Shining Steel

Chapter Twenty-Five

“So I was great, and increased more than all that were before me in Jerusalem: also my wisdom remained with me."-Ecclesiastes 2:9

By the local calendar it was Christmas Day, Anno Domini 2596, when the ship bearing news of Gamaliel Blessing's promotion set down at Savior's Grace. John watched the landing through his office window; he had been the first to lay claim to a window when the above-ground addition to ITD's headquarters was built, and had made sure he had a good view of the spaceport.

He already knew about the promotion; the ship had transmitted the news from orbit. What had not yet been mentioned was the name of the new planetary administrator. There were three possibilities, as he saw it; either himself, currently the director of planning for all Godsworld; Premosila Kim, director of sales; or someone aboard the ship, sent from Earth to take over.

He wanted the job badly. Premosila was very good at what she did, certainly, and had perhaps the best intuitive grasp of practical psychology he had ever seen, but he had doubts about her ability to handle the job's other aspects. And a stranger from Earth would not know Godsworld the way he did. He had done a good job, he knew, helping ITD fit into Godsworld better than Bechtel-Rand ever did-the old protectorate had added no clients for two years now, while the Free Trade Federation was everywhere on the planet. He deserved recognition for his work.

Besides, it was the only promotion open to him, and he had always wanted to be at the top of his profession.

He watched the freighter settling onto the concrete pavement-the old-line folks in Savior's Grace had put up a fuss about that pavement, but it allowed larger ships to land safely, and when it was explained that that meant lower prices, the old-line folks had been decisively outvoted.

He could stand the suspense no longer. “Get me a line to the ship,” he told the wall.

“ITD Vessel Clydesdale,” a woman's voice answered.

“This is John Mercy; can you tell me whether Mr. Blessing's replacement is aboard?"

There was a moment's hesitation before the woman answered, “Mr. Mercy, I'm just the pilot; they don't tell me what's going on, they just tell me where to put the ship. We have a company executive aboard, but I have no idea whether he's anybody's replacement."

“Oh."

“He'll be debarking in a minute; why don't you come ask him in person?"

“Thanks, I'll do that."

His duties did not ordinarily include meeting new arrivals, but this was a special case; he stood, slapped his belt to be sure his communicator was working, and headed for the field.

By the time he stepped out onto the concrete crates were unloading themselves, sliding out through the upper hatchways and neatly stacking themselves on the waiting cargo platform. Most of the goods would have to be transferred to other containers before sale-Godsworlders were still uncomfortable around machinery that needed no human direction, and besides, the crate's brains were worth reusing.

The lower passenger hatchway was open, and three people had emerged. Two of them were ordinary ship's personnel, come aground on their own business; the third was a silver-haired man in a bizarre dark gray jacket and matching pants of a cut John had never seen before.

“Hlo and j'sevyu,” John said, extending a hand, “Welcome to Godsworld."

“Hlo,” the stranger replied. “I'm Colin Szebenyi."

“John Mercy, director of planning."

“Ah! Good, good-glad to meet you."

“Mr. Seven-Ye…"

“Szebenyi."

“Szebenyi, yes. Mr. Szebenyi, I won't waste any time; why are you here? Are you Mr. Blessing's replacement?"

“Direct, aren't you? Is that the local custom, or is it just you?"

“A little of both.” John noticed that Szebenyi had not answered the question.

“Ah. Well, yes. I'm here to evaluate the situation; the development committee has given me free rein. If I think it's necessary, I have the authority to take over here and run things myself, but I don't plan to-and I don't want to, either. Does that ease your mind?"

John smiled. “Yes, it does. What can I do for you?"

“Take me to Blessing, first off."

Three hours later, as Christmas Day was fading with the setting of the sun into New Year's Eve, John, Blessing, Szebenyi, Premosila, and Kwam? were gathered around the table in Blessing's office.

“It looks good,” Szebenyi said.

“Thank you, sir,” Blessing replied.

“You've got an outlet within ten kilometers of every village on the planet that's not exclusive to Bechtel-Rand, is that right?"

“Yes, sir."

“You've got regular air freight running?"

“Yes."

“Stable currency?"

“Yes."

“You're buying foodstuffs, leather, this weird nearwood fungus, and plenty of handicrafts-anything else?"

“Not really, sir-Godsworld has no fossil fuels at all, since it's never had dense enough carboniferous life and has been geologically stable since before life really even got established. It's extremely poor in heavy metals and even some of the lighter ones. There's no established industry at all-the original colonists were mildly BTN, and with so little to work with…"

John interrupted, “What's BTN? I never heard that term."

“'Back-to-Nature',” Kwam? explained. “Anti-technology. It's a recurring problem on colony planets."

“Aren't any of the other native life-forms useful?"

“Not that we know of; there are no native fauna, only the fungoids-red plants, the locals call them. They aren't really fungus at all, they're a whole new category-but not a very useful one, except for nearwood. They're not biologically interactive with any terrestrial life, though in an emergency they can be eaten without ill effect. The nutritional value of the best of them is low, and the taste is like eating dirt."

John did not consider fungusmeat to be as bad as that, but said nothing.

“We'll want to put a biochemical research team on that all the same,” Szebenyi said. “Let's see… any chance of tourism?"

