ONE
Just outside Denver there was a pinging under the hood. Thor keyed the engine statistics and stuck his finger into the computer contact. The car swerved as the numbers flashed before his eyes and he bit off a curse as he dragged it back on course manually. He wished for an old-fashioned digital display. He had bought the car when he was sixteen and gadget-happy. In recent years he had tried to have a visual display installed, only to be met with expressions of horrified incredulity. "Alter a Porsche 2045 classic? You can't be serious!" Now he no longer bothered, because he wasn't going to be driving it or any other car for much longer.
He saw the plume of smoke even before the sprawl of Greater Denver hove into view. It appeared to be coming from the Ukrainian section, a rundown area once inhabited principally by wealthy Arabs. Over the years the Arabs had moved elsewhere and developers had divided the estates into cheap housing projects. The last wave of immigrants had been the result of the People's Republic of the Ukraine breaking away from the Soviet Union seven years before. Within four years, the Ukraine had been bloodily forced to rejoin, but not before more than seven million people had emigrated, mostly to the United States. Now the suburb of Little Burma was expanding into the Ukrainian sector and there were frequent riots.
He would avoid the inner-city area in any case. His destination was the mansion-studded mountainside community known locally as "Spaceville" because the fortunes of most of the mansion owners had been founded on the exploitation of extraterrestrial resources. The name had always struck him as funny, because he had grown up there and had hardly ever met anyone who had even been in space. It was like the old "Governor and Company of Adventurers of England Trading Into Hudson's Bay," most of whom had never governed, adventured or even traveled to Hudson's Bay, but instead had sat for generations in their London clubs while other, better men had reaped the wealth of Canada for them. The paper in his pocket was to be a break with that unworthy tradition.
As he climbed the road which hung magically off the mountainside, he looked down on the whole Denver complex. The smoke was coming from the Ukraine-Burma interface, all right. Once Denver had been proudly called "the mile-high city," but these days hardly anybody remembered what a mile was and somehow "the one-point-six-one-kilometer-high city" didn't have quite the same ring to it. For a long time it had boasted practically the only breathable urban air to be found on the North American continent, but the deindustrialization of the U.S. and the gradual disappearance of the internal combustion engine had restored clean air, although not without price.
The Porsche's engine cut out automatically as it neared a picturesque, chalet-type building situated next to the road. It was part of the ring of heavily-armored forts surrounding Spaceville. A man came out, dressed in Old West clothes and wearing a laser pistol molded to look like a Western six-shooter. His clothing was bulletproof and an ornament on the front of his Stetson hat holographed everything in his line of vision. "Howdy, Mr. Taggart."
"Good evening, Stuard." He punched the inspection control and hood, trunk lid and doors opened simultaneously. Stuard inspected each compartment while sensors embedded in the road scanned the undercarriage.
"You headed for the big party at the McNaughton estate?" the guard asked.
"That's right. I take it they've laid on heavy security for tonight?
Stuard shook his head. "Heavy as I've ever seen. Senator Jameson came through about two hours ago. Since he may be running for President, he's got special protection paid for by his big money backers and you know what that means. Them Pinkerton guys always treat us like hick backwoods cops. There's a bunch of D.N. people here, too, and they all got their own security, and I have to reassure them all that we keep this place safer'n the Federal Reserve Bank. Twenty years without a snatch or bombing, though there's been plenty that tried."
"Nobody's ever had cause to complain, Stuard." The procedures were tedious, but Thor knew the value of good security. Spaceville's system had been set up by his paternal grandfather, Sam Taggart, who had been an intelligence agent of no mean repute back in his Earthbound days. "Were the U.N. people headed for the McNaughton party?"
"Yup. Okay, Mr. Taggart, you're clean. Be careful and don't drive that bomb off the road. We're no longer equipped for traffic accidents."
Thor buttoned up the car and sped off. The Porsche burned its precious gasoline so cleanly that it left not even a whiff of exhaust. It had better be efficient, he thought. His annual I-C engine tax was more than the price of a conventional, electric car. He wondered what the U.N. people were doing at the McNaughton party. Old Murdo McNaughton was not known as a supporter of that organization. It probably had something to do with Jameson's presence. He was heartily sick of the increasingly Byzantine political climate. He vowed not to let it bother him tonight. He would be shut of it all soon. Tonight he was going to have one last try at bringing Karen around.
Karen McNaughton's ski lodge was set amid tall aspens in a high valley with a breathtaking view of the lights of Denver. Like most large American cities, Denver was far more beautiful from a distance than from close range. The moon was setting in the west, a fingernail sliver. He killed the engine and then caught his breath when he saw the bright light shining from the dark eastern sector. Only heavy saturation illumination over hundreds of square kilometers could be so visible from Earth.
"Going to let me in on it?" Thor whirled to see Karen standing beside the Porsche. He was confused and embarrassed, as always when someone caught him unawares, daydreaming.
"Look at the moon!" he said. "The Mare Nubium settlement project must be under way. Have you ever seen such a sight?" He returned his gaze to the surrealistic view.
"I never paid much attention. I've spent the day looking in the other direction, down. Have you noticed that Denver is on fire?"
