Escape Velocity

6

But if it was such a deep dark secret, how did you find out about it?” Dar demanded.

Sam’s lips thinned. “Oh, all right! If you really have to know—I was a clerk in the classified division, with a top-level security clearance.”

“Oh.” Dar’s lower lip thrust out as he nodded slowly. “Yeah, that makes sense. Weren’t your bosses a little, ah, taken aback, when you resigned?”

“Very,” Sam said grimly, “especially when they found out I’d turned into a Hume. I had a very difficult time getting a passport.”

“How did you manage it?”

Sam shrugged. “Very involved. Let’s just say I know how to handle a bureaucracy.”

“Uh, yeah, I don’t think I really want to know the details.” Dar pressed a hand over his eyes. “But you did get away. That’s what counts.”

“Not all that much,” Sam answered with a grim smile. “There was a commercial traveler outbound from Terra on the same liner I was on, and he made every transfer I did, up until the last leg from Haldane IV to here.”

“Agent, following you?” Cholly grunted.

Sam nodded, and held out her glass for a refill. “You sound as though you recognize the symptoms.”

“In a manner of speaking.” Cholly poured. “Now, I’m certain it’s just my nasty, suspicious mind, but—I do believe that nice young blond man from Bhelabher’s staff’s been keeping an eye on you.”

“Just my glamor and magnetic personality, I’m sure,” Sam said dryly. “I’ve noticed him, too. In fact, I’d’ve had to’ve been blind not to.”

“Well, every secret agent has to learn his trade sometime.”

“I know a way to ditch him,” Dar ventured.

“So do I,” she said sourly. “Leave Wolmar.”

Dar stared. “How’d you know?”

Sam’s head lifted. “You mean you were seriously going to recommend that? What’s the matter, am I getting to be an embarrassment?”

“No, no, just the other way around!” Dar said quickly. “You see, I’ve got this great offer to leave, but I have to take somebody with me who knows the ropes in the Terran bureaucracy.”

The silence stretched out while Sam’s lower lip slowly protruded. “So. They made you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say couldn’t—but I wasn’t about to. How about it?”

Sam frowned. “The idea’s got its appeal—I’ve learned what I wanted to here. But this place has a lot of advantages over Terra, if you know what I mean.”

“No,” Dar said promptly. “I can’t imagine how any place could have an advantage over Terra—especially a backwater like this.”

Cholly turned away to put glasses back on shelves, whistling tunelessly between his teeth.

“Don’t worry,” Sam said bitterly, “you will. And, although I wouldn’t mind a return visit to Terra, I have a notion I’d very quickly find myself looking back to this place with nostalgia. How do I get back here if I want to? It took me ten years of saving, just to get the fare out here in the first place.”

“Well, I think Shacklar might be induced to guarantee your return fare,” Dar said judiciously. “He seemed awfully anxious to get me to leave.”

“Sheriff trouble?”

“No, no! I’m taking Bhelabher’s resignation back to Terra!”

Cholly dropped a glass and spun around. “That’s all I need to hear. You’re going. An’ so’re you.” He aimed a finger at Sam. “Can’t leave this poor, innocent lamb to the mercy of them Terran wolves. I’ll guarantee yer return fare, if it comes to it.”

“Done!” Sam slapped the bar. “I’m off on the road back to Terra! But why can’t Bhelabher take it back himself?”

“Because he’s staying here.”

Cholly dropped another glass.

“Oh.” Sam chewed that one over. “How about his staff?”

“They’re staying too. Seems we’ll be needing ‘em.”

“No, don’t tell me—you’re cutting into me glassware.” Cholly held up a hand. “Shacklar’s giving ‘em all jobs.”

Dar nodded. “Bhelabher’s going to revise the filing system and streamline the bureaucracy.”

“Well, there goes private enterprise,” Cholly sighed.

“No, Bhelabher’s not that bad,” Sam said judiciously. “He did a fine job as long as he was only in charge of the records for Terra. It was when they put him in charge of the records for the whole I.D.E. that he ran into trouble.”

