CHAPTER 2
Except wind stands as never it stood.
It is an ill wind that blows no one good.
–Thomas Tusser, 16th Century Poet
There had not been a single inhabitant of Alta – or of the entire Valeria system, for that matter – whose life had not been drastically changed by the Antares Supernova. When the nova first burst bright in the Altan sky, it had transformed the darkness of Alta’s night into an eerie daylight as it flooded land and sea with harsh blue-white radiance. Most Altans had been initially enchanted by the phenomenon, although mothers had often complained that their children refused to sleep with the nova light peeking around the edges of their curtains.
Then had come word of the restoration of the foldpoint. The news had been greeted with universal joy as the pent-up frustrations of The Long Isolation were released. The celebration had gone on for days and a new spirit of enthusiasm and hope had surged throughout the system. For months, it had seemed that Alta was on the verge of prosperity unknown in its history.
Slowly the nova had faded from its period of maximum brilliance. While it did so, Alta had eagerly awaited the return of its expedition to the Napier and Hellsgate systems. The day had finally come when the first of the expedition’s ships returned home, bringing with it news of the Ryall threat. The public mood had shifted almost overnight. Optimism turned suddenly to horror; enthusiasm was quickly transformed into fear. Night after night, the news services vied with each other to broadcast the most graphic views of the destruction of New Providence’s cities. No longer was the supernova regarded as Alta’s personal good luck charm. For most Altans, Antares had become the visible symbol of an uncertain and dangerous future.
If there was anyone who still had reason to be thankful for the nova in Alta’s sky, that man was Clarence Whitlow. Whitlow was the hereditary terrestrial ambassador to Alta, the fifth member of his family to hold that post. It was the job of the hereditary ambassadors to act as though nothing had changed when the supernova isolated Valeria from the rest of human space. As far as Whitlow and his predecessors were concerned, it was their job to represent Earth’s interests on Alta. The fact that they had had no instructions from home in 127 years was a matter not worthy of comment.
To Clarence Whitlow had fallen the lonely task of keeping an important tradition alive. That tradition held that Alta was part of a larger whole, a community of worlds built on the twin principles of tolerance and mutual respect. For thirty years, he had lived the fiction that Earth was still a factor in the affairs of Alta. It was a fiction that made him a comical figure to his friends and neighbors. As for official Homeport, save for a small yearly stipend voted by Parliament, he had been virtually ignored during his time as terrestrial ambassador.
The coming of the nova had changed all of that. Among the ships trapped in the Val system in 2512 were three heavy battle cruisers of Earth’s Grand Fleet. Part of the agreement by which the first terrestrial ambassador had ceded these three ships to the fledgling Altan Navy had been that all succeeding terrestrial ambassadors would have a say in their use beyond the Val system. To enforce the agreement, Whitlow’s great-great-grandfather had retained certain security codes needed to operate the cruisers’ jump engines. Clarence Whitlow, in turn, had used his possession of these codes to force a promise from Parliament that he would be consulted on all matters of interstellar policy. They had further agreed that Whitlow would have the right to send a personal representative along on any future interstellar expeditions.
For Clarence Whitlow, at least, the Antares Supernova had been an unmixed blessing.
* * *
Clarence Whitlow stood behind his oversize, onyxwood desk and stared out the window that adorned one wall of his office. Whitlow was a frail, white haired man who walked with a noticeable stoop. The stoop was the result of a progressive bone disease that the doctors had been able to arrest, but not to cure. His bent posture, along with his soft features, had led many an opponent to underestimate him over the past three years. Those who had done so had found that an iron will resided inside the stooped form.
Whitlow let his gaze sweep across the scene in front of him. Across a wide tree-lined boulevard was the black cube that housed the Altan Industrial Council. Next to it, in a structure every bit as imposing, was headquartered the Free Labor Association. On either side of the two were other buildings, each of which held the legions of special pleaders that have congregated around governmental centers since the days of Babylon. If Whitlow looked over the tops of the buildings of Lobbyist Row, he could just make out the ugly pile of stone and mortar that was the home of Alta’s Parliament.
Not for him this morning were the foreground details of government, however. Instead, he lifted his gaze above the concrete-and-marble of the government district, past the panorama of Homeport itself, to the azure mountain range that bulked up in the distance. To Whitlow’s eyes, the Colgate Mountains were the most beautiful on Main Continent; and that, as much as their proximity to the capital, had been the reason he had chosen to make his home in their foothills for most of his life. There had been many times over the past three years when he had wished that he was back in the mountains tending his roses.
Clarence Whitlow was jolted from his reverie by the sudden buzzing of the intercom on his desk. He passed a hand through thinning white hair and returned to his seat. Leaning forward, he keyed the intercom to life.
“Yes, Miss Preston?”
“Your niece is here, Mr. Ambassador.”
“Send her in!”
The office door opened almost immediately and Bethany entered. He could see by the broad smile on her face that her mission to the spaceport the previous day had been successful.
“I take it that you found your young man,” he said.
“Yes, Richard came in on the noon shuttle.”
“I told you that he would.”
“Just how did you know?” Bethany asked.
