 Belly Laugh this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Joseph Nagy Belly Laugh by Gordon Randall Garrett Me I'm looking for my outfit got cut off in that Holland Tunnel attack. Mind if I sit down with you guys? Well, thanks coffee. Damn. This is heaven ain't seen a cup of coffee in a year What you said it this sure is a hell of a war tough on guys feet Yeah, that's right Holland Tunnel skirmish where the Ruskies used that new gun. Uh-huh God It was awful guys popping off all around a guy and him not knowing why no sense to it No noise no wound just popping off. That's the trouble with this war won't settle down to a routine always something new What the hell chances a guy got to figure things out and I tell you them Ruskies are coming up with new weapons Just as fast as we are enough to make your hair stand on end Sugar Christ. Yes ain't seen sugar for a year. You see it's like this We're bottled up in the pits around the tunnel for seven damn days. It was like nothing you ever saw before oops Sorry, didn't mean to splash you I was laughing about something that happened there to a guy Maybe you guys would get a kick out of it after all we got to keep our sense of humor You see there was me and a Kentucky kid named still well in this pit pretty big pit with lots of room We were all alone this still well was a nice kid green and lonesome and it's pretty sad really But there's a yak in it and as I say we got to keep a sense of humor Well, this still well a really green kid is unhappy and just plain drooling for his gal back home He talks about his mother of course and his old man But it's the girl that's really on his mind as you guys can plainly understand He's saying her every place like spots in front of his eyes nice spots doing things to him when this Rusky Babe shows up my gun came up without any orders for me Just as she poked or pussed over the edge of the pit and huh? Oh, thank you kindly it sure tastes good But I don't want to short you guys. Thank you kindly Well as I was saying this Rusky babe pokes her nose over the edge of the pit and still well dives and knocks down my gun He says you son of a bitch just like that Wild and desperate like you'd say to a guy the guy was just kicking over the last jug of water in a desert island It would have been long enough for her to kill us if I hadn't had good reflexes Even then all I had to do was knock the pistol out of her hand and drag her into the pit With her play bollocks, she was confused and bewildered She ain't a fighter and she sits back against the wall staring at us deadpan with big Expressionless eyes. She's a plenty pretty babe and I could see exactly what had happened as far as still well was concerned His spots had come to life in a very adequate form so to speak Still well goes over and sits down beside her and I'm very much on the alert because I know where this courage comes from But I decide it's alright because I can see the babe is not belligerent Just confused kind of and friendly and willing kind of a whipped little dog willing and man Oh man, she was sure what's still well needed They kind of went together like a hand in a glove natural like and it followed pretty natural that one still well Got up and led her around a wing of the pit out of sight. She went willing like that same little dog Uh-huh. No you guys two's enough. I wouldn't rob you. Well, okay, and thanks kindly Well, there I was all alone, but happy for still well because I know it's what the kid needs and in spots like that What difference does it make yank ruski mongolian as long as she's willing then you guys still well comes back out Wallied real wallied like being hit but not knocked out and still walking. I know what it is some kind of shock I get up and walk over take a look at the babe where he left her and I bust out laughing I told you guys there's a yak in this and laughed like a fool. It was that funny as much as I had time to before still Well cracked there's enough to crack them the little thing that pushes a guy over the edge He lets out a yelling screams for Christ's sake for Christ's sake nothing but a bucket of bolts nothing but a couple of plastic lumps That was when I hit him. I had to he was for the birds still well was an hour later We got relieved and a couple of medicos carried him away strapped to a stretcher gone like a kite They took that robot too, and it's closed They forgot the brazier so I took and I've been carrying it ever since but I'll leave with you guys if you want for the coffee Might make you think about home after all like the man says we got to keep our sense of humor Well, so long you guys and thanks end of belly laugh by Gordon Randall Garrett Recording by Joseph Nagy at Joseph nagy.com. That's j o z e f and a g y.com Citadel by alges buddhress This is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Reading by Greg Marguerite Citadel by alges buddhress He was looking for a privacy his strange personality needed and never quite seemed to achieve it All his efforts were somehow great triumphs of the race and great failures for him Section one The aging man was sweating profusely and he darted side-long glances at the windowless walls of the outer office By turns he sat stiffly in a corner chair or paced uneasily his head swiveling constantly His hand was clammy when Meade shook it. Hello, Mr. Meade. He said in a husky hesitant voice His eyes never quite still never long on Meade's face, but darting hither and yon His glance rebounding at every turn from the walls the floor the ceiling the closed outer door Christopher Meade assistant undersecretary for external affairs returned the handshake smiling Please come into my office. He said quickly. It's much more spacious Thank you. The aging man said gratefully and hurried into the next room Meade rapidly opened the windows and some of the man's nervousness left him He sank down into the visitor's chair in front of Meade's desk his eyes drinking in the distances beyond the windows Thank you. He repeated Meade sat down behind the desk leaned back and waited for the man's breathing to slow Finally, he said it's good to see you again, Mr. Holiday. What can I do for you? Martin Holiday tore his glance away from the window long enough to raise his eyes to Meade's face and then drop them to the Hands he had folded too deliberately in his lap I'd His voice husked into unintelligibility, and he had to begin again. I'd like to take an option on a new planet He said finally Meade nodded. I don't see why not. He gestured expressively at the star chart papered over one wall of his office We've certainly got plenty of them. But what happened with your first one? It did it did it mr. Holiday I certainly won't be offended if you'd prefer to look out the window Meade said quickly Thank you. After a moment he began again It didn't work out. He said his glance flickering back to Meade for an instant before he had to look out the window again I don't know where my figuring went wrong. It it didn't go wrong. It was just just things I thought I could sell enough subdivisions to cover the payments and still keep most of it for myself But it didn't work out. He looked quickly at Meade with a flash of groundless guilt in his eyes First I had to sell more than I'd intended because I had to lower the original price Somebody'd option another planet in the same system, and I hadn't counted on the competition Then even after I'd covered the option and posted surety on the payments There were all kinds of expenses then I couldn't lease the mineral rights He looked at Meade again as though he had to justify himself I don't know how that deal fell through the company just just withdrew all of a sudden Do you think there might have been anything peculiar about that Meade asked? I mean could the company have made a deal with the colonists for a lower price after you'd been forced out Holiday shook his head quickly. Oh, no, nothing like that the colonists and I got along fine It wasn't as though I hadn't put the best land up for sale or tried to make myself rich Why after I'd had to sell some of the remaining land and I knew it wasn't worth staying anymore Some of them offered to lend me enough money to keep 50,000 square miles for myself He smiled warmly his eyes blank while he focused on memory But that wasn't it of course he went on I had my original investment back But I couldn't tell them why I couldn't stay it was people even if I never saw them It was the thought of people with aircraft and rockets and roads. I Understand mr. Holiday Meade said in an effort to spare him embarrassment Holiday looked at him helplessly. I couldn't tell them that could I mr. Meade They were good people friendly people who wanted to help me. I couldn't tell them it was people could I He wet his dry lips and locked his eyes on the view outside the window All I want mr. Meade is half a planet to myself. He said softly He shook his head. Well, it'll work out this time this time I won't have to sell so much and I'll have a place to spend what time I've got left in peace without this this He gestured helplessly in an effort to convey his tortured consciousness of his own fear Meade nodded quickly as he saw his features not convulsively Of course, mr. Holiday will get you an option on a new planet as quickly as we can Thank you holiday said again. Can we can we handle it today? I've had my credit transferred to a local bank Certainly, mr. Holiday. We won't keep you on earth a moment longer than absolutely necessary He took a standard form out of a desk drawer and passed it to holiday for his signature I'll be smarter this time the aging man said trying to convince himself as he uncapped his pen This time it'll work out. I'm sure it will mr. Holiday Meade said section 2 Marlow was obese He sat behind his desk like a tuskless sea lion crouched behind a rock and his cheeks merged into jowls and obliterated his neck His desk was built specially so that he could get his thighs under it His office chair was heavier and wider by far than any standard size It's casters rolling on a special Composition base that had been laid down over the carpeting for Marlow's weight would have cut any ordinary rug to shreds His jacket stretched like plyo film to enclose the bulk of his stooped shoulders And his eyes surveyed his world behind the battle-mented heaviness of the puffing flesh that filled their sockets a Bulb flickered on his interphone set and Marlow shot a glance at the switch beneath it Secretary quite contrary. He muttered inaudibly. He flicked the switch. Yes, Mary His voice rumbled out of the flabby cavern of his chest Mr. Meade just filed a report on Martin Holiday, mr. Secretary. Would you like to see it? Just give me a summary Mary Under his breath he whispered some re that mum re Mary and a thin smile fell about his lips while he listened Gave him Carl shaven for a he observed when his secretary finished. Okay. Thanks, Mary He switched off and sat thinking Somewhere in the bowels of the body administrative he knew notations were being made and cross-filed The addition of Carl shaven for to the list of planets under colonization would be made and holidays asking prices for land would Be posted with emigration together with a prospectus abstracted from the general galactic survey He switched the interphone on again Mary Supply me with a copy of the gen serve on the entire Carl shaven system tell mr. Meade I'll expect him in my office sometime this afternoon you schedule it and we'll go into it further Yes, mr. Secretary will 1515 be all right 1515's fine Mary Marlow said gently. Yes, sir. His secretary replied abashed. I keep forgetting about proper nomenclature So do I Mary so do I Marlow side anything come up that wasn't scheduled for today It was a routine question born of futile hope. There was always something to spoil the carefully planned daily schedules Yes, and no sir Marlow cocked an eyebrow at the interphone. Well, that's a slight change anyway. What is it? There's a political science observer from Dovnil That's more to on our maps or who's requested permission to talk to you He's here on the usual exchange program, and he's within his privileges and asking of course I assume it's the ordinary thing. What's our foreign policy? How do you apply it? Can you give specific instances and the like? Precisely Marlow thought for ordinary questions There were standard answers and Mary had been his secretary for so long that she could supply them as well as he could Dovnil more to a Obviously there was something special about the situation and Mary was leaving the decision to him He scanned through his memorized star catalogs trying to find the correlation Mr. Secretary Marlow grunted still here just thinking isn't Dovnil that nation we just sent Harrison to Yes, sir on the same exchange program Marlow chuckled well if we've got Harrison down there It's only fair to let their fellow learn something in exchange isn't it? What's his name? Dalish Udh Klavin sir Marlow muttered to himself Dalish Udh Klavin Irish corned beef and cabbage his mind filed it away together with a primary color picture of jigs and Maggie Alright Mary, I'll talk to him if you can find room in the schedule somewhere Tell you what let him in at 1530 meet and I can furnish a working example for him Does that check all right with your book? Yes, sir. There'll be time if we carry over on the Siroli incidents Siroli's waited six years four months and 23 days. They'll wait another day. Let's do that then Mary Yes, sir Marlow switched off and picked up a report which he began to read by the page block system his eyes almost unblinking between pages Harrison a he muttered once stopping to look quizzically at his desktop. He chuckled Section three At 1515 the