“An attack is unavoidable now, since the emergency order has already been sent out to all the Government chaplains.  But I want it down on record, sir. You, my contemptible sir, are the one that went shooting off at a tangent and made this opening broadside unavoidable.  The blood of every man, woman and child that dies in this conflict shall splatter and stain your coffin.  If you ever step wrong of me again, Sir, I shall bring your house down on your head.  And I mean your whole house, sir, and everyone in it for the next seven generations shall curse your name.”

“Good, it’s settled then.” Reinhart disengaged contact as rapidly as he could do so with some outward semblance of grace. “We can finally go ahead with full mobilization.”

"Finally, sir?  You believe you are a great leader, and you don't even measure up as a sloppy manipulator."

The next forty-eight hours were alive with activity.  Reinhart assured himself that it was through his leadership that mobilization had proceeded so rapidly.  He attended a policy-level Military briefing in the Council rooms, conducted by Fleet Commander Chaplain, Carleton.

“You can see our strategy,” Carleton said. He sketched a diagram on the blackboard with a wave of his hand. “Sherikov states it will only take eight more days to complete the ftl bomb. During that time the fleet we have near the Centauran system will take up positions. As the bomb goes off, the fleet will begin operations against any remaining Centauran ships. We must assume that many will no doubt survive the blast, for whatever reason, but with Armun gone we should be able to rush in and dispatch them before they can reorganize.”

Reinhart stood up, filled anew with self-importance and satisfaction as he spoke to an audience of power-laden chaplains.  He took Commander Carleton’s place. “Thanks to our early planning I can report that every factory on Terra is already converted to arms production. With Armun blasted out of the way we should be able to promote mass insurrection among the Centauran colonies. An inter-system Empire of any size is hard to maintain, even with ships that approach light speed. Local chaplains, war-lords they call them, should pop up all over the place. We want to have weapons available for them and our ships must start now to reach them in time. Eventually we hope to provide a unifying principle around which the colonies can all collect.

"Our inter-stellar interest is more economic than political. They can have any kind of chaplains they want, as long as they also act as supply areas for us. Just as our eight system planets act now.”

Chaplain Carleton resumed giving his report. “Once the Centauran fleet has been scattered we can begin the crucial stage of the war. The landing of men and supplies in all key areas throughout the Centauran system. In this stage—”

Reinhart drifted away. It was hard to believe only 48 hours had passed since the mobilization order had been sent out. Thanks to the instantaneous communication devices invented by Jamison Hedge, the whole system was alive, functioning together with feverish activity. Countless problems were being resolved by the field commanders yet there was still a great demand for his attention as snags inevitably surfaced.

He entered the lift and ascended to the SRB room, curious to see how much change had been made in the machines’ readings after the latest flurry of activity. He was pleased that the readings were still lifting as the new data poured in. So far, so good. Did the Centaurans know about Icarus yet? He must assume that the vidcoms had been hot with hacked information flooding to them; but by his acting so swiftly, the reactionary power to actually do anything about it had been virtually eliminated.

Chaplain Kaplan came over to Reinhart, sorting a new batch of data that had just come in. The lab chaplain searched through his data and pulled out a sheet. “An amusing item just came in for your attention. It should interest you.” He chuckled appreciatively as he handed a print out to Reinhart.

It was from histo-research and it was dated: 9 May, 2336

Sir.  This is to report that as a result of snatching the research time bubble up to the present, the manual return was used for the first time. Therefore a clean break was not made, and a quantity of material from the past was brought forward. This material included vegetation and an individual from the early twentieth century.  This lab was not prepared for receiving live specimens and this individual subsequently escaped from the lab, immediately. He has not yet been taken into protective custody. Histo-research regrets this incident, but attributes it to the rough handling ordered during the emergency retrievable process.

E. Friedman

Reinhart handed the page back to Kaplan. “Interesting. A man from the past — hauled into the middle of the biggest war our universe has ever seen.  I can just imagine how bewildered he must be, considering the massive upheavals we ourselves are staggering through.”

“Strange things happen. I wonder what the machines will think when this information triggers into the databanks from histo-research.”

Reinhart shrugged.  “I don't see why it should make any difference since the input must be virtually nil.” He left the SRB room and hurried along the corridor to his own office.

As soon as he was inside he called Sherikov on the vidscreen, using the confidential line.

The Pole’s heavy features appeared. “Good day, Commissioner. How’s the war effort?”

