McCollum - GIBRALTAR STARS by Michael McCollum Page A

would have been to do, it was theoretically possible. A powerful faction or clan with access, opportunity, and resources might have erased a single species. But erasing a whole planet was infinitely more difficult. In fact, it was a task so complex that Dos-Val refused to believe it possible.
    Whoever these bipeds were, they were the end product of eons of evolution in the system of the yellow star. An isolated world is a closed evolutionary system. Dos-Val was biologically related to all of the animals of Ssasfal, and to a lesser extent, its plants and microorganisms. These fugitive bipeds were likewise related to the 12 9 species that evolved with them on their home planet. Of special interest were the microorganisms dutifully recorded during their two medical exams. If he could identify the microorganisms that cohabited within them, then he could find their home world.
    Dos-Val’s search had been extensive and costly. The algorithms involved consumed the power of several massive computers for so long that the Minister of Science expressed concern he was wasting resources. Still, the work had the imprimatur of the Prime Councilor, so no one could overrule him. Eventually, all the permutations were tested against every life code in the data banks. There were matches, to be sure. Considering the number of organisms on record, pure chance dictated some codes would be within his search parameters. However, further analysis showed these to be random hits.
    One lesson Dos-Val learned as a pup was that when an experiment fails, it is time to question one’s assumptions.
    He considered the question for several planetary rotations, becoming ever more frustrated. Eventually, as a mind often does when it is perplexed, a stray thought entered his brain.
    It was a tiny thing, little more than a passing whim. For most members of The Race, it would have disappeared as quickly as it formed. Only his long habit of scientific objectivity caused him to isolate the thought and consider its ramifications.
    He got no sleep that night and little over the next three. From its first wisp-like appearance, the idea grew into an obsession. The implications were fantastic, and horrifying.
    Finally, exhausted, Dos-Val fell onto his sleeping mat, pillowed by langol rushes, and slept from Faalta-zenith to its rise the following day. Yet, even rested, he could see no flaw in his logic. Unable to dispose of the horrid thought, he entered a confidential code into his communicator.
    His news would soon cause sleeplessness across the breadth of Civilization.
    #
    Zel-Sen, Prime of the Ruling Council, sprawled on his resting frame and watched the latest report scroll across his workscreen. His mood teetered between boredom and exasperation. Having achieved the pinnacle of power among Those Who Rule, it was his job to protect the gains made by the Ancestors. And, of course, to make gains of his own.
    Despite his exalted status, his job was surprisingly mundane. Mostly it consisted of what he was now doing… reading reports. This particular report involved a minor, but politically sensitive, matter. Some young scion of one of the Greater Clans had made a mess of his stewardship over a second-tier subservient world, causing widespread disruptions in agricultural output. The Hunt Master of his sector relieved the pup and reassigned him where he would be less disruptive. Unfortunately, the head of the pup’s clan demanded discipline for the Hunt Master. That, in turn, brought it to Zel-Sen’s attention.
    Like most problems that survived to his level, there was no easy solution. The Hunt Master was correct in the matter. Too many of the young owed their positions to influence rather than ability. The problem was exacerbated by the perennial shortage of personnel to rule subject worlds.
    The correct thing to do would be to tell the Clan Master to concern himself with the quality of his offspring. Unfortunately, he dared not antagonize the pup’s forebear. So the