He swatted the dashboard impatiently. "What city in the world isn't burning most of the time? Earth is no longer where it's happening. Where it's happening is out there." He jabbed a finger in the general direction of Mare Nubium. "Climb in, we're late for the party already."
She looked at the new light doubtfully. "The moon? Who'd want to go there? You're not still serious about emigrating to the moon, are you?"
"Nope," he said. "Not the moon and not Mars, either. The asteroids!"
She sighed wearily. "I'd hoped you'd have outgrown that foolishness by now. Are you going to drive this thing manually again?"
"Of course. I like to drive my own car and pilot my own plane and sail my own yacht. I don't like to be the passive prisoner of a piece of machinery that I own."
"It's not safe. Do you know how many people used to die because they tried to control these machines?"
"I know," he said. He could not remember exactly when this change had come over Karen. Always before she had been enchanted by his predilection for dangerous pursuits. Dangerous! Driving a car had been what people used to do just to get to work. Lately, she had grown impatient. She acted as if, by putting his life at a slight risk, he had been endangering some personal investment of hers. Had she really changed, or was it just that you never really saw someone you were raised with?
At some time, by a sort of tacit consent, it had been determined by both families that they would marry, to the greater good of both family portfolios. In childhood and in their young adult years, she had shared his enthusiasm for space. Somewhere, he was not really sure just where, they had grown apart.
"Asteroids?" she said. "You can't want to live there! You know what the Russians call the asteroids?'siberia without air.' "
"Not me," he said, "us. Karen, our future is out there. Do you want our children to live in a world where a thousand little ethnic and religious groups slaughter people who never heard of them just for the sake of media exposure?"
"You're still not over your parents' deaths, are you?"
"That was anarchists," he said, "not ethnics."
"And what do you mean by 'our children'? This is a pretty lame proposal, if it means what I think it does."
This wasn't turning out right. He'd had a wonderful, unanswerably persuasive speech all prepared for her, and somehow she had preempted him. Had he really neglected to propose to her? It had always been assumed and now he realized that he had never gone through the formalities. It also occurred to him that he might not want to.
He studied her, trying to look at her as if seeing her for the first time. She was petite, pretty and blonde. That much was common enough. Only a slight upward tilt at the outer corners of her eyes bespoke the tinge of Ameri-Indian blood passed down from her maternal grandmother, Frederike Schuster-Ciano, known to one and all as Fred. If family legend were to be believed, Old Lady Ciano had been a pistol-packing agent as dangerous as her contemporary, Sam Taggart, before becoming the mother of the incredibly numerous Schuster-Ciano family. He had loved Karen all his life. Or had he? Had he just been infatuated with the swashbuckling image of Fred Schuster-Ciano?
"Look, Thor, we'll discuss this later. There are important people at the party tonight that you'll have to talk to."
He put the car into gear, backed around, and accelerated downhill. "You mean Jameson? Or the U.N. people?"
"Good," she said with satisfaction. "You've been doing your homework. These people will be very important to you, I mean to us, of course, in the future. Especially Senator Jameson. He's going to be President someday, and probably Secretary-General before he's through. He's a fraternity brother of Karl's, you remember?" Karl was Karen's older brother. Thor detested Karl the way the Popes had detested Martin Luther. If Jameson had been a fraternity brother of Karl's, then it was a strike against Jameson.
"Why are these people important to us?" he asked.
"Because you're a Taggart and I'm a McNaughton. Between us, we're an important part of world economy."
Thor snorted derisively. "World economy! You mean the world's economy depends on space exploitation."
"That's not how they see it," she said, coolly. "You'd better start seeing it differently, too. Maybe the wild men go out there to the frontier to mine in barren rocks, but all the really important, powerful people live here on Earth."
"They can stay here for all I care," Thor said. He patted his breast pocket. "What I have here is official permission to emigrate, and I'm taking advantage of it as soon as I graduate."
To his utter astonishment, she turned furious. "Thor! You didn't I Why didn't you talk to me first? That was one of the reasons I was so anxious for you to come to this party, so you could talk to these people. I know they'd change your mind about emigrating. You're such a fool!" She turned away from him angrily. He could make nothing of it. He had worked for years to get permission to emigrate. Not that it was really so difficult; all you had to do was commit a crime, especially a political one. But, if you were rich and well-educated, there was a lot of red tape to go through before you could be permitted to leave. The Earth-to-space brain drain was much in the news lately.
She said nothing more until they pulled into the parkway-pad of the immense McNaughton estate. Then she caught sight of a shabby, ancient Harley-Davidson two-wheeler. "Oh, no! Uncle Bob is here."
"Hey, Bob's at the party?" It was the first cheering news he'd had this evening. Bob Ciano was one of his favorite people. More than sixty years old, he looked much younger in spite of his heroic efforts to drink himself to death. Bob was the youngest of Fred Schuster-Ciano's children. He rarely came out west, preferring to live in his father's ancestral domain of Brooklyn, where he ran a gang of septuagenarian motorcyclists like himself. In a world gone progressively more bizarre, he scarcely attracted attention.
Karen got out of the car and Thor turned the keys over to a Pinkerton man disguised as a parking attendant. She ignored him as they entered the front door and he surrendered his cape to the butler. "Don't announce Mr. Thor and me together," she told the robot. She turned to Thor. "It's not fitting yet, if ever." She said the last part through gritted teeth. "Let me go make some preparations." She swished off in a huff and he looked around for some inconspicuous place to hide temporarily.
