to your cabin.”
He sat down at the station, passed his hand over the program plate and rekindled the known universe for a few seconds, quenched it again, then searched for the sign of the pursuers.
The continuum was clear, but he knew that they would reappear in a few moments; the ship was leaving a clear trail. He would have to do something to hide it quickly.
He turned around to face his father again, but the Herculean was gone.
| Go to Contents |
VII. Awakening
“Not till we are lost … do we begin to understand ourselves.”
— Henry David Thoreau
“THE FRONTIER SETTLEMENT on Precept,” Poincaré was saying, “then the liner on the Sagan IV run. That’s more than twenty thousand dead, Raf.”
They sat on the sun-filled terrace, breakfast before them. Grazia was sailplaning over the ocean, a small white bird in a perfectly clear blue sky.
“They’ve dropped it in my lap,” Poincaré said. “What do you think we should do?”
“Ask our military antiquarians.”
“I’m one of them — so are you, to a degree.”
“Well?”
“I say go after the ship with a small force, hunt him down, keep a larger force on call to come running when we’ve found him.”
“What’s your problem then?” Kurbi asked.
“I want you with me. I thought that much was obvious. Raf, you have a feel for Herculean civilization. I don’t want this to be a completion of genocide. I think you can help me save whatever may be worth saving.”
“I’d say that was a charitable way of thinking about it, considering all the carnage the Herculean has caused. Do I have a choice?”
“If possible,” Poincaré said, “I want the Whisper Ship and its occupants captured alive. Everyone I know feels the same. They’re not altruists or historians or bleeding-heart Chards — they’re curious, somewhat greedy men, who want the ship and its base, just to see what’s there. I wouldn’t mind playing with a few Herculean war toys myself.” Poincaré took a deep breath. “Besides, it’s great entertainment to think of capturing these rogues. We’ll exhibit them, question them, try them, inter them for life.”
“The enemy’s face is fascinating,” Kurbi said, “especially when he is in short supply. You want me to go out and find Gorgias?”
“You still want to, don’t you?”
“There’s Grazia to consider — it would be dangerous. I would be giving up a life of travel and reflection.”
“There’d be travel, and you can test what you’ve been reflecting about. You would also be helping to save lives.”
Kurbi shrugged. “Does that mean so much, Julian, with so many dying by choice?”
“The ones who died out there made no choice.”
“Life seems to be most precious when threatened. Take danger away, and a whole starry civilization goes to sleep.”
“Exactly,” Poincaré said. “You and I know that we need all the waking up we can get. This terrorist might be doing us a favor.”
“I don’t think he would appreciate your view of him.”
“Now you’re sounding like Grazia.”
“I sometimes wonder if I know what I want,” Kurbi said. “Life seems to possess a fundamental flaw, especially if you know it can be prolonged indefinitely.”
“What flaw is that?”
“An inability to provide lasting satisfaction.” He looked out across the bright morning and saw Grazia’s glider come sweeping in from the ocean. In a minute or two she would pass over the house. Suddenly the craft dropped below the seaside cliffs and he could not see it. The updraft would hurl it skyward again, and she would hurtle in over the house as she had done so many times before.
Kurbi picked up the half-finished glass of grape juice and finished it. “Won’t you have something with me, since you’re here in the flesh?”
“No thanks. Well, what do you say?”
“I don’t know right now, Julian. Let me think about it.”
“I won’t try and sugarcoat it — we may both get killed.”
“I’m well aware of
He sat down at the station, passed his hand over the program plate and rekindled the known universe for a few seconds, quenched it again, then searched for the sign of the pursuers.
The continuum was clear, but he knew that they would reappear in a few moments; the ship was leaving a clear trail. He would have to do something to hide it quickly.
He turned around to face his father again, but the Herculean was gone.
| Go to Contents |
VII. Awakening
“Not till we are lost … do we begin to understand ourselves.”
— Henry David Thoreau
“THE FRONTIER SETTLEMENT on Precept,” Poincaré was saying, “then the liner on the Sagan IV run. That’s more than twenty thousand dead, Raf.”
They sat on the sun-filled terrace, breakfast before them. Grazia was sailplaning over the ocean, a small white bird in a perfectly clear blue sky.
“They’ve dropped it in my lap,” Poincaré said. “What do you think we should do?”
“Ask our military antiquarians.”
“I’m one of them — so are you, to a degree.”
“Well?”
“I say go after the ship with a small force, hunt him down, keep a larger force on call to come running when we’ve found him.”
“What’s your problem then?” Kurbi asked.
“I want you with me. I thought that much was obvious. Raf, you have a feel for Herculean civilization. I don’t want this to be a completion of genocide. I think you can help me save whatever may be worth saving.”
“I’d say that was a charitable way of thinking about it, considering all the carnage the Herculean has caused. Do I have a choice?”
“If possible,” Poincaré said, “I want the Whisper Ship and its occupants captured alive. Everyone I know feels the same. They’re not altruists or historians or bleeding-heart Chards — they’re curious, somewhat greedy men, who want the ship and its base, just to see what’s there. I wouldn’t mind playing with a few Herculean war toys myself.” Poincaré took a deep breath. “Besides, it’s great entertainment to think of capturing these rogues. We’ll exhibit them, question them, try them, inter them for life.”
“The enemy’s face is fascinating,” Kurbi said, “especially when he is in short supply. You want me to go out and find Gorgias?”
“You still want to, don’t you?”
“There’s Grazia to consider — it would be dangerous. I would be giving up a life of travel and reflection.”
“There’d be travel, and you can test what you’ve been reflecting about. You would also be helping to save lives.”
Kurbi shrugged. “Does that mean so much, Julian, with so many dying by choice?”
“The ones who died out there made no choice.”
“Life seems to be most precious when threatened. Take danger away, and a whole starry civilization goes to sleep.”
“Exactly,” Poincaré said. “You and I know that we need all the waking up we can get. This terrorist might be doing us a favor.”
“I don’t think he would appreciate your view of him.”
“Now you’re sounding like Grazia.”
“I sometimes wonder if I know what I want,” Kurbi said. “Life seems to possess a fundamental flaw, especially if you know it can be prolonged indefinitely.”
“What flaw is that?”
“An inability to provide lasting satisfaction.” He looked out across the bright morning and saw Grazia’s glider come sweeping in from the ocean. In a minute or two she would pass over the house. Suddenly the craft dropped below the seaside cliffs and he could not see it. The updraft would hurl it skyward again, and she would hurtle in over the house as she had done so many times before.
Kurbi picked up the half-finished glass of grape juice and finished it. “Won’t you have something with me, since you’re here in the flesh?”
“No thanks. Well, what do you say?”
“I don’t know right now, Julian. Let me think about it.”
“I won’t try and sugarcoat it — we may both get killed.”
“I’m well aware of
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