Authors: Kevin J. Anderson
As further proof of his unsuitability, the boy was oblivious to his own precarious position.
Returning to the business at hand, OX once again reset his priorities and attempted to teach Prince Daniel. “Now we will review the story of the generation ship Abel-Wexler, the tenth to depart from Earth, in 2110 AD.”
“That’s boring.”
OX continued anyway. “Once the Ildiran rescuers delivered the ship to Ramah, their history became interesting. Ildirans remained with the passengers for years, helping the humans establish their foothold on the new colony. After making close ties with several Ildiran lens kithmen, a charis-matic religious leader on Ramah became convinced that devout humans should emulate the Ildiran thism, as a conduit to God. Although he had originally been trained as a spokesman for Unison, he developed his own beliefs.”
Daniel began tapping his writing implement on the desktop, making a loud noise. Accordingly, OX increased the volume of his voice.
“Many of the strictly religious passengers of the Abel-Wexler resented the ‘Ildiran heresy,’ and a series of holy wars broke out on Ramah. Several lens kithmen were killed. The Ildiran Empire chose not to retaliate militarily, but withdrew its people from the world. Religious wars simmered between the human settlers for decades, with many attempts at recasting Raman theology into a version acceptable to each sect. When no human priest actually succeeded in linking with the Ildiran thism, however, most of their followers broke away.”
Throughout the brief lecture, Daniel displayed exaggerated restlessness. The young man seemed to be trying to provoke OX, but the Teacher compy remained much more patient than any human would have been.
“Unless you finish this lesson satisfactorily, Prince Daniel, I will invoke my O X
125
privilege to cancel the dessert course at this evening’s meal. Conversely, superior performance may result in an extra portion.”
“I could have you removed if you do that!”
“No, you cannot.” The compy remained firm and silent. Daniel chose not to press his position.
“All right, but why does it have to be so dull?” He slumped back.
“It is dull to you, because you refuse to apply your imagination. My goal is not to entertain you, but to instruct you. I intend to succeed, whether you enjoy it or merely endure it. But you will listen to my lessons, and I will repeat them as many times as necessary until you comprehend the concepts.”
“I hate you, OX.”
The compy remained silent for a moment. “Your emotional response to me is irrelevant. Shall we continue with your lessons?”
Sulking, Daniel didn’t answer.
After a few moments of tense silence, OX began his lecture again. He was a Teacher compy and followed his assigned tasks with full diligence.
He knew, however, that this young man would never be much of a King. Daniel simply did not have the potential or the drive that Peter had exhibited. But the Hansa had given OX explicit instructions on what he must do.
126
H O WA R D PA L AW u
In Earth’s largest factory the compy production line hissed and burbled with molten alloys and sprayed solvents. The smell of hot metal and caustic chemicals filled the air. The din of large-scale fabrication, with the whirring machinery and the clang of shaped components, was deafening.
Howard Palawu, the Hansa’s Chief Scientist, took comfort from the sights and sounds of an efficient plant operating at full capacity. Smiling, he called up quota numbers on a handheld electronic pad and studied delivery records, projections, and profits. He turned to the tall Swede next to him. “We’ll be ten percent higher than last month, Lars. Fewer errors, faster throughput. More Soldier compies for the EDF.”
Lars Rurik Swendsen, the lead Engineering Specialist, stood beside the shorter man, showing a lot of teeth in his broad grin. “The factory’s running like a well-oiled machine, Howard.”
“It is a well-oiled machine.”
“I can’t wait until the new fabrication wing comes online in two weeks.
How are you going to spend your bonus?”
Palawu shrugged; he had never much cared about his salary or his rewards. “I still haven’t figured out what to do with the last one.”
The dark-skinned scientist had broad shoulders and a stomach that wasn’t quite as flat as he thought it was. He kept his graying hair cropped extremely close to his scalp. Palawu had two grown children and had lost his wife a decade earlier in a medical accident during what should have been a minor procedure. Since then, the Chief Scientist had devoted himself to his work for Hansa and King. It kept him busy.