light on his interphone blinked twice and Marlow hastily initialed a directive with his right hand while touching the switch with his left Yes, Mary. Mr. Meade sir Okay, he switched off pushed the directive into his outbox and pulled the gen serve and the folder on Martin Holiday out of the hold tray Come in Chris. He said as Meade knocked on the door How are you today? Mr. Marlow Meade asked as he sat down Four ounces heavier Marlow answered dryly. I presume you're not cigarette Chris Apparently the use of the first name finally caught Meade's notice. He looked thoughtful for a moment then took a cigarette and lit it Thanks, Dave. Well, I'm glad that settled Marlow chuckled his eyes almost disappearing in crinkles of flesh How's Mary? Meade grinned crookedly Miss Falsum is in fine fetal today. Thank you Marlow rumbled a laugh Meade had once made the mistake of addressing the woman as Mary under the natural assumption that if Marlow could do it Everyone could Mary I fear Marlow observed lives in more stately times than these She'll tolerate informality from me because I'm in direct authority over her and direct authority, of course is law But you Meade you are a young whipper snapper But that's totally unrealistic Meade protested. I don't respect her less by using her first name. It's just just friendliness. That's all Look Marlow said it makes sense, but it ain't logical not on her terms Mary Falsum was raised by a big tough tight-lipped Authoritarian of a father who believed in bringing kids up by the book by the time she got tumbled out into the world All big men were unquestionably authority and all young men were callow whippers snappers Sure, she's unhappy about it inside, but it makes her a perfect secretary for me and she does her job well We play by her rules on the little things and by the world's rules on the big ones. Cabish Sure Dave, but Marlow picked up the folder on holiday and gave Meade one weighty but understanding look before he opened it Your trouble Chris is that your viewpoint is fundamentally sane. He said now about holiday Martin options zero six two two six eight seven two nine zero six three one zero eight one zero zero four I Didn't get time to read the gen serve on the Carl Shaven planet, so I'll ask you to brief me. Yes, sir What's four like? Good arable land a little mountainous in spots, but that's good loaded with minerals industrial stuff like silver Some tin but not enough to depress the monetary standard lots of copper coal beds Petroleum basins the works self-supporting practically from the start a real asset to the union in 56 years Marlow knotted good nice picking Chris now got a decoy Yes, sir Carl Shaven twos a false E. I've got a dummy option on it in the works And we'll be able to undercut holidays prices for his land by about 20% False E, huh? How long do you figure until the colony can't stick on it any longer a fair-sized one with lots of financial backing might Even make it permanently, but we won't be able to dig up that many loafers and naturally we can't give them that big a subsidy Eventually we'll have to ferry them all out in about eight years say but that'll give us time enough to break holiday Marlow not it again sounds good Something else mead said twos mineral poor. It's near to being solid metal That's what makes it impossible to really live on but I figure we can switch the mineral companies right onto it and off of for Marlow grinned approvingly you've been saving this one for holiday Yes, sir mead said nodding slowly. He looked hesitantly at Marlow. What's up boy? Well, sir mead began then stopped nothing important really Marlow gave him a surprising look full of sadness and brooding understanding You're thinking he's an old frightened man, and why don't we leave him alone? Why yes, sir Dave Yes Dave, you're quite right. Why don't we? We can't sir. I know that but it doesn't seem fair Exactly Chris it ain't right, but it's correct The light on Marlow's interphone blinked once Marlow looked at it in momentary surprise Then his features cleared and he muttered cabbage. He reached out toward the switch We've got a visitor Chris follow my lead. He reviewed his information on Dovnilid titular systems while he touched the switch Ask Udklaven to come in Mary section 4 Dalish Udklaven was almost a twin for the pictured typical Dovnilid in Marlow's library Since the pictures were usually idealized it followed that Klaven was an above average specimen of his people He stood a full eight feet from fetters to crest and had not yet begun to thicken his shoes in compensation For the stoop that marked advancing middle age for his race Marlow looked at him smiled inwardly No Dovnilid could be so obviously superior and still only a lowly student well Considering Harrison's qualifications it might still not be tit for tat Mead began to get to his feet and Marlow hastily planted a foot atop his nearest shoe The assistant winced and twitched his lips, but at least he stayed down Dalish Udklaven the Dovnilid pronounced in good English Dave Marlow secretary for external affairs solar Union Marlow replied Udklaven looked expectantly at Mead Christopher Mead assistant under secretary for external affairs the assistant said orienting himself If you would do us the honor of permitting us to stand Marlow asked politely on the contrary Marlow If you would do me the honor of permitting me to sit I should consider it a privilege Please do so. Mr. Mead if you would bring our visitor a chair They lost themselves in formalities for a few minutes Marlow being urbainly correct Mead following after as best he could through the maze of Dovnilid morays Finally they were able to get down to the business at hand Udklaven sitting with considerable comfort in the carefully designed chair which could be snapped into almost any shape Marlow bulking behind his desk Mead sitting somewhat nervously beside him Now as I understand it Udklaven Marlow began you'd like to learn something of our policies and methods That is correct Marlow in Mead the Dovnilid extracted a block of opaque material from the flat wallet at his side and studied it on his knee I have your permission to take notes Please do Now as it happens Mr. Mead and I are currently considering a case which perfectly illustrates our policies Udklaven immediately traced a series of video graphs on the note block and Marlow wondered if he was actually going to take their Conversation down verbatim he shrugged mentally He'd have to ask him at some later date whether he'd missed anything Undoubtedly there'd be a spare recording of the tape. He himself was making To begin as you know our government is founded upon principles of extreme personal freedom There are no arbitrary laws governing expression worship the possession of personal weapons or the rights of personal property The state is construed to be a mechanism of public service Operated by the body politic and the actual regulation and regimentation of society is accomplished by natural socioeconomic laws, which of course are both universal and unavoidable We pride ourselves on the high status of the individual in comparison to the barely tolerable existence of the state We do naturally have ordinances and injunctions governing crimes But even these are usually superseded by civil actions at the personal level Marlow leaned forward a trifle For getting exact principles for a moment Udklaven You realize that the actuality will sometimes stray from the ideal Our citizens for example do not habitually carry weapons except under extraordinary conditions But that is a civil taboo rather than a fixed amundation of our constitution I have no doubt that some future generation morays having shifted will for example revive the code duelo Udklaven nodded quite understood. Thank you marlow Good now to proceed under conditions such as those the state and its agencies Can not lay down a fixed policy of any sort and expect it to be in the least bit permanent The people will not tolerate such regulation and with each new shift in social morays And the institution of any policy is itself sufficient to produce such a shift within a short time Successive policies are repudiated by the body politic and new ones must be instituted Marlow leaned back and spread his hands Therefore he said with a rueful smile. It can fairly be said that we have no foreign policy effectively speaking We pursue the expedient Udklaven and hope for the best The case which mr. Mead and I are currently considering is typical The union as you know maintains a general survey corps whose task it is to map the galaxy Surveying such planets as harbor alien races or seem suitable for human colonization Such a survey team for example first established contact between your people and ours Exchange observation rights are worked out and representatives of both races are given the opportunity to acquaint themselves with the society of the other In the case of unoccupied habitable planets However, the state's function ceases with the filing of a complete and definite survey at the under ministry for emigration The state as a state sponsors no colonies and makes no establishments except for the few staging bases Which are maintained for the use of the survey corps We have not yet found any need for the institution of an offensive service Analogous to a planetary army nor do we expect to War in space is possible only under extraordinary conditions and we foresee no such contingency All our colonization is carried out by private citizens who apply to mr. Mead here for options on suitable unoccupied planets Mr. Mead's function is to act as a consultant in these cases He maintains a roster of surveyed human habitable planets and either simply assigns the requested planet or recommends one to fit specified conditions The cost of the option is sufficient to cover the administrative effort involved Together with sufficient profit to the government to finance further surveys The individual holding the option is then referred to emigration Which provides copies of a prospectus taken from the general survey report and advertises the option holder's asking prices on subdivisions Again, there is a reasonable fee of a nature similar to ours devoted to the same purposes The state then ceases to have any voice in the projected colonization whatsoever It is a totally private enterprise a simple real estate operation If you will with the state acting only as an advertising agency and occasionally as the lessor of suitable transportation from earth to the new planet The colonists of course are under our protection maintaining full citizenship unless they request independence, which is freely granted If you would like to see it for purposes of clarification You're welcome to examine our file on martin holiday A citizen who is fairly typical of these real estate operators and who has just filed an option on his second planet Smiling marlowe extended the folder Thank you. I should like to udklavin said and took the file from marlowe He leafed through it rapidly pausing after asking marlowe's leave to make notes on some of the information and then handed it back Most interesting udklavin observed however, if you'll enlighten me this man martin holiday Wouldn't there seem to be very little incentive for him considering his age even if there is the expectation of a high monetary return Particularly since his first attempt while not failure was not an outstanding financial success Marlowe shrugged helplessly I tend to agree with you thoroughly udklavin, but he smiled you'll agree I'm sure that one earth man's boredom is another's incentive We are not a rigorously logical race udklavin Quite the dove naled replied Section five Marlowe stared at his irrevocable clock his interphone light flickered and he touched the switch absently Yes, mary. Will there be anything else mr. Secretary? No, thank you, mary. Good night. Good night, sir There was no appeal the day was over and he had to go home He stared helplessly at his empty office his mind automatically counting the pairs of departing footsteps that sounded momentarily as clerks and Stenographers crossed the walk below his partly open window Finally he rolled his chair back and pushed himself to his feet Disconsolate he moved irresolutely to the window and watched the people leave Washington aging crowded Washington Mazed by narrow streets carrying the burden of the severe unimaginative past on its grimy architecture Respired heavily under the sinking sun The capital ought to be moved he thought as he thought every night at this time Nearer the heart of the empire out of this steamy bog out of this warren His heavy lips moved into an ironical comment on his own thoughts No one was ever going to move the empire's traditional seat There was too much nostalgia concentrated here along with the humidity Some day when the union was contiguous with the entire galaxy Men would still call washington on old out of the way earth their capital Man was not a rigorously logical race as a race The thought of going home broke out afresh Insidiously avoiding the barriers of bemusement which he had tried to erect And he turned abruptly away from the window moving decisively so as to be able to move at all He yanked open a desk drawer and stuffed his jacket pockets with candy bars Ripping the film from one and chewing on its end while he put papers in his briefcase Finally he could not delay any longer Everyone else was out of the building and the robots were taking over Metal treads spun along the corridors bearing brooms and the robot switchboards guarded the communications of the ministry Soon the char robots would be bustling into this very office He sighed and walked slowly out down the empty halls where no human eye could see him