Empire & Ecolitan (46 page)

23 Decem 3646
New Augusta

T
HE THIN MAN
in the pale green laboratory coat looked up at the two visitors. His mouth twitched as he glanced from one to the other, from the man—two meters tall, silver-haired, bronze-skinned, and with green eyes that seemed to cut like a scalpel—to the woman, perhaps one hundred and eighty-five centimeters, just as silver-haired and bronze-skinned, with eyes as cold as the snows of Southbreak.

“Professor Stilsen, Ecolitans Whaler and Andruz. From the Institute. Ecolitan Andruz heads field training, and Ecolitan Whaler is in charge of applied ecologic management tactics.” The young man in field greens inclined his head, then stepped back and closed the door.

“Field training and tactics…seem a far field from micro-genetic management,” offered Stilsen, looking at the hard copy beside his console.

“Not so far as you might imagine, Doctor,” offered Jimjoy. He gestured at the console and the hard copy. “Even though I understand a little about your work, I still found it hard not to expect a traditional laboratory setting.”

“I'm sure you have a great deal to do, Ecolitan.”

“And you'd like to know why we're here.” Jimjoy laughed not caring if the laugh was false. “Fair enough.” He glanced toward the small table and four chairs in the corner. Papers dribbled from an untidy stack in the center of the table. “Do you mind if we have a seat? While it won't take too long, we can't be quite that brief.”

Thelina smiled, and her eyes warmed momentarily.

“I understand. I apologize for the disarray. My colleagues kindly refer to it as creative chaos. Would you like anything to drink?”

“No, thank you,” answered Thelina in a low voice.

“No, thank you,” added Jimjoy. He pulled out a chair for Thelina.

She raised her eyebrows, and her eyes raked over him.

“Simple courtesy,” he said softly.

Stilsen swept the papers which threatened to drift from the stack and onto the brown-and-orange braided rug into a separate pile. Then he pulled out a chair for himself, the one closest to his console. He glanced at the image on his console screen, almost regretfully, and sighed. “How may I help you?”

Thelina glanced at Jimjoy.

He pulled his chin. “According to your last quarterly report, you have demonstrated some considerable success in bacterial ‘parasitism'…and I'd be interested in learning how applicable that technology is.”

“Applicable? Rather an odd choice of words, Ecolitan Whaler.”

Jimjoy looked at Stilsen, levelly, directly.

The Professor looked away almost immediately. Then he coughed and cleared his throat. “I have to assume you are referring to my success in slowing down bacterial reproduction patterns by decreasing the internal tolerance to self-generated toxins and waste products.”

“I did read about that…but I was more interested in the other ones. About replication of parasitic borer characteristics in a wide range of pests…and I was also interested in your references to spread vector distribution.”

“I was afraid of that.”

A faint smile crossed Thelina's lips at the scientist's response.

“Ethical concerns, doctor?”

“Partly, and partly…” Stilsen shrugged.

Jimjoy swallowed. “What do you know about Accord's current situation vis-à-vis the Empire?”

Stilsen smiled almost apologetically. “More than I would like, Ecolitan. Even with the careful management of news on both sides, it is clear that some sort of hostilities are imminent.”

“Hostilities have already broken out, Doctor. We have been forced to take over Accord orbit control and quarantine all Imperial Forces in the system. The Empire is gathering a task group and a reeducation team to deploy here.”

“I don't see how I can help…not in that time frame.”

“I think we can buy some more time.” Jimjoy shrugged. “But we need to deliver a message to the Empire that we can destroy the ecology on any planet we choose.”

“We're not in that class, Ecolitan.” Stilsen's voice was cold.

“If we're not, Doctor, or if we can't get there hades-fired quick, then you and I and most of Accord will be dead before the end of next year.”

The scientist glanced down at a brownish-black spot on the orange section of the braided rug. “Are you the new centurions, then?”

Thelina looked baffled.

Jimjoy shook his head slowly. “No. We cannot compel anything. Came to request your help. But to keep the Empire from totally annihilating us, we need to demonstrate that we can destroy a planetary ecology. We could build a planetbuster. That won't work. Everyone
knows
that poor little Accord couldn't build the fleets to deliver enough of them to matter.

“Ecological war is another thing. People believe that a handful of little bugs can multiply and divide and destroy an entire food chain, whether it's true or not. They will believe that Accord can do that—whether we can or not.”

Stilsen shook his head. “I don't think you understand. There are at least four of us who can do what you want. I'd rather do it willingly.”

“Why?” asked Thelina.

“Because there are good ways and bad ways to get there. Some ways would leave a planet destroyed forever. Others will have just as devastating short-term impacts, but relatively insignificant long-term environmental effects—besides mass starvation.” His last words dropped like acid rain.

“Do you have an alternative?” asked Jimjoy quietly.

“Do you?”

“I'd try to build that planetbuster and destroy Alphane.”

“You mean it.” Stilsen's voice was matter-of-fact, unquestioning. He turned to Thelina. “Could he do it? Personally?”

“Yes. He's already done worse—at least in some ways.”

Stilsen's pale complexion grew paler as he glanced from one Ecolitan to the other. “And if I go to the Prime?”

“You know as well as I do, Doctor. Harlinn will dither, call three committee meetings, and put it out for study. The study completion date will be considerably after our demise under the Fourth Battle Group—or whatever they call the Fleet reeducation team. There is absolutely no pressure I can bring upon you to help us out. At any time, you can call a halt to this…starting right now.” Jimjoy stood up. “I appreciate your patience. After you have a chance to think it over, one of us will be in touch with you.”

Thelina rose. “Thank you, Doctor. This puts you in an impossible position, I realize. Too many evils in history have been justified in the name of survival. Perhaps this would be one of them.”

Jimjoy added, “You don't know whether we are trying to preserve something unique against an implacable opponent or whether we are trying to bring down a great civilization for personal gain or vengeance.”

Stilsen stood up. “I don't know whether any end justifies such means.”

Jimjoy handed him a folder. “Before you decide, you might read through these. Then check with some sources you trust to see how true the stories are. We'll be in touch.”

“I'm sure you will be. I'm sure you will be.” Stilsen inclined his head. “And now…”

“Good day, Professor.”

“Good day.”

The door closed with a firm click.

The two Ecolitans walked unmolested down the corridor and out through the research station doors. The station rested in a meadow. The meadow, clearly artificial with its green T-type grasses and flower beds beside the building, was surrounded by the darker native conifers, with a scattering of corran trees.

The Institute flitter waited on a section of the narrow stone-paved road that arrowed for a break in the trees.

Jimjoy pre-flighted the flitter, more to ensure lack of tampering than for concern that the aircraft had become less airworthy in the short time they had spent with the research station staff.

“What do you think?” asked Thelina as she watched him strap in.

“What do I think? Why ask me? You understand people far better than I do.” He clicked the straps in place and began the checklist. “What do you think?”

“He wants to help, but he won't, not unless the Institute encourages him.”

Jimjoy nodded as he continued the checklist. “We've avoided Harlinn as long as possible. Probably can't be avoided any longer. Won't be pretty.”

“Ha!” Thelina's laugh was short and sarcastic. “When you say that…”

“Hold on.” The whine of the turbines through the open side windows cut off the rest of her comments. “Close the side ports. We'll need to plan strategy.”

Though she frowned as she strained to hear his words, Thelina nodded.

“Y
OU ASKED FOR
the meeting, Ecolitan Whaler,” said Harlinn, acting as Prime.

Jimjoy reflected. Trying to express what he had in mind would be hard. “I did.” He looked around the office. Thelina would listen. So would Kerin Sommerlee. The history philosophy types were out, as were the pure scientists. He wished he knew Althelm better—the economist could be the key. “It's time to put all the cubes on the screen. All of you know some of the pieces. First, most of you should know that the tactics group has taken over the control and actual operations of Accord orbit control. Some may have wondered why an Imperial Battle Group hasn't tried to take it back.

