"And?"
"Suh… when the last enemies are enserfed, there is no
limit
to the accomplishments of the Race! The transformation of human nature and the solar system—" She had let enthusiasm creep into her voice; a calculated move, but true still. That had been her dream in the long ago, and Myfwany's. She had simply underestimated the blood needed to accomplish it.
A chuckle. "Well enough. Simply remember this: that a premature resort to the Final War will not produce the Final Society. It will kill this planet."
"We do have a command for you, Cohortarch Ingolfsson. Two cruisers of the Great Khan class, the
Batu
and the
Suhotai
. And several cargo and research craft, modified from vessels of the same category."
Glory, glory!
Yolande thought, keeping the same even, steady rhythm of breath. Her old ship, the
Subotai
, where she had been Squadron Exec; Teller must have gotten rotation to something bigger, a base command maybe. And another ship; the Fleet was expanding as rapidly as the orbital construction nexus could manage, but this was something else again.
"Suh!"
"Regard the far wallscreen, Cohortarch."
Her eyes flicked up to the holo; it was an older shot, probably from the first manned expedition to Jupiter back in '69. That had been a near-disaster, but others had followed, and it was almost a routine voyage now. The screen changed to a north-pole overview of the solar system out as far as Saturn.
"Cohortarch, it's become a truism because it's true: who rules space, rules Earth. Orbital sensors and weapons continually improve; even now they could destroy a single tank, or ten thousand. Soon they will be able to strike an individual soldier at will. We and the enemy race to outbuild each other; but weapons imply factories, power sources, mines, the whole structure of support necessary for that… There are a hundred thousand of the Race and their servants beyond Earth's atmosphere, and we hope to increase that by a factor often in the next decade. Must if our goals are to be achieved. There is a problem."
The picture changed again, shadings of different colors blotching the orbits.
"Energy and Lunar materials are cheap, and now available in large quantity to both us and the Alliance. The limiting factors are those things which must either be brought from the outer system, or out of Earth's gravity well. The latter is prohibitively expensive, not simply in money but in foregone opportunities.
Until now, both Powers have had ample supplies from the few cometary bodies we have been able to capture, and from the two Apollo asteroids. The Alliance are now starting to receive the first major shipments from the asteroid belt proper, which they largely control."
"We are not yet short of metals, although more would be welcome. Unfortunately, we are short of volatiles, water, carbon, nitrogen." A half-seen shrug. "Too many projects attempted at the same time; intoxication with the gigantic possibilities of space. Or simply hubris, our national weakness… especially the Aresopolis project on Luna. Useful, a monument to the Glory of the Race, but dependent on our undertakings in the Jovian and Saturnian moons. These are behind schedule. The distance is far; the difficulties, great."
Yolande remembered the radiation belts and their effect on superconductor shielding; ice-volcanoes; equipment designed for the Inner System failing in an environment given only the most cursory study because there was no time for the sort of in-depth investigation
really
needed. The sort that would find the lolling surprises before they struck. Instead, full-scale exploitation as soon as the cargo-capacity was available, and learning by disaster. Loneliness in outposts where the sun was merely the brightest star, despair, madness, death by fire or cold or suicide.
"We will triumph there, our Will prevail, but time presses.
Now, while the Yankees point their so-admirable farside reflector at other stars, we have been… alert. There is a body falling inward from beyond the belt." A line traced inward, crossed the path of Earth well behind the globe's passage, before heading out again. "It is only two kilometers in size; very dark, quite cold, off the plane of the elliptic. Unnoticed until now.
Without intervention, it will bypass us by a considerable margin.
Later in its approach, extreme measures would be necessary. But if we can capture it now…"
"Suh?" A two-kilometer rock was still big.
"A new method. A modification of the pulsedrive, using half-megatonne fusion bombs; we have no lack of those. The experts assure me that it can be brought into a stable, if eccentric, orbit around the Earth. Then they may settle their quarrel as to whether it is a burnt-out comet or an asteroid proper." A slight change in the wintry voice. "A small asteroid, by cosmic standards. Megatonnes of what we so desperately need!" The slow, calm tone again. "It is our estimation that if we establish possession, and maintain an escort, the Alliance will not intervene." More formally: "Cohortarch; do you accept this assignment?"
