Computer War

by Mack Reynolds

  They started back the way they had come.

  The one who had been contemptuous of Ross Westley’s lack of caution could have taken a lesson from his own teachings. Neither of the two Surety agents had noticed the three teen-agers who had been strolling across the street from them but in the same direction, even though the three loudly dressed youngsters had been noisy enough, conspicuous enough.

  Nor did they see the three close in behind them.

  Nor did they see the one who raised to his lips what seemed to be a bean-shooter.

  Tilly Trice pouted at him. “Nope, lover-mine, I told you. I can’t marry you until this crisis is past. Even then, I’m still thinking about it. Your passion, fella, is obvious. But any girl should know that first passion can pass. How’ll you be in the long pull, Rossie, my friend?”

  “Look,” he blurted, “you know damn well you’re the only girl that ever made any difference to me.”

  “Tu, tu, tu. And now who’s using four letter words?”

  He looked at her blankly.

  “Damn,” she said.

  He tried to follow along with her lighter mood, knowing full well that in her presence he was apt to become miserably dull, absorbed in his need for her.

  “I thought it was a three letter word,” he said. He crossed her heart and pointed upward. “May the Holy Ultimate strike me dead if I ever use a four letter word to you again.”

  Her eyebrows rose, even as she put the book she had been recovering to the side. “Your stock just went up,” she said. “I thought you were a fully indoctrinated follower of the United Temple.”

  He growled, “That’s for the yokes.”

  “Oh? Is that the common belief among you deputies? I understood that Number One in particular was never without a Temple Monk by his side.”

  Ross scoffed contempt. “It’s my department that spreads that bit of gobbledygook. Actually, Pater Riggin is an old-time friend of the Presidor’s. They bat the breeze around about top decisions but so far as religion is concerned, I doubt if either of them has attended conclave for the past ten years.”

  She said suddenly, “What develops, Rossie?”

  He looked at her, his face sullen now. “It’s set. One month to go. Listen, Till, get out from under. Marry me. Call it all quits. I can cover for you indefinitely. Betastan is sunk. According to Marshal Croft-Gordon we have the military and industrial potential to take Betastan three times over. Three times, Till! What you’ve got to do is use what influence you’ve got to get your country to capitulate. Otherwise, when the initial missile and air attack takes place, Betastan has had it to the tune of millions of casualties.”

  Her eyes were first narrow, but her expression faded into the thoughtful.

  “If I’m reading you correctly, Rossie, there’s to be a sneak attack.”

  “I shouldn’t have revealed that,” he said, still sullen. “But you might have guessed.”

  “Where do you draw the line?” She laughed mockingly at him. “You’ve been giving me information for months.”

  “Trying to enable you to get out from under. But now it’s getting to the point where there’s no alternative. Each man’s got to take his stand, Till. And Betastan hasn’t got a chance. I was a fool to help you at all.”

  She said, after pursing her lips, “I’ll tell you, Rossie. Maybe you’ve got a point. But it’d be a mistake, the sneak attack. Bad propaganda. You should know that, it’s your field. You ought to give some slight warning. Any warning at all would look better to the neutrals. At least it gives us the chance to back down before your, uh, might.”

  “You’re right!” Ross said. “I’ll have to bring that up. Then you think there’s a chance your government will capitulate? But look, why don’t you drop it all and marry me?”

  She looked down at her meager figure as though in surprise. “What is there about little Tilly Trice that moves the overgrown cloddy just so?”

  “It’s no joke, Till!”

  She let her bright face go serious. “I know, Rossie, but that’s the way the water flows. As I told you, when all this trouble is over, well, then possibly there’ll be me.”

  Chapter IV

  It was the last session of the Central Comita of the Free Democratic Commonwealth of Alphaland previous to C-Day, the day during which the Crusade, the liberation of Betastan from its depraved Karlist-Amish government, would commence.

