"The bomb came back, dropping below the ftl speed as soon as it
entered the star Proxima. But it did not explode. There was no
cataclysm. It reappeared and was absorbed by the sun, turned into gas
at once."
"Why didn't it explode?" Dixon demanded.
"Because Thomas Cole solved Hedge's problem. He found a way to bring
the ftl object back into this universe without collision. Without an
explosion. The variable man found what Hedge was after...."
The whole Council was on its feet. A growing murmur filled the
chamber, a rising pandemonium breaking out on all sides.
"I don't believe it!" Reinhart gasped. "It isn't possible. If Cole
solved Hedge's problem that would mean--" He broke off, staggered.
"Faster than light drive can now be used for space travel," Sherikov
continued, waving the noise down. "As Hedge intended. My men have
studied the photographs of the control turret. They don't know _how_
or _why_, yet. But we have complete records of the turret. We can
duplicate the wiring, as soon as the laboratories have been repaired."
Comprehension was gradually beginning to settle over the room. "Then
it'll be possible to build ftl ships," Margaret Duffe murmured, dazed.
"And if we can do that--"
"When I showed him the control turret, Cole understood its purpose.
Not _my_ purpose, but the original purpose Hedge had been working
toward. Cole realized Icarus was actually an incomplete spaceship, not
a bomb at all. He saw what Hedge had seen, an ftl space drive. He set
out to make Icarus work."
"We can go _beyond_ Centaurus," Dixon muttered. His lips twisted.
"Then the war was trivial. We can leave the Empire completely behind.
We can go beyond the galaxy."
"The whole universe is open to us," Sherikov agreed. "Instead of
taking over an antiquated Empire, we have the entire cosmos to map and
explore, God's total creation."
Margaret Duffe got to her feet and moved slowly toward the great
stellar maps that towered above them at the far end of the chamber.
She stood for a long time, gazing up at the myriad suns, the legions
of systems, awed by what she saw.
"Do you suppose he realized all this?" she asked suddenly. "What we
can see, here on these maps?"
"Thomas Cole is a strange person," Sherikov said, half to himself.
"Apparently he has a kind of intuition about machines, the way things
are supposed to work. An intuition more in his hands than in his head.
A kind of genius, such as a painter or a pianist has. Not a scientist.
He has no verbal knowledge about things, no semantic references. He
deals with the things themselves. Directly.
"I doubt very much if Thomas Cole understood what would come about. He
looked into the globe, the control turret. He saw unfinished wiring
and relays. He saw a job half done. An incomplete machine."
"Something to be fixed," Margaret Duffe put in.
"Something to be fixed. Like an artist, he saw his work ahead of him.
He was interested in only one thing: turning out the best job he
could, with the skill he possessed. For us, that skill has opened up a
whole universe, endless galaxies and systems to explore. Worlds
without end. Unlimited, _untouched_ worlds."
Reinhart got unsteadily to his feet. "We better get to work. Start
organizing construction teams. Exploration crews. We'll have to
reconvert from war production to ship designing. Begin the manufacture
of mining and scientific instruments for survey work."
"That's right," Margaret Duffe said. She looked reflectively up at
him. "But you're not going to have anything to do with it."
Reinhart saw the expression on her face. His hand flew to his gun and
he backed quickly toward the door. Dixon leaped up and joined him.
"Get back!" Reinhart shouted.
Margaret Duffe signalled and a phalanx of Government troops closed in
around the two men. Grim-faced, efficient soldiers with magnetic
grapples ready.
Reinhart's blaster wavered--toward the Council members sitting shocked
in their seats, and toward Margaret Duffe, straight at her blue eyes.
Reinhart's features were distorted with insane fear. "Get back! Don't
anybody come near me or she'll be the first to get it!"
Peter Sherikov slid from the table and with one great stride swept his
immense bulk in front of Reinhart. His huge black-furred fist rose in
a smashing arc. Reinhart sailed against the wall, struck with ringing
force and then slid slowly to the floor.
The Government troops threw their grapples quickly around him and
jerked him to his feet. His body was frozen rigid. Blood dripped from
his mouth. He spat bits of tooth, his eyes glazed over. Dixon stood
dazed, mouth open, uncomprehending, as the grapples closed around his
arms and legs.
Reinhart's gun skidded to the floor as he was yanked toward the door.
One of the elderly Council members picked the gun up and examined it
curiously. He laid it carefully on the table. "Fully loaded," he
murmured. "Ready to fire."
Reinhart's battered face was dark with hate. "I should have killed all
of you. _All_ of you!" An ugly sneer twisted across his shredded lips.
"If I could get my hands loose--"
"You won't," Margaret Duffe said. "You might as well not even bother
to think about it." She signalled to the troops and they pulled
Reinhart and Dixon roughly out of the room, two dazed figures,
snarling and resentful.
For a moment the room was silent. Then the Council members shuffled
nervously in their seats, beginning to breathe again.
Sherikov came over and put his big paw on Margaret Duffe's shoulder.
"Are you all right, Margaret?"