"Exactly how soon?"
The big Pole hesitated. "As a matter of fact, there's only one thing
holding us back."
Sherikov led Reinhart around to the other side of the lab. He pushed a
lab guard out of the way.
"See this?" He tapped a round globe, open at one end, the size of a
grapefruit. "This is holding us up."
"What is it?"
"The central control turret. This thing brings Icarus back to sub-ftl
flight at the correct moment. It must be absolutely accurate. Icarus
will be within the star only a matter of a microsecond. If the turret
does not function exactly, Icarus will pass out the other side and
shoot beyond the Centauran system."
"How near completed is this turret?"
Sherikov hedged uncertainly, spreading out his big hands. "Who can
say? It must be wired with infinitely minute equipment--microscope
grapples and wires invisible to the naked eye."
"Can you name any completion date?"
Sherikov reached into his coat and brought out a manila folder. "I've
drawn up the data for the SRB machines, giving a date of completion.
You can go ahead and feed it. I entered ten days as the maximum
period. The machines can work from that."
Reinhart accepted the folder cautiously. "You're sure about the date?
I'm not convinced I can trust you, Sherikov."
Sherikov's features darkened. "You'll have to take a chance,
Commissioner. I don't trust you any more than you trust me. I know how
much you'd like an excuse to get me out of here and one of your
puppets in."
Reinhart studied the huge scientist thoughtfully. Sherikov was going
to be a hard nut to crack. Designs was responsible to Security, not
the Council. Sherikov was losing ground--but he was still a potential
danger. Stubborn, individualistic, refusing to subordinate his welfare
to the general good.
"All right." Reinhart put the folder slowly away in his coat. "I'll
feed it. But you better be able to come through. There can't be any
slip-ups. Too much hangs on the next few days."
"If the odds change in our favor are you going to give the
mobilization order?"
"Yes," Reinhart stated. "I'll give the order the moment I see the odds
change."
* * * * *
Standing in front of the machines, Reinhart waited nervously for the
results. It was two o'clock in the afternoon. The day was warm, a
pleasant May afternoon. Outside the building the daily life of the
planet went on as usual.
As usual? Not exactly. The feeling was in the air, an expanding
excitement growing every day. Terra had waited a long time. The attack
on Proxima Centaurus had to come--and the sooner the better. The
ancient Centauran Empire hemmed in Terra, bottled the human race up in
its one system. A vast, suffocating net draped across the heavens,
cutting Terra off from the bright diamonds beyond.... And it had to
end.
The SRB machines whirred, the visible combination disappearing. For a
time no ratio showed. Reinhart tensed, his body rigid. He waited.
The new ratio appeared.
Reinhart gasped. 7-6. Toward Terra!
Within five minutes the emergency mobilization alert had been flashed
to all Government departments. The Council and President Duffe had
been called to immediate session. Everything was happening fast.
But there was no doubt. 7-6. In Terra's favor. Reinhart hurried
frantically to get his papers in order, in time for the Council
session.
At histo-research the message plate was quickly pulled from the
confidential slot and rushed across the central lab to the chief
official.
"Look at this!" Fredman dropped the plate on his superior's desk.
"Look at it!"
Harper picked up the plate, scanning it rapidly. "Sounds like the real
thing. I didn't think we'd live to see it."
Fredman left the room, hurrying down the hall. He entered the time
bubble office. "Where's the bubble?" he demanded, looking around.
One of the technicians looked slowly up. "Back about two hundred
years. We're coming up with interesting data on the War of 1914.
According to material the bubble has already brought up--"
"Cut it. We're through with routine work. Get the bubble back to the
present. From now on all equipment has to be free for Military work."
"But--the bubble is regulated automatically."
"You can bring it back manually."
"It's risky." The technician hedged. "If the emergency requires it, I
suppose we could take a chance and cut the automatic."
"The emergency requires _everything_," Fredman said feelingly.
"But the odds might change back," Margaret Duffe, President of the
Council, said nervously. "Any minute they can revert."
"This is our chance!" Reinhart snapped, his temper rising. "What the
hell's the matter with you? We've waited years for this."