"Yes,
suh'!
" It would mean many months away from Earth…
away from Gwen. Forget that. It was something that needed doing, and they wouldn't have picked her if she weren't the best qualified. Even with expansion at the present rate, postings like
this
were not handed out to all and sundry.
Nor would she ever get anything better than dirtside anonymity if she turned this down.
The officers on the dais leaned their heads together for a moment, whispering. Their leader spoke:
"It is the order of this Board that Cohortarch Yolande Ingolfsson be appointed to the command of Task Force Telmark IV. You are to report to Draka Forces Base, Platform Sky Lord Six two days from this date, for familiarization with the vessels and crew under your command; to depart thence for the Apollo asteroid Telmark IV approximately two weeks from this date, determine its composition and arrange, in coordination with Merarch Doctor-Professor Henry Snappdove of Technical Section, for its expeditious transfer to Earth orbit. And, of course, to cause such other harm and loss to the enemy as is compatible with the first objective."
"There is one more thing," the Arch-Strategos said before she could salute. This time his voice was almost human. "I note from your file that you haven't reproduced."
For a moment Yolande bristled, then relaxed. It was his business; a high commander's business was the welfare of the Race. And it was a compliment.
"I have a daughtah, suh, Gwendolyn Ingolfsson."
"She is adopted, and her genetic material is that of…"A pause to consult the screen: "Myfwany Venders, killed in action in India in 1975." Slight surprise. "A clone."
The wash of loss was fainter now, faint enough that she could feel what was underneath it: rage, and guilt.
"Suh. I had planned to seed a brooder with ova of my own befor' departin'." Well, she had thought about it.
"Excellent. I have read your poetry collections, Cohortarch."
Was he smiling? "Both
A Grief Observed
and
Colder Than the
Moon.
Your Archon's Prize was well deserved. The Glory of the Race is accomplishment, and beauty is as much so as power.
Dismissed."
Yolande felt her ears turn red. "Service to the State!" she barked, to cover the confusion.
Would have
sworn the old
deathfucker had Helium-H for blood
, she thought, as she clicked heels and saluted with fist to heart.
Well, well.
"Glory to the Race."
The family was waiting for her in the ringroad plaza by the south side of the Castle Tarleton grounds. Her brother John and Mandy, sitting at a table under an umbrella and talking. Looking exactly what they were, Landholders in from the provinces, down to the broad-brimmed hats and conservative Tolgren 5mm's…
David, their latest infant, cooing and gurgling in the arms of stout Delores, his brooder-nurse; Jolene, Lele… and Marya, with Gwen.
Gwen.
"Momma! Momma!" The small red-headed form bounced erect and ran toward her, toddler's tunic flying. "Momma!" She leaped up.
"Ooof." She was heavy, for a five-year-old; that was the denser bones. Incredibly strong. Yolande grabbed her under the armpits and swung her in a wide circle, laughing up into the face that smiled back at her.
"Zero-G!" the child cried. "Zero-G, momma!"
Yolande darted a look of apology at her brother, and tossed her daughter up with a swoop-catch. "There yo' go, spacer!
And—
one and two and three
and
dockin' maneuver
." She gave the child a smacking kiss and hugged her.
Gwen's arms tightened around her neck, and she pressed her head against her mother's. "Love yo', momma," she said.
"Love yo', too, my baby Gwennie," she said.
"I am not a baby! I'm
Gwen
," she replied firmly.
"Indeed yo' are, light of my life." Yolande signed to Marya.
"Here, now stay with yo' Tantie-ma for' a minute, an' hush."
John and Mandy were smiling indulgently at her, hands linked.
"I gathah the news is good," her brother chuckled. Mandy was using her beltphone to call for the car; the family had rented the latest for their stay in Archona, a superconductor-electric with maglev capacity on the few stretches of road relaid for that luxury.
"Yo' are lookin'," Yolande said, buffing her nails, "at the newest Cohortarch in the Directorate of War."