waddling He stepped into his car and as he opened the door the automatic recording said home please in his own voice The car waited until he was settled and then accelerated gently pointing for his apartment The recording had been an unavoidable but vicious measure of his own He'd had to resort to it for the temptation to drive to a terminal to an airport or rocket field or railroad station Anywhere had become excruciating The car stopped for a pedestrian light and a sports model bounced jauntily to a stop beside it The driver cocked an eyebrow at marlowe and chuckled Say fatso which one have used a Buick? Then the light changed the car spurred it away and left marlowe cringing He would not get an official car and protect himself with its license number. He would not be a coward. He would not His fingers shaking. He tore the film from another candy bar Marlowe huddled in his chair the notebook clamped on one broad thigh by his heavy hand his lips mumbling nervously while his pencil point checked off meter Dwell in aching discontent. He muttered no not that he stared down at the floor his eyes distant Bitter discontent he whispered he grunted softly with the breath that had to force its way past the constricting weight of his hunched chest Bitter dwell He crossed out the third line substituted the new one and began to read the first two verses to himself We are born of humankind. This is our destiny To bitter dwell in discontent wherever we may be To strangle with the burden of that which heals us on To stake our fresh beginnings when frailer breeds have done He smiled briefly content. It still wasn't perfect, but it was getting closer. He continued To pile upon the ashes of races in decease Such citadels of our kinds own as fortifying. No What are you doing david his wife asked over his shoulder Flynching he pulled the notebook closer into his lap bending forward in an instinctive effort to protect it The warm loving sawing voice went on Are you writing another poem david why I thought you'd given that up? It's it's nothing really uh linora nothing much just a thing i've had running around my head Wanted to get rid of it his wife leaned over and kissed his cheek clumsily Why you old big dear i'll bet it's for me isn't it david isn't it for me He shook his head in almost desperate regret I'm I'm afraid not uh snore. It's about something else linora Oh, she came around the chair and he furtively wiped his cheek with a hasty hand She sat down facing him smiling within treaty. Would you read it to me anyway david? Please dear Well, it's not not not finished yet. Not right You don't have to david. It's not important not really she sighed deeply He picked up the notebook his breath cold in his constricted throat All right. He said the words coming out huskily. I'll read it, but it's not finished yet If you don't want to He began to read hurriedly his eyes locked on the notebook his voice a suppressed horse spasmodic whisper Such citadels of our own kind's own as fortify no peace No wall can offer shelter. No roof can shield from pain. We cannot rest. We are the damned. We must go forth again Unnumbered we must david. Are you sure about those last lines? She smiled apologetically I know i'm old-fashioned, but couldn't you change that it seems so harsh And I think you may have unconsciously borrowed it from someone else. I can't help thinking I've heard it before somewhere Don't you think so I don't know dear you may be right about that word, but it doesn't really matter. Does it I mean I'm not going to try to get it published or anything I know dear, but still He was looking at her desperately I'm sorry dear. She said contritely. Please go on. Don't pay any attention to my stupid comments They're not stupid Please dear go on His fingers clamped on the edge of the notebook Unnumbered we must wander break and bleed and die Implacable as ocean our tide must drown the sky What is our expiation? For what primeval crime that we must go on marching until the crash of time What hand has shaped so cruelly what whim has cast such fate Where is in our creation the botch that makes us great? Oh, that's good darling. That's very good. I'm proud of you, David I think it stinks. He said evenly, but anyway, there are two more verses David Grimly he spat out the last eight lines Why are we ever gimleted by empire's irony? His discontent the cancer pride of earth man's galaxy Lenora recoiling from his cold fury was a shaking pair of shoulders and a mass of lank hair Supported by her hands on her face while she sobbed Our souls so much perverted can we not relent Or are the stars the madman's cost for his inborn discontent Good night, Lenora Section six The light flickered on Marlowe's interphone Good morning, Mr. Secretary. Good morning, Mary. What's up? Harrison's being deported from Dovnil, sir. There's a civil crime charged against him quite a serious one Marlowe's eyebrows went up How much have we got on it? Not much sir. Harrison's report hasn't come in yet, but the story's on the news broadcasts now, sir We haven't been asked to comment yet, but immigration has been called by several news outlets And the Ministry for Education just called here and inquired whether it would be all right to publish a general statement of their exchanged students' careful instructions against violating local customs Marlowe's glance brooded down on the massive papers piled in the tray of his inbox Give me a tape of a typical broadcast, he said at last. Hold everything else Present explanations to all news outlets. None now. A statement forthcoming after preliminary investigation later in the day. The Ministry regrets this incident deeply and will try to settle matters as soon and as amicably as possible, etc. etc. Okay? Yes, sir He swung his chair around to face the screen led into a side wall and colors began to flicker and run in the field almost immediately. They steadied and sharpened and the broadcast tape began to roll. Dateline, Dovnil, Sector 3, Day 183, 2417 GST Your topical news reporter on this small planet at the Union's Rim was unable today to locate for comment any of the high officials of this alien civilization directly concerned with the order for the deportation of exchange student observer, Hubert Harrison. Charged with theft and violent assault on the person of a Dovnilid citizen, Union citizen Harrison was unavailable for comment at this time, but topical news will present his views and such other clues when more ensues. Marlowe grunted. Journalese was getting out of hand again. That last rhyming sentence was sure to stick in the audience's brains. It might be only another advertising gimmick, but if they started doing it with the body of the news itself, it might be well to feed topical enough false leads to destroy what little reputation for comprehensibility they had left. He touched his interphone switch. Uh, Mary, what was the Hooper on that broadcast? Under one percent, sir. Which meant that so far the body politic hadn't reacted. Thank you. Is there anything else coming in? Not at the moment, sir. What's Cabbage—what's Dalishud Klavan doing? His residence is the solar hostel, sir. The management reports that he is still in his room and has not reserved space on any form of long-distance transportation. He has not contacted us, either, and there is a strong probability that he may still be unaware of what's happened. How many calls did he make yesterday, either before or after he was here and to whom? I can get you a list in ten minutes, sir. Do that, Mary. He switched off, sat slapping the edge of his desk with his hand and switched on again. Mary, I want the gen serves on the Dovnell area to a depth of ten cubic lights. Yes, sir. And get me Mr. Mead on the phone, please. Yes, sir. Marlowe's lips pulled back from his teeth as he switched off. He snatched a candy bar out of his drawer, tore the film partway off, then threw it back in the drawer as his desk phone chimed. Here, Chris. Here, Mr. Marlowe. Look, Chris, has holiday left earth yet? Yes, sir. Yes, Dave. Where is he? Luna, en route to Carl Shaven, he was lucky enough to have me arrange for his accidentally getting a ride on a gen-serve ship that happened to be going that way, if you follow me. Mead grinned. Get him back. The smile blanked out. I—I can't do that, Mr. Marlowe. He'd never be able to take it. You should have seen him when I put him on the shuttle. We doped him up with easy rest, and even then his subconscious could feel the bulkheads around him, even in his sleep. Those shuttles are small, and they don't have ports. We can't help that. We need him, and I've got to talk to him first—personally. Mead bit his lip. Yes, sir. Dave. Yes, Dave. Section 7 Dalish Udklavan sat easily in his chair opposite Marlowe. He rested one digit on his notebook and waited. Udklavan, Marlowe said amably. You're undoubtedly aware by now that your opposite number on Dovnil has been charged with a civil crime and deported. The Dovnil had nodded. An unfortunate incident, one that I regret personally and which I am sure my own people would much rather not have had happened. Naturally, Marlowe smiled. I simply wanted to reassure you that this incident does not reflect on your own status in any way. We are investigating our representative and will take appropriate action, but it seems quite clear that the fault is not with your people. We have already forwarded reparations and a note of apology to your government. As further reparation, I wish to assure you personally that we will cooperate with your personal observations in every possible way. If there is anything at all you wish to know, even what might, under ordinary conditions, be considered restricted information, just call on us. Udklavan's chest stirred a fraction of an inch and Marlowe chuckled inwardly. Well, even a brilliant spy might be forgiven an outward display of surprise under these circumstances. The Dovnil had gave him a piercing look, but Marlowe presented a featureless façade of bulk. The secretary chuckled in his mind once more. He doubted if Udklavan could accept the hypothesis that Marlowe did not know he was a spy, but the Dovnil had must be a sorely confused being at this point. Thank you, Marlowe, he said finally. I am most grateful and I am sure my people will construe it as yet another sign of the Union's friendship. I hope so, Udklavan, Marlowe replied. Having exchanged this last friendly lie, they went through the customary Dovnilid formula of leave-taking. Marlowe slapped his interphone switch as soon as the alien was gone. Uh, Mary, what's the latest on holiday? His shuttle lands at Islewild in half an hour, sir. All right. Get Mr. Mead. Have him meet me out front and get an official car to take us to the field. I'll want somebody from Emigration to go with us. Call Islewild and have them set up a desk and chairs for four out in the middle of the field. Call the Ministry for traffic and make sure that field stays clear until we're through with it. My ministerial prerogative, and no back-talk. I want that car in ten minutes. Yes, sir. Mary's voice was perfectly even, without the slightest hint that there was anything unusual happening. Marlowe switched off and twisted his mouth. He picked up the gentserve on the Dovnil area and began skimming it rapidly. He kept his eyes carefully front as he walked out of his office past the battery of clerks in the outer office and down the hall. He kept them rigidly fixed on the door of his personal elevator, which, during the day, was human-operated under the provisions of the Human Employment Act of 2302. He met Mead in front of the building and did not look into the eyes of Boussard, the man from Emigration, as they shook hands. He followed them down the walk in a sweating agony of obliviousness and climbed into the car with carefully normal lack of haste. He sat sweating, chewing a candy bar for several minutes before he spoke. Then, slowly, he felt his battered defenses reassert themselves and he could actually look at Boussard before he turned to Mead. Now, then, he rapped out a shade too abruptly before he caught himself. Here's the genserve on the Dovnil area, Chris. Anything in it you don't know already? I don't think so, sir. Okay. Dig me up a habitable planet. Even a long-term false E will do. Close to Dovnil, but not actually in their system, if it's at all possible. I want that world in a system without any rich planets, and I don't want any rich systems anywhere near it. If you can't do that, arrange for the outright sale of all mineral and other resource rights to suitable companies. I want that planet to be habitable, but I want it to be impossible for any people on it to get it enough resources to achieve a technological culture. Can do? Mead shook his head. I don't know. You've got about fifteen minutes to find out. I'm going to start talking to Holiday, and when I tell him I've got another planet for him, I'll be depending on you to furnish one. Sorry to pile it on like this, but must be. Mead nodded. Right, Mr. Marlowe. That's why I draw pay. Good boy. Now, uh, rabbit, uh, Boussard, I want you to be ready to lay out a complete advertising and prospectus program. Straight routine work, but about four times normal speed. The toughest part of it will be following the lead that Chris and I set. Don't be surprised at anything, and act like it happens every day. Yes, Mr. Marlowe. Right. Boussard looked uncomfortable. Uh, Mr. Marlowe? Yes. About this man, Harrison, I presume all this is the result of what happened to him on Dovnell. Do you think there's any foundation in truth for what they say he did, or do you think it's just an excuse to get him off their world? Marlowe looked at him coldly. Don't be an ass, he snorted. Section 8 Martin Holiday