“It’s not good enough. I want to be a supergenius\” Rigone sighed. “That’s what they all say to me. Youth!” Scogil was beginning to wonder...was there a possible deal here? What if the Oversee refused to authorize an “upgrade” to Eron’s fam knowing a little Cloun-style emotional control was to be thrown in? Helmarian ethics again. But an illegal upgrade done out of sight... under the eye of a Crafter who knew how to stay on the right side of the unacceptable? Hmmm. It could be done. He gazed at Rigone thoughtfully. “Where are you off to next?” A little shepherding was in order.
“I’ve been thinking that Sanahadra might be my best bet.” Scogil scowled the slightest discouragement “Not really. Sanahadra was once the center of the Helmarian culture, but since the Dispersion it has taken on a distinctly Imperial flavor. The Helmarians there try to maintain their identity but... They’re strong on showing off the ruins, that sort of filing; you know what I mean.” Scogil paused deliberately to let doubt sink in. He had time enough before baiting his hook. “You’ll have fun searching. To cover the Thousand Suns one-at-a-time makes you a man of leisure.”
“Ah.” Rigone was suddenly reminded that he was in a hurry. “Do you have suggestions I might find useful? How about Haparal? It’s near Ragmuk, right at the bottom of the Rift. I might even adventure a side jump to Lakgan.”
“Is Lakgan around here!” shouted Eron.
Scogil ignored his student. “Yes, you might consider Haparal ... but that was a long time ago.”
“You don’t sound enthusiastic. I’ve always been impressed by Haparal’s story. Faraway takes the credit for developing the fam but, I believe, the Crafters of Haparal did the spadework. Wasn’t it the Crafters of Haparal who developed new kinds of quantum-state erotic stimulators for the vicelords of Lakgan? Basically it was they who created the fam—even if they didn’t know it.”
Scogil nodded without encouragement. Lakgan and the Thousand Suns had been—still were—stellar neighbors. And Old Lakgan had been wealthy enough to hire any number of Helmarians as lackeys. The Crafters of Haparal were still good—but Scogil wasn’t going to say so. It wasn’t really a crime to bamboozle a citizen of Splendid Wisdom just a little bit. But he’d have to make his reluctance sound real.
During the latter years of Imperial decline, decadent Lakgan had needed new gimmicks to keep its trade of wealthy hedonists returning; too many customers were being frightened away from a sector of space that was slipping beyond the protection of the Stars&Ship. More and more it was necessary for Lakgan to field its own navy... and to finance it.
Anticipating taxes from a rejuvenated pleasure trade, the monocled warlord of Lakgan dispatched an insignificant underling to Haparal to threaten die Crafters into delivering what had already been paid for. The underling dutifully returned with the first prototypes of the fam, an unimpressive musical instrument that crudely played delightful emotions directly into the brain. He demonstrated it, experimentally, on his immediate superiors. Thus was bom a supernova of galactic brilliance, Cloun-the-Stubbom—faded now, but still remembered by the three million solar systems he had dazzled.
They all knew the story and so it did not need to be repeated. “I’m afraid that Haparal is past its noon of glory,” Scogil commented carefully. “Talent follows the sun. After the False Revival, Faraway went looking for the kind of talent that had almost defeated it. Where better to recruit than Haparal? The Crafters have always been wandering tinkers. Faraway gets the credit for developing the fam because so many Helmarians moved to Faraway, a good crowd of them from Haparal.”
“So where is the fam tech right now?”
“You’re really interested in fam technology, eh? You might
try Neuhadra. Young Eron and I are off to Neuhadra as soon as we can connect with a starship jumping in the right direction. She’s a lively world known for her pure strain of Crafter. Would you care to tag along? Your company would be welcome.”
Rigone took on the slightly glazed look of a man furiously scanning his fam database. When he connected with the coordinates, a touch of surprise crossed his tattooed face. “Is Neuhadra even in the Thousand Suns? From that height the Galaxy mast look like just another galaxy!” He was trying to make a joke.
Scogil smiled as he brought out his hook hidden in the bait. “It might be off the main swirl but it is certainly the best place for you to start. I can supply you with introductions to a few people in the fam trade. There are bigger centers but none so easy-going as a person such as yourself might need. There aren’t many who know their quantum-state electronics better than the Crafters of Neuhadra.”
12
THE HYPERLORD DREAMS OF GLORY, 14,790 GE
The great achievements of the past were the adventures of the past
Only an adventurous soul can understand the greatness of the past
—Proverbs of the Rith: spoken by Alfred the White Head of the North, reputed to be the High Philosophone of the Round Table of Emperor Arthur of England
Kargil Linmax depowered the Hyperlord’s hand-size galac-tarium and the sparse night sky of the Empire’s Periphery dissolved into a mere workroom. He carefully disconnected the extraneous power cables which hung from boxes on the ceiling.
“Ready for food?” he asked an elated Kikaju Jama. “I imagine you’re starved by now, but let’s start the assembly of the atomos before we relax. It’s a long job and the sooner we begin the sooner we’ll have your device portable again.” He led Jama out and up metallic stairs onto the workshop’s gallery, to pick up the tools he’d need. In passing he peeked into a little cubicle decorated to appeal to a child’s bright curiosity about the Galaxy—but at the moment it was empty of children. “This is going to be an overnight job. You can stay here in Sweet Toes’ room. For one night she can share with Baby Girl.”
As they passed down the plasteel plankway, Kargil quietly glanced through another door. The three children were there, all curled together, asleep. He smiled, remembering how upset Sweet Toes had been that the baby wouldn’t slow down for her nap. “Some problems resolve themselves easier than others. The nice thing about two-year-olds is that they can’t revolt for any length of time without having their afternoon nap sneak up and clobber them.”
Back down in the shop, Linmax was silent but busy as he set up equipment to grow his octad of atomos. Jama watched. Then, absently, the retired naval officer launched into a lecture without taking his eyes or his hands off his delicate work.
“The First Empire engineers could never have built one of these. Their power plants were always monstrous enough to drive a whole city or a kilometer-long battleship. They thought huge and vast and monstrous. Their ships were a hundred times faster than any other vessel in the Galaxy. They thought nothing of draining seas. Once they even attempted to power Splendid Wisdom with geothermal heat! It’s not that the old Imperial engineers weren’t good; I admire them. How can you disparage twelve thousand years of a technology that met and swept aside every galactic rival? They showed astonishing ingenuity when context eventually demanded that they shrink a standard multipole power plant into the body of a light hypership—beyond any skill I’ll ever have. Huge they could do. But they did not seem able to fathom scaling. And scaling, my Hyperlord friend, is everything.”