They were aware that they were being subjected to one of the most skillful propaganda campaigns the world had ever seen, but they were equally alive to the fact that it was a campaign with its roots in truth.
The voice made no attempt to lead or mislead. It posed the questions and allowed whoever listened to supply the answers himself. It was provocative but not aggressive, challenging but not destructive and the people began to think.
So obsessed was the Committee with stopping the voice, however, that they gave little thought to this angle until it was almost too late.
It was only when reports began to come in of street fights and some unfortunate person was killed in a brawl that they woke up to the danger in their midst.
Security was alerted and increased, informers encouraged, and a large number of likely individuals screened, paid high wages and returned to their jobs as plain-clothed vigilantes.
By this time, however, resistance was organised, secret cells were in operation and counter measures were already underway. Counter measures which carried on when the voice left off.
Slogans appeared on the sides of buildings, an incredible number of pamphlets were distributed and a large number of illegal transmitters went into operation.
Skeld, conscious that his position was precarious and anxious for reinstatement, became a member of the secret police.
To give him his due, he was thorough, single-minded and quite tireless. It was not long before he had a promising lead which he followed up with characteristic intensity. He knew he had a very big fish on the hook, but this time he did not make the mistake of trying to bring it ashore single-handed—he laid bis findings and the evidence before the Supreme Committee.
Loom went through the papers slowly and carefully, then he looked up. “You are Skeld—yes—I remember you now. I think, and on behalf of the Committee, you have expunged your past mistakes. Mr. Skeld, this is a thorough and complete accumulation of positive evidence—see that this man is taken into custody immediately.”
Skeld saluted and left, mentally rubbing his hands gleefully. His first catch and really big fish. Furthermore he was going to enjoy this—Pressly, head of Biology! More than once he, Skeld, had been the target for Pressly’s quick temper and biting sarcasm. Pressly had once referred to him as a bumbling little bureaucrat whose intolerable interferences checked the course of true science.
He found Pressly, as he had expected, in his laboratory, “You have some business here?” The biologist held a test tube up to the light, shook it, then replaced it in a rack.
Skeld smiled unpleasantly and leaned against the wall. The three men with him folded their arms and spread their legs, waiting his orders.
“Take your time, Director, but not too much time. You’re wanted.”
Pressly picked up another test tube. “I take it you have come to arrest me.”
“It’s customary with traitors—didn’t you know?”
“A question of conscience, Mr. Skeld. A choice between insanity and humanity—which side of the fence are you?”
Some of Pressly’s assistants laughed and Skeld flushed angrily. “I know you lot are all in this together, you’re all under arrest. The charge is high treason. It is my duty to ask you come quietly but it is my fervent hope I am compelled to take you in by force—which way is it going to be?”
Pressly smiled. “Naturally we shall come quietly. Before we do so, however, I would like to draw your attention to the cage-like device in the roof of this laboratory. We call it an inhibitor. You will find similar devices in our living quarters, rest rooms and places of recreation. The purpose of these devices is to keep certain cultures restricted, that is to say, alive but not reproducing themselves by cellular division. Should the culture be removed from the influence of these devices, it will immediately start multiplying in a normal manner.”
“What the hell are you driving at?” Skeld had the uncomfortable feeling that he was not only being mocked but that there was a catch somewhere.
Pressly smiled. “By an unfortunate mistake, I became infected by a certain streptococci some days ago and it is now in my bloodstream. Thanks to the inhibitor, however, the organism is unable to multiply, but should I be removed from its influence—”
He paused and did not finish the sentence. “Mr. Skeld, I am a carrier. I bear in my body the seeds of a highly toxic disease. Are you the heroic officer who is not only prepared to lay his repulsive hands on my person but, at the same time, shoulder the responsibility for carrying an incurable infection into the streets?” Skeld paled. “You’re bluffing.”
Pressly turned his back on him. “That could very well be true but dare you call that bluff?”
“I could blast you to pieces here and now.”
“True—the characteristic moronic solution—but true. Can you be sure, however, that no fragment of flesh, no drop of infected fluid will not splash back in the explosion?”
Skeld found himself backing uneasily away, aware that his men were already slipping out of the door behind him. “I shall report this.”
“By all means, this is out of your field, of course—good day, Mr. Skeld.”
When he took the news to the Supreme Committee, however, he was shocked at the reaction.
“Pressly never bluffs,” said someone in a worried voice.
Loom nodded tiredly. “It seems equally obvious that if Biology is heading the resistance, the Department of Medicine is in it with him.” He sighed. “Gentlemen, we have no option but to concede, at least outwardly, to the pressure groups surrounding us. Perhaps in the subsequent negotiations, we may learn something of these Gadgeteers, their bases, numerical strength and so on. In the meantime, however, and if we are to survive, we must capitulate with outward good grace.”
He looked down from his chair. “Mr. Skeld, my unofficial and unrecorded advice to you, is to get lost somewhere. You seem a loyal man so get lost with as many men of equal loyalty as you are able to find. When word is brought to you we shall expect you to act and, if your response is as forceful as we expect, you may rest assured of a seat in this Supreme Committee.”