“Oh?” Cholly looked up, with a glimmer of hope. “He had the ability, but couldn’t handle responsibility, heh?”

Sam nodded. “Something like that. As long as he was able to take orders, he was fine. It was being top man that stymied him.”

“Better ‘n better.” Cholly nodded. “Then no doubt he’ll take Shacklar’s orders to leave some glitches in the bureaucracy.”

Sam frowned. “Why?”

“It makes for flexibility, lass. If the bureaucracy’s too efficient, it gives the central government too much power, and they control every aspect of life. But a little inefficiency … now, that leaves some room for a man to beat the system… Well! You’ll only have one problem, then, Dar.”

Dar looked up, startled. “What’s that?”

“Shacklar thinks you’re Ardnam Rod now, and all yer papers’ll be made out to him.”

“Oh.” Dar pursed his lips. “That will be a problem, won’t it?”

“But not much of one.” Sam patted his arm reassuringly. “Trust your traveling bureaucrat.”

Dar frowned. “Where’s he going?”

“Who?” Sam pressed up to the window, craning her neck. “That guy in the coverall, going over to the control shed?”

“Yeah—he’s the pilot! Who’s going to fly the ferry up to the courier ship?”

Sam shrugged. “His relief, I suppose. No doubt he’s taking a planet-side leave.”

“He’s just had a week’s worth—or, no, I can’t really say that, can I?”

“Right. For all you know, he’s run daily missions since Bhelabher came in.”

“But I didn’t know we had a relief pilot down here.”

“Is it your job to know the duty roster?”

Dar turned to her. “You know, as a traveling companion, you might get to be a bit difficult.”

Sam shrugged. “You’re free to choose any other BOA clerk you can find here.”

“Well, I suppose I could talk to one of Bhelabher’s people.” Dar turned back to the window. “But somehow, I think you’d be a little more …”

“Dependable, I assure you,” murmured an approaching voice.

Dar stiffened. “Company.”

“… Oh, I have no doubt of that,” Bhelabher was saying hurriedly. “But the situation is not. I am concerned that our courier might be delayed.”

Dar and Sam turned around slowly as Bhelabher and Shacklar came toward them. “I suggest you have a word with him yourself, and warn him of the pitfalls of the journey.” Shacklar looked up. “Well, Ardnam! This will be ‘bon voyage,’ then.” He clasped Dar’s hand tightly and gave it a shake. “You’ve been a credit to my command here, young man. I’ll be sorry to lose you—but do remember how great a service you’ll be performing, for all of us who remain here on Wolmar.”

“It’s a pleasure to do my duty, sir.” Dar took Shacklar’s commendation with a grain of salt, since “Ardnam” had only been under Shacklar’s command for a week.

Shacklar released his hand and stepped back. “I believe the Honorable has a word for you, too.” Bhelabher pressed in, and Shacklar turned away to Sam.

“Be careful, young man, do be careful,” Bhelabher said loudly, drawing Dar further away from Shacklar and Sam. He dropped his voice to a low rumble. “Now, I hadn’t wanted to mention this to the general; after all, there’s no need to worry him with something over which he has no control.”

Dar instantly felt a need to worry. “Uh … such as?”

“When I was back on Terra, and in an office of some influence, some members of the LORDS party approached me—you know of them?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dar wet his lips. “They’re the arch-conservatives in the assembly, aren’t they?”

“I wouldn’t have used the ‘arch’ a week ago. I do now, though.” Bhelabher shook his head in wonder. “What an amazing planet this is!”

“About the LORDS,” Dar prompted.

“Indeed. They approached me, to see if I would be interested in joining in a scheme to overthrow the Secretary-General and establish a temporary LORDS junta, to govern while the I.D.E. government could be restructured along more efficient lines.”

Dar stood rigid, feeling like a resistor in a high-voltage circuit. “You’re … talking about a dictatorship.”

