Sunrise He got down on one knee and scooped some of it up in his hands. Dust and small crystals, dirty with specks of oxides and sand. How deep was the surface layer in this particular location? More than ten meters? Then a thick silicate strata. Then igneous rock, then magma all the way down to the cold and compacted iron ball. He got back on his feet and thoughtfully brushed the palms of the gloves lightly together. At first glance, a substantial project, made even more so by the indications that they wanted to go the express route. At second glance, quite interesting due to the extraordinary location. At third glance... Two figures slowly made their way toward him, their boots sinking knee-deep into the sulfur for each laborious step. Even through the mist of the dark, motion-hinderingly dense atmosphere, he noticed that they hadn’t cleaned their suits, so static electricity made the dust cling to the synthetic fabric like glue. Bright yellow on construction-work orange. Unflattering. Sloppy. A suitable place to start. Strange, he thought while they approached, how thoroughly accustomed we all still are to an Earth-bound life. Forty generations of space exploration and telecommunication, and still we profoundly prefer to be no less than one meter apart when we start a conversation with a stranger. Face to face. Body language, of course. A greeting smile, slightly nervous. An exaggerated puzzled frown. A sly blink in the eye. A quick glance up and to the left. An averted gaze, treacherous or shy or submissive. Such an important tool of communication between sentients, revealing and disguising emotions, opinions, objectives. The lubricant of society, someone had called it. So, he thought, a few grains of sand in it should do wonders. “Welcome, Mr. Hirondelle. I am Miss Gdynia, this is Miss Wessel.” “Miss Wessel, Miss Gdynia,” he nodded. “Your space suits are dirty.” In unison, the two entrepreneurs looked down themselves, then their partner, came back up both worried and forcedly humorous. “Yeah, well, it’s a dirty business.” He fixed a neutral gaze on Miss Gdynia. Said nothing. Provoked the slight, but to his eyes obvious cringe when she realized the many possible meanings of such a statement, and how ambiguity of that sort was not to be recommended. Not to him. Not now. “I see,” he said and turned five degrees to study the horizon, leaving her to simmer in it for a second of silence. He turned back, unnecessarily brushed a speck of nothing off his shoulder and had one corner of his mouth twitch. “I couldn’t agree more.” “Mr. Hirondelle,” said Miss Wessel, relieved, “thank you so much for coming. We know you must be very busy, so we thought we’d start right away with a general technical overview, then move on to certain points in the plan that we think you’ll find interesting.” He nodded regally. “If you would come this way, Mr Hirondelle?” Miss Wessel said, indicating the little group of structures she and her colleague had come from. He set his planetfall suit on Dusty and the exoskeleton embedded in the suit, already compensating for the enormous pressure, made parametric adjustments to have him float to the top of the surface. Then, hands dignifiedly clasped behind his back, he strode leisurely off between the two struggling women. “And how long have you two known each other?” They looked at each other, started answering simultaneously, then after some discussion agreed that they had been friends since they were both twelve. Promising, he thought. Two female entrepreneurs, friends since school, now well into their adulthood, experienced in the field, first own project, all their savings and then some put into it. As a rule of thumb, projects initiated by women teams never became overnight successes, and hardly ever turned out as overnight disasters, but surprisingly often they grew over time to be major and mature players in their fields of business. Steady, safe growth was what could be expected. No super-charismatic CEO, no uncontrolled tantrums, no insane schemes that could collapse in a second and take everything with it. Little chance of embezzlement or dishonesty toward the investors. Not a sure thing, though, nothing ever was, but as close to a long-term blue chip investment as anything. In Hirondelle’s experience, about the only factor that could conceivably bring it to a collapse was a major falling-out among the principals. With two long-time friends, not three, and no representatives of the other gender in the mix, the risk of that happening in this case was, he judged, minimal. And that was no good to him. He leaned back, as in contemplation, all the time watching them at the edge of his field of vision. They were happy with their own performance, old and experienced enough to know that they had a good case and that most doubts and protests on his part could be countered. They felt on top of the situation, tensions and nerves now largely dissolved. But not entirely. Because, all three in the room knew, the two entrepreneurs still had another inquiry to make, absolutely central to the project. It was an inquiry most