Back at Base 4, Ventnor had lived on his nerves for an entire week before signs of returning health became clearly determined in Judith’s condition.
On the first day she had sat upright, he had tottered back to Gina and dropped heavily into the wide chair beside her.
“She’s really getting better.” Then, wearily: “My God, I feel like death.”
She had pillowed his head in her arms. “I know, I know.”
“You always believed in me, didn’t you? You never doubted. I can’t tell you what it meant.”
“I know you.” Then, anxiously, “You’re exhausted, darling. You must rest.”
He was not allowed to rest for long. Calls came in from every group in the world, not only in sincere appreciation but seeking advice and details for their own urgent problems.
So busy was he that he was only vaguely aware of the arrival of the Island ship and the events which culminated in open negotiations.
When the first vessel arrived at Base 5—others had gone to European, American and similar bases—he found time to go out with the others and see it arrive.
It meant very little to him until he saw the familiar uniforms and heard, the harsh, if diffident, voices of the visitors. Then his mind went back to the pre-fabricated huts of the villages, the same people in the same uniforms dumping the piles of plastic clothing. He remembered the inspections, the punishments, the aloof God-like contempt, the death of his father and the bowl spinning like a top on the hard floor.
He forced prejudice from his mind with considerable difficulty.
Later, however, in conference with experts, he began to relax. The guards and inspectors who had come to the villages had clearly been of a special mentality and were not representative of the Islanders as a whole.
It was clear that the major problem was South American and his special talents were called upon.
The Island had already discovered that the presumed city of the sub-microscopies was surrounded by something. They presumed it was a force-screen but had been unable to discover any characteristic energy release. All they knew was that anything approaching it blew to pieces.
Ventnor was called upon to exercise his talents with his micro-robotics.
Prefabricated buildings began to rise round Base 4 and experts from other bases began to come in from all over the world.
It was not long before the experts came to the reluctant and frightening conclusion that they were dealing with an intelligence far in advance of their own.
“Consider the problem of relativity,” said one expert worriedly. “These things are masters of two time dimensions, by instruments or intelligence.”
“Let us consider that in relation to our vulnerability,” said another. “We must face the unpleasant truth that we are virtually defenceless against them. Furthermore, if they choose to attack us, their methods might be totally beyond us. They could invade us as individuals, pouring their units into our bodies like a conquering virus. They could dust the air with sub-microscopic mines which, when inhaled, could exploded in the lungs or in the bloodstream. Furthermore, taking the measurements of this alleged city and drawing a conservative picture in relation to their artifacts, they outnumber us by about twenty-eight billion to one.”
Driven by urgency and helped by an uncountable number of experts, Ventnor produced another type of micro-robotic. These were conveyed in a thumb-size flyer to within a few feet of the presumed force screen and released in hundreds. Nearly all of them were destroyed, but those which survived brought back pictures.
The experts whistled and the majority of them forgot their scientific detachment. “My God, a mine field!”
The experts made no attempt to discover how they were anchored in the air. They could have been linked or suspended in some sort of magno-beam but if such was the case they were employing principles about which the experts knew nothing. The point was they were there, three layers of them, about a meter apart and so arranged they presented an impenetrable curtain.
Within limitations they had mobility. They moved to permit the passage of birds, rain drops and air borne dust to which, in comparison if they could see, must look like drifting mountains.
When approached by a powered vehicle, such as a spy probe, the net thickened at the point of approach until it was well-nigh impenetrable.
The mines themselves—presumably robotic instruments of limited initiative—resembled metallic potatoes into which innumerable small pins had been inserted. These ‘pins’ the experts assumed were the instrument’s detection devices and detonation points.
The detonation of the mine itself was not only considerable but quite out of proportion to its size. A single explosion of such a mine was quite capable of blowing an eight centimeter hole in normal plate.
The vessel which had first found the aliens, although not armed but nonetheless insulated against air friction, had holes blown in it through which a man could crawl.
The mine was not restricted to self-destruction, however. Against Ventnor’s micro-robotics they had simply released a bluish fight which had effectively wiped them out of existence.
The experts shook their heads worriedly—many of them were beginning to look hunted.
At a large conference some days later, Loom, still clinging desperately to his reins of office said, heavily: “There seems only one answer. We must throw everything we have at it We must blast a hole in this shield with every hydro-nuclear device to hand. We must follow with insecticides, incendiaries, cannisters of the most corrosive acids known to science and finally dust and re-dust the entire area with radio-actives. In short we must delete this area of South America from the face of the earth, if necessary to a depth of several kilometers so that nothing but an enormous crater remains.”
Ventnor stood up flushed and angry. He was no longer the scientist, he was a specimen from the villages, remembering past wrongs and injustices and finding new ideals and new conceptions challenged.
“What the hell for?” He enquired loudly and belligerently-
Loom looked at him, recognized him and tried to erase him at a single stroke. “Who is this man—has he the authorization to be here?” Then more quietly. “The answer to such a question is surely too pointless for our attention, gentlemen, it is too obvious for discussion.”
