20 - Empire by Clifford D. Simak

**Clifford D. Simak** (0:02)
CHAPTER XX.
The Revolution was over. Interplanetary officials and army heads had fled to the sanctuary of Earth. Interplanetary was ended, ended for ever, for on every world, including Earth, material energy engines were humming. The people had power to burn, to throw away. Power so cheap that it was practically worthless as a commodity, but invaluable as a way to a new life, a greater life, a fuller life, a broader destiny for the human race. Interplanetary stocks were worthless. The mighty power plants on Venus and Mercury were idle. The only remaining tangible asset were the fleets of spaceships, used less than a month before to ship the accumulators to the outer worlds, to bring them sunward for recharging. Patents protecting the rights to the material energy engines had been obtained from every government throughout the solar system. New governments were being formed on the wreckage of the old. John Moore Mallory already had been inaugurated as President of the Jovian Confederacy. The elections on Mars and Venus would be held within a week. Mercury, its usefulness gone, with the smashing of the accumulator trade, had been abandoned. No human foot now trod its surface. Its mighty domes were empty. It went its way, as it had done for billions of years, a little burned-out, worthless planet, ignored and shunned. For a brief moment it had known the conquering tread of mankind, had played its part in the commerce of the worlds, but now it had reverted to its former state, a lonely wanderer of the regions near the sun, a pariah among the other planets. Russell Page looked across the desk at Gregory Manning. He heaved a sigh and dug the pipe out of his jacket pocket. It's finished, Greg, he said. Greg nodded solemnly, watching Russ fill the bowl and apply the match. Except for the small crew, they were alone in the Invincible. John More Mallory and the others were on their own worlds, forming their own governments, carrying out the dictates of the people, men who would go down in solar history. The Invincible hung just off Callisto. Russ looked out at the mighty moon, saw the lonely stretches of its ice-bound surface, saw the silvery spot that was the dome of Ranthor.
All done, said Greg, except for one thing. Go out and get chambers on the others, said Russ, puffing at the pipe. Greg nodded. We may as well get started. Russ rose slowly, went to the wall cabinet, and lifted out a box, the mechanical shadow with its tiny space-field surrounding the fleck of steel that would lead them to the Interplanetarian. Carefully he lifted the machine from its resting place, and set it on the desk. Bending over it, he watched the dials. Suddenly he whistled. They moved! They aren't where we left them! Greg sprang to his side and stared at the readings. They're moving farther away from us, out into space. Where can they be going? Russ straightened scowling, pulling at the pipe. They probably found another G-type star and are heading for that. They must thank its old soul. That sounds like it, said Greg. We spun all over the map to throw Craven off, and looped several times so we'd lose all sense of direction. Naturally, he would be lost. But he's evidently got something, Russ pointed out. We left him marooned, dead centre, out where he didn't have too much radiation, and couldn't get leverage on any single body. Yet he's moving, and getting farther away all the time. He solved our gravitation concentration screen, said Greg. He tricked us into giving him power to build it. The two men looked at one another for a long minute. Well, said Russ, that's that. Craven, and Chambers, and Stutzman, the three villains, all lost in space, heading for the wrong star, hopelessly lost. Maybe they'll never find their way back. He stopped and released his pipe. An aching silence fell in the room. Poetic justice, said Russ. Hail and farewell! Greg rubs his fist indecisively along the desk. I can't do it, Russ. We took them out there, we marooned them. We have to get them back, or I couldn't sleep nights. Russ laughed quietly, watching the bleak face that stared at him. I knew that's what she'd say. He knocked out the pipe, crushed a fleck of burning tobacco with his boot. Bucketing the pipe, he walked to the control panel, sat down, and reached for the lever. The engines hummed louder and louder, the invincible darted space-wood.
It's too late now, said Chambers. By the time we reach that planetary system and charge our accumulators, Manning and Page will have everything and a control back in the solar system. Even if we could locate the star that was our sun, we wouldn't have a chance to get there in time. Too bad, Craven said, and wagged his head, looking like a solemn owl. Too bad. Dictator Stutzman won't have a chance to strut his stuff. Stutzman started to say something, and thought better of it. He leaned back in his chair, from his belt-hunger heat-pistol. Chambers eyed the pistol with ill-concealed disgust. There's no point in playing soldier. We aren't going to try to upset you, mutiny. So far your taking over the ship hasn't made any difference to us, so why should we fight you? It isn't going to make any difference either, said Craven, because there are just two things that will happen to us. We'll either last forever, we'll never find our way back, we'll spend the rest of our days wandering from star to star, or Manning will come out and take us by the ear and lead us home again..