by James White
“No,” Martin said. “They are the tools of two Earth-humans and 79 Keidi, and we are expected to use them. Are you ready to begin?”
The reference numbers and positions of nearly eighteen hundred centers were shown in white, and the numbers assigned to refugee groups displayed in shades ranging from yellow to red, depending on their current level of risk, together with those of their destination centers. Fortunately, the entire Keidi population numbered just under one million, and every center could easily accommodate up to six hundred refugees-but only if everything went according to plan and everybody did exactly as they were told.
As expected, the people of the Estate were the first to begin a concerted movement toward the centers, which was fortunate because many of them were in areas of high risk. Martin listened to the instructions going out to the First’s people, but, apart from relaying them via the soft-landed audio units to those who otherwise might not have heard them, he did not interfere. The Keidi leader had a large, well-disciplined organization and he was using it much more effectively than Martin could ever have hoped to do. The doctor was becoming less timorous about requesting local information and visual displays, and the desolate, muddy scenes of his own home city were appearing less frequently on his personal screen.
The last picture Martin had seen showed a steady trickle of refugees, carrying children and possessions in their arms or dragging them behind them on carts, crossing the rusting hulk of the bridge from which the barricades had been removed. They would all reach the ten-miles’ distant center several days before the radiation would reach their city, but the doctor had been made to understand that if everyone hurried to shelter, more attention and resources could be devoted to those with less time.
“I am guilty of a shameful misdirection,” the doctor said when he saw Martin looking at his screen. “Only my city people know of the presence of a Federation ship, but do not as yet associate it with the rescue operation. They, and everyone else outside the Estate, believe that my words come through one of the First’s transmitters. I am doing nothing to remedy this error, because to do so would cause argument and delay, but this omission is a most serious ingratitude toward the true benefactors.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Martin said. “Your presence and active cooperation discharges any unknowing obligations owed by your people. Besides, the First is taking all the credit, too, and we want it to stay that way for as long as possible. Sooner or later direct intervention will necessary, and then things will become really complicated.”
“It will be sooner,” the doctor said, using both hands to point simultaneously toward a spot on the main surveillance screen and the enlarged view on his own. “If my reading of your displays is correct, the population of Group Seventy-one, two hundred plus refugees in all, is heading toward center Eleven-eighty instead of Eleven-seventy-nine as directed. Eleven-eighty is much closer but is in the path of the fallout from Burst Three, Heavy rain is predicted which will bring down the fallout and seriously contaminate the intervening ground before they can reach shelter. The village First knows which induction center is closer and he refuses to go to the farther one because of the number of aged, unwell, or very young Keidi in his family. They have not actually seen a burst, so they consider my verbal description an overly dramatic misdirection, and my attempts to make them take the longer journey have been unsuccessful.”
And if they did not begin moving toward Eleven-seventy-nine at once, Martin saw from the display, it, too, would be affected before they could reach it.
To Beth he said, “Are you seeing this? Can you whip up some really foul weather between Group Seventy-one and Center Eleven-eighty? Bad enough to make them want to take the longer trip?”
Beth looked doubtful. She said, “A day’s march, maybe thirty to forty miles, doesn’t give me much elbow room. A really bad weather system is difficult to position with accuracy and some of it will spill over onto the refugees and slow them down. Even the hypership can’t make rain on one side of the street and sunshine on the other.”
“We need something quick and simple,” Martin said. “How about a simulated ground level nuclear burst, with the projection scaled down to fit, between them and Eleven-eighty? Did you record the missile site detonation?”
“From all angles,” Beth said. “But won’t that be a bit drastic on the refugees? There must be a gentler way.”
Martin looked at the doctor, who had resumed his vain attempt to make Group Seventy-one change direction, and said quietly, “Not in the time we have. My responsibility. Do it, now.”
When it happened the doctor’s screen was displaying sharply defined, wide-angle views with sound which were being relayed from the sensor pickups hovering above Group Seventy-one. For one terrifying instant the Keidi old and young, their packs and litters, even the dark leafed trees around them became an incredibly bleached picture in shades of white and palest gray. But it was a still and silent picture whose subjects were paralyzed by shock and fear, until a low, rumbling sound began which mounted rapidly in volume to become the shriek of a thousand hurricanes. Then there was movement, the uncoordinated scurryings of a nest of disturbed insects. But the shouts of despair and panic, and the high-pitched, pitiful squeakings coming from infant speaking horns, could not be heard until the roaring died into silence and the even more fearful specter of a massive, misshapen, nuclear mushroom could be seen climbing and darkening the sky above their destination.
