“Three point two light-years.”
“Wonderful. So even at the million to one chance there is a League planet or base near that sun it would still be over three years before the cavalry arrives. Or it could be ten, twenty—or five hundred. By which time you, I and the invasion will be a part of history.”
“You have done your best,” the doctor said. “You cannot berate yourself.”
“I sure can, doc. I take first prize in the self-berating stakes when it comes to losing. Since I don’t like to lose.”
“You have great security of resolve, I envy you.”
“Don’t. It’s a pose. Did you get the water bottle out of the tree on the way back here?”
“Assuredly. Let me get you some.”
I leaned against the tree, sipped the water, pushed the silent bird with my toe. And thought hard. Then sighed.
“There is still a solution. But not an easy one. I have to get into one of their spacers. And into the communications room and send a message from there.”
“It sounds dangerous,” Stirner said. I laughed hollowly.
“Not only dangerous—but suicidal …” I shut up as I heard a distant shout.
“They are searching for you,” Stirner said, helping me to my feet. “We must go quickly.”
The doctor helped me up—which was a fine idea since I was definitely shaky on my feet. It was also cheering that we did not have far to go, only to the edge of the woods nearby. As we looked out from the concealing shrubbery we could see the rolling countryside beyond. A row of electricity towers marched across it, bearing heavy wires slung from insulators. The row of towers ended here. The wires came to ground in a solid concrete building. Stirner pointed at it.
“The aerial cables go underground here.”
“So do we,” I said pointing at the distant line of approaching soldiers, “if you don’t do something quick.”
“Be calm,” he advised calmly. “This junction station will block their view of us. Forward.”
He was right. We scuttled out of hiding and plastered ourselves against the concrete wall. Next to a red-painted metal door that was covered in skulls and crossbones and warnings of instant death. None of which deterred Stirner who flipped up a plate to disclose a key pad. He punched in a quick number then pulled the door open. We moved smartly inside as he closed and locked the heavy door behind us.
“What if they try to follow us?” I asked, looking around the well-lit room. There was little to see other than the heavy cable that entered from the ceiling and vanished into the floor.
“Impossible. They will not know the keying number. If they enter a wrong number the door seals and an alarm is sent to power central.”
“They could break it down.”
“Not easily. Thick steel set in concrete. Is there any reason why they should?”
I couldn’t think of one and I was feeling cagally after the walk. I sat down, then lay down, closed my eyes for a second.
And woke up with a taste in my mouth like a porcuswine’s breath.
“Yuk …” I gurgled.
“I am very glad you slept,” the doctor said, swabbing off my arm and sticking it with a hypo. “Rest is the best medicine. This injection will eliminate residual fatigue symptoms and any pain.”
“How long have I been out?”
“All day,” Stirner said. “It is after dark. I have been outside and the soldiers are gone. We were going to awaken you soon in any case. Water?”
I gurgled most of it down and sighed. I felt much better. I didn’t even sway when I stood up. “Time to go.”
The doctor frowned. “It might be better to wait until the injection takes hold.”
“I will walk off my troubles, thank you. We have been away a long time and I tend to worry.”
My shakiness wore off as we walked. The woods were silent, the searchers long gone, and we had the world to ourselves. Stirner led the way at his usual cracking pace. The doctor kept an eye on me and soon called a halt so he could plug his analysis machine into my arm. He was satisfied with the result and our trek continued. Putting one foot in front of the other was enough to keep me occupied until we reached the outskirts of the city again. With one look at the buildings all my forebodings returned.
I was right, too. It was still dark when we reached the first homes, moving silently between the cottages and gardens of suburbia to avoid the guarded main streets. The backdoor of our refuge was unlocked: we slipped in and locked it behind us.
“You have the bird!” Morton cried gleefully when we entered. I nodded and threw it on to the couch, dropped myself next to it and looked around. All of the others were gone.
“That is the good news,” I said. “The bad news is that it may be some time before help arrives. The call for help went out by radio—which could take a mighty long time.”
“That is very bad indeed,” Morton said and his face sank instantly into lines of despair. “While you were away they started taking hostages. Zennor got on the TV and said that he is going to shoot them, one at a time, until everyone goes back to work. He says that he will execute the first person at dawn—and one every ten minutes after that until he gets cooperation.”
He dropped his face into his hands and his voice was muffled, trembling. “The soldiers came up this street, were going to search this house. So everyone here, Sharla, all the others went out to them. Surrendered so I would not be found. They are now captives, hostages—and are going to be shot!”
CHAPTER 21
“It cannot be,” the doctor said, puzzled but calm. “Human beings just do not do things like that.”
“Yes they do!” I shouted, jumping to my feet and pacing the room. “Or maybe human beings don’t—but animals like Zennor do. And I apologize to the animals. But it certainly won’t go that far, will it Stirner? Your people will have to go back to work now?”
“No, they won’t. If you understood Individual Mutualism you would understand why. Every individual is a separate and discrete entity, responsible for his or her own existence. What Zennor does to another individual does not relate to any other discrete individual.”
