Between the Stars (14 page)

"Duplicate it?" Derek asked.

"Shall I explain this or would you rather do it yourself?"

"Sorry," Derek said. "Go on."

"I had a pretty good idea that the core matter was much denser to begin with. Matter so dense could only come from one place—the collapsing core of a supermassive star or the core of a supernova. Depending on the mass of the collapsing core, it either becomes a neutron star or a black hole."

She took another pull at her drink and appeared to be on the edge of collapse.

"Linde," Fu said, "I think you are in need of anti-fatigue medication."

"That's right. The oldest kind. I need about twenty hours of uninterrupted sleep. First, I want to clue you all in on what I've found. I don't want to confuse my brain with any drugs, so if my delivery sounds a little jagged, just be patient. Let's see, where was I? Oh, yes, black holes.

"Contrary to the early theories back in the last century, a black hole doesn't collapse into a mathematical singularity point as some of the early theorists speculated. Instead, it attains the physical state called omega phase. The matter in omega state is much denser than the nuclear-degenerate matter in neutron stars. The fabric of conventional four-dimensional space, which naturally includes the time axis, is stretched to its breaking point at the center of a black hole but the compressed matter has nowhere else to go." She looked at them in turn. "Are you still with me?"

"So far," Derek agreed. Fu nodded. Valentina shrugged. Roseberry smiled at her proudly.

"Now, here comes the important part. What's gone before is theory. This is application—technology, if you will. If you provide an escape hatch through hyperspace, you can draw that virtually unlimited energy to a conjugate point in four-dimensional space. So, originally, the core of the ellipsoid was filled with matter in omega phase drawn from a black hole. The ellipsoid in my possession must have massed several billion tons when fully charged."

"I'm afraid," Valentina said, "that covert activity is my specialty, not physics. Somebody is going to have to translate this for me."

"I think Aunt Sieglinde is talking about as untechnically as she can already," Derek said. "Let me see if I can bridge the gap." At last, a chance to impress her! "Let's try an analogy. Imagine a two-dimensional world made up of a large plastic sheet. At point A is a black hole. At point B is Aunt Sieglinde's lab. The distance between the two may be several thousand light-years."

"A moment, Derek," Fu said. He took a handset from somewhere within his costume and his fingers did their magic. One end of the room turned into a holograph of the plastic sheet standing in for the universe. On it were point A and point B and it was covered with a crosshatching of fine lines. "The grid is for contour clarity," Fu explained. "Now, Derek, continue."

"Now, let's fold it over so that point A is just above point B." The hologram followed his instructions. "If you can go from point A to point B through three-dimensional space, the separation is virtually zero. Similarly, it's theoretically conceivable to take a shortcut in our four-dimensional space by going through hyperspace, but nobody's managed it yet because our technology's too primitive. The faster-than-light communication Aunt Linde's demonstrated is the first example of superluminal technology in history."

Valentina was a bit bemused at his use of the word "primitive." For many years, savants on Earth had been claiming that the pinnacle of technological civilization had already been achieved. But then, she thought, to people as forward-looking as these, the technology of the present would always seem primitive.

"Now, let's pour some heavy fluid into point A," said Derek, continuing his analogy. In the holo, the plastic bulged downward, the gridline defining a rounded cone. "The fluid is so heavy that the plastic sheet is near its breaking point. If it breaks through, it'll burst through three-dimensional space to get to any other point on the sheet that's been folded under it. So, you prick the plastic sheet with a pin and let the fluid go through the third dimension. Likewise, the highly compressed matter in a black hole can be brought to the laboratory here through hyperspace. How's that sound, Aunt Sieglinde? Aunt Sieglinde?"

Her nodding head jerked up. "Oh. Yes, a very good analogy. Incredibly crude, but it gets the idea across."

"Thank you, Derek," Valentina said. "I think I'm beginning to understand what this is all about." It would do no harm to flatter his ego. She turned to Sieglinde. "Does this mean that you're ready to test your hypothesis in your laboratory?'' Derek and Fu winced slightly, knowing Sieglinde wouldn't announce a mere hypothesis. Apparently, she was too tired to be offended because she answered affably enough.

"It's not a hypothesis. I've already carried out an impertinent on an uninhabited asteroid. Just for insurance, I picked one that was beyond Saturn's orbit at the time. I chose the black hole in Cygnus X-l as the source. It took a while to locate it exactly in hyperspace as its astronomical distance isn't known with sufficient accuracy for my purposes. I created its conjugate point on the asteroid for less than a trillionth of a nanosecond. The test was done remotely, of course. The experiment was a success. The asteroid was obliterated. From the amount of energy that was released, I can now calibrate the time interval appropriate for safely transferring energy from a black hole. An appropriate time interval must be measured in the unit expressed in terms of Heisenberg's uncertainty constant."

"Uh, Aunt Sieglinde," Derek said, "I was under the impression that you've been back there in your lab all this time, not traipsing around all over the outer Belt. Never mind, I should've remembered nobody ever has any idea where you are."

