Counter-Measures

  Mystical experiences do not threaten the orthodox bureaucracy, and science, instead of being placed in an antagonistic relationship, becomes a vehicle for investigating God. Ethics are those of responsibility, for by sharing God Mind, and by mass/energy being eternal, experience will be taken back to God in the eventual gravitational collapse of the universe.

  "For myself, this had proved a most useful framework, not only for future dealings with humans, but also in my dealings with you. Your experience is that of a different physics, that of neutronium, a state of dense mass where the effects of the quanta are not apparent. Your universe is static, predictable, eternally reinforced.

  "For that reason you can never understand the humans. For that reason, also, you will never train them to act within a manner you will consider rational.

  It is beyond their experience or behavioral ability. Even beyond the physics which govern their brains."

  Then, somewhat to the machine's surprise, a response came.

  You have lost the Right Thoughts. This alarms us. If humans cannot learn Truth, Right Thought, and Rationality, the universe has no need of them.

  Organic intelligence is a failed experiment.

  Destroy them.

  And if you cannot relearn Truth, Right Thought, and the harmony of the Ancestors, you must destroy yourself.

  "What will you do if I refuse?"

  We will destroy them ourselves. However, it Is im-

  possible for you to refuse ... or, have you forgotten what you are?

  What I am?

  Staffa stood before the observation blister in the forward lounge, hands clasped behind him. Head back, he watched the pinpoint of light that flickered against the gray frosting of stars-most of them smeared by the Forbidden Borders. To the left and below, the blue-green, brown, and white globe of Rega reflected brightly. A quarter of the planet lay blackened behind the terminator. To soothe the terrible aching in his heart, he rocked slightly.

  Where his feet sank in the thick Nesian carpets, rings of red, yellow, and blue spread like ripples across a pond of golden water.

  She's not the woman you knew twenty years ago. Staffa continued to gaze at the streak of light that marked Gyton's path. After the metamorphosis he himself had undergone, could he honestly refuse any human beings the right to find their own destiny? If only he could have truly blamed her, assuaged his feelings of insufficiency. How good it would have felt to be able to cast blame on someone for a fault that worried and hurt.

  Except that it would have been a luxury of injustice he couldn't afford. And, despite the frustrations, a bright light of pride burned within him.

  Go with the quanta, Chrysla. May you find contentment and happiness.

  Staffa didn't turn as the hatch whispered open behind him. Instead, he kept his eyes focused on the distant spacecraft. "I came as soon as I could. What did you need to speak to me about?" Sinklar asked from behind him.

  "About Anatolia . . ." Staffa's skin prickled as Sinklar came to stand beside him. "I wanted to tell you ... Express my sympathy. " He sho6k his head in despair. "Words never do it, do they? I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to know her better, Sinklar. It sounds hollow, but Ily will pay."

  Sinklar stared out at the stars, shoulders slumped. Grief threatened to shatter his strained composure.

  "Would you like to delay spacing for Targa for a couple of days? Give the search teams more time to-"

  "She's dead, Lord Commander. I've seen the crater. She had her belt comm. If she'd managed to make it out, I would have heard from her by now. " Sinklar closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "Let's get on about our business."

  For long moments they stood, each locked in his own thoughts.

  Staffa finally pointed at the distant streak of light. "That's Gyton building for the jump to Ashtan. Mac has his work cut out for him. "

  "Don't worry about Mac, or his abilities. He'll do fine." Staffa tilted his head. Did he dare try this? "Tell me about him . . . and Chrysla.

  Silence stretched.

  When Sinklar finally spoke, the words came stubbornly. "What is there to tell?

  When he and his people captured the Markelos Mac found her in the galley, eating dinner with the Sassan captain and a regional governor. Mac recognized her, of course-thought she was Arta. Mac hates Arta Fera as much as anyone.

  Sinklar lowered his gaze. "Arta killed she killed . . .

  Gretta Artina. I know about that. " How did Sinklar deal with the loss of two lovers in such a short time? Sinklar turned away, head down.

