by Ben Bova
* * *
Raven felt the man’s presence, skulking along the passageway behind her. She had put in a full day’s work with Alicia at the boutique, trying hard to keep their plan a secret. Many of the women who came into the place wanted to talk about the passive resistance plan. Raven hushed them and told them to talk to their neighbors in the privacy of their quarters.
Now, as she and Alicia walked along the passageway toward their quarters, Raven said quietly, “We’re being followed.”
Alicia started to turn her head but Raven said, “No! Don’t let him know!”
“You’re sure somebody’s following us?” Alicia whispered.
“He’s been trailing along behind us since we left the shop.”
With a tight little grin, Alicia said, “Well, let’s see what he wants.”
“No!” Raven snapped.
“We’re not doing anything wrong. Let’s ask him why he’s following us.”
Alicia stopped walking and turned to stare at the man approaching them. He was slim, dark-haired, good-looking except for an oversized nose.
He stopped a dozen paces behind the two women, looking suddenly embarrassed, confused.
Alicia called out to him, “Are you following us?”
He coughed once, glanced down at his shoes, then admitted, “Yes, ma’am. I was.”
“What for?” Raven burst. “What gives you the right—”
“Reverend Umber told me to make sure you got home okay. With nobody bothering you.”
“Reverend Umber?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m one of his assistants. He thought that with tomorrow being the big day and all, he didn’t want anything to happen to you two.”
Alicia admitted, “You frightened us … sort of.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s all right. We’re nearly home,” said Alicia.
Raven added, “We can make it on our own from here.”
“You sure?” the young man asked.
“We’re sure,” Alicia said, with a smile.
* * *
In the surveillance center, surrounded by the viewscreens that watched every square centimeter of public space in the habitat, Sergeant Jacobi pulled the earphones off his head.
Tomorrow’s the big day, he said to himself. But where? What for? I’d better tell Waxman about this right away. And get every able body we have on the force into uniform tomorrow morning, ready for anything.
CONFRONTATION
It seemed like an ordinary weekday morning. Instead of opening their boutique, though, Raven and Alicia marched with determination to the grassy open park space in front of the Chemlab Building. But not before leaving a sign in the shop’s window advising customers to join them in the protest.
Raven saw a half-dozen men and women already there, sitting on the grass. One was staring intently at the pocket-sized reader she had propped on her folded legs. Another was stretched out on his back, seemingly napping.
“Why don’t we sit here?” said Alicia.
Raven nodded her agreement, and the two of them sat down on the grass along the edge of the paved walkway that led into the building.
“Now what?” Alicia asked.
With a tiny shrug Raven said, “Now we wait.”
More people were coming to the little park in groups of three and four and sitting down quietly. A few spoke to one another. Most sat tensely, expectantly, some fearfully.
“Not many people,” Alicia said.
“It’s early,” Raven replied. Then she pointed, “Look, here come some more.”
Within fifteen minutes, Raven counted forty-three bodies sitting or lying on the grass. A uniformed security guard came out of the building’s main entrance, frowning as he looked around, then popped back inside again.
A middle-aged man carrying a briefcase approached the building, found his path blocked by a handful of people, and bent down slightly to talk to them. He didn’t seem to be angry or alarmed, just puzzled.
Raven watched their conversation, too far away to hear their words. The middle-aged man pointed to the building’s entrance. The younger men and women blocking the path to the entrance said something to him, shaking their heads.
Raven guessed it was, “Sorry, the entrance is closed.”
Even at this distance, Raven could see the surprise on the older man’s face. Then it turned to anger. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pocket phone.
“Now it starts,” Raven said to Alicia.
* * *
In the security department headquarters, Sergeant Jacobi reached across his desk and touched the ANSWER button on his intercom phone.
“Jacobi … What? Blocking the entrance? Who is? The entrance to what?”
* * *
Evan Waxman had just slipped into his desk chair when his phone buzzed.
“Good mor—What? Blocking the entrance to the Chemlab Building? Who is?… Well, clear them out of there! That’s what your job is!”
With a snap of his fingers, he silenced the phone. Blockading the Chemlab Building? he thought. So that’s what they’re up to.
Feeling more relieved than alarmed, he commanded his wall screen to show the entrance to the Chemlab Building.
* * *
Reverend Umber pushed himself up from his desk chair as he watched the mounting confrontation in the minipark in front of the Chemlab Building. Security police were streaming in from the main passageway, armed with electroshock wands. A gaggle of people—including a trio of the building’s security guards—were arguing heatedly, arms waving, mouths yammering.
I should be there, the reverend said to himself. I should have been the first one out there this morning.
Get moving, he told himself. You’re supposed to be their leader. Get out there and lead.
He strode purposefully away from his desk, toward the exit of his office domain, heading for the Chemlab Building. He could feel his pulse hammering in his veins.
