The Gripping Hand Read online

  The tops of the mountains to the east and north were hidden in clouds.

  Renner pointed. Far to the south they could see where the continent ended in steep mountains. "Blaine Institute is down there. According to the maps, it's over a hundred kilometers to the ocean."

  "One benefit of empire," Ruth said. Renner raised an eyebrow. "Clear air. Out in the new provinces they're still burning coal."

  "True enough. Bury makes a fortune bringing in fusion plants and power satellites. It helps if your customers have to buy—"

  "They don't have to buy from Bury. And even if they did, hey, it's worth it!"

  Renner took a deep breath. "Sure."

  The bus landed on the hotel roof at exactly 0830. When Kevin and Ruth got on, a small man with a round face and red-veined nose looked at them quizzically. "Sir Kevin Renner?"

  "That's me."

  "Durk Riley. I'm your guide, sir. And you must be Commander Cohen."

  "Did we order a guide?" Ruth asked.

  “Nabil," Renner said.

  "I've reserved you seats, sir." Riley indicated three places near the front of the bus. "Always like to have Navy people with me. I put in nearly forty years. Retired as coxs'n about twenty years ago. I'd have stayed in, but my wife talked me out of it. Civilian life's no good, you know. Nothing to do. Nothing important. Well, I don't mean that the way it sounds."

  Ruth smiled. "We understand."

  "Thank you, ma'am. I don't usually talk so much about myself. Sure glad to see Navy people. You Navy, Sir Kevin?"

  "Reserve. Sailing Master. I went inactive about the same time you retired."

  Kevin and Ruth took their seats and settled back. Riley produced a hip flask. "Little nip?"

  "Thank you, no," Kevin said.

  "You're thinking it's a bit early. Guess it is, even for Sparta, but with the short days we tend to do things a little different here."

  "Well, why not?" Kevin reached for the flask. "Good stuff. Irish?"

  "What they call Irish most places. We just call it whiskey. Better strap in."

  The sky was as crowded as the sea. The bus rose through a swarm of light planes and heavy cargo craft and other airfoil-contoured buses, curved wide away from an empty area a minute before some kind of spacecraft came whistling through it, and went east toward the mountains. It followed the tiers of houses and estates up into the clouds. They broke through cloud cover to see that the black mountaintops went up high above them.

  "That's pretty," Ruth said. "What do you call those mountains?"

  "Drakenbergs," Riley said. "Run down most of the length of the Serpens. Serpens is the continent."

  "Barren up here," Renner said.

  The Serpens had a sharp-curled spine, black mountain flanks bare of life. Sparta hadn't developed foliage to handle that soil, and it held too much heavy metal for most earthly plants. The tour director told them that and more as they flew along the spine of the continent.

  The bus dropped back below the tablecloth of clouds and followed the curve of the mountains to where they dipped into the ocean, dropped to half a kilometer altitude, and headed south across the harbor.

  "That's Old Sparta to the left," Riley said. "Parts date back to CoDominium days. See that green patch with tall buildings around it? That's the Palace area."

  "Will we go closer?" Ruth asked.

  " 'Fraid not. There are Palace tours, though."

  Boats of every size moved randomly across the calm water. They continued south. The calm water of the tremendous harbor changed from green to blue, sharply. The sea bottom was visible, still shallow; the boats were fewer, and larger.

  "It doesn't show," Ruth said.

  "Yeah." Renner had guessed what she meant. "They rule a thousand worlds from here, but . . . It's like the zoo on Mote Prime. Sure it's a different world, sure there's nothing like it anywhere in the universe, but you get used to that when you travel enough. You expect major differences. But it's not fair, Ruth. We look for worlds like Earth because that's where we can live."

  Riley was staring. Other heads had turned from windows. Zoo on Mote Prime?

  "Defenses," Ruth said. "There's a difference. Sparta must be the most heavily defended world of all."

  "Yeah. And all that means is, there are places the bus won't go. And questions Mr. Riley won't answer."

  Riley said, "Well, of course."

  Ruth was smiling. "Don't test that, all right? I know you. We're on holiday."

  "Okay."

