Robert Heinlein - Between Planets

Don was embarrassed by the man's naked emotion. "I can guess," he said gruffly. "Mr. Costello told me that it meant bomb protection and faster ships-and I bet on my hunch that you people and I are on the same side in the long run. I just hope I didn't guess wrong."

"Guess wrong? No, you haven't guessed wrong-and not just in the long run, as you put it, but right now! Now that we have this-" he held up the ring, "we stand a fight- . ing chance to save our people on Mars."

"Mars?" repeated Don. "Hey, wait a minute-what's this about Mars? Who's going to be saved? And from what?"

Phipps looked just as puzzled. "Eh? But wasn't that what persuaded you to turn over the ring?"

"Wasn't what persuaded me?"

"Didn't Jim Costello-" "Why, I thought of course you had-" and Sir Isaac's voder interrupted with, "Gentlemen, apparently it was assumed that..."

"Quiet!" Don shouted as Phipps opened his mouth again ; Don hurriedly added, "Things seem to have gotten mixed up again. Can somebody-just one of you-tell me what goes on?"

Costello could and did. The Organization had for many years been quietly building a research center on Mars. It was the one place in the system where the majority of humans were scientists. The Federation maintained merely an outpost there, with a skeleton garrison. Mars was not regarded as being of any real importance-just a place where harmless longhairs could dig among the ruins and study the customs of the ancient and dying race.

The security officers of the I.B.I. gave Mars little attention; there seemed no need. The occasional agent who did show up could be led around and allowed to see research of no military importance.

The group on Mars did not have the giant facilities available on Earth-the mastodonic cybernetic machines, the unlimited sources of atomic power, the superpowerful particle accelerators, the enormous laboratories-but they did have freedom. The theoretical groundwork for new advances in physics had been worked out on Mars, spurred on by certain mystifying records of the First Empire-that almost mythical earlier epoch when the solar system had been one political unit. Don was warmly pleased to hear that his parents' researches had contributed largely at this point in the problem. It was known-or so the ancient Martian records seemed to state-that the ships of the First Empire had traveled between the planets, not in journeys of weary months, or even weeks, but of days.

The descriptions of these ships and of their motive power were extensive, but differences in language, in concept, and in technology created obstacles enough to give comparative semanticists nervous breakdowns-had done so, in fact. A treatise on modern electronics written in Sanskrit poetry with half the thoughts taken for granted would have been lucid in comparison.

It had simply been impossible to make fully intelligible translation of the ancient records. What was missing had to be worked out by genius and sweat.

When the theoretical work had been carried as far as it could be the problem was sent to Earth via members of the Organization for sub rosa testing and for conversion of theory into present-day engineering. At first there was a steady traffic of information back and forth between planets, but, as the secret grew, the members of the Organization were less and less inclined to travel for fear of compromising what they knew. By the time of the Venus crisis it had been standard practice for some years to send critical information by couriers who knew nothing and therefore could not talk-such as Don-or by nonterrestrials who were physically immune to the interrogation methods of the security police-giving a Venerian dragon the "third degree" was not only impractical, but ridiculous. For different but equally obvious reasons Martians too were safe from the thought police.

Don himself was a last-minute choice, a "channel of opportunity"-the Venus crisis had rushed things. How badly it had rushed things no one knew until after Commodore Higgins' spectacular raid on Circum-Terra. The engineering data so urgently needed on Mars had gone to Venus instead, there to be lost (Don's half of it) in the confusion of rebellion and counterblow. The rebelling colonists, driving toward the same goal as the Organization, had unknowingly thwarted their best chance for overthrowing the Federation.

Communication between the Organization members on Venus, on Earth, and on Mars had been precariously and imperfectly reestablished right under the noses of the Federation police. The Organization had members working for I. T. & T. on all three planets-members such as Costello. Costello himself had been helped to make his escape, with Isobel, because he knew too much; they could not afford to have him questioned-but a new "drop box" had been set up at Governor's Island in the person of a Federation communications technical sergeant. The channel to the sergeant was a dragon who had the garbage disposal contract for the "Greenie" base. The dragon had no voder; the sergeant knew no whistle talk-but a tentacle can pass a note to a human hand.

Communication, though difficult and dangerous, was possible; travel between planets for members of the Organization was now utterly impossible. The only commercial line as yet reestablished was the Earth-Moon run. The group on Venus was attempting the almost impossible task of completing a project all preliminary preparations for which had been made for Mars. The task was not quite impossible-provided they could find the missing half of the message, they might yet outfit a ship, send it to Mars, and finish the job.

So they hoped... and continued to hope until recently, when disastrous news had gotten through to them from Earth-the Organization had been penetrated on Earth; a very senior member, one who knew much too much, had been arrested and had not been able to suicide in time.

And a task force of Federation ships was already on its way to attack the group on Mars.

"Wait a minute!" Don interrupted. "I thought-Mr. Costello, didn't you tell me, back in New London, that the Federation had already moved in on Mars?"

"Not exactly. I told you that I had inferred... that the Federation had taken over Schiaparelli Station, the I. T. & T. branch there. And so they had-to the extent of censoring all traffic and putting a stop to all traffic with Venus. They could do that with a squad of soldiers from the pint-sized garrison they've always had there. But this is an attack in force. They mean to liquidate the Organization."

Liquidate the Organization-Don translated the jawbreakers into real words: kill all the people who were against them. That meant his parents

He shook his head to clear it. The thought did not mean anything to him inside. It had been too many years; he could not see their faces-and he could not imagine them dead. He wondered if he himself had become dead inside, unable to feel things. No matter-something had to be done. "What do we do? How can we stop it?"

"We quit wasting time!" answered Phipps. "We've lost half a day already. Sir Isaac?"

"Yes, my friend. Let us hurry."

The room was a laboratory shop, but of dragon proportions. It needed to be, for it held a round dozen of dragons as well as fifty-odd men and a sprinkling of women. Everyone who could manage it wanted to see the opening of the ring. Even Malath da Thon was there, sitting up in his cell with the aid of his powerdriven corset and with the colors of emotion rippling gently across his frail body.

Don and Isobel had climbed to the top of the entrance ramp, where they could see without being in the way. Opposite them was a large stereo tank, lighted but with no picture growing in it. Below them was a micromanipulator, dragon style; other pieces of apparatus and power tools filled the rest of the room. They were strange to Don, not because they were of dragon construction and for dragon use, for many of them were not-they were strange in the way in which laboratory equipment is always exotic to the layman. He was used to dragon artifacts; the two technologies, human and dragon, had interpenetrated sufficiently that a human, especially one living on Venus, found nothing odd in joints that were wrung instead of welded or bolted, nothing unusual in interlocking ovoids where a man would use screws.