Planet in Peril (21 page)

Charles went back and closed the door. It had a lock on this side—an old-fashioned key lock—and he secured it. Then he went back and examined the operator; he was out, all right. On the panel in front of the desk a spotlight lit up a figure 21. Someone wanting attention. How long could he count on before someone came to see why there was no response? Perhaps as long as it would take the guard to come around in
Dinkuhl’s
room. The point was, with a meagre knowledge of TV communications, to get on to the outside circuits and get Raven in that time.

It would have been easy with
Dinkuhl
, of course.

It took him five minutes to master the controls to the extent of getting through to Athens, the nearest managerial booster station. He had rolled the operator onto the floor, out of sight of the screen.

The sight of the neat chrome-and-plastic Telecom desk stirred strange feelings; after recent events and the time spent earlier with the
Cometeers
, he had almost forgotten what it would look like. The operator was a girl; above the neat uniform her face had the typical dreamy remoteness of a
mesc
-taker. She registered no surprise at his bearded and disheveled appearance; after all she would take him for a
Siraqi
, and would hardly be surprised at anything.

He said: "El
Majalem
for Atomics HQ, Philadelphia.” Even that did not surprise her, although it was a safe bet that that particular link was not made once in a decade. She said sleepily:

"El
Majalem
for Philadelphia. Stand by, El
Majalem
.” He said: "It’s urgent.”

She smiled and barely nodded. “
Yuh
.”

He thought, while he watched her making the call to the space station that would provide the junction between the world’s continents, of what Raven would do when he gave him the news. He would put it on record, of course, to carry weight at the Council meeting he would have to call. The managerial, under such a threat, would be forced into unity. They would have to unite, if they were to defend themselves.

And then? The
Siraqis
would go through with it—they had gone too far to draw back now. A bitter war, a long war. They would be unlikely to save Africa; Europe might go, too. But the Americas were defensible, especially if Raven took the obvious precaution of rounding up the leaders of the
Cometeers
.

For Raven, it would be a good war: the natural, the automatic leader. His thoughts were
wryly
humorous. Let Raven have it. All he wanted himself was peace of mind: the feeling that, dragged from obscurity into temporary greatness, he had kept his faith with the society that had bred him—whether shot through with evil, whether condemned to die despite everything, he
had kept faith. For that he was willing to let the rest go—his personal liberty, his life if they required it... and Sara.

The girl was talking again, though not to him.

“Station Q Five? Athens has a call for Philadelphia.”

Was there a discrepancy between his action now, and his refusal to stay with Raven and work for Atomics in the past? Perhaps, perhaps not. Raven had seen catastrophe coming, but Ravens word had been suspect. And it had been a different catastrophe even so. Civil war is something you never believe in until it breaks out. So is the collapse of a state from within. It was the outside shock that stimulated half-forgotten patriotism.

It was hard to think of losing Sara when he had come so very close to finding her again. So hard that he mistrusted his ability to keep his purpose steeled if he did think of that. The picture was
plaguing him now; he thrust it back, finding crazy jingles of thought to keep it at bay. “Raven the Raven, Ravens
ravin
—”

“Raven’s
ravin
—”

It became a real thought, with the clear sharpness of ice. What would Raven do? Call the Council—round up the leaders of the
Cometeers
? He saw suddenly that he would do nothing so half-hearted as that; he had been underestimating Raven. Professor
Koupal
had been contemptuous of the H-bomb because by the time the
managerials
had awakened to the fact of invasion, the airborne
Siraqi
armies would be all over Africa and Europe. In those conditions it would be impossible to use the H-bomb. But Charles was creating different conditions—the
Siraqis
still locked within their relatively small territory were a target impossible to miss. Raven would not miss it.

Well, he thought—my life, if they require it. He had lost Sara, anyway.

The girl said: “Philadelphia coming in, El
Majalem
. They will be transferred as soon as focused.”

It hit him so hard that for a moment there seemed to be blackness before his eyes.

. . . Sara was in the target.

The girl said: 'In focus. Will you accept, El
Majalem
?”

He stared at the screen, wondering what it was he had been going to do. He heard her voice again,
mesc
-tolerant and weary:

“Philadelphia is in focus, El
Majalem
. Are you ready to accept the call?”

To the right of the desk there was the buildings code of numbers.
Humayan
was 71.

“Philadelphia
...
” the voice began again.

He didn’t look up. He said: “Cancel it.”

She said: “O.K. Canceled.”

The picture faded. He connected to 71. He said, when
Humayun
answered:

“This is
Grayner
.
I'm
in the TV room. You can come and collect me.”

Looking at her, he wondered how he could ever have been taken in by the false-Sara. The thing about her was not the lines of her face, her body, but the sparkle, the altogether inimitable glint of personality. And, although she was smiling, she was watching him warily; how could he have forgotten that wariness which was more a part of Sara than the tiny bulges just above her eyebrows? He remembered the flesh, peeled off by
Dinkuhl's
knife ... it should not have needed that.

He said humbly: “I’ve been getting into trouble, Sara, since I lost you.”

She laughed. ‘If being just on the point of calling down H-bombs on us is to be labeled as getting into trouble anyway, you didn’t.”

