Planet in Peril (20 page)

Charles said: “Let me see if I can understand what you are talking about. You mean—
Siraq
taking the whole planet over?”

“Exactly.”

“With a handful of aerial soldiers and a heat ray that only works at close quarters, and when the sun happens to be shining?”

“I should put it somewhat higher than that,” Professor
Koupal
said judiciously. “Let me explain something of the art of warfare to you, Charles. That art, throughout the centuries, has seen a continual alternation in the status of the individual warrior, through the alternation in the kind of weapons at
man’s
disposal. To render the situation down, you may say that artillery dwarfs the individual soldier, while small-arms magnifies him. Of course, you can pick your own variations of the theme, from the conflict between the giant sling and the javelin in Roman times, to the conflict between the big guns and the musket in the eighteenth century.

“During the twentieth century, the balance swung— irretrievably as it seemed—away from the soldier. Massed artillery barrages, pattern bombing, and finally the atomic and hydrogen bombs seemed to tilt the scales finally toward the mass-weapon. And weapons, of course, affect society. The musket was typical of capitalism, just as the H-bomb is typical of
managerialism
, even though it was the last stage of world capitalism that produced it.”

“The managerial world,” Charles observed, “still has a stock of H-bombs.”

“Which are quite useless. The mass-weapon has grown too big to use. Yes, I know it was used in the last war, but the results bear me out, don't they? Do you think your friends will use H-bombs? On what targets? We shall have Africa within a week, Europe within ten days. Do you know what the situation resembles? It resembles a small iron-walled room, full of big men holding
Klaberg
pistols. And a child comes in with a water-pistol and drenches them. They can’t hit back because they haven’t got any water-pistols, and wouldn’t know how to use them if they had. And if they fire their pistols, the charges will ricochet off the walls; they are as likely as not to kill themselves, and they know it.”

“As far as I can see, a longbow would out-shoot your new weapon, Professor
Koupal
.”

Professor
Koupal
smiled. “And which managerial has a stock of longbows? I take your point, though. The heat ray is not the weapon that restores the initiative to the soldier. The flying apparatus is. We've had the essential design for some time, but it’s heavy on power—as you might expect. The sun,
fortunately, is an inexhaustible power-house. That makes the weapon worth having. Wings on every soldier. A flying army. Even without the added advantages of surprise and an enemy that has, in the main, lost interest in everything but its hypothetical damnation, this new factor would be sufficient to do the trick. In all probability. We have taken the elementary precaution of mapping out the key points. There isn't one that can't be taken by half a dozen of our flying soldiers. And we have more than that to spare.”

They could do it, too. Charles could visualize the situation very clearly. The
Cometeers
running hog-wild ... he had already learned that a
Cometeer
did not pause to consider managerial loyalty when a call came in the name of The Lord
...
and then the trained, disciplined and efficient
Siraqi
troops dropping through the
air.
. It was a cast-iron scheme. Understanding this, it occurred to him to wonder why it had all been explained to him. His skill wasn't wanted now. The only advantage he represented to
Siraq
was the negative one—assurance that he would not be doing anything for the
managerials
.

He said: “One thing interests me.” Professor
Koupal
raised his head slightly. “Why you have told me all this.” “A reasonable question. Because I am going to ask you to give me your parole.” Charles looked baffled. “An old expression—your promise of honor that you will not try to escape or communicate with anyone outside
Siraq
. That given, you will have a good deal of liberty. And if you are to give it, I think you must be told enough of your situation to make its implications clear to you. This is the world’s new capital. We want you to understand that.”

"How long before you attack?”

“Not long.”

That startled him. “Now—in winter? It will take the edge off your weapon, won’t it?”

“Unfortunately. Though not as much as you mi
gh
t think. The cloud is generally low at this time of year, and it will not be difficult to rise above cloud height for recharging.”

Charles, with a twinge midway between guilt and regret, thought of
airsphering
with the false-Sara, and the world of blue and gold and stillness.

“But in any case,” Professor
Koupal
went on, “timing is now a matter of some urgency. It isn’t that we have any fears of the
managerials
duplicating the battery or the weapon within six months—for that matter, within six decades—but they might get round to suspecting the true state of affairs, given six months’ grace. We can’t bank on their mutual mistrust holding out. And surprise is going to be very important. So we shall go ahead in the very near future.”

“In which case,” Charles said, “surely it would be simpler to keep me under lock and key?”

Professor
Koupal
smiled benevolently. “There are personal considerations.”

Sara. It was a warming thought. As though he had been tunneling toward her for months, through miles of rock and had become aware of a tapping, answering him and directly ahead. At the same time—

He said: “I’d like to have the opportunity of talking things over with
Dinkuhl
.”

Professor
Koupal
nodded. “Naturally. Dai will take you back.”

Dinkuhl
was sitting up in bed, in a small but not unattractive room. There was a table beside his bed, with a large bowl full of fruit on it.
Dinkuhl
grinned wryly.

“Come to devour the grapes?”

Humayun
said: "I'll leave you here, Charles. I'm afraid we have to post a guard outside, for the time being. He will take you to me whenever you want that.”

“Adios,”
Dinkuhl
said. “Back to the detector screen? Why not just crawl under the bed?”

Humayun
looked puzzled for a moment. “Oh, I get it. No, you're private in here. Our privacy regulations forbid the installation of detector equipment.”

He smiled and went out.
Dinkuhl
looked after him. “You know,” he said, “I believe he's telling the truth.” “Probably. How are you feeling?”

