least to what it was , and what the memory of it still means to anyone who believes that individual human beings have the right, and the responsibility, to rule themselves. As for our nations . . . well, all of us out here are about to become outcasts to them, by their own decision. But we'll be defending them, without their knowledge, against a threat they never dreamed existed. And we mean to return to them, one day. Whether they're prepared to welcome us then, only time will tell."
Kurganov spoke slowly. "Colonel DiFalco is right—probably even more right than he knows—about what his country once meant to everyone on our world who longed for what its people had but took for granted. That they have betrayed that memory does not in any way diminish it." He flashed his wry smile. "Any more than the rodina is diminished by all the tyrannies it has submitted to in the past, as it is about to submit once again. And as for me, personally . . ." He sighed. "In two months, my tour of duty here is over, and Colonel DiFalco assumes military command of RAMP. I will return to Earth and become director of the Russian branch of the Project's administrative structure. From there I will be able to expedite the supplying of whatever is needed to prepare for the departure. I will also be able to safeguard the secret. I will not, however, be able to depart with the fleet myself." DiFalco's eyes lowered. He had not yet cared to face up to this, though he had known it intellectually all along.
"You can be sure, however," the Russian continued quietly, "that the secret will continue to be kept." He and DiFalco exchanged a quick look; neither of them spoke, or needed to.
"Yes!" Varien resumed his pacing, oblivious to what had just passed. "With Colonel DiFalco in command here, and you so strategically positioned on Earth, it might just possibly work—especially if, as you say, practically everyone in this asteroid belt is as alienated from your rulers as you yourselves are. And I myself have—ahem!—some small experience in the art of bureaucratic concealment. Yes! I actually believe we can do it! At least," he added, brow furrowing with sudden worry, "we can do it in the two years you say your Project still has left. How can you be sure that this 'United States' won't withdraw its support before then?"
"The current administration, and the Libertarian Party that still controls the White House—the executive branch—have too much of a stake in it," DiFalco explained. "They'll continue to back it to the hilt. You see, the 'launch window' for Phoenix—the time we have to move it out of its orbit and start it on the parabolic transfer orbit that will intersect with Mars—happens to occur just before the next American general election. The administration is hoping that event will give it a political shot in the arm; they'll give us whatever we need to meet the deadline without too many questions asked, which is what makes the whole thing possible."
"You know best about these matters, of course," Varien said with a rather offhand graciousness. "But the greatest problem will be the melding of our technologies in those systems—notably the various applications of artificial gravity—that require components beyond your current ability to fabricate. Fortunately, I anticipated this when equipping this expedition. Our superconductors, for example—" He stopped abruptly, realizing he was rambling. "But there's no time to waste! We can begin at once to form an initial impression of what will be required. Aelanni, show Colonel DiFalco our engineering spaces while I discuss specifics with General Kurganov."
* * *
DiFalco emerged from the engineering hatch, drew a deep and shaken breath, and leaned on the railing below the wide viewport of transparent plastic that was nearly as strong as the molecularly aligned crystalline alloy of the hull.
"I trust you are favorably impressed, Eric," Aelanni said with a slight smile as she exited the
Kurganov spoke slowly. "Colonel DiFalco is right—probably even more right than he knows—about what his country once meant to everyone on our world who longed for what its people had but took for granted. That they have betrayed that memory does not in any way diminish it." He flashed his wry smile. "Any more than the rodina is diminished by all the tyrannies it has submitted to in the past, as it is about to submit once again. And as for me, personally . . ." He sighed. "In two months, my tour of duty here is over, and Colonel DiFalco assumes military command of RAMP. I will return to Earth and become director of the Russian branch of the Project's administrative structure. From there I will be able to expedite the supplying of whatever is needed to prepare for the departure. I will also be able to safeguard the secret. I will not, however, be able to depart with the fleet myself." DiFalco's eyes lowered. He had not yet cared to face up to this, though he had known it intellectually all along.
"You can be sure, however," the Russian continued quietly, "that the secret will continue to be kept." He and DiFalco exchanged a quick look; neither of them spoke, or needed to.
"Yes!" Varien resumed his pacing, oblivious to what had just passed. "With Colonel DiFalco in command here, and you so strategically positioned on Earth, it might just possibly work—especially if, as you say, practically everyone in this asteroid belt is as alienated from your rulers as you yourselves are. And I myself have—ahem!—some small experience in the art of bureaucratic concealment. Yes! I actually believe we can do it! At least," he added, brow furrowing with sudden worry, "we can do it in the two years you say your Project still has left. How can you be sure that this 'United States' won't withdraw its support before then?"
"The current administration, and the Libertarian Party that still controls the White House—the executive branch—have too much of a stake in it," DiFalco explained. "They'll continue to back it to the hilt. You see, the 'launch window' for Phoenix—the time we have to move it out of its orbit and start it on the parabolic transfer orbit that will intersect with Mars—happens to occur just before the next American general election. The administration is hoping that event will give it a political shot in the arm; they'll give us whatever we need to meet the deadline without too many questions asked, which is what makes the whole thing possible."
"You know best about these matters, of course," Varien said with a rather offhand graciousness. "But the greatest problem will be the melding of our technologies in those systems—notably the various applications of artificial gravity—that require components beyond your current ability to fabricate. Fortunately, I anticipated this when equipping this expedition. Our superconductors, for example—" He stopped abruptly, realizing he was rambling. "But there's no time to waste! We can begin at once to form an initial impression of what will be required. Aelanni, show Colonel DiFalco our engineering spaces while I discuss specifics with General Kurganov."
* * *
DiFalco emerged from the engineering hatch, drew a deep and shaken breath, and leaned on the railing below the wide viewport of transparent plastic that was nearly as strong as the molecularly aligned crystalline alloy of the hull.
"I trust you are favorably impressed, Eric," Aelanni said with a slight smile as she exited the