“Certainly; it’s the most efficient form of government there is!”

“Oh, sure.” Dar passed a dry tongue over drier lips. “Of course it’s efficient. It just wipes out all those silly time-wasters—you know, parliamentary debate, public input, elections, trial by jury. All those silly, inefficient boondoggles.”

“Indeed it does. And as an administrator, I can assure you—they do take a great deal of time. They also encumber an amazing number of people, keeping them from tasks in production.”

Dar nodded sardonically. “And all you get for all that time and trouble are little, unnecessary luxuries, such as liberty and justice.”

“Make no mistake; they are luxuries.” Bhelabher smiled with sudden, amazing warmth. “But they seem much more important out here, where they help people to actually do something!”

“Kind of makes up for the cost?”

“Well worth it, well worth it! In fact, I’ve a suspicion liberty is actually cost-efficient, in a growing society.”

“But you couldn’t prove it, to the LORDS?”

Bhelabher smiled sadly. “Would they even listen?”

“I’d think so.” Dar frowned. “Even a conservative can have an open mind.”

“Not if he’s in power. Efficiency matters far more to those who give orders than to those who take them.” Bhelabher held up a forefinger. “Take the Minister of the Exchequer, now—his purpose is to keep the economy of the whole I.D.E. family of planets as high as possible.”

“Uh, with respect. Honorable—isn’t the correct word ‘profitable’?”

“No, it certainly isn’t—but the Minister very quickly comes to believe that it is. Consequently, he tends to frown on anything that costs more than it makes.”

Dar frowned. “Such as?”

“Such as trade to the outlying planets—for example, Wolmar.”

“Now, hold on!” Dar was amazed to realize he was getting angry; he fought down his temper, and went on. “We always ship out a lot of pipe weed.”

“Indeed you do—but I’ve seen the trade reports, and the goods I.D.E. sends to you cost far more than your pipe weed brings—not even counting the shipping cost. No, I.D.E. shows a definite loss on you.”

“Well, you’ll pardon me if I think we’re worth it!”

“Of course—more than worth it. But how do you explain that to the Minister of the Exchequer?”

“Hm.” Dar frowned. “I see the problem. And there’re a lot of planets like ours, aren’t there?”

“Upwards of thirty.” Bhelabher nodded. “Thirty frontier worlds, and the Minister shows a loss for each of them—thirty or forty billion BTUs apiece. It adds up to a very substantial drain on the economy.”

“It’ll pay off, though—someday!” Dar’s temper kindled again. “Give us time, and we’ll be sending out more than we bring in!” A sudden thought nudged Dar’s brain. He cocked his head to the side, gazing at Bhelabher through slitted eyes. “It’s no accident that you mentioned the Minister of the Exchequer, is it?”

Bhelabher stared at him in surprise. Then he smiled sheepishly. “Indeed it’s not. Yes, the Exchequer was the LORD who came to call on me. And his argument was very persuasive—very persuasive, indeed! And once he had me believing that the outlying planets should be cut off and left to their own devices, he arranged my appointment as governor.”

“So … that’s … why!” Then another sudden hunch hit, and Dar frowned. “You wouldn’t be telling me this if you didn’t think I could do something about it.”

“I don’t know if you can or not,” Bhelabher said earnestly, “but you must try. It isn’t easy to gain an appointment with the Secretary-General, young man, but if you can, you must tell him that Electors Boundbridge and Satrap are leaguing with General Forcemain to attempt a coup d’etat. Can you remember those names?”

“Boundbridge, Satrap, and Forcemain.” Dar nodded, repeating them silently in his head, getting the meter down. “Boundbridge, Satrap, and Forcemain … yeah, I’ll remember. But this is the top man in all of human civilization we’re talking about, Honorable. He’s not going to believe the ordinary young punk off the street without some pretty powerful evidence!”

