The Legend That Was Earth

by James P. Hogan

  As Cade watched and listened, he contrasted the company to the kind he was used to at his own parties. These were just simple, self-sufficient people, asking no more than to live as they chose and be left alone. Nobody was coerced or robbed to provide their needs. Dee had said something to him once about the people who did the really important things, but he hadn't understood what she'd meant. Now, he did. The people he had known were as incapable of turning wilderness into food, rocks into a home, plants into a coat, or a dead tree into a table as they were of levitating. They depended for their very survival on the knowledge and skills of others. Told that their comfort and affluence arose from their innate excellence and the free interplay of market forces, they were happy to accept it. But Cade had seen what really went on.

  As the debate continued, Cade remembered how Vrel had concealed him and Marie in St. Louis. Seizing a moment, and using Miguel again as translator, he told everybody, "If somebody is that conspicuous, then instead of trying to hide him, the thing to do might be to put him out in the open as something everyone would be expecting to see."

  "Such as what?" Miguel asked.

  "Would it be possible to get hold of a Hyadean military uniform somehow? Miguel and I dress as Bolivian army. We ride through openly in a jeep or something—a Hyadean officer and two Terran troopers." Cade looked around. The idea seemed to have merit.

  "The uniforms might take some time. . . ." Inguinca said finally. He sounded dubious. "And then a suitable vehicle? . . . I don't know. That might be more difficult still. You would need papers to get gas. . . ."

  More debate followed. Then a girl that Inguinca had introduced earlier as Evita, wearing jeans and a red shirt, her hair woven in braids, said, "Let me be the guide who will take them through. There is no problem with the vehicle. I drive a van for the telephone company, which passes everywhere. Hyadeans work with the telephone people sometimes when they put in special equipment. So he can wear his own clothes." Evita nodded toward Cade. "The American's idea is good. Let the Hyadean ride up front with me where everyone can see him. Hiding him in the back would look suspicious if there was a check. Miguel and the American come as workmen. When a pretty girl drives, the soldiers want to be nice guys. It is the best plan."

  Nobody came up with any objection.

  "Is this van of yours here?" Cade asked Evita.

  She hesitated for a moment. "Yes. . . ."

  "And I assume it would have a phone in it too?"

  "Sure. All the regular phone company equipment."

  It was the first prospect of being able to use trustworthy communications since Cade and Hudro were shot down. "Maybe we could call Baxter ahead and see how it looks," Cade suggested. "Get him started on making arrangements at his end."

  "I guess. . . ."

  At that point Rocco raised his hands. "This, I will leave to you. It is no longer our concern. It is time for us to be leaving now. So, we will say farewell and good luck, my friends."

  A gaggle from inside came out to get some of the night air and watch as Cade and Hudro walked with Rocco to where the truck was waiting behind the Hummer, which was already filled with figures, engine running, ready to go.

  "Remember to piss on body-scent detectors that they drop from the air when you find them," Hudro said. "And wear fresh flowers in hat. Works pretty good too."

  Rocco's smile showed against the black of his mustache in the feeble light. "I'll remember. And the other thing I'll remember is that who are the good guys and who are the bad guys is more complicated than people think. But they have to learn it if this kind of thing is ever going to stop. That's the most important thing to learn."

  He shook hands with Cade, then Hudro, and turned to heave himself up onto the tailboard. Somebody banged on the roof of the cab, and the truck started up. It flashed its lights for the Hummer ahead to move, and then followed twenty yards behind. Cade and Hudro stood watching, their arms raised, until the tail lamps disappeared, and then turned to go back to the houses.

  Afterward, Evita took Cade to the van, where he used its phone to call Neville Baxter in New Zealand. Baxter was surprised and delighted. "What the hell gives?" he demanded, ever indomitably jovial.

  "A long story that I'm not even going to try to get into, Neville. Look, I need help. I might be taking you up on that offer to visit you there sooner than you thought."

  "You sound like you're in some kind of trouble."

  "You could say that."

  "Something to do with that documentary you did with your ex? We saw it here. It was dynamite." There was a pause, as if Baxter were putting the pieces together. "You were in South America when you made that. Is that where you still are now?"

