Three days later, the Kansler searched for and received these public statistics:
UNIVERSAL PP INDEX
Search result - last 24 hrs:
Col. Haruman Clarke... +12.2%
The Kansler... +5.1%
Boulder Pi... -0.1%
Simon Bizley (dead)... 0.0%
Gustav Cassius Thorsen (dead)... +0.1%
Bizley, the pilot of Clarke's downed aircraft, had passed away in obscurity. A few colleagues and friends of the (supposedly) late "Gus" Thorsen had donated a few PP to the dead. This customary show of grievance also provided funds to the funeral of the departed.
"Is there anything you haven't told me about Colonel Clarke, Kansler?" asked Boulder Pi. Though he always more or less acted deferential in the Kansler's presence, one could notice a slight irritation in his demeanor now. As always, Boulder suspected the Kansler of withholding information. "I'd like to have a quick word with him before we start."
"The colonel was injured in the explosion, that's all. Nothing we can't patch up. My deputy checked on him during transit, and Clarke is fully aware of the situation. No one except me or my deputy talks to Clarke before his operation - that's an order. Understand? We'll go along with the program right away. "
The other thirty assembled scientists and engineers voiced their muted consent; they were eager to get started on the highly anticipated project that had made them all famous and rich in PP overnight.
The head physician chimed in, addressing the Kansler: "The Colonel's fractures can be speed-healed in less than a week, sir. And, miraculous as it may sound, he suffered no neural or spinal damage. He must have taken cover just as the attack pods hit the downed aircraft."
"Have they caught the fiends who stood behind this attack on the Colonel's life?" asked a particularly sycophantic engineer, and seemed to halt himself. Right then no one looked at Boulder Pi, the only Jovian in the group.
Quickly getting bored, the Kansler turned away from the crowd. He began to wander around the vast workshop of the Solar Peace Corps Research Complex, admiring the many installations that were in development there. The group followed him at a respectful distance, with chief engineer Boulder Pi at the lead on his leg extensions. They were housed in a partly artificial cave, fifty feet under the lunar crater Copernicus; the ceiling towered twenty feet above their heads. It was almost like living in one of the settlements on Jupiter's moons.
"The power of science," the Kansler mused out loud, "has never ceased to amaze me, Boulder. Is there no limit to what man can accomplish, once he masters the understanding of nature?"
Boulder Pi was a dwarf when it came to profundity; he took the question too literally. "Certainly, Kansler, there is the limit explained in Goedel's Theorem, that states: 'There are truths within any given system, that cannot be logically explained within the boundaries of that same system.' This puts an absolute limit to our knowledge; infinite mastery of nature, and thereby final knowledge, is logically and practically imposs -"
He stopped with a hiccup, and nearly lost his balance - while he was talking, the Kansler had unexpectedly seized an experimental weapon from a nearby rack, and now took aim at the group behind him. All the thirty learned men and women froze in terror.
"Careful, sir," warned the sycophantic engineer, "that's the new antimatter dispenser. It can blow the top off the entire cave!"
"Great!" laughed the Kansler. "Imagine it fitted to the Colonel's new prototype ship, blasting the rebel caves and domes to dust! I know their spies are looking at us now. This is but one of our weapons. But you, gentlemen, the best minds in the Solar System, are our greatest weapon. That is why we must protect you, and house you all in this guarded lunar complex. That is why I need your genius, your weapons - to defend you and your children from the Jovian rebels who wish to kill you."
It seemed as if the Kansler's voice and sincere expression made the group believe his words. His voice and face, though neither beautiful nor unusual - he had a potato nose and an almost comical, drawling dialect - were great assets, which created a strange charisma. Luckily for the Kansler, scientists of the 22nd century had not managed to quantify and reproduce the charisma factor. In an age of effortless, complete physical alterations to the human body, the Kansler's middle-aged face remained largely unchanged, apart from facial paint to cover birthmarks and skin spots. He put the weapon back in its place; one woman propped up Boulder Pi's back so that he wouldn't fall over.
A sudden news bulletin appeared on screens and com-links all over the complex.
"GOOD NEWS FROM THE FRONT!" boomed a smiling host from the official news show, broadcast over the Inner Planets. "Our automated remote-controlled fightercraft, deftly guided by hundreds of skilled Earth pilots, won a great victory over the Jupiter rebels just four hours ago. This fresh video clip from the raid over Io shows how..."
A video sequence followed, accompanied by deafening detonations and crackling energy bolts that could not exist in airless space. It did not matter much. Most Earthlings cared little for the basics of science, and wouldn't pay attention if the special effects were absent. As the personnel saw and heard the effects-enhanced war footage being broadcast over the public channels, the Kansler put a miniscreen over his left eye and received an encrypted transmission of real war footage. Shorthand statistics streamed in before his eye, spelling another failure for his campaign...