“Zennor thinks so.”
“Then Zennor thinks wrong.”
I resisted the temptation to tear out a handful of my own hair. I wasn’t getting through at all. “Well look at it another way. If you do not do anything to stop Zennor then you are responsible for the deaths of the hostages.”
“No. If I do something to please Zennor in the face of his threats then I am admitting his control over my actions despite the fact I do not wish his control. The state is born once again. IM is dead. So we chose passive resistance. We will not be ordered or threatened …”
“But you can be killed.”
“Yes.” He nodded grimly. “Some will die if he insists on this course. But murder is self-defeating. How can you force someone to work by killing him?”
“I understand you—but I don’t like it.” I was too disturbed to sit, I stood, paced the floor. “There must be a way out of this that doesn’t involve someone’s death. What is it that Zennor wants?”
“He was very angry,” Morton said. “And very specific. First he wants the electricity turned back on in the buildings the military has occupied. Then he wants a regular supply of food for his troops. If these two things are done no one will be killed and the prisoners released. For the time being.”
“Impossible,” Dr. Lum said. “They gave nothing in return for the electricity they used, so it was disconnected. The same thing applies to the food. The markets have shut down because the farmers will not bring food to the city.”
“But,” I sputtered. “If the markets are closed how does everyone else in the city eat?”
“They go to the farms, or leave the city. Almost a third of the population has already gone.”
“Where will they go?”
“Wherever they want to.” He smiled at the look on my face. He could tell that I was hearing the words but no
t understanding them. “I think that I should go to basics, explain a bit more about IM to enable you to understand. Let us take a simple example. A farmer. He raises all the food that he needs, supplies all of his own wants so asks for nothing from others.”
“Nothing?” I had him there. “What if he needs new shoes?”
“He goes to a man who makes shoes and gives him food in exchange.”
“Bairter!” Morton said. “The most primitive economic system. But it cannot exist in a modern technological society …” His voice ran down as he looked about the room. Stirner smiled again.
“Of course it cannot. But IM is more than barter. The individual will voluntarily join other individuals in a larger organization to manufacture some item, or build houses say. For each hour they work they are credited with a wirr.” “A what?”
“A work hour. These wirrs are exchanged with others for goods and services.”
“A wirr is another way of saying money,” Morton said. “And money is capitalism—so you have a capitalistic society.”
“I am afraid not. Individual Mutualism is neither capitalism, communism, socialism, vegetarianism, or even the dreaded monetarism that destroyed many a technological society. I am familiar with these terms from Mark Forer’s writings. A wirr has no physical existence, such as a rare metal or a seashell. Nor can it be invested and gain interest. That is fundamental and differentiates the wirr from currency. Banks cannot exist because there can be no interest on deposits or loans.”
Instead of being clarified I found my head whirring in confusion from the wirrs. “Wait, please, explanation. I have seen people driving groundcars. How can they save money enough to buy one? Who will loan them the money without interest?”
“No money,” he said firmly. “If you wish a groundcar you go to the groundcar group and drive one away. You will pay when you use it, stop paying when you return it. A basic tenet of IM is from each according to his needs, to each according to the wealth of society.”
“You wouldn’t like to clarify that?” I poured myself a glass of wine and gulped it down hoping the alcohol would clean out my synapses.
“Of course. I have read, and trembled with disgust, of a philosophy called the work ethic. This states that an individual must work hard for the basics of life. When technological society mechanizes and replaces workers with machines, the work ethic states that the displaced workers must be looked on with contempt, allowed to starve, be treated like outcasts. And the hypocrisy of the work ethic system is that those with capital do not work—yet still increase their capital without working by the use of interest on their money—and look down upon those who have been cast out of work! Tragic. But not here. As more is produced the aggregate wealth gets larger. When this happens the amount that the wirr can be exchanged for also gets larger.”
Some of it was getting through-—but needed elucidation. “Another question. If the wirr is worth more—that must mean that an individual can work less for the same return.”
“Exactly.”
“Then there is no forty-hour week or such. How many hours would an individual have to work a week to keep alive?”
“For simply shelter, food, clothes—I would say about two hours of work every seven days.”
“I want to move here,” Morton said firmly and I nodded agreement and froze in half-nod. An idea was glimmering at the edge of my consciousness. I muttered and chiseled at it and expanded it until I saw it large and clear and possibly workable. In a little while. But first we had to do something about the hostages. I rejoined the real world and called for attention.
“Time is passing and dawn approaching. I have enjoyed the lecture, thank you, and I now know a bit more about IM. Enough at least to ask a question. What do you do in an emergency? Say there is a flood, or a dam bursts or something. A catastrophe that threatens the group not the individual.”