  "I don't know anything about Sparta's defenses anyway," Riley said uncomfortably. "Mr. Renner? You were on the Mote expedition?"

  "Yup. Riley, I didn't keep any secrets, and it's all been declassified. You can get my testimony under What I Did on My Summer Vacation, by Kevin Renner. Published by Athenaeum in 3021. I get a royalty."

  There was a storm to the east. The bus flew west and dropped even lower (the ride became bumpy) to fly above a huge cargo ship. Big stabilizer fins showed with the roll of the waves, waves the size of small hills. There were pleasure boats, too, graceful sailing boats that rolled as they climbed up and down the water mountains; their sails were constantly shifting along the masts.

  The bus skimmed over a big island patterned in rectangles of farmland. "That's the Devil Crab," Riley said. "Two sugarcane plantations and maybe a hundred independents. I'd love to be a farmer. They don't pay taxes."

  Renner jumped. "Hey?"

  "Population's dense on Sparta. The cost of land on Serpens is . . . well, I never tried to buy any, but it's way up there. If the farmers didn't get some kind of break, they'd all sell out to the people who build hotels. Then all the food would have to be shipped in from far away, and where would the Emperor get his fresh fruit?"

  "Wow! No taxes. What about these guys below us?"

  "They don't pay either. Transport costs are high, and the produce isn't as fresh when it gets to Serpens. The Serpens farmers can still compete. Even so, this is the way I'd go. Lease an island a thousand klicks from Serpens and raise beef. There's no room to raise red meat on this part of Serpens."

  They veered away from another rocky island that seemed to be covered with a patchwork of concrete slabs and domes. "There's some of the defense stuff," Renner said. "Battle management radars, and I'd bet there are some pretty hefty lasers in there."

  "It's a good guess, but I wouldn't know," Riley said.

  Presently the bus turned north and east and flew toward the narrow hooked spit that enclosed the harbor from the west. "That was the prison colony back in CoDominium days," Riley said. "If you look close, you can see where the old wall was. Ran right across the peninsula."

  "There? It's mostly parks," Ruth said. "Or—"

  "Rose gardens," Riley said. "When Lysander Two tore down the old prison walls, he gave all that area to the public. There's the rose festival every year. Citizen fraternities compete, and it's a big deal. We do tours every other day, if you're interested."

  "Where's Blaine Institute?" Ruth asked.

  "Off east. To the right there. See that mountain covered with buildings?"

  "Yes—it looks like an old painting I saw once."

  "That's the Blaine Institute?" Renner said. "Captain Blaine's richer than I suspected. And to think I knew him . . ."

  "Did you, sir?" Riley sounded impressed. "But that's the Biology section of Imperial University. The Institute is the smaller area next to it." He offered his binoculars. "And Blaine Manor sits on the hill just east of that. Would you like a tour of the Institute?"

  "Thanks, we'll be there this afternoon," Ruth said.

  The bus crossed the narrow spit and then stayed well out over the harbor. The sun had burned off most of the cloud cover over the city. The skyline was a jumble of shapes: in the center and to the south were massive square skyscrapers, thin towers, tall buildings connected by bridges a thousand feet above street level. North of that were lower granite buildings in a classic style. In the center were the green parks of the Palace district.


  Renner looked thoughtful. "Ruth, think about it. The Emperor is over there. Just lob a big fusion bomb in the general direction of the Palace . . ."

  He stopped because everyone on the bus was looking at him.

  "Hey! I'm a Naval Reserve officer!" he said quickly. "I'm trying to figure out how you keep someone else from doing it. With this many people on Sparta, and visitors from everywhere, there's bound to be crazies."

  "We get our share, Sir Kevin." Riley emphasized the title so everyone would hear it.

  "We do check on people coming to Sparta," Ruth said. Her voice had dropped. "And it's not all that easy to buy an atom bomb."

  "That might stop amateurs."

  "Oh, all right," Ruth said. "Drop it, huh? It's a depressing thought."

  "It's something we live with," Riley said. "Look, we have ways to spot the crazies. And generally professionals won't try because it won't do them any good. Everybody knows the royal family's never all in the same place. Prince Aeneas doesn't even live on this planet. Blow up Serpens and you'll get the Fleet mad as hell, but you won't kill the Empire. One thing we do not do—sir—is tell everybody on a random tour bus all about the defenses!"