would find distasteful, if not downright shocking. They had no way of knowing how he would react, and so they waited for an opening, a more relaxed atmosphere. If none presented itself, and Hirondelle had no intention of helping any such situation along, the point would come when they simply could no longer stand not to know. The time they would allow to elapse until this point was important and indicative. Thus they could be gauged, measured for degree of pain-avoidance, willingness to take risks, sensitivities of social standards but, first and foremost, for determination to get this project off the ground regardless of social discomfort. Ideally, they should have included in the presentation at least a hint of what was to come. He glanced at his chrono. “Right, that was the general overview, was it?" He put both his palms flat on the table. “Before you proceed, I have a question. What about a permit?” Miss Wessel looked at him, surprised. “Mr. Hirondelle, there’s a standing official permit for all the planets and moons in this system.” “Yes, I know that. But I must make sure that you know it. I do not want to end up telling you important details you should already know.” She held his gaze for a second, then looked aside, skeptical. “Now then,” he said with some condescension. “You said there were additional points you wanted to raise?” “There are. One point, I suppose, was the permit issue which we just dealt with, if there was some confusion about that. Then there’s the safety. We must be absolutely sure that no harm comes from our... uhm... novel way of doing this.” “Yes?” “We want a certain level of safety. Not for us; for the civilians. It’ll be expensive. What I’m saying is that if the Buthillaron Corporation is not willing to pay for the seemingly unproductive safety measures, as specified by us, we’ll have to go elsewhere.” There was a long silence. Too long. Finally, Hirondelle spoke with a voice as icy as he could get it. “Miss Wessel, I can only assume from your behavior that we cannot expect any level of trust or candidness between us. This, in my opinion, is not a good way to start our joint venture. Threats to go elsewhere,” he drew the two words out in distaste, “will not be well received. Nor would you take well to such a statement from the side of Buthillaron. Not that we would ever make one.” He paused, waited for one of the women to draw breath to say something, then started again. “‘Seemingly unproductive,’ you say, as if Buthillaron has no regard at all for the safety of the public. Yes, I am aware that our image in some media owned by our direct competitors is less than favorable. But I would question the common sense of anyone who would for a second believe such drivel and slander about a conglomerate which is held in the highest regard by the Federal government.” Miss Gdynia wanted to speak, he could tell, so launched another volley. “If there is any doubts, I would like to assure you that Buthillaron knows how to handle issues of public safety. We are not the Empire, for heaven’s sake. I can’t even begin to comprehend what would possess you to- yes!” he barked at Miss Gdynia, who had subconsciously resorted to raising her hand to get his attention, like in school. “Mr. Hirondelle, of course we don’t mean to imply that Buthillaron should in any way be less concerned by public safety than we are. We would simply like to emphasize that this side of the project is also of concern to us.” “Well, there is certainly no doubts about that now. Please, do go on.” The two women carefully avoided exchanging glances, and apparently decided not to pursue the issue. “The plan requires the use of two slightly modified small plasma accelerators, each mounted on a suitable ship. Miss Gdynia and I will pilot them. Since our experience is mainly with Griffins, we suggest, in fact strongly suggest, that two such ships be temporarily provided from Buthillaron’s commercial fleet.” “Strongly suggest. Strongly suggest. What you mean, of course, is ‘demand’. I find myself questioning your choice of words, Miss Wessel.” She had had enough, he could tell. Her face was reddening slightly, her posture stiffened and her eyes blinked rapidly in preparation. Her limit had been reached and she would now fire back, a telltale sign of a well developed sense of self-esteem. She fixed her eyes on him. “I will ask you to not tell me what I mean by my own utterances, Mr. Hirondelle. I said ‘strongly suggest’ and that was precisely what I meant. Please try to at least pretend that we are all responsible adults here. We are not doing this for fun, you know.” Hirondelle calmly met Miss Wessel’s lightning-shooting stare, but was in fact more interested in the reaction of Miss Gdynia. She had gone pale at her friend’s verbal attack on their guest and was looking stiffly down at her monitor, her neck just a little bit too hunched. Conflict-avoiding behavior clear as day. Aha, thought Hirondelle. Little girl, you’re mine. “Really,” he said. “Miss Gdynia, do you also think we should pretend to be adults here?” Her eyes darted up to meet his, then over at her