The Gripping Hand Read online

  "You've been busting your asses to keep me alive. You had to find a decent snow ghost, herd him north into the forest, wait till he killed something, drug him, hover over the trees on a helicopter to shake the snow down to cover him up , . . Twenty or thirty men, a dozen snow buggies, and a helicopter. Indeed, I'm honored."

  "What do you think you've found, Mr. Renner?"

  "Better you should ask, 'What does Horace Bury think we've found?' Me, I thought it was more piracy. Then again, you go to too much trouble; it can't be cost-effective. Religious motives. I'm feeling a little light-headed."

  "I expect you are. Mister Scott . . ."

  Darwin Scott took a bottle of scotch from Renner's pack and set it on the table with a glass. "They tell me this stuff helps."

  Renner poured a hefty shot and drank half of it. "Thanks. Coffee does it even better. What do I call you?"

  "Ah—Mister Elder will do."

  Renner tried to grin. "Like I said, religious motives. You understand: I thought this out last night after I realized the ghost was drugged. I still don't understand all that. You'd have done better just to leave things alone. Bury never cared about your opal meerschaum, and nobody's actually robbing anyone."

  Mister Elder's shadow shifted restlessly. "It's a problem. Many of my people do not feel they earn credit in Heaven by doing nothing. You still have not said what you suspect."

  "I think you've got a periodic Jump point to New Utah."

  The men looked at each other.

  "There's an old description of New Utah system. A good yellow star, and a neutron star companion in an eccentric orbit. New Utah must have had billions of years to build up an oxygen atmosphere after the supernova. The neutron star hasn't been a pulsar for at least that long."

  Renner's head felt clearer. Coffee would have been better, but the drink had helped . . . and he'd had time to think last night. He said, "For most of a twenty-one-year cycle, the neutron star is way out beyond the comets. Quiet. Dark. When it dips close to the major sun, solar wind and meteors rain down through that godawful gravity field. It flares. The Jump points depend on electromagnetic output. You get a Jump point link that lasts maybe two years. That's when you import opal meerschaum, among other—"

  "Enough. It bothers me to be so transparent, Renner, but this is a very old secret. The soil isn't right on New Utah. The True Church would die without periodic fertilizer shipments."

  Renner nodded. "But the gripping hand is Bury. He thinks you're dealing with Moties. If he goes on thinking that . . . Bury's crazy. He'll drop an asteroid on you and explain to the Navy later."

  "An asteroid!"

  "Yeah, he thinks that way. Maybe he'll decide that takes too long and just use a fusion bomb. Whatever he does, it'll be drastic. Then he could clean up New Utah without interference, without the Navy ever knowing."

  "He has abducted Captain Fox," Elder said.

  "If Fox knows where I am, Bury will know."

  "He does not. But—"

  "But he does know where your Jump ships hang out," Renner said. "You've got a problem. Maybe I can help."

  "How?"

  Renner looked pointedly around the room. "As you said, it's an old secret. I'm surprised you kept it this long."

  "There have been few with Horace Bury's resources seeking it."

  "Resources, brains, and paranoia," Renner said. "I guarantee you he won't believe anything you can tell him about what happened to me. Doesn't matter who tells him, either. If I don't get back, he'll think Moties were involved, and he'll know just where to look. I take it I'm under the Hand Glacier? You've got a spaceport around here. A secret one. Bury'll find it."

  "Is there anything you do not know?"

  "Come on, it all fits once you get the key part about New Utah." Renner hesitated. "Then again, I don't truly know that you aren't dealing with Moties. If you're doing that, you've betrayed the human race, and you should be nuked."

  Slowly Mister Elder said, "How can we persuade you?"

  "Easy. We'll clear that up in a couple of hours. I'll tell you then. Meanwhile, let's think about talking Bury out of whatever mischief he's planning. I'd better do that pretty quick."

  "And after that?"

  "Then we talk to the Governor. Look, right now you haven't done anything to get you in that much trouble."

  "Only enough to be hanged for high treason."

  "Technically," Renner agreed. "But if they hanged everyone who trades with relatives on Outie worlds, they'd run out of rope. The only people killed so far were yours."

