CHAPTER FIVE
The restaurant to which Grey Goldson drove them, Grogan’s Seaview Grill, was well named, for it occupied the penthouse atop one of New Philadelphia’s taller buildings, peering out over the roofs and the ocean to the west, where only the afterglow of Tau Ceti was now visible, partly occluded by Eithinoha. The sky was clear, and the stars were coming out in their multitudes. As they sat down at a window-side table, Rogers saw a rather spectacular shooting star, which neither Goldson nor anyone else seemed to notice. By the time they had ordered drinks and were studying the menu, he had glimpsed several smaller ones. After they had ordered dinner, he mentioned it.
“I’m not used to so many shooting stars. On Earth, on a clear night, you generally have to look at a particular patch of sky for a few minutes before you see one.”
“It’s the debris disk, of course. The Tau Ceti system has more cometary and asteroidal material than Sol by an order of magnitude. And we don’t have a big gas-giant planet like Jupiter out there to deflect a lot of the incoming stuff.”
“Yes, I know. It certainly makes for quite a show in your sky. But what about asteroids big enough to get through your atmosphere without burning away from friction? On Earth, it’s been about sixty million years since a really big asteroid strike—the one that wiped out the dinosaurs. Does it make you just a little…well, nervous to live on a planet that can expect that kind of thing far more frequently?”
“Not really. You’re still talking about intervals of time that are very long on the scale of human lifetimes—or even human history. I for one refuse to worry about it.”
“Still…”
“Naturally we maintain a sky-watch program that can detect any object that’s on a collision course and is large enough to worry about. And given the Bernheim Drive and antimatter warheads, it would be simple to intercept it and break it up into harmless chunks.”
“I’m sure the Royal Space Navy would be more than happy to do that for you,” Rogers said drily.
“Just as well,” she said with what seemed to Rogers just a slight drop in temperature, “inasmuch as we’re not allowed weapons of mass destruction—even to use against space rocks.”
“Well, that’s not all they can be used against.” For an instant, Rogers was afraid he had gone a bit too far and ruined the atmosphere he had been carefully nurturing. But after only a second’s immobility, her features actually relaxed into a small smile. Encouraged—and in no immediate hurry to start talking shop—he decided to venture a little further. “You know, when your ancestors set out in the early twenty-second century to colonize this system, they didn’t have any of that—reaction drives were all they had in those days. And they had no reason to think the RSN would ever be in a position, out there at Washington Station, to help them. In fact, they were deliberately trying to put themselves beyond its reach. Seems like they were taking an awful risk.”
“They must have thought it was worth it,” she said, quietly but with what Rogers could have sworn was a hint of challenge in her voice.
Maybe I’d better take up the challenge.
“One wonders why they thought so,” he said. She blinked, and he hurried on before she could respond. “For that matter, one wonders why the North American rebels of 1776 thought the risk they were taking was worth it. If you think about it, they didn’t really have all that much to complain about. They had the highest standard of living on the planet. And they were largely self-governing internally, with colonial legislatures elected by the people.”
“‘The people’ meaning free white male Protestants who met a property qualification,” she rejoined.
“Doesn’t sound very democratic to us, does it? But the fact is that the colonial legislatures were more representative than the contemporary British House of Commons. And any sort of local self-government would have been unthinkable in any of the other European colonies of that era, whose royal governors were absolute despots. And there was never any attempt to impose religious uniformity on all the British colonies; each decided on its own established church, and dissenting churches were allowed to function—something else that would have been unthinkable in, say, the Spanish colonial empire.”
“But the British Parliament, where they had no voice, had started imposing direct taxes on them.”
“Yes, that was the real problem, wasn’t it? Taxation without representation went against the English-speaking grain. That’s why the colonists got a lot of sympathy in England—even from the king. But then, William V was a highly intelligent monarch. He wasn’t able to avert the whole thing, as might have been easy to do after the repeal of the Stamp Act in 1766. But later, after both sides had gotten a taste of war, he was able, through his political allies, to sell his ideas for imperial reorganization to Parliament—and, with the help of Benjamin Franklin and others, to the Americans as well.”
“Most of the Americans,” Grey corrected.
“Up to and including George Washington,” Rogers reminded her with a smile. “And surely you can see their point. The peace settlement resolved all the real issues: no more direct imperial taxation without colonial consent; the Imperial Grand Council, with American representation, to oversee overall policy; and the colonies reorganized into a smaller number of larger dominions with their own parliaments, and with their borders rationalized.”
“Some might wonder if just maybe that reorganization and those border adjustments were intended to dilute the old colonial identities and loyalties.” But at that moment their dinners were brought. By the time they had begun to apply themselves to the food, Rogers saw that Grey was giving him an interested look. “You obviously have some knowledge of North American history.”
“Some. I’ve always had an interest in it. And I’m North American myself.”
“Yes, you mentioned that before. And I’d already surmised it from your accent—or, as we prefer to think of it, your lack of one.” Her smile really was quite attractive, he thought, when she deigned to deploy it. “Also…Well, I couldn’t help wondering…”
Rogers laughed. “To answer the question you’re trying to frame, my name is not a coincidence. I’m a direct descendant of the famous Robert Rogers—or maybe I should say infamous, considering where I am.”
“That may be a bit strong,” she said, not very convincingly. “Maybe among some—”
“Like the Sons of Arnold,” Rogers finished for her, making his first move to steer the conversation toward his mission.
“Yes, certainly them. But,” she added hastily, “as I indicated before, NAISA keeps them under surveillance, and we’ve never linked them with any criminal activity, no matter how truculent their rhetoric sometimes is.”