partner, then down. “Umm... I’m sure Miss Wessel didn’t mean that quite the way is sounded,” she said quickly with a thin voice. Silence. “Don’t you, now.” He looked at her levelly, tormenting her, wanting to see how long she would allow the awkward pause to continue, but Miss Wessel broke the silence with her business-like manner. “Right. Shall we continue? There is the issue of ownership. According to established law practice, the planets in this system cannot actually be owned by anyone, except in the more associated way that they belong under Federal jurisdiction. Anyone can just go ahead and use them, within environmentally sound limits, of course. There has been some mining, but because of the extraordinarily hostile environment this has been limited in scope. No commercial activity has been registered for about two hundred years. So this issue is clear, we can go ahead. Agreed?” She lifted her eyebrows quizzically. “Well, I will certainly have the legal department look at it,” he said sarcastically, wanting to provoke another reaction, but she apparently decided to take it at face value. “Now a major point. As you know, the rotation is slowing down. So the core is cooling and the magma is starting to congeal. Also, the planet has no magnetic field, no Van Allen belts. No protection against cosmic radiation.” She paused, then continued, determined: “Which, as I think you’ve known all along, is also part of the reason we really would like the Buthillaron Corporation on our side in this.” “And what exactly is it that I have allegedly known all along?” Again, Hirondelle glanced at his chrono. Fourteen minutes. Not bad. Miss Wessel sighed resignedly. “All right, we’ll do it the hard way. Mr. Hirondelle, it is a delicate matter. But it must be raised. It is a well known fact that Buthillaron has very strong ties to the Federal government in general, and the Department of the Interior in particular, not least because the Secretary of the Interior is a major shareholder. Now, let me finish,” she said and raised her hand as if to physically block the energetic protests she saw Hirondelle was preparing. “Buthillaron has been involved in projects like this before, and in practically every single case, nuclear explosives have been used. There can be only one source for them, namely the Federal government. Yes, I know it’s a controversial subject. All use of nuclear devices provokes hysterical reactions among the public, but that is mainly for historical reasons, as all three of us know. When utilized for geographical modifications, there is really no need to discount this option. It’s quick, it’s clean, it’s cheap. Also, both Miss Gdynia and I have worked on projects, with heavy Buthillaron involvement, I might add, that have been finished in record time precisely because this method was used. Mr. Hirondelle, we don’t think it is true. We know.” Hirondelle studied his hands, neatly folded on the table. So they knew. Good. He cleared his voice. “While I can of course not confirm the ridiculous claim that Buthillaron should somehow be acquiring and stockpiling nuclear weapons for use in civilian projects, I am certainly amused by it. Laughable, quite laughable. However, just for its anecdotal value, how much do you think you would require for a project of this scale?” He noticed the two women very briefly exchanging glances. He had seen that gesture many times before in negotiations: “Success!” If only you knew, he thought. If only you knew. Mars was, officially, the mercantile capital of the Federation, and no company of any magnitude could be taken seriously if its headquarters were not located on the formerly red planet. Most of the headquarters were not traditional office buildings or high-rises, for as human expansion into space had accelerated, it was not considered cost-effective to place the actual headquarters in Sol, far away from where the most interesting action was taking place. Consequently, the commercially zoned areas on Mars had been largely reduced to an assembly of monuments and memorials, not of heroes or wars or accomplished individuals, but of companies. There were, scattered among the few remaining skyscrapers, masses of statues, artistically interesting sculptures, enormous arches, steel obelisks of extraordinary height, geometrically bankrupt shapes and perfectly harmonic but somehow still unattractive structures in every material known to mankind, but mainly black or silvery shiny. All were celebrating some successful hostile takeover, a well executed initial public offering, a nice stock emission, an especially brutal HR manager or a well exploited tax-law loophole. As everywhere else in the Sol system, real estate prices were astronomical and the ground acreage of any one company’s chosen monument was indicative of the success of the firm. That, at least, was the popular opinion, and by that token, the Buthillaron Corporation ranked pretty highly. The Buthillaron Park, while not by a long shot the largest or most ostentatious of the locations, was possibly the most original; there were no statues of founders on