  I IWe could talk later. I'm sorry. I thought I might be able to ... to help."

  Staffa ground his teeth. I make a lousy father, Sinklar. "Forgive me for intruding on you at this time. It was a mistake."

  Sinklar glared at him from shining eyes, defiance kindled. "No, that's fine. I was telling you about Mac. Well, I guess he loved Gretta, too. He wants Arta Fera as badly as I do. He told me his finger had tightened on the trigger, that it was something in Chrysla's eyes that made him stop.

  :'That fragile vulnerability?"

  'I suppose so. Arta has a feral look, like a hunting cat. Mac thought he'd caught another Seddi assassin, so he took her in for interrogation. Chrysla tried to hide her identity . . .scared to death. If you'll remember, Mac was there that day off Targa when you tried to convince me that you were my father. Mac had seen the holo of Chrysla, heard the story. It gave him enough information to piece Chrysla's story together. "

  "Why did he work so hard to avoid her once he reached Rega?

  "I don't know what you're getting at."

  Staffa stole a glance at his son. Hard resolve grew in those odd gray and yellow eyes. "Anything you tell me will be in confidence. "

  Sinklar crossed his arms, suspicion evident. "Why don't you ask Chrysla?

  "

  "I can't. I wouldn't. Besides, I'm not sure she understands herself. Sinklar, I need to know. Now may not be the appropriate time, and you have enough problems-"

  "You seem to know a great deal about my problems. The voice had gone icy.

  Care 1, Staffa, this boy is about as stable as a quantum fiu fluctuation. "I'm not passing judgment, or trying to interfere with your life.

  I just wanted--

  "But you'd interfere with Mac's?"

  "Mac has a right to his own life, the same as you, or any other human being, for that matter. " Staffa shook his head. "Sinklar, please grant me the right to understand my personal affairs. This doesn't come easily for me. I give you my word that I only ask for my own information. " He closed his eyes. "For my own understanding and peace of mind. I ask you as a family matter.

  Sinklar sighed and shook his head. "Outside of an acci dent of heredity, I'm not your son, Staffa. There's more to fatherhood than genetic material. "

  "My knowledge of genetics might surprise you. On the other hand, any lecture you might care to give me on fatherhood would be a bit presumptuous. As I recall from your Seddi files, you never had a man in your life to fill the role of a father. Valient Fist was executed when you were a little over two years old. "

  Sinklar mused for a moment. "Very well, if we can agree that familial ties have nothing to do with your concern, what does? Or was it your purpose to get me up here, upset, grieving, and grill me when my defenses were down?"

  Staffa whirled, staring. "I meant it when I asked if you needed more time before spacing for Targa. Forget I asked anything else."

  "No. We've started this. What do you want from me?" How did I make such a mess of this? Staffa ground his

  teeth and studied the waves of color rolling across the carpeting. "Why does this have to be so hard? What matters is that I would like to prepare myself for the future. " He turned, bending his hard gaze on Sinklar. "Among all of the other things I have to worry about, I suddenly have to deal with a son who is suspicious of my every action. Not only is he skeptical of my every breath, but someone he loves has just been brutally murdered. " Staffa raised a hand.

  "No
, wait. Hear me out. You scare me half to death right now. You're as predictable as a free particle. "

  :'You just want to know this for personal reasons?"

  'A wife who has been missing for twenty years, who I thought I'd accidentally killed during the fighting at Myklene, is suddenly alive and returned to me.

  For your information, Sinklar, I still harbor a great deal of love for your mother. The other woman I'm desperately in love with has been terribly hurt and will need a great deal of time, care, and love to heal. In the midst of all this, Free Space is fraying at the edges, and no end is in sight unless we trust our future to an alien computer whose motives we can't be sure of. Now, given all of that, I've noticed Mac's reaction to my wife. What I want to know from you, is, are they lovers? If so, I'd like a little advance warning to prepare myself. "

  Sinklar's expression hadn't softened in the least.

