by Ben Bova
So shoot, he silently told his enemies. You'll never get a better chance than now.
But there was no firing anywhere. Not even a sign of life in this part of the base. The houses looked cold and empty as the truck pulled up into the dead-end street. They've gone, Alec told himself, and realized he was a fool for thinking they might still be here.
He made the driver stop in front of Angela's house. Swinging down off the truck, pistol flapping at his hip, heavy helmet on his head, Alec remembered the night he had left. He had never pictured his return as being quite like this: the conqueror striding into the deserted enemy camp.
The house was empty. The fireplace cold. It looked dusty, abandoned, as though no one had lived there for weeks. Perhaps months.
Grimly, Alec marched down the street toward Douglas' house. He knew it was foolish, but still . . .
He glanced over his shoulder at the truck. The driver sat alone in the armored cab. He had lowered the front armor panel so that he could have more than just a slit to allow fresh air inside.
But he still wore his helmet and his hands were gripping the steering wheel. Ready to leave at an instant's notice, Alec saw. Constructive cowardice.
The man who wants to save his skin is the man who's got a chance to live through the day.
Fifteen paces from Douglas's front door, Alec froze. A mechanical whirring sound, faint but real, stopped him. Like the sound of a gun mount tracking.
He edged off the walkway and stepped close to the shrubbery that was just beginning to turn green, close to the house. One hand on his pistol butt, Alec carefully scanned the empty-looking street.
Nothing.
Then the sound came again, from behind him.
He whirled and crouched as he drew the gun from its holster. Still nothing in sight. But there was something. Something about the house was different, something that had not been there before.
A glint in the corner of his eyes. A metal pole, strapped hastily against the side of the house with an antenna jury-rigged at the top of it. New, still bright in the late-afternoon sunlight that lanced through the smokey gray sky. A cable led down from the antenna to a second-floor window.
The antenna turned, making a mechanical whirring sound as its little electrical motor moved it.
Alec relaxed his grip on the pistol and commanded himself to stop trembling. Looking back at the truck, he saw that the driver had buttoned up his front panel. Alec called to him on his helmet radio. Whispering, he ordered, "Get Jameson and tell him to bring a squad of men here. On the double."
"Yessir."
Slowly, as quietly as he could, Alec moved along the side of the house and around to the back door.
It was unlocked. He pushed it inward gently, almost smiling at Douglas' insistence on good maintenance: the hinges did not squeak.
Once inside he could hear a muffled voice from upstairs. It sounded like Douglas. Alone? Why would he be here and not out in the field with his men?
Alec took the steps two at a time, but very slowly, crouching low and keeping the gun ready for any surprises. With all the stealth he could manage he got to the top of the stairs and moved to the door of the bedroom from which Douglas' voice was coming.
He checked the other rooms with his eyes. The doors were all open; they appeared empty. Then, after pulling in a deep breath and letting it go, he opened the bedroom door and leaped into the room.
The door banged against the wall as Alec landed on the balls of his feet, crouched, balanced, gun rock-steady in his outstretched hand.
Half the room was filled with radio gear, gray and black boxes jumbled together, dials glowing.
A wild tangle of wires linked the seeming chaos to a thick cable that wormed its way out through the window that was jammed shut over it.
Douglas sat in the bed, an old-fashioned microphone in one huge fist. His left leg was poking out straight from the hip, encased in a white plastic cast. His trousers had been cut away at the hip.
His face looked thinner than before, his hair and beard grayer. His clothes and the bedsheets were rumpled and sweaty-looking. A carbine lay on the bed beside him, with several boxes of ammunition stacked on the table next to the bed.
For an instant Alec crouched there, unmoving.
Then Douglas said, "Well, it's about time you got here. What kept you?"
Chapter 28
Alec blinked at his father. "What happened to your leg?"
Glowering, Douglas grumbled, "Thrown from a goddamned horse, would you believe it? Four days ago. Have to sit out the whole goddamned battle here and try to run things by radio." He tossed the microphone down on the bed. It bounced and clattered to the floor.
"You could save a lot of lives by telling . . ."
"I've already ordered my people to stop fighting,"
Douglas said. He looked weary, even though his voice was as strong in defeat as ever. "That's what I was doing while you were trying to sneak up the stairs. And you can put that popgun away, I'm not going to try to shoot you." Glancing at the carbine beside him, "This thing isn't even loaded."
Alec went to the bed and took the gun. He leaned it against the doorjamb, then holstered his pistol.
"You fought a smart fight," Douglas said grudgingly. "I didn't expect you to spread out that way."
Pulling up the room's only chair, Alec responded, "I didn't expect you to have tanks."
"Think I showed you everything?" Douglas laughed.
"Where is she?"
"Angela? I packed her off to one of the villages a week ago, with the rest of the women. They're all scattered around the valley. She'll be back, now that the fighting's over."
"And Will?"
Douglas shook his head. "Last I heard, his horse had been shot out from under him. Don't worry about Will, he leads a charmed life."
Suddenly there was nothing left to talk about.
Everything to be said, but nothing to talk about.