Dinkuhl
rubbed his head gingerly. “Regretful. Death was more welcome. But it will pass. The number who takes my pulse will help it to pass, I feel.”

Charles said: “It will need to. You will need all your faculties to think up a scheme for getting us out of this.”
Dinkuhl’s
look was quizzical. “Maybe you'd better let me have anything you know.”

He listened in silence while Charles told him what he had been told by
Humayun
and Professor
Koupal
. He said at last:

“I can think of one thing that's likely to prevent them from doing it.”

Charles said eagerly: “Yes?”

“The sun blowing up.”
Dinkuhl
looked at him. “Relax. Relax, Charlie boy. You want my advice? Give your parole. And then enjoy yourself.”

The flippancy was the same, but it didn’t seem to be the same
Dinkuhl
. In the past the flippancy had been only the cover for a mind driving hard on its course. He examined
Dinkuhl's
features more closely; he thought he could detect something he had never seen there before: indifference that somehow was more harsh than despair.

Dinkuhl
took an orange and began to peel it. “Help yourself, Charlie.”

Charles said: “I don't know about getting out of
Siraq
. The odds are against us. In fact, they're so much against us that a more limited objective might be a good deal easier than it seems on the surface.”

Dinkuhl
dropped a curl of peel on the floor. “A limited objective?”

“I don’t believe there is a detector on this room. It’s part of the business of one guard outside the door, of being taken around by
Humayun
, in person and alone. They are so confident that we couldn’t get out of the country that they take hardly any precautions on the spot. Listen, Hiram. This building is served for TV by a single transmitter-receiver room. I know where it is because
Humayun
took me past it and the door was open. There is only one duty operator—I suppose they can manage with one because so much is covered by landlines.”

Dinkuhl
sectioned his orange. "I am ahead of you by a neck. We are in the TV room. We have laid out the solitary operator. Pick it up from there.”

"To my mind there’s only one man who might be able to do anything
worthwhile
with the information we could give him.”

"Raven?”

"Yes. Do you agree?”

Dinkuhl
nodded: "I agree.”

Charles said: "Right. I suggest we call the guard in, and I’ll stand behind the door and hit him as he comes in. It may be elementary, but I think it will work.”
Dinkuhl
shook his head. "Charlie boy, it’s you should be in bed. Wait till I recover a little more, and you can have it. I’ll go get the nurse for you. Don’t thank me. It will be a pleasure.”

"What’s wrong with the idea?”

"Look,”
Dinkuhl
said. "You wanted the girl. You’re within ten minutes of her. You only have to go and tell
Humayun
you are retiring from the cloak and dagger business. You never were cut out for it, anyway.”

"You won’t come in on this?”

"The nail goes to the woodwork in. I won’t.”

‘"You’ll be content to see the
Siraqis
running the world?”

“That nurse can run me any day. The hell with the world.”

“I'm serious.”

“That’s your bad luck. I lost my girlish laughter too long ago to be serious at my time of life.
Lookit
, Charlie, you’ve got what you wanted.”

Charles paused. He said slowly: “What about you, Hiram? What was it you wanted?”

There was another silence.
Dinkuhl
said: “O.K. What did I want? Your girl for you? I wish I could rate myself as high for altruism. I told you once, Charlie—you were the H-bomb. You were what was going to blow the top off. You were the Destruction, and I served the Destruction. You aren’t now, are you? Go in peace, brother, if go you must.”

“You’ve found a bigger bomb?”

“Just that. Now I wait. I don’t know what I wait for, but I wait. I don’t kid myself the
Siraqis
have got much more than the managerial, except in the military line, but it looks like being an interesting year. Go and get the word through to Raven, if your loyalties are still stronger than your common sense. I don’t say it won’t affect the issue. But it will still be an interesting year, whatever you do.”

Charles looked toward the door.

“I’m a neutral,”
Dinkuhl
said. “I won’t call for nurse. That’s a big sacrifice I’m making, the way I feel right now.”

Charles called out to the guard. His own voice seemed unnatural to him. He posted himself behind the door, grasping, by its projecting handle, the heavy wooden fruit bowl; he had emptied the fruits on to
Dinkuhl’s
bed.
Dinkuhl
was watching with every sign of interest.

The door opened and the guard came in. He wasn’t very tall; it was an easy matter to crash the bowl down on the back of his head. He pitched forward in a falling arc and hit the floor with a cracking thud.
Dinkuhl
leaned down to look at him.

“Pretty. I see now what they mean about the spectator
seeing the wood for the trees. You have at least quarter of an hour, Charlie boy. I should take the howl with you.”

The corridor was deserted and it was no more than ten yards to the service lift. He called it down, and got in with relief—leaving the scene of the crime. The TV room was ground floor. He made his movements in closing the lift gate studied and deliberate. There were two or three people in this corridor, between him and his quarry. He walked along, swinging the fruit bowl casually. A girl looked at him curiously as he passed her, but no more.

The door of the TV room was closed now. That was bad luck. Fortunately whistle locks did not seem to be in use in
Siraq
. The door had a handle; he was going to turn it when he found it gave under the pressure of his hand. He pushed it open, gently.

The operator was sitting at the main control panel with his back to the door. He had not yet become aware of the open door, but he might at any moment. Charles ran toward him, raising the fruit bowl above his head as he did so. The operator turned around, in time to take the blow on his forehead,
instead of on the base of his skull. It was as effective. His breath exhaled in a dull groan and he slumped forward onto his desk.