horses, no golden plaques, no circle of flagpoles with an indecipherable sculpture in the middle. Only a wooden gate with sign on it, saying simply ‘Buthillaron Park’ and beyond that, the immaculately kept gardens of exotic trees and plants. Two men walked slowly along the path. They were both wearing old-fashioned and therefore exclusive business suits, one made of genuine sheep’s wool from Earth. That one was not Hirondelle’s. His report was nearing its end. “In view of all this, I thought it prudent to request this meeting with you personally, sir.” The older man walked a few paces, as in contemplation. “Quite. Quite. Yes. I agree. This is indeed interesting. I can’t make the final decision, of course. Will have to take it upstairs. Possibly to the very top. I shouldn’t wonder. Potentially enormous implications. We must keep all possibilities open, as is only natural. Initially, you will tell them yes. Demand eighty percent so they won’t get suspicious. Non-negotiable. I’ll give you half a million immediately, for you to deal out at your own discretion. What kind of leverage do you have with our daring friends?” “Well, sir, apart from the obvious leverage of being the Buthillaron representative and thereby controlling the flow of funds, I have established a tense interpersonal situation. I react with increasing levels of irritation and indignation at any sign of them voicing opinions of any sort. A little bit more of this and they will have been conditioned to never reacting normally in my presence, especially one of them, I feel. With any luck, that will give me some room to maneuver when the right moment comes.” “I see. Good. Hmm. I will ask the experts about this, but I should be interested to know: Is it your opinion, Hirondelle, that there is no chance we might be able to do it without them altogether?” “I’m afraid so, sir. They have, as I mentioned, done something very similar before. Without the nukes, of course, but that is a minor matter. Of course, we too have extensive experience in the field, but the way we do it would in this case prove too time-consuming and the end result too uncertain. That is the reason it was not done a long time ago; the old methods are simply not up to the task.” “Very well. We’ll keep them on for the time being, until, as you say, the right moment. On a different note, have they said what kind of nuclear charges they require? Or do they want missiles?” “They just want the charges, sir. Small ones, mainly. One quarter to ten megatons. And one monster, a neutron bomb releasing at least ten Petra-Joules of energy but as little explosive force as possible. I was thinking one of the old civilization busters might fit the bill. I’ll leave that up to the techs when I get the final shopping list.” The older man stopped in his tracks and bent down to pick up a withered, brown leaf that some thoughtless tree had dropped on his path. Holding it gingerly between two fingers, he carried it to a conveniently placed trash can and dropped it in. “See that you get it as soon as possible, would you? I do so prefer to be ahead of any and all eventualities.” “Right,” the voice of Miss Gdynia reverberated through his helmet, “that was the last shipment. Sixty one megatons, thirteen ten megaton. Can’t see why it should warrant a whole Panther, though.” “I see. Anything else you are unhappy with, Miss Gdynia?” Hirondelle said neutrally, thereby giving the question more of a sting. “No, Mr. Hirondelle," she said quickly. “Not at all. Everything is running fine.” “Oh, is it? That’s certainly news to me. In fact, I would venture that very few things are running well here at all. Your hemisphere is lagging considerably after that of Miss Wessel. She has already finished the ocean troughs and is now working on the minor canals, whereas you have still to shape even the main coastlines.” “But this hemisphere always needed much more work, and we agreed-“ “Never mind. I’ll ask Miss Wessel to do yours also when she’s done with hers. Should be any day now.” It had gone on for weeks. Hirondelle, as the representative of the chief investor, had demanded to be present at all stages of the process and had followed Miss Gdynia wherever she went, making derogatory comments about everything she did. It gave him no particular pleasure, nor did it bother him much. He simply deemed it necessary preparation for one of his contingency plans. In truth, even a non-expert like Hirondelle could see that Miss Gdynia was efficiently and competently taking care of her part of the project. She was right, he knew; her hemisphere had from the outset been designated as the one that needed the most work, which was precisely why she was doing it, and not Miss Wessel. There had to be made room for an ocean which would run like a belt around the equator where the temperature would be too hot for much settlement. There had to be constructed a number of atolls for the most expensive lots, there had to be erected a major mountain range to control the precipitation of a certain area, there had to be dug out several rivers, there had to be made plains and highlands