“Very poetic,” Kyoto said. But still he didn’t trust soldiers.
Colonel Culver stood up and looked regretfully at his uniform. “I’d better change,” he said. “Presumably, there is no longer an army.”
“I’ll get the equipment for the Weapon,” Kyoto said. He walked to the door, then stopped. “What time is it now?”
“Three minutes to twelve,” Culver said, unknotting his khaki tie.
Outside, the noise of the mob was increasing ominously.
MASTER-SERGEANT Edwin Grimsche knew he shouldn’t be standing in the mob. The colonel had wanted him at once. But he couldn’t leave yet.
Grimsche hadn’t had much contact with civilians in almost twelve years. The actions of a mob fascinated and repelled him. For the moment, fascination had won out.
A man shoved past Grimsche, hefting a three-foot length of lead pipe. “That robot’ll never get into the Capitol,” he said. “We’ll tear it to pieces first.”
Grimsche looked at the man curiously. Did he expect to attack a robot weighing perhaps a ton with that piece of pipe? These civilians had spirit—but it never lasted long. Mobs were the same the world over; their courage faded at the first serious setback.
He glanced at his watch. Two minutes to twelve. The Nam ultimatum had set twelve o’clock for handing over the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, now under guard in the Capitol. Otherwise, the Nam robot would take them. So far, the great golden robot on the steps of the Capitol was motionless.
Stolidly Grimsche held his ground as the mob shoved forward. They were gathered in a wide half-circle around the silent Nam robot, thousands of them. The last remaining units of the army had been trying to hold them back for three hours now, in order to bring the machine-guns and grenades into play. But the angry mob wanted to take vengeance into its own incapable hands.
Grimsche knew how they felt. He would have enjoyed ripping some of the invaders apart himself, but he wasn’t moved by the mob’s quick, easy passion. Emotions like that passed too easily, after the first flush of hatred. He was willing to wait his chance—forever, if necessary.
The mob surged restlessly; tentacles of people beat against the barricades, and fell back. The mob shouted with a single voice, advanced and retreated with one body, clenched a single gigantic fist.
Twelve o’clock. The Nam robot lurched forward, up the steps of the Capitol. Army machine-guns began to chatter, the slugs richocheting off the robot’s gleaming hide and scattering into the crowd. Somewhere a man screamed in agony, but his voice was lost in the single voice of the mob.
Grimsche watched, frowning with disapproval as the mob burst through the barricades and ran after the robot. As they reached him, U.S. Army mines, set in the Capitol steps, went off. The explosions dug a great red hole in the mob. The hole closed quickly, and the robot moved on, undamaged.
Now the soldiers had to stop firing, for the mob was all around the robot. They flung themselves upon him, smashing at him with wrenches, tire irons, gun butts. One man had an acetylene torch; he clung to the robot’s back, trying to melt down a shoulder.
Serenely the robot moved on, ignoring them, delicately avoiding their bodies.
Then the mob’s collective mood changed. Anger gave way to awe, apprehension, fear.
“It’s coming after me!” someone screamed, although the robot was moving directly toward the doors of the Capitol.
“It’s coming!”
The mob turned and started to run. Grimsche had a few seconds headstart. He sprinted away with a heavy man’s jarring stride, pushing people aside. He wasn’t afraid of the robot; but the mob was likely to trample him to death if they overtook him. Over his shoulder he caught a last glimpse of the robot, entering the Capitol unhindered.
Civilians were just as stupid as ever, Grimsche thought. He had wasted enough time sightseeing.
2
THE ADDRESS Colonel Culver had given him was a narrow brownstone building not far from the Capitol. Grimsche knocked, and heard Culver call, “Come on in.” He entered, and found Culver in the living room.
Colonel Culver was out of uniform, dressed in a plain gray business-suit. Still he was military. His suit was creased precisely, and the flower in his buttonhole looked like a decoration. In front of him, on a low table, were a dozen tins of imported tobacco and an old clay pipe. Culver was mixing tobacco in a brandy glass, and sniffing the result.
