within the red-hot murk. The screen showed the beginnings of a space battle. Bright threads sprang between the ships. Torpedoes raced out.

"You're shooting with no warning!" someone said. Renner looked around to see Joyce Mei-Ling looking embarrassed, clearly not having meant to speak aloud.

Blaine said, "We wouldn't be telling them anything they don't know, Ms. Trujillo. The best time to hit the Motie ships is during Jump shock, when their automated systems are shut down. If we wait until they've recovered enough to communicate, we might not be able to catch them at all. The rules of engagement acknowledge that."

"A question, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"Suppose they wanted to negotiate. To surrender?"

"They may well try to," Blaine said. "But how could we know? They cannot come through with no Field. The star would cook them. We can't wait until they get out of the eye, or we'd lose them entirely. This was debated in the first meeting of the Commission, and the rules of engagement were adopted then. They haven't been changed because there's no way to change them, Your Highness. The way to surrender is not to come through."

Mercer nodded thoughtfully. "Proceed, Lieutenant."

Renner glanced over at Bury. He was watching, fascinated, but seemed calm. Probably tranquilized to the eyes.

"Motie breakout attempts have ranged from the simple to the ingenious," Blaine said.

The screen showed a kaleidoscope of actions. Single ships; armadas of ships; cluster ships that came apart like grenades and scattered; ships that came out at enormous velocity, tearing meteor trails through orange-hot gas. . . .

"Now, this one was a beauty," Chris Blaine said with what had to be pride. They watched an iceball two kilometers across emerge from the invisible Alderson point. "Four days after I joined the Crazy Eddie Squadron, at the noon watch . . ." The squadron chased after it. The comet-head left a comet-trail of itself as it plunged through the rarefied star-stuff. It dwindled, evaporated, exposing black beads: ships in Langston Field bubbles that raced off in random directions to be chased down by squadron ships.

"Of course we can't send all our ships against any single attempt," Blaine said. "There always has to be a reserve. Since there's no possible way the information could get back to the Mote, I suppose it's safe to say that sometimes that reserve has gotten critically thin."

Chris sounds better, surer. This part he knows,
Renner thought;
it's the cover-up he doesn't like.
"He's pretty good," he said to Ruth Cohen.

"Given his training, he damned well ought to be," Ruth replied.

The presentation continued. There were clips of the men amusing themselves on long watches. Then more battle scenes.

"Lately the Moties have a new trick," Blaine said. "They're sending what we've termed 'token ships.' These are unmanned ships, really only the framework of a ship, just an Alderson Drive and two tanks and a fusion motor. With this one, the sixth, we held off to see if it would do anything."

It didn't. They saw an absurd stick-figure of a ship pop into existence at low velocity and immediately begin to melt.

Mercer cleared his throat. "Commander, do you have any theories on why they would send such things?"

"No, Your Highness. They come one at a time; no Field, they're easy to shoot down. No attempt to send messages. If they wanted us off guard, why send anything at all? It's as if they want us to be alert. We've speculated that they may want to locate the Alderson point more precisely—at their end, in Mote system—but they know that well enough to send ships through at point one percent of lightspeed. We can't do that."

"Hah," Renner said. Everyone looked in his direction. "I think I know—"

"Yes, of course," Buckman said. He stood up. "Sir Kevin is right."

"Jacob—" Bury said. His voice was surprisingly strong.

"Oh. Um. Yes, of course. Cal—Your Highness, should I explain?"

Mercer was nodding gloomily. No surprises here. "Please do, Dr. Buckman."

"They're not trying to locate the Alderson point, they're proving that it's still there."

"Still there?" Jack Cargill sounded shocked. "Excuse me, Dr. Buckman, but why the devil shouldn't it be there?"

"Because it will move when the protostar collapses," Buckman said. "Renner, you seem to be good at talking to amateurs. Maybe you ought to tell them."

