Hidden Empire (2 page)
She answered him with a polite laugh. “Archaeology is not meant to be rushed—unlike business.” Margaret just wished she could
get back to work.
The Chairman touched his champagne glass against Margaret’s like a kiss of crystal. “You and your husband are an investment
that has certainly paid off for the Hanseatic League.” The xeno-archaeologists had long been sponsored by the Hansa, but the
star-igniting technology she and Louis had discovered would be worth more than all the archaeology budgets combined.
Working in the cool emptiness of Corribus, sifting through the ideographs painted on the walls of Klikiss ruins, Margaret
had been able to match up the precise coordinates of neutron stars and pulsars scattered around the Spiral Arm, comparing
them with maps developed by the Hansa.
This single correlation caused an avalanche of subsequent breakthroughs: By comparing the coordinates of neutron stars from
the Klikiss drawings with known stellar drift, she had been able to back-calculate how old the maps were. Thus, she determined
that the Klikiss race had disappeared five thousand years ago. Using the coordinates and diagrams as a key, as well as all
the other information compiled on numerous digs, Louis, with his engineering bent, had deciphered Klikiss mathematical notations,
thereby allowing him to figure out the basic functioning of the Torch.
The Chairman’s gray eyes became harder, all business now. “I promise you this, Margaret: If the Klikiss Torch does function
as expected, choose any site you wish, any planet you’ve wanted to explore, and I will personally see that you have all the
funding you require.”
Margaret clinked her glass against his in a return toast. “I’ll take advantage of that offer, Mr. Chairman. In fact, Louis
and I have a likely site already picked out.”
The previously untouched ghost world of Rheindic Co, full of mysteries, pristine territory, uncataloged ruins … But first
they had to do their duty dance here and endure the public accolades after they ignited the gas world below.
Margaret went to stand beside Louis. She slipped her arm through his as he struck up a conversation with the patient green
priest who waited beside his potted worldtree sapling. She could hardly wait for the experiment to be finished. To her, an
empty ancient city was far more exciting than setting a whole planet ablaze.
Q
uiet and unassuming, Basil Wenceslas moved through social circles. He smiled when he was supposed to, bantered when expected,
and filed the details in his mind. To an outsider, he never showed more than a fraction of his deepest thoughts and intricate
plans. The Terran Hanseatic League depended on it.
A well-preserved older man whose age was difficult to determine even with close study, he had access to vigorous antiaging
treatments and availed himself of cellular chelation techniques that kept him limber and healthy. Dapper and distinguished,
he wore impeccable suits that cost more than some families earned in a year, but Basil was not a vain man. Though everyone
on the observation platform knew he was in charge, he maintained a low profile.
When an overeager mahogany-skinned media charmer asked him for an interview about the Klikiss Torch, he diverted the woman
and her recording crew to the chief scientist of the project, then melted into the small crowd. Watching. Observing. Thinking.
He looked out at the great ball of ochre clouds that made Oncier look like a poorly stirred confection. This system had no
habitable planets, and Oncier’s gas mix was not particularly appropriate for harvesting ekti, the exotic allotrope of hydrogen
used in Ildiran stardrives. This out-of-the-way gas giant was an excellent test subject for the unproven Klikiss Torch.
Chief scientist Gerald Serizawa talked smoothly and passionately about the upcoming test, and the media crew pressed forward.
Beside him, technicians manned banks of equipment. Basil scanned the control panels, assessing the readings for himself. Everything
was on schedule.
Dr. Serizawa was completely hairless, though whether because of a cosmetic choice, a genetic predisposition, or an exotic
disease, Basil did not know. Lean and energetic, Serizawa spoke with his hands as much as his voice, gesturing broadly. Every
few minutes, like clockwork, he grew self-conscious and clasped his hands to keep them motionless in front of him.
“Gas giants, such as Jupiter in our own home solar system, are on the edge of a gravitational slope that could send them into
stellar collapse. Any planetary body between thirteen and a hundred times Jupiter’s mass will burn deuterium at its core and
begin to shine.”
Serizawa jabbed an insistent finger at the media charmer who had approached Basil earlier. “With this rediscovered technology,
we can push a gas giant such as Oncier over the mass limit so that its core will ignite nuclear fires and turn this big ball
of fuel into a brand-new sun—”
The woman broke in. “Please tell our audience where the increase in mass comes from.”
Serizawa smiled, delighted to explain further. Basil crooked his mouth in a faint expression of amusement. He thanked his
luck that the bald doctor was such an enthusiastic spokesman.
“You see, the Klikiss Torch anchors two ends of a worm-hole, a tunnel
ten kilometers wide.”
It was clear his listeners knew little about wormhole mechanics and the difficulty of creating such a huge space-time gap.
“We open one terminus near a superdense neutron star, then target the other end at the core of Oncier. In the blink of an
eye, the neutron star is transported into the planetary heart. With so much added mass, the gas giant will collapse, ignite,
and begin to shine. This light and heat, you see, will make the largest moons habitable.”
One of the media recorders pointed an imager at the white glints orbiting the pastel gas planet as Serizawa continued. “Alas,
the new sun will burn for only a hundred thousand years, but that’s still plenty of time for us to make the four moons into
productive Hansa colonies. Practically an eternity, as far as we’re concerned.”