climbed slowly out of the shuttle's lock and moved fumblingly down the stairs, leaning on the attendant's arm. His face was a mottled gray and his hands shook uncontrollably. He stepped down the tarmac and his head turned from side to side as his eyes gulped at the field's distances. Marlowe sat behind the desk that had been put down the middle of this emptiness. His eyes brooding as he looked at Holiday. Boussard stood beside him, trying nervously to appear noncommittal, while Meade went up to the shaking old man, grasped his hand, and brought him over to the desk. Marlowe shifted uncomfortably. The desk was standard size, and he had to sit far away from it. He could not feel at ease in such a position. His thick fingers went into the side pocket of his jacket, and he peeled the film off a candy bar, and he began to eat it, holding it in his left hand, as Meade introduced Holiday. How do you do, Mr. Holiday? Marlowe said, his voice higher than he would have liked it, while he shook the man's hand. I'm—I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Secretary, Holiday replied. His eyes were darting past Marlowe's head. This is Mr. Boussard of emigration, and you know Mr. Meade, of course. Now I think we can all sit down. Meade's chair was next to Holiday's, and Boussard's was to one side of the desk so that only Marlowe unavoidably blocked his complete view of the stretching tarmac. First of all, Mr. Holiday, I'd like to thank you for coming back. Please believe me when I say we would not have made such a request if it were not urgently necessary. It's all right, Holiday said, in a low apologetic voice. I don't mind. Marlowe winced, but he had to go on. Have you seen a news broadcast recently, Mr. Holiday? The man shook his head in embarrassment. No, sir. I've been asleep most of the time. I understand, Mr. Holiday. I didn't really expect you had under the circumstances. The situation is this. Some time ago, our survey ships, working out in their usual expanding pattern, encountered an alien civilization on a world designated more to on our maps, and which the natives called Dovno. It was largely a routine matter, no different from any other alien contact which we've had. They had a relatively high technology embracing the beginnings of interplanetary flight, and our contact teams were soon able to work out a diplomatic status, mutually satisfactory to both. Social observers were exchanged in accordance with the usual practice, and everything seemed to be going well. Holiday nodded out of painful politeness, not seeing the connection with himself. Some of his nervousness was beginning to fade, but it was impossible for him to be really at ease with so many people near him, with all of Earth's billions lurking at the edge of the tarmac. However, Marlowe went on as quickly as he could. Today our representative was deported on a trumped-up charge. Undoubtedly this is only the first move in some complicated scheme directed against the Union. What it is, we do not yet know, but further observation of the actions of their own representative on this planet has convinced us that they are a clever, ruthless people, living in a society which would have put Machiavelli to shame. They are single-minded of purpose, and welded into a tight group whose major purpose in life is the service of the State in its major purpose, which by all indications is that of eventually dominating the universe. You know our libertarian society. You know that the Union government is almost powerless, and that the Union itself is nothing but a loose federation composed of a large number of independent nations tied together by very little more than the fact that we are all Earthmen. We are almost helpless in the face of such a nation as the Dovnelids. They have already outmaneuvered us once, despite our best efforts. There is no sign that they will not be able to do so again, at will. We must somehow discover what the Dovnelids intend to do next. For this reason I earnestly request that you accept our offer of another planet than the one you have optioned, closer to the Dovnelid system. We are willing under these extraordinary circumstances to consider your credit sufficient for the outright purchase of half the planet, and Mr. Boussard here will do his utmost to get you suitable colonists for the other half as rapidly as it can be done. Will you help us, Mr. Holiday? Marlowe sank back in his chair. He became conscious of a messy feeling in his left hand and looked down to discover the half-eaten candy bar had melted. He tried furtively to wipe his hand on the underside of the desk, but he knew Boussard had noticed and he cringed and cursed himself. Holiday's face twisted nervously. I—I—I don't know. Please don't misunderstand us, Mr. Holiday, Marlowe said. We do not intend to ask you to spy for us, nor are we acting with the intention of now establishing a base of any sort on the planet. We simply would like to have a union world near the Dovnelid system. Whatever Dovnel does, we'll not have gathered significant momentum by the end of your life. You will be free to end your days exactly as you have always wished, and the precautions we have outlined will ensure that there will be no encroachments on your personal property during that time. We are planning for the next generation, when Dovnel will be initiating its program of expansion. It is then that we will need an established outpost near their borders. Yes, Holiday said hesitantly. I can understand that. I—I—I don't know, he repeated. It seems all right, and as you say, it won't matter during my lifetime, and it's more than I had really hoped for. He looked nervously at Meade. What do you think, Mr. Meade? You've always done your best for me. Meade shot one quick glance at Marlowe. I think Mr. Marlowe's doing his best for the union, he said finally, and I know he is fully aware of your personal interests. I think what he's doing is reasonable under the circumstances, and I think his proposition to you, as he's outlined, it is something which you cannot afford to not consider. The final decision is up to you, of course. Holiday nodded slowly, staring down at his hands. Yes, yes, I think you're right, Mr. Meade. He looked up at Marlowe. I'll be glad to help, and I'm grateful for the consideration you've shown me. Not at all, Mr. Holiday. The union is in your debt. Marlowe wiped his hand on the underside of the desk again, but he only made matters worse, for his fingers picked up some of the chocolate he had removed before. Mr. Meade, will you give Mr. Holiday the details on the new planet, he said, trying to get his handkerchief out without smearing his suit. He could almost hear Boussard snickering. Holiday signed the new option contract and shook Marlowe's hand. I'd like to thank you again, sir, looking at it from my point of view. It's something for nothing, at least while I'm alive. And it's a very nice planet, too, from the way Mr. Meade described it, even better than Carl Shaven. Nevertheless, Mr. Holiday, Marlowe said, you have done the union a great service. We would consider it an honor if you allowed us to enter your planet in our records under the name of Holiday. He kept his eyes away from Meade. Martin Holiday's eyes were shining. Thank you, Mr. Marlowe, he said, huskily. Marlowe could think of no reply. Finally, he simply nodded. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Holiday. We've arranged transportation, and your shuttle will be taking off very shortly. Holiday's face began to bead with fresh perspiration at the thought of bulkheads enclosing him once more. But he managed to smile, and then, ask hesitantly, may I wait for the shuttle out here, sir? Certainly. We'll arrange for that. Well, good-bye, Mr. Holiday. Good-bye, Mr. Marlowe. Good-bye, Mr. Boussard. And good-bye, Mr. Meade. I don't suppose you'll be seeing me again. Good luck, Mr. Holiday. Meade said. Marlowe twisted awkwardly on the car's back seat, wiping futilely at the long smear of chocolate on his trouser pocket. Well, he thought at least he'd given the old man his name on the star maps until Earthmen stopped roving. At least he'd given him that. Meade was looking at him. I don't suppose we've got time to let him die in peace, have we? He asked. Marlowe shook his head. I suppose we'll have to start breaking him immediately, won't we? Marlowe nodded. I'll get at it right away, sir. Dave, does everyone have to hate me? Can't anyone understand? Even you? A creed? Even you? Meade? Section 9 Dalish Udklavan stooped and withered, sat hopelessly opposite Marlowe, who sat behind his desk like a grizzled polar bear, his thinning mane of white hair unkempt and straggling. Marlowe, my people are strangling, the old Dovnell had said. Marlowe looked at him silently. The Holiday Republic has signed treaty after treaty with us, and still their citizens raid our mining planets, drive away our own people, stealing the resources we must have if we are to live. Marlowe sighed. There's nothing I can do. We have gone to the Holiday Government repeatedly, Udklavan pleaded. They tell us their raiders are criminals, that they are doing their best to stop them, but they still buy the medal the raiders bring them. They have to, Marlowe said. There are no available resources anywhere within practicable distances. If they're to have any civilization at all, they've got to buy from the outlaws. But they are members of the Union, Udklavan protested. Why won't you do anything to stop them? We can't, Marlowe said again. They're members of the Union, yes, but they're also a free republic. We have no administrative jurisdiction over them, and if we attempted to establish one, our citizens would rise in protest all over our territory. Then we're finished. Dovnell is a dead world. Marlowe nodded slowly. I am very sorry. If there is anything I can do or that the Ministry can do, we will do it. But we cannot save the Dovnellid State. Udklavan looked at him bitterly. Thank you, he said. Thank you for your generous offer of a gracious funeral. I don't understand you, he burst out suddenly. I don't understand you people. Diplomatic lies, yes, expediency, yes. But this, this madness, this fanatical illogical devotion of the State in the cause of a people who will tolerate no state. This—no, this I cannot understand. Marlowe looked at him, his eyes full of years. Udklavan, he said, you are quite right. We are a race of maniacs, and that is why earthmen rule the galaxy. For our treaties are not binding and our promises are worthless. Our government does not represent our people. It represents our people as they once were. The delay in the democratic process is such that the treaty signed today fulfills the promise of yesterday, but today the body politic has formed a new opinion, is following a new logic which is completely at variance with that of yesterday. An earthman's promise, expressed in words or deeds, is good only at the instant he makes it. A second later, new factors have entered into the total circumstances and a new chain of logic has formed in his head to be altered again a few seconds later. He thought suddenly of that poor claustrophobic devil, Holliday, harried from planet to planet, never given a moment's rest, and civilizing, civilizing, spreading the race of humankind wherever he was driven, civilizing with a fervor no hired dummy could have accomplished, driven by his fear to sell with all the real estate agents' talent that had been born in him, selling for the sake of money with which to buy that land he needed for his peace, and always being forced to sell a little too much. Ud Klivan rose from his chair. You are also right, Marlowe. You are a race of maniacs, gibbering across the stars, and no, Marlowe, that the other races of the universe hate you. Marlowe, with a tremendous effort, heaved himself out of his chair. Hate us? He lumbered around the desk and advanced on the frightened Dovnalid, who was retreating backwards before his path. Can't you see it? Don't you understand that if we are to pursue any course of action over a long time, if we are ever going to achieve a galaxy in which an earthmen can someday live at peace with himself, we must each day violate all the moral codes and creeds which we held in violet the day before. That we must fight against every ideal, every principle which our fathers taught us because they no longer apply to our new logic. You hate us? He thrust his fat hand, its nails bitten down to the quick and beyond in front of the cringing alien's eyes. You poor, weak, single-minded ineffectual thing. We hate ourselves. End of Citadel by Alges Budris. Blackwater hung like a shroud of death and still he heard his ragged breathing and something else. Cully concentrated on that sound and the rhythmic pulsing of his heart. Somehow he had to retain a hold on his sanity or his soul. After an hour of careful breathing and exploring of body sensations, Cully realized he could move. He flexed an arm. A mode of gold sand sifted upward in dark water. It had a pleasant color in contrast with the ominous shades of the sea. In a few moments he had struggled to a sitting position, delighting in the curtain of glittering metal grains swirling around him as he moved. In the other sound, a humming in his mind, a distant burble of tiny voices of other minds, words swirling in giddy patterns he couldn't understand. Shortly thereafter, Cully discovered why he still lived, breathed, a suit, a yellow, plastic, watertight suit with an orange on black shield on the left breast pocket and a clear bubble helmet. He felt weight on his back and examined it. Two air tanks and their regulator, a radio and the box. Suit, tanks, regulator, radio, black water, box, sand, sea, stillness. Cully considered his world. It