The doctor stepped forward, finger raised and a sparkle of enthusiasm in his eye. “A good question, a marvelous question!” He grabbed at the shelves and pulled down a thick book. “It is here, all here. Mark Forer did consider a situation like this and made allowances for it. Here is what he wrote … “at all times passive resistance will be your only weapon, never violence. But until the perfect stateless state is established there will be those of violence who will force their violence upon you. Individual Mutualism cannot be established by the dead. Until the day of true liberation comes you will have to coexist with others. You may leave their presence but they may follow and force themselves upon you. In which case you and all of the others must look upon those of violence as they might look upon any natural catastrophe such as a volcano or a hurricane. The intelligent person does not discuss ethics with hot lava but instead flees it presence, does not preach morals to the wind but seeks shelter from it.’”
Dr. Lum closed the book and raised a triumphant finger again. “So we are saved, saved! Mark Forer has foreseen our predicament and given us the guidance we need.”
“Indeed!” Stirner agreed enthusiastically. “I shall go at once and tell the others.” He rushed to the door and out of the house. I gaped after him. Morton spoke my thoughts before I could.
“I heard what you said—but haven’t the slightest idea of what your Mark Four was talking about.”
“Clarity!” the doctor said. “Clarity and wisdom. If we all persist in noncompliance we are in a sense killing ourselves. So we comply and withdraw.”
“I am still not sure what you are talking about,” I said.
“The electricity will be turned back on, the markets will reopen. The invaders will seize food and some farmers will work longer hours if they wish to, because that will avert the natural disaster. Others will not and will stop bringing food to the city. As the supply diminishes people will leave the city and the process will accelerate. With less call for electricity, generating plant will shut down, workers will leave. In a very short time the soldiers will have the city to themselves because we will all be gone.”
“They can enslave you—make you work at gunpoint.”
“Of course, but only on a one-to-one basis. One armed man can force another to work, possibly, it is of course up to the individual. But the man with the gun is essentially doing the work himself because he must be there every moment or the work will not get done. I don’t think your General Zennor will like this.”
“You can say that again!”
“I don’t think your General …”
“No, not really say it again, I meant it as an expression of agreement. You people are too literal, too much IM I imagine. A question then, a hypothetical one.”
“Those are the best kind!”
“Yes, indeed. If I should walk into a distant city and look for work—would I be accepted?”
“Of course. That is a basic tenet of IM.”
“What if there are no jobs going?”
“There always are—remember the value of the rising wirr. Theoretically as it gets larger and larger, the working hours will get fewer and fewer, until in the long run a few seconds work will suffice …”
“All right, great, thanks—let’s just stick with the application of theory for a moment. If one of these invading soldiers should walk away from the army …”
“Which is of course his right!”
“Not quite what the army thinks. If he walks away to a distant town and gets a job and meets a girl and all the usual good things happen—is this possible?”
“Not only possible, but inescapable, a foundation of IM inherent in its acceptance.”
“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking!” Morton shouted, jumping to his feet with elation.
“You bet your sweet chunk I’m thinking that! Leaving aside the officers and the career noncoms, this is a draftee army and a good number of them were draft evaders. If we make the opportunity available for them to walk away from it all, why then Zennor might have to give a war that nobody will come to.”
The front door opened and Mo
rton and I dived for cover. But it was Stirner leading the triumphal return of the released captives. Morton rushed to Sharla and took her hand to see if it had been hurt during her incarceration.
“That’s pretty fast work,” I said.
“I used the TV phone across the street,” Stirner said. “I purchased national access and told them what we had discovered. The electricity was turned on instantly, the first food shipped. The prisoners were released.”
“Zennor must think that he has won the war. Let me tell you what we have just discovered. The way to guarantee that he loses his war—even if the Navy never gets here.”
“I am encouraged by your enthusiasm but miss your meaning.”
“I will explain—but first a drink to celebrate.”
This seemed like a good idea to all concerned. We poured and drank, then Morton and I listened with some interest as the others sang a song about Individual Mutualism freeing mankind from the yoke of oppression and so forth. While the theory was fine the lyric was as bad as all other anthems I had ever heard, though I took considerable interest in the great efforts made to rhyme Individual Mutualism. I also took the time to organize my thoughts so when they had finished, and sipped a bit more wine for dry throats, I took the floor.
“I must first tell you kind people about the uniformed mob of thugs who have invaded your fair planet. A large group like this is called an army. An army is a throwback to the earliest days of mankind when physical defense was needed against the rigors of existence. The combative gene was the successful gene. The primitive who defended his family group passed on this gene. This gene has caused a lot of trouble since that time, right down through the ages. It is still causing trouble as you now have cause to understand. When all of the threatening animals were killed, the gene caused mankind to turn upon itself to kill each other. With shame I admit we are the only species that kills its own kind on a very organized basis. The army is the last gasp of the combative gene. In charge are old men, and they are called officers. They do nothing except issue orders. At the bottom are the soldiers who follow these orders. In between are the noncommissioned officers who see that this is done. The interesting thing to us now is that the soldiers are all drafted and a good number of them are draft dodgers.”
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