"Well, well,
well,
we Ingolfssons are movin' up in the world,"
he said, with a swift hard embrace. John had never been more than a Tetrarch, or wanted to be. He and Mandy did their Territorial Reserve duty, and that was enough distraction from Claestum and its folk. "Even as I dragged yo' appalling offspring through the zoo and amusement park. Wotan's stomach, the things they do with rides these days! While Mandy shopped the estate into bankruptcy; we'll need a Logistics Lifter to get the loot—"
He winced theatrically as the tall blond woman dug him in the ribs. "Gwen didn't enjoy those rides half as much as yo' did," she said. "Do I quarrel with yo' gettin' every toy Biocontrol dreams up fo' the credulous planter? Like those steakberries?" John winced more sincerely; the high-protein meat-mimicking fruit had proven a beacon for every vermin, pest, scavenger, and grub in Italy. Their son began to cry softly. "I could scarcely take Davie along with yo' and Gwen, now could I?"
They glanced over to the nurses. Delores was just lifting a full breast out of her blouse and brushing the engorged brown nipple across the infant's mouth; she rocked the child and crooned, smiling, as he suckled.
"That reminds me, yo'-know-who dropped a broad hint it'd be appreciated if I had anothah befo' shippin' out. Hmmm, Gwen?
Yo' likes a little brothah or sistah to play with?"
The girl had been seated on Marya's lap, watching the adults and ignoring her cousin with five-year-old disdain. "Can't play with a baby," she said practically. "They just makes messes an'
sleeps."
Yolande laughed, and glanced an inquiry at her brother and sister-in-law. Mandy nodded. "One more's no problem, 'Landa.
Freya knows, what with ours and the two new ones ma an' pa are havin', we gettin' to be more of a tribe than a family."
Yolande's mother had borne four children naturally, but seemed to prefer the new method wholeheartedly.
"I'll have to pick a brooder," she said.
"No problem… 'Ship out'?" her schoolfriend said.
Yolande shrugged, spread her hands and looked from side to side in the universal Draka gesture for secrecy. Not that the Security Directorate needed to have spies hiding behind bushes these days.
"Be gone fo' quite some time. Months, leastways."
Gwen made a protesting sound, frowning and pouting, blinking back tears. Yolande moved over toward her on the stone bench, smoothing the copper hair back from her brow.
"Now, where's my big brave girl?" she said gently. "Momma has her work, an' I'll bring yo' back another piece of a star, sweetie." Gwen had been just old enough after the last voyage to understand that the light pointed out in the sky was where her mother had been, and the lump of rock from Ganymede was her most precious possession.
"I don' want a star. I want momma!" She tugged on Marya's hair. "Tantie-ma, tell momma she cain' go!"
"Hush, Missy Gwen. You know I can't tell your mother what to do." The serf wrapped her arms around the child and made soothing noises.
"Now, don't be a baby, Gwen," Yolande said. "Momma doesn't have to leave fo' a week yet,"—which was forever to a child this age—"and when I go, yo' can come up to the station with me, how's that? Right up above the sky." No more risky than an ordinary scramjet flight, these days, and she could probably swing it.
"And yo'll have Uncle John and Auntie Mandy and Tantie-ma, too, and all the friends yo' makes at school next year. Oh," she continued, looking up at Marya. "I meant to tell yo'. I've posted bond, yo're moved up to Class III Literate." That meant non-technical and non-political literature, and limited computer access to menu-driven databanks; the classics, as well, most of them.
Marya looked down, flushing. "Thank you, Mistis," she whispered. For an instant Yolande thought she caught something strange and fierce in the wench's expression, then dismissed it.
Must have been boring,
nothing much to read,
she thought.
Should have done this before.
Gwen subsided, looking up with nervous delight at the thought of flying to orbit.
"Well, what have we planned?" Yolande asked.
"Lunch," John said. "Then the Athenaeum, then dinner at Saparison's. Then there's a Gerraldson revival at the Amphitheater, the
Fireborn Resurrection,
and Uncle Eric used some pull to get us a box. We'll drop the children off first, of course."
"Nnooo, I think Gwen might enjoy it," Yolande said, considering. "The dancin', at least. Marya can keep her quiet, or take her out in the gardens if not." And it would be a treat for Marya as well; she had been behaving well of late. Gwen was certainly devoted to her, which was a good sign.