“Don’t worry, Doctor,” Martin said quickly, “they’re all right. It was only light and sound; a harmless, three-dimensional projection. There is no radiation, no heat, and the leaves on the trees didn’t even stir when the sound of that shock wave went through. But now they will listen to you and go in the right direction without argument.”
“There are injuries among the old and young,” the doctor exclaimed angrily. “Fortunately, none appear serious enough to slow the evacuation. And there is general fear and mental distress. That was a cruel act, off-worlder!”
“It was a necessary act,” Martin replied firmly. “It was for their own ultimate good.”
“The First uses those same words of excuse,” the Keidi said, and returned his attention to the screen.
Beth did not speak. Perhaps, Teldi fashion, her silence denoted the absence of dissent, but Martin doubted that. He wondered what the Masters of Teldi, who were no strangers to major catastrophe, would think about his recent behavior.
The sunset line moved steadily across the continental land mass, leaving the Estate and the outlying settlements in darkness except for the scattering of bright, fuzzy stars that were the flares suspended above the refugee groups forced by the inexorable approach of radioactive fallout to travel at night. On their first appearance, the flares had caused nearly as much panic as the projection of the nuclear detonation. But the doctor, in words which were becoming slower and more slurred by the minute, explained that the tiny suns hanging in their night sky were harmless and had been sent by the Galactics to guide them. Then his speaking horn had dropped limply onto his chest and he collapsed over his console.
The medical computer scanned its clinical data on the Keidi life form and stated that aging members of his species lacked stamina and often lost consciousness after lengthy periods of physical or mental stress, that the condition was temporary and there was no reason for concern. Martin pushed the doctor back into a more comfortable position and replaced the hush field because the weird, discordant noises emanating from the Keidi’s speaking horn made it impossible to talk or catch up on their own sleep.
An irate call from the First kept them from doing either.
“I have been listening to some of the doctor’s broadcasts,” he said angrily, “and you must tell him to stop undermining my authority! He is trying to make our people trust you, and is as good as telling everyone that the disaster is my fault, while the truth is that it was precipitated by your escape…”
“They were your missiles,” Martin said ti
redly, “and it was trusted but stupid members of your family who launched them. Lie to yourself if you must, but don’t try to…”
“… And stop filling up the sky with your flares,” the First raged on. “My people are capable of lighting torches and my vehicles have headlamps. Apart from providing temporary fallout shelters, we didn’t ask for and do not want your help. I am the First Father of the Estate, I have the organization to lead my Family to safety without interference from you!”
Once again the First must be talking for the benefit of the people around him, Martin thought. Diplomatically, he said, “Your organization and movement of the refugees has been exemplary, but we thought that the flares might expedite matters. However, there are a number of groups which are moving in the wrong directions. We count eight of them, all headed toward one induction center which is not the nearest to their present positions. This is time wasting and dangerous for the people concerned, and they should be redirected at once. Also, our sensors show three settlements in the mountain region seventy miles west and presently upwind of the missile arsenal, who seem to be totally unaware of what has been going on. If you have no radio contact with them, we can soft-land the necessary equipment and…”
“No,” the First said sharply. “They are small, widely scattered groups who will not be affected for many days. They are not easily accessible to my vehicles which, at the present time, are being more productively employed elsewhere. There is no need to worry them at this stage and, in the present situation, a certain number of casualties must be accepted.”
‘ “There is no acceptable number of casualties,” Martin replied firmly. “I’ll ask the doctor to explain what is happening, and get them moving toward the nearest centers. If necessary we can provide transport.”
“No,” the First said angrily. “I will do what is necessary.”
“Very well,” Martin said. “Will you also instruct the eight groups who are converging on the same induction center to sort themselves out? Five of them have much less distant shelters available.”
There was a moment’s silence, then the First said, “The convergence is deliberate. They are special members of my Family, trusted and able, who I wish to have around me for protection against dissidents and as a nucleus of the organization which will restore order after the present emergency is past. They are well-trained and capable of moving quickly enough to escape the fallout.
‘To avoid overcrowding,” he added, “no other groups are being directed to that center.”
“Wait,” Martin said.
He asked Beth to display close-range aerial views of the groups concerned, which included a very large one containing the First himself. The Keidi leader shared a vehicle with what were presumably his granddaughter, her life-mate and the newborn, but everyone else was on foot. They were all mature young Keidi, fit and fast-moving in spite of being heavily armed. The older and very young members of their settlements, he saw, had been left behind with a few vehicles and had just enough time to reach the nearer induction centers.
