Imperial Stars 2-Republic and Empire Page 5

  "What is all that about?" snapped Olivera.

  "I'm not sure yet," said Ching abstractedly. "But basically, if you accept the Special Theory of Relativity, the reason that the speed of light cannot be exceeded is that mass is infinite at the speed of light, hence it would take an infinite force to accelerate it to that speed.

  "But, if there were a drive whose thrust was a function of the mass it was accelerating, then, as mass increased, thrust would increase, and at the speed of light, theoretically, where mass was infinite, thrust would also be infinite. And if the thrust-mass equation involved a suitable exponential function—in theory, anyway—thrust could become transfinite."

  "Making it possible to go faster than light!" said Olivera excitedly. "Yes, yes, Dr. Ching. If there ever is an Overdrive, it will have to be developed along those lines! Tell me, how close are you?"

  Ching laughed bitterly. "As I said, perhaps as much as twenty years away. Who can tell? Right now, all I have is a point of view, a direction in which to proceed. I must experiment with substitutions, then I must develop the proper thrust-mass equation. And at that point, the real work only begins. I must then develop a theoretical basis for a drive that can utilize the thrust-mass equation, a drive, where, not only does thrust depend on mass, but in the precise proper function as well. It's a very long way off."

  "But man, it would be an Overdrive!"

  "Not even then," said Ching. "That would be the end of my work, and the beginning of someone else's. I am not a practical scientist. Someone else would have to take my equations and develop the actual Overdrive."

  He sighed and shrugged. "That's why I can't understand why Earth won't let me be. All I want is to be free to develop my equations. It's my whole life! I could build no drive, I—"

  "When you rule an empire of more than sixty planets, over a time differential of over two hundred years," said Captain Peter Reed, "you must plan and plot far ahead. You must take a very long view."

  "Well, now that we know what we've got," said Olivera, "what are we going to do about it?"

  Captain Reed drummed his fingers nervously on the desk top. "I'll be damned if I know," he said. "Fact: an Overdrive would be the greatest commercial coup in history. Fact: it would take about twenty years to develop one, from the start we have. And finally, fact: we will have to let ben Ezra aboard on our next planetfall. He'll be waiting for us, and there'll be no escaping. That's why he's let us get this far. This, gentlemen, is what is known as a bind."

  "Time," said Ching absently, "why does it always come down to time? The Overdrive wouldn't even be necessary, if it weren't for the time factor. Then Earth would've let me continue my work unmolested. And now, it's a matter of time before ben Ezra gets me, too little time—"

  "You're a mathematician," said Peter Reed. "You should know that time underlies the Universe, space . . . history—"

  "Time," said Olivera. "Peter, we've just got to save the Overdrive! It's bigger than us; it's bigger even than the Outward Bound. It's bigger than Earth! We've just got to buy the time, somehow."

  "Twenty years," said Peter Reed. "In twenty days, we'll have to go into Deep Sleep, or we'll run the risk of depleting our oxygen, our food, our water. And when we come out, Jacob ben Ezra will be waiting for us."

  A slow, grim smile parted Ching's tight lips. "Twenty years—" he said slowly. "Captain, where are we heading?"

  "Out to the outer ring, maybe to Toehold."

  "And how long will such a trip take?"

  "About a hundred and twenty years."

  "Captain," said Ching, "we don't all have to go into Deep Sleep, do we? There would be enough food and air for, say, one man to stay awake, for say, twenty years?"

  Peter Reed suddenly became aware of the feverish glow of the abstract fanatic in Ching's eyes.

  "You mean you would stay out of Deep Sleep? You would die in space, in the nothing between the stars? You would be alone, utterly alone, for twenty years."

  "I am well aware of the consequences, captain. Nevertheless, it would enable me to complete my work. That is all that matters. Could it be done?"

  Reed stared wonderingly at the small man. "Sure. There'd be plenty of food and air for one man to do it. By a factor of ten, at least."

  "Well then, captain?"

  "Are you sure, Dr. Ching? It's one thing to talk about it now, but when you've been alone for one, five, ten years—"

  "I am willing to take that chance."

  "Well . . . we could rig up a cubicle so that you could go into Deep Sleep any time it got to be too much for you—"

  "Why, he might complete his work, and still make it to Toehold!" cried Olivera.

  "He might," said Reed. "Of course, even then, we would still have the problem of dealing with ben Ezra—"

  "Oh, space, Peter!" yelled Olivera. "One thing at a time. This is it! This is the only way!"

  "I suppose you're right, Manny. Have your boys set up the necessary automatics. Let Dr. Ching get acquainted with our computer."

  "Thank you, captain," said Ching. "We will beat them, after all."

  "Perhaps," said Reed. Is your we the same as my we, he thought; is your them the same as my them?

  Olivera had ceased his pacing. He appeared lost in thought.

  "Manny," said the captain, reading his old friend's mood. "Manny, what is it?"

  "Dr. Ching," said Olivera, "what will we have when your work is finished, I mean, what end result?"

  "Why, I hope, an equation giving a principle upon which an Overdrive could be built," said Ching gravely.

