The Cosmic Computer - H. Beam Piper (best black authors txt) 📗

a point he wanted to ram home, as forcibly and as often as possible. “I suppose Merlin classified an Alliance attack on Poictesme as a low-order probability, but war is the province of chance; Clausewitz said that a thousand years ago. Foxx Travis wasn’t the sort of commander to let himself get caught, even by a very low-order probability.”

“Well how do you explain the absence, after forty years, of any mention, in any history of the War, of Merlin? How do you get around that?”

“I don’t have to. How do you get around it?”

“Huh?” Lucas was startled.

“Yes. Stories about Merlin were all over Poictesme, all through the Third Force, even to the enemy. Say the stories were unfounded; say Merlin never existed. Yet the belief in Merlin was an important historical fact, and no history of the War gives it so much as a footnote.” He paused for effect, then continued: “That can mean only one thing. Systematic suppression, backed by the whole force of the Terran Federation. A gigantic conspiracy of silence!”

Brother! If they swallow that, I have it made; they’ll swallow anything!

They did, all but Lucas. He banged his fist on the table.

“Now I’ve heard everything!” he shouted in disgust.

“Not quite everything, Doctor,” Morgan Gatworth said. “You will hear, one of these days, that we have found Merlin.”

“Yes, that’ll be the day!” Lucas sprang to his feet, his chair toppling behind him. He shoved it aside with his foot. “I’m not going to argue with you. Conn Maxwell gave you a thousand-year-old quotation; I’ll give you another, from Thomas Paine: ‘To argue with those who have renounced the use and authority of reason is as futile as to administer medicine to the dead.’ I’ll add this. Conn Maxwell knows better than this balderdash he’s been spouting to you. I don’t know what his racket is, and I’m not staying to find out. You will, though⁠—to your regret.”

He turned and strode from the room. There was a moment’s silence, after the door slammed behind him. Too bad, Conn thought. He would have made a good friend. Now he was going to make a very nasty enemy.

“Well, let’s get to business,” his father said. “We don’t have to argue about the existence of Merlin; we know that. Let’s discuss the question of finding it.”

“I still think it’s somewhere off-planet,” Lorenzo Menardes said. “The moons of Pantagruel⁠ ⁠…”

Evidently he’d read something, or seen an old film, about the moons of Pantagruel.

“No, that’s too far; they’d keep it where they could use it.”

“The old G.H.Q.,” Lester Dawes suggested. “Suppose it’s down under that, like the place Rodney found under Tenth Army.”

“I hope not,” Gathworth said. “The Planetary Government took that over.”

“Well, wherever it is, finding it is going to be expensive,” Rodney Maxwell said. “Now, to finance the search, I propose we use this information my son brought back from Terra. Doctor Lucas was right about one thing; that’s worth millions of sols. Well, I propose, also, that we set up a company and get it chartered; a prospecting company, to operate under the Abandoned Property Act of 867. My son and I will contribute this information as our share in the capitalization of the company. The work of opening these Federation installations can go on concurrently with the search for Merlin, and the profits can finance it.”

Silence for a moment, then a bedlam of cheering.

“Well, let’s get organized,” Gatworth said. “What will we call this company?”

A number of voices shouted suggestions. Rodney Maxwell managed to get recognition and partial silence.

“It is of the first importance,” he said, “that we keep our real objective⁠—Merlin⁠—as close a secret as possible. The Planetary Government would like to get hold of it⁠—and I leave you to ask yourselves how far Jake Vyckhoven and his cronies are to be trusted with anything like that⁠—and I have no doubt the Federation might try to take it away from us.”

“Couldn’t do it, Rodney,” Judge Ledue objected. “Everything the Federation abandoned in the Trisystem is public domain now. We have a Federation Supreme Court ruling⁠—”

“What’s legality to the Federation?” Klem Zareff demanded. “They fought a criminally illegal war of aggression against my people.”

Down the table, somebody started singing “Rally Round the Banner, the Banner Black and Green.”

“Well, I think it’s a good idea to keep quiet about it, myself,” Kurt Fawzi said.

“All right,” Rodney Maxwell said. “Then we don’t want this company to sound like anything but another salvage company. I suggest we call it Litchfield Exploration & Salvage.”

“Good name, Rodney,” Dawes approved. “That a motion? I second it.”

Unanimously carried. They had a name, now, anyhow. Everybody began suggesting other topics for consideration⁠—capitalization, application for charter, election of officers, stock issues. Conn paid less and less attention. Industrial finance and organization wasn’t his subject, either. His father was plunging happily into it as though he had been promoting companies all his life. Conn sat and doodled with his six-color pen, mostly spherical hyperspace ships.

“We can’t get all this cleared up now,” Lester Dawes was protesting. “Your Honor, I mean, Mr. Chairman; I suggest that committees be appointed⁠ ⁠…”

More hassling; everybody wanted to be on all the committees. Finally, they appointed enough committees to include everybody.

“Well, that seems to be cleared up,” Judge Ledue said, “I suggest a meeting day after tomorrow evening; the committees should have everything set up, and we should be able to organize ourselves and elect permanent officers. Is there anything else to discuss, or do I hear a motion to adjourn?”

Somebody thought they ought to have some idea of what the first operation would be.

“You heard me mention a spaceport,” Conn said. “I can tell you, now, that it’s over on Barathrum, inside the crater of an extinct volcano. I think we ought to have a look at that, first of all.”

“I know you seemed to think yesterday that Merlin is off-planet,” Fawzi said, “I’m inclined to disagree, Conn. I think it’s right here on Poictesme.”

“We ought to nail that spaceport down first,” Conn argued.

“Conn, you mentioned an