But Earth, Bill, has not completely yielded. We are going to strike for liberty. Many years of our lives - Tony’s and mine - have gone into the plan. And the toil and the sacrifices of millions of our fellow Earthmen. We have at least a chance to recover our lost freedom.
But we need you, Bill - desperately.
For your own world’s sake, come back. Ask for a vacation trip to Mars. The Astrarch will not deny you that. On April 8th, a ship will be waiting for you in the desert outside Toran - where we walked the day you left.
Whatever your decision, Bill, we trust you to destroy this letter and keep its contents secret. But we believe that you will come back. For Earth’s sake, and for your old friends,
TONY AND ELORA.
Brek Veronar sat for a long time at his desk, staring at the charred, wrinkled sheet. His eyes blurred a little, and he saw the tanned vital face of the Martian girl, her brown eyes imploring. At last he sighed and reached slowly for the lighter cone. He held the letter until the flame had consumed it.
Next day four space officers came to the laboratory. They were insolent in the gaudy gold and crimson of the Astrarch, and the voice of the captain was suave with a triumphant hate:
“Earthman, you are under technical arrest, by the Astrarch’s order. You will accompany us at once to his quarters aboard the Warrior Queen.”
Brek Veronar knew that he was deeply disliked, but very seldom had the feeling been so openly shown. Alarmed, he locked his office and went with the four.
Flagship of the Astrarch’s space fleets, the Warrior Queen lay on her cradle, at the side of the great field beyond the low gray forts. A thousand feet and a quarter of a million tons of fighting metal, with sixty-four twenty-inch rifles mounted in eight bulging spherical turrets, she was the most powerful engine of destruction the system had ever seen.
Brek Veronar’s concern was almost forgotten in a silent pride, as a swift electric car carried them across the field. It was his autosight - otherwise the Veronar achronic field detector geodesic achron-integration self-calculating range finder - that directed the fire of those mighty guns. It was the very fighting brain of the ship - of all the Astrarch’s fleet.
No wonder these men were jealous.
“Come, Renegade!” The bleak-faced captain’s tone was ominous. “The Astrarch is waiting.”
Bright-uniformed guards let them into the Astrarch’s compact but luxurious suite, just aft the console room and forward of the autosight installation, deep in the ship’s armored bowels. The Astrarch turned from a chart projector, and crisply ordered the two officers to wait outside.
“Well, Veronar?”
A short, heavy, compact man, the dictator of the Astrarchy was vibrant with a ruthless energy. His hair was waved and perfumed, his face a rouged and powdered mask, his silk-swathed figure loaded with jewels. But nothing could hide the power of his hawklike nose and his burning black eyes.
The Astrarch had never yielded to the constant pressure of jealousy against Brek Veronar. The feeling between them had grown almost to friendship. But now the Earthman sensed, from the cold inquiry of those first words, and the probing flash of the ruler’s eyes, that his position was gravely dangerous.
Apprehension strained his voice. “I’m under arrest?”
The Astrarch smiled, gripped his hand. “My men are overzealous, Veronar.” The voice was warm, yet Brek Veronar could not escape the sense of something sharply critical, deadly. “I merely wish to talk with you, and the impending movements of the fleet allowed little time.”
Behind that smiling mask, the Astrarch studied him. “Veronar, you have served me loyally. I am leaving Astrophon for a cruise with the fleet, and I feel that you, also, have earned a holiday. Do you want a vacation from your duties here - let us say, to Mars?”
Beneath those thrusting eyes, Brek Veronar flinched. “Thank you, Gorro,” he gulped - he was among the few privileged to call the Astrarch by name. “Later, perhaps. But the torpedo guide isn’t finished. And I’ve several ideas for improving the autosight. I’d much prefer to stay in the laboratory.”
For an instant, the short man’s smile seemed genuine. “The Astrarchy is indebted to you for the autosight. The increased accuracy of fire has in effect quadrupled our fleets.” His eyes were sharp again, doubtful. “Are further improvements possible?”
Brek Veronar caught his breath. His knees felt a little weak. He knew that he was talking for his life. He swallowed, and his words came at first unsteadily.
“Geodesic analysis and integration is a completely new science,” he said desperately. “It would be foolish to limit the possibilities. With a sufficiently delicate pick-up, the achronic detector fields ought to be able to trace the world lines of any object almost indefinitely. Into the future - “
He paused for emphasis. “Or into the past!”
An eager interest flashed in the Astrarch’s eyes. Brek felt confidence returning. His breathless voice grew smoother.
“Remember, the principle is totally new. The achronic field can be made a thousand times more sensitive than any telescope - I believe, a million times! And the achronic beam eliminates the time lag of all electromagnetic methods of observation. Timeless, paradoxically it facilitates the exploration of time.”
“Exploration?” questioned the dictator. “Aren’t you speaking rather wildly, Veronar?”
“Any range finder, in a sense, explores time,” Brek assured him urgently. “It analyzes the past to predict the future - so that a shell fired from a moving ship and deflected by the gravitational fields of space may move thousands of miles to meet another moving ship, minutes in the future.
“Instruments depending on visual observation and electromagnetic transmission of data were not very successful. One hit in a thousand used to be good gunnery. But the autosight has solved the problem - now you reprimand gunners for failing to score two hits in a hundred.”
Brek caught his breath. “Even the newest autosight is just a rough beginning. Good enough, for a range finder. But the detector fields can be made infinitely more sensitive, the geodesic integration infinitely more certain.
“It ought to be possible to unravel the past for years, instead of minutes. It ought to be possible to foretell the position of a ship for weeks ahead-to anticipate every maneuver, and even watch the captain eating his breakfast!”
The Earthman was breathless again, his eyes almost feverish. “From geodesic analysis,” he whispered, “there is one more daring step - control. You are aware of the modern view that there is no absolute fact, but only probability. I can prove it! And probability can be manipulated, through pressure of the achronic field.
“It is possible, even, I tell you - “
Brek’s rushing voice faltered. He saw that doubt had drowned the flash of interest in the Astrarch’s eyes. The dictator made an impatient gesture for silence. In a flat, abrupt voice he stated: “Veronar, you are an Earthman.”
“Once I was an Earthman.”
The black, flashing eyes probed into him. “Veronar,” the Astrarch said, “trouble is coming with Earth. My agents have uncovered a dangerous plot. The leader of it is an engineer named Grimm, who has a Martian wife. The fleet is moving to crush the rebellion.” He paused. “Now, do you want the vacation?”
Before those ruthless eyes, Brek Veronar stood silent. Life, he was now certain, depended on his answer. He drew a long, unsteady breath. “No,” he said.
Still the Astrarch’s searching tension did not relax. “My officers,” he said, “have protested against serving with you, against Earth. They are suspicious.”
Brek Veronar swallowed. “Grimm and his wife,” he whispered hoarsely, “once were friends of mine. I had hoped that it would not be necessary to betray them. But I have received a message from them.”