and scenic canyons and ravines and waterfalls and spaceports. All of it was being done with nuclear explosives, skillfully placed and detonated all around the planet, subtracting years from the time it would otherwise have taken to make the modifications. Miss Gdynia knew it too, of course, but weeks of systematic torment was enough to wear down anyone’s self-esteem, and she hardly even protested against his gross injustices anymore. She was standing in the dust, working with a large holographic map display of the immediate area. “Shall we speed up, Miss Gdynia? Wouldn’t want to get even further behind, hmm?” He entered the hovercar they had come in, sat in the pilots seat and had the vehicle start moving so the unhappy woman had to scramble and run not to be left behind, as if she wasn’t worth waiting for. He generously let her enter. Actually leaving her behind was something he had planned for the week after. “I do, sir. As many as possible in as destructive paths as possible. I’ll have the onboard computer calculate the exact trajectories required. With any luck, I should be able to launch up to five or six of the objects from each ship. Even a small plasma accelerator should hold enough energy for that.” “Good. Just one more thing, Hirondelle. This is the second time in as many meetings you have used the phrase ‘with any luck’. So I would like to tell you this: If there’s one thing I have learned from my fifty years in this business, it is that luck is not something you are given; it is something you create. Please keep that in mind from now on.” “Launcher Two in position,” she said into the comm. “Copy Launcher Two in position,” Miss Wessel immediately replied from the second Griffin. Hirondelle sat in the copilot’s seat, leaning over to study the display in front of Miss Gdynia. “How long until you commence launch?” “A little less than ten minutes, Mr. Hirondelle.” “Good. Then we’re ahead of schedule. Well done, Miss Gdynia. That’s some fine piloting.” The woman turned slightly to look at him, expecting to see some sign of irony on his face, but he made sure there was none. “Thanks,” she said and smiled cautiously, genuinely surprised and flattered, he judged. “When do you think Miss Wessel will be-“ “Launcher One in position,” the comm interrupted. “Ah. Never mind.” “Copy Launcher One in position.” He sat back in his seat. “Superb. Just superb. It’s always such a joy to see competence in action.” Again she glanced quickly at him to ascertain whether he was being sarcastic. He kept his face straight and serious, which did not come hard. “Well, coming from you, Mr. Hirondelle, I’ll take that as a compliment.” “It is my genuine opinion. Miss Gdynia,” he said sincerely. ”If I have been somewhat... ah... abrupt in the past, or even difficult, it is only because I really want this project to turn out right. It is, after all, a momentous occasion and a great milestone for the Federation. Still, please accept my apologies.” “Of course. Think nothing of it. A project like this can get anyone all up in arms.” “You and Miss Wessel have certainly put my doubts to shame. And I must say, your plans for the planet look extremely good. The experts at Buthillaron were certainly impressed by your designs and not least your ingenious methods. Could I ask you to run me through it again, just the main points?” “Of course. At exactly the preset time, Miss Wessel will launch the first micro black hole at the upper atmosphere. Its trajectory will be precisely such that it enters a very slightly spiraling orbit, taking it closer and closer to the surface, all the while sucking up the thick atmospheric gases and the radiation from our previous nuclear modifications. It will have to move with extraordinary speed, and we calculate that it has to make four million orbits to clear out the eighty-seven percent of the atmosphere we deem necessary. That will take about fifteen minutes. Then, we will have to remove the black hole from the planet before it does any damage, and the only way to do that is to launch another micro black hole directly at it at a tangential angle to its course, which we’ll do from this ship. The two black holes will fuse, and the gravitational forces arising from this process will launch the resulting black hole out of the system. All this has been thoroughly simulated and calculated, but due to the uncertainty principle and the inhomogeneous structure of the atmosphere, it is impossible to predict with absolute precision where the black holes will be at any given time. Of course, a black hole on the loose in this system would be a disaster of the most horrible proportions. That’s why we have requested these stringent security measures. But it will work. We’ve done it before, secretly, in a distant, unpopulated system. If all else fails, and we have to just get little black hole out of there, we’ll do a short in-system hyperjump. The micro black hole, which is invisible in normal space, will be clearly visible in hyperspace. To the computer, at any rate. Then we’ll kick it out. Nothing to it,” she smiled. “Clever. Why not use more black