"Invisibility is a great quality to possess," she agreed. "What all this means is unlimited energy for powering interstellar ships. With the aid of the time dilation effect as the vessel reaches relativistic velocity, a ship can reach her destination a hundred light-years away within a generation."

"When do we start?" Derek asked. "I'm ready."

"Not so fast," Sieglinde cautioned. "I still need to develop an effective shield to protect the ships from collision with interstellar particles. At a fraction of the speed of light, a pebble massing no more than a gram would pack the energy of a kiloton of TNT. It's a minor problem. I'll be testing a solution soon."

Derek turned to Valentina and Fu. "Who else would call that a minor problem? Aunt Linde—" But she had sagged sideways and was snoring gently.

ELEVEN

Carstairs read the reports on the latest U.N. council meetings, the figures on Victory party recruiting, the accounts by his spies of Victory party rallies worldwide. He was more than alarmed. For the first time in many years, he felt he was no longer in control of the situation. Everywhere he looked he saw Shevket and Larsen gaining strength. The nations that still retained some of their old wealth and power, once staunch supporters of Earth First, were flocking to Victory.

"Mansfield, come in here." He leaned back in his chair, elbow on armrest, chin in hand.

Mansfield was unsettled when he saw Carstairs looking so bemused. The man had always been dynamic and decisive. "Sir, I have the new reports on—"

"I just went over them," Carstairs said. "Sit down. We have some heavy planning to do, Greg. We're in serious trouble."

Gregory Mansfield had been executive secretary of Earth First party for twenty years. He knew his boss's moods and attitudes and what he saw frightened him. "Surely it's not all that bad, sir. We still have the support of a majority of the membership of the U.N." Carstairs glared at him and Mansfield knew there was a bout of the famous Carstairs sarcasm coming.

"Oh, splendid, Greg! Bloody comforting, isn't it? Nothing like having Lesotho and Brunei and Costa Rica on your side to shore up the old confidence, eh? Christ almighty, Greg, if El Salvador goes over to Shevket, we're doomed!"

Mansfield was silent for a few seconds, giving Carstairs a space to regain his equanimity. Then, "All right, Tony, you have a fight on your hands. Well, you had a fight on your hands thirty-five years ago and you whipped everyone who stood in your way. You built Earth First from a lunatic-fringe debating society to the most powerful political force the world has ever seen. Don't sell yourself short."

Carstairs smiled crookedly. "Oh, aye, but I was thirty-five years younger then. As I recall it, I was no spring chicken in those days, either. This barmy bastard Shevket's building a power base all over the world faster than I would've believed possible."

Mansfield made a contemptuous gesture. "Mob demonstrations, mass hysteria—what has that to do with real power?"

"On a world scale, nothing," Carstairs said. "On a national scale, it can mean everything. Talk to any of the various presidents and premiers and chancellors around the world. What do you think concerns them more, a tame Secretary General owned by Earth First, or a rampaging mob burning down their capital city? Our world state is still a fragile coalition of petty powers, Greg. We need two or three more centuries to create the real thing."

"But we have the U.N. forces," Mansfield protested. "They can call on our battalions to put down local insurgencies."

"Check the officer lists, Greg," Carstairs advised. "You'll note that the old ones, the ones who owe their promotions to us, have been retiring by the shipload the last couple of years. Those are rats with a nose for a sinking ship. Shevket's been suborning the younger officers, moving them into positions of authority. He has too many of them in his pocket now. And it's not just the armed forces. The bureaucracy is the same way. I suspect Larsen there. Oh, they're all good Earth First people on paper still, their dues paid up, but too many of em have been attending Victory meetings lately." He leaned back and sighed, an uncharacteristic sound of resignation coming from Carstairs.

"It's an old pattern, Greg, and I should've seen it coming years ago. Hell, it's not all that different from what we were doing when we got the Party going all those years ago. But we had ideals back then. We were going to save the world from itself. Well, in spite of what the Confederates claim, I will say we did.

"But Shevket and his toadies in the Victory party? All they want is pure power, for the joy of grinding their boots into the face of humanity." He shook himself as if getting rid of an evil dream. "Must be getting old. I'm being right gloomy these days. Here, Greg, have a drink." The robot bar, seldom used since Carstairs kept his own liquor in his desk, rolled in.

Mansfield made a selection and faced his boss. "So things are serious. What's our next move?"

"If I were you," Carstairs said, sipping from a bottle of Newcastle Brown, "I'd look into the prospects of an extended vacation offworld. I hear Mars is rather pleasant these days, what with terraforming so advanced. With a bit of cleverness, you could transfer enough assets to see you out in style. I'd give the same advice to our other loyal people, though God knows it'd be hard to figure out which those are."

Mansfield stared at Carstairs bleakly. He was a thin, gray man, older than his years despite longevity treatment. His condition was largely attributable to overwork, and most of that had been heaped on his shoulders by the man across from him. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. You've been pretty rough with all of us, Tony, but never insulting. I threw my lot in with this planet long ago; I won't run like a whipped dog now."

Carstairs grinned, his old style showing through at last. "Good for you, Greg. That's what I thought you'd say. Still, I had to make the offer. And pass it along. I wouldn't ask any of our people to face what's coming for this planet."