  "Right. And we need to get out."

  "Who's we? You mean the ex? What was her name . . . ?"

  "No, I told you it's a long story. I'm with a Hyadean—not one that you know. Heading directly north might have problems. The easiest way might be to come out your way. We're trying to get to Chile, and then down to Santiago."

  "Where are you now, exactly?" Baxter asked. "We've got associates in a number of places down there. Maybe they can help."

  For a second, Cade was unsure whether to answer. But then it was he, a moment ago, who had said he needed help. "Bolivia," he said. "Should be arriving in La Paz sometime tomorrow."

  "Leave it to me. We might be able to come up with something."

  Next, Cade called Luke at the house in California. To his surprise he learned that Julia was still there—acting about as normally as could be expected after a secession, and with war breaking out. Cade cautioned Luke to be careful of her. There was reason to believe she wasn't what she said. Until he got back, Luke shouldn't trust Julia with anything confidential. That, of course, included any mention of the fact that Cade had been in touch.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  THE CITY OF NUESTRA SEñORA DE LA PAZ, Our Lady of Peace, had seldom lived up to its name since its founding in 1548 by the envoy to whom the King of Spain had entrusted the rule of the empire seized from the Incas. It was supposed to mark the peace after the original Conquistadors, their companions at arms, sons, brothers, and heirs finally wiped themselves out after sixteen years of senseless civil war. Then, revolts plagued the nearly three centuries of Spanish rule. Aymará Indians besieged La Paz for six months in 1781, when latter-day Inca uprisings extended from Peru to Argentina. In 1825, Simón Bolívar, the liberator after whom the country was named, became the first national leader, only to resign the next year and be succeeded by six presidents in the next three years. Over the following two hundred years, sixty-odd men held the top spot, many lasting only days or weeks, tumbled by one another in more than 150 uprisings during the period. Twelve were assassinated.

  Cade's first view of the world's highest capital city came as he, Hudro, Evita, and Miguel drove down off the Altiplano along a concrete boulevard of wide, sweeping curves overlooking an immense, tightly packed labyrinth of streets and terraces sprawling across the slopes of a river-gouged canyon cutting into the edge of the tableland. In front of them as they descended, dwellings, business premises, and office buildings clung to the steep, red, slide-prone slopes, while beyond the plateau line above, the snow-capped triple peaks of Illimani rose to 21,000 feet. Cade was taking a stint up front in the cab with Evita and Hudro. Miguel was in the rear. The drive southward had passed without incident, although news of sabotage attacks in the Uyali area and consequent tightening of security made the prospect of journeying farther in that direction worrisome.

  * * *

  The chief inspector in the city's police headquarters had received instructions to contact military security immediately if anything was heard concerning the American man and woman who were being hunted, and the two missing Hyadeans, again a male and a female, believed to have been involved. Hence, the oaf responsible for sifting intelligence reports had been looking for couples, and a whole day had slipped by before it occurred to someone else that the tipoff from a disaffected rebel in
a remote village to the north might refer to the two males in question. If so, then what had happened to the females was anyone's guess. But it appeared that half their quarry might be on its way to the city right now.

  "My information is that they are traveling in one of your vans," the chief inspector said over the phone to the general manager of the telephone company. "The driver is known as Evita. I don't know if that is her correct name, but I have a description. . . ."

  * * *

  "You can never get lost in La Paz," Evita said as she swung the wheel first one way, then the other to negotiate the series of downward bends. "Just keep going downhill. The whole city is a funnel that comes together onto one big main street that runs out the bottom." She lifted a hand momentarily to indicate two boys doing something to the wheels of an upturned coaster wagon. "They can go twelve miles without a break in that. Twenty-three hundred feet drop vertically. Good sport for boys, yes?"

  Inguinca had given them instructions for contacting a highway construction foreman who could make arrangements to hide them in one of the robot trucks returning southward. However, as they came onto the main thoroughfare that Evita had mentioned—a tree-lined mall of shops, offices, and restaurants, called El Prado—the phone in a receptacle on the dash panel rang. Evita took it as she drove, listened for a moment, then passed the handset to Cade. "It's for you," she told him. "Neville Baxter again, from New Zealand."