“There was more to it than that ... I meant, back in North America. I didn’t think of H-bombs. That call I tried to make,”—he looked directly at her—“I was prepared to not see you again, Sara. I didn’t want it to happen—the take-over—with any consent of mine. You understand?”

“Within limits.” She patted the
plastifoam
couch. “Come and sit down.” She was wearing the very full skirt which was the common dress of
Siraqi
women, and she drew it away to let him sit by her. “The other trouble. Details?”

He told her about the false-Sara; it was a relief to make confession. Sara said thoughtfully:

“You went
airsphering
with her?”

He nodded. “Yes.” He wondered if he looked as uneasy as he felt; he supposed so.

“It’s a very romantic occupation. A cousin of mine did a thesis on the aphrodisiacal effects of
airsphering
. He had to go outside
Siraq
for the practical work, of course
...
our young ladies don t go
airsphering
except with their
fiancés
. He went to Greece.”

Charles looked at her unhappily. “Yes?”

“The correlation was positive.” Sara paused. “Tell me. What was I like?”

“It was a very good disguise. Just like you, physically— of course, they had had access to your records. But I shouldn't have been deceived by it. It wasn't you, Sara.” “Not even in the
airsphere
, high above the clouds?” He grinned shamefacedly. “Least of all, then. I was surprised.”

“But pleased, I guess.” She got up from the couch and stood facing him; the trace of a smile made her face expressionless. She leaned forward slightly and slapped him, stingingly hard, on either cheek. He put his hand up and rubbed first one side and then the other. She stood looking at him.

“What was that for?”

The smile deepened, but he still could not read the inward expression. She said:

“The first was on behalf of the other Sara. She should have done it, so I'm doing it for her. The second was on my own account—for your still having thought it was me, afterward.”

He nodded, in gloom. “I'm sorry.”

“Sorry! What about doing something to show you really are sorry?”

He looked up. “I'll do anything, Sara.”

He thought her composure was going to desert her for a moment; there was the beginning of embarrassment, but she controlled it. She said brusquely:

“This afternoon then
...
you can take me
airsphering
.”

He grasped her hand, and she let him pull her down beside him on the couch again. She averted her face from his kisses, but she was smiling happily now. He hesitated in the attempt as a thought struck him.

“But you said ... no
airsphering
except with—”

“—
Fiancés
. Idiot! Don’t you realize you are being proposed to?”

He drew her to him, and now she took his kisses, and kissed him back. When, after some minutes, he released her, he offered her his cheek.

She looked at him thoughtfully. “Well?”

“Since you are going to marry me, I’d prefer to get all my punishment over in advance. I went
airsphering
more than once.”

Sara raised her eyebrows. “How many times?”

“About half a dozen.”

She looked at his offered face, and at her hand.

“No. Not just yet. A good wife always keeps something in reserve.”

The Director s garden on the roof of the Averroes Institute was almost exclusively made up of evergreens and roses; the roses were made to bloom all the year round so the seasons did not touch it. From the garden, on this morning, it was a small party that looked out, away from the center of El
Majalem
, toward the military camp on the outskirts. The party was made up of Professor
Koupal
and
Humayun
, Sara and Charles, and
Dinkuhl
. The sky was a sparkling blue, and the great sun itself dimmed, by comparison, the
sunlets
that were strung above their heads.

Professor
Koupal
said: “Dai has been telling me about your idea, Charles. We’d considered the idea of utilizing the space stations as solar power collectors, of course, but the distribution is impossible. They can collect all right, but the only power they use is for TV boosting. We can’t run cables up to them.

“This idea of yours—of maintaining a collector on air-spheres; it might work. We could run cables there, for reasonably low cloud levels at any rate. There’s one thing—wouldn’t they drift?”

‘They couldn’t if they were cabled, could they? At least, not far. The
airspheres
take care of the buoyancy, and the cables take care of the drift You could have an operator up there, as well.”

Professor
Koupal
nodded his head. “Cheap power all the year round. Make a big difference in the cloudy territories—the British Isles, and so on. What do you think, Dai?”

“Very nice. I can foresee some lively problems. I suggest this presents a good first job for the
Bhaldun
lab.”

Sara protested: “Let’s get over the honeymoon first
.
We haven’t officially accepted
Bhaldun
yet.”

Humayun
said: “I speak with my full military authority.” He grinned. “Any recalcitrance and I’ll split you—Charles to Cairo and you to Constantinople. I can make that opposing hemispheres once the take-over is accomplished.”

“
Managerialist
!” Sara said. “We wouldn’t go.” Professor
Koupal
said: “It’s a pity we can’t do anything about utilizing power in space. Such a waste. But short of developing a power transmitter, it can’t be done.”

Charles said: “There’s one way of utilizing it.”

“And that is
...?”

“Atomic-powered spaceships are clumsy and hellishly expensive. Diamond-solar power would make them a different proposition altogether.”

Professor
Koupal
nodded slowly.
Humayun
said:

“Get thee to
Bhaldun
. Delay the honeymoon
.
”

“Delay the spaceships,” Sara said. “First things come first.”

Charles said: “What about you, Hiram? Decided on anything yet?”

The indifference that Charles
had first noticed behind
Dinkuhl’
s
ordinary flippancy, when he tried to persuade him to join him in warning Raven, now, for the most part, had taken its place. He did not talk very much, and then laconically.