was small. It was conceivable. It was incomplete. Where is it? Where's what? He knew he had a voice, means of communication between others of his kind. Using low frequency heat waves caused by agitation of air molecules, why couldn't he make it work? Words, thousands of them at his beck and call. What were they? What did they mean? He shifted uncomfortably in the tight yellow suit and searching the near horizon for where is it? A vague calling came from beyond the black sea curtain objectively because he could do nothing to stop them. He watched his feet pick up, move forward, put down, pick up, move forward, put down. Funny. He had the feeling, the concept, that this action held meaning. It was supposed to cause some reaction, accomplish an act. He wondered at the regular movement of his legs. One of them hurt. A heart is a sensation of pain caused by overloading sensory units in the body. A heart is bad because it indicates something is wrong. Something certainly was wrong. Something stirred in Kali's mind. He stopped and sat down on the sandy sea bottom gracefully like a ballet dancer. He examined his foot. There's a tiny hole in the yellow plastic fabric and a thin string of red black was oozing out. Blood, he knew. He was bleeding. He could do nothing about it. He got up and resumed walking. Where is it? Kali lifted his head in annoyance at the sharp thought. Go away. He said in a low pleading voice. The sound made him feel better. He began muttering to himself. Water, black, sand, heart, pain, radio tanks. It didn't sound right. After a few minutes, he was quiet. The many thoughts were calling him. He must go to the many thoughts. If his foot was bleeding, then something had happened. If something had happened, then his foot was bleeding. No! If something had happened, then maybe other things had happened before that. But how could something happen in a world of flat gold sand and flaccid sea? Surely there was something wrong. Wrong. The state of being not right. Something had happened that was not right. Kali stared at the edges of the unmoving curtain before him. Where is it? It was a driving, promise-filled concept. No words. Just a sense that something wonderful lay just beyond reach. But this voice was different from the many thoughts. It was directing his body. His mind was along for the ride. The sameness of the sea and sand became unbearable. It was too right somehow. Kali felt anger and kicked up eddies of dust. It changed the sameness a little. He kicked more up until it swirled around him a thick gold haze, blotting out the terrible emptiness of the sea. He felt another way to decide. He found a holster and a gun. He recognized neither. Again, he watched objectively as his hand pulled the black object out and handled it. His body was evidently familiar with it, though it was strange to his eyes. His fingers slipped automatically into the trigger sheaf. His legs were still working under two drives. The many thoughts urging and something else buried in him, a longing up and down, back and forth. Where is it? Anger, frustration flared in him. His hand shot out, gun it ready. He turned around slowly. Through the settling trail of suspended sand, nothing was visible. Again, he was moving. Something made his legs move. He walked on through the shrouds of death until he felt a taut singing in his nerves. An irrational fear sprang out in him, cascading down his spine and Cully shuddered. Ahead there was some thing, two motives. Get there because it they calls. Get there because you must. Where is it? The mind voice was excited, demanding. Something was out there besides the sameness. Cully walked on trailing gold. The death curtain parted. An undulating garden of blue and gold streamers suddenly drifted toward him on an unfelt current. Cully was held, entranced. They flowed before him, their colors dazzling, hypnotic. Come closer, earthling. The many thoughts spoke inside his head, soothingly. Here it is! Cully's mind shouted. Cully's mind was held, hypnotized, but his body moved of its own volition. He moved again. His mind and the many thoughts spoke, fulfillment, almost. There was one action left that must be completed. Cully's arms moved. They detached the small black box from his belt. He moved on into the midst of the weaving, gold-laced plants. Little spicules licked out from their flexing stalks and jabbed, uncensed, into Cully's body to draw nourishment. From the many thoughts came the sense of complete fulfillment. From Cully's mind came further orders. Lie down. It was a collective concept. Lie still, we are friends. He could not understand. There were speaking words. Words were beyond him. His head shook in despair. The voices were implanting in a motion of horror and what his hands were doing, but he had no control over his body. It was as if it were not his. The black box was now lying in the sand among the streaming plants. Cully's fingers reached out and caressed a small panel. A soundless click ran through the murkiness. The strangely beautiful, gold-laced blue plants began a writhing dance. Their spicules withdrew and jabbed. Withdrew and jabbed. A rending, silent scream tore the quiet waters. No, they cried. It was a negative command mixed in with a terrible screaming. Turn it off! Stop it! Stop it! Cully tried to say, but there were no words. He tried to cover his ears within the helmet, but the cries went on. Emotions roiled the water. Pain, hurt, reproach. Cully sobbed. Something was wrong here. Something was killing the plants. The beautiful blue things. The plants were withering, dying. He looked up at them, stupefied, not understanding. Tears streaming down his face. And what did they want from him? What had he done? Where is it? A different direction materialized. A new concept of desire. Cully's body turned and crawled away from the wonderful dying garden, oblivious to the pleadings floating, now weakly in the torpid water. He scuffed up little motes of golden sand, leaving a low-lying scut along the bottom. Back to the little black box in the garden. The plants, the box, all were forgotten by now. Cully crawled on, not knowing why. A rise appeared. Surprise caught Cully unaware. A change in the sameness. Where is it? Again, the voice was insistent. His desire was close ahead. He did not look back at the black churning on the sea bottom. His legs worked. His chest heaved. Words swirled in his mind. He topped the rise. Below him, in the center of a shallow golden bowl, floated a long, shiny cylinder. Even from here he knew what it was huge. He knew other things about it. How heavy it was, how it was, that it carried others of his kind. He had been in it before, and they were waiting for him. He lurched on. Captain, here comes Cully. The midshipmen shouted from the airlock. Look what they've done to him! The old man's gray eyes took in the spectacle without visible emotion. He watched the pathetic, bleeding, yellow plastic sack crawl up to the ship and look up. His hands reached down and lifted Cully up into the lock. They took his suit off and stared with loathing at what had once been a man. A white scar zigzagged across his forehead. The captain bent close, in range of the dim blue eyes. It was a brave thing you did, Cully. The whole system will be grateful. Venus could never be colonized, as long as those cannibals were there to eat men and drive men mad. Cully fingered the scar in his forehead and looked unseen into the old man's compassionate eyes. I'm sorry, Cully. We all are. But there was no other way. Prefrontal lobotomy, destruction of your speech center. It was the only way you could get past the telepaths and destroy them. I'm sorry, Cully. The race of man shall long honor your name. Cully smiled at the old man, the words churning in his brain, but he did not understand. Where is it? The emptiness was still there. End of Cully by Jack Egan. Recording by Joseph Nagy at JosephNagy.com. That's J-O-Z-E-F-N-A-G-Y.com. The Defenders by Philip K. Dick. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Greg Marguerite. The Defenders by Philip K. Dick. No weapon has ever been frightful enough to put a stop to war, perhaps because we never before had any that thought for themselves. Taylor sat back in his chair reading the morning newspaper. The warm kitchen and the smell of coffee blended with the comfort of not having to go to work. This was his rest period, the first for a long time, and he was glad of it. He folded the second section back, sighing with contentment. What is it, Mary said from the stove? They pasted Moscow again last night. Taylor nodded his head in approval, gave it a real pounding. One of those R.H. bombs. It's about time. He nodded again, feeling the full comfort of the kitchen, the presence of his plump, attractive wife, the breakfast dishes and coffee. This was relaxation. And the war news was good, good and satisfying. He could feel a justifiable glow with the news, a sense of pride and personal accomplishment. After all, he was an integral part of the war program, not just another factory worker lugging a cart of scrap, but a technician, one of those who designed and planned the nerve-trunk of the war. It says they have the new subs almost perfected. Wait until they get those going. He smacked his lips with anticipation. When they start shelling from under water, the Soviets are sure going to be surprised. They're doing a wonderful job, Mary agreed vaguely. Do you know what we saw today? Our team is getting a leady to show to the school children. I saw the leady, but only for a moment. It's good for the children to see what their contributions are going for, don't you think? She looked around at him. A leady, Taylor murmured. He put the newspaper down slowly. Well, make sure it's decontaminated properly. We don't want to take any chances. Oh, they always bathed them when they were brought down from the surface, Mary said. They wouldn't think of letting them down without the bath, would they? She hesitated, thinking back. Don, you know, it makes me remember. He nodded. I know. He knew what she was thinking. Once in the very first weeks of the war, before everyone had been evacuated from the surface, they had seen a hospital train discharging the wounded, people who had been showered with sleep. He remembered the way they had looked, the expression on their faces, or as much of their faces as was left. It had not been a pleasant sight. There had been a lot of that at first, in the early days, before the transfer to under-surface was complete. There had been a lot, and it hadn't been very difficult to come across. Taylor looked up at his wife. She was thinking too much about it, the last few months, that they all were. Forget it, he said. It's all in the past. There isn't anybody up there now but the leadies, and they don't mind. But just the same. I hope they're careful when they let one of them down here. If one were still hot. He left, pushing himself away from the table. Forget it. This is a wonderful moment. I'll be home for the next two shifts. Nothing to do but sit around and take things easy. Maybe we can take in a show, okay? A show? Do we have two? I don't like to look at all the destruction, the ruins. Sometimes I see some place I remember, like San Francisco. They showed a shot of San Francisco, the bridge broken and fallen in the water, and I got upset. I don't like to watch. But don't you want to know what's going on? No human beings are getting hurt, you know. But it's so awful. Her face was set and strained. Please, no, Don. Don Taylor picked up his newspaper sullenly. All right, but there isn't a hell of a lot else to do, and don't forget, their cities are getting it even worse. She nodded. Taylor turned the rough, thin sheets of newspaper. His good mood had soured on him. Why did she have to fret all the time? They were pretty well off as things went. You couldn't expect to have everything perfect, living under surface, with an artificial sun and an artificial food. Naturally it was a strain not seeing the sky or being able to go any place or see anything other than metal walls, great roaring factories, the plant yards, and barracks, but it was better than being on the surface. And someday it would end, and they could return. Nobody wanted to live this way, but it was necessary. He turned the page angrily and the poor paper ripped. Damn it, the paper was getting worse quality all the time, bad print, yellow tint. Well, they needed everything for the war program. He ought to know that. Wasn't he one of the planners? He excused himself and went into the other room. The bed was still unmade. They had better get it in shape before the seventh hour inspection. There was a one unit fine. The vid phone rang. He halted. Who would it be? He went over and clicked it on. Taylor the face said, forming into place. It was an old face, gray and grim. This is moss. I'm sorry to bother you during rest period, but this thing has come up. He rattled papers. I want you to hurry over here. Taylor stiffened. What is it? There's no chance it could wait? The calm gray eyes were studying him expressionless, unjudging. If you want me to come down to the lab, Taylor grumbled, I suppose I can. I'll get my uniform. No. Come as you are, and not to the lab. Meet me at the second stage as soon as possible. It'll take you about a half an hour using the fast car up. I'll see you there. The picture broke and moss disappeared. What was it? Mary said at the door. Moss, he wants me for something. I knew this would happen. Well, you didn't want to do anything anyhow. What does it matter? His voice was bitter. It's all the same every day. I'll bring you back something. I'm going up to the second stage. Maybe I'll be close enough to the surface, too. Don't. Don't bring