CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

A bulletin put out by Zeigler’s office the following day brought the news that Dru had died from chest wounds; Erskine and one of the two Kronians involved were wounded but not critically; Ida and the other Kronian were unhurt. The four survivors of the incident were being held under arrest according to the martial law condition that had been proclaimed. By the same terms, perpetrators of further such attempts would be liable to execution by shooting automatically. Entry to the extended secure zone around the Operations and Communications Dome and its annex was not permitted without authorization; a general curfew would apply to anyone not having business outside after 22:00; and until further notice, outside gatherings of more than five persons other than for recognized work groups was prohibited. The design of a triangle pierced by a lighting flash, along with the words Together, we will build Earth again! were appended.

Keene and Adreya Laelye drove out with a relief crew in one of the general-purpose site runabouts to view progress with the shuttle silos and launch pads being constructed on the far side of the landing area. The runabout had four wide wheels on independent axles like the larger Scout, an enclosed cab that could hold three with a squeeze, and an open rear section like a pickup, but which could be tipped to function as a dump truck also. The work going on currently involved forming revetments and foundations from a ceramic foam that dried a fraction of the weight of concrete but with strength of the same order. It was intended as an intermediary measure until heavier construction and full industrial startup capability arrived with the Aztec. The talk, however, as most of the time, concerned the takeover and its implications. They stood by one of the trenches, watching the skeleton of alloy mesh being emplaced, around which the foam filling would be blown.

“We’ve all read about it,” Adreya said. “But to actually witness it is something completely different. Even the idea of a minority having control without general support of the followers is inconceivable. Never mind imposing it.”

“Yes, I know,” Keene told her. “Sariena’s been saying the same thing.”

“The obsession for amassing wealth beyond any conceivable need is something we just can’t relate to. To us it’s as pointless as compulsive eating.” Financial obesity, Keene thought to himself as he stood with his hands thrust into the pockets of his parka. That was an interesting way to put it. Jon Foy had said something similar. Adreya went on, “But now that I’ve seen it, and what people can be driven to in pursuing it, I think I know what it is that motivates it.” Keene cocked an eyebrow at her inquiringly. “It’s insecurity. Fear. They have nothing to offer that anyone freely wants, but they depend totally on others for everything they need. So to feel secure, they must have the power to compel.”

Keene had listened to similar things from Kronians but never heard it put quite that way before. He remembered being told in earlier times that one of the big fears of the fabulously rich was very often that of finding themselves penniless, even when simple arithmetic showed it to be something they’d have a hard job achieving if they devoted the rest of their lives to trying, but he’d never really understood it. “Well, they can always build bureaucracies,” he commented. “That way, you create lots of rules that don’t benefit anyone, and then make a comfortable living catching people for breaking them. And you do it at their expense. Pretty neat when you think about it.”

“I never understood how someone could possess ownership rights to the wealth created by another.” Adreya sighed. “It seems that whenever things reached the point of there being money in something, that always destroyed it.”

How true, Keene thought, looking back. Small wonder the Kronian leaders were set on the unique economic system that their experiment had brought into being. He was about to respond, when he saw Pieter Naarmegen approaching beside the low wall forming the top of one of the molds. He was wearing a quilted cap with ear muffs, his face pink in the wind behind his straggly beard. He looked at Adreya uncertainly for a second, seemingly trying to convey that he wanted to talk to Keene privately; but then his expression changed to one that seemed to say, Heck, if I can’t talk in front of the representative of SOE . . .

“What is it?” Keene prompted.

It was a good place to bring up subjects that weren’t for general audiences, since the guards hadn’t attempted to secure the far sector of the pad area. For one thing, there weren’t enough of them to spare any for such a task; and for another, there was little out here that it was necessary to guard against. None of the ships could move without clearance codes from ground control, and there was nowhere to bring unloaded cargos back to except the base. And the background of construction noise made a good privacy screen against other ears that didn’t need to know.

“A group of us have decided to split,” Naarmegen said, directing himself at Keene. “Your name is one that was voted to be invited.”

“Split? Where to?”

“Anywhere. Just out. We’re not prepared to play ball or live like this. There’s no way they can seal this part out here. We arrange to leave a Scout here at the pad, stock it with gear and supplies, and then move out to it in small groups early in the evening. Hell, Lan, there isn’t anyone out here to stop us. We take off at night, in the opposite direction from the base. By daybreak we’ll be miles gone.”

“When?”

“We haven’t fixed it yet. When we’ve got the Scout fitted out. Probably tomorrow or the night after.”

“How many?”

“A dozen so far.”