Whitlow shrugged. “I keep my eyes open and I see things. I listen carefully and I hear things.”
“Have you heard anything about today’s conference?”
“Ostensibly, it’s to be a classified briefing for newly elected Members of Parliament.”
“What does ‘ostensibly’ mean?” Bethany asked.
“I only note that they’ve had other Parliamentary briefings, and to my knowledge, neither the prime minister, nor Jonathan Carstairs, nor Richard Drake have been in attendance.”
“You’re implying that it’s something more?”
“I hear rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“That they may be about ready to make the decision to commit to a launch date. If so, it’s about time!”
Bethany nodded. “I understand Jonathan Carstairs has actually developed a nervous tic over what Helldiver has cost to date. It would be embarrassing to explain to the taxpayers how the Navy invested all that money, then wasn’t allowed to go.”
“I hope you’re right, Bethany. The sooner they launch, the sooner my accumulated dispatches will be delivered to an authorized representative of the Interstellar Council on Earth.”
“Have you given any thought to what will happen then?” Bethany asked.
“I suppose I’ll retire. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “It’s just that we’ve been working toward this goal for so long, I often wonder what will become of us when we finally succeed. Do you suppose the IC will confirm you as ambassador once we’ve made contact?”
Whitlow’s expression flickered through a series of emotions before he answered. “Of course not! What a silly thing to say.”
“I don’t think so,” his niece said. “You’ve served them faithfully all these years. Why wouldn’t they keep you on?”
“Because, my darling child, you and I both know that I’ve only been playing a role these past three decades. It is the ideal of Earth that I have attempted to safeguard, not the reality. That ideal has been important to us. It has helped our people through the long years of isolation and exerted a moderating influence over our government. So long as the prime minister and Parliament are reminded that they may someday have to answer to a higher authority, they are restrained from some of the excesses that have plagued other governments throughout history.
“But let us not mistake my playacting for reality, Beth. I may possess the title of terrestrial ambassador, but I can never be the true representative of Earth. I am no less a colonist at heart than you. If Earth is at war with the Ryall, then they will need one of their own here in Homeport to look after their true interests. Have no illusions about it. They will turn me out to pasture in a moment.”
“Then why should we be loyal to them?”
“Because I gave my word to my father on his deathbed. I promised that I would do my very best for Earth. I have followed that credo for thirty years, and I do not propose to stop now.” Whitlow stared at his niece’s dour expression. “Besides, I’m looking forward to retirement. It will give me a chance to raise my roses.
“Enough of this. What did you and Richard do after you met him at the spaceport?”
Bethany brightened. “First we took a taxi to the Admiralty so Richard could check in with the first admiral. After that, we had a late lunch at the Mandarin Orange down by the river.”
“How was the food?”
“Excellent! The alos sprouts were done just the way you like them. You should try it sometime.”
“Perhaps you would consent to be my guide some day when you aren’t busy.”
“Sure.”
“Ah … was that all?”
Bethany felt her face redden. She and Richard had gone straight from the restaurant to her apartment, where they had made love until nightfall. That she would be intimate with her fiancé after six months of separation should not have surprised anyone. Still, it was uncharacteristic of her uncle to ask such a question. She avoided a direct answer by saying: “Richard asked me to marry him again.”
“I would have thought once enough.”
“We decided that we would have the ceremony on Earth,” Bethany replied with a grin. “In a cathedral if we can arrange it.”
Her uncle did not react as Bethany expected. Instead of congratulating her, he said, “That brings up a point which I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. I’ve been considering finding someone else to represent me on the Helldiver Expedition.”
“WHAT?”
“I’ve even thought of going myself.”
“You can’t, Uncle! Your heart would never stand up to the acceleration. Besides, what is wrong with me representing you? I’ve done it before and you didn’t seem to have any complaints.”
“You weren’t engaged to Captain Drake before.”
“What has that to do with anything?”
“A great deal, Beth. Do not get me wrong. No one was happier than when you returned from Sandar and announced your engagement to Richard Drake. He is, if you will pardon my saying so, a distinct improvement over your last fiancé. However, he is also the commander of the Altan contingent to the Helldiver Fleet. That means that he represents the interests of the Altan government. If you are to go along as my representative, then you must represent Earth. Make no mistake about that. Your first duty will be to the Interstellar Council.”
“I understand that perfectly.”
“I wonder if you do,” Whitlow said. “Have you considered that a situation may arise where you will find yourself at odds with your husband-to-be?”
“I would think, Uncle, that with the Ryall running around loose, the interests of Alta and Earth are the same.”
“They probably are. However, you are ducking the question, which is that they may not be. I must know that you will serve Earth first and Richard Drake second. Either that or I will find someone else to represent me. Can you assure me that you will be my honest advocate?”
Bethany hesitated for an uncomfortably long time. To Whitlow who had raised her, the inner turmoil was obvious. Finally, she said, “I think I can do it, Uncle. I hope and pray the situation will never arise; but if it does, I believe I can be sufficiently objective to think of Earth first.”
Whitlow nodded. “Good enough for now. However, should today’s conference result in a green light for Helldiver, I will expect your absolute pledge of loyalty. Anything less, bad heart or no, I will go in your place.”
