Fain raised an eyebrow. “They made excellent time.”
Bomeer nodded in agreement. “Should we continue with the modeling, then, or wait until Dr. Montgarde arrives before we proceed to the next step? I imagine she would like to see this phase of the experimentation for herself.”
Javas thought a moment; the pause punctuated by a sudden, but brief, bit of distortion in his image on the screen. “No,” he went on. “Go ahead with the next phase and we’ll relay your results to Dr. Montgarde on board the Levant, although there will still be a bit of lag time until she’s in-system. I suspect she’ll need a good bit of assimilation time after coming out of cryosleep anyway. A lot has happened in the last forty years, after all. No; you’re making good progress at the test site, and I don’t want to slow you down any more than necessary.”
“Thank you, Sire,” Bomeer replied. “It is becoming increasingly difficult to hold Rice back as it is.”
“Oh?”
There was an uncomfortable silence. Fain turned to face him, his characteristic raised eyebrow offering not a hint of help. Bomeer inwardly cursed himself for his loose tongue.
“Well,” he offered finally, “Dr. Rice seems to have developed an… enthusiasm for the project that defies—”
“Academician, are you in charge of this venture or are you not?” His face impassive, the Emperor stared silently from the screen. “Perhaps you should spend more of your time on the Kowloon, and less on the flagship.”
“What Anastasio says is true, Sire,” Fain cut in, saving Bomeer further embarrassment. “Dr. Rice and the alien have become quite excited over their own progress and are quite anxious to proceed. Their enthusiasm has not been easily dissuaded.”
“I see. And the attending Sarpan fleet?”
Bomeer ran a hand through his unruly hair and breathed a sigh of relief that the discussion had shifted to one of Imperial security rather than the project itself. He sat quietly in his chair and attempted to make himself as invisible as possible.
Fain straightened in his chair as he addressed the Emperor. “Actually, Sire, the close bond that has developed between Dr. Rice and the alien has worked to our advantage. While he has not been given free run of their ships, Dr. Rice has certainly been made to feel considerably more welcome than anyone in the Imperial command structure. Myself included.”
Javas nodded in understanding.
“I’ve made no attempt to press the relationship—you know how scientists can be.” Bomeer stirred in his chair at the unintended insult, but Fain either didn’t notice or made no effort at this time to apologize for the slur. “Meanwhile, through careful debriefing, it allows us considerably more access to the aliens than we would otherwise enjoy.”
Javas nodded again. “Very good, Commander.” He turned to the academician. “In any event, please instruct Dr. Rice to proceed to the next phase of testing. Thank you both for your time.”
“Sire,” said both men, nodding simultaneously.
Javas’ image on the screen faded immediately and was replaced with a soft blue glow. Centered in the screen was the communications code identifying the transmission number and source of the communication as having come from Luna, several light-years distant. A large Imperial crest was superimposed over the data displayed on the screen.
“I’m not adjusting to this,” Bomeer offered candidly after a long silence.
“I know.” The Commander of the Imperial fleet turned his chair to him, his face deadly serious. “What I don’t understand is why. What is it about this”—he indicated the screen—“that bothers you so?”
Fain had never spoken this bluntly to him before. In the four decades that had passed since Javas’ ascension to the Imperial throne, the two had spoken privately about their feelings to one another only on rare occasions.
Bomeer shrugged and again ran a hand absently through his thick hair. He stood and paced the room uncertainly. “I’m not sure, really. The technology. It all seems to be happening so quickly.” He approached the tachyon screen, the Imperial crest and identification code from the just-concluded conference with Javas still emblazoned in the center of the blue field. “System! Screen off, standby mode.” The glow disappeared instantly and Bomeer stared at the darkened plastic screen for several seconds before turning away to pace nervously again. “Maybe too quickly.”
“It is happening quickly,” Fain conceded, still sitting in his chair as he followed the academician’s movements around the room. “But I’m not as convinced as you seem to be that it’s a bad thing.”
Bomeer approached another screen on the opposite wall, this one a simple viewscreen, and whispered a command that brought it to life. Against a starry backdrop, two ships glowed brightly. One of them, far enough from them that even the larger details of its construction were indiscernible, was the Sarpan vessel with the unpronounceable name. The other craft, floating only a few hundred meters off the flagship’s starboard side, was one of three Imperial ships that had accompanied them to this desolate, empty point in space far removed from travel lanes. By its markings he recognized it as the science ship Port of Kowloon, where the testing of Dr. Montgarde’s theories was being conducted. Where an alien was even now intimately involved in Imperial research of the highest order. Bomeer shuddered at the thought, but said nothing further.
“Progress is inevitable, my old friend.” Fain swiveled around further, addressing Bomeer’s back. “Do you remember when Emperor Nicholas first told us that he’d decided to back this project?” Bomeer remained silent, but the Commander was not deterred. “It was back on Corinth, nearly seventy years ago. He promised then that this project could save much more than just Earth’s Sun. Had I known then how much Imperial technology would be advanced in only that time, and how close it has drawn the Hundred Worlds, I might have followed his wishes willingly from the start, instead of by his command.”
Bomeer chuckled softly and turned away from the screen. “You’ve been seduced,” he said, smiling, and came to stand behind the empty chair. “You see much of what has happened only in terms of how strong the fleet has become. This ship”—he raised an arm, sweeping it around him—“built expressly to your personal specifications.” He leaned on the back of the chair, nodding at the tachyon screen. “The ability to communicate almost instantly with any ship or world that’s received the technology.”
“The ability to communicate with any point in the Empire,” Fain countered, just a hint of ire in his voice, “is perhaps the single greatest achievement that mankind has made to date. The technology to harness tachyons for communication has spread to more than half the worlds; even now the Empire has been drawn closer together, and is all the stronger for it.” He paused, checking the anger in his tone before continuing. “In a few more years, even the most remote of the Hundred Worlds will have constructed tachyon dishes. We will truly be one people then.”
Bomeer raised a questioning eyebrow. “And how does one retain control of that many people, eh?”
Fain tilted his head, not quite sure of the point Bomeer was making.
“When even the closest of the worlds was many light-years distant,” Bomeer went on, “it was the strength of the Emperor that drew them all together. The gift of technology from Imperial research—not to mention the benefit of Imperial protection—was there only for those worlds that allowed our control. But now that instant information is becoming available to all the members of the Hundred Worlds…” He straightened up, casting a sidelong glance at the ship hanging silently in space. When he regarded Fain once more, the Commander sat impassively, stroking his chin in thought.