  Marshal of the Armies Rupert Croft-Gordon, using his swagger stick to point out on small scale military charts the points of attack, had been holding forth. His talk was punctuated with the figures his computers had come up with, plus or minus this amount, plus or minus that percentage. The Marshal, it was obvious, was in fine fettle. A man does not study a science, if the military be science, for a lifetime without yearning to put his pet theories into practice.

  He came to an end, at long last, hit his swagger stick against his leggings with a quick double rap, and said, “Questions, Coaids?”

  Number One said, very evenly, “You will address me, Coaid Marshal. I shall decide whether or not at this point we shall have a session of questions.”

  Croft-Gordon flushed darkly. “Yes, Your Leadership. That is what I meant. Does Your Leadership have any questions to ask?”

  Number One looked at him thoughtfully and for a long moment. Once the dogs of war are let loose, he well knew, none can say what will transpire before they are in leash again. And the military mind is ever ambitious. Number One was not so naive as not to know that Marshal Croft-Gordon dreamed of ultimate power, and that various of the deputies supported him in their secret hearts. Number One had no need of a computer to tell him that.

  He took in the unhappy face of Ross Westley.

  “Coaid, you wish to speak? I hope your contribution is somewhat more efficacious than the farce your commissariat precipitated in regard to the so-called Amish threat.”

  Ross shook his head. “Your Leadership, perhaps we can all take a lesson from that—not to underestimate the enemy.”

  “Jetsam,” Mark Fielder of Surety snorted.

  Ross looked at him. “It was no easy romp on the part of the Betastani to infiltrate the Commissariat of Information and feed false data into our banks. We proceeded on the basis of that data. How were we to know that in actuality the Amish are small in number in Betastan, invariably well-thought-of by their neighbors, not interested in accumulating large amounts of property and having no interest whatsoever in government? The worst result of our misinformation, of course, was neither in Alphaland or Betastan, but in the two or three neutral nations where there are large Amish elements.”

  He directed his gaze, somewhat apologetically, at the Presidor, and held up a report tape.

  “Your Leadership, immediately before entering this meeting I received final news on the overthrow of the pro-Alphaland government of Moravia. The revolt is completely successful and the new regime leans toward Betastan. We have, of course, branded it Karlist.”

  Number One said, “Ordinarily, we would have sent in airborne marines to preserve liberty, but at this point we can afford to divert no considerable number of effectives. We shall have to deal with Moravia following the Crusade.”

  Deputy Matheison jiggled his stylo. “Are they really Karlists?”

  Ross shook his head. “No, Coaid. But the new government is so liberal that it just misses being so labeled. The more notorious anti-Alphaland elements all support it.”

  Number One said, “I assume the point you wished to raise didn’t deal with this now past matter of the anti-Amish propaganda.”

  Ross turned back to his ultimate superior. “No, Your Leadership. I rose to protest the sneak attack the Marshal proposes. The plan to strike all their most important cities, industrial complexes and military bases without warning.”

  “What!” Croft-Gordon barked. “Our whole campaign… !”

  Number One held up a hand. “That will be all, Co-aid Marshal.”

  He turned back to Ross. “Develop yo
ur point, Coaid Westley.”

  Ross went on doggedly. “We have already had a bad start on our propaganda meant to influence our own people, the neutrals and dissatisfied elements among the Betastani. An attack without a previous formal declaration of war will unite the Betastani, shock our own people who are poorly prepared for this aggressive war at any rate, and will certainly turn the neutrals against us.”

  The Central Comita broke into mutterings.

  Number One said, “Marshal?”

  The Marshal said heatedly, “The plans have all been explained. The computers have worked on the basis of such a surprise… I resent the Coaid Deputy’s use of the term ‘sneak attack.’ Without it we would still triumph easily, of course, but the cost in casualties and finances would inevitably be higher.”

  Ross said, “It will be higher still if the neutrals enter the war on the side of Betastan.”

  “You heard the report Graves gave on that. They won’t have the time to mobilize, even if they did want to enter. The war will be over in weeks.”