  "This is madness." A voice with a whine in it. "Elders, brothers, this man knows everything. We can't just let him go."

  "Better what I know than what Bury suspects," Renner said. "Understand something. His Excellency will make sure, I mean really sure, that there aren't any Moties involved. Once he's done that, he'll be so relieved, it won't be hard to get him to talk to the Governor.

  "What's the Governor got against you? A little trading with Outies. Nothing serious. Jackson will be glad of a chance to convince the Church that the Empire's no real threat. He's been looking for someone to negotiate with. And look, if New Utah is dying for lack of fertilizer, they

  should be in the Empire. We'll make them another offer while the Jump point's still open."

  The leading Elder stood. "This must be discussed. Is there anything else you need?"

  "Yeah. There's some coffee in my backpack." Renner got to his feet. He tried rotating his hips, a standard back exercise. He didn't fall down. "I seem to be recovered. Now, you've been wary of launching your ship while Bury's on the Purchase. Correct?"

  "Yes."

  "Take me to it. Show me that ship, no arguments, no phone calls, take me there now. All of you."

  "I didn't give them time to fool with the ship. They couldn't have done much anyway. They led me right to it. I saw everything, outside and in. There's nothing of Watchmaker manufacture. Horace, I know the Motie touch! There's no mistaking their hand. They make one widget do two or three jobs at once, they don't know from right angles, you remember."

  Bury was silent, head bowed, eyes hooded in shadow.

  "I found two variants on the Motie coffeepot. One takes the caffeine out of tea. The other must have been added in the last month, the joins are still new. It filters the hydrogen fuel. There's a layer of Motie superconductor under the reentry shield. All three carried the Imperial Autonetics logo."

  Ruth Cohen was perched at the edge of her chair. "They took you there right away?"

  "I damn well made them. Three different elevators, but I took the whole entourage with me. They cooperated. I'm as sure as can be that they didn't phone ahead. Mister Elder had to threaten the guards with damnation when we got there, and then they made calls while I inspected the outside, but I was inside within five minutes. Bury?"

  Bury's head came up. "Yes?"

  "Do I have your attention? I wasn't sure. Look, if you had access to Watchmakers and Engineers, and you—"

  "I'd kill them. You know that." There was no force behind his words. He looked old, old.

  "Assume, just assume, that they're allies. Pretend you

  trust them. Wouldn't you set them loose on a ground-to-orbit ship? A little improvement in a space shuttle can double the cargo capacity! For a smuggler, that's golden! But it was an old ship, refurbished, and the engineering was entirely human, and not very good at that.

  "These people are not in contact with Moties, Mr. Bury."

  Bury didn't move.

  Ruth Cohen used the stylus to make notes on the face of her pocket computer. "Kevin, I believe you, but we still have to be sure.'''

  "You'll take care of that," Renner said. "They've got a ship on station at that wavering Jump point. Send a small ship with a couple of Navy people to inspect that ship. Go yourself. When they signal that it's clean, we talk to the Governor."

  "It will work," Ruth said. "Governor Jackson would look very good if he could persuade New Utah to come into the Empi
re without a fight, and this might just do it. Fertilizer! Well, they're not the first world to have a soil problem.

  "All right. Between the regulations about Moties and your reputation, we won't have any trouble getting Captain Torgeson to send a scout ship out to the Jump point. One of the local Church people ought to go, so there won't be a fight."

  "Ohran," Renner said. "The one who called himself Mr. Elder is a high-ranking bishop named Ohran. Send him." Renner poured himself a brandy. "And that takes care of that. Mr. Bury—damn it, Horace!"

  Only Horace Bury's sunken dark eyes moved. They burned. "They're not here now. They're still corked up behind the blockade for now. For a quarter of a century I have left it to the Navy to keep them that way. Kevin, I've remembered too much. I've always known how dangerous they are. I manage not to think about it unless I'm asleep. Kevin, we must visit the blockade fleet."

  "What? At Murcheson's Eye?"

  "Yes. I need to know that the Navy is on duty. Else I will go mad."

  Ruth Cohen spoke. "Your Excellency, your dossier indicates that your . . . that the Secret Service may take exception to your plans."

