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Which we hope will not be soon, of 
 He mentioned us? Fyrna asked.
 He asked if you were enjoying 
 Damn! Zeb said.
 An Admiral commands all the wormlinks, if he wishes yes? Fyrna
asked.
 Well, I suppose so. Vissian looked puzzled.
 We re trapped, Zeb said.
Vissian s eyes widened in shock.  But surely you, Gov-ernor, need
fear no 
 Quiet. Fyrna silenced the woman with a stern glance.  At best this
Kafalan will bottle us up here.
Fyrna pushed them both into a side gallery. Vissian seemed startled
by this, though Fyrna was both consort and bodyguard. Indeed, she and
Zeb might as well have been married, but for the social impossibilities.
This side gallery featured storm-tossed jungles of an unnamed world
lashed by sleeting rain, lit by jagged pur-ple lightning. Strange howls called
through the lashing winds.
 Note that if Imperial artists do show you an exterior, it is alarming,
Fyrna said clinically as she checked her detectors, set into her spine and
arms.
 They re still nearby? Zeb asked, shushing Vissian.
 Yes, but of course they are beards.
To his puzzled look she said,  Meaning, the disguise we are meant to
see.
 Ah. They strolled into the next gallery, trying to look casual. This
sensor was milder, a grandiose street-scape and hanging gardens.
 Ummm, still poorly attended. And the real shadows?
 I have spotted one. There must be more.
Vissian said,  But surely no one would dare kidnap you from my
reception 
 No, probably there will be an  accident,  Zeb said.
 Why has this Admiral moved to block you just now?
 Nova triggers, Zeb said.
Once invented, triggers had made war far more danger-ous. A solar
system could be  cleansed  a horrifyingly bland term used by aggressors
of the time by inducing a mild nova burst in a balmy sun. This roasted
worlds just enough to kill all but those who could swiftly find caverns and
store food for the few years of the nova stage. Fleet wanted a supply of
them, and Zeb led opposition to the weapon.
 Admirals love their toys, he said sourly, fingering a stim but not
inhaling it. They returned to the main party, not wanting to seem perturbed
by the news.
 Is there no other way to get off Syrna? Fyrna de-manded of Vissian.
 No, I can t recall 
 Think!
Startled, Vissian said,  Well, of course, we do have privateers who at
times use the wild worms, an activity that is at best quasi-legal, but 
* * * *
In Zeb s career he had discovered a curious little law. Now he turned it in
his favor.
Bureaucracy increases as a doubling function in time, given
resources. At the personal level, the cause is the persistent desire of every
manager to hire at least one assistant. This provides the time constant for
growth.
Eventually this collides with the carrying capacity of society. Given the
time constant and the capacity, one could predict a plateau level of
bureaucratic overhead or else, if growth persists, the date of collapse.
Predictions of the longevity of bureaucracy-driven societies fit a pre-cise
curve. Surprisingly, the same scaling laws worked for micro-societies such
as large agencies.
The corpulent Imperial bureaus on Syrna could not move swiftly.
Admiral Kafalan s squadron had to stay in planetary space, since it was
paying a purely formal visit. Niceties were still observed. Kafalan did not
want to use brute force when a waiting game would work.
 I see. That gives us a few days, Fyrna concluded.
Zeb nodded. He had done the required speaking, negoti-ating,
dealing, promising favors all activities he disliked intensely. Fyrna had
done the background digging.  To . . . ?
 Train.
* * * *
The wormhole web had built the galactic empire. Made in the first blaring
instant of the Great Emergence, found (rarely) floating between stars, they
now were the most precious resources of all.
Of course, worms ended and began as they liked. A worm jump could
bring you to a black vacuum still many years from a far-flung world.
Hyperships flitted through wormholes in mere seconds, then exhausted
themselves hauling their cargoes across empty voids, years and de-cades
in the labor.
Wormholes were labyrinths, not mere tunnels with two ends. The
large ones held firm for perhaps billions of years none larger than a
hundred meters across had yet collapsed. The smallest could sometimes [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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