“He shall have it.” Bhelabher pressed a slip of paper into Dar’s hand. “Memorize that set of numbers, young man, and when you’ve done so, burn the paper. The Secretary-General has only to put them into the nearest computer terminal, and the screen will display an excellent little collection of documents, complete with signatures.”

Dar stared at the slip of paper. “But … but how did you …?”

“Find them?” Bhelabher smiled. “I do give myself some credit, young man; and I know that I am an expert on data storage and retrieval. When I’d spoken with Minister Boundbridge, I was thoroughly convinced; but my bureaucrat’s instincts still functioned, almost by themselves. I was determined to aid the LORDS’ coup; but I was also determined that I would not be made a scapegoat if anything went wrong.”

Dar’s eyes widened. “My lord! Is human trust that far gone on Terra?”

Bhelabher waved the objection away, irritated. “It has been for centuries, young man—probably ever since the Chinese invented bureaucracy. One of the first rules you learn in an office is, ‘Get the directive in writing—and keep a copy.’ And if I knew that, certainly Satrap and Forcemain did, too, plus whomever else was involved in the conspiracy. I knew they’d each have saved their own bits of evidence.”

“But how could you find it?”

Bhelabher smiled, preening. “People don’t hide things in chests with false bottoms, or secret rooms, anymore, young man. They hide them in computers, with secret activation codes. But whatever code one man can think up, another can deduce—especially if he has his own computer to do the donkey-work of searching. I am an expert, after all—and I did have some time.”

Dar stared. “You mean you actually managed to break each of their personal codes?”

“Only Satrap’s and Boundbridge’s; General Forcemain held his inside the military computer, which is somewhat better protected against even expert pilfering. But the Electors’ dossiers sufficed—especially since they directed me to several others. No, young man, that code I’ve given you will reveal enough documented evidence to convince even the Secretary-General.”

The slip of paper suddenly seemed to burn Dar’s fingers. He held onto it resolutely, the numbers fairly searing his retinas. “Somehow I don’t think I’ll have any trouble remembering these numbers now, Honorable.”

“Stout fellow!” Bhelabher clasped his arm and pumped his hand. “I’ll be eternally indebted to you—and so will quadrillions of other persons, most of whom have not even been born yet!”

“I’ll collect when they’ve grown, and the interest has, too.” Dar forced a smile. “Don’t worry, Honorable—I’ll do my best.”

“More than that, no man can ask.” Bhelabher looked up. “Except possibly your commander; I see he wants another word with you.” He stepped aside, and Shacklar stepped up. “It’s about time to depart, Ardnam.”

A high-pitched whine hit their ears as the ferry’s coolant pumps started up. Sam pushed her way through the door and strode over to the small ship.

“Allow me to escort you,” Shacklar murmured, taking Dar by the elbow and steering him out the door.

Once outside, he raised his voice to be heard over the beginning rumbles of superheated steam. “You do realize the importance of the mission you’re undertaking?”

“Yeah, to make sure BOA leaves us alone,” Dar called back. “Uh, General …”

Shacklar gave him an inquiring blink.

“The Honorable just told me about a coup the LORDS’re planning, back on Terra. Think I should take him seriously?”

“Oh, very seriously. I’ve been sure it would happen for quite some time now.”

Dar whirled to stare to him, appalled. “You knew?”

“Well, not ‘knew,’ really. I can’t tell you the date of its beginning, nor who will be behind it—but I do see the general shape of it. Any man who’s read a bit of history can see it coming. On the inner worlds, it’s all about you, the signs of a dying democracy. I’d been watching it happen for twenty years, before I came out here.”

“And that’s why you came out here?”

Shacklar nodded, pleased. “You’re perceptive, young fellow. Yes. If democracy is doomed on the interstellar scale, it can at least be kept alive on individual planets.”

“Especially one that’s far enough away from Terra so that whatever dictatorship replaces the I.D.E. will just forget about it,” Dar inferred.

Shacklar nodded again. “Because it’s too costly to maintain communication with it. Yes. By the end of the century, I expect we’ll be left quite thoroughly to our own devices.”