holes, like two or three, and be done with it in less time?” “This is still a very new method, still more or less in the experimental stage. We feel it is easier to control just the one. But eventually I’m sure we’ll be able to use more of ’em. Maybe we’ll even learn how to modify terrain with them instead of nukes. The small plasma accelerators can only generate five apiece before they must be refueled. Takes a tremendous amount of energy to collide those particles with sufficient speed to make ‘em collapse. I’m sure a solution will be found.” Outside the viewport, one of the forty security Vipers zoomed past as it made a final flyby to ensure that the inner perimeter was secure and empty of ships, probes or other signs of human activity. Its dark, arrowhead hull was a stark contrast to the whiteness of the seemingly impenetrable atmosphere of the planet behind it. “Mhm. And what of the neutron charge?” “Ah yes. This procedure has the interesting effect that the rapidly orbiting black hole, due to the gravitational field that comes with it, will speed up the planet’s rotation. That is crucial to the whole project. Spinning up the planet will immensely strengthen the magnetic field, which is absolutely necessary if we want anyone to live there. Now, when the planet starts to spin, the innards, from the core outwards, will heat up due to friction. But probably not enough. We really want a lot of the magma to melt pretty much instantly, so that the rotation can accelerate more freely. So we’ll set off the charge as soon as the micro black hole enters orbit. As you know, we have drilled a hole all the way to the center of the planet and placed the charge there. It will heat up the core and the magma just right, we think.” “And then, after the creation of a warm ocean and a balmy atmosphere, there’s a fully functional luxury planet just waiting for the first... ahm... tenants. Turnkey planets, eh, Miss Gdynia? Not a bad concept.” “Beats working, anyway. But getting the atmosphere right is actually the most time-consuming part of the undertaking. We think it’ll take about five months.” “Pah. That’s nothing. Barely enough time to launch a suitable marketing campaign. A conventional project, with a much more hospitable planet to start with, would take six times that. This is a true revolution in the field.” “Wouldn’t have been possible without Buthillaron. The ships, the nukes and all. We’re really happy about this joint venture.” “So are we, Miss Gdynia. How much longer now?” “Nearly there. I’ll just go through the checklist.” It was time for Hirondelle to go through his own little checklist, so he leant over slightly, away from Miss Gdynia, to discreetly peer at an innocuous auxiliary status display. It looked good: The subtle channel he would use to initiate the special program in the other Griffin’s specially rigged computer was open and working; the program itself was on standby; the program in this Griffin the same. Everything was ready. He took a deep breath and struggled to let it out without Miss Gdynia hearing the shaking of his lungs. He was tense, adrenaline coursing through him and robbing him of basic fine-motoric skills. The pivotal moment had nearly come. First, he would ask Miss Gdynia to vacate her seat so that he may take the pilot’s position. She would reluctantly agree, desperately not wanting him to revert to his old, verbally abusing behavior. Then he would activate his transmitter and initiate the process which would hijack the other Griffin and make its computer launch its five micro black holes into the system in carefully calculated paths, paths that would take them to all the valuable planets and orbital stations and rapidly engulf them. Then, fully in control of Miss Gdynia’s Griffin, he would release his own black holes. It would be the end of the whole system and all it contained of value; even the central sun would have a tiny Schwarzchild-radius launched at it and slowly eating it up, for all intents and purposes banishing the star and all its matter from the universe forever. All that would be left was a shrinking accretion disk, frantically sending out its unimaginably massive doses of radiation like a blood-curdling scream of death, a scream lasting a hundred years until there was nothing left but blackness. It would be a scream to remind everyone of who was powerful, of who had won, of who must be worshipped. More than any statue, more than any sculpture, more than any golden plaque, it would be a monument to the victor; to his cleverness, his ruthlessness, his ultimate superiority. This was where it would start, Hirondelle told himself. Here and now. And he would start it. A drop of sweat ran down his forehead. “Okay,” Miss Gdynia said. “One minute left. And time for me to- look, what’s that?” she exclaimed, pointing past Hirondelle, out of the right viewport beside him. He turned to look, then felt a sting on his left upper arm. His head spun back around and his right arm shot across his chest to investigate and hit upon a hard object. It was Miss Gdynia pressing a primitive syringe into the arm of his