The Disinherited (7 page)

"You
know
what I think of that kind of stuff, Jeff!" Hadley's features twisted as they reflected her inner conflict. "You know I've never condoned it! But we can't give up hope in our country because of an occasional aberration!"

"It is more than an aberration, Ms. Hadley," Irina Tartakova spoke coldly. Her accent was almost as thick as Kuropatkin's. "It is predictable outcome of a trend of long standing. Almost exactly a century ago your country got into habit of pursuing faddish social ends by socially destructive means. And by the 1980's anything, including anti-Semitism, was excused by opinion-makers as long as it was rationalized in fashionable terms by representatives of fashionable groups."

Hadley's long-accumulating torment spilled over in bile. "You bitch!" she yelled. "You don't understand the background . . . the, uh, social problems . . ."

"Hold on everybody!" DiFalco's deep baritone held considerable force when he let it out. He let it out now, and they shut up. "Aren't we all forgetting a couple of points, which have nothing to do with what we think of the Earthside governments? This opportunity—whether or not we think those governments can be trusted with it—carries with it a terrible danger. Remember what Varien said about the Korvaash policy on worlds that attack them?"

"Planetary extermination," Rosen breathed. It sounded loud in the sudden silence.

"Right. And he also said that the Korvaasha are people who believe in doing things by the book! So, what if our governments accept Varien's offer, carry out his plan . . . and lose? We're talking about the life of our entire world, not just some political sleaze-balls!"

"But," Traylor began with uncharacteristic hesitancy, "isn't Earth safe from them? I mean, even if they discover this 'Lirauva Chain' of displacement points, it stops at Alpha Centauri! How could they get here?"

"The same way Varien did: his continuous-displacement drive, which works anywhere outside a major gravity well if you just know how to do it. Remember, we'd be committing the thing to battle for the first time; if we lost, it could easily get captured. As would knowledge of the Lirauva Chain. They'd know where we came from, and how to get there. Come to think of it, we wouldn't even have to lose—all it would take would be one of our ships falling into their hands!"

"So, Colonel," Rosen asked after a moment, "are you proposing that we tell Varien, as I believe you Americans put it, 'Thanks but no thanks'? And, perhaps, tell him the truth about what is happening on Earth, to discourage him from bypassing us and contacting our governments directly?"

"Not necessarily. Because my second point is this: Varien's not saying so, but he must know that the USA and the Russian Federation aren't his only possibilities."

The silence became complete. China's had been the last Marxist regime to fall, and afterwards the giant country had become more and more closely tied to a Japan which was being frozen out of Western markets. Now the partners, of which Japan was increasingly the junior, were united in a kind of corporate Confucianism, capitalistic but not individualistic. Long active in orbital and cis-Lunar space, they had now begun ranging further afield, and the solar system had been tacitly split, leaving them the inner planets. Talk had been heard of mining Mercury and terraforming Venus, but to date nothing had been done.

"I'm sure Varien would rather deal with us, if only because we still have the biggest and most highly developed deep-space capability," DiFalco went on. "But if need be, he can always turn to the Chinese. And if they accept his offer . . . well, everything I said earlier about the danger to Earth would apply equally. We'd be in just as much jeopardy, but with none of the benefits. I somehow doubt if the Korvaasha would be inclined to draw fine distinctions based on our Earthside political alignments!"

"But Eric," Hadley wailed, "we can't let Varien approach the Chinese!"

"Just how do you suggest we stop him, Liz?"

Kurganov let the silence last a few heartbeats before rapping the edge of the table again. "I think a recess is in order," he said, glancing at his wrist chrono. "We will reconvene in one hour. Remember, none of this is to be discussed with anyone . . . no one at all."

DiFalco and Levinson were deep in muttered conversation when the general and Kuropatkin entered the almost-deserted refectory and proceeded to their corner table.

"As you were, gentlemen," Kurganov said, polite as always but clearly preoccupied. "Have you arrived at any suggestions to offer the meeting?"

"I'm afraid not, General," DiFalco admitted. "We keep coming back around to the basic dilemma: irresistable benefits carrying unacceptable danger."