  "A principle," said Olivera slowly. "An equation. But not plans, not blueprints, not even a schematic diagram."

  "What do you expect of me?" said Ching plaintively. "I'm a mathematician, not an engineer. Such a thing would take a pragmatic scientist, working hand in hand with—"

  "Yes," said Manuel Olivera, "so it would."

  "Manny!" shouted the captain. "You wouldn't—"

  "I must, Peter, I must! Someone must. We've got to have more than an equation, when we run into ben Ezra. If we've got pragmatic plans, we can send out all six of our gigs to Toehold. It's an undeveloped planet, they'd never be able to do anything with an equation. But plans— And ben Ezra would have to destroy seven targets, instead of one. Someone would get through."

  "It would not be as bad for him, captain, as it will be for me," said Ching. "He could stay in Deep Sleep until I was ready for him. It would only be a few years for him."

  "All right, Manny," said Reed, "you win."

  But even as he gave the orders for setting up the automatics, something was nagging at the back of his mind.

  Disperse the plans indeed! Sacrifice the Outward Bound! There must be a better way. Perhaps, ben Ezra could be fooled—just this once. What if he got Ching? Might it not be possible to convince him that Ching had never talked? Perhaps, perhaps—

  Even as the nothingness of Deep Sleep overtook him, Peter Reed was still dreaming of the greatest commercial coup in history.

  Jacob ben Ezra was dissatisfied, and he didn't know why. His ship was already orbiting Toehold, the Outward Bound had been spotted, a week away, all was set, and within eight days, he would have Ching.

  But somehow, he felt dissatisfied.

  "David," he said. "I feel dirty."

  "But, sir, why?"

  Ben Ezra lit a cigarette, the thirtieth of the twenty-four hour period. As far as he could remember, it was a record for him.

  "We're men of space, David," he said. "We're no more emotionally bound to Earth than Reed is. Homo Interstellarus, I think of us as. An Overdrive is something we should welcome, not suppress."

  The young commander was silent. To him, ben Ezra knew, orders were orders. He had been born aboard ship, the Fleet was all he knew or cared about. And the Fleet was an agent of Earth.

  "Don't you see, David? Of course you don't! Our duty as officers is clear—to obey orders. But we have a duty as men, as well. And, by space, that duty is to preserve
the Overdrive!"

  "You would disobey direct orders, sir?"

  "No, dammit! I've been in this service all my adult life. Orders must be obeyed. If the Fleet decided to take the law into its own hands, we'd be no better than pirates. No, David, orders must be obeyed. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. It won't help me sleep any better, or enable me to smoke fewer of these infernal cigarettes."

  "No, sir."

  "I almost hope . . . I almost hope—"

  "What, sir?"

  Ben Ezra grinned humorlessly. "I almost hope Peter Reed can figure out a good way to trick me. I'd almost like to see him get out of it."

  Manuel Olivera held the sheaf of papers in front of him. "Seven years!" he said. "Seven awful, lonely years, the two of us working together. But here it is, here it is!"

  Peter Reed looked in wonderment at Olivera. His hair was now flecked with gray. He had lost fifteen pounds. But the greatest change was in his eyes. There was a haunted fire, an emptiness. What those seven years must've been like, thought Reed.

  "And now he's dead," said Olivera. "Dead of old age."

  "But did he get into the cubicle?" asked Reed. It was essential to have Ching's body.

  "Yes, he got in. But he was a broken old man. Even as I watched him go under, I knew he would never survive the thaw." Olivera sighed heavily. "It was hard for me, but what was it for him! Twelve years! Twelve years alone! It was a full twelve years before he thawed me out."

  "But he did it," said Reed.

  "Yes, he did it."

  "And now we have ben Ezra to deal with. He's already orbiting Toehold. Six days—Manny?"

  "What, Peter?"

  "I don't suppose we could rig up an Overdrive? We have plans, blueprints—"

  "Not a chance. There's a good three or four years' work, technical experimentation needed, and even if we had the time, we need things we couldn't possibly make ourselves."

  Reed shrugged. "Just thought I'd ask. We're sitting on top of a mint—"

  "A mint!" roared Olivera. "A mint! Is that all it means to you, a commodity to sell? Peter, I didn't think you were such a fool. Is that what Ching died for? To line our pockets?"

  "Ching died for that mysterious thing called abstract knowledge, and you know it, Manny," said the captain. "He didn't care any more about giving the Overdrive to Man than he did about the profit!"

  "Profit! You think you can make a profit out of this? Think, Peter, think. What will happen to the Outward Bound when Man has the Overdrive? We'll be finished.

  "All tradeships will be finished. We owe our existence to the time lag, as much as Earth's rule does. I thought you realized that from the beginning. I thought you were willing to sacrifice it for Man. I . . . I was a bigger fool than you are!"

  It hit Reed like a piledriver. Manny was right. The Overdrive meant the end of the tradeships. Selling the Overdrive would ultimately be the end of the Outward Bound, of the way of life he had followed for close to a thousand objective years.