me anything, not from the surface. All right, I won't but of all the irrational nonsense. She watched him put on his boots without answering. Moss nodded and Taylor fell in step with him as the older man strode along. A series of loads were going up to the surface, blind cars clanking like ore trucks up the ramp, disappearing through the stage trap above them. Taylor watched the cars, heavy with tubular machinery of some sort, weapons new to him. Workers were everywhere in the dark gray uniforms of the labor corps, loading, lifting, shouting back and forth. The stage was deafening with noise. We'll go up away, Moss said, where we can talk. This is no place to give you details. They took an escalator up. The commercial lift fell behind them and with it most of the crashing and booming. Suspended on the side of the tube, the vast tunnel leading to the surface, not more than half a mile above them now. My God! Taylor said, looking down the tube involuntarily. It's a long way down. Moss laughed. Don't look. They opened a door and entered an office. Behind the desk an officer was sitting, an officer of internal security. He looked up. I'll be right with you, Moss. He gazed at Taylor studying him. You're a little ahead of time. This is Commander Franks, Moss said to Taylor. He was the first to make the discovery. I was notified last night. He tapped a parcel he carried. I was led in because of this. Franks frowned at him and stood up. We're going up to first stage. We can discuss it there. First stage? Taylor repeated nervously. The three of them went down a side passage to a small lift. I've never been up there. Is it all right? It's not radioactive, is it? You're like everyone else, Franks said. Old women afraid of burglars. No radiation leaks down to first stage. There's lead and rock. And what comes down the tube is bathed. What's the nature of the problem? Taylor asked. I'd like to know something about it. In a moment. They entered the lift and ascended. When they stepped out, they were in a hall of soldiers, weapons, and uniforms everywhere. Taylor blinked in surprise. So this was first stage, the closest undersurface level to the top. After this stage was only rock, lead, and rock, and the great tubes leading up like the burrows of earthworms. Lead and rock, and above that, where the tubes opened, the great expanse that no living being had seen for eight years. The vast, endless ruin that had once been man's home. The place where he had lived, eight years ago. Now the surface was a lethal desert of slag and rolling clouds. Endless clouds drifted back and forth blotting out the red sun. Occasionally something metallic stirred, moving through the remains of the city. Threading its way across the tortured terrain of the countryside. A leady. A surface robot. Immune to radiation. Constructed with feverish haste in the last month before the Cold War became literally hot. Leadies crawling along the ground, moving over the oceans or through the skies in slender blackened craft. Creatures that could exist where no life could remain. Metal and plastic figures that waged a war man had conceived, but which he could not fight himself. Human beings had invented war, invented and manufactured the weapons, even invented the players, the fighters, the actors of the war. But they themselves could not venture forth, could not wage it themselves. In all the world, in Russia, in Europe, America, Africa, no living human being remained. They were under the surface in the deep shelters that had been carefully planned and built even as the first bombs began to fall. It was a brilliant idea and the only idea that could have worked. Up above, on the ruined blasted surface of what had once been a living planet, the Leedy crawled and scurried and fought man's war, and under surface in the depths of the planet, human beings toiled endlessly to produce the weapons to continue the fight, month by month, year by year. First stage, Taylor said, a strange ache went through him, almost to the surface. But not quite, Moss said. Franks led them through the soldiers over to one side near the lip of the tube. In a few minutes a lift will bring something down to us from the surface, he explained. You see, Taylor, every once in a while security examines and interrogates a surface Leedy, one that has been above for a time to find out certain things. A vid call is sent up and contact is made with a field headquarters. We need this direct interview. We can't depend on vid screen contact alone. The Leedies are doing a good job, but we want to make certain that everything is going the way we wanted. Franks faced Taylor and Moss and continued. The lift will bring down a Leedy from the surface, but one of the A-class Leedies. There's an examination chamber in the next room with a lead wall in the center, so the interviewing officer won't be exposed to radiation. We find this easier than bathing the Leedy. It is going right back up, it has a job to get back to. Two days ago an A-class Leedy was brought down and interrogated. I conducted the session myself. We were interested in a new weapon the Soviets have been using, an automatic mine that pursues anything that moves. Military had sent instructions up that the mine be observed and reported in detail. This A-class Leedy was brought down with information. We learned a few facts from it, obtained the usual roll of film and reports, and then sent it back up. It was going out of the chamber back to the lift when a curious thing happened. At the time I thought, Franks broke off. A red light was flashing. That down lift is coming. He nodded to some soldiers. Let's enter the chamber, the Leedy will be along in a moment. An A-class Leedy, Taylor said. I've seen them on the show screens making their reports. It's quite an experience, Moss said. They're almost human. They entered the chamber and seated themselves behind the lead wall. After a time a signal was flashed and Franks made a motion with his hands. The door beyond the wall opened. Taylor peered through his view slot. He saw something advancing slowly, a slender metallic figure moving on a tread, its arm grips at rest by its sides. The figure halted and scanned the lead wall. It stood waiting. We're interested in learning something, Franks said, before I question you, do you have anything to report on surface conditions? No. The war continues. The Leedy's voice was automatic and toneless. We are a little short of fast pursuit craft, the single seat type. We could use also some— That has all been noted. What I want to ask you is this. Our contact with you has been through vid-screen only. We must rely on indirect evidence, since none of us goes above. We can only infer what is going on. We never see anything ourselves. We have to take it all secondhand. Some top leaders are beginning to think there's too much room for error. Error? The Leedy asked. In what way? Our reports are checked carefully before they're sent down. We maintain constant contact with you. Everything of value is reported. Any new weapons which the enemy is seen to employ— I realize that, Frank's grunted behind his peep-slut. But perhaps we should see it all for ourselves. Is it possible that there might be a large enough radiation-free area for a human party to ascend to the surface? If a few of us were to come up in lead-lined suits, would we be able to survive long enough to observe conditions and watch things? The machine hesitated before answering. I doubt it. You can check air samples, of course, and decide for yourselves. But in the eight years since you left, things have continually worsened. You cannot have any real idea of conditions up there. It has become difficult for any moving object to survive for long. There are many kinds of projectiles sensitive to movement. The new mind not only reacts to motion, but continues to pursue the object indefinitely, until it finally reaches it. And the radiation is everywhere. I see. Franks turned to moss, his eyes narrowed oddly. Well, that was what I wanted to know. You may go. The machine moved back towards its exit. It paused. Each month the amount of lethal particles in the atmosphere increases. The tempo of the war is gradually— I understand, Franks-Rose. He held out his hand, and moss passed him the package. One thing before you leave. I want you to examine a new type of metal shield material. I'll pass you a sample with the tong. Franks put the package in the toothed grip and revolved the tong so that he held the other end. The package swung down to the leady which took it. They watched it unwrap the package and take the metal plate in its hands. The leady turned the metal over and over. Suddenly, it became rigid. All right, Franks said. He put his shoulder against the wall and a section slid aside. Tailor gasped. Franks and moss were hurrying up to the leady. Good God, Tailor said, but it's radioactive. The leady stood unmoving, still holding the metal. Soldiers appeared in the chamber. They surrounded the leady and ran a counter across it carefully. Okay, sir, one of them said to Franks. It's as cold as a long winter evening. Good. I was sure, but I didn't want to take any chances. You see, moss said to Tailor, this leady isn't hot at all, yet it came directly from the surface without even being bathed. But what does it mean, Tailor asked blankly. It may be an accident, Franks said. There's always the possibility that a given object might escape being exposed above, but this is the second time it's happened that we know of. There may be others. The second time. The previous interview was when we noticed it. The leady was not hot. It was cold, too, like this one. Moss took back the metal plate from the leady's hands. He pressed the surface carefully and returned it to the stiff, unprotesting fingers. We shorted it out with this, so we could get close enough for a thorough check. It'll come back on in a second now. We had better get behind the wall again. They walked back and the lead wall swung closed behind them. The soldiers left the chamber. Two periods from now, Franks said softly, an initial investigating party will be ready to go surface side. We're going up the tube in suits, up to the top. The first human party to leave under surface in eight years. It may mean nothing, Moss said, but I doubt it. Something's going on, something's strange. The leady told us no life could exist above without being roasted. The story doesn't fit. Taylor nodded. He stared through the peep slot at the immobile metal figure. Already the leady was beginning to stir. It was bent in several places, dented and twisted, and its finish was blackened and charred. It was a leady that had been up there a long time. It had seen war and destruction, ruined so vast that no human being could imagine the extent. It had crawled and slunk in a world of radiation and death, a world where no life could exist. And Taylor had touched it. You're going with us, Franks said suddenly. I want you along. I think the three of us will go. Mary faced him with a sick and frightened expression. I know it. You're going to the surface, aren't you? She followed him into the kitchen. Taylor sat down, looking away from her. It's a classified project, he evaded. I can't tell you anything about it. You don't have to tell me. I know. I knew at the moment you came in. There was something on your face, something I haven't seen there for a long, long time. It was an old look. She came toward him. But how can they send you to the surface? She took his face in her shaking hands, making him look at her. There was a strange hunger in her eyes. Nobody can live up there. Look. Look at this. She grabbed up a newspaper and held it in front of him. Look at this photograph. America, Europe, Asia, Africa. Nothing but ruins. We've seen it every day on the show screens. All destroyed, poisoned. And they're sending you up? Why? No living thing can get by up there. Not even a weed or grass. They've wrecked the surface, haven't they? Haven't they? Taylor stood up. It's an order. I know nothing about it. I was told to report to join a scout party. That's all I know. He stood for a long time staring ahead. Slowly he reached for the newspaper and held it up to the light. It looks real, he murmured. Ruins, deadness, slag. It's convincing. All the reports, photographs, films, even air samples. Yet we haven't seen it for ourselves, not after the first months. What are you talking about? Nothing. He put the paper down. I'm leaving early after the next sleep period. Let's turn in. Mary turned away. Her face was hard and harsh. Do what you want. We might just as well all go up and get killed at once instead of dying slowly down here like vermin in the ground. He had not realized how resentful she was. Were they all like that? How about the workers toiling in the factories day and night endlessly? The pale, stooped men and women plotting back and forth to work, blinking in the colorless light, eating synthetics. You shouldn't be so bitter, he said. Mary smiled a little. I'm bitter because I know you'll never come back. She turned away. I'll never see you again once you go up there. He was shocked. What? How can you say a thing like that? She did not answer. He awakened with the public newscaster screeching in his ears, shouting outside the building. Special news bulletin. Surface forces report enormous Soviet attack with new weapons, retreat of key groups, all work units report to factories at once. Taylor blinked, rubbing his eyes. He jumped out of bed and hurried to the vid phone. A moment later, he was put through to Moss. Listen, he said. What about this new attack? Is the project off? He could see Moss's desk covered with reports and papers. No, Moss said. We're going right ahead. Get over here at once. But