Opening off the foyer was the family gallery, occupied only by a few peripheral types, lesser family members and the flunkies of the more important guests.
This was the only part of the McNaughton mansion that he liked anyway. The walls were lined with the portraits of family and historical associates and some of them were of his own ancestors.
First came a long line of sour-faced McNaughtons, clipper-ship entrepreneurs, opium smugglers and slavers who were far enough back in the family line to be respectable. His grandfather, Sam Taggart, was there, solemn in his Space Marine dress blues, replete with decorations and holding a calabash pipe. Next to Sam was his wife, Laine Tammsalu, even in old age a spectacularly beautiful woman. Fred Schuster was there, her German and Mexican-Indian heritage lightening the heavy north European tone of the ancestral gene pool. Ian McNaughton was there, co-founder of General Spacecraft, Spacecraft Underwriters, Space Technologies, Inc., and several other companies that had made U.S. space exploitation all but a McNaughton feudal fief.
Only one portrait was missing. It wasn't that the old bastard was larcenous, Thor thought, taking a glass of champagne from a robot waiter. It was the way the Western world had changed. After the freewheeling license of the latter Twentieth Century, the Twenty-First had lapsed into a veritable Victorian smugness and respectability. Great family fortunes, founded by piratical knaves, had to be made respectable. None had been more piratical than Ian McNaughton's partner, Ugo Ciano. Even in the popular press and in school textbooks, the McNaughton family fortune had managed to suppress any likeness of the fabulous Ugo.
"Well, the girl came by her looks legitimately," said a voice behind his shoulder. Thor turned to see Bob Ciano gesturing toward the portraits with a sloshing wineglass. In honor of the occasion Bob had worn a tuxedo to go with his buckled motorcycle boots. His gray hair and beard were uncombed.
"Bob!" Thor said, hugging the old man. "I haven't seen you in years. Where have you been hiding?"
"Don't disrupt my train of thought. Now that girl of yours has my mother's genes. No wonder she's pretty. But, is that enough?"
"What're you getting at, Bob?" Bob had a maddening habit of approaching any subject so obliquely that it could be months, if ever, before Thor could understand what he had been getting at.
"Thor, you're different from the rest of this Earthbound family. You want to get off into space, like I never could." Robert Ciano had been born during one of his mother's infrequent trips to Earth. He suffered from a rare congenital heart condition, one which precluded his ever going into space. He had grown up waiting for the breakthrough which would allow him to enter space. The breakthrough had never come. He had studied to become a theoretical physicist, but he lacked the inspiration to be the kind of genius his father had been. He had taught for a while, then had retired from active teaching to ride his motorcycle and drink and generally be an embarrassment to his family. The only one he had taken any interest in had been Thor.
"Thor," Bob said with drunken intensity, "do it! Get the hell out of here and leave this degenerate bunch of hyenas behind." He linked an arm through Thor's and walked him along the row of portraits. Thor noticed that they were being watched by some of the flunkies.
"Now here's your grandpa, old Sam," Bob said. "I happen to know that he only wore those dress blues three times in his life. Two of those times was to get decorated by the President. The other time was for this portrait. And he never smoked a pipe. Over here's my dear old Mom. You know, if she'd just waited a couple of weeks I'd've been born in space and never left." The old man turned aside and honked into a handkerchief. The only thing about him that Thor didn't like was his tendency to turn drunkenly maudlin.
"But none of 'em would be more than a footnote in history if it hadn't been for my Dad. I never knew Dad, you know, except for TeleHolos."
"I know, Bob," Thor said.
"Yep, old Dad was a great man. Probably the greatest genius who ever lived. Used to tell me so himself, frequently. I'll tell you something else that not many people know: Old Ugo was a dwarf, or damned near. That's another reason these McNaughtons don't want to allow his portrait in here. They have the best looks money can buy and it'd hurt their image."
"I know, Bob," Thor said. He had heard all this before.
"I'm not referring to Karen, of course. Her looks didn't come from a surgeon. At least I don't think so. But back to your plans to emigrate. What's it to be? Mars, the Jovian moons?"
"The asteroids."
"Good choice! Have you picked a destination?"
"I've applied to several of the scientific stations and it looks as if I can have my pick. I finish my final year of graduate work at Yale next spring and I can leave any time after that. My permit to emigrate came through today." He patted his pocket once more.
"What was it you were studying? Space-habitation engineering?"
"That's right."
Bob stood with his hands behind his back, studying a model of the Donald McKay, flagship of the McNaughton fleet in the mid-'twenties. He rocked back and forth on his feet, seemingly about to topple. His voice, when it came, was quiet and utterly sober. "Thor, if I were you I wouldn't wait. In fact, I'd walk right out of this house, convert all my assets into liquid or transferable form and get on the first ship out, even if I had to travel in steerage with the laborers and dissidents."
"What the hell's going on, Bob?" He had never figured out Bob's web of personal contacts and information sources, but he knew that the man wouldn't speak this way idly.
"There's something in the air. I live, by choice, in one of the most depressed working-class neighborhoods east of Calcutta. The Earth First party is gaining strength. In the past six months, street-level propaganda has gotten really fierce. They're blaming just about everything on the Offworld colonies, especially the independents in the asteroids and on the Jovian satellites."