  Number One was irritated by the overriding inflection of his military chief. He said, thoughtfully, “We could send them an ultimatum concerning their unprovoked attacks upon our border stations. It could be worded in such a way that they wouldn’t actually expect us to attack. However, we could hold a secret session of the Peoples Parliament and declare war and have our missiles and bombers on the way within minutes. Public opinion would be satisfied, but at the same time the attack would have practically the same effect as if no warning had been given.”

  He looked about at his Comita members. “If there are no other opinions, I so rule.”

  The Marshal opened his mouth angrily, shut it again and shook his head.

  Number One said, “Are there further questions at this point?”

  Deputy Mark Fielder of the Commissariat of Surety came easily to his feet.

  “This bears on the present issue only obliquely, Your Leadership. However, since Coaid Westley was the last speaker…” He took up a report from before him.

  “There has been so obvious an increase in enemy ECE, Espionage-Counter-Espionage, so many leaks of our innermost secrets to Betastan, that I have taken the freedom to check upon all elements who might possibly be involved. Even, Your Leadership, to the point of, ah, keeping tabs upon our membership.”

  There was the sound of inhaled air throughout the council room.

  Number One’s eyes were cold. “We have been through this before, Coaid Fielder. You seem to have ignored my earlier directives.”

  Fielder said smoothly, “If so, inadvertently, Your Leadership. Please hear me out. Purely as routine check I assigned two of my most discreet men to observe the activities of each of us.”

  “Including yourself, I assume,” the Presidor said. “Go on, Coaid. I suppose you found Coaid Wilkonson, or possibly Academician McGivern, secretly supplying information to the Betastan espionage.”

  Fielder was not upset. He shook his head. “No, Your Leadership, but something equally strange. The two Surety agents who were assigned to Coaid Westley disappeared while on duty and were eventually found trampled beyond easy recognition in the pachyderm exhibit at the Interplanetary Zoo.”

  “What’s a pachyderm?” someone said.

  The Surety head looked at the speaker. “A large Earthside animal, now extinct except for specimens in zoos.” He brought his eyes back to Number One. “But that is not all. In spite of the condition of the bodies, an autopsy was performed. Both contained elements of the drug popularly known as Come-Along, an ultra-effective hypnotic.”

  Number One took in Ross Westley from the side of his eyes. The young propaganda chief was sitting in mute astonishment, his mouth half open. In the decision of his ultimate superior, who considered himself a judge of men, the younger deputy was as taken aback as anyone present.

  Number One said, his voice harsh, “Your recommendation, Coaid Deputy Fielder?”

  “That Coaid Westley be put under Scop and questioned.”

  Number One lapsed into thought and the murmuring immediately hushed. For long minutes they stayed that way, Deputy Fielder still on his feet, but hesitant even to sink into his chair.

  Ross Westley felt the cold go through him. Given Scop, he would betray not only himself, but Tilly as well. There was no question of that. No man resisted the insidiousness of the truth serum. He must think of some out! He must think of some escape.

  But there was no thinking, there was no out!

  Number One, though his face was expressionless, was in a fury. Mark Fielder and Marshal Croft-Gordon were becoming increasingly bold in their formerly subtle opposition to his supreme command. Nothing overt thus far, but when the pressures of the war were on Alphaland, to what extent would they continue to undermine his authority? They must be sat upon, and quickly. He considered, momentarily, relieving them both of their positions. But no, a purge at this time would be disastrous. The effects upon the people, immediately before an unpopular war, could only be a blow to morale. It had been such a long time since the Central Comita had suffered a purge that many thought them a thing of the past.

  At long last, the Presidor spoke again, his voice deceptively mild.

  “Coaid Fielder, only a short time ago it was brought to our attention that you had seen fit to bug the offices and living quarters of even these, your most intimate Coaids. At that time I pointed out that if my regime rested upon the shoulders of Coaids who had to be kept under surveillance by the Commissariat of Surety, then the government of the Free Democratic Commonwealth was built upon foundations of sand. Coaid Westley, young and possibly somewhat inexperienced as he may be, is the son of Franklin Westley, one of the Old Hands. Perhaps the term is meaningless to you, but it is not to such Coaids present as McGivern and Wilkonson, both of whom stood shoulder to shoulder with Franklin Westley in the decisive days. The son of Franklin Westley will not be given Scop in my behalf, nor will any of the Central Comita.”