suit, her eyes cold and her expression determined. He felt his legs deaden and wither; his arms; his head; all of him. He lay limp in his seat, like a dead man. He felt nothing and could move nothing, but he was conscious, painfully so. He could only look and listen. Miss Gdynia roughly put her gloved hand on the side of his face and pushed his head so he could look out the viewport and not at her. It was of little help, for none of the muscles in his body were under his control, not even the tiny focusing muscles in his eyes. The planet straight ahead was now only a white blur to him, its cloud systems no longer defined. “Well, Mr. Hirondelle, I guess you’ve gathered that we’d like to renegotiate the deal. In fact, we’d like to leave Buthillaron out of it altogether from now on. I don’t know who gave you people the idea that you could demand eighty percent of the proceeds from this project when all you’ve done is provide the nukes and these Griffins. This is our project now and it’s an important moment we’d really prefer if you didn’t interfere with. You’re welcome to watch, though.” Miss Wessels voice came over the comm channel. “Launcher One ready for first countdown. All systems are go.” “Launcher Two ready for first countdown. All systems are go, repeat, all systems are go.” “Launcher One on final countdown. Five, four, three, two, one, launch. Little Rascal One away. Trajectory is good. And... Bad Boy has detonated on schedule.” “Copy Little Rascal One away, Launcher One.” “Anything to report, Launcher Two?” “Nothing to report, Launcher One. All lights are green and the clock is running.” Hirondelle thought he could hear a chuckle from the comm before Miss Wessel replied in an un-typically cheerful voice: “That’s good to know, Launcher Two. If it were up to me, we would’ve airlocked him. Give him a few punches from me. Launcher One out.” He heard Miss Gdynia lean over toward him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hirondelle, but we don’t like you much” she said softly into his ear. - - - From what he heard the next half hour, Hirondelle could only conclude that everything was going smoothly and according to plan. Not his plan, of course. Theirs. The more he mulled it over, the cleverer it appeared to him. They needed Buthillaron at first, for there was no other way they could get hold of the nukes they needed. But that was also all they wanted; they did not want a partner who’d be sucking up most of the profits from what would doubtlessly be the most profitable venture in human history. They didn’t need a long-term partner; they themselves had all the know-how. So, he realized as the fused black holes, their job done, zoomed safely out of the system, they had from the very outset planned on cheating their business partner. Hirondelle, too busy making his own schemes to see it, had been duped, but that, in retrospect, was hardly surprising. Normally, it is extraordinarily stupid bordering on the unthinkable to cheat a major corporation out of the deal of the millennium. There are bound to be repercussions. Severe ones. In this case, there would be none at all. What could Buthillaron do? If they protested, it would doubtlessly come to light that there had been nuclear weapons employed in the project. The chairman and main shareholder, who was indeed the Federal Secretary of the Interior, could not allow that to become public knowledge. He, a politician, could not be involved in anything that even remotely smacked of nuclear arms; it was one of the few things the generally apathetic populace could get quite upset about. It would be the end of his career. Worse, it would be obvious to all that the Secretary was vacuuming Federal arsenals for nukes he would then make available to his company, thus using advanced and controversial government military equipment to increase his own already considerable wealth. While this was doubtlessly well known to his colleagues, who had their own reasons for not publicly pointing out the erratic behavior of a peer, his lofty social standing and enormous bank account notwithstanding, it would have landed him with a long prison sentence. Consequently, it was very much in Buthillaron’s interest to keep the whole affair as quiet as possible. That was how Miss Wessel and Miss Gdynia must have reasoned. And they had reasoned correctly. But, Hirondelle knew, that was not all. What was hanging the heaviest on his mind was the fact that when the Federals took stock of their nukes, they would reach the puzzling conclusion that none were missing. Not a single one. He appeared calm, but Hirondelle could tell that his superior was close to shivering with rage and fear. Only a lifetime of the strictest self-discipline held the man back from giving in to his rage. Hirondelle wanted to say he was sorry, or at least offer some explanation, but he was unable to open his mouth. He couldn’t even stand at attention, which every fiber in his body wanted to. The man stood there for a minute, just staring, seemingly collecting his thoughts and calming down slightly. He stood unsteadily and supported himself