"That's ridiculous!" Thor protested.
"Of course it's ridiculous!" Bob snapped, causing some heads to swivel. Then, more calmly: "So what? Truth and probability are of no importance in propaganda. What counts is loudness, volume and frequency of repetition. It's all over the place these days and people are getting stirred up. There's agitation to get all emigration offworld stopped."
"That kind of talk's been going on all my life," Thor said. "They've never amounted to anything and the world economy is too dependent on offworld resources to allow them any access to power."
Bob snorted through his beard. "I wish you'd taken some time from your science and engineering classes to study some history. Being the source and controller of an irreplaceable resource has been the death of more peoples than I can readily name. Also, no political opportunist was ever blind to the fact that there's no unifying force like an external enemy. If one isn't there already, they'll create one. If you're dumb enough to stick around for the next few months, keep an eye on the news. We'll be seeing big, organized demonstrations shortly. The Earth Firsters have gotten real backing lately. They're going to make the offworld colonists a credible and much-hated enemy of Earthbound mankind. An enemy that's free and rich is the best kind. There's nothing like envy to give a little spice to everyday hate."
Thor wondered if Bob had finally pickled his brain beyond repair. "I'll grant you the free part, but rich? Most of the people out there are doing pretty well just to stay alive. It's the toughest kind of frontier, especially in the Belt. All the riches come down here." He waved around, indicating the spectacular mansion.
Bob shook his head and grabbed another glass of wine from a passing robot. "You're not listening, Thor. We're talking here about propaganda. Reality is nothing. Only perception counts. Look, if the news is too depressing for you, watch the pop entertainment programs. Plug your head into a Holoset for a day or two and see how the programming differs from what it was ten years ago. You were plugging into holo ten years ago, weren't you?"
Thor nodded. "That was about when I got away from it, in my mid-teens. Once you start taking up serious study, it's hard to go back to something as stupid as the pop holos."
"When you're a professional bum like me, you get to be an avid observer of popular culture. Often as not, you'll spot new social trends months before the learned researchers start commenting on them over the public information programs. I spend a good part of every day scanning the holos and talking to the street people. I see something really ugly coming along soon."
"You're not a bum," Thor said, smiling.
"Yes I am. I've been a bum all my life, and proud of it. But I'm a rich bum, and that makes a difference. I've been in contact with old friends in the university labs, in the courts, the military, business, everywhere. What I'm getting from all of them is the same: funding cuts, cancelled contracts, standby alerts, all of it aimed at offworld development."
"Even so," Thor said, uneasily, "what's it got to do with me? I'm not out there yet, and when I am I'll be away from them."
"They may not let you go, Thor, unless you move fast."
"It can't be that bad!"
"Thor," Bob said with mock patience, "where did you learn to think like that? Yale? It can always be that bad, except when it's much worse. Earth First has come out of the lunatic fringe. Old-line Republicans, Democrats and Constitutionalists are switching allegiance in droves. And it's not just confined to the U.S. It bids fair to become the first really popular international party since the early days of communism."
"Wait a minute, Bob." Thor held out a restraining hand. "You're going too fast. Last I heard, Earth First was a little group of nutcase xenophobes and antitechs, loud but harmless. Now you're telling me they're the wave of the future?"
"Exactly. You've been in school all your life, Thor, you've turned inward too much. Get down in the streets and look around, only don't drive that car of yours or you'll be dead in no time. The world doesn't consist of colleges and mansions, and you're not engaging in real life by driving antique sports cars or sailing yachts. If you're going to stick around Earthside for a while, I'd advise you to get a look at what's going on with the rest of humanity."
Thor studied a portrait for a few moments to cover his confusion. It was unlike Bob to be so serious and urgent.
"Aha!" Bob said, sounding drunk again. "Here comes my esteemed kinsman and co-director, Murdo McNaughton himself. "
Murdo was elegant in tux and red-heeled boots. He had the spuriously aristocratic look common to tall, whip-thin men with narrow facial features. "Good evening, Robert," he said frostily. "I must take young Thor away from you, I fear. We have things to discuss."
"You go right ahead, Murdo," Bob said, jovially. "I'll just avail myself of your excellent eats and liquid refreshments."
"As you always do. Robert, when are you going to grace our Directors' meetings once more? I really do need your vote on a number of important matters and it's so tedious to send men to scour all your haunts to get you to sign a proxy."
"Matter of fact, I figure to attend religiously from now on. I have a sneaky suspicion that you and the rest intend to sell McNaughton-Ciano Enterprises down the river very soon. You'll have a fight on your hands."
"Just be there," Murdo said.
"Thor, look me up before you leave here tonight. There's some things I want to put you onto." He turned and walked away toward a buffet, listing to one side.
"Every family has its resident eccentric," Murdo said. "Robert is our cross to bear. What were the two of you talking about?"
"Cars, motorcycles, planes, the usual." He was delighted that the glib lie came to him so easily. He had a feeling that he was going to need every bit of obfuscatory advantage he could summon at this party.
"Come along, Thor. Senator Jameson's in the main salon, and I know you'll want to meet him. Anthony Carstairs is with him, and so are a number of important U.N. people. You'll need these contacts in the future."