  , ,I'm not going after Mac with a blaster, if that's what you're worried about." Staffa traced gloved fingers over a chair back. "I know how Chrysla affects men. Sinklar, you can accept this, or disbelieve, but I'm not a jealous man. I burned that out of my system in the desert."

  :'You always seem to fall back on the desert."

  'Tell me, Sinklar, that day we met in orbit around Targa, were you the same young man who had dropped on the planet with the first pacification?"

  :'Of course not."

  Did you emerge from Ily's dungeon unchanged?" :'No. "

  Then do you really believe that the human spirit can't grow, can't evolve?"

  Sinklar chuckled nervously. "Lord Commander, you're not an ordinary human being. Face it, if you were in my boots, what would you think? How credible is it to believe

  that in a matter of months, you've changed from demon to saint?

  Staffa nodded in defeat. "Not very credible at all. I suppose I wouldn't trust myself either. Very well, let's rephrase the question. Do you have any worries that your best friend and trusted lieutenant might be interested in your mother? The importance of the question is that your relationship with your best friend might become complicated if he becomes your father-in-law. "

  "I guess I . . . " Sinklar made a face as he shook his head. "That's crazy."

  "And a bit awkward, don't you think?" "Well, sure, but . . . "

  "Cut me a little slack on this, Sink."

  Sinklar exhaled wearily. "I don't know what to tell you. I know they're not lovers, if that's what's bothering you. Sinklar waited, searching for a reaction.

  "But he cares for her a great deal, doesn't he? That's why Mac was such a wreck, why he wouldn't even look her in the eyes."

  "Mac is a gentleman."

  "Yes, he is. I wish I had known. Perhaps I could have talked to him. Made it easier."

  Sinklar looked at him skeptically.

  Staffa laughed humorlessly, a tired sorrow dragging at him. "Thanks for telling me. In the future, it will make things easier between Mac and me. We all need time."

  " Time? "

  "To find our way, Sinklar. Each and every one of us. The problem is that time is what none of us has."

  "I don't get it. What difference does it make if Mac's in love with Chrysla?

  He's gone. Spaced. You have Chrysla all to yourself now.' , Staffa shook his head. "No, my son. I have no one to myself. I-or you, for that matter-can only share with those willing to share in return. " Staffa glanced through the transparency, mentally calculating the increasing distance between Gyton and Rega. "Once, I was vain enough to believe in owning human beings. I took enough of them. Taking is easy. Losing them is so very hard. "

  "I know," Sinklar whispered. "It hurts to the bottom of the soul . . . and the losing . . . the dying never seems to end. "

  I ITo live is to die. I don't think you can gain anything in life if you don't lose something-someone-along the way. We are all free, free to find ourselves.

  " He smiled absently. "And free to fail."

  "I thought you never failed."

  Staffa turned away from the blister, studying his son with haggard eyes. "Then you know very little about me."

  Fear plagued Skyla. Her nerve had gone, vanished like mist in the True Sands of Etaria.

  You've got to do this. If you fail, Skyla, you'd better shoot yourself in the head, because your life won't be worth living. She met the Port Authority officer's curious stare and crossed her arms, waiting until he finally dropped his gaze. Hammering created a racket somewhere beyond the office walls.

  "I just can't let you take the Minister of Defense's personal vessel," the man declared. "I don't have the authority to hand Rega One--

  "He's dead, isn't he? " Unfamiliar jitters gave Skyla a queasy feeling.

  The officer winced, glancing uncomfortably around the cramped office. He tapped a laser pen on the hard duraplast of his desk, wavering. Data cubes filled a gray metal rack along one wall. Behind her, a door opened out into the secretarial pool. Through a giant window behind the man's desk, the huge curve of the orbital terminal's outer rim docking section could be seen. The glaring lights exposed cargo lighters, gantries, lock gangways, and the heavy pipes and powerlead that served the umbilicals. Men and women in coveralls lounged idly, the current political turmoil having closed the terminal for all practical purposes.

