F. Wilson: An Enemy of the State

“But why would-” He stopped short and drew in a breath, narrowing his eyes. “You'd better not be bringing Earthies into this! If you are, I'll wring your neck here and now and not an army of Flinters will save you!”

LaNague's face reflected disgust at the thought of complicity with Earth. “Don't be obscene. There's a man on Earth I must see personally. The entire success or failure of my plan may hinge on his response to a certain proposal.”

“Who is he? Chief Administrator or some other overgrown fecalith?”

“No. He's well known, but has nothing to do with the government. And he doesn't know I'm coming.”

“Who is he?”

“I'll tell you when we get there. Coming?”

Broohnin shrugged. “I don't know…I just don't know. I've got to meet with my associates tonight and we'll discuss it.” He leaned forward. “But you've got to tell me where all this is leading. I need something more than a few hints.”

Broohnin had noted that LaNague's expression had been carefully controlled since the moment he had entered the tavern. A small repertoire of bland, casual expressions had played across his face, displayed for calculated effect. But true emotions came through now. His eyes ignited and his mouth became set in a fierce, tight line.

“Revolution, my dear Broohnin. I propose a quiet revolution, one without blood and thunder, but one which will shake this world and the entire out-world mentality such as no storm of violence ever shall. History is filled with cosmetic revolutions wherein a little paint is daubed on an old face or, in the more violent and destructive examples, a new head set on an old body.

Mine will be different. Truly radical…which means it will strike at the root. I'm going to teach the out-worlds a lesson they will never forget. When I'm through with the Imperium and everything connected with it, the people of the out-worlds will swear to never again allow matters to reach the state they are in now. Never again!”

“But how, damn you?”

“By destroying these”-LaNague threw the mark notes on the table-“and substituting this.” He reached into another pocket of his vest and produced a round metal disk, yellow, big enough to cover a dead man's eye, and heavy-very heavy. It was stamped on both sides with a star inside an ohm.

THE CIRCLE WAS TO MEET at the usual place tonight. Broohnin always referred aloud to the members of his tiny revolutionist cadre as “my associates.” But in his mind and in his heart they were always called “the Broohnin circle.” It was a varied group-Professor Zachariah Brophy from Outworld University; Radmon Sayers, an up-and-coming vidcaster; Seph Wolverton, a worker with the communications center; Gram Hootre in the Treasury Department; Erv Singh at one of the Regional Revenue Centers. There were a few fringe members who were in and out as the spirit moved them. The first two, Zack and Sayers, had been out lately, protesting murder as a method; the rest seemed to be going along, although reluctantly. But then, who else did they have?

There was only one man on the rooftop: Seph Wolverton.

“Where are the others?

“Not coming,” Seph said. He was a big-boned, hard-muscled man; a fine computer technician. “No one's coming.”

“Why not? I called everyone. Left messages. I told them this was going to be an important meeting.”

“You've lost them, Den. After last night, they're all convinced you're crazy. I've known you a long time now, and I'm not so sure they're wrong. You took all our money and hired that assassin without telling us, without asking our approval. It's over, Den.”

“No, it's not! I started this group! You can't push me out-”

“Nobody's pushing. We're just walking away.” There was regret in Seph's voice, but a note of unbending finality, too.

“Listen. I may be able to work a new deal. Something completely different.” Broohnin's mind was racing to stay ahead of his tongue. “I made a contact tonight who may be able to put a whole new slant on this. A new approach to stopping the Imperium. Even Zack and Sayers won't want to miss out.”

Seph was shaking his head. “I doubt it. They're-”

“Tell them to give it a chance!”

“It'll have to be awfully good before they'll trust you again.”

“It will be. I guarantee it.”

“Give me an idea what you're talking about.”

“Not yet. Got to take a trip first.”

Seph shrugged. “All right. We've got plenty of time. I don't think the Imperium's going anywhere.” He turned without saying good-by and stepped into the drop-chute, leaving Broohnin alone on the roof. He didn't like Seph's attitude. He would have much preferred angry shouts and raised fists. Seph looked at him as if he had done something disgusting. He didn't like that look.

Broohnin looked up at the stars. Whether he wanted to or not, it appeared he would be going to Earth with LaNague. There was no other choice left to him, no other way to hold on to the tattered remnants of “the Broohnin circle.” He would use LaNague to pull everyone back together, and then take up again where he had left off. Once he got a feel for LaNague he was sure he could find ways to maneuver him into a useful position.

Off to Earth…and why not? Who could pass up a free trip like that anyway? Few out-worlders ever got there. And right now he was curious enough about what was going on in that Tolivian head to go just about anywhere to find out.

Vincen Stafford hung lazily suspended alongside the Lucky Teela with only a slim cord restraining him from eternity. As Second Assistant Navigator, the fascinating but unenviable duty of checking out all the control module's external navigation equipment fell to him. The job required a certain amount of working familiarity with the devices, more than the regular maintenance crew possessed. Only someone in the Navigator Guild would do. And since Stafford had the least seniority imaginable-this was his first assignment from the guild-he was elected.

Although finished with the checklist, he made no move to return to the lock where he could remove his gear and regain his weight. Instead he floated free and motionless, his eyes fixed on the ring of cargo pods encircling the control module…a gently curving necklace of random, oddly shaped stones connected by an invisible thread, reflecting distant fire.

The out-world-to-Earth grain run was ready to move. The area here at the critical point in the gravity well of Throne's star was used as a depot for Earth-bound exports from many of the agricultural worlds. The cargo pods were dropped off and linked to each other by intersecting hemispheres of force. When the daisy chain was long enough to assure sufficient profit from the run, the control module and its crew were linked up and all was set to go.

This run would not be completely typical, however. There were two passengers bound for Earth aboard. Unusual. Few if any out-worlders outside the diplomatic service had contact with Earth. The diplomats traveled in official cruisers, all others traveled any way they could. The two passengers within had to be wealthy-passage to Earth, even on a grain run, was not booked cheaply. They didn't look rich, those two…one dark of clothing, beard, and mood, the other blond and intense and clutching a small potted tree under his arm. An odd pair. Stafford wondered-

He realized he was wasting time. This was his maiden voyage in a navigational capacity and he had to be in top form. It had taken a long time for the guild to find him this post. After spending the required six standard years in intense encephaloaugmented study until he had become facile in every aspect of interstellar flight-from cosmology to subspace physics, from the intricacies of the proton-proton drive to the fail-safe aspects of the command module's thermostat-he was ready for the interstellar void. Unfortunately the void was not ready for him. The runs were not as frequent as they used to be and he had spent an unconscionably long time at the head of the list of applicants waiting for an assignment.