They walked past the portrait of Sam Taggart. God, I wish the old warrior was with me tonight, Thor thought. Carstairs, now who was that? The name sounded familiar, it had been in the news somewhere lately. Bob was right, Thor thought, he'd had his head in the clouds too much in recent years. He had fallen into the common elitist mindset of thinking that the concerns and interests of the proles were too trivial for his attention. People had walked up the steps to the guillotine thinking that way.
Murdo nodded to the glittering guests as they passed. "Karen is in a towering snit tonight. Is it this emigration business again?"
"I'm afraid so," Thor admitted. "I'm ready to go and she's balking."
Murdo grinned. "Ah, the simple enthusiasms of the young. Thor, space travel is a fine idea, everybody should try it once. But, if you stay out there too long you can't come back. The body just won't readjust. When you and Karen are married, I've arranged for a honeymoon on one of the lunar resorts. After that, we have several openings for people with your qualifications in the Belt, the outer satellites, the ell-fives, just take your pick. That way you can spend plenty of time in space, with frequent returns to Earth and have the best of both worlds. Emigration is one-way."
Thor disliked the man's patronizing tone and he disliked the easy, casual way he was mapping out Thor's future. Now that he thought of it, Murdo had always done that. In fact, it was the practice of the whole McNaughton-Taggart-Ciano family. Now was no time to be openly rebellious, though. He was about to take an irrevocable step in his life, and it suddenly looked as if it wasn't going to be as simple as he had thought. He had to know more. "I'll think about it."
"Good," Murdo said. "I think these people will help you see things in a clearer light." They entered the main salon, a throwback to the opulence of nineteenth-century robber barons. A facade of old-fashioned elegance was laid atop a complex of the latest technology, providing comfort, security and luxury. It was like the McNaughtons, Thor reflected, to pretend to ancestral eminence by aping the manners of earlier tycoons. They had even married some of the family members to the impecunious heirs of ancient European titles, as if anybody cared any more.
"Thor, have you met Senator Jameson?" Murdo asked.
"No, I haven't had that pleasure." Thor extended his hand. He knew of Jameson, of course. The young Constitutionalist senator from Colorado was in all the news reports, lately. He was a likely contender for the presidency of the U.S. within the next decade, once a few old Party warhorses had had their shot at the title.
"Mr. Taggart, it's a great pleasure to meet you." Just in shaking his hand and exchanging greetings, Thor could see why the man had risen so fast and why everyone raved about his great future in politics. He had the instant likeability of the born politician. He inspired confidence just by standing there. He made the commonplace greeting sound like one of the all-time great pronouncements from Olympus. Whatever charisma really was, David Jameson had it.
He was precisely six feet tall and had mature but boyishly handsome features. His gaze was steady and his teeth were perfect. He was groomed within an inch of his life. No breath of scandal had over touched him and he was happily married, a true rarity in the modern world. His speaking voice was deep and well-modulated. He never forgot a face or a name. Like Kennedy and Burdick, he would be the kind of president who seemed to have been born in the Oval Office.
"And this is Mr. Anthony Carstairs, National Chairman of the Earth First Party." Oho, Thor thought, I seem to be tripping all over that outfit tonight. Carstairs was a short, powerful fireplug of a man, neckless and bullet-headed. He had a handshake like a machine tool. He put Thor in mind of an old-time labor union leader. He would have made a very passable Prohibition gangster. This man was not the kind who could be a credible candidate for office, but he would keep the party in line and turn out the vote on election day.
"Pleased to meet you," Carstairs said. "I'll confess I wasn't expecting to feel very welcome here tonight, in the middle of the founding families of space enterprise, but Mr. McNaughton here has been most hospitable." Carstairs had a touch of Liverpool in his accent. "I was surprised to find that we really have a great deal in common."
"I'll be interested to hear about that," Thor said.
"And so you shall," Murdo said. He gestured with a wineglass in the direction of a group of exotically-dressed people who were chattering excitedly among themselves. "We're having a sort of mini-U.N. meeting here tonight After the main festivities are over and most of the guests have gone on to other parties, some important business is to be discussed. I'd like for you to sit in on the meeting, Thor. This is going to be of utmost importance to the future of the family interests."
"I'd be glad to," Thor said. "I notice that there are no Soviets among the UN people."
"They wouldn't show had they been invited," Jameson said. "You see that fellow over there in the robe and and turban? He's a representative of the People's Islamic Republic of Iran-Kazakhstan. The Soviets still claim Kazakhstan and won't recognize any of its representatives."
"The Soviets are headed for the trashbin of history, Thor," Murdo assured him. "All these people here tonight are Third Worlders, and they haven't voted with the Soviets for decades. They are, however, the most powerful single bloc in the U.N. and as such they must be courted."
"What's the nature of this meeting?" Thor asked.
"That will have to wait," Murdo said. "Our security is the best, but we can't very well go searching our guests for bugs, snoops and pickups. The meeting will be in the theater and our precautions will be very thorough."
"Excellent," Carstairs said. "Wouldn't do to let this leak to the media prematurely."
"This is beginning to sound like a conspiracy," Thor said.