  "Hi, Neville."

  "Roland. Is it all right to talk?"

  "Sure. What's up?"

  "Are you anywhere near the city yet?"

  "Just coming into it now."

  "Good. Look, this might be short notice, but I think we can do better than that schedule you talked about. I'm going to give you a number for somebody there—a business associate of my company. His name's Don. Call him right away. He'll tell you what it's all about. If you move fast, we might be able to swing something your time tonight."

  They pulled off and stopped in a side street. Cade called the number. Don was with a shipping office at El Alto Airport, a few miles from the city, that handled local dealings for Baxter's business. He arranged to meet Cade and Hudro in town within the hour.

  * * *

  The general manager of the telephone company called the chief inspector back. "Okay, I have it. Her name is Carla Mayangua. She is one of our area service technicians." He gave a description of the van and its license number.

  The chief inspector wrote down the details and passed the slip to his assistant. "Get a call put out to all units to look out for this vehicle. It is believed to be in the possession of a woman and man who go as Evita and Miguel, harboring two fugitives who are wanted for questioning: Roland Cade, alias Professor Arthur Wintner, an American, and Gessar Hudro, a Hyadean military officer who has gone missing. The occupants are to be apprehended immediately. Have any units sighting them call for full backup."

  * * *

  Evita and Miguel dropped the two off at a sidewalk cafe along El Prado, where Don had arranged to meet them—he said that Hyadeans were becoming a familiar enough sight in the capital. Don was already waiting at a corner table inside, sipping a Cinzano. He was small and dapper in a dark business suit, with a white handkerchief folded in the breast pocket, and a pencil-line mustache. Cade ordered coffee; Hudro, a Coke. Don's manner was nervous and fastidious. After preliminaries, he began, "Baxter's company imports agricultural machinery."

  "I know," Cade said. "We met at a party I held about a month ago—"

  Don held up a hand. "Please, it is best if I don't know your backgrounds." Cade nodded for him to continue. "Currently, he is experimenting with fitting his machines with Hyadean low-level Artificial Intelligence control units so they will be able to operate semiautonomously. The units come in at Xuchimbo, and we ship them out from here. Briefly, we have a consignment going out tonight to Auckland via Papeete, in Tahiti. I can get you listed as a Hyadean technical adviser traveling out there to instruct on the equipment, and Mr. Cade as a member of the flight crew. The controls are not strict for people leaving Bolivia. It's the contents of the shipments that they check. They're worried about Hyadean weapons and munitions getting out of the country."

  "What about entry to New Zealand?" Cade queried.

  "Neville knows people at the Immigration Department. You'll be brought in as political refugees. Low-key, no questions."

  Cade recalled what Marie had said about AANS support being widespread, and how they had obtained false papers before traveling to St. Louis. He turned his head toward Hudro in an unspoken question, but there was really nothing to deliberate. At that moment, the wail came of approaching sirens. Traffic on El Prado pulled sluggishly aside as two police cars sped past with lights flashing and turned the block. More sounded distantly, coming from the other direction. Evidently, whatever was going on was quite close.

  Don turned his head back and licked his lips. "Something's happening. Maybe it would be better if you lie low in the city for the afternoon. I know somebody who has an apartment you can use. When it gets dark, we'll send a car to bring you to the airport."

  Cade looked at Hudro again. This wasn't something for them to judge. "How do we get there?" Cade asked Don.

  "I'll take you now. It's not very far, but uphill. Everywhere from here in La Paz is uphill."

  "Yes, we heard." Cade looked around. "First, we need to say goodbye to the people who brought us. Can we call them?" Don signaled a waiter and asked for a table phone.

  "Maybe see Australia after all very soon now," Hudro said.

  "One day at a time," Cade told him. Just one agonizing afternoon to get through. Then they might be finally out of it.

  The phone arrived. Cade called the van, while Don sat back to sip his drink. The phone seemed to ring for an unnaturally long time. Then Evita's voice said, "Hello?"

  "It's us," Cade said. "Okay, we're done. I guess we can—"

  "Hello?" Evita said again.

