“One planet,” the acting captain breathed. “One wretched sunless planet.”
“It’s enough, sir,” Flandry said. Exhaustion pulsed through him in huge soft waves. To sleep … to sleep, perchance to dream … “On a collision course with Saxo. It’ll strike inside of five years. That much mass, simply falling from infinity, carries the energy of three years’ stellar radiation. Which will have to be discharged somehow, in a matter of seconds. And Saxo is an F5, shortlived, due to start expanding in less than a begayear. The instabilities must already be building up. The impact—Saxo will go nova. Explode.”
“And our fleet—”
“Yes, sir. What else? The thing’s wildly improbable. Interstellar distances are so big. But the universe is bigger still. No matter how unlikely, anything which is possible must happen sometime. This is one occasion when it does. Merseian explorers chanced on the datum. Brechdan saw what it meant. He could develop the conflict on Starkad, step by step, guiding it, nursing it, keeping it on schedule … till our main strength was marshaled there, just before the blowup came. We wouldn’t be likely to see the invader. It’s coming in ‘way off the ecliptic, and has a very low albedo, and toward the end would be lost in Saxo’s glare and traveling at more than 700 kilometers per second. Nor would we be looking in that direction. Our attention would be all on Brechdan’s forces. They’d be prepared, after the captains opened their sealed orders. They’d know exactly when to dash away on hyperdrive. Ours—well, the initial radiation will move at the speed of light. It would kill the crews before they knew they were dead. An hour or so later, the first wave of gases would vaporize their ships. The Empire would be crippled and the Merseians could move in. That’s why there’s war on Starkad.”
Ranjit Singh tugged his beard. The pain seemed to strengthen him. “Can we do anything? Plant bombs to blow this object apart, maybe?”
“I don’t know, sir. Offhand, I doubt it. Too many fragments would stay on essentially the same path, I believe. Of course, we can evacuate Starkad. There are other planets.”
“Yes. We can do that.”
“Will you tell me now?” Dragoika asked.
Flandry did. He had not known she could weep.
18
Highport lay quiet. Men filled the ugly barracks, drifted along the dusty streets, waited for orders and longed for home. Clamor of construction work, grumble of traffic, whine of aircraft bound to battle, were ended. So likewise, after the first tumultuous celebrations, was most merrymaking. The war’s conclusion had left people too dazed. First, the curt announcement that Admiral Enriques and Fodaich Runei were agreed on a cease-fire while they communicated with their respective governments. Then, day after day of not knowing. Then the arrival of ships; the proclamation that, Starkad being doomed, Empire and Roidhunate joined in hoping for a termination of the interracial conflict; the quick departure of the Merseians, save for a few observers; the imminent departure of most Imperial Navy personnel; the advent of civilian experts to make preliminary studies for a massive Terran project of another sort. And always the rumors, scuttlebutt, so-and-so knew somebody who knew for a fact that—How could you carry on as if this were ordinary? Nothing would ever again be quite ordinary. At night, you saw the stars and shivered.
Dominic Flandry walked in silence. His boots made a soft, rhythmic thud. The air was cool around him. Saxo spilled radiance from an enormous blue sky. The peaks beyond Mount Narpa thrust snowfields toward the ghost of a moon. Never had the planet looked so fair.
The door was ajar to the xenological office. He entered. Desks stood vacant. John Ridenour’s staff was in the field. Their chief stayed behind, replacing sleep with stimulants as he tried to coordinate their efforts around an entire world. He was in conversation with a visitor. Flandry’s heart climbed into his throat. Lord Hauksberg!
Everyone knew Dronning Margrete had arrived yesterday, in order that his Majesty’s delegate might make a final inspection tour. Flandry had planned on keeping far out of sight. He snapped to a salute.
“Well, well.” The viscount did not rise from his chair. Only the blond sharp face turned. The elegantly clad body stayed relaxed, the voice was amused. “What have we here?”