with one hand against the doorframe. A slight whiff of alcohol reached Hirondelle’s nose. “I’m of the old school, Hirondelle,” he said at length. “Skeptical of everything that seems to come too easily. In our line of business, if you haven’t worked for it, it always turns out to be worth nothing. In the long run. And space almighty, how we worked to get me installed as Federal Secretary of the Interior. Built me up from nothing, infusing tiny amounts of money to start with, then more and more, but not too much. Had to make it look credible. I gradually bought into Buthillaron, which we then controlled. It took us fifteen years to even get me up to the point where I could run for office for the first time. After that, we could go faster, because in the Federation, all public offices are for sale to the highest bidder. Strangely, there is less and less scrutiny on the candidates the higher in the hierarchy you get. I wondered for some time why that is. A waste of time, of course. It’s obvious. The people know very well that they are being governed by the worst crooks and bandits imaginable. But, and this is crucial; they desperately do not want irrefutable proof of it. Then they might have to do something. Ignorance is bliss. Do you know what would have been next? The presidency. We were willing to pay several system’s worth of yearly tribute to get me installed. It would have been the grandest presidential campaign and the most exquisite intelligence coup in history. “And then this whole blasted thing came along. Do you know, I actually advised against getting involved at all? It seemed to me to be too fortunate, the possibilities too tantalizing. Too good to be true. But it went all the way up and came back ‘Go’. When that happens, I’m tied on hands and feet, not unlike you now. I simply must make his wish reality. Of course, he couldn’t settle for just covertly controlling a planet centrally located deep inside enemy territory. Oh no. Had to do as much damage as possible. Goes in the family, I suppose You know what they teach us: The mission’s fate is the operative’s fate. And as missions go, this one is very much dead.” He sighed deeply. “They got me, they got you, they got Buthillaron. They got the mission, insane though it was. And, to add insult to injury, they are at this very moment completing their own project, entirely financed by us and- this is the part that really gets to me- using our nukes. The arsenal at Sohoa was totally cleaned out.” Hirondell noticed the signs that told him that the old man was deliberately winding himself up, trying to get his rage to eclipse his fear. “I put my life in your hands. You with your ramblings of- what was it?- interpersonal relations or whatever. Couldn’t handle two chicks. Two soft, Federal-bred money-hungry bitches. Our most promising operative, you were, you bastard. Slated- I can’t believe this- slated to eventually take over my place, when I could at last retire to my plantation at Facece. But now I’ll never see that day!” The man quickly drew his arm back and struck Hirondelle in the face, the fist only grazing his cheek. Then, realizing that the immobilized Hirondelle could do nothing to protect himself, drew his arm back again, slowly, deliberately, looked his victim squarely in the eyes and put his entire weight behind the punch. Sparks went off in Hirondelle’s head and blood ran freely down his face. “Well, Earl Hirondelle, you’ve certainly screwed us over once and for all. It’ll be the gallows for both of us. In the middle of Imperial Square, with Hengist Himself watching. Just you wait. He really hates it when his pet projects fail, and I think he had some seriously wet dreams about this one. But first, there’s a fourteen-day trip to Achenar. And have no doubt: You will be in considerable pain every second of that time. If the Empire knows nothing else, at least we know how to get a man to scream.” The old Duke turned unsteadily on his heel and exited the tiny cell, but left the door open so that three large men could enter. They had both intentionally kept their suits grimy with sulfuric dust, like a badge of honor. “Have you given any thought to what we’ll call the first settlement?” one of them said over the permanently open radio link. “Yes,” replied the other. “First I wanted to suggest Aphrodite, after this plateau and in a way the whole planet. But now I have another idea. I think we should call it Athena.” They looked at each other and grinned, then pulled down the reflective sun visors on their helmets. The sky low in the west became a little brighter, indigo against the black of space. Then, without further warning, a thin white stripe appeared on the horizon, rapidly expanding to form a bright, growing crescent. Through the Baader visors, the dark spots and protuberances in the photosphere of the star could be clearly seen. The direct light, visible on the surface of the planet for the first time in a billion years, drew infinitely long and sharply defined shadows across the enormous highland plateau. Sol was rising. paolo.mariani@spray.no  |
paolo.mariani@spray.no