  There was a murmuring of applause through the chamber.

  Temple Bishop Stockwater said soothingly, “Undoubtedly, whilst about their duties, the two Surety operatives of whom Coaid Fielder tells us ran into criminals or enemy agents, and in dealing with them met their untimely ends.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Fielder muttered. He bowed his head in submission to the Presidor’s decision.

  Ross Westley burst into the tiny shop devoted to first editions, old prints, bookbinding and the literature of the past.

  He called, “Tilly, Till!” heading for the back rooms.

  He had crossed the shop and pushed through into her private quarters before she fully realized his presence.

  Tilly Trice was in the process of pulling a masculine shirt over the top of her head and the upper part of her diminutive, elfin figure.

  He came to a quick halt and blinked at the woman he loved.

  She turned her back and finished tucking the garment into her trousers.

  “Why, Coaid Westley,” she said, mockery behind the scolding, “aren’t you a bit impetuous?” She took up a jerkin and began shrugging into it.

  Ross began to stutter an apology but then cut himself short. Against the table leaned a long bow, and on it rested a quiver of arrows.

  He said, “What in the world are you doing in that get-up, and what’s wrong with your teeth?”

  She pursed her lips, and there was a mischievous quality in the look she shot him from the side of her eyes.

  “Life-long ambition,” she said. “Archery.”

  “But… but what are you doing in that outfit? And what’s wrong with your teeth? You look like a buck-toothed juvenile delinquent.”

  She said, “Suppose I make it all very simple, Rossie. Let’s say the only archery club worthwhile in this town is for boys only. No curves allowed. So, what could be simpler? I pretend I’m a teen-age boy. The teeth? Oh, it’s an added disguise. Otherwise, somebody might recognize me.”

  In a way, he was hearing the truth—stretch
ed a bit—but he brushed it aside impatiently. “You’ve got to get out of here, Till. Fielder had me followed the other day when I came to see you. Something happened to the two Surety men, but I’ve got no way of knowing whether they reported back or not—or if he knows I’ve been coming here. Till, you’ve got to go back to Betastan.”

  She laughed at him. “For a member of the Central Comita, you’re certainly weak on developments, Rossie. The border’s been closed for a week.”

  “But surely you must have some secret way of getting your agents in and out. Don’t tell me there are no Betastan agents in this country besides yourself. From what Fielder and Croft-Gordon report, Alphaland must be swarming with them.”

  “Yes, but I’m a cloddy when it comes to swimming.” she said. “Even with flippers and snorkel.”

  “Swimming?”

  “My sweet Rossie, in this day of radar and warning systems of a double-dozen types, do you think a Betastan agent could sneak across your borders, laden down with cloak and dagger espionage devices? Do you think he could cross the borders in a hopper, or parachute down, even though he started as high up as an artificial satellite? Perish the thought, lover-mine. That military machine Number One and Marshal Croft-Gordon have bled Alphaland white by building, has every last gismo known to the shoot-’em-up boys throughout United Planets. I don’t think we could get a carrier pigeon with a metal capsule on his leg across the Marshal’s warning system.”

  He shook his head, scowling. “I suppose you’re right, but how do your agents get in, then? I know perfectly well they’re increasing in number.”

  She laughed at him again and took up her quiver to sling it over her shoulder. “They swim in from specially designed, wooden, foot-powered, submarines, laddy-buck. Nude. And if the good Coaid Marshal can figure out some way of telling the difference between a man and one of the numerous sea-going mammals of this planet, he’s welcome to intercept them.”

  Suddenly she dropped her bantering tone and stood before him. Her small hands went up to rest on his shoulders.