Carstairs laughed unaffectedly. "Every political maneuver in history started with a conspiracy. Nothing gets done, otherwise."
"Now tell me," Murdo said, changing the subject, "while we're on the subject of media leaks, what's this I hear about Senator Jameson renouncing his Constitutionalist affiliation?"
"It's true," Jameson said. "I've finally and sadly come to a break with the Party. Over the years, Constitutionalist policy has become as antiquated and irrelevant as Republican and Democrat. They all had their day, but that day is over."
"Senator Jameson has come over to us," Carstairs said. "And I'm going to see to it that he gets our nomination to run for President in the next election."
"Good choice," Murdo said. "Let me be among the first to congratulate you on acquiring the Senator, Mr. Carstairs. He'll make the future of your party."
"The people will make the future of the Party, Mr. McNaughton," Carstairs said, seriously, "but they have to have a spokesman, and I'm certainly not qualified for that task
"Quite so," McNaughton said. "And let me congratulate you, Senator. You'll have a chance at the office while you're still young and vigorous instead of having to wait for seniority to take its course."
"Far more important," Jameson said, "I'll be in the forefront of the movement that will determine the future of mankind on this planet. To serve that cause, even in a small way, is a privilege for which I'm grateful."
Was this really how things got done? Thor wondered. Carstairs obviously meant every word he said. Jameson sounded like he was talking for reporters. It struck him that several people were standing near enough to eavesdrop, and Jameson might expect every word he said tonight to appear on every screen in the country along with the rest of the morning news.
Thor spent the rest of the party in small talk with relatives and acquaintances. He did not see Karen. She was probably still angry with him, and he found that this didn't bother him nearly as much as it should. He looked around for Bob, but couldn't locate him. It had been a long time since Thor had attended a family bash. If the political element, especially the foreign one, was a new factor, there were also some notable omissions. There was not a single Kuroda present.
The two families had been close allies in the early days of commercial space exploration. In recent decades they had been fierce competitors, but they usually observed all the polite conventions on formal occasions. Few of the Kuroda clan had stayed on Earth. On a hunch, Thor made his way into the den. Several of the Islamic fundamentalists were there, getting away from the contamination of alcohol. As he had suspected, the portrait of Goro Kuroda was gone from its place above the mantel. The old samurai had been a close friend of Sam Taggart. Somehow, the whole family was shifting gears. He was glad that he had decided to leave. He didn't like the look of this.
When he returned to the main salon, the party was breaking up. Murdo signaled to him and Thor followed the group of political guests to the theater. It was a small auditorium with a sloping floor and rows of seats. At the bottom of the slope was a small stage surmounted by a multimedia screen.
Murdo mounted the little stage. "Please be seated, ladies and gentlemen. For those desiring them, each seat has a headset for simultaneous translation. This discussion shall be conducted in English, so just key the language of your choice. Are there any questions at this point?"
One of the Islamics stood up and made the usual pro forma protest against being seated with women. No attention was paid the protest, nor was any expected. The house lights dimmed and stage lights came on. "Please forgive the dramatic lighting," Murdo said, "but later we shall have some screen figures for you to examine. Our first speaker is Mr. Boniface, of Haiti. Please give him your closest attention."
Boniface was a plump, professional-looking black man with graying hair and artificial corneas. His clothes were several years out of date. He cleared his throat. "What we discuss here, my colleagues, will be common knowledge in the United Nations within a few days. The purpose of this meeting is to give the nonaligned nations of the world a chance to discuss and prepare themselves for a monumental piece of legislation which is about to be proposed." He had an oddly high-pitched voice.
"The international Earth First Party, of which I have been a member for many years, and of which the distinguished Senator Jameson has recently become a member, have drafted a proposal which they wish to have adopted as law by the United Nations as a whole and, severally and with alterations, by the individual nations as well. I think that you will agree with me that this legislation is not only fair and just, but long overdue.
"The proposal will now be explained to you by Mr. Anthony Carstairs, United States National Chairman of the Earth First Party. Each of you will be given a printout of the complete text of the proposal and the proceedings of this meeting. We ask that you do not communicate any of this to the media until it has been made public in the United Nations General Assembly."
Carstairs took the stand. He had taken off his coat and pushed his sleeves back to the elbows. His forearms, as heavy-muscled as an athlete's leg, were covered with coarse, black hair. The bristly hair of his head was cropped so short that his scalp shone through beneath the overhead lights. The crude vulgarity in these elegant surroundings did not seem to be a calculated pose. Thor had never before seen a man of such forceful presence. He revised the union leader-gangster image. Who was that Italian dictator of the last century? Bob was right, I'm deficient in history, he thought. Mussolini, that was it! But Mussolini had been a strutting buffoon. This man was the real thing. He made men like Murdo and even Jameson fade into the woodwork.
"All right," he began, "I'm no orator, so I'll just speak my mind. Not to mince words, this planet's been heading down the toilet for some time now." Thor felt a touch of amusement. This was what he'd been saying to Karen a few hours ago. "Now is neither the time nor place to thrash out the hundreds of problems that the peoples of the various nations are suffering from. We're here to address the root problem that has lain behind most of the others for more than a century: the drain of manpower and capital into the colonizing of space!"