Douglas broke the silence. "So you've won."
"Yes, I've won."
"What are your plans?"
Alec glanced out the window, then returned his gaze to his father's haggard face. "I came for the fissionables. I'll take them back to the settlement."
"You know where they're stored?"
"You showed me, remember?"
"Oh ... oh yes, that's right. I . . ."
"Kobol's got a trained crew to take care of them."
"Kobol. H'mm."
Alec blurted, "They'll want to execute you. You're a traitor."
"It figures," Douglas said easily. "If it weren't for this damned leg, though, I wouldn't have been so easy to catch."
"He's going to marry mother." As the words came out of him, Alec realized it was true. He had known it all along, but had never allowed the knowledge to reach conscious realization.
"Kobol? Good! Serves him right. She'll have him sliced and neatly served on a platter inside of a year. They deserve each other."
Alec felt his insides tightening.
"Now don't go stupid on me, son," Douglas said.
"Kobol's been after her since / was there. And she's been letting him chase her. It's one of the reasons why I left. It became obvious, even to me."
"You expect me to believe that?"
Grinning wickedly, Douglas answered, "I don't give a damn what you believe. I've accomplished what I set out to do. My work's just about finished now. Yours is just starting."
"What? What do you mean?"
Before Douglas could reply, a trio of trucks pulled up noisily in front of the house and the voices of two dozen men filled the air. Doors slammed. Boots clumped on stairs.
Jameson stepped into the bedroom, poking the muzzle of an automatic rifle ahead of him. "You okay?" he asked Alec.
Nodding, Alec got up from the chair. "This is Douglas Morgan" he said. "Keep this house guarded. No one goes in or out unless I personally grant permission. I'll set up my headquarters in the first house on this street, where my truck is parked."<
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"Right," Jameson said.
Douglas spoke up. "I presume the condemned man will get a meal sometime this evening?"
Alec could not look him in the face anymore. To Jameson he said, "See to it."
Then he left his father sitting on the bed, surrounded by the armed strangers.
Alec ate his dinner alone in Angela's house, the first hot meal he'd had in many days. He was almost finished when Kobol burst into the tiny kitchen.
"We've got it!" he crowed, pushing past the protesting guard stationed outside the kitchen door.
Alec looked up tiredly. Kobol was jubilant, practically dancing, bad hip and all.
"We've got the fissionables!" Kobol repeated.
"Enough to last fifty years, at least!"
"And then what?"
Kobol stopped in mid-prance. He stood uncertainly before the rough wooden table at which Alec sat. His smile of triumph began to crumble.
"What do you mean?"
Alec began to understand part of what Douglas had been telling him. "What then? What happens to the settlement after fifty years?"
Kobol shook his head, a short snap to either side, like a horse shaking off a gadfly. "They'll find more, of course. Fifty years is a long time; we won't be around to worry about it."
"No," Alec said. "I suppose not."
"I'm ordering a pair of shuttles down to start loading the fissionables at first light tomorrow. They can land at the airfield right here."
"All right."
"And I want Douglas packed aboard too. They'll be waiting for him back at the settlement."
Alec pushed his unfinished plate away from him and got to his feet. "No."
"Eh? What do you mean?"
"I mean no. You're not taking Douglas back to the settlement. We'll handle him right here. I'll take care of it."
"No you won't." Kobol's tone hardened.
"You've been riding pretty high, but it's time you realized that I'm a Council member and I have the final say in . . ."
Alec pulled his gun from its holster. "Martin, you can take the fissionables and yourself back to the settlement tomorrow. I'll follow you there shortly. But Douglas stays here. He chose to live on Earth, he might as well be buried on Earth. If you want to be buried here too, just say one more word." Alec's voice was as soft as the purr of a leopard. "One more word, that's all."
Kobol's mouth opened, but no sound came from it. He snapped it shut with an audible click of his horsy teeth. His face went white with anger and fear.
"Good," Alec said. He pointed to the door with the gun. "Now get out of here and go about your work. Leave Douglas to me. And keep your hands off my mother until I return to the settlement. You can be killed there as easily as here. Remember that."
Seething, Kobol turned and limped out of the house.
Alec holstered his gun and sat down to finish his meal. But he was no longer hungry. Suddenly he felt old, grayer than his father, weary and miserable and completely alone.
The guard peered around the door jamb. "Sir?"
"What is it?"
"We have a prisoner here . . . someone you said you wanted to see."
"Will Russo?"
"That's who he says he is, sir."
"Send him in!" Alec rose again and came around the table.
Will strode in. He was caked with grime and his clothing was torn in several places, but when he stepped into the kitchen and saw Alec his big puppydog grin spread across his face.
"You weren't fooling about a big army, were you?" he said.
Alec put his hand out and Will grabbed it.
"Are you all right?" Alec asked. "Have you eaten? Are you hurt?"
"I'm starving, but otherwise okay. Your boys had us pinned down for six hours. Never saw so many guns and lasers in my life."
Alec sat him down at the table and ordered the guard to bring more food. He watched as Will wolfed down everything in sight and washed it down with a liter of fresh cow's milk.