"Well, Eric, not that it matters to that dilemma, but I've just viewed a new report that came in during the meeting. It's not part of the official message traffic; it comes directly from Major Kuropatkin's Earthside sources." He gestured to Kuropatkin to proceed.

"
Da
, Konstantinovich." The Russian spook leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. "American Social Justice party and its Russian counterparts have been in communication. It is now clear that they mean everything they have been saying—and more." He avoided the two Americans' eyes. "Next American election will be last one. And they are absolutely determined to terminate Project. Afterwards, they have secretly agreed that all military and civilian personnel connected with it—and their families—are to be 'politically re-educated' at camps in isolated areas. All memory of Project is to be expunged."

After a long moment, Levinson sighed deeply. "Well, let's look on the bright side," he said with a crooked smile. "At least this knocks Liz Hadley's arguments into a cocked hat and settles the whole question on what to do with Varien. Putting him in touch with our governments is
not
an option!"

"Isn't it?" Three heads turned to face DiFalco as he spoke like an automaton. "Even if we could get rid of him and keep him away from the Chinese, it wouldn't solve the problem. It would just postpone it. Sooner or later, the Korvaasha are going to discover the Lirauva Chain for themselves. And they're also going to discover the continuous-displacement drive! Varien admits that it's a natural outgrowth of Raehan's technology, which the Korvaasha are busy appropriating. Face it: the Korvaasha are going to arrive here eventually!"

"And when they do," Kurganov said slowly, "we will need Varien's technology if Earth is to have any hope of defending itself from enslavement. But he won't give it to us unless we agree to use it to attack the Korvaasha, and thus expose Earth to the danger of obliteration!"

"Enslavement by the Korvaasha might not be that much worse than what Earth is getting ready to do to itself," Levinson said savagely. "It might even be hard to tell the difference!"

"But destruction . . . ?" DiFalco let the question trail off into silence as thoughts that had nothing to do with politics filled four separate minds. The Colorado Rockies above Aspen . . . a forest of slender white birch trees south of Lake Ladoga . . . Indian Summer in New England and a little covered bridge . . . Red Square and the inspired Tartar madness in brick that was St. Basil's . . . and faces, faces, faces . . . .

All a desert of windblown radioactive ash
, it tolled in DiFalco's head.
No. We can't risk that.

But . . . maybe we don't have to!

He grew aware that the others were staring at him. He took a deep breath and began, improvising as he spoke.

"Look, there may be a solution after all . . . ."

Kurganov still hadn't recovered his mental equilibrium when Kuropatkin finished revealing his new information to the reconvened meeting. Afterwards, Liz Hadley sat twisting a lock of hair as if she wanted to pull it out. The others just sat.

"In light of what we have just heard, ladies and gentlemen," the general began, "Colonel DiFalco has a proposal to offer the meeting. Colonel, you have the floor."

"Thank you, General." DiFalco looked around grimly. "First off, people, let's begin by being honest with ourselves. Otherwise, we're just pissing into the wind. What Major Kuropatkin has told us proves what most of us already suspected: there's nothing for us or our families on Earth any more." Not even Hadley contradicted him. But then, she, like many others, had a family here. Sergei had once remarked that RAMP's people were in a position not unlike that of the British in India before steamships—their tours were, of necessity, years-long ones. Those with families brought them to Phoenix Prime; spouses not directly involved in the Project worked in support services. When this was unacceptable, families broke up or people declined positions with the Project. The result was a kind of natural selection: there was no one here who wasn't emotionally committed to RAMP.

"Nor is there anything for us out here," DiFalco continued remorselessly. "We're not going to be allowed to continue the Project after another two years." They all visibly winced, but again no one argued.

"Having disposed of all wishful thinking," he resumed, "let's turn to the question of how to respond to Varien's offer. There are two reasons for
not
accepting it. First, governments such as ours are becoming shouldn't be given the kind of technology he offers." His eyes swept the room, challenging anyone to disagree. No one did, although Liz very nearly dislodged her lock of hair. "And second, the penalty for failure: destruction of our world by the Korvaasha." Heads nodded affirmatively at this.