Ventnor stood his ground, still flushed and angry but now in command of himself. “The only ‘obvious’ conclusion that I can arrive at, is that these intelligences have offered us neither violence nor offense. Any of my colleagues will support me when I say that these intelligences could have wiped us out years ago had they wished to do so. Not only have they all the advantages but they are about three thousand years ahead of us technically. On what grounds such dangerous policies? Provocation? Armed aggression? The right of another intelligence to live? I suggest it is fear, fear of the unknown, superstitious fear which surely has no place in a mind so devoutly in favour of the scientific detachment.”
Far at the back someone cheered and clapped his hands. It was Matheson who was immediately taken aback when he found his uncontrollable enthusiasm supported.
There were cries of: “Here, here! Bravo! Well said!” and a wave of clapping.
“By God,” said Prone, “the boy has fire. I never knew he had it in him.”
Stein only smiled knowingly. “Our friend is old-fashioned. He believes in things.”
“It’s just as well he does. But for him our paranoiac friend might have plunged us into something from which we could never have extricated ourselves.”
Screens began to fight, there was whole-hearted and absolute support from every base in the United States, from Europe, from Australia.
Loom clenched his huge hands, two bright spots of colour in his cheeks. It was the first time in his life anyone had dared oppose him, let alone gain support. He was compelled to remind himself that these Gadgeteers favoured a loose form of government once referred to as a democracy and not the efficient discipline of Island government. They were a menace, these people, they would pull the world down again to complete collapse.
He was by no means beaten. “I would remind those present that my opponent is hardly qualified to pass opinions on major issues of this kind. Not only is he completely out of his depth but he is also a deviant with a known glandular disbalance. It is not, therefore, surprising, that he should take up arms on behalf of a sub-microscopic life form since he, himself, can only be considered a true member of the human race by a considerable stretching of the imagination.”
Stein jumped on him. “The President’s genius for the complete distortion of truth is singularly illustrated here. Mr. Ventnor’s plea was for sane conduct, not the military suicide which the President, in his obvious terror, so actively supports. As for the charge of deviance, this deviance was the stubborn determination of the human genes to remain normal in the race of spineless sheep which the President Claims was being created for the foundation of new society. I, and my friends, have had some opportunity in the last few weeks of studying this alleged society. I put it to you, Mr. President, that somewhere along the road, the great ideal of Arnold Megellon was conveniently lost. You were creating not a stable society but a slave society. An army of zombies to reclaim the world while you lounged around on your island Olympus and gave the orders.”
“That is a deliberate and malicious lie!” Loom stood up and shouted the accusation.
Stein only smiled. “Then the President will have no objection to an investigation, a committee of experts both from the Island and our own laboratories?”
Loom turned a dull red, his hands opened and closed but he was still a wily politician. “This is a deliberate red herring. You seek to distract attention from your very deliberate policies of negation.”
He pointed his finger suddenly. “What does this alleged master of the sub-microscopic, this half-hum
an specimen, intend? Are we, with his blessing, to hand over the world to an intellectual virus or does he, with a fanfare of heroics, intend to walk through this mine-screen and shake the first micro-organism he sees by the hand? No, gentlemen, he opposes, on extremely dubious grounds, that we fight to maintain a hold on our own planet.”
Ventnor faced him calmly. “I propose, backed by experts from the Island and the Inland bases, building a number of sub-microscopic communication devices with which I hope to establish contact with these intelligences. Once we have done this we may draw conclusions on the policy of these life-forms and their intentions towards ourselves. We have, despite the warmongering of the President, suffered no overt hostility from these creatures. In point of fact, the very existence of a mine-screen suggests that this composite intelligence wishes only to be left in peace. Without being wildly optimistic who can say that genuine and sincere co-operation cannot be created between such widely divergent life-forms. At least it is a far saner solution than the suicidal assault which could very well result in the entire extinction of mankind.”
There was an enormous cheer and an overwhelming burst of clapping.
The President rose, holding his cloak of office tight at the throat, then, staring stonily in front of him, strode out of the room. He knew he was beaten, discredited, but he maintained his appearance of dignity until he reached his own quarters. Once there, however, he knocked down one of his servants with a blow from his fist, retired to his private room and carefully tore his cloak to shreds.
When he regained his composure he sent a message to Skeld. It was an elaborate communication, full of pompous phrases and veiled suggestions but it boiled down to two words— “Get Ventnor.”
The suggestion of communication was enthusiastically taken up and Ventnor was almost overwhelmed by offers of help.
In a day or so several teams were working. Communication sub-microscopic robots were now no major problem and it seemed reasonable to suppose that fight and sound were obvious mediums. Any intelligence, given time, could break down repeated light and sound signals into an understandable message. The real problem was a relative one —how fast? A code message fast in the macrocosm might, relatively, have intervals of several days between each ‘blink’ or ‘beep’.
These Savage Futurians Page 13