FLEET ATTACK WAVE V-0035745
TARGET:
MOON IO
WAVE LEADER:
E.S.S. FORD, FRIGATE CLASS
ESCORT:
22 RR FIGHTERS
ORBITAL BATTLE WINDOW:
POS AO-344 TO AO-208
BATTLE TIME WINDOW:
APPROX. 500 HOURS
RESULT:
ENEMY MOON NOMINAL DAMAGE. NO KNOWN LOSS LIVES.
DEUTERIUM TRANSPORT LINE JUPITER-IO-GANYMEDE STILL OPERATIONAL.
ENEMY LOST:
27 RM-PODS, 4 RM-SALS, 391 SP-MINES
FLEET LOST:
85/300 RM-PODS, 2/2 DF CHARGES
(ENEMY FIRE), 4/22 RR FIGHTERS
FLEET LIVES LOST:
15/700 PRIVATES (ENEMY SP-MINES, SAL GAMMA FIRE)
FRIGATE DAMAGE:
SMALL TO SUBSTANTIAL (ENEMY MINES); 1 INNER HULL BREACH (UNDER REPAIR).
CURRENT STATUS:
RETREATING TO CERES STATION UNDER FIGHTER ESCORT.
The supreme commander bit his lower lip, so as to stop himself from cursing openly; he wouldn't want to damage his child-friendly image on the public channels.
"God, I'm proud of our fighting men," the Kansler declared for the public, then: "Boulder Pi, come with me to the restricted area. We'd better bring the good news to Colonel Clarke, it'll cheer him up."
The two men called for a float-pod that quickly brought them to the restricted tunnels where all public surveillance devices were banned. Only minutes later, they entered the heavily guarded section where their patient was lying - in the center of a ten feet wide, low-ceilinged chamber crammed with instruments and consoles. The patient's speedhealing had in fact been mostly completed during the journey to the Moon, and the personnel kept sedated as a precaution.
"Boulder, this must work on the first attempt. If we lose him - the Colonel - it will mean the end of my career."
"Don't forget, Kansler, this is my second attempt with an established transfer process. I am confident of success. But there are a few details that I need clarified by you, before we begin..."
The Kansler nodded, keeping one eye's attention on the continuing reports on his eye-patch display.
"You asked for Colonel Clarke to wear clothes after his transformation. I'm afraid that is impossible, which was proved during my work on the Venix prototype. The artificial skin-tissue and its nerve-endings are oversensitive to the constant friction from clothing fibers. It overloads the sensory apparatus, like an itch... and with the strength enhancement we'll give him, the Colonel is perfectly able to scratch a hole in himself."
Frowning, the Kansler said: "We can't have that. All right - no clothing. When you put it that way, I'm starting to think our cyborg supersoldier ought to be... pure. An example to others."
"Pure?"
"No genitals."
Boulder Pi let out a hysterical laugh: "K-Kansler, you cannot be serious... he would never tolerate such a... a-and if the public found out..."
"They won't find out, if they don't want to. Paint the cyborg's outer hull, so that it seems like he's wearing a shrink-wrapped uniform. Nothing obscene. I have a design here..."
Using the control panel on his sleeve, the Kansler produced a hologram of the intended bodypaint design. Boulder Pi found no objections to it. The Kansler gave him the go-ahead order; Boulder's team of engineers was alerted and ordered to arrive in force. The Kansler excused himself, sounding less than eager to watch the process take place; he had a meeting to attend to in a nearby city.
As the Kansler exited the chamber, Boulder Pi had less than one minute alone with "Colonel Clarke" before the support team arrived. He adjusted the panel settings so that the Colonel would be fully conscious, switched on a secure comlink, and talked directly to the man in the coffin-like stasis bed.
"Listen, Colonel... you cannot let the Kansler go too far. Sooner or later, he will try to eliminate you... do not trust him. He will have means of controlling you, but you can overcome them - do not tell him this - remember: the mind controls the body on all levels, even the smallest level."
A click from a wide airlock door interrupted Boulder Pi; his team of scientists and engineers flooded the space. All had their planned tasks; no small talk was exchanged until all were seated in their assigned workstations. They manned their consoles, and the table with the Colonel's trapped body was rolled into a transparent body tank.
"Status?" Boulder asked.
"All life signs stable," replied a laconic computer-voice. "NP Process can begin."
"Everybody ready... and... go."
"Mmfh!" Gus objected, making a last effort to wring himself out of the pressurized stasis-bed. They had forgotten to put him to sleep, he thought... not knowing that the NP Process required the candidate to remain conscious.
Things moved, opened and closed around him; he heard liquid sloshing through his ears...
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