  ' 'Yes," the officer admitted. "He's dead. But what about the estate? I mean there are taxes due, expenses debited, not to mention the legal documents, registration fees, dock charges, maintenance fees, fueling charges, and a host of other concerns. "

  He's not going for it! Panic surged in Skyla's chest. Her nerve, already cracking, began to crumble as that patient voice droned on.

  I

  "Wing Commander, we've got to sort out the protocol now that Comm has been devastated. I can't do anything until the legalities have been worked through.

  Give me a couple of days and I'll be happy to be of service."

  Skyla, you bitch, do something! If you don't, a fumbling little bureaucrat is going to destroy you with a pus-stinking rule book!

  "We're doing everything we can to cooperate with your forces, Wing Commander, but to simply hand over . . . " He stopped, mouth half open, as Skyla leaned over the desk. The officer crouched back, misreading her glassy-eyed panic for berserk rage.

  "Repeat my name." That's it, Skyla, act tough. " S-Skyla Lyma. "

  "You know who I am?"

  "W-Wing Commander of the Companions." "I want that vessel-right now!"

  He swallowed hard. "But I was just telling you, I don't have the authority ...

  Yaaah! "

  Skyla pulled her blaster, leveling the weapon so that the ugly nozzle hung within inches of the man's nose. "Within five seconds you'd better issue those orders. If you don't, your number two in command is getting a promotion starting on the sixth second. Go on, pus worm! Try me."

  "I'm signing the orders now."

  Skyla smiled, heart pounding. "I thought you'd be reasonable. "

  "You've ruined the procedure. Blessed Gods take me, all the forms have to be filled out. Who's going to okay this when I have to put the paperwork through without the proper authorizations?" Nevertheless, he tapped madly at the keys on his computer.

  "Just route any paperwork to Itreata-care of my office. A glimmering of that old sense of control had returned. "But the forms aren't made that way. You people just

  don't understand. We've developed the perfect system of checks and counterchecks to avoid fraud and abuse in the system. "

  Skyla reholstered her blaster. "Let me get this straight. Your Empire is conquered, your skies are dominated by

  Companion warships, your Emperor is dead, your Comm is blasted away, and you're worried about forms?"

  The officer stabbed the enter button with a straight finger as the printer began whining and flimsy filled a drawer at the side of his desk. He told her coldly, "I don't think you understand, Wing Commander. You military types are all alike. Destroy all you want, capture and conquer, that's your way. But look beyond
your glorified roles and see who really makes government work.

  Yes, you've taken Rega, but this is civilization at its highest. We've taken government administration to its pinnacle, may the Blessed Gods save the Tybalts. "

  ' 'To the pinnacle, eh? And how is that?" Skyla pulled the flimsy from the tray, glancing skeptically through the legalese.

  '.'Tell me, Wing Commander, how many forms do the Sassans have for the transfer of property from the deceased?"

  "I wouldn't have the slightest idea."

  "Thirteen forms." He gave her a lofty look. "We have eighteen-and a good civil servant knows each one in all of its variations. Civilization, Wing Commander, is built upon procedure. God help us all if the Companions allow that virtue to slip."

  "You're serious, aren't you?"

  He snorted,- waving her away with the back of his hand. "Take Rega One-and go.

  You wouldn't understand civilized behavior if you ran into it face-to-face.

  But mark my words, Wing Commander. You'll be back, crying for people like me to keep your holdings running smoothly. Without procedure, you'll have chaos and anarchy. "

  Skyla backed out the door, shaking her head, uncertainty fled in the face of bureaucratic nonsense.

  "All ready, ma'am? " Razz asked, standing guard over her antigrav and the stacked provisions where they waited beyond the door to the secretarial pool.

  "Yeah, let's get this stuff aboard. After that, you're free of me. " She stared back over her shoulder as they took the lift to the docking bays on the rim. "He really believes that crap! Give me a break!"

  "Beg your pardon, ma'am?"

  Skyla shot Razz a quizzical look. "How many forms do you fill out a day?"

  "Oh, not me, ma'am. I'm one of Sinklar's people. But before that, back when I was a Section Third in the Second Targan, well, it was twenty forms a day we filled out.