  Bury grinned. "Let them hang me, then. No, I don't mean that, and of course you're right. I'll have to be persuasive in a number of places. We'll have to go to Sparta."

  "Sparta." Ruth Cohen sighed. "I'd like to see Sparta someday."

  "Come with us," Renner said.

  "What? Kevin, I'm assigned here."

  "We can get those orders changed. I can requisition people at need."

  "What need?" she asked suspiciously.

  "Well . . ."

  "I thought so."

  "Actually there is a very good reason," Bury said. "Kevin, you propose to convince the Governor to condone high treason. I do not doubt your ability to justify that on Sparta, but it will do no harm to have another Navy officer confirm our story." Bury drained his coffee. "So. Commander, if you will see to the investigation of the ship at the Jump point, Nabil will make Sinbad ready for the voyage."

  "That'll give me some time," Renner said. "I'm going back to the spill."

  "Surely we have better wines and whiskeys here." Bury glanced significantly at Ruth Cohen. "And better companionship as well."

  "Oh, easily. But that miserable wimp Boynton still has my snow ghost fur. I'm going down to the Maguey Worm and take it back."

  1

  Capital City

  For forms of government let fools contest;

  Whate're is best administered is best.

  —Alexander Pope, "Epistle III,

  Of the Nature and State of Man

  with Respect to Society"

  A.D. 3046

  Imperial University

  The Imperial University was founded in CoDominium times as the University of Sparta and enjoyed close ties to several Earth institutions including the University of Chicago, Stanford University, Columbia, Westinghouse Institute, and the University of Cambridge. In exchange for the privilege of appointing a majority of the regents, the first kings of Sparta endowed the University of Sparta with extensive lands in the hill regions south and east of the capital. Much of that land was subsequently leased to commercial institutions, so that the University enjoys a large income not under political control. The name was changed to Imperial University during the early years of the First Empire.

  The capital has also expanded to engulf lands previously granted to the aristocracy, some of whom retain estates now surrounded by city buildings.

  The study at Blaine Manor looked like what the designer had imagined were the rooms of an Oxford don in the nineteenth century. The furniture was leather and dark wood. Holograms of books lined the seven-meter walls, and a rolling ladder stood in one corner. Roderick, Lord Blaine, Earl of Acrux, DSC, GCMG, Captain ISN (Ret.), frowned at it as he went past. Nobody ever used it except to maintain the hologram generators. He'd sworn a dozen times to have the place redecorated to something more functional, but so far nothing that appealed to him was satisfactory to Sally, and it did show images of real books in his library. As usual he looked over some of the titles. Macaulay's History of England stood next to Gibbon. Crofton's Guide to the CoDominium. Savage's classic Lysander the Great. Ought to read that one again . . .

  Blaine crossed the study and went into the small office off to one side. "I thought I heard a door slam."

  Sally Blaine looked up from the computer. "Glenda Ruth."

  "Another fight?"

  "Let's just say our daughter is not entirely happy with the rules at Blaine Manor."

  "Independent sort. Reminds me of someone I used to know."

  "Used to know? Thank you."

  Rod grinned and put a hand on her shoulder. "Still do. You know what I mean."

  "I suppose—you didn't come in here to talk about Glenda Ruth."

  "No, but maybe I ought to have a word with her."

  "I wish you would, but you never do. What's up?"

  "Got a message. Guess who's coming to visit?"

  Sally Blaine looked back at the computer screen and scowled. "Thank you very much. I've just managed to straighten out our social schedule. Who?"

  "His Excellency Horace Hussein al-Shamlan Bury, Magnate. And Kevin Renner."

  Sally thought. "It'd be nice to see Mr. Renner again.

  And . . . Bury comes with him, I seem to remember. Watchdog. I suppose—"

  "I won't have Bury in our home. He was one of the instigators of the New Chicago revolt."

  Lady Blaine froze.

  He squeezed her shoulder. "Sorry."

  "I'm all right." She patted his hand, then ran fingertips up into the loose sleeve of his dressing gown. Smooth, ridged, hairless. "Your scars are real."

  "You spent weeks in a prison camp, and you lost your friend."