* * *
The Admiralty building had been built in the earliest days of the Altan colony. It had originally been designed as the central government’s embassy and ambassadorial residence on Alta. Granville Whitlow, the terrestrial ambassador at the time of the nova, had ceded the building and grounds to the colonial government at the same time he had turned over the battle cruisers. For a century and a quarter, the building had housed the headquarters of the Altan Space Navy.
Richard Drake stepped from the taxi that had brought him from Bethany’s apartment. He bounded up the steps past the Marine guards who flanked the main entrance, and entered through the three-meter high armor plated doors at the front entrance. He marched briskly across a marble floor that still bore the stylized outline of Earth in its surface and presented his identification to the Marine sergeant who sat in a glass cage just inside the entrance. When the computer in the sub-basement concluded that he was indeed who he said he was, the sergeant directed him toward a bank of public lifts to his right.
“Fleet Captain Drake!”
Drake turned at the hail to find Commodore Douglas Wilson striding toward him. Wilson was the first admiral’s adjutant and chief of staff. “Good morning, sir.”
“Morning,” Wilson replied. “Ready for the big day?”
Drake nodded. “If this is it, I am.”
“Should be,” Wilson replied. “The Prime Minister’s attending the conference, and you can bet he wouldn’t be wasting his time if he weren’t ready to give us the go ahead.”
“What about the Conservative Alliance? Are they ready to give us their blessing?”
Wilson nodded. “Their leadership is, finally! Some of their newly elected rank-and-file types have been making troublesome noises. We will be briefing them. They’ve heard rumors about Helldiver and now want to see what it’s all about.”
“Do you think they’ll come around after they know the facts?”
Wilson shrugged expansively. “Who can tell with politicians? However, enough of this political talk. How go things at Felicity Base?”
“We’re in pretty good shape. Discovery is in the final phases of checkout, Dagger isn’t far behind, and City of Alexandria should begin systems integration testing sometime tomorrow.”
“What about the tankers?”
“They’re about on a par with Alexandria. All testing on the new generators should be completed within ten days. We could launch thirty days after that.”
“Hmmm,” Wilson mused. “I wonder how the Sandarians are doing.”
“From what I hear,” Drake replied, “they’re ahead of us.”
The two of them took the lift to the sixth floor where the Admiralty’s main conference room was located. The conference room was some ten meters square. At its center was a rectangular arrangement of tables covered with white tablecloths. The room was windowless. To make up for that, a large holoscreen had been affixed to each wall. At each place around the table stood a nameplate, a water glass, three pens, and a yellow pad of writing paper. Pitchers filled with water had been located at strategic locations. The only electronics in evidence were the controls used to operate the holoscreens.
Drake found his nameplate to the left of one bearing the name of First Admiral Dardan. Commodore Wilson took the seat on the Admiral’s right. Bethany and her uncle were already down the table on the opposite side. Drake smiled at his fiancée and received only the most cursory of smiles in response. He quickly ran through their conversation at breakfast, wondering what he had done or said that might have made her mad. She had been in good spirits when she had left for her uncle’s office that morning. Unable to come up with a cause for her apparent shift in mood, he put the subject from his mind. If he had done something to offend her, she would let him know soon enough.
Drake let his gaze sweep the table. Opposite him were several members of Parliament who were unfamiliar to him – which meant that they had been elected since the period four years earlier when he’d served as Parliamentary liaison officer for the Navy. On his side of the table were several of the prime minister’s aides, including Stanislaw Barrett. Across the table were several people from Homeport University.
He had just completed his inventory of the attendees when a voice from behind him said: “All rise for the Honorable Gareth Reynolds, Prime Minister of the Altan Republic; the Honorable Jonathan Carstairs, Leader of the Loyal Opposition; and Admiral Luis Dardan, Commander of the Altan Space Navy.”
The three men entered the room single file and then fanned out to take their individual seats. The others present stood respectfully until the prime minister had seated himself before returning to their own seats with considerable scraping of chairs. The prime minister waited for the noise to die down, then picked up an onyxwood gavel and banged it on the table. When the room had drifted into silence, Gareth Reynolds began to speak.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. We are here today because several members of Parliament have requested a policy review on the program we all know by the code name Project Helldiver. It is the opinion of these petitioners that we were hasty in our approval of this effort two years ago when we signed the Sandarian Treaty. Since the project is nearing completion of Phase I and will shortly be ready for space, I propose to go beyond the question of policy, and make this meeting a full program readiness review. By that, I mean that we will discuss whatever needs discussing to determine whether we launch Helldiver on schedule, delay its departure, or cancel it altogether.
“We will begin with several presentations. I do not expect everyone to agree with everything they hear, nor do I ask anyone to surrender his or her right to voice an objection. However, I do ask you to hold any such remarks until after the speakers have finished. Also, when you rise to speak, please state your name and organization clearly for the record. Finally, I remind you that everything discussed here today is classified as an Altan state secret. What you hear here, stays here!
“Anyone have any questions? … If not, we will begin with Doctor Nathaniel Gordon, who will review our situation with regard to the current structure of foldspace. Doctor Gordon, you have the floor!”