The Council buzzed with excitement. Margaret Duffe hesitated
uncertainly, her blue eyes clouded with worry. "I realize the
opportunity is here. At least, statistically. But the new odds have
just appeared. How do we know they'll last? They stand on the basis of
a single weapon."
"You're wrong. You don't grasp the situation." Reinhart held himself
in check with great effort. "Sherikov's weapon tipped the ratio in our
favor. But the odds have been moving in our direction for months. It
was only a question of time. The new balance was inevitable, sooner or
later. It's not just Sherikov. He's only one factor in this. It's all
nine planets of the Sol System--not a single man."
One of the Councilmen stood up. "The President must be aware the
entire planet is eager to end this waiting. All our activities for the
past eighty years have been directed toward--"
Reinhart moved close to the slender President of the Council. "If you
don't approve the war, there probably will be mass rioting. Public
reaction will be strong. Damn strong. And you know it."
Margaret Duffe shot him a cold glance. "You sent out the emergency
order to force my hand. You were fully aware of what you were doing.
You knew once the order was out there'd be no stopping things."
A murmur rushed through the Council, gaining volume. "We have to
approve the war!... We're committed!... It's too late to turn back!"
Shouts, angry voices, insistent waves of sound lapped around Margaret
Duffe. "I'm as much for the war as anybody," she said sharply. "I'm
only urging moderation. An inter-system war is a big thing. We're
going to war because a machine says we have a statistical chance of
winning."
"There's no use starting the war unless we can win it," Reinhart said.
"The SRB machines tell us whether we can win."
"They tell us our _chance_ of winning. They don't guarantee anything."
"What more can we ask, beside a good chance of winning?"
Margaret Duffe clamped her jaw together tightly. "All right. I hear
all the clamor. I won't stand in the way of Council approval. The vote
can go ahead." Her cold, alert eyes appraised Reinhart. "Especially
since the emergency order has already been sent out to all Government
departments."
"Good." Reinhart stepped away with relief. "Then it's settled. We can
finally go ahead with full mobilization."
Mobilization proceeded rapidly. The next forty-eight hours were alive
with activity.
Reinhart attended a policy-level Military briefing in the Council
rooms, conducted by Fleet Commander Carleton.
"You can see our strategy," Carleton said. He traced a diagram on the
blackboard with a wave of his hand. "Sherikov states it'll take eight
more days to complete the ftl bomb. During that time the fleet we have
near the Centauran system will take up positions. As the bomb goes off
the fleet will begin operations against the remaining Centauran ships.
Many will no doubt survive the blast, but with Armun gone we should be
able to handle them."
Reinhart took Commander Carleton's place. "I can report on the
economic situation. Every factory on Terra is converted to arms
production. With Armun out of the way we should be able to promote
mass insurrection among the Centauran colonies. An inter-system Empire
is hard to maintain, even with ships that approach light speed. Local
war-lords should pop up all over the place. We want to have weapons
available for them and ships starting _now_ to reach them in time.
Eventually we hope to provide a unifying principle around which the
colonies can all collect. Our interest is more economic than
political. They can have any kind of government they want, as long as
they act as supply areas for us. As our eight system planets act now."
Carleton resumed his report. "Once the Centauran fleet has been
scattered we can begin the crucial stage of the war. The landing of
men and supplies from the ships we have waiting in all key areas
throughout the Centauran system. In this stage--"
Reinhart moved away. It was hard to believe only two days had passed
since the mobilization order had been sent out. The whole system was
alive, functioning with feverish activity. Countless problems were
being solved--but much remained.
He entered the lift and ascended to the SRB room, curious to see if
there had been any change in the machines' reading. He found it the
same. So far so good. Did the Centaurans know about Icarus? No doubt;
but there wasn't anything they could do about it. At least, not in
eight days.
Kaplan came over to Reinhart, sorting a new batch of data that had
come in. The lab organizer searched through his data. "An amusing item
came in. It might interest you." He handed a message plate to
Reinhart.
It was from histo-research: