Pied Piper
Robert A. Heinlein
Robert A. Heinlein
Pied Piper
Never been reprint story from astonishing stories Published March 1942
THE Prime Minister--and Field Marshal yler Doctor Groot's secretary was obviously ex-cited.
Doctor Groot did not lift his eyes from the laboratory bench. With a gentle, steady grip he held a; tiny furry animal while he shaved an area on its thigh.
"So? Have them wait."
"But Doctor, it's the-"
"Are they more important than this?" He reached for a hypodermic needle, load-ed and waiting. His little specimen, a field mouse, did not resist the needle.
The secretary started to speak, bit her lip, and withdrew.
The statesman endured the wait some-what better than the soldier. "I don't like this, Excellency," the field marshal grum-bled. "Why should we be kept waiting while our host fiddles around among his stinks and bottles? Mind you, I'm not complaining on my own account; I learned to wait when I was a cadet; but you represent the state."
The Prime Minister twisted around in his chair to face Yler. "Patience, John. What does it matter if we are treated like job-seekers? We must have him to win the war, but does he need us? I doubt it from his viewpoint. Would you and I be here at all-if we were not already beat-en."
The general turned a darker red. "With.
due respect to you, sir, our armies are not yet beaten."
"True. True," the statesman conceded testily, "but they will be in the end. You told me so."
The soldier muttered to himself.
"What," asked his companion, "did you say ?"
"I said I would rather go down in hon-orable defeat."
"Oh, that! Of course you would. All your training is to fight. My anxiety is to win. That is the difference between poli-ticians and soldiers-we know when to give way in order to win. Resign yourself to it; we must have the services of Doctor Groot in order to win this war!"
The soldier's answer was cut short by the secretary appearing to announce that Doctor Groot could now see them. She led the way; the politician followed; the soldier brought up the rear, still fuming. As they entered Groot's study, the doctor was entering it also, from the laboratory door on the far side.
His visitors saw a vigorous elderly man, a little below middle height, stocky and a bit full about the equator. Live, merry eyes peered out of a face appropriate to an old bull ape. This was surmounted by a pink, hairless dome of startling size. He was dressed in dirty linen pajamas and a rubber apron.
"Sit down," he said, waving them to big leather armchairs and seating himself in one, after pushing several books and assorted oddments to the floor to clear the chair. "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but I was up to my eyes in some research that couldn't wait. But I found the answer to the problem."
The field marshal leaned forward eag-erly. "You've found the weapon, Doc-tor?"
"The weapon?, What weapon? I've found why field mice have herpies. Odd business--- hysteric, just as in humans. I induced a neurosis; they responded by developing herpies. Quite interesting."
The soldier did not conceal his an-noyance. "Field mice! Wasting time with such trifles! Man, don't you know there's a war?"
Groot lifted his shoulders a fraction of an inch. "Field mice; or field marshals, who shall say what is important? To me, all life is important, and interesting,"
The Prime Minister interrupted suave-ly, "No doubt you are right, Doctor, but Field Marshal Yler and I are faced with another problem of paramount impor-tance to us. The sound of battle hardly reaches the quiet of your laboratory, but for us who are charged with the public responsibility of prosecuting the war, there is no escaping it. We have come to you because we are at our wit's end and need the help of your genius. Will you give us that help?"
Groot pushed out his lips. "How can I help? You have hundreds of able re-search men in your laboratories. Why do you think that one old man can help you win a war."
"I am no expert in these things," re-plied the politician, "but I know your reputation. Everywhere among our ex-perts and technical men I hear the same thing: `If only Groot were here, he could do it.' ... `Why isn't Doctor Groot called in on this?' They all seemed convinced that you can solve any problem you put your mind to."
"And what do you wish me to do?"
The Prime Minister turned to the sol-dier. "Tell him, john."
RAPIDLY Yler sketched out the progress of the war; the statistics of men and materials involved, the factors of supply and distribution, the techniques employed in fighting, the types of weapons; the strategical principles.
"So you see that even though we started practically equal in manpower and technical equipment, because of the enemy's greater reserves of capital goods, the tide has swung against us. Under the law of decrements, each battle leaves us worse off than before; the ratio against us has increased."
Groot considered this, then answered.
"And the second differential is even worse, is it not so? The rate of increase of your losses climbs even more rapidly than the losses themselves. And it would seem from your figures that the third dif-ferential, the speed with which the rate is increasing spells disaster-you cannot even hold out until winter."
The field marshal admitted that such was true. "However," he added, "we have dug in and are holding the strategic sit-uation practically static while we try to decide what to do about it. That is where you come in, Doctor; we need some rad-ically new weapon or technique to change the ratio of losses to our favor, or the end is in sight. I can hold this situation to-gether with very little change for six weeks or so. If you can go into your lab-oratory and produce some new and pow-erful weapon of offense in that length of time, you can save the country."
Groot looked at him quizzically. "So? What would you like? An incendiary ray from a portable projector, perhaps? Or how about a bomb that would not cease to explode, but would continue to destroy for days or weeks? Or perhaps you would like a means of disabling their aircraft in midair?"