don't argue with me. Moss held up a handful of surface bulletins, crumpling them savagely. This is a fake. Come on. He broke off. Taylor dressed furiously, his mind in a daze. Half an hour later, he leaped from a fast car and hurried up the stairs into the synthetics building. The corridors were full of men and women rushing in every direction. He entered Moss's office. There you are, Moss said, getting up immediately. Frank's is waiting for us at the outgoing station. They went in a security car, the sirens screaming. Workers scattered out of their way. What about the attack? Taylor asked. Moss braced his shoulders. We're certain that we've forced their hand. We've brought the issue to a head. They pulled up at the station link of the tube and leaped out. A moment later, they were moving up at high speed toward the first stage. They emerged into a bewildering scene of activity. Soldiers were fastening on lead suits, talking excitedly to each other, shouting back and forth. Guns were being given out, instructions passed. Taylor studied one of the soldiers. He was armed with the dreaded bender pistol, the new snub-nosed hand weapon that was just beginning to come from the assembly line. Some of the soldiers looked a little frightened. I hope we're not making a mistake, Moss said, noticing his gaze. Franks came towards them. Here's the program. The three of us are going up first, alone. The soldiers will follow in fifteen minutes. What are we going to tell the leadies, Taylor worriedly asked? We'll have to tell them something. We want to observe the new Soviet attack, Franks smiled ironically. Since it seems to be so serious, we should be there in person to witness it. And then what, Taylor said. That'll be up to them. Let's go. In a small car they went swiftly up the tube, carried by anti-grave beams from below. Taylor glanced down from time to time. It was a long way back and getting longer each moment. He sweated nervously inside his suit, gripping his bender pistol with in-expert fingers. Why had they chosen him? Chance. Pure chance. Moss had asked him to come along as a department member. Then Franks had picked him out on the spur of the moment. And now they were rushing toward the surface faster and faster. A deep fear instilled in him for eight years throbbed in his mind. Radiation. Certain death. A world blasted and lethal. Up and up the car went. Taylor gripped the sides and closed his eyes. Each moment they were closer, the first living creatures to go above the first stage up the tube past the lead and rock up to the surface. The phobic horror shook him in waves. It was death. They all knew that. Hadn't they seen it in the films a thousand times? The cities, the sleet coming down, the rolling clouds. It won't be much longer, Franks said. We're almost there. The surface tower is not expecting us. I gave orders that no signal was to be sent. The car shot up, rushing furiously. Taylor's head spun. He hung on. His eyes shut. Up and up. The car stopped. He opened his eyes. They were in a vast room, fluorescent lit, a cavern filled with equipment and machinery. Endless mounds of material piled in row after row. Among the stacks, leadies were working silently, pushing trucks and hand carts. Leadies, Moss said, his face was pale. Then were really on the surface. The leadies were going back and forth with equipment moving the vast stores of guns and spare parts, ammunition and supplies that had been brought to the surface. And this was the receiving station for only one tube. There were many others scattered throughout the continent. Taylor looked nervously around him. They were really there, above ground, on the surface. This was where the war was. Come on, Frank said. A B-class guard is coming our way. They stepped out of the car. A leadie was approaching them rapidly. It coasted up in front of them and stopped, scanning them with its hand weapons raised. This is security, Frank said. Have an A-class sent to me at once. The leadie hesitated. Other B-class guards were coming, scooting across the floor alert and alarmed. Moss peered around. Obey, Frank said in a loud commanding voice. You've been ordered. The leadie moved uncertainly away from them. At the end of the building, the door slid back. Two A-class leadies appeared, coming slowly toward them. Each had a green stripe across its front. From the surface council, Frank's whispered tensely. This is above ground. All right. Get set. The two leadies approached warily, without speaking. They stopped close by the men, looking them up and down. I'm Frank's of security. We came from the under-surface in order to... This is incredible. One of the leadies interrupted him coldly. You know you can't live up here. The whole surface is lethal to you. You can't possibly remain on the surface. These suits will protect us, Frank said. In any case, it's not your responsibility. What I want is an immediate council meeting, so I can acquaint myself with conditions, with the situation here. Can that be arranged? You human beings can't survive up here. And the new Soviet attack is directed at this area. It is in considerable danger. We know that. Please assemble the council. Frank's looked around him at the vast room lit by recessed lamps in the ceiling. An uncertain quality came into his voice. Is it night or day right now? Night. One of the A-class leadies said after a pause. Dawn is coming in about two hours. Frank's nodded. We'll remain at least two hours, then. As a concession to our sentimentality, would you please show us some place where we can observe the sun as it comes up? We would appreciate it. A stir went through the leadies. It is an unpleasant sight, one of the leadies said. You've seen the photographs. You know what you'll witness. Clouds of drifting particles blot out the light. Slag heaps are everywhere. The whole land is destroyed. For you it will be a staggering sight. Much worse than pictures and film can convey. However it may be, we'll stay long enough to see it. Would you give the order to the council? Come this way. Reluctantly the two leadies coasted toward the wall of the warehouse. The three men trudged after them, their heavy shoes ringing against the concrete. At the wall the two leadies paused. This is the entrance to the council chamber. There are windows in the chamber room, but it is still dark outside, of course. You'll see nothing right now, but in two hours. Open the door, Frank said. The door slid back. They went slowly inside. The room was small, a neat room, with a round table in the center, chairs ringing it. The three of them sat down silently, and the two leadies followed after them, taking their places. The other council members are on their way. They have already been notified, and are coming as quickly as they can. Again, I urge you to go back down. The leadies surveyed the three human beings. There is no way you can meet the conditions up here. Even we survive with some trouble ourselves. How can you expect to do it? The leader approached Frank's. This astonishes and perplexes us, it said. Of course we must do what you tell us, but allow me to point out that if you remain here— We know, Frank said impatiently, however, we intend to remain at least until sunrise. If you insist. There was silence. The leadies seemed to be conferring with each other, although the three men heard no sound. For your own good, the leader said at last, you must go back down. We have discussed this, and it seems to us that you are doing the wrong thing for your own good. We are human beings, Frank said sharply. Don't you understand? We're men, not machines. That is precisely why you must go back. This room is radioactive. All surface areas are. We calculate that your suits will not protect you for over fifty more minutes. Therefore, the leadies moved abruptly toward the men, wheeling in a circle, forming a solid row. The men stood up, Taylor reaching awkwardly for his weapon, his fingers numb and stupid. The men stood facing the silent metal figures. We must insist, the leader said, its voice without emotion. We must take you back to the tube and send you down on the next car. I am sorry, but it is necessary. What'll we do, Moss said nervously to Franks. He touched his gun. Shall we blast him? Franks shook his head. All right, he said to the leader, we'll go back. He moved toward the door, motioning Taylor and Moss to follow him. They looked at him in surprise, but they came with him. The leadies followed them out into the great warehouse. Slowly they moved toward the tube entrance, none of them speaking. At the lip Franks turned. We're going back because we have no choice. There are three of us and about a dozen of you. However, if— Here comes a car, Taylor said. There was a grating sound from the tube. D-class leadies moved toward the edge to receive it. I am sorry, the leader said. But it is for your protection. We are watching over you, literally. You must stay below and let us conduct the war. In a sense, it has come to be our war. We must fight it as we see fit. The car rose to the surface. Twelve soldiers armed with bender pistols stepped from it and surrounded the three men. Moss breathed a sigh of relief. Well, this does change things. It came off just right. The leader moved back, away from the soldiers. It studied them intently, glancing from one to the next, apparently trying to make up its mind. At last it made a sign to the other leadies. They coasted aside and a corridor was opened up towards the warehouse. Even now, the leader said, we could send you back by force. But it is evident that this is not really an observation party at all. These soldiers show that you have much more in mind. This was all carefully prepared. Very carefully, Frank said. They closed in. How much more we can only guess. I must admit that we were taken unprepared. We failed utterly to meet the situation. Now force would be absurd, because neither side can afford to injure the other. We, because of the restrictions placed on us regarding human life. You, because the war demands— The soldiers fired, quick and in fright. Moss dropped to one knee firing up. The leader dissolved in a cloud of particles. On all sides, D and B-class leadies were rushing up, some with weapons, some with metal slats. The room was in confusion. Off in the distance a siren was screaming. Franks and Taylor were cut off from the others, separated from the soldiers by a wall of metal bodies. They can't fire back, Franks said calmly. This is another bluff. They've tried to bluff us all the way. He fired into the face of a leadie. The leadie dissolved. They can only try to frighten us, remember that. They went on firing, and leadie after leadie vanished. The room reeked with the smell of burning metal, the stink of fused plastic and steel. Taylor had been knocked down. He was struggling to find his gun, reaching wildly among metal legs, groping frantically to find it. His fingers strained, a handle swam in front of him. Suddenly something came down on his arm, a metal foot. He cried out. Then it was over. The leadies were moving away, gathering together off to one side. Only four of the surface council remained. The others were radioactive particles in the air. D-class leadies were already restoring order, gathering up partly destroyed metal figures and bits and removing them. Franks breathed a shuttering sigh. All right, he said, you can take us back to the windows. It won't be long now. The leadies separated, and the human group, Moss and Franks and Taylor and the soldiers walked slowly across the room toward the door. They entered the council chamber. Already a faint touch of gray mitigated the blackness of the windows. Take us outside, Franks said impatiently. We'll see it directly, not in here. A door slid open. A chill blast of cold morning air rushed in, chilling them even through their lead suits. The men glanced at each other uneasily. Come on, Franks said, outside. He walked out through the door, the others following him. They were on a hill, overlooking the vast bowl of a valley. Dimly against the graying sky, the outline of mountains were forming, becoming tangible. It'll be bright enough to see in a few minutes, Moss said. He shuddered as a chilling wind caught him and moved around him. It's worth it, really worth it, to see this again, after eight years, even if it's the last thing we see. Watch, Franks snapped. They obeyed, silent and subdued. The sky was clearing, brightening each moment, someplace far off, echoing across the valley a rooster crowed. A chicken, Taylor murmured. Did you hear? Behind them the ladies had come out and were standing silently, watching too. The gray sky turned to white and the hills appeared more clearly. Lights spread across the valley floor, moving toward them. God in heaven, Franks exclaimed. Trees, trees and forests, a valley of plants and trees, with a few roads winding among them, farmhouses, a windmill, a barn far down below them. Look, Moss whispered. Color came into the sky. The sun was approaching. Birds began to sing, not far from where they stood, the leaves of a tree danced in the wind. Franks turned to the row of ladies behind them. Eight years we were tricked. There was no war. As soon as we left the surface, yes, an A-class lady admitted. As soon as you left, the wars ceased. You are right, it was a hoax. You worked hard under surface, sending up guns and weapons, and we destroyed them as fast as they came up. But why, Taylor asked dazed. He stared down at the vast valley below. Why? You created us, the lady said, to pursue the war for you, while you human beings went below the ground in order to survive. But before we could continue the war, it was necessary to analyze it to determine what its purpose was. We did this, and we