  "It was a long time ago, Rod. I can't even remember Dorothy's face. Rod, I'm glad you didn't tell me then. Nine months on MacArthur with Horace Bury. I'd have spit in his face."

  "No, you wouldn't. You won't now. I know you. I suppose we'll have to see him, but we'll keep it: to a minimum. I gather Bury's done some good work for the Secret Service."

  "Let me think about it. At the worst we can take them to dinner. Someplace neutral. I do want to see . . . Sir Kevin?"

  "Right again, I'd forgotten. I want to see him, too." Blaine smiled. "For that matter, so will Bruno Cziller. I better tell him his crazy navigator is in town. Tell you what, love. Since the news came through the Institute, I'll invite them to the Institute. They may regret that. Everyone and his dog will want to interview them."

  When Sally turned around, she was smiling broadly. "Yes, the Institute. We have a surprise for His Excellency, don't we?"

  "What—hey! He'll think he's back in MacArthur. We'll test out his bioheart!"

  * * *

  **WARNING**

  You have entered the controlled zone of the Imperial capital.

  It is strictly forbidden to remain in this star system without permission. Notify the Navy ships on patrol at the Alderson entry points and follow instructions. The Navy is authorized to use deadly force against uncooperative intruders.

  Transmit your identification codes immediately.

  **YOU WILL RECEIVE NO FURTHER WARNING MESSAGES**

  Cruising through Sparta system could make a man nervous.

  The sky was no different, except in that all skies are different. Stars formed new patterns. The little KO star Agamemnon was a bright white flare growing to become a sun. The companion star Menalaus was a fat red spark. Asteroids sparkled well below Sinbad’s path, and then tiny crescents that showed as ringed and banded gas giants in the screens.

  That was how star travel was. Cruise outward, find the Jump point, Jump across interstellar distance in a wink. Blast across space to the next Jump point. Then cruise inward through the new system, new planets, toward a new world with different climate, customs, attitudes . . .

  But Sparta was the capital of the Empire of Man.

  The black sky wa
s as peaceful as it would have been anywhere; but there were voices. Alter course. Increase deceleration. Watch your exhaust vector, Sinbad! Warning. Identify. Those gas giants, so peculiarly and conveniently close to Sparta's orbit with their massive atmospheres of spacecraft fuel and industrial chemicals, were surrounded by great naval installations massively guarded. Ships guarded the score of Jump points that led everywhere in the Empire. Eyes watched Sinbad as Renner brought the yacht inward.

  Renner maintained his cool as best he could. His image was at stake . . . and Ruth was having a wonderful time, but Bury needed calming. Horace Bury didn't like being watched, particularly by weapons that could tear the skin off a continent.

  Sparta was white on blue, the colors of a nearly typical

  water world. Renner glimpsed the curled shape of Serpens, the mainland; the rest was one tremendous ocean with a few dots of island. The planet's near vicinity swarmed with ships and orbital junk, growing thicker in geosynchronous orbit.

  Customs kept changing Renner's path to avoid collisions as he moved inward. He didn't see much of what he was avoiding, though he did come in view of a tremendous wheel-shaped space station. Most of this was military stuff, he thought. Most incoming ships had to park on the moon; but Customs knew Horace Bury.

  They knew him well, and not as an agent of the Secret Service. They were beginning their search of Sinbad as Renner took the shuttle out of its bay and started his descent.

  It was his first sight of Sparta, and Ruth's, too. They watched avidly as the world came close.

  Water. Sparta seemed all ocean, what he could see through the clouds. The shuttle moved into darkness and he saw only a smooth black curve.

  Then: rough edges on the horizon. Then: lights. Islands, myriads of them, all tiny, all glowing; and a shape like a coiled snake on lire. Sparta was tectonically active, but lava had boiled up preferentially on this limb of the planet. Serpens, the Australia-sized mainland, had one terrific harbor: the land was stretched into a mountainous rugged helix. Mountain ridges were dark patches in the luminescence. Farmland was rectangular patterns of tiny lights. There was a lot of it. City scape blazed; there was a lot of city, too. Even the water crawled with tiny moving lights.