“Fine, Chaplain. How’s the turret wiring proceeding?”

A faint frown flickered across Sherikov’s face. “As a matter of fact, Commissioner—”

“What’s the matter?” Reinhart asked sharply.

Sherikov floundered. “You know how these projects deteriorate. I’ve taken my crew off the turret and tried robot workers in their place. They have greater dexterity, but they can’t make decisions. This calls for more than mere dexterity. This calls for—” He searched for the word. “—for an artist maybe.”

Reinhart’s face hardened.  His gut was telling him this project was falling apart. “Listen, Sherikov. You have just barely eight days left to complete the Icarus Bomb. The data given to the SRB machines contained that information. The 7-5 ratio is based on that estimate. If you don’t come through—”

Sherikov twisted in embarrassment. “I never promised you a rose garden, Commissioner. We’ll do our best to complete it in the original time frame as projected.”

Reinhart drummed his fingers on his desk.  His gaze narrowed as he noticed the ravages of fatigue in the chaplain's face.. "Surely you are already doing this but my instincts demand that I must ask, you said you had taken your crew off the turret and replaced them with robot workers.  Have you left your crew on the spot for one-on-one supervision, instead of funneling all the information directly to your office?"

Sherikov blanched white, then with his eyes averted he said, "Yes, of course."

Listening closely, Reinhart knew the chaplain had not thought of that, and had realized immediately that was a better choice of review.  Reinhart clicked off without saying another word.  This new approach should accelerate the process.  But, If Sherikov did let him down he’d have the man taken out and shot, might even insist of pulling one of the triggers himself.  Right now he felt like the whole war depended on the Icarus ftl bomb.

The vidscreen glowed again. Reinhart snapped it on. Kaplan’s face formed on it. The lab chaplain's face was pale and frozen stiff. “Commissioner, sir, you better come up to the SRB office. Something’s happened.”

“What is it?”

“We don't want any of this getting hacked.  Come back and I’ll show you.”

Alarmed, Reinhart fled out of his office and down the corridor, his guards were left hopelessly behind. He found Kaplan standing in front of the SRB machine's screen. “What’s the story?” Reinhart demanded. He peered over the chaplain's shoulder at the reading. It was unchanged.  He let his breath escape; There was nothing to worry about, after all.

But, just then Kaplan nervously held up a single sheet print out. “A moment ago I fed this into the machines. After I saw the results I quickly removed it. It’s that item I showed you. From histo-research. About the man from the past.”

“Yes, yes. What happened when you fed it in?”

Kaplan swallowed unhappily. “The machines went ballistic, sir.  I’ll show you. Watch, I’ll do it again. Exactly as before.” He fed the sheet into an OCR device. “Watch the visible figures change,” the chaplain muttered.

Reinhart watched, tense and rigid. For a moment nothing happened. 7-6 continued to show.  There was nothing to -- Then --

The figures disappeared. The machines faltered. New figures showed briefly. 4-24 for Centaurus. Reinhart gasped, suddenly sick with apprehension. But those figures vanished. New figures appeared. 16-38 for Centaurus. Then 48-86. 79-15 in Terra’s favor. Then nothing. The machines whirred, but nothing happened.

Nothing at all. No figures. Only a blank screen.

“What’s it mean?” Reinhart muttered, stunned.

“It’s fantastic. We didn’t think this could—”

“What has happened though?”

“The machines aren’t able to handle the item. No reading can come. It’s data they can’t integrate. They can’t use it for prediction material, and its presence throws off all their other figures.”

“Why?”

“It’s—it’s a variable of  some major proportions.” Kaplan was shaking, white-lipped and pale. “Something from which no inference can be made. The man from the past. The machines can’t deal with him. He's a variable factor!”

Reinhart paced back and forth for a long moment, deep in thought.  Slowly the figures crunched in his mind and a possible solution appeared. 

It was simple.  It was so simple he actually laughed.  "There isn't really any change in the figures, it's just that there's not enough information about this man.  The solution is simple."

"Yes, sir," the chaplain said, invitingly.  "What do you suggest, sir?

"Kill him," said Reinhart.  The way he said it sent his words right past the chaplain's mind barrier.  "After he is eliminated the figures will pop right back up."

The chaplain nodded; the solution truly was simple.. KILL HIM!  Then the meaning of the words exploded in his mind and the chaplain fainted.