They listened as Kevin Renner talked. Kevin watched their eyes for bewilderment or comprehension, watching—he didn't realize it at first—for Kevin Christian Blaine's surprise or disbelief. But Blaine's eyes widened in a slap-my-head
Eureka!
reaction: old knowledge falling into place.
Oh, Lord, he believes it.

"I see," Bishop Hardy said. "I think I understand. But as the least technical person on the Commission, perhaps I should summarize and the experts can tell me if I've left anything out."

"Please," Mercer said.

"We are now convinced that the Moties deceived us about their stellar observations, particularly regarding the protostar. They convinced Dr. Buckman that the protostar will not ignite for from centuries to millennia. It now appears that it may collapse and ignite at any time. Might even have done so already."

"Yes," Buckman said. His voice was grim. "I have to give young Arnoff credit. He was right."

"When it ignites," Hardy said, "the Eleventh Fleet will be guarding an entry point that no longer exists."

"Well,
may
not, and will have moved a considerable distance in any case," Buckman said. "I've been working on the geometry, but with much of the data suspect it's hard to be exact. Everything depends on the violence of the collapse and the brightness of the new star."

"Yes," Hardy said. "In any event, their first warning would be when the Jump point in Murcheson's Eye moves. Meanwhile, we expect at least one more unguarded Alderson point leading from the Mote into normal space rather than to the inside of a star. And since Alderson Path events happen nearly instantaneously, all this will happen before any light from the protostar reaches us—or reaches the Mote. And therefore you have concluded that the Mo-ties are hurling these cheap probes, these
tokens
, through periodically to see if the old Point has moved."

"Precisely," Buckman said.

There was a long, low whistle from the skipper of
Agamemnon
. "Your pardon, Highness."

"Not at all, Commander Balasingham, I nearly did the same myself," Mercer said. "The situation appears serious indeed. One question. The Navy has ways to determine the location, and thus presumably the existence, of Alderson points without sending ships through them. Don't we?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Commander Balasingham said. He nervously stroked his thick mustache.

"So why the tokens?"

"Disturbances?" Renner said.

"Sir Kevin?"

"Back when I was a navigator, finding an Alderson point was one of the trickiest things we could do. It's never easy, and it's impossible during heavy sunspot activity or during a battle, because Alderson events are very responsive to thermonuclear fluxes."

"You think there may be thermonuclear bombs going off in the Mote system?"

"It wouldn't surprise me, sir."

"Nor me," Bishop Hardy said.

Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo had sat quietly during all this. Now she came to her feet. "May I ask . . ."

"Please," Mercer said.

"You're suggesting that the Moties are about to get out."

Renner said, "Right."

"But that's—" She looked at Bury, who was staring ahead with unseeing eyes, his breathing carefully controlled. "Shouldn't we do something?"

Everyone spoke at once. And Bury's eyes flicked up at her. Rage and despair, and a sudden twitch of a mad smile.

Mercer tapped on the table with his gavel. "Of course Ms. Trujillo is correct," he said. "We should do something. The question is what? And I'm not certain that subject needs debate in a public meeting."

"Why not? Who doesn't belong here?" Trujillo demanded.

"Well, you for one," Commissioner MacDonald said. "I dinna believe we need the press here. Your Highness, I move that we adjourn this public meeting and go into executive session."

"I expected something like this," Joyce Mei-Ling Trujillo said.

Commissioner MacDonald seemed astonished. "That's more than I did."

"Cover-up all the way. Corruption in the fleet, so hide it with something else. Mr. Bury, your reputation precedes you."

Bury glared. Mercer said, "Madame, I was well aware that the Moties had lied to us. That was a secondary purpose for this meeting. I . . . would have thought we'd have more time. These 'tokens'—"

"Your Highness, I've found enough evidence of corruption that they can smell the stench on Sparta. In a sense I've caused this commission, and in the first meeting you want to go into executive session! So far as I am concerned, the council has evaded the question of corruption in the Crazy Eddie Fleet. Do you really expect me to go along with this massive sense of urgency?"