There was a subdued murmur in the room and Thor looked around for signs of protest at this radical statement. There were none. "Most of you are aware of the policies and beliefs of Earth First. Briefly, when the infamous arms race of the last century wound down, it was replaced by the all-out space race. The prospect of immediate nuclear annihilation was eliminated, but the long-term effects of the space race were as bad and we're feeling those effects right now. The arms race drained wealth and resources from much-needed social programs and funneled it into useless military hardware. Stupid as it was, at least the treasure and the scientists stayed right here on Earth.
"At first, people all over the world sighed with relief. The danger is over, they said. This exploitation of space resources is going to make us all rich, they said. At first, it really did look safe. Sure, people died up there, but it was in small numbers, not like a real war. Even the Djakarta disaster, which was as destructive as a nuclear attack, didn't cause people to wake up to the dangers inherent in the irresponsible way that the commercial exploitation of space was carried out, and still is."
Thor winced. That was striking close to home. The Djakarta Incident had been the blackest mark on man's exploration of space. It had been in 2015. On a routine mission, a chunk of ore-rich asteroidal rock was being steered into Earth orbit when a maneuvering rocket attached to the rock had misfired. Instead of achieving a stable orbit, the rock had struck squarely in the Sunda Strait, inundating Djakarta and the southern tip of Sumatra. The death toll had been over a million and Borneo had tried to take advantage of the disaster by annexing Indonesia. A bloody war had followed, with millions more dead. The International Space Council had forbidden any large chunks of extraterrestrial matter to be brought into Earth orbit again. Mining and refining operations were to take place in deep space from that time forward.
"We've had no such disasters as that in the years since, thank God," Carstairs went on, "but space operations are still carried out in the same antiquated, irresponsible fashion. For a century, now, a very significant portion of the Earth's wealth and time have been spent on building space colonies, wealth and time that might better have been spent solving the problems of this planet. What's more, all too many people have taken advantage of the education provided by the great universities of this planet and then, as soon as they have their degrees and are ready to begin returning to the world economy something of what has been invested in them, they emigrate and go into cushy jobs in the offworld colonies! This Earth-to-space brain drain may prove to be the worst effect of the whole disastrous space program."
Carstairs paused and drank from a water glass on the podium before him. "Well, we can't undo what's been done, but we can correct how it's done in the future. For better or worse, and I happen to think it's for worse, we've become dependent on materials from the offworld colonies and on technologies developed in offworld labs. They have a choke hold on us as deadly as that wielded by the energy cartels of the last century.
"All of which brings us to the proposal which the Earth First Party is putting before the U.N. It's the opening campaign in our program to seize back from the offworld elitists we have created the future destiny of the people on Earth. This bill will be submitted simultaneously to the International Space Council and to the U.S. Senate for ratification. The protocols are as follows:" The lights dimmed further and a facsimile of the printout before Carstairs rolled up on the screen behind him.
"Item One: All technical professions essential to space exploration, settlement and exploitation, shall henceforth be under the licensing board of Space Council member states. A licensed professional must be under contract to the government of a member state.
"Item Two: All professionals in the critical categories may be placed under control of a licensing board even without their applications.
"Item Three: No licensed professional may break contract while on an extraterrestrial assignment. Any contract jumping without first returning to Earth is a felony punishable by imprisonment of up to seven years.
"Item Four: Any individual leaving the environment of the Earth-Moon twin planet system must leave his/her assets, to include currency, stock holdings, bank holdings, real property and any other possession defined by law of the licensing nation as 'asset,' save for such currency, property, etc. as shall be necessary for maintenance of life during the said extraterrestrial assignment, at the pleasure of the licensing government. He/she may reclaim all such assets by returning to the Earth-Moon system within a period of five years except when that individual is absent from the said system under a specific order of the government for a longer period. If he/she fails to return within five years, the said assets are forfeit to the government. The outer-worlders with holdings on the Earth-Moon system may continue to enjoy their property ownership if they return within five years of the passage and ratification of this bill. Until their return, all such assets shall be in custody of the ratifying state or the International Space Council.
"Item Five: All of the above to be in effect immediately. However, those in the critical professional categories who are already off the Earth shall be licensed within six months or be returned to the Earth for retraining."
The screen winked out and Carstairs put his paper down. "Well, there you have it. That's essentially the form in which our proposal will be put before the General Assembly and the Space Council. However, the Earth First Party is truly international, and there might be changes desired by signing member nations, to be binding only upon citizens of those nations. For instance, under some legal systems, the definition of the word 'asset' alone could run for paragraphs or pages."
Murdo rose from his seat and stood beside Carstairs. "Thank you, Mr. Carstairs. Are there any questions or comments at this time?"
"Crap," said a voice from the back of the theater. Thor looked around and grinned. He knew that voice.
"Robert, how did you get in here?" McNaughton was raging beneath his unflappable exterior.
"I walked. You didn't really think you could keep me out, did you, Murdo? Who installed all your security gear?"
"National Fortressystems," Murdo said.
"And who owns thirty percent of National Fortressystems?" Bob asked.
"Hmm, I see what you mean. Well, since you insist, you might as well have your say."
"Yes, I'd be glad to hear what you have to say, Mr—Ciano, is it?" Carstairs seemed genuinely interested, not belligerent. Bob rose from his seat and walked down the aisle, lurching slightly. In one hand he held a huge brandy snifter.