“At ease, sergeant, sit down,” Culver said. “We’re really not in the army any more.”
Grimsche didn’t answer. He knew they were still in the army, for uniforms didn’t make the difference.
Culver added a few strands of black tobacco to his mixture, shook it gently, and began to fill his clay pipe. “How is it outside?”
“A mob tried to stop the Nam robot,” Grimsche reported, sitting on the edge of a straight wooden chair. “They failed.”
“Of course,” Culver said. He lighted his pipe with a complicated gadget and leaned back. “Quite as I expected. Atomic artillery didn’t stop them. But mobs are prone to believe that their righteous anger is a solvent to dissolve any armor.” He smiled an apologetic little smile.
Grimsche smiled too, forgiving the colonel his fancy language.
“Now down to cases,” Culver said, blowing clouds of smoke across the room. “When the Nam first landed, the President and the Chiefs of Staff held a conference. They realized that any race capable of crossing space would have a tremendous technological advantage over us. Even our atomic weapons proved ineffectual, as it turned out. The President had to make some provision for the prosecution of the war, even with the disbanding of the government and the armed forces.”
Culver lighted his pipe again. “We did have a secret weapon. It had been in the project-stage for over five years, and still wasn’t completed. But what a lovely weapon it was I It utilized an entirely new energy-principle, a cancellation of mass instead of a disruption of it. The President felt that, at all costs, this weapon and the scientists working on it had to be protected. You follow me?”
“Yes sir,” Grimsche said, frowning with concentration.
“Therefore the entire project went underground. Since we had no idea what security-methods the Nam invaders might be capable of, the underground was kept as small and tight as possible. I was appointed head of that organization.”
Grimsche nodded approvingly. The President couldn’t have used any of the top brass to head the job; they’d be watched. A scientist was out of the question; they were too impractical. Culver was a hell of a good officer. Even with his love of junk like that imported tobacco, even with his fancy language, lie was the best officer Grimsche had ever served under.
“Now for your part in this,” Culver said. “Grimsche, I need a man I can count on for liason. The underground is necessarily broken into two parts. We’re here, in Washington. But the scientists and the weapon are hidden—”
THE DOOR opened and a small black-haired man rushed in, carrying a suitcase. “I have most of it,” he said, out of breath. “Couldn’t locate any germanium, and half of the Formula X524 components are missing. But they can work around that.” Culver said, “Grimsche, I’d like you to meet Kyoto; he’s our Washington scientific head, scavenger division.” Grimsche stood up slowly. “Japanese?”
Kyoto nodded, grinning uncertainly. Grimsche looked at him a moment, his heavy face impassive; then he turned and walked to the window. Kyoto’s grin began to fade.
“What’s wrong, Grimsche?” Culver asked.
Grimsche turned. “May I speak my mind, Colonel?”
“Go ahead.”
“I never considered that war over,” Grimsche said, his face expressionless. “A treaty was signed,” Culver said. “A scrap of paper doesn’t change anything. You really want me to speak my mind, Colonel?”
“Yes, yes,” Culver said. “Let’s have everything in the open.”
“OK. I fought that war; I remember it. I remember the guys who were kille
d. Enemies don’t become friends just because of a piece of paper.” Kyoto began to smile nervously again, involuntarily running his fingers through his hair.
“The way I see it,” Grimsche said, “we shouldn’t have stopped the war; we should have killed them all.”
“You’re no military theorist, I fear,” Culver sighed. “Wars aren’t fought between men, Grimsche. Wars are products of economic conditions, resurgent nationalism, a dozen other factors.”
“I don’t know anything about that, sir,” Grimsche said. “I just think an enemy is an enemy. Always.”
“Perhaps,” Kyoto said, “if the sergeant feels that way, I should leave—”
“Nonsense!” Culver said sharply.
“Grimsche, you know what we’re up against; we need any help we can find.”
“I know that, sir,” Grimsche said. “It’s OK with me, his working on our side. I just wanted you to know how I felt.”
