sighed. “You're probably right. Still, we've got a job to do. We've signed a contract, we're a million dollars in the hole already, and about to shell out another million. After expenses, we're not going to break even, but we'll come close. The alternative is to forfeit the contract and pay off the Master Computer from future jobs.”
“I guess that's what it boils down to in the end,” said Nelson. “I guess so,” agreed Bowman grimly. “We'd better reach a decision.” The silent, peaceful natives of Zeta Cancri IV were blissfully unaware of the discussion going on hundreds of miles above them. They went about their business, which was unintelligible to anyone but themselves, hopefully planning for the future, thankfully praising their God for this land of plenty He had provided for them.
Their decision made, the Pioneers tied in to the Master Computer once again; and, light-years distant, the Republic chalked up another world on Man's side of the ledger. 2: THE CARTOGRAPHERS
...Unquestionably the greatest scientific achievement up to its time, and well beyond it, the Department of Cartography—and most especially the complex at Caliban—soon took on an importance undreamed of by the populace at large. For the first time since Man had reached for the stars, the military was totally subservient to a scientific arm of the Republic, and the expansionist movement took on a high degree of order and direction.
The various segments of the Cartographic Department first coalesced under the inspired leadership of Robert Tileson Landon, an almost unbelievably perceptive scholar who had been given total control of Cartography in 301 G.E., and proceeded to shape and mold the budding science into something far more vital than even Caliban's original planners could have anticipated. During the fifty-six years that Landon headed the Department, phenomenal gains were made in... —
—
Even before the ship entered the atmosphere, the building stood out. Though he had never been to
Earth, he didn't see how it could possibly house any structure larger than the Big C. It stretched some sixty miles by forty miles, its solid shining steel reflecting the reddish-yellow rays of the sun, a silver iceberg with well over nine-tenths of its bulk beneath the ground, even though it rose some six thousand feet above the surface.
Yes, vast was an understatement, but then, the word hadn't yet been created that would do the Big C justice. The Big C wasn't its real name, of course; but somehow, the Department of Cartography just didn't conjure up enough grandeur, and so the Pioneers had come up with their own term for it. Nelson had never seen the Big C before, though he had heard a great deal about it. Any structure that cost more than ten trillion dollars and housed half a million full-time staffers was bound to receive more than casual attention from the media. Parts of it were open to anyone with minimal security clearance, but not too many people bothered taking the tour. For one thing, the planet Caliban was well off the beaten track in a galaxy that was quite underpopulated in terms of humanity; for another, it would require a minimum of two days just to walk from one end of one level of the Big C to the other. As for learning exactly what went on there, it would take considerably more than a lifetime. Not that each of the Big C's levels were open for walking all that easily. Nelson had complete clearance and was there by invitation from Landon himself, and it still took him the better part of three hours to be admitted to the Director's outer office, and another hour before Landon was able to greet him. He'd never seen the Director in the flesh, but the man's visage was as familiar to the public as was the complex that he ran with an iron hand. Landon was middle-aged—Nelson guessed he was in his late forties—and had a somewhat unkempt curly brown beard. If the men of his family had ever possessed a humorous or kindly twinkle in their eye, it had been bred out of the line before Landon was born. Nor did Landon look haggard or worn, as one might expect of a man with his responsibilities. If there was one intangible quality about the man, the hard-set line of his jaw, the precise measured movement of his hands, it was total self-confidence.
“Nelson?'’ The Director extended his hand in greeting. “I'm Landon.” “Pleased to meet you, sir,” said Nelson. “Shall I call you Doctor, or Mister, or ... ?” “Just Landon will do,” said the Director. “Come on into my office and have a seat.” Nelson followed him into a room that was almost Spartan in its austerity. He hadn't known quite what to expect, but this certainly wasn't it: a plain wood desk, three chairs, two intercom devices, a small bookcase, a couple of rather common pastoral paintings which he suspected were prints, and a tray containing a pitcher of water and four glasses. The floor was badly scuffed, and made of a type of wood with which he was unfamiliar.
Landon activated a holo screen and began reading it, glancing at Nelson from time to time. “Bartholomew Nelson,” he said, half reading, half musing. “Seventeen years of service with the Pioneer Corps, degrees in geology, chemistry and sociology. Given twenty-four contracts, fulfilled sixteen, forfeited seven, one being processed in the courts.” He looked up. “Not a bad record, given some of those planets. You any relation to the Nelson who helped open up Bowman 29?” “He was my grandfather, sir,” said Nelson.
“Good man. Never met him, but I've heard him spoken of very highly. Did a beautiful job on Delphini
VII and VIII after Bowman died. However, I didn't bring you here to talk about your progenitors.” “I assumed as much, sir,” said Nelson.
“Right,” said Landon. “I've got a job for you, if you want it.” “Excuse me, sir,” said Nelson, “but isn't it highly irregular for the Director of Cartography to make assignments of this nature? I mean, I've always dealt with the Navy, or with some member of the Department of Geology.”
“Absolutely right,” agreed Landon. “It's highly irregular. Never been done before.” “Might I ask why the change?”
“You might indeed. Don't let the answer throw you.” “I won't.”
“All right, as long as we're being frank: I have a job for you that the Navy knows nothing about, and would doubtless never approve if they did know.” “Doesn't that amount to treason sir?” asked Nelson, more puzzled than shocked. “Depends on your point of view,” said Landon. “If it'll make you feel any more secure, you'll be working for the most powerful single organization in the galaxy.” “But you're just a bunch of mapmakers!” Nelson blurted out. Landon stared at him coldly for a moment, then continued as if there had been no interruption. “And, in all modesty, you'll be working for the most powerful man in all of human history: me.” “I'm not sure I know quite what to say, sir,” said Nelson. “I have a feeling that I'm being made the butt of some practical joke.”
“Feel anything you like,” said Landon. “However, if you complete the job to my specifications, I'm prepared to offer you half a billion dollars, or one hundred million credits, if you prefer this new- fangled currency.” He dug into his desk and withdrew a check. He slid it over to Nelson, who studied it and let out a low whistle. “Still think I'm joking?” “Let's say my reservations are weakening,” said Nelson. “There's nothing wrong with being a rich traitor; at least, not this rich a one.”
“There's no treason involved,” said Landon. “Once you've completed the job, you'll very likely be a bigger hero than me. It's just that things tend to get bogged down in red tape back on Earth, and it would take years to get this done through normal channels. If the damned fools would just listen to me, they'd move the whole government lock, stock, and barrel over to Deluros VIII: twenty times as big as Earth, same climate, and a hell of a lot closer to the center of things. It's inevitable, but they do love to drag their heels. Makes it damned hard for me to conquer their galaxy for them. I'll do it, of course, but they could make my job a lot easier.”
Nelson blinked his eyes several times. This was obviously no dream, and the Director wasn't like any
madman he had ever seen before, but everything he said was terribly out of focus. Mapmakers just didn't offer Pioneers half a billion dollars to commit treason, and then complain that the government was hindering their conquest of the stars.
“You look dubious,” said Landon dryly.