Mansfield nodded minutely. "I'll do it. I think most will stay, though. It's a bit hard to overcome the effects of your own propaganda all at once."

"It's their choice." He waved to the pile of reports and the holograph projector. "I've been in power politics a long time. This shows all the signs of a win for Shevket." He held out a hand, forestalling protest from Mansfield. "I'm not saying it's certain, but from here on I'm going on the assumption that I won't beat the bastard in the U.N. or in the member states. He'll naturally think, since he has the military in his pocket, that it's all over, being as how brute force is all that counts when the gloves are off."

"From the sound of it," Mansfield said, "he'd be right."

"He thinks in simple terms, and the situation isn't all that simple. That bugger has a good many weaknesses, although he'd never recognize them, and I intend to exploit every last one of them. To begin with, though, we'll fight a long delaying action, make him take as long as possible to make his move."

"It seems to me," Mansfield said, "that we might be weaker at a later time. The time to strike is now, while we have a remnant of our strength left to us."

Carstairs shook his head. "No, it's too late for that. If I hadn't been so damned complacent about our power for all these years I'd've had both those snakes crushed long ago. But I let myself think I could always dominate them, that they were useful to me, that there'd always be time to deal with 'em later. Well, that kind of thinking's been the downfall of better men than Tony Carstairs. The stall, though, has another purpose. The fewer that know about it, the better. Does that bother you?"

Mansfield raised his eyebrows. "When did you ever need my consent to keep your own counsel? If your reasons are good enough for you, they're sufficient for me."

"Good. Now, there's something else about what's coming that's not going to be pretty. You're going to see me caving in to that Turkish pig and his Danish basset hound."

"That I find hard to believe."

"Oh, ask anybody who ever saw me in a knuckle bout back on the docks in Liverpool. I always let the other bastard think he'd won before I let him have it in the balls."

Mansfield allowed himself to smile. "That's the kind of talk I like to hear."

"Run along, Greg. I have some appointments to put into effect. And Greg—"

"Yes, sir?"

"If you or any of the others should be arrested, just say whatever they want to hear. I'll get you out one way or another. Shevket's not seen all my tricks yet, by a wide margin."

Mansfield nodded. "Right, sir."

When he was gone, Carstairs punched a combination into his holo communicator. A young man in space service uniform appeared, his face stricken with awe at the apparition in his own set. "Yes, your Excellency?"

"Son, tell the admiral that Anthony Carstairs requests a conference with him."

"Right away, sir!"

A few minutes later, a magnificently uniformed man appeared in holo projection before him. He had a dark, pleasant face marred somewhat by rows of tribal scars on his cheeks. "Admiral Augustus Mboya reporting. How may I be of service to your excellency?"

"Evening, Gus. Hope I didn't wake you. I have no idea what shift you're on up there."

"In ships we call them watches, not shifts, sir. But I was just engaged in a boring after-dinner conversation with my officers, and any diversion is welcome."

"Good. How goes the work on the new flagship?"

"On schedule, for the first time in my career. She should be ready to leave orbit in eight months."

"Excellent. Please have a complete set of plans sent to me." He caught the admiral's look of astonishment. "Oh, I know I've never been famed for my enthusiasm for ships, but I take a personal interest in
Defender
. After all, five years ago it was me that—"

"Ah, excuse me, your Excellency, but hadn't you heard? She's no longer to be named
Defender
."

Carstairs' look sharpened. "No, I didn't know. What's she to be called?"

"
Conqueror
. The order came down just days ago. It's the most amazing directive, sir. It came from the Department of Defense, though. It renames almost all the ships in the Space Force. Not so bad with this one, of course, since she hasn't been officially launched yet. But ship people have an ancient superstition about changing the name of a ship." The admiral sounded agitated, and Carstairs wasn't certain whether it was about the order or because Carstairs hadn't known of it.

"What are the new names?" he asked.

"There are a great many of them. But the capital ships are getting names like
Genghis Khan
,
Cortez
,
Bonaparte
,
Thutmose the Fourth
,
Tchaka
,
Charlemagne
,
Attila
,
Julius Caesar
. It's quite a long list, sir. And rather disturbing to the crews of
Antares
and
Resolute
and
Dreadnought
and all the rest."

"I can imagine. Well, Gus, we'll look into it. Can't have our ships renamed for all the bloody-minded heathens of antiquity, can we now? Just send me those plans. And if you need anything, let me know. I'll cut through the red tape and see you get it."

"Thank you, sir," said Mboya, beaming.

Carstairs cut transmission and sat back, running a palm over the quarter-inch of gray stubble that covered his scalp. Everywhere he looked, things were far worse than he had thought. He refused to look about him for a scapegoat. He had nobody but himself to blame. He had grievously underestimated Shevket, allowed himself to think that the man's swaggering and his theatrical uniforms were evidence of a self-deluding poseur. Well, he thought, that's not a mistake I'll make again. Now it's war till we're down to knives and teeth. With his decision made, he had no further hesitation. It felt good to be back in action again, after all these years. He activated the code signal that would put him in touch with Sieglinde Kornfeld.