As he passed Thor, Bob winked and whispered: "Just keep your mouth shut, kid."
He mounted the platform. "Mr. Carstairs, you've implied that the current deplorable state of the planet is the result of the expansion of humanity into space, much of that expansion pioneered by the direct ancestors of people in this very room."
"I don't blame our space efforts alone," Carstairs said. "I do say that it has been an important aggravation of other problems and a truly significant drain on our resources. Very limited resources, I might add."
"We'll let that stand. I'm here to tell you that, not only have our space colonies, settlements and exploratory expeditions not been a drain on this planet, they have repaid many times their initial investment. I say further that not only have those enterprises not contributed to the collapse of world order, they're all that have kept this planet from going straight to hell decades ago!" There was a lot of chatter from the audience.
"Robert," Murdo said, "why don't you sit down?"
"No, Mr. McNaughton," Carstairs said, "let him continue."
"Let's have a metaphor," Bob said. "I used to be a slick man with a metaphor, back in my teaching days." He put his brandy snifter on the podium, freeing his hands for gesticulation. "Our situation here on this planet is like that of a ship sinking, only it's sinking very slowly. As the food and water run low, the ship keeps getting low in the water." His hands made settling motions.
"Now, way off in the distance, but just visible, is an island. But, there's only one boat and getting to the island is a dangerous journey, with lots of rocks and tricky currents. However, a few brave souls man the boat and make it to the island. They report back that the island has water and you can grow food there, but it's going to take a lot of work. Go to it, say the people on the ship. A few of the bravest and most enterprising make trips out to the island. Sometimes the boat overturns and people are drowned, but there's always a few volunteers for each trip. Now there's no way that you can get everyone off the ship and to the island in that one little boat. But the fact is that most of those who could go don't want to. They prefer their luxury cabins. Even a sinking ship is more comfortable than an island, until the water comes in under the door.
"As the food and water stocks keep getting lower, the people on the boat keep demanding more from the island. They keep raising quotas on the people on the island even as the ship passengers are falling out and fighting among themselves. And that ship is sinking all the time."
One of the Third Worlders stood up in the audience. "Are you saying that the people of Earth are practicing imperialist exploitation against the space colonists?"
Bob thought for a moment. "Well, I wouldn't have put it that way, but I guess you're right."
"A very pretty metaphor, Mr. Ciano," said Carstairs, "but I've noticed that metaphors are seldom accurate."
"This one isn't really accurate," Bob admitted, "because unlike a real ship the one we're on is getting more crowded all the time and the people on it are starting to blame the folks on the island for the hole in the bottom of the goddamned hull!"
"Go home and sleep it off, Robert," Murdo said. "You're just embarrassing everybody. McNaughton Enterprises will be supporting the Earth First proposal."
"That's McNaughton-Ciano Enterprises, in case you've forgotton, Murdo. And if you think our company is going to support this hysterical garbage, then you and I are going head-to-head." He stormed down from the podium and crooked a finger at Thor as he passed. In the hubbub of the assembly breaking up, Thor left. He retrieved his cape and found Bob standing by his Harley.
"You see why I said you have to get offworld quick?" Bob asked. "Wait six months and you might not be able to go. Or if you do, it'll be as a hireling with more strings on you than a marionette." He waved his printout of the protocols. "Item One makes you a civil servant. Item Four makes you a broke civil servant."
"You're talking as if you expect that nonsense to pass!" Thor said.
"It'll pass, count on it."
"But, if I leave before I finish school and get my degree, I won't have any position waiting for me when I get there. The scientific stations aren't interested in anybody without an advanced degree."
"Then you may have to ship out as a laborer. There are worse things to do at your age. It really is a place where you can work your way up on guts and ability. I'd go right now if I could get a new ticker. But even if you can't go up with your degree, you might be able to protect some of your goods." He handed Thor a small card. "Look this guy up. He's an old friend of mine, name of Richard Swenson. He's a Norwegian, crazy as hell, but he can give you a way to protect some of your money. I'll talk to him tomorrow."
Thor put the card in his pocket, along with his emigration permit. "Thanks, Bob. If you think it's that urgent, I'll talk to him. Tell me something, if you think this thing is inevitable, why did you put on that scene back in there?"
Bob grinned. "Because now they have a villain. They can focus on me and maybe they'll leave you alone while you're making your arrangements. You're going to be under enough pressure, Thor. You're the future of the corporation and it's important to them to get your cooperation in this business. He straddled the bike and kicked it into life. It purred quietly, unlike the old hogs. Even with an I.C. engine license, noisy vehicles were strictly forbidden. Thor shook Bob's gauntleted hand. "See you, kid." Thor watched the taillight careening down the perilous mountain road. Bob was handling the curves with the ease and skill of a sober man one third his age.
Thor made diplomatic farewells. Karen didn't deign to show up to see the guests off. He had been planning to drive back to New Haven after spending a few days in Denver, but he had changed plans. He'd follow Bob's suggestion and spend a while getting a feel of the real world. It had not occurred to him that he had been living in an artificial environment until tonight. As soon as he was on the Interstate highway, he set the car's autopilot for Los Angeles. He cranked the seat back to horizontal and went to sleep.