The Forever Hero (51 page)

Jorge Fugazey liked fax screens, a fact clear from the massive console and the more than thirty screens that angled gently upward around him from his control position.

His fingers played the control studs in lightning flashes, almost as quickly as his deep-set black eyes flickered from display to display.

He did not look up as the younger man approached.

“Father…,” ventured the thinner man, who also had angular features and dark eyes. The son did not vibrate with the focused intensity of his sire, though most men and women would have paled beside either.

“Screen six alpha—the flashing one, Duran. Your source was correct, long past correct. He has retired from the Service, but still collects an annuity. Signifies that he is still alive. You can act—if you choose.”

“Choose? What choice do I have? You have expressed interest in the Daeris connection, and Helene has made it clear. Quite clear. That leaves a choice?”

The performance behind the consoles came to an abrupt halt as the older Fugazey tapped two control plates in succession.

“Never said you had to contract with Helene. Only that you choose a social and economic equal with a strong family. You chose her, without my advice.”

The son shrugged. “Given the alternatives…”

“Study the dossier on this man, Duran. Reconsider what you must do. Do not decide before that. More there than meets the eye. Data missing that should not be missing.”

Baron Fugazey watched as a red light flashed next to one screen, then another, and a third.

“Who can stand up to me, especially with your support?”

“About half the barons in the Empire,” noted the elder with a sour turn to his mouth.

“But he is not a baron, not even a magnate.”

“Titles are not everything, Duran.”

The baron shifted his weight uneasily as the number of red lights on the screens beside and behind him continued to increase.

“I have met the Honorable Alhenda Strackna Daeris, Duran,” added the older Fugazey. “She crossed paths with the man once before, and neither the Strackna nor the Daeris connections were adequate. I said you had my backing and, right now, I will not back down if you wish to continue, but I do ask that you review the files and reconsider…reconsider whether you must have Helene.”

“I will. It won't change things, but I will.”

Duran snapped his jaw shut with a quick motion and turned away too quickly to see the frown that crossed his father's face. Then, too, he had never looked to see the shadows under the eyes nor the tightness with which the angular Fugazey features were bound.

The baron watched his son's back as the man who was scarcely beyond his student years marched out through the portal coded only to admit immediate family.

The warnings on more than a dozen screens were flashing red and amber by the time the baron returned to his manipulations.

Gerswin was surprised to find a message torp waiting for him at the Ydris drop. Not astounded, for occasionally Lyr had used it for information that she thought pressing or of particular interest. But for the torp to be waiting at Ydris meant that she had sent more than a few.

He wanted to cut short the formalities with the port captain to retrieve the torp, since it belonged to the foundation, though sent by the Imperial Service, and find out why Lyr was searching him out.

The captain, a correct lady by the name of Isbel Relyea Herris,
shared the tendency toward formality that the senior tech of the
Fleurdilis
had always exhibited, although Isbel insisted she had no relations to whoever had served in the Imperial Forces.

“Wouldn't, have it! No self-respecting Ydrisian would ever serve for that conglomeration of bullies and apologists for the commercial thugs that comprise the Empire. Yourself excepted, Commander.”

“No need to except me, Isbel. That assumes I was one of the bullies in Imperial Service.”

“No assumption. Fact. Your name's no more Shaik Corso than that scout's the private yacht she's registered, apparently registered, as.”

Gerswin had raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

“Scout's too old and too well rebuilt for the Impies to have done it. And they wouldn't think of using an
old
design. New is always better for them. You're too young to have been senior and retired. That leaves few options. You're independently wealthy, or you freelance, or both.

“You're successful, and that means experience. Wealth doesn't buy experience. Leaves age or Impie service.

“Since you're not that old, you have to have Impie service. Besides”—and her eyes twinkled—“you wear everything so properly, even shipsuits. Like uniforms.”

Gerswin shrugged. “What can I say? Certainly sounds so much more impressive than my own poor background, and who am I to instruct the always correct port captain?”

He inclined his head. “But I do have a few matters…”

“I know. Anytime someone sends a private torp, it's urgent or Hades-fired close. You're excused. Shaik, and cleared into Ydris again. But I'd feel more comfortable calling you ‘Commander.'”

“You, Isbel, can call me anything you wish, even if it is not totally accurate.”

“Break orbit, Commander.” She smiled nonetheless as Gerswin collected the torp pack and arranged for the torp itself to be carted to the
Caroljoy
.

He retreated to the ship as quickly as possible.

Once back inside the scout, he dropped the torp pack into the console.

Lyr's face, straight features, and carefully combed sandy hair filled the screen.

“I still can't get used to talking to a blank screen, Commander, but I thought you ought to know what's going on. I hope you have a
chance to pick up one of the torps I've sent before Baron Fugazey surprises you.”

She squared her shoulders and brushed back a strand of hair.

Gerswin realized that it was gray, not silver, nor dyed, and shook his head. He thought of her as always there, and unchanging. While she might be there for a long time to come, given Imperial medical technology, she was not unchanging nor immune from the aging process. He wondered if she were the type whom a complete rejuvenation would benefit as he refocused on what she was saying.

“…first sign was a nuisance suit charging that the foundation was employing its special status to subsidize competition to Fugar House…then a rather sophisticated attempt to penetrate the databanks…continuing shadows on me…taken the liberty of hiring Kirnows as antishadows…”

Gerswin continued to listen as Lyr rattled off the lengthy list of attempts, all of which she seemed to have brushed off with style and without calling much public attention to the foundation.

“…That's a brief update on the situation. A more detailed chronology is speedcoded into the trailer at the end.

