He stopped and drove a fist into one palm. “And I hate it, the idea of running away. Even as a last resort—” He swung toward the general. “It is a last resort, isn’t it?”
“Ayuh.”
“Just to get a few hundred clear—”
“More like a hundred thousand, Fred.”
At his surprise, Stoddard continued: “The other side aren’t the only ones who do technological espionage. They’ve about perfected a reduced-metabolism system that works; down to less than one percent of normal. Our biology people say they can work out the remaining bugs without using their methods.” They both grimaced slightly; one reason the Domination made faster progress in the life sciences was its willingness to expend humans.
“So the passengers age less than a year. Crew in rotation; no more than five years each. Seeds, animals, frozen animal ova, tools, knowledge, fabricators . . . all the art and history and philosophy the human race has produced. Enough to restart civilization—our civilization. America was started by refugees, son. What’s your say?”
Lefarge nodded once, then again. “Yes. As a last resort, because too much is at stake. It’s not as if the resources were crucial. The Protracted Struggle isn’t going to be tipped by a percent here or there.”
Stoddard sighed with relief, and his smile was warm.
Hell, that’s Uncle Nate’s smile, Lefarge noted with surprise.
“Fred, you just passed the test,” he said, coming around the desk to lay a hand on his shoulder. “And I can’t tell you how glad I am.”
“Test?”
“Yes. Look, Fred, we’ve got lots of antiDraka fanatics, the Domination produces them like a junkyard dog does fleas. They’re useful; that’s one reason India cost the Draka the way it did. But fanatics are limited; they can’t really think all that well, not where their obsession is concerned, and they aren’t reliable. They’ve got their private agendas, which is fine if they happen to coincide with the command’s, and if not—” He shrugged. “This is too big to risk.”
Lefarge nodded slowly. “And I’ve just shown I’m not a fanatic? General, don’t bet on it.”
“Mebbe there’s a difference between that and a good hate.” He made a production of refilling the pipe. “Well, that was a big enough secret?”
“Oh, sure.” Lefarge grinned like a wolf. “Out with it.” Another secret, went through him. And this one has to be a weapon. Something that can well and truly upset the balance.
“Nh-huh. You are going out there. With a promotion to lieutenant colonel. Security chief, overall command with War Emergency Regulation powers. The rank will go up as the project builds up.”
Lefarge whistled silently. War Emergency Regulation. Power of summary execution!
“You see, Fred, you’re perfect. Good technical background; good record with the OSS. Known to be space-trained. But not prominent enough to make the Security Directorate flag you, particularly. Not more than they watch fifty, a hundred thousand other officers.” There were twenty million in the Alliance military.
“Just the right type to be put in charge of a middling-important project. Like a fusion-power network for the asteroid belt; like an antimatter production facility. Like a fleet of antimatter-powered warships. Layers like an onion; by the time, which God forbid should ever happen, they come to the New America”—Lefarge nodded at the name—“you’ll be senior enough to oversee security work on that.”
“And?”
Stoddard leaned backward against the desk, cupped an elbow in a hand. “And that’s as much as anyone on Earth knows, except me, thee, and a few technical people. Damned few know that much. The technical people will be going out with you; they’ll brief you when you get there. All the Chairman and the President know is we’re doing something, and the appropriations are in the Black Fund.”
“Yeah. Everyone’s feeling rich these days.” Even with the military burden, taxes had been cut and cut again in recent years, as wealth flowed in from new industries and from space. Economists kept warning that the budget surplus would wreck the economy if prices went on falling the way they had. “They won’t miss it.”
“You’ll get everything you need. We’re encouraging development of the Belt, you may have noticed, and doing it hard. That’ll give more background to camouflage you, and more local resources to draw on in the later stages. This project is going to be a black hole, and you’re the guardian at the event horizon. Nobody comes back. Nobody and nothing. Except you, occasionally, and you report verbally to me or my successor. I don’t tell anyone anything. Not until it’s ready.”
For a moment, for the first time in a year, Lefarge felt pure happiness. Then he hesitated, reached into his uniform jacket for a cigarette. Have to give this up again, he thought. At least until whatever habitat we build gets big enough.
“Any news?” he asked softly. They both knew he could only mean his sister.
“Fred—” Stoddard returned to his chair, fiddled with the controls. “All we’ve been able to learn is that she’s alive, they haven’t penetrated her cover and she’s been bought up by a pilot officer who was there.” He leaned forward, sorrowful and inexorable. “No, Fred, no. We will not expend assets—people!—trying to pull her out. And we won’t try to trade for her, because we have to keep what bargaining power we have for situations where it’s really needed.”
There was more emotion in the old man’s voice than Lefarge had heard in many years. “Fred, I love you both as if you were my own, you know that. Marya’s tough and smart. It’s not inconceivable she could get out. Or die trying. Until then, the only help, the only protection she has is that cover story. You will not endanger it, understood?”
“Yes. Yes, sir.” Lefarge straightened, set his beret on his head. “I’m to report in a week? Well, if you’ll excuse me, sir, I intend to go take advantage of the time. First, by getting very drunk. Safely, alone.”
Stoddard sighed and dropped his face into his hands as the door closed. I cannot weep, he thought. For if I do, will never stop.
CLAESTUM PLANTATION
DISTRICT OF TUSCANY
PROVINCE OF ITALY
MAY 1976
“Yolande?”
She stopped, caught between impatience and sick relief at the excuse for delay. It was John, looking grimmer than she had seen him in a long time, since Mandy got back from the last operation, in fact. Galena was behind him, trying to make herself invisible. Yolande stopped, sighed, rubbed a hand over her forehead.
“Yes, John?”
He faced her, looked aside for a moment, then directly into her eyes.
“There’s somethin’ I’d like to discuss with you, sister,” he said. A nod in the direction of the plain door ahead; they were in a little-used section of the manor, only sketchily finished at all, suited for the use she had put it to. “That serf of yours, in particular.”
The day was warm, but Yolande felt her skin roughen under her field jacket. “That’s . . . not somethin’ I care to discuss, brother,” she said carefully, eyes on his face. The dappled sun-shadow patterns from the tall window at her back fell across the hard tanned planes of it, bleak and angry.