“I don't think so, sir-the native culture is pretty drab.” Blessing glanced at John, who made no objection. “About the only thing they ever did with real style was fight wars, and of course we put an end to that. They do have some very complex theology, which has produced interesting rituals-but interesting to anthropologists, not tourists. And really, sir, it's a pretty ugly planet. No trees, no real mountains, no beaches worth mentioning. We've had a few stockholders come around to look the place over, and every one of them got bored and left on the next ship out, so I don't think the place has any overwhelming attraction."

“All right,” Szebenyi said. “That's what I'd heard from the computers. Blessing, we've got a new post for you-ITD just got the contract to open Harwood's World, and you've been named as supervisor-assuming you want the job."

Blessing nodded, smiling.

“For the rest of you, after looking things over here, I've decided to cut back operations on Godsworld. This place is a backwater-it's always going to be a backwater. We'll keep up what we've got, but any expansion would be a waste of money; we're already at the point of diminishing return on our investment, because there just isn't anything here.” He glanced at John, the only native Godsworlder in the room, but John simply stared back silently. He had long suspected that the profits to be made on Godsworld were limited. Even ITD couldn't make money from nothing.

“Mercy, you'll be taking over for Blessing for now; Kim, you'll be coming back to Earth as soon as you can get your operation here set up to run without you. Montez, you'll be taking over as second-in-command-use whatever title you like, we'll pay you the same in any case.” He stood up. “Any objections?"

No one spoke.

“Good. Mercy, I want to talk to you alone for a moment about what you'll be doing.” He motioned for John to follow.

John obeyed, and the two men left the room; they strode side by side down the upholstered hallway, neither one speaking.

Szebenyi led the way to John's office; by unspoken agreement neither man sat behind the desk, but instead each took one of the crude Godsworlder chairs John kept handy for visiting locals.

When both were settled, Szebenyi said, “Mercy, you've done good work here, despite your background."

John nodded. “Thank you,” he said.

“Of course, it's your home planet, and that gives you an advantage."

John nodded again.

“Have you ever considered moving on?"

John leaned back thoughtfully. “Can't say,” he said.

He had thought about leaving Godsworld, of course-particularly in those uncertain weeks when he still thought America Dawes might carry out her threat to show the tapes of Tuesday and himself publicly-but never very seriously. ITD had hired him for his knowledge of this one particular planet, after all-why would they move him elsewhere?

“Well, I'll tell you, the reason I wanted to talk to you alone is to let you consider something without having to listen to what anyone else thinks, because we want it to be entirely your own choice. We're putting you in charge of the operation here on Godsworld, and we're perfectly willing to leave you here running it for the rest of your life, if that's what you want. You can have the entire planet, if you want it-we have inside information that Bechtel-Rand has been losing money here and will be pulling out soon, so we'll have the whole place to ourselves. You're a native, so you can get away with a lot-you could pretty much set yourself up as a dictator and I don't think the CRA would care-I know ITD wouldn't. So that's one choice."

He paused.

“The other possibility-if you want, we could use a good administrator in our development department. We could give you some training back on Earth, and probably find you a job as planetary administrator on a new world somewhere, maybe even as supervisor on an opening. There's no guarantee of how that will turn out, of course; development of rediscovered planets is a tricky business. They won't be like Godsworld, most of them. And you won't have a shot at a dictatorship; that's only possible here because you're a native, which makes you acceptable to the CRA, and because the market here on Godsworld isn't going to be expanding any further. We don't set up static situations on planets where there are still untapped profits. If you move on, you'll have one of the most challenging jobs in the galaxy; if you stay here you'll have the whole planet. It's your choice."

“If I go,” John asked, “who'll take over here?"

“Montez,” Szebenyi replied, “Kwam? Montez.” He stood up. “You'd have to stay long enough to train him and get everything squared away here-five or six months, Terran calendar."

John stood as well.

“You don't need to decide immediately,” Szebenyi said. “Just let me know before I leave, or send a message on the next ship. If you wait any longer than that I can't promise the offer will still be open."

“I'll let you know,” John assured him, as he saw him out of the office.

When Szebenyi had gone he settled behind his desk and turned his chair to stare out at the landing field.

Two small fliers were cruising overhead, their polished steel sides gleaming bright in the last rays of the setting sun; he remembered how his sword had flashed in much the same way when he led his cavalry charge into Marshside. He remembered the madness of the battle and the mess afterward.

After all this time, so far from the machine gun that Little St. Peter had sold the elders of Marshside, Bechtel-Rand was giving up, defeated by ITD's competition; he had finally won his long battle, and without ever killing a single Bechtel-Rand employee, yet the fight and eventual victory were none the less satisfying for that.

Now, if he chose, he could sit back and enjoy the fruits of his victory. He had just been offered Godsworld, the entire planet, as his reward-but he didn't want it. Kwam? could have it. The fun, the excitement, the challenge lay in the taking, not the having! Much as he hated to admit it, America Dawes had been right, right from the first; she had understood him before he understood himself. He would not, could not rest on his laurels. He looked up to where the stars were coming out above the Clydesdale.

Whether by sword or starship, he was a conqueror, and the entire galaxy awaited his steel.

– END-

Visit www.Fictionwise.com for information on additional titles by this and other great authors.