“Your privilege,” Culver said. “Best to get these things aired. Now back to the matter at hand. Sit, both of you.”
Kyoto and Grimsche sat down, not looking at each other.
“We are here in Washington for two reasons,” Culver said. “First, the weapon will be used here. Second, here we can find the necessary material. But the actual weapon, and the men producing it, are hidden in Virginia. You, Grimsche, will be our courier. This equipment must reach Virginia; the scientists there will know what to do with it.”
Kyoto glanced out the window. “I would suggest haste,” he said apologetically. “The Nam may close the city.”
“I don’t think so,” Culver said. “You shouldn’t have any trouble getting through this time, Grimsche. You’ll stay in Virginia until the scientists need more components. Then, come back; we should have the rest of it by then.”
“Yes sir,” Grimsche said.
Culver found a slip of paper in his breast pocket and handed it to Grimsche. “This is the location. Memorize it.”
Grimsche glanced at it, and handed the paper back to Culver. The colonel lighted it with his cigarette lighter, held it until the flame almost touched his fingertips, and dropped it on the floor.
“While you’re in Virginia,” Culver said, “learn how to operate the weapon. Kyoto and I are relatively immobile, therefore detectable. You will probably use the completed weapon. In any case, it must be used.”
“Yes sir,” Grimsche said. “It’ll be used.” Without looking at Kyoto he said, “I never forget my enemies.
“I know,” Culver said. “Now get moving.”
GRIMSCHE saluted, picked up the suitcase and hurried out. As soon as he was gone, Kyoto stood up and faced the colonel angrily. “Colonel Culver, I demand an explanation!” Culver leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, smiling faintly. “Consider Grimsche objectively, Kyoto. As a human being he has his deficiencies. But isn’t he a perfect machine of war?”
“But his attitude—”
“His attitude toward you, personally, is unfortunate. Otherwise it’s commendable, for it certainly complements his function.” Culver opened his eyes and sat up abruptly. “Kyoto, I pride myself on one thing. I know men. Grimsche is the perfect, the ideal man for the job.”
The colonel began to clean the bowl of his clay pipe with a matchstick. “Have to be careful with this,” he said. “Souvenir of Connaught. Hate to go all the way back for another.” Kyoto walked to the window. Washington was strangely quiet now. Wearily, he tried to think. How could Grimsche be the right man? Would implacable, stupid hatred free them? Very unscientific . . . But then, this was soldier’s business, and they had their own ways. Perhaps Culver was right.
He didn’t know, or care any longer. He only wished he were home, and at peace.
l
TO: ARA ILDEK
NAM IV
SOLONES CLUSTER
GALAXY X32-A
SUBJECT: CIVILIZING EXPEDITION TO SOL III
FROM: MORDESH KDAK
ORGANIZER
EXPEDITION 87C6
GREETINGS:
The first two steps of our campaign have been completed. All symbolic documents of government have been seized, and will be sent to the Museum of Deviations on Illik II. All mechanical means of waging war have been destroyed, except for the isolated units undetected as yet. The armies of Sol III are disso’ved by order of the governments; and we are the governments.
Still, individual Earthmen attempt to kill us, and to put our mechanicals out of order. So far, no Nam lives have been lost; nor have we been forced to the ultimate expedient of killing any Earthmen.
Since these people are city-builders, we have centralized ourselves. Our culture, after it has taken firm hold in the large population centers, will diffuse outward, to the rural areas. As far as I can tell, there is no danger inherent in our centralization. As I said before, the Earthmen command no energies past atomic.
We are now in full swing, employing Morgish’s Subliminal Training Techniques for Savage Peoples, Humanoid Type. The Earthmen are able to see only the outward, obvious aspects of this campaign; the books, pamphlets, films, broadcasts, etc. These direct techniques meet with resistance and are supposed to; because of them, the Earthmen won’t examine too closely the important internal changes which are being wrought in them.
