F. Wilson - An Enemy of the State

IT WAS THE FIRST TIME LaNague could remember being happy to see Broohnin. He and Doc Zack and Radmon Sayers had waited in the warehouse office into the hours toward dawn. The money drop earlier in the evening had gone off as smoothly as the heist that morning. Things were looking up all over, at least as far as his plans for the revolution were concerned. Everything was going according to schedule, and going smoothly. Too smoothly. He kept waiting for a kink to develop somewhere along the line, waiting and hoping that when it appeared he would be able to handle it. The meeting tonight between Metep and his Council of Five could possibly produce a kink, but that was unlikely. There was no way out for the Imperium now. No matter what they did, no matter what they tried, they were unaware of the purpose of Boedekker's activities on Earth. The Imperium was going to crumble, that was for certain. The Boedekker aspect of the plan would enable LaNague to control the exact moment of its fall, its rate of descent, and its force of impact. The Boedekker aspect would ensure an impact of such force that no trace of the cadaver would remain.

“What's the word from the meeting?” LaNague asked as Broohnin entered the office.

“Nothing,” Broohnin said, scowling through his beard. “A complete waste of time. You wouldn't believe what they wound up deciding to do after hours in hush-hush conference.”

“Spend more money, of course,” Zack said.

Sayers nodded. “Of course. But on what?”

“Probe ships?” Broohnin looked around at the uncomprehending faces.

“That's right-probe ships. I told you you wouldn't believe it.”

“What in the name of the Core for?” Sayers asked.

“To find aliens. Haworth wants to jump over to the next arm of the galaxy and sell stuff to aliens. He says they're over there and they can save the Imperium.”

As Zack and Sayers began to laugh, Broohnin joined in. The three of them whooped and roared and pounded the arms of their chairs until they noticed that LaNague was not even smiling. Instead, he was frowning with concern.

“What's the matter, Peter?” Sayers said, gasping for breath. “Have you ever heard of a more ridiculous idea?”

LaNague shook his head. “No. Never. But it may ruin everything.”

“But how could-”

LaNague turned away from the vidcaster toward Broohnin. “When does construction start?”

“Immediately, from what I can gather.”

“Is it going to be a military or civil project?”

“Civil. They're going to run it through the Grain Export Authority.”

“And monitoring?”

Broohnin looked at him questioningly. LaNague's intensity was alarming. “I don't-”

“Communications! The probes have to have a place to report back to, a nerve center of some sort that'll coordinate their movements.”

“That'll be the GEA comm center, I guess. That's where all the grain pods reported to as they assembled for a run. It's got all the necessary equipment.”

LaNague was up and pacing the room. “Have you got any contacts in there?” Seeing Broohnin nod, he went on. “How many?”

“One.”

“Get more! Slip our people onto the duty roster in the communications area. We need people on our side in there.”

“That's not going to be easy. With the grain runs falling off, they've cut the comm staff. Not enough work to go around.”

“If we have to, we'll bribe our way onto the staff. Beg, plead, threaten…I don't care what you do, but get us enough people in that comm center to keep it covered at all times.”

“But why?” Sayers asked.

“Because I want to be the first to know what those probe ships find. And if I don't like what they find, I'm going to see to it that the information takes an awful long time getting to the Council of Five.”

Doc Zack spoke from his seat. “You don't really think finding aliens to trade with could open up a large enough market to offset what the Imperium's already done to the economy, and what the cost of this probe ship program will do on top of that, do you? Let me say as an authority on economics that there isn't the slightest chance of success.”

“I realize that,” LaNague said from the middle of the room.

“Then why the sudden panic? Why tell us that it could ruin everything when you know it can't.”

“I'm not worried about them trading with whatever aliens are out there. I'm worried about them stumbling into something else-the one thing that might turn everything we've worked for around; the one thing that's always helped the Meteps and the Imperiums of history out of slumps. And you of all people, Doc, should know what I'm talking about.”

Doc Zack's brow furrowed momentarily, then his eyes widened and his face blanched.

“Oh, my!”

“Meat?” Salli cried, her gaze shifting back and forth between the roast on the table and her husband. “How did you get it?”

Bought it.” Vincen Stafford was smiling. For the first time in two years he was feeling some pride in himself.

“But how? You just can't get meat any more, except in-”

He nodded. “Yeah. The black market.”

“But they don't accept Food Vouchers. And we don't have any money.”

“Yes, we do. I signed up as a pilot for Project Perseus today.”

“You mean that probe ship thing? Oh no, Vin! You can't mean it! It's too dangerous!”

“It's the only thing I know how to do, Salli. And it pays thirty thousand marks a year. They gave me half in advance for signing.”

“But you'll be out there all alone…nobody's ever been out there before.”

“That's why I got such a premium for signing. It's nothing to pilot those one-man ships. All the skill's in the navigation. And that's what I do best. It was made for me! I've got to take it.” The light in his face faded slightly. “Please understand. We need the money…but more than that, I need this job.”

Salli looked up at her husband. She knew he needed the job to feel useful again, to feel he had control over something in his life again, even if it was just a tiny probe ship in the uncharted blackness between the galactic arms. And she knew it would be useless to argue with him. He had signed, he had taken the money, he was going. Make the best of it.

She rose and kissed him.

“Let's get this roast cooking.”

“…AND ONCE AGAIN there's news from Earth about Eric Boedekker, the wealthy asteroid mining magnate. It seems that he has now sold his fabulous skisland estate to a high bidder in one of the most fantastic auctions in memory. As far as anyone can tell, the estate was the last of the Boedekker holdings to be liquidated, and the former owner is now living in seclusion, address unknown.

“Thus, one of the largest fortunes in human history has been completely liquidated. Whether it sits in an account for future use or has been surreptitiously reinvested remains a tantalizing question. Only Eric Boedekker knows, and no one can find him.

“And here on the out-worlds, Project Perseus is proceeding on schedule. A crew for the fleet of ships has been picked from the host of heroic applicants-most of whom were underqualified-and all that is necessary now is completion of the tiny probe ships themselves…”

IT WAS THE SAME old argument, over and over again. Broohnin was sick of it. So was everyone else. LaNague still refused to let them know where it was all heading. He was promising them the full story by the end of the year, but Broohnin wanted it now. So did Sayers and Doc Zack. Even the Flinters looked a little uncertain.