  "And one thing I don't do," Renner answered, and his voice had dropped low, "is guard my mouth. It would prevent me from learning things. Even so: sorry."

  Riley grunted. "Yes, sir. Look over there. Those are the fish farms." He pointed to a series of brightly colored sea patches divided by low walls. "That's another good racket. Fish from offplanet don't do well out in Sparta's oceans. You want sea bass or ocean cat, it'll come from here or someplace like it."

  The limousine was waiting at the hotel. Bury wasn't smiling. When they were airborne, he looked to Ruth. "What did Kevin do this time?"

  "Eh?"

  "The Secret Service asked me to verify that this was indeed my pilot, Sir Kevin Renner. Asked me."

  "Oh," Ruth said. "Well, he did talk about lobbing an atom bomb at the Palace."

  Bury did not look amused. "I would prefer not to be thrown off this planet."

  "It wouldn't help my career much," Ruth said. "Look, maybe I better talk to them."

  "You need not bother," Bury said. "Once they were certain of his identity they lost interest."

  "Now I know I want to see your file, Kevin," Ruth said.

  The limousine stayed low over the outskirts of the central district. Massive granite buildings stood next to parks.

  Ruth stared through binoculars. "Department of Public Health," she read. "Stock Exchange. Wow, that's the Colonial Office! It doesn't look big enough."

  "Nor is it," Bury said. "That building houses the offices that might be of interest to the general public, and the secretary of state. The computer and most of the offices are scattered all over the city. Many are below ground."

  "Maybe someday they'll build a new building and put everything in one place," Ruth said.

  Bury chuckled. "That is the new building. You would not suppose its cost, most of it paid for by taxes on interstellar trade."

  "It doesn't look new," Renner said.

  "No government building looks new," Bury said. "They are deliberately done in classical styles. Some show Russian influence."

  "I see plenty of skyscrapers and tall walls, though," Renner said.

  "Certainly. Sparta is the financial center of the Empire," Bury said. "Land near the city is very costly. Only the government could afford anything as inefficient as classical architecture. Ah. To illustrate—"

  He pointed. "The Blaine Institute."

  The Institute looked south at ocean beaches. The complex of buildings rose up the side of a steep cliff. Balconies broke the steep lines, and halfway up was a large flat roof dotted with small trees and picnic tables.

  The limousine landed on the roof. Two ramrod-straight young men opened the doors and helped Bury into his travel chair. The ocean breeze was brisk on the rooftop. Sunlight danced on wavetops below. Ruth stretched and took a deep breath. She turned to Renner, but he wasn't looking at her.

  Renner stared at a large elderly man in police uniform coming toward them. "Kelley," he said. "Gunner Kelley."

  "That's me, Sir Kevin. Your Excellency."

  "By damn, it is you. Ruth, this is Gunner Kelley. Imperial Marines. He was in MacArthur, Kelley, this is Lieutenant Commander Ruth Cohen."

  "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

  "I thought that was a police uniform," Renner said.

  "Well, it sort of is," Kelley said. "I'm security chief here at the Institute. But there's not a lot of need for that, so I've got plenty of time to greet visitors. The Earl will be glad to see you."

  "Earl?" Renner said. "Isn't Blaine Marquis of Crucis?"

  "No sir," Kelley said. "Not yet. The Marquis isn't as young as he used to be, but he still gets to Parliament." He gestured. One of the uniformed staff opened the door to the interior. Another guided Bury's travel chair.

  The inside corridor was short. Scenes from Mote Prime decorated the walls. At the end of the corridor was a semicircular reception desk. The receptionist wore a skirted version of Kelley's uniform, and a businesslike sidearm. She held out thick badges on a tray. Their names and pictures were already on the badges.

  "Welcome, Your Excellency. Sir Kevin. Commander Cohen," the receptionist said. "If you'll just thumbprint the badges . . ."

  When Renner touched his thumb to the badge, it glowed softly green.

  "Thank you. Please be sure to wear these at all times. Enjoy your stay."