“Big load for a Scout.”

“This is Earth, not some moon without an atmosphere. We can put some on the trailer. Zeigler doesn’t have the manpower to come after us.”

“He can still send out probes and recce drones. They’ll find you in an hour.”

“And what would they do? They’re not armed. And even if they were, what would be the point?”

“Who knows with someone like Zeigler? Maybe just to demonstrate who’s in charge, and that you don’t step out of line.”

“That’s a risk we’ll take,” Naarmegen said.

Keene eyed him dubiously. The practicalities were a secondary issue, he could see. It was a gesture that Naarmegen needed to make. He wasn’t asking for Keene’s endorsement—just a simple yes or no as to whether he wanted to be included.

“I wish you luck, Pieter, but I don’t think it’s the way,” he said. “I need to be here.”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“So what is the way, Lan?” Adreya put in.

Keene made a shrug that said there was no glib, ready answer. “You observe, you organize, you prepare… and wait for your opportunity.”

“And if one doesn’t happen?” Naarmegen asked.

“Then you find a way of making one happen.”

In the Communications Room of the Trojan, Captain Walsh viewed a decoded message from Grasse’s assistant on the Eskimo that the consignment of boosters had been retrieved successfully, and they were being fitted to the vessel on schedule. There was also news from Zeigler that the situation at Serengeti was stable and under control after some minor reactions. There was still no indication of why Zeigler had moved the date forward from that originally planned.

Kurt Zeigler had made a name for himself around Europe in the circles connected with arranging finances for international sales of sophisticated weapons systems. The deals that he specialized in were frequently engineered to bypass the laws and technology-transfer regulations of the governments involved, sometimes making expedient use of third parties; at others, by contriving ingenious shell games involving holding companies and transfer agencies to confound audit trails of exactly who was being paid by whom and for what; and on occasions, resorting to outright falsification of documents describing the equipment involved or its intended purpose.

Larger-scale conflicts deserving of being called “wars” had become a rarity by the time of pre-Athena Earth, not so much as a result of any marked advance in the direction of humanitarian restraint on the part of the world’s governing eminences, but more because military solutions to capturing markets essential for continuing capital expansion and denying them to non-approved economic systems were becoming too expensive and unpopular. However, ongoing tensions in various places between ethnic groups that had been inappropriately mixed or forcibly separated, and the reluctance of many local populations to appreciate the benefits of the global financial and economic order that was going to bring the Millennium, had kept business buoyant and profits respectable. Zeigler had graduated to the big league by buying out the interests of a pair of overly-trusting business partners at a discount when a negotiation was cooling, and then making a killing on a fast sale to a second buyer, whose existence he had been less than forthcoming about. That was when he came to the notice of Valcroix and his associates, and his rise to a position of influence in the international political-military scene quickly followed.

The same processes shaped business and politics as produced people who were fit to rule others and build empires. The weak and the inept were consumed to make room for the strong and the skillful. Dominance and survival were the rewards of excellence. The rules might be harsh, but it wasn’t he who had made them. They were the same rules that had directed life’s upward struggle from its emergence out of primeval ooze, and through ruthless competition and selection eventually produced minds capable of comprehending them. They were the rules of the real world. The world of the Kronians was a dreamland based on a naive ideology that could never survive outside the artificial protectorate they had created. That was why they rejected things that science had known for two hundred years and invented fanciful, supernatural purposes to account for inconvenient facts and contradictions they were unable otherwise to explain. Ironically, the “primitives” who had survived understood reality better than the sophisticates who would presume to teach them.

But then again, was it so ironic? They were both products of their respective worlds, after all. The Kronians brought airy ideals from the starry, uncontaminated halls of Kronia. The survivors had already qualified by every test Earth had to offer.

Accompanied by Leisha and two guards, Zeigler walked out with Rakki, Yobu, and Enka, to where the flyer was waiting inside the OpCom perimeter fence. He had had red shoulder tabs sewn on his tunic as a mark of his rank. It was just after dark. Lieutenant Jorff and the two troopers who would also be going to Joburg to commence the weapons training were standing outside, silhouetted against the lights—a small enough number, but as much as could be spared. Rakki turned as they got to the machine, and raised a hand toward Zeigler in salutation in the way he had learned. Zeigler returned it. He had declined to introduce the custom of shaking hands.

“When we meet next, your guards will carry weapons like these too,” Zeigler said.

The reply came back as, “He will make sure they are worthy… . I think he means worthy to be sent here to help out.”

“I’m sure he will perform the task well.”

“And then we will make him ruler of the caves?”