“Unless we act together they will. Right now they can't. The tactics group has managed to destroy two more Imperial SysCons—”

“SysCons?” asked someone from the corner.

“Imperial System Control Stations—fleet repowering and restaging bases, usually placed in a stable orbit around an outer planet gas giant.” Jimjoy cleared his throat and continued. “Anyway, we've destroyed the two along the Arm. After the accident at Haversol, that means the Impies can't attack us with a full fleet unless they replace the SysCons. Right now they can't commit the resources, not so long as their problems with the Fuards continue. But they can gradually replace those stations, or slowly shift resources toward us. And that they will do, until they've built a fleet out here.” He looked around the Prime's office—he still thought of it as Sam's.

“Are you telling us that you've single-handedly declared war on the Empire on behalf of Accord—whether we and the Institute like it or not?” Harlinn's face had become paler with each moment.

“I could say I've just speeded the process. After all, the Empire already has doubled the imposts and declared that it will control every bit of research the Institute will ever do. That's just for starters.” Jimjoy held up his hand to still the mumbling. “But I won't insult your intelligence.

“Yes. For all practical purposes, I declared war on the Empire. No mealymouthed apology will stop the Imperial Forces. Only good strategy and applied force. You can help me, or you can wait for the citybusters and the reeducation teams. Those are your options.” Jimjoy waited for the outburst.

“What!”

“Madman…”

“Sam was a fool…”

“Wait…”

“…historical inevitability…”

“…give him a dose of his own medicine…”

“…hire mercenaries, and this is the result…”

“WAIT A MOMENT!” Kerin Sommerlee's voice cut through the incipient arguments, and the grumbles died down as faces turned toward her. “Arguing over the past won't solve anything. Even executing Ecolitan Whaler wouldn't solve anything, and personally, I'd have to ask who would bell the cat. So we might as well hear what else he has to say. Then we can decide.” She turned to Jimjoy. “Before we hear anything else, what were the results of your attacks? No one here seems to know. You indicated success. How much success?” Her face was pale also, and once again Jimjoy wanted to hold her and tell her that everything would be all right. But he couldn't lie.

“You should know that the destruction of the Haversol SysCon was total, along with three or four ships. Accord suffered one slight casualty, but the Ecolitan involved recovered and is back on duty. The Cubera mission involved a three-person team, two of whom were wounded. One will require complete visual reconstruction from laser burns. The Cubera station was totaled. Five Imperial ships were also destroyed.” Jimjoy paused, hoping Kerin would not push.

“You mentioned another mission?” Finally, Althelm asked a question.

One look from Kerin to Althelm indicated that both wanted it on the table. Jimjoy had not told anyone but Thelina of the morning's report from the
Jaybank
.

He took a deep breath, conscious that Kerin was intent upon him. “The recovery needleboat for the Fonderal mission reported back just before this meeting. I do not have all the details of exactly what happened. The mission was successful in destroying the Fonderal SysCon.”

“What about the team?” Kerin's words were evenly spaced.

“I'm sorry. The team did not make its rendezvous. The station fusactor approximated a very small nova. Six Imperial ships were destroyed. The
Jaybank
lost all screens and barely made it back. That was one reason for the delay.”

Jimjoy met Kerin's gaze, watching for the tears he knew she was holding.

“Thank you, Professor Whaler. Is it fair to say that your missions have, with four Accord deaths and three other casualties, cost the Empire close to twenty ships, military control in three systems, four if you count Accord, and killed close to two thousand I.S.S. personnel?”

“That's a fair approximation.”

The silence was absolute. The group in the Prime's office looked from face to face, anywhere but at the tall bronze man with the silver hair.