“The more we milk that Klikiss robotic technology, the more tweaks we can make to the production line,” he said. Two years earlier, he and Swendsen had been chosen to supervise the complex dissection and dismantling operations of the Klikiss robot Jorax. The breakthroughs they had
made by copying the alien systems had been a giant boon to Hansa technology. Motivational modules and programming routines were scanned, duplicated, and transferred wholesale into resilient Soldier-model compies, which had already been put to good use in the Earth Defense Forces.
The two men walked down the line, watching the identical Soldier compies being assembled step-by-step, each one exactly according to specifications. The new-model compies were perfect warriors, sophisticated battle machines sure to be the key to defeating the hydrogues.
“I got a report from the shipyards this morning, Howard,” Swendsen said. “They’re already in production with sixty heavily armored rammer ships, according to the Chairman’s new plan. They seem to be a week ahead of schedule.”
“That’s just on paper. The rammers won’t be ready for months. We’ve got plenty of time to manufacture a compy crew for them . . . even though I hate to see such beautiful machines destroyed in a suicide mission.”
Palawu watched as another armor-plated Soldier glided by on the assembly belt. “But they were designed to be expendable, I suppose.”
A well-dressed man with blond hair came up to the two senior production leaders. Wearing a business suit and a bland expression, the man looked out of place on the noisy, dirty fabrication line. He didn’t even seem interested in the new compies coming off the assembly belts. “Chief Scientist Palawu? Engineering Specialist Swendsen? Come with me, please.”
Palawu recognized the self-proclaimed “special assistant” to Chairman Wenceslas who had tried to stop King Peter from ordering a shutdown of the factory because of his concerns about the Klikiss technology. That had been a nerve-racking time, but everything was back on schedule now.
“Where are we going?” Swendsen asked.
“Chairman Wenceslas wishes to see you in his office.”
Palawu stood next to his tall colleague, wondering which of them was more nervous. Previously, whenever they’d been spoken to by the Chairman, it had been part of a large board meeting; now they waited alone in the empty room.
A quiet Friendly-model compy strutted like a wind-up toy, carrying a tray with a pot of strong-smelling cardamom coffee. Palawu preferred tea, but apparently they wouldn’t be given a choice. He and Swendsen each 128
took one of the proffered cups while the compy set the third on the Chairman’s immaculately clean desk. Palawu took a polite sip, looked at his friend. They both waited.
Wenceslas came in several minutes later accompanied by his blond-haired expediter. The Chairman straightened his suit and looked at the two scientists. “I apologize for the delay, gentlemen. I genuinely hate it when meetings don’t end on schedule.” He took a seat at his desk. “I understand how valuable your time is. I just wish some of my fellow administrators would recognize the value of mine.” He sipped his coffee, found it cold, and pushed it aside. “I see from production reports that our compy manufacturing facilities are operating at peak efficiency. Soldier compies have already been distributed among all of the main battle groups. You two have done an exemplary job.”
Swendsen beamed, while Palawu lowered his eyes, embarrassed. “We work well together, Mr. Chairman.”
“And now you must demonstrate how well you can work apart.”
Wenceslas gestured for both of them to take their seats. Neither asked for more information, choosing to wait until the Chairman spoke again.
“Without question, you two are our foremost experts on Klikiss technology.”
Palawu fumbled with his fingers. “Mr. Chairman, I believe you’re overstating the—”
Wenceslas cut him off. “Dispense with the silly false modesty, please.
You demean my intelligence, and you diminish your own accomplishments. If there were two better candidates, I would be speaking to them instead of to you.” He shuffled the neatly stacked papers on his desk, then straightened them again. “I need you to turn your talents to studying the Klikiss transportals.”
“Has something gone wrong in the colonization initiative, Mr. Chairman?” Palawu asked. He had thought the first wave was proceeding with full support. He had heard of no delays.