“And then he will rule the caves.”

Leisha joined the departing party as they climbed aboard. Zeigler watched with his guards while the flyer taxied away a short distance before opening to full power and climbing steeply to clear the fence. Then he turned and led the way back to the OpComs Dome.

These natives were material that definitely had potential, he reflected. And yes, he could use the additional manpower. But beyond that, the existence of such a force, armed, trained, and loyal to him, could prove a factor very much to his advantage when the Party leadership arrived, and the internecine disputes and clashes of interest that reality said were inevitable sooner or later began breaking out. And now there was news from the Varuna of more survivors, numbering possibly several hundred, spotted on the eastern coast of the Raphta peninsula, trekking northward toward the warmer zone. He didn’t have the time or the resources to create a trained army. But if he moved fast enough to at least get them aligned with him in the way he had done with Rakki, it would go a long way to making him a formidable force to reckon with indeed.

On arriving back in his office, Zeigler was informed by Kelm that Naarmegen and a group of others were planning to desert either tonight or tomorrow. Their plan was to use a Scout vehicle that would be left for the purpose among the constructions in progress on the far side of the pad area. How did Zeigler want to deal with it?

“Do we know who they are?” Zeigler asked.

“A dozen in all. I have six of the names other than Naarmegen so far. All from the scientific and clerical staff.”

“Where do they think they’re going?

“There doesn’t seem to be any clear idea. It’s mainly a demonstration—to get away.”

Zeigler turned it over for a while. “And how far are they likely to get?” he said finally. “There was enough trouble getting to Joburg overland.” He tilted his jaw. “We do nothing at this stage. Let them proceed. Just follow their progress for the time being. If they get into trouble, it will serve as a warning to the rest.”

“We’re happy about letting the vehicle go?” Kelm queried.

“It was only used for scientific work. That’s low on the list. And it will be a dozen less for us to watch for now. Let them go.” Zeigler thought for a moment longer, then added, “And in any case, why reveal that we have our information sources out there to no useful purpose?”

Keene learned about it from Shayle later that evening, when they were having supper in the dorm blocks cafeteria. “He went out himself to see them off? And Jorff went with them?”

“Plus two troopers and the girl who’s been their translator. A couple of welders who were working on the annex roof watched them go. They left in a GP personnel flyer.”

Keene chewed on his food and frowned as he tried to divine some meaning from it. Supper was Kronian chicken-flavored soy compound and reconstituted vegetables with a salad from the Varuna‘s hydroponics unit. Although he should have been used to such fare by now, he hoped it wouldn’t be long before Serengeti got some tilling and stock-rearing of its own under way. “What do you make of it?” he asked when he’d swallowed finally.

“It seems like the flattery and camaraderie line. The only thing I can think of is that he has plans on recruiting them.”

“For what?”

“Presumably, to add to his troops.”

“Rakki’s Tribe? But there aren’t enough of them to make a difference that would be worthwhile.”

“What about the others to the east, where Rakki and his band came from? Weren’t there supposed to be a lot more there?” But even as Shayle said it, she was shaking her head. “No, that couldn’t work, could it? Rakki and their chief are sworn-to-the-death enemies.”

“It seems that way, doesn’t—” Keene halted in midsentence. “Unless…”

“What?”

“The idea is to remove the other guy and put Rakki in charge of the whole roost. That would be an old enough trick. You couldn’t get a more devoted follower than that. And that would add significantly to the number of soldiers Zeigler could expect.” Keene stared distantly at the wall as further implications opened up. “More soldiers not just for now, but for later too, maybe…” His voice trailed away.

Was Zeigler playing a longer and more complex gamble—to strengthen his hand for when potential rivals arrived, perhaps? But what quality of recruit could he expect to produce in the time he had available? Keene thought back to the first contact with the Tribe at Joburg, their total unfamiliarity with even the rudiments of an advanced technology, the near panic that merely a low pass of the probe over their heads had caused… .

And then, suddenly, a completely different light came into Keene’s eyes as everything he had been thinking about a moment ago was forgotten. He turned his face back and stared at Shayle with the expression of someone who had just received a beatific vision.

She stopped eating and waited. Finally, she invited, “Lan, what is it?”

“The probe,” Keene answered distantly. “That probe that sucked in an arrow and was grounded the first time we went to Joburg. It’s still there, somewhere up over that ridge up above the place. Owen Erskine was supposed to be arranging for its retrieval, but he’s been having other problems lately… . It’s still up there, Shayle, up on that ridge. And it has its own independent emergency channel to Survey Mission Control up in the Varuna!”