DiFalco paused for an interminable moment, then drew a breath and spoke with the force of absolute, bridge-burning commitment. "But neither of these arguments applies if
we
accept his offer. Not our governments . . .
us
! RAMP! Think about it," he hurried on, before the disjointed shock in their faces could congeal into opposition. "We have a fair-sized fleet of deep-space-capable ships here, and we've had to develop a substantial industrial capability. We can refit our ships with Varien's stuff, while continuing to keep his existence secret, and then depart the solar system along the Lirauva Chain—
after
wiping our records and our ships' computers of every scrap of data that could be used to identify the star we came from! If our attack on the Korvaash occupiers of Raehan succeeds, fine. If it doesn't . . . well, the Korvaasha will have no idea of where this attack on them originated. And neither will anyone on Earth; where we went will be the biggest unsolved mystery since the Lost Colony! And . . . I think I'd rather die in battle, fighting for the long-term defense of Earth, than rot in some goddamned concentration camp!"

His voice had risen in volume until it was a rolling thunder. Its echoes died away, leaving the room in a silence of total shock. Liz had actually stopped twisting her hair.

"But," Traylor finally broke the silence, "win or lose, we'd be cutting ourselves off from Earth for all time . . . ."

"Hell, no! Look, Varien and his people know the locations of the displacement points that make up the Lirauva Chain. After we defeat the Korvaasha and Earth is out of danger, we can just proceed back along the Chain to Alpha Centauri. From there, Sol's the brightest star in Cassiopeia . . . we could find it with our eyes closed! We can go the last four-and-a-third light years of the trip on continuous-displacement drive and arrive back here bringing a whole new order of technology and the news that we've got allies—
human
allies—among the stars. That ought to really do the trick Liz was talking about and turn Earth around!"

He surveyed the room and saw much the same look on every face. It was the look of people who had been offered an escape from an insoluble dilemma . . . and were terrified of it.

"But Colonel," Tartakova spoke hesitantly, "how could we keep this a secret? Surely not every one of the hundreds of people here and at Phoenix will agree!"

"Of course not. We'll have to restrict all knowledge of what's really going on to people we've sounded out and know we can trust. I know you and Arkady already have a pretty comprehensive list of the people we definitely
can't
trust. They, and everybody else who isn't involved, will just continue to rotate back and forth between here and Phoenix as before. In the meantime, we'll be doing the crucial work at Varien's outpost, protected by his stealth technology. Only one of our big ships would have to be there at a time, and we'd only have to have our people in a few key positions to be able to cover for those absences. I'm willing to bet that we can be ready within the two years the Project's got."

His eyes swept the room again. Relief still warred with fear on every face, but relief was winning. And it was being joined, here and there, by sheer awe at what they—just possibly—had in their power to do.

Kuropatkin, who had been prepared, recovered first.

"Colonel," he began, "I know you and General Kurganov have not yet discussed this . . . alternative with Varien."

DiFalco and Kurganov exchanged glances. "No, we have not," the Russian admitted. "I believe another visit to his ship is in order!"

Varien was uncharacteristically silent after they had finished. Then he sighed and shook his head slowly.

"We really had no conception of the political climate we were dealing with, you know. Some of the broadcasts we picked up merely led us to question the depth of our understanding of your language. In particular, when we heard someone—evidently a prominent public figure and not a character in some comedy—declare that the government should guarantee
every
citizen an
above-average
income, we decided that our translation
must
be at fault!"

"I'm afraid not," DiFalco admitted. "That's been part of the Social Justice Party's platform for years. You were probably hearing a speech by the governor of New York . . . who, barring a miracle, will be my nation's head of state two years from now."

"Dear me! I begin to see why we've always had difficulty differentiating the political news from the popular comedies in your broadcasts; both are farcical but neither seems particularly funny." Varien had almost entirely lost his Raehaniv accent by now, and it was clear which linguistic role models had been influencing him; he had come to speak a variety of English that Levinson characterized as "acting-class British."