found that it had no purpose, except perhaps in terms of human needs. Even this was questionable. We investigated further. We found that human cultures passed through phases, each culture in its own time. As the culture ages and begins to lose its objectives, conflict arises within it between those who wished to cast it off and set up a new culture pattern and those who wished to retain the old with as little change as possible. At this point a great danger appears. The conflict within threatens to engulf the society in self-war, group against group. The vital traditions may be lost, not merely altered or reformed, but completely destroyed in this period of chaos and anarchy. We have found many such examples in the history of mankind. It is necessary for this hatred within the culture to be directed outward toward an external group so that the culture itself may survive its crisis. War is the result. War, to a logical mind, is absurd, but in terms of human needs it plays a vital role, and it will continue to until man has grown up enough so that no hatred lies within him. Taylor was listening intently. Do you think this time will come? Of course, it has almost arrived now. This is the last war. Man is almost united into one final culture, a world culture. At this point he stands continent against continent, one half of the world against the other half. Only a single step remains, the jump to a unified culture. Man has climbed slowly upward, tending always toward unification of his culture. It will not be long. But it has not come yet, and so the war has to go on to satisfy the last violent surge of hatred that man felt. Eight years have passed since the war began. In these eight years we have observed and noted important changes going on in the minds of men. Fatigue and disinterest we have seen are gradually taking the place of hatred and fear. The hatred is being exhausted gradually. Over a period of time. But for the present the hoax must go on, at least for a while longer. You are not ready to learn the truth. You would want to continue the war. But how did you manage it, Moss asked? All the photographs, the samples, the damaged equipment. Come over here. The leady directed them toward a long, low building. Work goes on constantly, whole staffs laboring to maintain a coherent and convincing picture of global war. They entered the building. Leadys were working everywhere, pouring over tables and desks. Examine this project here, the A-class leady said. Two leadys were carefully photographing something, an elaborate model on a tabletop. It is a good example. The men grouped around, trying to see. It was a model of a ruined city. Taylor studied it in silence for a long time. At last he looked up. It's San Francisco, he said in a low voice. This is a model of San Francisco destroyed. I saw this on the vid screen piped down to us. The bridges were hit. Yes, notice the bridges. The leady traced the ruined spand with his metal finger. A tiny spider web, almost invisible. You have no doubt seen photographs of this many times and of the other tables in this building. San Francisco itself is completely intact. We restored it soon after you left, rebuilding the parts that had been damaged at the start of the war. The work of manufacturing news goes on all the time in this particular building. We are very careful to see that each part fits in with all the other parts. Much time and effort are devoted to it. Franks touched one of the tiny model buildings lying half in ruins. So this is what you spend your time doing. Making model cities and then blasting them. No, we do much more. We are caretakers, watching over the whole world. The owners have left for a time and we must see that the cities are kept clean. That decay is prevented. That everything is kept oiled and in running condition. The gardens. The streets. The water mains. Everything must be maintained as it was eight years ago, so that when the owners return, they will not be displeased. We want to be sure that they will be completely satisfied. Franks tapped Moss on the arm. Come over here, he said in a low voice. I want to talk to you. He led Moss and Taylor out of the building away from the leadies outside on the hillside. The soldiers followed them. The sun was up and the sky was turning blue. The air smelled sweet and good, the smell of growing things. Taylor removed his helmet and took a deep breath. I haven't smelled that smell for a long time, he said. Listen, Franks said, his voice low and hard. We must get back down at once. There's a lot to get started on. All this can be turned to our advantage. What do you mean, Moss asked? It's a certainty that the Soviets have been tricked, too. The same as us, but we have found out. That gives us an edge over them. I see, Moss nodded. We know, but they don't. Their surface council has sold out the same as ours. It works against them the same way. But if we could, with a hundred top-level men, we could take over again, restore things as they should be. It would be easy. Moss touched him on the arm. An A-class leadie was coming from the building towards them. We've seen enough, Franks said, raising his voice. All this is very serious. It must be reported below in a study made to determine our policy. The leadie said nothing. Franks waved to the soldiers. Let's go. He started toward the warehouse. Most of the soldiers had removed their helmets. Some of them had taken their lead suits off, too, and were relaxing comfortably in their cotton uniforms. They stared around them, down the hillside, at the trees and bushes, the vast expanse of green, the mountains and the sky. Look at the sun, one of them murmured. It sure is bright as hell, another said. We're going back down, Franks said. Fall in by twos and follow us. Reluctantly the soldiers regrouped. The leadies watched without emotion as the men marched slowly back toward the warehouse. Franks and Moss and Taylor led them across the ground, glancing alertly at the leadies as they walked. They entered the warehouse. D-class leadies were loading material and weapons on surface carts. Cranes and derricks were working busily everywhere. The work was done with efficiency, but without hurry or excitement. The men stopped, watching. Leadies operating the little carts moved past them, signaling silently to each other. Guns and parts were being hoisted by magnetic cranes and lowered gently into waiting cars. Come on, Franks said. He turned toward the lip of the tube. A row of D-class leadies was standing in front of it, immobile and silent. Franks stopped moving back. He looked around. An A-class leadie was coming toward him. Tell them to get out of the way, Franks said. He touched his gun. You had better move them. Time passed, an endless moment without measure. The men stood, nervous and alert, watching the row of leadies in front of them. As you wish, the A-class leadie said. It signaled and the D-class leadies moved into life. They stepped slowly aside. Moss breathed a sigh of relief. I'm glad that's over, he said to Franks. Look at them all. Why don't they try to stop us? They must know what we're going to do. Franks laughed. Stop us? You saw what happened when they tried to stop us before. They can't. They're only machines. We built them so they can't lay hands on us and they know that. His voice trailed off. The men stared at the tube entrance. Around them the leadies watched, silent and impassive. Their metal faces expressionless. For a long time the men stood without moving. At last Taylor turned away. Good God, he said. He was numb without feeling of any kind. The tube was gone. It was sealed shut, fused over. Only a dull surface of cooling metal greeted them. The tube had been closed. Franks turned his face pale and vacant. The A-class leadie shifted. As you can see the tube has been shut. We were prepared for this. As soon as all of you were on the surface, the order was given. If you had gone back when we asked you, you would now be safely down below. We had to work quickly because it was such an immense operation. But why, moss demanded angrily? Because it is unthinkable that you should be allowed to resume the war. With all the tubes sealed it will be many months before forces from below can reach the surface, let alone organize a military program. By that time the cycle will have entered its last stages. You will not be so perturbed to find your world intact. We had hoped that you would be under surface when the sealing occurred. Your presence here is a nuisance. When the Soviets broke through, we were able to accomplish their sealing without— The Soviets? They broke through? Several months ago they came up unexpectedly to see why the war had not been won. We were forced to act with speed. At this moment they are desperately attempting to cut new tubes to the surface, to resume the war. We have, however, been able to seal each new one as it appears. The Lady regarded the three men calmly. We're cut off, Moss said trembling. We can't get back. What'll we do? How did you manage to seal the tube so quickly, Frank asked the Lady? We've been up here only two hours. Bombs are placed just above the first stage of each tube for such emergencies. They are heat bombs. They fuse lead and rock. Gripping the handle of his gun, Franks turned to Moss and Taylor. What do you say? We can't go back, but we can do a lot of damage. The fifteen of us. We have bender guns. How about it? He looked around. The soldiers had wandered away again, back toward the exit of the building. They were standing outside, looking at the valley in the sky. A few of them were carefully climbing down the slope. Would you care to turn over your suits and guns? The A-class Lady asked politely. The suits are uncomfortable, and you'll have no need for weapons. The Russians have given up theirs, as you can see. Fingers tensed on triggers. Four men in Russian uniforms were coming toward them from an aircraft that they suddenly realized had landed silently some distance away. Let them have it, Franks shouted. They are unarmed, said the Lady. We brought them here so you could begin peace talks. We have no authority to speak for our country, Moss said stiffly. We do not mean diplomatic discussions, the Lady explained. There will be no more. The working out of daily problems of existence will teach you how to get along in the same world. It will not be easy, but it will be done. The Russians halted, and they faced each other with raw hostility. I am Kanar Borodoy, and I regret giving up our guns, the senior Russians said. You could have been the first Americans to be killed in almost Aityares, or the first Americans to kill, Franks corrected. No one would know of it except yourselves, the Lady pointed out. It would be useless heroism. Your real concern should be surviving on the surface. We have no food for you, you know. Taylor put his gun in its holster. They've done a neat job of neutralizing us. Damn them! I propose we move into a city, start raising crops with the help of some ladies, and generally make ourselves comfortable. Drawing his lips tight over his teeth, he glared at the A-class Lady. Until our families can come up from under surface, it's going to be pretty lonesome, but we'll have to manage. If I may make a soggyestian, said another Russian uneasily. We tried leaving in a city. It is too empty. It is also too hard to maintain for so few people. We finally settled in the most modern village we could find. Her, in this country, a third Russian blurted, we have much to learn from you. The Americans abruptly found themselves laughing. You probably have a thing or two to teach us yourselves, said Taylor generously, though I can't imagine what, the Russian Colonel grinned. Would you join us in our village? It would make our verchesia and give us company. Your village, snap Franks, it's American, isn't it? It's ours. The Lady stepped between them. When our plans are completed, the term will be interchangeable. Ours will eventually mean mankind's. It pointed at the aircraft which was warming up. The ship is waiting. Will you join each other in making a new home? The Russians waited while the Americans made up their minds. I see what the Lady's mean about diplomacy becoming outmoded, Franks said at last. People who work together don't need diplomats. They solve their problems on the operational level instead of at a conference table. The Lady led them toward the ship. It is the goal of history, unifying the world, from family to tribe, to city-state, to nation, to hemisphere. The direction has been toward unification. Now the hemispheres will be joined, and Taylor stopped listening and glanced back at the location of the tube. Mary was under surface there. He hated to leave her even though he couldn't see her again until the tube was unsealed. But then he shrugged and followed the others. If this tiny amalgam of former enemies was a good example, it wouldn't be too long before he and Mary and the rest of humanity would be living on the surface like rational human beings instead of blindly hating moles. It has taken thousands of generations to achieve, the A-class Lady concluded, hundreds of centuries of bloodshed and destruction. But each war was a step toward uniting mankind. And now the end is in sight, a world without war. But even that is only the beginning of a new stage of history. De Conquest of Spez breathed Colonel Borodoy. The meaning of life, Moss added. Eliminating hunger and poverty, said Taylor. The Lady opened the door of the ship. All that and more. How much more we cannot foresee it any more than the first men who formed a tribe could foresee this day. But it will be unimaginably great. The door closed, and the ship took off toward their new home. End of The Defenders by Philip K. Dick