* * *
Sergeant Jacobi hustled down to the locker room and picked up his riot gear, slinging it over one shoulder as he headed for the exit and the Chemlab Building. Shaking his head as he adjusted the strap over his shoulder, he said to himself, riot gear. Never thought I’d have to use this stuff. So that’s what they’re up to. That’s what “passive resistance” means to them. Target practice. They want to let themselves get whacked, we’ll whack ’em.
He hurried to the security cruiser waiting in the passageway outside.
* * *
Raven and Alicia got to their feet, their eyes fixed on the confrontation in front of the building’s entrance.
Three red-faced security guards were arguing heatedly with a dozen or so of the demonstrators. More of the demonstrators were getting up off the grass, looking uncertain, alarmed. In the distance, more security guards were running toward the entrance area, brandishing wicked-looking black batons.
One of the demonstrators—young, curly-haired, beefy-cheeked—was nose to nose with one of the building’s guards, obviously trying to outshout the guard, who was doing the same to him.
The youngster shoved the guard with both his ham-sized hands. The guard staggered backward, then fell onto the seat of his pants.
“Come on!” the youngster shouted to the men and women around him, waving one arm over his head.
“No!” Raven shouted. “Don’t move!”
The young man looked surprised as Raven rushed up to him.
“Sit down,” Raven commanded, gesturing with both her hands. “Just block the entryway. That’s all we want to do.”
Looking surprised, perplexed, the youngster sank down onto the paved walkway. As did the handful of men and women around him.
Two other guards hauled the fallen policeman to his feet. Another security guard popped out of the building’s entryway, a black baton in one hand. “What the hell’s going on here?”
“They’re blocking the entrance,” replied one of the guards.
The trio of guards stood uncertainly, looking around at the growing crowd. Raven could see dozens of other people joining the demonstrators, walking into the crowd and sitting down on the pathway and the grassy area.
She also saw several security cruisers gliding to a stop and dozens of guards pouring out.
“Clear the area!” shouted a guard with sergeant’s stripes on his blue sleeve, as he loped through the growing crowd from one of the cruisers to the building’s entrance. “That’s an order! Clear the area! Now!”
The sitting men and women looked at each other, some puzzled, some grinning. None of them got up. Raven felt a thrill.
Sergeant Jacobi climbed past the sitting protestors and reached the building’s entrance.
“You’re blocking a public walkway,” he shouted. “Disperse. Now!”
No one moved.
“I’m warning you!” Jacobi bellowed, raising the black nightstick in his hand.
The crowd stirred, but did not get up. Raven saw that they were turning to look at a new arrival striding purposefully toward the building’s entrance.
Reverend Umber.
Everyone seemed to freeze in place as Umber weaved through the sitting protestors. He was wearing his customary suit of pure white, with the black button of a loudspeaker clipped to the jacket’s collar.
Umber stopped in front of Sergeant Jacobi, panting slightly from his exertion. The sergeant let his arm drop to his side.
The reverend pointed to the building’s entrance and said, “These people are peaceably assembled to protest an inequity that is being perpetrated inside this building.”
His amplified voice carried across the grassy square.
Jacobi said, “They’re blocking a public walkway.”
“And they will continue to block it until this building is closed permanently,” said Umber.
ACTION
For several breathless moments, Jacobi stood in silence, glaring at Reverend Umber. Umber stood as immobile as a statue, hands on his hips, still puffing slightly.
Tapping his truncheon into the open palm of his hand, Jacobi said, “You’d better tell them to disperse, Reverend. Otherwise there’s going to be bloodshed.”
Umber seemed to draw himself up a little taller. “On your head be it, then.”
Jacobi nodded slowly. “No, Reverend, it’s gonna be on your head.” And he jabbed Umber in the midsection with the end of his baton.
Umber oofed and staggered back a couple of steps. The whole crowd of demonstrators clambered to their feet.
“No!” Umber shouted, his amplified voice ringing across the plaza. “No violence!”
The crowd stood uncertainly, shifting on their feet, waiting for the next blow.
Jacobi raised his nightstick over his head, held it there for an endless moment, while Umber squeezed his eyes shut and hunched his shoulders, waiting for the blow.
At last Jacobi opened his fingers and let the bludgeon fall, clattering to the ground.
“The hell with it,” he muttered, turning around and walking past the other guards, into the Chemlab Building’s entrance.
The crowd stood frozen, unmoving. The remaining security guards slowly retreated toward the building’s entrance. When the last one entered the lobby, the glass doors swung shut.
Raven turned to Alicia, standing breathlessly beside her. The two made their way through the crowd to where Reverend Umber stood, looking surprised, dumbfounded.
“They just … went away,” Umber said, almost in a whisper.
“And we’re still here,” said Alicia.
Raven turned to the crowd and made a sitting motion with both her hands. “Sit down,” she shouted. “This isn’t over yet.”
* * *
Evan Waxman rose slowly from his desk chair, the scene from the entrance to the Chemlab Building filling his wall screen.