“But how effective is your surveillance, really? From the reports I’ve read, you have no idea of the full scope of their membership.”
“Well, no,” she admitted. “They use all the traditional ‘secret society’ dodges, including the cell system.”
“Besides which, I frankly can’t help wondering if NAISA’s heart is really in it.” Rogers raised a hand, forestalling a defensive reply. “Oh, I don’t say that your organization has been infiltrated by the Sons—although the possibility can’t be ruled out. I don’t even suggest that NAISA personnel are actively sympathetic to them. But the fact is, those personnel are New Americans.” Including you, he didn’t add.
“Most New Americans don’t subscribe to the Sons’ ideology,” she stated stiffly.
“Oh, yes, I’m sure the majority here are as non-ideological as the majority of people everywhere, and that they have better sense than to take seriously the fantasy about returning to Earth and leading a new rebellion that nobody in North America wants.” From behind a casual facade, Rogers watched Grey closely for a reaction to this calculated bit of provocation, but saw none. “Still, they don’t consider the Sons’ message to be beyond the pale, do they? It’s just a more extreme form of the version of history they’ve been brought up on. You might say they lack philosophical antibodies against it.”
He expected indignation. What he got was tightly controlled inscrutability. She tilted her head back and gazed at him. “Why are you so focused on the Sons of Arnold? It seems to me that the Caliphate trade mission that’s here would be a more productive source of leads—not that they’ve given us any reason to suspect that they’re up to anything untoward.”
“Of course we’ll pursue that avenue. But there are limits to the scope of my investigation where they’re concerned. They don’t have actual diplomatic immunity, but I’ll have to tread very lightly to avoid creating any incidents. I need to simultaneously look into it from the New American angle as well. And the Sons seem the most obvious center of disaffection with the Empire—in fact, it’s what they’re all about.” Rogers cocked an eyebrow. “Unless, that is, you can suggest more likely suspects among the local population.”
“Naturally NAISA maintains files on extremist organizations and individuals.”
With how much enthusiasm, I wonder? “Naturally,” Rogers echoed aloud. “Tomorrow morning, I’d like to go over them with you. And by the way…just remember the unofficial nature of my contact with your agency, and my very presence here. We don’t want to alarm the opposition.”
“Understood. There won’t be any official fanfare when I take you to NAISA headquarters.”
They finished their dinner—Grey insisted on paying half—and returned to the street, where her glide car was parked. As it slid through the streets toward Rogers’ hotel, he gazed around. Even in the darkness, he noticed things…or, rather, noticed their absence.
“This isn’t the way we came,” he remarked, as they swung into an empty street.
“No,” she said easily. “I decided on second thought that this would be better. Less traffic, and—uh!”
They were both thrown forward against their seat belts as the glide car abruptly slammed to a halt. Tractor beam, Rogers thought automatically. The focused remote application of gravitics could not only stop cold a relatively low-powered vehicle like this one, it also interfered with the grav repulsion, causing it to shut down with varying degrees of damage. They were immobilized.
Three men ran from a building—presumably the one where the beam generator was concealed. They wore face-covering masks, and they were armed with weapons Rogers immediately recognized in the glow of the streetlights as sonic stunner pistols. Two of them ran to the sides of the glide car and jerked the doors open. “Get out!”
“Who are you?” Rogers demanded. He wanted to delay getting out—avoid it altogether if at all possible.
“No talk! Move!” The man at Rogers’ door grabbed him by the upper arm and started to drag him out.
All at once, the scene was bathed in harsh light from above.
About time, thought Rogers as he broke the startled man’s hold and twisted his arm around, effectively pinning him to the side of the glide car.
The source of the floodlight—a full-capability aircar—descended, and the faint lines of low-powered laser guide beams seemed to stab the three attackers. Those beams ionized the air and carried electrical charges to their targets. All three slumped, unconscious.
Rogers got out and waved to the aircar. It settled onto the street and a couple of security men from the Residency emerged and loaded the unconscious would-be kidnappers into the aircar. They then entered the building and emerged with a portable tractor beam generator, which they also appropriated. Rogers spoke briefly to the officer in charge, after which the aircar rose back into the night. Rogers turned and saw that Grey was standing beside her glide car. She looked up at the departing aircar, then looked a question at Rogers.
“I left word with Mr. Logan concerning my plans tonight,” he explained.
“Lieutenant Commander Logan, you mean,” she cut in expressionlessly.
Rogers grinned. “Why am I not surprised that you know that? Well, no point in denying it. I asked him to assign an aircar—stealthed, so as to avoid traffic ordinances—to be my guardian angel, hovering over me at all times by grace of a small signaling device I’m carrying.”
“You might have told me,” she said as they got back inside and sat down.
“Well…lack of need to know, and all that sort of thing.”
“You realize, of course, that your security people have no jurisdiction outside the Residency to make arrests.”
Rogers’ smile remained in place, but it underwent a qualitative change into blandness. “What arrests? None of this ever happened.”
“I see.” She folded her arms, right hand under left elbow.
“Your car’s grav repulsion should start up again now,” Rogers reminded her. “Oh, and by the way, there’s one thing that’s bothering me…”
“Yes?” Her expressionlessness was absolute.
“How did they know where to set up their little ambush? Especially considering that you changed routes.”
“I’m sorry, Commander. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.” She unfolded her arms. Her right hand was holding a sonic stunner like those of their erstwhile attackers.
Rogers just barely had time to think Idiot! at himself before the ultrasonic beam did its work on his nervous system and unconsciousness enveloped him.