Omega Point Trilogy

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Authors: George Zebrowski
Tags: Science-Fiction
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here when the base was opened,” the old Herculean said, “when they were bringing in all the supplies still stored here.” He went ahead to the far wall and slid open a large closet door, revealing case after case of work scooters and gravitic workhorses, each packed in a clear plastic block.
    Gorgias went up to the open closet and peered in at the tools. The scooter had seats for two, hover and propulsive controls that seemed obvious and a small rack in the back; the gravitic units were featureless solid rectangles about a meter long and half a meter tall, with attachment fingers located at each right angle. On-off pressure plates were yellow and stood out from the dark green of the unit; whether the device would be used to push, pull or lift depended on the position in which it would be attached.
    “How much can these handle?” Gorgias asked.
    “I don’t know the practical limit,” his father said, “though I suspect that they could not push a planet. Anything substantially smaller, depending on where it is, on a planetary surface or in free-fall, would be fair game, I suppose.”
    His father seemed calmer, as if their violent confrontation had purged him of his fears and doubts. Maybe he would become his old self again and be of use after all.
    “Can we use the scooter to ferry the units to the ship?”
    “I think so,” his father said.
    “Let’s unpack, then.”
    Together they pulled the scooter from its niche onto the floor. The plastic block was soft and gelatinous to the touch and came off easily. Gorgias peeled off the covering on the grav units and stacked them on the back of the scooter. He sat in the front saddle and his father got on in back.
    “Here we go.”
    Gorgias pressed down on the hover-control plate gently and the scooter lifted from the floor; he pressed on the propulsion plate and the scooter moved forward. Grasping the stick, he steered the machine toward one of the marked service doors, which slid open to reveal a direct tunnel connecting to the berth area.
    As the scooter carried them through the passageway, he thought of all the weapons stored in the warehouse, rooms and rooms of shelves, closets and cubbyholes turned away from the stars of home, filled with more military hardware than he could name; enough armaments to equip ten divisions.
    Another door slid open and let them out into the berth chamber. Gorgias steered the scooter alongside the ship and into the open lock, stopping just past the inner door.
    “We can leave it here, near the bulkhead,” he said, and got off.
    “What will you use the units for?” his father asked as he dismounted.
    A suspicion grew in Gorgias’s mind, the result of the question as well as of the older man’s change in approach. Was he planning to act against him? The only way to find out was to tell him what he wanted to know and watch his reaction.
    “Come with me and find out.”
    “Then you don’t want to leave me here?”
    “Tell me, why did you give me the ship if you were so worried about how I would use it?”
    The Herculean did not answer immediately. At last he said, “It must be because a part of me still thinks as you do. Once all of me felt the way you do — I taught you to do so. There seemed to be no other way to live and act in the periods between stasis, especially when we thought one of our armies had escaped and might return. So much was promised by the armorers toward the end of the war — we all thought those weapons could make a difference.”
    “They would have if there had been time to build them.”
    “I think,” his father said, “that I would like to live on Myraa’s World. Leave me there, forget me and do as you wish, but don’t leave me here.…”
    “Very well.” It would be better to agree with him now, and see what happened later. He suspected that the older man was physically ill in some way, and his mind might be affected. But what doctor from the Federation knew enough to treat a Herculean?

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