Question and Answer : The Collected Short Works of Poul Anderson (Volume 7) by Poul Anderson

Question and Answer : The Collected Short Works of Poul Anderson (Volume 7) by Poul Anderson

Author:Poul Anderson [Anderson, Poul]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
ISBN: 9781610373142
Publisher: NESFA Press
Published: 2015-11-15T00:00:00+00:00


IN THE SHADOW

There was a man called Danilo Rouvaratz who signed the Petition of Rights. When it was denied and rioting became insurrection, he led the rebels in his own sector. A firegun killed him as the monitors entered Zagreb.

At that time the Gearch was Huang III, wily enough to understand the uses of mercy. He pardoned most of the insurgents, made certain reforms, and thus put out the fire. Still, he knew that embers remained under the ashes. Best would be to scatter them. Investigators learned that Danilo Rouvaratz had left several children. Government care was provided. Ten-year-old Karl went to a boarding school in North America, and thence to the Space Academy. He proved to be an excellent pilot, and his role in the hazardous rescue of the Mars liner Flying World made him quite a public hero. But he had always been a prickly, too independent sort, and his dossier suggested that some degree of resentment lingered in him. A very natural solution to the potential problem was to offer him a berth on the Acheron expedition. He ought to feel duly grateful for that; and he would most certainly be out of the way for a while.

Thus it was that he found himself nearing a star he could not see.

He did not know until too late. His boat was in orbit, under low reverse thrust, so that she spiraled in toward what he supposed was the burned-out dwarf he had come to find. He sat tense in his harness at the pilot board, eyes nickering from sky to radarscope to gauges which registered the emissions of test probes fired ahead. As soon as he got reflections from an astronomical body—and his instruments could pick out a meter-wide rock at a thousand kilometers—he would stop the jets and swing free. But the screens showed only random flickers, ghost images of atoms and electrons lost in vacuum.

Aaron Wheeler entered the control turret, balanced his slight deceleration-pressure weight against a handhold, and asked if there was any sign yet.

“No,” said Karl Rouvaratz. “Get aft where you belong.”

Wheeler bridled. The movement was actually noticeable in his spacesuit. He was a lean, sharp-faced, gray-haired man of good family and considerable attainments. Throughout his life, people had deferred to him. “May I remind you,” he snapped, “that this trip is on my account? You are simply ferrying me to the object I am to study.”

Rouvaratz turned his blocky frame half around. His eyes flared green in the dark, rough countenance. “While we’re out here alone,” he said, “I’ve got ship captain’s authority. Go back. I’ll let you know when we spot something. What do you think intercoms are for?”

Wheeler poised stiff and stubborn. Briefly, Rouvaratz wanted to force him. That would be easy and satisfying. The gods who gave the pilot two men’s physical strength had put him in a milieu where he had no use for it. This was the basic source of his anger at the world.

But no. He must not leave his post while they were under power.



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