  "Can you hear me?"

  "Yes, I hear."

  Only then did Cade register the fear in her voice. "Is everything okay? You—"

  "No! Not okay. You must—" There was what sounded like a slap, followed by a cry of pain. Cade stared at the phone in his hand, for an instant mystified, and then horrified.

  "What's up?" Don demanded.

  Cade turned the phone off and stood up suddenly. "Move!" he snapped. "We have to get out of here!"

  * * *

  Don fished a key from a niche above the door, let them in and then left, saying he would be back later. The apartment was small, plain, modestly furnished, but clean. A man's coats hung on hooks inside the front door, and a couple of soccer posters brightened the kitchen, along with a corkboard showing postcards, local business cards, and family snaps. A corner of the bedroom had been made into a religious shrine with a Sacred Heart statue, flowers, and a candle in a red glass. Cade and Hudro ate a lunch of tortillas and rice that they had picked up on the way, and settled down to wait.

  "So how might it affect things for tonight?" Cade asked. They had agreed that what he heard over the phone could only mean that Evita and Miguel had been picked up. Cade still hadn't recovered from the shock of realizing that they themselves must have escaped by mere minutes.

  "Is likely they are watching everything at airport," Hudro replied.

  "How would they know anything about the airport?"

  "Don't have to. They suspect everywhere. Is way police mind works. We just have to wait if plans changed now. Is not our thing to control anymore."

  They turned on the news. In the former U.S., the provocations and responses by both sides had escalated to open belligerency. Twenty years ago it wouldn't have been possible. Incredulous, Cade watched Union fighter-bombers attacking bases, rail centers, and highway interchanges in Texas, Colorado, and Utah, apparently to slow communications to what looked like becoming a war front. The situation was confused, and the commentator couldn't make much sense of it. No city areas had been targeted as yet,
but tensions and frustrations that had built up over years were suddenly being released, and things could heat up rapidly. Hudro was apprehensive of the effects if Hyadean weaponry were introduced on any significant scale. "So far we only use people-control tactics here," he told Cade. "Police action. You haven't seen what Hyadean war weapons do."

  "What if Asia comes in and backs the Federation?" Cade asked.

  "Then Asia is finished too."

  "That would be practically an all-out planetary war."

  "Is not first time. Hyadeans call it imposing the peace. Their way of peace. So you learn order and civilization, and everyone is happy and grateful."

  "Unless Earth turns into another Querl," Cade mused. He found he didn't particularly like the image of passive submission.

  "Not happen, Mr. Cade. Earth doesn't have Querl army and weapons."

  They watched the lights going on across the canyon slopes as day darkened into evening. The phone rang, persisted for a while, but they left it alone. Don returned about thirty minutes later.

  "We have to change the plan," he said. "Every Hyadean inside the airport is being checked. But we're going to try something that maybe nobody expects." That was all he would tell them.

  He led them back downstairs, where they found a small Fiat waiting with a figure in the driver's seat. Cade and Don got in the back, and Hudro squeezed his bulk into the passenger side in front. The driver had a floppy hat, hooded zipper jacket over a sweater, and features impossible to make out in the darkness. He pulled away in silence and drove up from the city. When they came out onto the plateau he doused the headlights, and for the next half hour they picked their way carefully along roads and tracks, sometimes at little more than walking pace, with Don getting out twice to guide them through a difficult spot with a flashlamp. This brought them onto a dirt track following a chain-link fence with orange and blue runway lights beyond on one side, and knee-high grass on the other. The airport terminal facilities, outlined dimly in a halo of glows, were visible maybe a mile away to the right. After a few hundred yards, they came to a tube-frame gate. Don got out and stood scanning the area for several seconds. Then he walked up to the gate, tried it, then turned and waved his arm. Hudro and Cade got out with muttered thanks to the driver and hurried forward, while the car backed away among some rocks and scrub. The gate had been left unlocked. Don ushered them through, closed the gate carefully behind, and motioned them forward through the grass, checking from side to side at intervals to keep track of their bearings. Finally, he whispered, "Here," and motioned them down. They settled into the grass to wait.