  Peter Reed knew that if the Overdrive became known, he would be the last captain of the Outward Bound.

  "You're right, Manny," he said. "I suppose that solves our problem. We'll just give it all to ben Ezra."

  "Will we now, captain?" sneered Olivera. "Even if you don't care what this means to Man, think of your own hide. What do you think ben Ezra will do if he knows we know?"

  "Why, hell—"

  "Exactly. He'll kill every one of us. Or at least haul us back to Earth, where the best we can expect is to be imprisoned for the rest of our lives. Without trial."

  Reed cursed. It was true. The only thing to do, is to play it through. At least, if we can fool ben Ezra, I can make my own decision.

  "Well, captain?"

  "Destroy those plans. But first, microengrave them on some part of the ship, a wall, a toilet, anywhere. Don't even tell me where. I don't want anyone but you to know, till this is over. Then destroy our transmitters. Make it look like they've been out ever since Maxwell, but make it look like an accident."

  "What about Ching? Should we destroy the body? Maybe we can convince ben Ezra that he was never aboard."

  "Not a chance. I've got it! Rig his cubicle so that it looks like the machinery failed, and he died of old age, inside the cubicle. Can you do it?"

  Olivera puckered his brows. "Won't be easy," he said, "but I think so."

  "Well, that's all we can do until ben Ezra boards."

  "You're going to try and convince ben Ezra that Ching never talked? You expect him to be so stupid as to swallow that?"

  Peter Reed licked his lips.

  "No," he said, "but I know Jacob ben Ezra. What I'm banking on, is that he'll try and convince himself."

  "To what do I owe this pleasure, Jacob?" said Peter Reed, sitting behind the big mahogany desk.

  "To what—Peter, you know I've followed you all the way from Maxwell," said Admiral Jacob ben Ezra.

  "All the way from Maxwell!" exclaimed Peter Reed. "Why in blazes didn't you give me a call on the . . . oh, oh! I keep forgetting that the radio's out of commission. Then you did call me?"

  Ben Ezra looked at his side, and then at the ceiling. "Yes, I did call you. Is your radio really out of order?"

  "Freak accident," said Reed. "Meteor hit the radio shack. Small one, but enough to smash things up. Say, you wouldn't have a spare F-46E transmitter housing?"

  "I'll see what I can do," said ben Ezra coolly.

  "Roger, get us some drinks, will you?"

  Roger Reed produced four of the hot-cold cocktails.

  "These are most amusing, Jacob," said Captain Reed.

  "I left Earth about the same time you did, this time, Peter," said ben Ezra. He lit a cigarette.

  "Still smoking those filthy things, eh?" said Peter Reed conversationally.

  "Captain Reed," said ben Ezra, "aren't you even interested in why I've followed you for a hundred light-years?"

  Reed laughed. "Something sinister, Jacob? I assumed that when you hailed us at Maxwell, and we didn't answer, you thought we were in trouble, and—"

  "Really, Peter!" said ben Ezra. "I'll come to the point, even if you won't. Do you have a passenger?"

  Peter Reed frowned. "So that's it," he said. "Look, Jacob, we're fully insured for this kind of thing. Million credit liability policy. It's a hefty premium, and the chances of it ever happening are so slight, but—"

  "What in blazes are you talking about?"

  "Why our passenger, of course," said Reed blandly. "Isn't that what you're talking about? I sure as hell don't know how you found out, but I assure you it was a legitimate accident, and we're fully covered."

  "Covered? Accident?"

  "Oh, come on, Jacob, stop playing cat and mouse with me!" snapped Reed. "All right, all right, if that's the way you want it, I'll tell you the whole thing as if you didn't know what happened."

  "I certainly wish you would," said ben Ezra.

  "Well, we did have a passenger. Picked him up on Maxwell. Strange little fellow called Ching pen Yee. That Director, what was his name?"

  "Lazlo Horvath," said David Steen.

  "Yes, yes, Horvath. The dirty crook. Told me some kind of fish story about how this Ching was some kind of important scientist. Well, ordinarily, you couldn't fool me with a thing like that, but as you know, we have the force field to sell this trip, and Horvath simply didn't have anything better to pay for it, so I took a chance on this Ching. What a joke!"

  "Joke?"

  "Yes," said Reed. "Scientist? Why, the man was a raving lunatic! Classic case. Paranoid delusions. Thought the entire Terran hegemony was out to get him. Literally. Not only that, but delusions of grandeur as well. Why, he thought he was the greatest thing since Einstein! Secret of immortality, conversion bomb, all the usual mythical nonsense."

  "A madman?" said ben Ezra, his eyes narrowing to slits.

  "What a madman!" exclaimed the captain. "To top it all off . . . why, do you know what, Jacob? He thought he had the secret of Overdriv
e as well!"

  "Really," said ben Ezra, perhaps a shade too dryly.

  "I swear, I expected him to pull the Philosopher's Stone itself out of his pocket!" laughed Peter Reed.

  "Indeed."

  "Where is this Dr. Ching?" said David Steen.

  Ben Ezra flashed him a dirty look.