Basil nodded unobtrusively to himself. Typical short-term thinking, but useful. Now that Earth was part of a much larger galactic
network, though, true visionaries would have to operate on a completely different time scale. Human history was only one small
part of the canvas.
“Therefore, the Klikiss Torch opens up many new opportunities for the Hansa to create habitats that meet the needs of our
growing human population.”
Basil wondered how many swallowed that explanation. It was part of the answer, of course, but he also noted the huge, gaudy
Ildiran warliners standing watch, reminding him of the real reasons for this extravagant demonstration.
The Klikiss Torch must be tested not because there was a desperate need for extra living space—there were many more acceptable
colony worlds than humans could ever settle. No, this was a move of political hubris. The Hansa needed to prove that humans
could actually
do
this thing, a grand and extravagant gesture.
One hundred and eighty-three years ago, the Ildiran Empire had rescued the first Terran generation ships from their aimless
journeys through space. The Ildirans had offered humans their fast stardrive and adopted Earth into the sprawling galactic
community. Humans viewed the Ildiran Empire as a benevolent ally, but Basil had been watching the aliens for some time.
The ancient civilization was stagnant, full of ritual and history but very few fresh ideas. Humans had been the ones to innovate
the Ildiran stardrive technology. Eager colonists and entrepreneurs—even the space gypsy riffraff of the Roamer clans—had
rapidly filled the old Ildiran social and commercial niches, so that humans gained a substantial foothold in just a few generations.
The Hansa was growing by leaps and bounds, while their stodgy alien benefactors were fading. Basil was confident humans would
soon subsume the ailing Empire. After the Klikiss Torch demonstration, the Ildirans would remain impressed by Terran abilities—and
deterred from any temptation to test human mettle. Thus far, the alien empire had shown no sign of aggression, but Basil didn’t
entirely believe the altruistic motives of the cozy Ildiran neighbors. It was best to maintain a prominent reminder of human
technological abilities, and better still to be subtle about it.
While the test countdown proceeded toward zero, Basil went to get another glass of champagne.
F
rom the command nucleus of his prime warliner, Adar Kori’nh, supreme admiral of the Ildiran Solar Navy, contemplated the humans’
folly.
Though the outcome of this preposterous test would have a significant bearing on future relations between the Ildiran Empire
and the Terran Hanseatic League, the Adar had brought only a septa, a group of seven warliners. The Mage-Imperator had instructed
him not to display too much interest in the event. No Ildiran should be too impressed by any action from these upstarts.
Even so, Kori’nh had refitted his battleships as a matter of pride, painting sigils on their hulls and adding dazzling illumination
strips as primary markings. His warliners looked like ornate deep-sea creatures preparing for an outrageous mating display.
The Solar Navy understood pageantry and military spectacles far better than the humans did.
The Hansa Chairman had invited Kori’nh to come aboard the observation platform where he could watch the artificial ignition
of the gas giant. Instead, the Adar had chosen to remain here, aloof, inside the command nucleus. For now. Once the actual
test began, he would arrive with politically acceptable tardiness.
Kori’nh was a lean-faced half-breed between noble and soldier kith, like all important officers in the Solar Navy. His face
was smooth, with humanlike features, because the higher kiths resembled the single breed of human. Despite their physical
similarities, though, Ildirans were fundamentally different from Terrans, especially in their hearts and minds.
Kori’nh’s skin had a grayish tone; his head was smooth except for the lush topknot folded back across his crown, a symbol
of his rank. The Adar’s single-piece uniform was a long tunic made from layered gray-and-blue scales, belted about his waist.
To emphasize the low importance of this mission, he had refused to pin on his numerous military decorations, but the humans
would never notice the subtlety when he met them face-to-face. He watched the bustling scientific activities with a mixture
of condescending amusement and concern.
Though the Ildirans had assisted the fledgling race many times in the past two centuries, they still considered humans to
be impatient and ill-behaved. Cultural children, adoptive wards. Perhaps their race needed a godlike, all-powerful leader
such as the Mage-Imperator. The golden age of the Ildiran Empire had already lasted for millennia. Humans could learn much
from the elder race if they bothered to pay attention, rather than insisting on making their own mistakes.
Kori’nh could not comprehend why the brash and overly ambitious race was so eager to create more worlds to terraform and settle.
Why go to all the trouble of creating a new sun out of a gas planet? Why make a few rugged moons habitable when there were
so many acceptable worlds that were, by any civilized standard, nowhere near crowded enough? Humans seemed intent on spreading
everywhere.
The Adar sighed as he stared out the front viewing screen of his lead warliner. Disposable planets and disposable suns… how
very Terran.
But he would not have missed this event for all the commendations the Mage-Imperator had left to give. In ancient times the
Solar Navy had fought against the terrible and mysterious Shana Rei, and the military force had been required to fight against
other deluded Ildirans in a heart-rending civil war two thousand years ago, but since that time, the fleet had been mainly
for show, used for occasional rescue or civil missions.
With no enemies and no interplanetary strife in the Ildiran Empire, Kori’nh had spent his career in the Solar Navy managing
ornate ceremony-driven groupings. He had little experience in the area of battle or tactics, except to read about them in
the
Saga
. But it wasn’t the same.