“Get back out there, you idiots!” he yelled at the screen. “Get rid of them! Drive that rabble out of there!”
But the security guards remained inside the building, the demonstrators out on the grassy park ground.
Whirling toward his desktop phone, Waxman shouted, “Security chief. Now!”
The security chief’s hard-edged face appeared on the wall screen, three times larger than life.
“Did you see what just happened?” Waxman demanded.
The chief nodded, tight-lipped.
“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“Not much I can do.”
“I want that sergeant broken, fired, thrown out!”
“And what good would that do?” the chief asked.
“You find somebody who knows how to obey orders!”
The chief shook his head slowly, almost sadly. “Mr. Waxman, think for a moment. My guards are citizens of Haven, just like the people you want them to hurt. They’re not storm troopers. They’re not even Green Berets. They live with those people. They’re part of this habitat’s population, just like you and me.”
“And they can get away with refusing to follow orders?” Waxman bawled.
“Looks that way,” said the chief.
* * *
Umber was the only person standing. The crowd dotting the little park was sitting, or crouching, their eyes on him.
So far, so good, Umber thought. He could see more people coming into the area and sitting down on the grass or the paved walkway.
He spread his arms and said, “We may be here for quite a while. I suggest you pick people from among yourselves to go out for meals and bring them back here.”
“And then what?” a deep male voice called from the crowd.
“And then we wait here until Evan Waxman agrees to shut this narcotics factory down. Permanently!” He shouted the last word.
The crowd stirred. No cheering, but they were obviously moved.
Raven turned to Alicia, sitting on the grass beside her. “We’re going to be here for a long while,” she said.
* * *
So that’s what he’s trying to do, Waxman said to himself as he watched Umber’s performance.
Shut down the narcotics manufacturing. Stop producing Rust. Cut off this habitat’s main source of income.
He smiled grimly as he stared at his wall screen. So we’ll just have to wait him out. Let his followers sit there and twiddle their thumbs. Sooner or later they’ll get tired of this charade and go home.
Time is on my side, he told himself.
NIGHTFALL
“This isn’t very exciting,” Alicia said to Raven.
In the orbiting habitat of Haven, the cycle of day and night was artificially controlled. The habitat’s lights dimmed to a twilight level at a predetermined time, then went down to evening and finally the darkness of night—all controlled by the habitat’s automated lighting system.
The two women were still reclining on the grass in front of the Chemlab Building. The crowd of demonstrators was still sprawled all around them. The lights had dimmed to their twilight level more than ten minutes earlier, but hardly anyone had left the park.
Reverend Umber was sitting with them, gnawing on the last bit of faux chicken meat that one of the demonstrators had brought from the habitat’s cafeteria.
“How much longer will we have to stay out here?” Raven wondered.
Umber shook his head. “Until they capitulate.”
Alicia said tightly, “Or until our people get tired of this and go home.”
Umber frowned slightly. “Several people have already left,” he said.
“Can’t say I blame them,” Alicia replied. “After all, they do have homes. With beds.”
“And bathrooms,” Raven added.
“Some of them have come back, though,” Umber pointed out.
“But our numbers are dwindling,” said Raven.
Umber shook his head. “They’ll grow again tomorrow morning, you’ll see. We’ll get stronger.”
“From your
mouth to God’s ear,” said Alicia, without a trace of reverence in her voice.
* * *
Evan Waxman was still in his office, still watching the scene on his wall screen.
Stalemate, he grumbled to himself. We can’t get our technicians into the building; production today has been zero.
But, he reasoned, they can’t leave the entrance area. Once they do, we can move in our people and start up the production lines again.
If that idiot sergeant hadn’t caved in to those demonstrators this would all have been over and done with hours ago, Waxman fumed.
* * *
The security chief studied Jacobi’s hard-bitten face as the sergeant stood unhappily before his desk.
“What happened out there, Franco?” the chief asked.
Obviously uncomfortable, Jacobi frowned as he answered. “I just couldn’t do it. Whack Reverend Umber? Knock him down? Bloody his head? You try it.”
For several long moments, the chief remained silent. At last he said, “So that’s how ‘passive resistance’ wins. It depends on the decency of the people they’re resisting.”
“I suppose,” Jacobi muttered.
“Waxman’s pissed with you,” the chief said. “Wants you boiled in oil, at least.”
Jacobi nodded silently.
“I’m placing you on administrative leave until this mess gets resolved. You’ll get half pay. No duties. Just report in every morning.”
“Okay.” Tightly.
“Stay away from the demonstrators.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s all.”
Jacobi half turned toward the door, but quickly spun back again to face the chief. “I just couldn’t do it! I mean, Reverend Umber! I couldn’t whack the guy! The whole crowd would’ve swarmed us. It would’ve been a riot!”
The chief made a reassuring motion with his hands. “I know, Franco. I understand. But Waxman wants your balls pinned to his wall. Give me a couple of days to make him happy again. Cool yourself down. Stay out of Waxman’s way.”