Even now there were elements in the fleet who questioned his leadership, questioned his vision and his motives. It was easy to understand this questioning, suspicious impulse which was at once man's salvation and doom. Without it he ceased to reason; with it he often ceased to act. To use the impulse objectively was the answer. Asquiol knew. But how?
Without the usual warning, Mordan's face appeared on the laser. He stared into emptiness since he preferred not to have to see Asquiol's disturbing image.
'These intelligences are obviously preparing to attack us,' he said urgently.
So the worst had happened. In which case the threat must be met. 'What preparations are you making?' Asquiol said in a level voice.
'I have alerted our battle force and all essential craft are now protected by energy screens - administration ships, farm ships, factory ships. These I intend to reassemble at the centre of our formation since they are necessary for survival.
'Around these I will put all residential ships. The third section comprises all fighting craft, including privately owned vessels with worthwhile armament. The operation is working fairly smoothly, though there area few recalcitrants I'm having difficulty with. We are forming to totally enclose your ship so that you are properly protected.'
Asquiol drew a deep breath and said slowly: 'Thank you, Lord Mordan. That sounds most efficient.' To Mordan, his voice seemed to produce - like his image - intrinsic, faraway echoes that carried past Mordan and beyond him. 'How do you intend to deal with these recalcitrants?'
'I have conferred with the other members of the Galactic Council and we have come to a decision - subject to your approval.' 'That decision is?'
'We will have to use more direct powers of action - make emergency laws only to be declared null and void after the danger has passed.
'The example of history should deter you from such a decision. Powers of dictatorship, which you give me and yourselves, once assumed are liable to last beyond the circumstances for which they were devised. We have not employed coercion, force, or anything like it, for several centuries!'
'Asquiol - there is no time for debate!'
Asquiol made up his mind immediately. Survival, for the moment, was of primary importance. 'Very well. Take on these powers - force the recalcitrants to obey our orders, but be sure not to abuse the powers or we will find ourselves weakened rather than strengthened.'
'This we know. Thank you.'
Asquiol watched, his mood brooding and disquieted, as the fleet re-deployed into a great oval shape with his own battered ship in the centre, the nut in an inordinately thick shell.
ELEVEN
Adam Roffrey was a psychopath, a rebel without a cause, a hater of state and organisation.
Adam Roffrey morosely watched the ships re-forming about him, but remained where he was, refusing to answer the signal on his screen. His large head, made larger by the thick, black beard and hair covering it, had a dogged, insolent set. He was refusing to budge and he knew he was within his rights.
The flexible laws of the galaxy had been bent by him many times, for the rights of the citizen were varied and complex. He could not be forced to take part in a war; without his permission the authorities could not even contact him. Therefore, he sat tight, ignoring the urgent signal.
When Lord Mordan's bloodhound face appeared, unauthorised, on the laser-screen, Roffrey disguised his shock and smiled sardonically. He said lightly, as he always said things, whatever the gravity of the statement:
'It's a lost cause, Lord Mordan. We can't hope to win. We must be fantastically outnumbered. Asquiol's forcing the race to commit suicide. Are we voting?'
'No,' said Mordan, 'we're not. For the duration of the emergency all citizen's rights are liable to be waived if necessary. You have no choice but to comply with the decision of Asquiol and the Galactic Council. Asquiol knows what's best.'
'He doesn't know what's best for me. I'm the only lost cause I've ever backed, and that's the way it's staying!'
Lord Mordan regarded the black-bearded-giant grinning out of the laser screen and he frowned.
'Nobody leaves the fleet, Roffrey. For one thing, it's too dangerous, and for another we've got to keep it tight and organised if we're to survive!'
He said the last words to a blank screen. He whirled round in his control chair and shouted to a passing captain.
'Alert the perimeter guard. A ship may try to leave. Stop it!'
'How, Lord Mordan?'
'Force - if there is no other alternative,' said Mordan, shocking the captain, who had never received such an order in his whole career.
Adam Roffrey had been anti-social all his life.
His living had been made on the fringes of the law. He wasn't going to give in to the demands of society now. The chips were down for the fleet- that was his guess - and he had no reason for sticking around. He objected to the discipline required to fight complicated space-battles; he objected to the odds against the human race winning the battles; he objected to the fact that he was being personally involved. Personal involvement was not in his line.
So he broke the energy seals on his anti-neutron cannon and prepared to blast out. As he moved away from the rest of the fleet, several Geepee gunboats, alerted by Mordan, flitted towards him from nadir-north-west.
He rubbed his hairy chin, scratched his hairy forehead and reached out a hairy hand to his drive control. At full power he retreated, away from the oncoming ships, away from the fleet, into the unknown space of the unknown universe.
He was prepared to take such chances to avoid curtailment of his personal liberty.
But his ship, a peculiar vessel, at first sight an impossible old hulk, a space launch got up to look like a merchantman and fitted like a battle-wagon, could not hope to outdistance the Geepee craft in the long run. Already they were beginning to catch up.
Humming to himself, he debated his best course of action.
There was one sure method of evading immediate danger as well as the alien threat already visible as a huge fleet of spherical vessels, seen on his screens, approached the fleet from the depths of space.
But to take that way out, although he had considered it much earlier in another context, could be highly dangerous.
The odds were that, if he committed himself to it, he would never see another human being again.
The necessity to make a decision was increasing.
His ship, like all those in the great cosmic caravan, was fitted with the I.T. drive enabling him to travel through the dimensions. He had already taken the trouble to learn all he could about multi-dimensional space and certain things existing in it. He knew, suddenly, where he was going.
The idea had been in the back of his mind for years. Now he would be forced to go.
The Geepee ships were getting closer, their warning blaring on his communicator. He pressed a button of his chart-viewer, keeping a wary eye on the oncoming ships.
Though the Geepees were nearer, the two embattled fleets were far behind. He saw faint splashes of coloured light on his screen. He was tense and was surprised to note that he had a feeling half of relief, half of guilt that he had missed the battle. He wasn't a coward, but now he had something to do.
A quick glance at the slide of equations on the viewer and his hand was reaching for the crudely constructed controls of the I.T. drive. He pulled a lever, adjusted the controls, and quite suddenly the Geepee ships seemed to fade away. And fading into the place where they had been was a backdrop of great blazing suns that made his eyes ache.
Once again he experienced the unique sensation of falling through the layers of the multiverse.
Rapidly, as he operated the I.T. drive, the suns faded to be replaced by cold vacuum, which was replaced by an agitation of gases heaving about in an unformed state, scarlet and grey. He was phasing quickly through the layers, through universe after universe with only a slight feeling of nausea in his stomach and a fierce determination to reach his destination.