Jimjoy cleared his throat. “It's like this. If you want freedom, then you want it more than anything else. That cuts two ways. You all understand that you can't destroy freedom on Accord to fight the Empire. That way, you lose before you begin. That's why I didn't try to coopt the decision-making process or position the Institute for a coup. I just gathered enough people and resources to force the issue while there was still time.

“Second part is harder. If freedom is important, then anything else is secondary.
Anything
—that means your life, your family, your children, politeness, decency, and restraint. The question the Institute faces is simple. How much are you willing to give up for freedom?”

He held up a hand, as if to forestall a second set of objections, although no one seemed ready to raise any—yet. They were still in shock. “I'm not saying freedom at all costs. Some costs are too high. But we need to pare away the unnecessary restraints on our actions. We're in a war, whether you want to call it that or not. Can we afford to say, as the philosophy types have been insisting, that we must restrict our attacks to purely military targets?

“We'll all be dead, and Accord will be a large pile of dust orbiting a G2 sun, if we follow that course. If we kill off the population of Imperial planets, the same thing will happen.”

“So you're saying we can't win?”

“I never said anything of the sort. In war, all targets are potentially military targets. What stops the other side from exterminating your civilians and innocents is the fear that you might do the same. You don't have to strike at noncombatants, but it helps to have the capability.”

“We don't have enough weapons to hit military targets…”

“What's a weapon?” asked Jimjoy.

“Needleboats, tacheads, lasers—you know better than I do.”

Jimjoy nodded. “You're right. I do. What about fusion power plants, hands and feet, rivers, meteors, rocks, sand, and forest fires?” He could see Thelina purse her lips. “What about disease, plague, and pestilence? Crop failures? Drought? Aren't all these potential weapons?”

Harlinn waved away the words. “Against the Empire?”

Jimjoy stood, trying to bite back the words. “A weapon is something you use to damage your enemy. I'll take an effective nuclear ‘accident' any day over an outmanned needleboat. A series of crop failures over outnumbered recruits. The collapse of economically viable markets and the reduction in imposts at a time when the Empire is facing challenges from both the Fuards and the Matriarchy.”

“I take it you are also willing to consider purely economic means?” asked Althelm.

“No. Pure economic means never work in this sort of situation by themselves. They can give greater weight to military and biological weapons.”

Althem merely nodded.

“I've given you the current situation. Do you think the Empire will accept any surrender offer without prostrating us? Without wiping out Harmony and the Institute to the last man, woman, and child—unless we give them no choice?”

“You haven't given
us
much choice.”

“You never had much choice,” countered Jimjoy. “If you thought you did, you were living in a dream world. To face the Fuards, the Empire has to change its entire internal political and social structure—
or
find other sources of knowledge, technology, and cannon fodder. Unless Accord and the brighter outsystems fight, the Empire will find increased exploitation far, far easier.”

“So you made the choice for us.” Harlinn's color had gone from white to red. “You single-handedly decided we would face down the Empire.”

“No.” The iron in Jimjoy's voice stilled the room. “The idea was Sam Hall's. That's why the Empire murdered him. And Gavin Thorson. That's why you were proposed as acting Prime…you couldn't decide to cross the room without a committee. I'm not a politician. I've talked to most of you personally, and nothing happened.

“The Planetary Council has met and dithered, and dithered and met. In the past three years, six outsystems have been brutalized by Imperial reeducation teams. At least three members of the Institute have been targeted by Imperial agents, and two Imperial Special Operative teams have been assigned to report on and/or disrupt Institute operations. One former fellow was an Imperial agent reporting directly to the I.S.S. Special Operative section.”

Jimjoy gave a theatrical shrug. “What do you want? Individually engraved invitations to a reeducation camp?” He made his way toward the door as the figures in green stepped aside from him. “It's your decision. If you decide the Institute will support the independence effort, then I suggest you select someone to act as coordinator. In the meantime, I'm going after some volunteers who understand their lives and future are at stake.”

The silence lasted well after he was outside the Administration building.