The soldier nodded eagerly. "That's the idea, Doctor, any of those things. If you can do even one of them, you will be the greatest hero in the history of our country. But can you really give us such weapons?"
Groot nodded casually. "But certainly. Any of those things are obvious possibili-ties. You provide me with the money and help and I can deliver such weapons, or better ones, in fairly short order."
The politician intervened. "Anything you like, Doctor, anything at all. I shall direct the Secretary of the Exchequer to provide you with an unlimited drawing account. Any personnel you require will be ordered to report to you forthwith. Now suppose I leave you two to confer as to the most immediately important work to be done."
He arose and reached for his gloves and hat. "I may say, Doctor, that the re-ward will be commensurate with your service. Your country will not forget."
Groot motioned him back to his chair. "Don't be hasty, my friend. I did not say I would do these things. I said I could."
"Do you mean you might not-"
"In fact, I will not. I see no reason for helping you destroy our neighbor:"
The field marshal was on his feet at once.
"This is treason," he raged. "Excel-lency, permit me to arrest him at once. I'll make him produce-or kill him in the process!"
Groot's tones were soft, mild. "Do you really think a man my age fears death? And let me tell you, my friend, a man with your blood pressure should not get into rages-it is quite likely to bring on a thrombosis, and result in your de-mise." .
The politician's years of practice in con-trolling his temper and concealing his feelings stood him in good stead. He placed a hand on the marshal's shoulder. "Sit down, John, and be quie
t. You know as well as I that we can't make Dr. Groot work, if he refuses. To talk of revenge on him is silly." He turned to Groot. "Doctor, when your fellow countrymen are dying to accomplish a particular end. don't you think you owe them some ex-planation if you refuse to help them in any way you can?"
Groot had watched the little by-play with amusement. He replied courteously, "Certainly, Your Excellency. I will not assist in this mass killing because I see no reason why either side should win. The cultures are similar; the racial stocks are the same in about the same proportions. What difference will it make which side wins?"
"Don't you feel any obligation of pa-triotism, or loyalty?"
"Only," Groot shrugged, "to the race itself. Not to a particular gang."
"I don't suppose it would do any good to discuss with you the question of which side is morally justified?"
Groot shook his head. "None at all, I'm afraid."
"I thought not. We are realists, you and I " He gathered up his gloves again. "I shall do what I can , Doctor, to protect you from the results of your decision, but political necessities may force my hand. You will understand."
"Stay." Groot stopped him again. "I re-fused to help you win this war. Suppose I undertook to keep you from losing?"
"But that is the same thing," exploded the field marshal.
The Prime Minister simply raised his brows.
Groot proceeded. "I will not help you to win. But if you wish it, I will show you how to stop this war with no victory on either side, provided-" He paused--" provided you agree now to my kind of peace."
He stopped and waited for the effect of his words. The Prime Minister nod-ded. "Go ahead. We will at least listen."
"If the war is finished with no victor and no vanquished, if the terms of the peace set up a new government which Welds the two countries into one nation, indistinguishable, free, and equal, I shall be satisfied. If you can assure me of that, I will help you-- otherwise not."
The politician withdrew to the far end of the room, and stood staring out the window. He traced a triangle with his forefinger on his right cheek, and repeated it,, endlessly; his brows furrowed in thought.
The old soldier got up and joined him and expostulated in whispers, "-utopian! ... impractical! . . : different languages, different traditions . . :"
The politician left the soldier abruptly and faced the scientist. "I agree to your terms, Doctor:, What do you, plan to do ?"
"First you answer a question for me
Why are men willing to fight arid die in a war?
"Why? For their country, for patriotic reasons. Oh, I suppose a few regard it as an adventure."
"No reason is necessary for the men themselves," put in the field marshal, "under compulsory service. They have to.
"But even under compulsory service," said Groot, "there must be good morale, a willingness to die fighting, else you would be faced with chronic mutiny. Not so ?"
"Mmmm-well, yes. You're right."
"Doctor, why do you think men are willing to die in war?" inquired the Prime Minister. Groot answered solemnly, "To be will-ing to die in war has nothing to do with personal self-preservation. To go 'to war is suicide-for the individual. Men are willing to be killed in war for one reason only-that their tribe may live after them. That is to say, they fight for their chil-dren. To a nation without children, war is meaningless, not worth fighting. That is a primary datum of mass psychology!"
"Go on."
"I propose that we kidnap their chil-dren!"
"It's an infamous scheme. I will not agree to it."
"it is humane."
" it is contrary to international law."
"Naturally. International law defines the legal ways to kill men. This proposes an illegal way to avoid killing them."
"It violates every rule of civilized war-fare!"
"Quiet, John! You'll do as you are told."
DEEP behind the enemy's lines in a moderate-sized city, life flowed quietly along. True, there were few men on the streets, and those few usually showed the marks of battle. The motor busses were driven by women; the clerks were women; even the street sweep-ers and rubbish collectors were women. On a hill at the outskirts of town, there stood a large boarding school, an or-phanage for the children of the war dead. Here matriarchy was the natural thing.