“For all the furor about the foundation, Fugazey could care less about OERF. Prove that I could not. But he could have tied us up in legal battle after legal battle, which would have been tremendously expensive. He didn't. Once it was clear he could not get the information he wanted with a given strategy, he immediately changed tactics. My own sources, and you suggested I cultivate a few, as I recall, indicate that Fugazey is employing a small fraction of his not inconsiderable assets to obtain the information from the only other possible source.”

Gerswin knew what was coming, even before she said it.

“The baron has a number of contacts within the I.S.S., and it is a matter of time before he obtains the information necessary to prove that Commander MacGregor Corson Gerswin is the same MacGregor Corson Gerswin who is employed by the OER Foundation. After that, he will use what he can to narrow your location. Why this is so important to him I do not know, but his interest may be linked to an attachment his son, Duran, would like to form with a young lady named Helene Strackna Daeris…”

Gerswin shook his head. Of all the damned-fool reasons to have someone looking for him.

“…and from what I can determine, her mother was a Major Alhenda Strackna, who was court-martialed and dismissed in disgrace
from her position as Executive Officer of the cruiser
Fleurdilis
, then under the command of a senior commander named Gerswin.”

Gerswin wondered how she had tracked down all the information as he listened to the remainder of the message.

“…and that's it. If you wonder how I found this out, it was not that hard for the standard Kirnow ops to track the rumors from the Fugazey household. Apparently dear Helene, while attractive in visage, has not endeared herself to anyone.” Lyr frowned and cleared her throat. “Someday, Commander…Commodore, more than one of the loose ends from your past is going to catch up with you, and since you won't give in, and neither will some of the people you've doubtlessly offended, the Empire will end up paying for it.

“Good luck on your latest. By the way, at last there's some Imperial interest in the growing commercial power represented by biologic technology. Barons Megalrie, Niniunto, Tvarik, and others are pressing for an Imperial Commission on the subject, and on firms such as Enver Limited, Corso and Associates, MCG Biologics. Thought you'd like to know. Needless to say, the foundation is opposing such a commission unless it includes an investigation of the activities of traditional firms to block biologic commercialization. I predict a stalemate, now that the Imperial Trust has endorsed the OERF position.

“In any case, now you know most of what I do.”

Her image remained unspeaking, then she pursed her lips, licked them, and added, almost as an afterthought, “Attached is a databloc coded for entry and locked to your private code.”

Her image vanished.

Gerswin touched the console.

“Record and store the information, visual and coded.”

His fingers added the necessary codes to complete the entry, and he sat waiting before two blank screens as the AI went about its job.

The information had reached him before Baron Fugazey's agents had. If he had gone to Westmark, or Standora, or El Lido, or…he shook his head again.

Resourceful as she might be, Lyr was certainly not about to send torps and messages all over the Empire, and she couldn't send them outside the Empire, even though Gerswin moved there as well.

Too bad there wasn't the equivalent of a planetary communications network for intersystems communications, regardless of political jurisdictions. The jumpshift was the only way so far known to exceed light speed.

He snorted.

One day, unfortunately, with his expanding sphere of operations, as each of the operations he directed grew, he would be out of touch for too long. To be able to keep ahead of the Baron Fugazeys of the Empire, not to mention the I.S.S. and the Intelligence Service, he needed something he didn't have. Between the few cargo ships and the independents, one could reach the major systems, but it might be three days or four weeks.

He pursed his lips, then turned to the AI. He stopped and frowned.

Like it or not, he would have to have Lyr get the information…somehow…assuming he could also deal with Fugazey. But he would have to get Lyr started and hoped he could survive to finish up. He laughed, a hard barking sound. If he didn't survive, the whole point was mute.

“Message for Lyr D'Meryon. OER Foundation. Stand by.”

“Awaiting message,” the AI replied.

Gerswin sat up straight and squarely before the scanner.

“Thanks for the information about Baron Fugazey. Hope I can solve his problem my way rather than his.

“Brought to mind another area that might be fruitful. Need some background information first. Would you find out quietly if there are surplus I.S.S. message torps available, and at what price. If not, what would it cost to purchase or build one thousand of them from other sources? That's right. One thousand. Any support data you could dig up would be helpful.

“Let me know as soon as you can.”

He touched the controls on data screens again.

“Interrogative analysis on the Fugazey data.”

“Analysis incomplete.”

Gerswin drummed his fingers on the edge of the control board and continued to wait, thinking about how to organize a torp-oriented message system on a commercial or public utility basis.

Finally, after he had mentally designed and discarded three schemes for a system, the AI chimed and interrupted his reflections.

“Analysis complete.”

“Put on screen four.”

He straightened and began to read, left index finger regulating the speed of the summary text.

When he had completed the first run-through he was frowning, pulling at his chin. He looked at the main flight controls, then at the AI panel.

He coughed and cleared his throat, then rekeyed the summary. As he ran through it again, his eyes flickered over the pages as fast as they appeared on the screen.

Then he leaned back in the control couch.

Lyr had done a good job, more than a good job, and the conclusions were clear.

Fugazey avoided confrontations whenever possible and only retaliated when his enterprises were seriously threatened or if his family appeared personally threatened. In those few cases, professionals, the closest equivalents to the now defunct Guild, were apparently employed, although no bodies ever surfaced.

The picture was that of a coldly sensible businessman who used the best tools possible and never acted primarily from emotion, except where his family was concerned.

Gerswin frowned. That meant he could not focus on the son, who had probably caused the problem, without dragging in the father. Eliminating Helene would enrage both the Fugazeys and the Daeris clan.

Theoretically, the best approach would be to convince both Jorge Fugazey and his son Duran that vengeance against one Commander Gerswin was neither wise nor desirable and that allowing Helene to dictate their course was particularly unwise. And he had to do so in a way that made the point clearly, but which left them able to save face.