  There were three elevators beyond the reception desk. Kelley passed them all and indicated a fourth around the corner, marked private. Renner noted buttons for thirty-eight floors. Kelley used a key before punching the button for twenty-four.

  When they were inside, Renner frowned. "I thought you said there wasn't much need for security."

  "No, I said there wasn't much need for a security chief," Kelley said. "And there isn't. I've got a good staff."

  "Do you often have trouble, then?" Bury asked.

  "Not too much, Your Excellency. But we have had some threats. There are people who don't like Moties. Don't want us studying them."

  The twenty-fourth floor was paneled in dark wood, and thickly carpeted. The walls were hung with photographs. Ruth stared at one of them. "Kevin—Kevin, that's you."

  Renner looked. "Yep, in the Museum on Mote Prime. That statue—that was the time machine."

  "What?" She started to laugh, changed her mind, and looked more carefully.

  "Didn't work."

  "Ugh. What are those things attacking? The, uh, time machine?"

  "Evil, aren't they? The Moties told us they were mythical demons defending the structure of reality. Later we found out they were Warrior-class Moties. You would not want those loose in the Empire."

  Kelley led them to the end of the corridor, knocked, and opened a walnut door. "My Lady. M'Lord, your visitors."

  * * *

  Rod Blaine stood as the others entered. He was far enough away that he didn't have to shake hands. "Welcome to the Institute, Your Excellency. Delighted to see you again. Kevin, you're looking good. Civilian life must suit you."

  Bury managed to stand and bow. "My Lady. Lord Blaine. And may I present Lieutenant Commander Ruth Cohen. She is traveling with us."

  Kelley excused himself and closed the door.

  "My Lady," Ruth said. She bowed to Rod.

  Rod took her hand and kissed it. "Welcome to the Institute, Commander." Her ears were turning pink. Easily flustered, Rod thought. Traveling with Kevin Renner should have cured her of that.

  Bury sat carefully. "If you'll excuse me . . ."

  "Oh, certainly," Sally said.

  "It's been a while," Rod said. "Kevin, how have things worked out for you?"

  "Not as bad as I thought they would. By the way, Ruth knows our dread secret. Most of it, anyway." Renner turned to Sally. "We heard about your uncle. Sorry. He was a good man, even if he did force me into a career of espionage."

&
nbsp; Sally nodded. "Thank you. Uncle Ben never would take care of himself."

  Ruth looked wide-eyed. "Uncle Ben—that would be Senator Benjamin Fowler. Kevin, the Prime Minister recruited you into the Secret Service?"

  Renner laughed. "No, Lord Blaine did that. Senator Fowler declared an emergency, so my discharge wasn't any good."

  "What can we do for you, Excellency?" Rod asked.

  "Why, nothing, really . . ."

  "Your Excellency, it has been a busy day, and while I understand the custom of circumnavigating the subject before mentioning it, Lady Sally and I have a great deal more work to do."

  "Ah. Thank you, my Lord," Bury said. His smile didn't seem forced. "I hope to persuade you to use your influence with the Navy. My Lord, the blockade is now a quarter of a century old. We do not agree about the Moties. You see opportunities where I see threats. Yet you agreed to bottle them within their own solar system. As did you, my Lady. We are all agreed that the situation cannot continue forever."

  "Yeah, we can accept that," Rod said. "We bought some time."

  "What do you want from us?" Sally asked. She was no longer trying to be polite.

  "More time," Bury said firmly. "My lady, I must know that the blockade is effective. I wish to look for myself. I wish to talk to those closest to the problem. I want to look for alternatives, to see what we—what the Empire of Man—can do to be certain that the Moties will not free themselves and explode through the Empire."

  "That's a big order," Rod said.

  Bury said nothing.

  "Horace wants Navy clearance to go have a look at the Crazy Eddie Squadron," Renner said.

  Bury nodded in tiny motions. "Precisely."

  "Not our decision," Sally said quickly.

  Bury looked steadily at Rod Blaine. Rod spread his hands without shrugging. "As Lady Sally says, it isn't our decision. We gave up our seats on the Commission years ago, when we moved the Institute to Sparta. But consider this, Excellency. How could anyone prove that the Moties are safely locked up?"