“Not a pleasant picture,” Dar said, brooding, “but better than being ruled by a dictator on Terra. So what should I do about it?”

“Do?” Shacklar repeated, surprised. “Why, there’s nothing you can do, really—except to make the quixotic gesture: inform the media, if you like, or the Secretary-General, or something of the sort.”

“You can’t mean it,” Dar said, shocked. “We can’t let democracy go down without a fight!”

“But it already has gone down, don’t you see? And all you can gain by a dramatic flourish is, perhaps, another decade or so of life for the forms of it—the Assembly, and the Cabinet, and so forth. But that won’t change the reality—that the frontier worlds have already begun to govern themselves, and that Terra and the other Central Worlds are already living under a dictatorship, for all practical purposes. Ask anyone who’s lived there, if you doubt me.”

Dar thought of Sam’s disgust and despair, and saw Shacklar’s point. “Are you saying democracy isn’t worth fighting for?”

“Not at all—but I am saying that all such fighting will get you is a lifelong prison sentence in a real, Terrestrial prison, perhaps for a very short life. The press of social forces is simply too great for anyone to stop. If you really want to do something, try to change those social forces.”

Dar frowned. “How can you do that?”

Shacklar shrugged. “Invent faster-than-light radio, or a way of educating the vast majority to skepticism and inquiring thought—but don’t expect to see the effects of it within your lifetime. You can start it—but it’ll take a century or two before it begins to have an effect.”

“Well, that’s great for my grandchildren—but what do I do about the rest of my life?”

Shacklar sighed. “Try to find a nice, quiet little out-of-the-way planet that the new dictators are apt to overlook, and do your best to make it a pocket of freedom for the next few centuries, and live out your life there in whatever tranquility you can manage.”

“Which is what you’ve done,” Dar said softly.

Shacklar flashed him a smile. “Well, it’s still in process, of course.”

“It always will be, for the rest of your life. Which is how you’re going to maintain your illusion of meaning in your life.”

“Quite so,” Shacklar said, grinning, “and can you be certain it is an illusion?”

“Not at all,” Dar breathed. “If I could, it wouldn’t work. But that line of thought is supposed to induce despair.”

“Only if you take it as proof that there is no purpose in life—which your mind may believe, but your heart won’t. Not once you’re actually involved in it. It’s a matter of making unprovability work for you, you see.”

“I think I begin to.” Dar gave his head a quick shake. “Dunno if I’m up to making that little ‘pocket of freedom,’ though.”

“You’ll always be welcome back here, of course,” Shacklar murmured.

“Two minutes till lift-off,” declared a brazen voice from the ship.

“You’d better run.” Shacklar pressed a thick envelope into Dar’s hand. “You’ll find all the credentials you’ll need in there, including a draft on the Bank of Wolmar for two first-class, round-trip fares from Wolmar to Terra.” He slapped Dar on the shoulder. “Good luck, and remember—don’t be a hero.”

Dar started to ask what he meant, but Shacklar was already turning away, and the ship rumbled threateningly deep in its belly, so Dar had to turn and run.

“Took you long enough,” Sam groused as he dropped into the acceleration couch beside her and stretched the shock webbing across his body. “What was that high-level conference all about?”

“About why I should flow with the social tide.”

“Hm.” Sam pursed her lips, and nodded slowly. “Quite a man, your General.”

“Yeah. I really feel badly about deceiving him.” Dar rolled back the envelope flap.

“What’s that?” Sam demanded.

Dar didn’t answer. He was too busy staring.

“Hi, there!” Sam waved. “Remember me? What have you got there?”

“My credentials,” Dar said slowly.

“What’s the matter? Aren’t they in order?”

“Very. They’re all for ‘Dar Mandra.’ ”

“Oh.” Sam sat quietly for a few minutes, digesting that. Then she sighed and leaned back in her couch. “Well. Your General … perceptive, too, huh?”