Jack Chalker - Priam's Lens

Father Chicanis sighed. “Yes, he was a great man and he could not live with this level of failure after all he had built. His sister has kept the hope and dream alive with fanatical devotion, and herself alive as well way beyond what anyone could conceive, all in the faith that one day God would find a way.”

“Some holy messenger!” Harker snorted. “The Dutchman’s a monster!”

“Perhaps, but many monsters wound up doing God’s bidding in the past, and He has different standards. Many of the heroines of the Bible are real or pretend prostitutes and thieves, and even the most beloved of God, King David, committed murder, adultery, and most of the other sins prohibited in the Ten Commandments. I can pray for the souls of his victims and for his own soul, but I will not allow who or what he is to reject what is brought to us.”

Harker thought a moment. “Constantine Karas—his sister is the old lady?”

“No, not really. She’s far more stubborn and ancient than that. Madame Sotoropolis, you see, is Constantine Karas’s grandmother. Or, at least, she’s ninety percent cyborg and ten percent ancient grandmother who is dedicated to this on sheer willpower. Her daughter, Melinda, Constantine’s mother, died a few years ago, trying to assemble and finance an expedition just to see if this sort of thing was feasible. She failed. The Dutchman didn’t. Sometimes it pays to have a thief about if you want to steal something.”

Harker thought it over. “Then why not have thieves do this?”

“The Dutchman’s no fool. Murphy died, and died ugly. He’s not going to risk more of his limited band on this. Instead, he notified the Karas family and they took it from there. He controls the exit, after all.”

Gene Harker didn’t much like the sound of that. “So what you’re saying is, if this is really down there, and if we can somehow get it, and if we can get it back here in some unfathomable manner, and if this thing is still set up right, and if this theoretical bullshit actually works, and if it really can blow slashing gaps through Titans, then we have to turn over this power exclusively to someone who has no ethics, no morals, and could become the next oppressor?”

“One thing at a time, Mister Harker,” Colonel N’Gana said philosophically. “You go back and count through all those ifs you just spouted. He’s the concluding problem if all the other ones work out. Let’s do one thing at a time. Besides, the human race has had countless tyrants over it and always managed to outlast them. We can deal with our own kind, no matter how insane, sooner or later. But if we can’t first deal with the Titans, then what difference does the rest make?”

There wasn’t a good answer to that. Finally Harker said, “So, how is this supposed to work? You go down there and go hand to hand with all the threats that might be there, minus any suits or computers or authentic weaponry, and you clear the path so Father Chicanis can guide you to the installation while Doc Socolov studies and deals with the natives, or whatever the surviving humans might be called. Then our silent Quadulan friend here slides down past the blockage through a hole it can get through even if you can’t, retrieves the backup modules, and you all sneak out past the noses of the Titans and somehow manage to get picked up without them seeing you and blowing you out of the air and without whatever got that poor bloke Murphy eating you, then you turn the liberated data over to the science trio up here, and we blow the beggars away and bring freedom to the universe. That about right?”

“Something like that,” the Colonel responded. “And we welcome an old experienced hand to the ground party, Mister Harker.”

“What makes you so sure I’ll go down with you?”

“Well, for one thing, you didn’t come this far to stop now. Second, you can survive for ages, I suspect, in that fancy combat suit, but it doesn’t seem to have any genhole actuators or plasma shielding on its own. The Dutchman may control our exit, sir, but no matter how much power you might think that suit gives you, I assure you that we control whether or not you can ever leave this system. You invited yourself along; now we expect you to be useful. I know your service record and reputation. You’ve got real guts and a lot of fighting skill. I don’t know how good you are without modern arms, but if your Commando training was anything close to my Ranger training, then you are better equipped for this than the vast majority of people, including most here. And we’re not going down there as unprotected as Murphy, I assure you. You can come, or you can watch, but coming with us is the only ticket home.”

Harker sighed. “Well, if you put it that way, I guess maybe I’ll come. Somebody from the official services should be there, I suppose, anyway. And it may be the only chance I get to see Doctor Socolov naked.”

“Mister Harker!” she exclaimed, in a tone that did not convey if she were truly shocked or only playing at it.

“The lifeboat will be cramped beyond belief with the added body, but we need you on the ground,” the usually silent Sergeant Mogutu said. “We have enough spare supplies to accommodate you, but both the colonel and I want to know a bit more about your unconventional skills just in case. We have two civilians along, remember, who have little hope in a fight. I never saw a priest who wasn’t trying to be a target all the time, and these science types are so filled with their own scientific interests they’ll ignore an ambush.”

“You’re all civilians to me,” Harker pointed out. “I’m still serving, at least as far as I know.”

“Well, you know what I mean. And this is a military operation, start to finish. Number one priority is to make sure that nothing kills or captures the Pooka. Otherwise we wind up no better than Murphy, for all the effort. Of course, after it hands us the cubes, everybody is expendable except the one who gets the cubes out. On the ground, the old ranks aren’t valid. The colonel is the commander, and I am second in command. As the uninvited guest, you’re third, since we have three others to consider and an overall mission to accomplish. Got it?”

Harker nodded. “Okay, fair enough. I’m not too thrilled about this mission anyway, you know.”

“What’s your hand-to-hand rating?”

“I’m black belt in seven disciplines. That’s the good news. The bad news is that, other than some jujitsu, I haven’t really kept it up. After spending an eternity in a regeneration tank, the spark just kind of left me.”

“Well, it’s better than nothing. What about weapons? Ever fired antique projectile weapons?”

“You mean things that shoot solids? Percussive stuff?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen them shot, and I tried it once in a historical target meet, but that’s about it. I doubt if I could hit anything short of a mountain with one.”

“Too bad. We have some here. The Dutchman says that percussive weapons using gunpowder don’t pick up on the Titan radar. Noisy as hell, though, so your position’s a dead giveaway. They’re heavy, bulky, and the ammunition’s worse, but we’re taking some. Even the doc’s been practicing on a range we set up on the Odysseus. I’m not sure she could actually shoot anybody, but she’s more accurate than you say you are. What hand weapons can you use with some confidence?”

“Knife, certainly, and I’ve fenced much of my life. It’s good exercise without driving you nuts.”

“Hmm… Wish I had some swords. Never thought of that. Got some good knives with different weights and hefts, though. Okay, well, so be it. I’ll notify the colonel. Dress is stock camouflage fatigues, waterproof combat hoots. Draw what you need. You’ll probably be living in them for a couple of weeks. Oh—forgot. Can you swim?”