The Earthmen feel that our indoctrination will not succeed. This belief is based upon their own clumsy attempts to indoctrinate each other, over several thousand years of recorded history. What they fail to grasp is the Conformity principle: Truth is irresistable. Their very skepticism aids us.
It is always interesting to observe the effects of subliminal indoctrination; the slow growth of doubt, the examination of ancient, fixed ideas; uncertainty, fits of reverie, etc.
Soon the nodal point will be reached. Then, these ideas which have been slowly budding—and a thousand more—will suddenly blossom forth. The Earthmen won’t even recognize their new selves. They will be civilized!
I have just now received a puzzling report. My population-trend calculator has detected a disturbing semi-isolated potential in or near this key city of Washington. The calculator gives a seventy-three percent probability that the potential is caused by a single individual, and assigns him a value of plus twenty-three!
Plus twenty-three is impossible, of course. Even I, as Organizer, don’t have that high a probability-effects value. I’m having the machine overhauled; but to play safe, I’m assigning Gragash to make a search for this hypothetical individual, and, if he finds him, indoctrinate him directly.
I hope to have this planet civilized by the time my next message reaches you.
In Peace,
Mordek Kdak, Organizer
l
Grimsche had no trouble delivering the equipment to the hidden scientific group in Virginia. But then he was jobless; the quiet, dedicated specialists had nothing for him to do. During all their waking hours they worked on the weapon. Grimsche tried to help out, but only got in the way.
So he spent his time in the mountains, walking, hunting, waiting until he could be of use again.
Once he walked to the outskirts of a nearby town, and saw that the Nam had moved in. The sight filled him with wild, futile rage. Here was the enemy, and he could do nothing but wait. The townspeople seemed to be taking it calmly enough. As far as Grimsche could tell, from a distance, they 3eemed quite content.
It didn’t disturb him. Civilians were weak; there were turncoats everywhere.
The scientists taught him on a model how the completed weapon would work. The controls were simple enough. He didn’t care how complex it was inside, just as long as it worked.
In about a month the weapon was assembled, except for the germanium insets and the formula X524 components. Grimsche put on a quiet gray suit, took a .45 automatic, and left for Washington.
3
HE REACHED Washington just before sunset, and knew at once that the city had changed. But changed how? In what way? He couldn’t tell.
Then he n
oticed the absense of noise. Washington had always been a loud, boisterous city; it was silent now. The few remaining cars drove slowly down the streets, almost hesitantly. People gathered in small groups on street corners, talking in hushed tones.
Grimsche slowed his pace to match the people around him. No one seemed in much of a rush to get anywhere, he thought. No one even seemed to be going to any particular place.
At that moment he noticed the man behind him.
He didn’t know how long he had been followed. Sternly he kept his hand away from the .45, kept his pace slow. When he reached a cross-street, he turned.
The man turned with him.
Grimsche turned down three more blocks, the man still following. Then abruptly he entered a binding and slid behind the big front door. The man came inside and looked around, saw the door marked Exit in the back of the building, and hurried through it.
Grimsche went out the front door again. He cut through side streets, watching carefully, but wasn’t followed again. Slightly out of wind, he entered the brownstone.
l
Kyoto was sprawled on the couch, asleep. Culver was sitting in an armchair, reading. The colonel was barefooted, dressed only in slacks and T-shirt. He looked extremely unmilitary.
“I was wondering when you’d get back,” Culver said lazily, putting down his book. Kyoto awoke abruptly and sat up, blinking. “How’s the weapon going?”
“Finished, except for the X524 stuff, and the germanium,” Grimsche said.
Culver nodded. “They’re working fast,” he said to Kyoto. “Aren’t they?”
“Very fast indeed,” Kyoto said.
Outside the building, a loudspeaker blared:—“There are many human races in this galaxy. Remember that when you think of yourselves.”
“What’s that?” Grimsche asked.
“Oh, they’re always broadcasting that stuff,” Culver said. “About other races, and insularity, and cooperation. Quite a campaign.”
“Why don’t you cut the wires on that thing?” Grimsche asked.
“No use; they’d just fix it again.”
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