"Which village did Angela go to?" Alec asked as Will ate.
"Dunno," Will said, his mouth bulging. "But she'll be here. She'll want to see Douglas, tend to him."
Tend to him, Alec thought jealously. -
"You took a lot of casualties?" he changed the subject.
Will nodded. "It was pretty heavy out there. You had us outgunned and outsmarted."
"I'm glad you weren't hurt."
"So'm I!" Will said, with a laugh. But almost immediately, the laughter died away. "A lot of good men died out there today. A lot of good men."
Alec agreed with a nod. "But at least it's over now."
"Over? Oh no! By golly, it's really just beginning."
"Begin . . . what do you mean?"
"Ask Douglas about it," Will replied. "I'm surprised he hasn't told you about it already."
"Told me what?"
But all Will would say was, "Ask Douglas."
"Dammit!" Alec snapped. "You know he's under arrest for treason. Kobol wants to bring him back to the settlement and make a public exhibit out of him."
"You won't let them?"
"No, I won't. But I can't let him live, either."
Will shrugged.
"Technically, you're as guilty as he is," Alec added. "You refused to return to the settlement, too. But it's Douglas they want to punish. You won't have to . . ."
"No," Will said. There was iron in it.
Alec stared at him.
"I'm Douglas's man. What happens to him happens to me. I'm as guilty as he is. We planned this thing together. Kill him and you've got to kill me, too. Or else."
"Or else what?"
"Or else I'll hunt you down and kill you."
"Hell's fire, Will! You're talking like a medieval barbarian."
"Maybe that's what I am. Maybe that's what we all are. I love you like my own son, Alec. I owe my life to you. But if you kill that man I won't be able to rest until I've avenged him."
"Jesus Christ."
"Exactly," said Will Russo.
It was late when Alec walked down the lonely street to Douglas's house. Late and dark. The spring night had turned cold; the stars glittered with winter hardness. The street was deserted except for the two guards lounging near the truck parked at the cul-de-sac end of the street. All of Douglas's troops had been disarmed and penned into a few of the big barracks buildings. No women at all had been found in the base.
Tomorrow, Alec knew, the women would start returning from the outlying villages.
The guards straightened up when they recognized Alec. He saw that they had a small electric grill plugged into the truck's generator, and they were warming themselves with it.
"Chilly night," Alec said to them.
"Sure is."
Inside Douglas' house two more men were drowsing in the living room. They snapped to their feet when Alec let the front door bang shut.
"Everything quiet in here?" he asked.
"Yessir." They were both embarrassed, even a touch fearful.
Without another word, Alec tiptoed up the steps and pushed at the door to Douglas' room. The old man was sitting on the bed in almost exactly the same position that Alec had left him earlier. He was wearing glasses now, and reading a battered, well-thumbed book. Alec squinted at the cover but it was too worn to make out the title.
"Come on in," Douglas said softly, barely looking up from the book. "I've been waiting for you."
Alec stepped into the room and took the chair, feeling oddly nervous, edgy. As he sat down, he realized that Douglas' voice was no longer the booming, demanding, self-assured roar it had once been. He was quieter, his voice subdued. From defeat? Alec found that hard to believe.
Douglas waggled the book. "Found this in a city library, years ago. Hemingway. The Fifth Column and the First Forty-Nine, Forty-nine short stories, that is. Magnificent. You ought to read them."
Alec shrugged.
"So." Douglas put the book down on the table beside his bed. The radio equipment had been cleared
away; nothing was left except the torn end of the cable still hanging from the room's one window. "You've come to see if I'm comfortable and enjoyed my meal?"
"No."
"Come to read me my death sentence?" He actually looked amused.
"Not that either," Alec said. "I've come to find out what you meant when you said that your work's nearly finished, but mine is just beginning. Will said something very much like it a couple of hours ago ..."
"You've seen Will?" Douglas asked, suddenly eager. "He's all right?"
"He's fine. Hungry as a bear . . ."
"And thirsty, I'll bet."
Alec felt a grin bend his lips. "Yes, that too."
"But you've finally started to tumble to the fact that there's more to life than beating your old man, eh?"
Alec hunched forward in the chair. "I want to know what all these mysterious hints are about."
"It's not too complicated," Douglas said.
"Everything's worked out pretty much as I had planned it. I admit that I expected to beat you today, rather than the other way around. But the plan can work either way."
"What plan?" Alec demanded, suddenly irritated.
Douglas smiled at him. A genuinely benign, paternal smile in that grizzled, lined face. "The plan to reunite the human race. The plan to rebuild civilization."
"That!"
"Yes, that. It happens to be the reason behind everything I've done over the past twenty years and more. But now it's going to be up to you to put the plan into action."
Alec shook his head.
"Listen to me!" Douglas snapped, with some of the old fire. Jabbing a thick finger at him, he said, "It's finally been accomplished. Don't you understand that? Look around you, what do you see? And I don't mean just this room. What's happened out there today?"
"We beat you."
"Who beat me?"