It was hardly surprising. For over a century Orleans had been the rock against which Haven’s expansionist ambitions had foundered; with that republic out of the way it was to be expected that a number of other states would surrender. Even so, the speed at which Haven’s Sunburst and Cross spread across the planet was astonishing.
Not that Dougal could blame the others for capitulating. A major point of the treaties of unification put each absorbed state’s military forces at’ Haven’s disposal. Most had to be disbanded, but there were professionals in every army, and they could be recruited. And there was always the military equipment, the artillery and warships … It was an effective way to build power.
The treaties were drafted by the Imperial High Commissioner’s staff. Of course they were only being helpful — but their help was impossible to refuse. Malcolm’s plan to buy time by delaying the final unification of Prince Samual’s World simply wasn’t going to work.
Haven’s forces were now so large that no one could resist. If that weren’t enough, the Imperial Marines stood ready to break any major center of opposition. Lechfeld had its effect; in the years since then, the Imperials had seldom fired their space weapons. The example of Lechfeld was more than sufficient.
Pacification of the barbaric South Continent would probably take a generation more, but within two or three years Prince Samual’s World would be effectively unified under King David.
And thus under the Empire. Dougal looked again at the map and cursed. It was all happening too fast.
There were advantages, he thought. There was plenty of money now. The secret research center in the Corliss Grant Hills, and the others, the shipyards and Magnate Vermuele’s foundries, got plenty of support. There was also money for the University, and that institution was invaluable.
Dougal nodded in satisfaction. In the months since they’d recruited him Angus Volker had kept his bargain. Haven’s research centers were well staffed. They didn’t dare launch big rockets, but they’d fired several models. Static tests of larger motors continued satisfactorily. The shipyard facilities had developed air-tight compartments and now worked to make them lighter. They could almost build a ship which would keep men alive in space.
Almost.
Almost meant anything from three to thirty years, depending on who you talked to. Three might just be enough — but Malcolm had had too much experience with eager engineers to believe that estimate. And more than five years would certainly be too late. He would not have that long. When the Imperials first arrived, they seemed in no hurry; lately, though, they were anxious to finish unifying the planet. At the same time, there were fewer Imperial civil servants at Government House. Sir Alexei Ackoff was as affable as ever, but he seemed distracted, as if Prince Samual’s World had lessened in importance — but he was also in a greater hurry than ever.
We need either time or help, Dougal thought. And we can’t get time, so it’s got to be help, and that’s MacKinnie.
It had been a year since they heard that MacKinnie and all his people had set out to cross Makassar in a small ship. They’d gone against the Navy’s advice and despite plentiful warnings. The Imperial High Commissioner had been emphatic about that. It wasn’t the Empire’s fault that the expedition had been lost …
Malcolm didn’t believe the expedition was lost, but it was difficult to wait.
Difficult or not, there was nothing else to do. Weeks passed.
The large, square, metal box in Malcolm Dougal’s office squawked unintelligibly. Irritated, Dougal got up to adjust the small dial set on its front. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but they’d shown him how to operate the thing, and as he turned the dial slightly the words became clearer.
“Calling Citizen Dougal, calling Citizen Dougal. Answer please.”
He leaned close to the wire grill on the front of the thing and shouted, “Dougal here.”
Nothing happened. He cursed and pushed the button on top. “Dougal here.”
“Navy reports Makassar expedition returning. Will land in twenty days,” the box said.
This time Malcolm remembered to push the button. “Thank you. Send details by messenger. Anything more?”
“That’s all, sir.”
“Thank you.” He returned to his desk. Probably the communications man knew more details, but Malcolm didn’t want them discussed on the wireless. The Imperials might not be listening, but certainly they could if they wanted to. Dougal laughed mockingly at himself. The only way anyone could learn that the expedition was returning would be from the Imperials; they’d know anything Malcolm could learn from a messenger. It was wise to be cautious, but it could be carried too far.
Not that it mattered. He’d learn nothing really important until MacKinnie’s people were down and safely hidden.
Details. MacKinnie’s crew would be a sensation. Everyone would want to see them. Parliament, the newspapers, the University; hundreds of opportunities for one of them to let something slip, the merest hint that would warn the Imperials and end their chances.
Something would have to be done about that. But first there were other preparations. He took a speaking tube from the wall behind his desk and whistled into it.
“Sir.”
“Send Captain Gregory to me.”
“Sir.”
Dougal waited impatiently for the knock on the door. It was only a few minutes, but it seemed hours, and Dougal cursed himself for his impatience.
Hans Gregory was a middle-aged officer, nondescript and harmless in appearance; a man much like Malcolm Dougal. He stood in front of Malcolm’s desk. “Yes, sir?”
“You look well,” Dougal said. “I had meant to see you anyway, but now it may be more urgent. Please be seated.”
“Thank you, sir—”
“I take it that all is well and there if no difficulty in your friendship with Citizen Liddell?”
“None, sir. I see him at least weekly now that I had him elected to my club. He very much appreciated my sponsorship.”
“Excellent. It is now time for him to repay the favor.
Things have reached a critical stage, and we will need a great deal more information about the Imperials. How well do you know Elaine Liddell?”
“Fairly well, sir. She’s friendly enough. I used to see her when I called on Liddell — we play Go fairly often. Unfortunately, as I’ve reported, lately she’s out as often as not.”
“So you don’t know if she would work with us?”
“No, sir.” Gregory shrugged. “She certainly fancies herself in love with that young Imperial. If it came to a choice of loyalties, I wouldn’t bet either way.”
“Even if the king himself asked for her help?”
“I just don’t know, sir. They’re pretty thick, those two.” He gave Dougal a knowing look. “You’ve seen the reports.”
Dougal nodded. “If she’s not in love with Lieutenant Jefferson, she ought to be. I do not understand how her father tolerates the situation.”
“He has very little choice, sir.” Captain Gregory said. “He could hardly challenge an Imperial officer. And of course Freelady Elaine does speak — privately — of Lieutenant Jefferson as her ‘fiancee.’ ”
“But not publicly. Does Jefferson acknowledge the relationship?”
“That’s more complicated than you would suppose,” Gregory said. “He has made no objection to being called that by Elaine in the presence of Citizen Liddell. However, he cannot officially become engaged to a local without permission of his commanding officer — or says he cannot.”
“Sounds as if Jefferson has found a good thing,” Dougal said. “Privileges without obligations.”