“Oh, the system functions just fine, sending settlers off to empty Klikiss planets. But our science doesn’t understand how it works—and that limits our options.” The Chairman folded his hands together. “You see, gentlemen, it is my dream that we learn how to move the existing transportals, or even create new ones, so that the Hansa can set up efficient gateways
wherever we choose. Just think—if we could establish Klikiss transportals from scratch on any colony world, perhaps even increase their dimensions and transportation capacity, then we wouldn’t need to rely on conventional space travel at all. The ekti shortage would be utterly irrelevant. We could also send messages from planet to planet directly, without being forced to use unreliable green priests.”
“Now, that’s quite an ambitious plan, Mr. Chairman,” Swendsen said.
“But a feasible one,” Palawu added, already wrestling with the problem. “It shouldn’t be intrinsically more complex than the Klikiss robots.
Even if we don’t understand every circuit in the transportal technology, perhaps we can imprint and replicate them, as we did with the Soldier compies.”
Basil seemed satisfied with their exuberance. Palawu looked at his tall friend. “And which one of us would you like for this assignment?”
The Chairman gestured to the expediter, who reached into his pocket and pulled out a single gold coin. “Your qualifications appear to be equivalent, gentlemen. Therefore, without further agonizing discussion, we will settle the matter by an ancient reliable method.”
The expediter spun the coin in the air and slapped it against the back of his hand.
Swendsen had called out, “Tails!” before the coin had fallen, and the expediter lifted his palm to reveal the idealized profile of King Ben, the Hansa’s first ruler.
The Chairman shook Palawu’s hand. “Congratulations, Dr. Palawu. I will see that you’re dispatched to our main hub at Rheindic Co as soon as possible.”
130
The Hansa’s new colonization campaign played on hopes and patriotism.
Media bursts and mail drones delivered the Chairman’s dramatic invitation from world to world, and human beings reacted predictably, always sure that life would be better someplace else after a new start.
With funding and bonuses from the Hansa, hopeful people left struggling colonies in droves, waiting to be rounded up by commercial transports and delivered to the nearest Klikiss jumping-off points. On every world that had briefly been scouted by transportal explorers, ambitious groups planted the flag of the Terran Hanseatic League, submitted signed copies of the Charter, and claimed new territory for humanity. . . .
As the Voracious Curiosity pulled away from cloudy Dremen, Orli went to the ship’s window and looked out at the immensity of stars, open emptiness that stretched forever and ever. She was sure she had done the same thing when departing from Earth, back when she’d been just a small girl. She could remember little about Earth, other than occasional snatches of blue skies, tall buildings, and one particular dinner in a seafood restau-rant with her mother, shortly before their family had broken up.
Now her chest felt hollow, though she wasn’t entirely sad to go away.
She understood their need to make a new start, recognizing that she and her father would not likely survive the deep bleak winter of the star’s upcoming low cycle. Yes, it was time to try one of the new Klikiss colonies.
Jan joined her at the window, and they stared at Dremen, whose pearly silver clouds reflected sunlight in swirls of cottony softness—much more beautiful than they had ever seemed from ground level. The dwindling globe seemed so small, a child’s bauble cast into the void.
“Look at all those clouds, girl. Plenty of thunderstorms and cold fog.
I’m not sorry to be leaving all that behind.”
“Up here the sun seems so bright.”
Jan sighed. “If only those people had seen the wisdom in my solar mirror project, we could have turned Dremen into a warm and perfectly comfortable place. But nobody wanted to make the investment.”
Two years after the hydrogue ultimatum, when Dremen began to realize hard times were ahead, Jan Covitz had gotten it into his head to run for mayor, advocating grandiose and costly solutions to the colony’s weather problems. He had drawn up a plan to erect wide concave mirrors in orbit, whose sole purpose was to reflect sunlight and pump an extra degree or two of temperature into the atmosphere. In his plan, the huge filmy re-flectors would be as thin as tissue, coated with a high-albedo layer only a few molecules thick. Dremen could have become self-sufficient, impervious to the longest low-intensity solar cycle.
Though technologically feasible, the plan would have required a large investment, high taxes, and years to complete. Even as a girl, little involved in local politics, Orli had understood that her father’s proposed solutions were unlikely to be adopted.