It was recess time. The pleasant, gar-dened grounds swarmed and boiled with young life. Their high young voices were raised in shouts and calls that attend the age-old games of childhood; tag, ball games and the like.
In her private office, Madame Curan, superintendent, pored over her reports. The voices of the children outside reached her as a wordless, tuneless obligato, which she heard subconsciously and responded to by relaxing the tired wrinkles between her eyes.
She pushed a stack of papers to one side, and pressed a button. The outer of-fice door opened almost at once, and she glanced up to find, not the stenographer she had rung for, but her second-in-com-mand. The woman was plainly excited.
"Madame! Air raid!"
Madame Curare's finger was at once on another button. A siren mourned, and the shouts of the children were snuffed out.
"Are you sure?" she asked her assist-ant as they hurried out. "I don't under-stand it. They've never raided school-houses before."
Out on the grounds the children had formed into four queues and were being hurried down four covered ramps which led underground. The playground supervisors, young widows, most of them with a too bitter knowledge of war, were urging them on..
Madame Curan glanced up. Settling out of the sky was a huge helicopter of bombing type. It was attended by a dancing, swooping swarm of little fighting planes. Three little white clouds appeared suddenly among the planes ; then a few seconds later the breeze brought three short dry coughs. The Anti-aircraft batteries had open up.
Her assistant clutched at her arm.
"Where are our planes?"
"There they come."
Three tiny specks, higher than the enemy, burst out of the glare of the sun from the southwest. They dropped their V formation, shifted into open column, and dived at full throttle, disregarding the convoying fighting planes in their eagerness to reach the big bomber. The bomber jerked away to the east, like a humming bird shifting to another blossom. But the column followed. It was plain that the lead pilot intended to suicide by diving into the bomber.
One of the fast little fighters of the convoy beat him to it . The two planes, defend and convoy, collided a short distance over the helicopter. They seemed to disintegrate noiselessly into disorganized rubbish. The other two planes in the column ducked, one under, one over the floating rubbish. And passed harmlessly beyond the bomber. A few seconds later came the sound of the collision-the noise of a giant tearing a thousand yards of muslin.
The helicopter landed on the play ground.
From the control cabin on the port side forward, a small door opened, a light metal ladder swung down, and two men debarked. They approached the woman. The younger of two men addressed them.
" Madame Curan' is it not? I am Lieutenant Bunes. Allow me to present Flight Commander Dansic. I will translate for him."
"It is not necessary. I know your language. What is the meaning of this cowardly attack?"
The commander saluted smartly, and made a slight bow from the waist. "Please Madame. I am so happy that you speak our language our language. It will make everything so much simpler. I regret to inform you that you are my prisoner."
"Obviously."
He smiled as if she had been exceptionally witty. "Yes, of course. You and your assistants I am forced to require a certain service of you."
"I shall not help you!" " Please, Madame." It will not be anything you do not wish to do. You will simply continue with your present duties of caring for children back to my country. You will be needed to care for them.."
"I will not! I shall tell them to resist. You cannot possibly control three thousand children."
He shrugged his sho
ulders, " as you like, Madame. Did I not promise that you would not be required to do anything that do not wish to do?"
While they were talking, a great door opened from the fat body of the aircraft , swung down like a draw-bridge, and a dozen men trotted out at double time. They broke into two single file columns and deployed rapidly around the buildings until they completely surrounded the school at fifty-yard intervals. Each carried a large tripod and had a pack slung on his back.
Once at their posts, they set up the tripods, unslung the packs, clamped them hastily on the tripods, and stripped and stripped the covers from the packs. Then each one grasped the end of a reel of wire which was slung on his tripod, trotted away a counter-clockwise direction toward next adjacent tripod, paying out the wire as he ran. Each man clamped the end his wire to the tripod of his left-hang neighbor, and ran quickly back to his post.
A non-commissioned officer standing at the helicopter door bellowed, "Report!"
"One!" "Two!" "Three!" "Four !' "Five!" "Six!" "Seven!" "Eight!" "Nine!" "Ten!" "Eleven!" "Twelve!'
The non-commissioned officer brought his right hand down smartly.
Nothing much happened. The trees and buildings beyond the line of tripods shimmered slightly as if seen through a soap bubble film. But a motorcycle squad of civic guards. came charging up the boulevard from the city a moment later, and crashed into this iridescent phantom. They piled up in a tangled, sickening heap.
Inside the helicopter a young techni-cian sat before a complex control board, his bony, nervous hands busy with knurled levers, a triple bank of numbered keys, and numerous switches. His eyes fol-lowed the responses on the instrument panel back of the control board, noting the readings shown by quivering needles, watched the wandering of the little light-ed "bugs" in the zero readers, saw the ready lights flash on.
A green light flashed near the top of the panel. He pulled a screen down in front of his face and threw a switch. A picture rapidly built up on the screen of another pale-faced nervous man. The pic-ture spoke
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