“That is the nucleus of a military organization,” Beth said suddenly. “Those groups are composed of his trusted guards and handpicked bullboys who are going to turn their center into a fort. If those groups join the First, well, there’ll be long-term trouble. You’ve got to divert them to other centers, quickly.”
“No,” Martin said. He wanted to explain that forcing the groups to go to other centers would require direct intervention on a large scale, of a type which would cause fear, conflict, and a considerable loss of time and therefore of life. And there was also a strong probability that they would not be diverted, that the Keidi leader knew that Martin would not kill any of them by forbidding entry to any center when the fallout radiation reached lethal levels, and that the First would simply call his bluff. But there was no time for explanations and the arguments which would follow them. Instead he went on, “No, but we’ll let him know that we know what he’s up to, and pull his teeth.”
To the First he said, “We can see that all the members of your eight special groups are heavily armed. Weapons may not be taken inside an induction center, and the entrance sensors and protective devices will make no exceptions. The weapon carrier will also be excluded until the weapon is discarded. Is this understood?”
“But a person in my position needs guards,” the First protested. “A few, at least, for personal protection. Your interference, and the things the doctor is saying about the detonations, have placed my life in danger.”
“You will be surrounded only by friends,” Martin said dryly, “since you have already arranged that potential enemies l>e directed away from your center. But they will be unarmed friends, and I suggest that your people discard their weapons now rather than carry them to be left outside the center.”
Angrily, the First shouted, “So you would exclude my family and friends, and sentence to a lingering death the Keidi who love and wish only to protect me?”
“Your armed friends exclude themselves,” Martin said quietly, and broke the connection.
Beth’s attention was divided between her console and the big sensor screen, but there was enough of it free to tell Martin what she thought of him.
“I don’t understand you,” she said vehemently. “You should have split up the First’s guards, destroyed his organization before it could take shape. Disarming them won’t do any permanent good because, to adapt the old Earth expression, there are no dangerous weapons, only dangerous Keidi. Now you’re putting ail the bad eggs into one stinking basket, and the smell will eventually cover the whole planet as it was beginning to do before we arrived, except that it will be one of the First’s heirs setting up a military dictatorship instead of him. You should have split them up, dammit, in the hope that the other, more normal Keidi would have absorbed and perhaps had a civilizing influence on them. Instead you’ve gone for a sick compromise!”
“Have you finished?” Martin asked.
“No,” Beth replied angrily, “but the doctor is waking up.”
The Keidi medic wakened complaining of hunger. Beth ordered a large helping of synthesized and nutritionally balanced food tailored to the Keidi metabolism, which drew high praise from the doctor. He asked her if it could be supplied in bulk to some of the refugee groups who were being forced to sacrifice the weight of food supplies for speed of movement.
It could and it was.
By the end of the second day the majority of the groups within and beyond the borders of the Estate were safe or looked as though they would reach safety in time, barring accidents. The First’s convoy, closely followed by two more groups of his special followers, reached their induction center but milled about outside the entrance for more than an hour before disarming themselves and going inside. Subsequent groups disarmed themselves and entered without delay.
For the first time since the escape from Camp Eleven, Martin and the Keidi leader were able to see as well as hear each other.
“I have urgent questions,” the First said angrily. “As you can see we have entered one of your white houses but, far from finding it a place of shelter, we find ourselves in a large, rooftop area apparently open to the sky. We cannot find an exit much less a way down to the entrance. Many of us feel that we have been tricked, captured, and are to be left to die from radiation sickness in this unprotected place. Before I signal the other Keidi to turn back and avoid entering all white houses, and to ignore and refuse anything you may say or offer to do for them, I must have answers. Is this an isolated act of vengeance against my Family and myself for my earlier capture of your life-mate and yourself, or do you intend to treat all Keidi refugees in this utterly ruthless fashion? I would hear your words, off-worlder, even though I am unlikely to believe them.”
Martin was silent for a moment. The threat to turn his own and perhaps some of the non-Estate refugees away from the induction centers was a development he had not foreseen, and it worried him. He could blank the other’s radio signals easily
enough and allow the doctor or themselves to do all the talking, but at this stage a sudden silence from their leader would be suspicious and would probably have the same disruptive effect. He desperately needed the First’s active cooperation.
“This is not the time for vengeance or misdirection,” he said finally. “The entrance to the induction center is a short-range matter transmitter which immediately transports candidates to the uppermost floor.”
“Scientific tricks,” the First broke in, “do not impress me.”
Martin recalled his first visit to the local induction center on Earth, and remembered that it had impressed him out of about five year’s growth.
“… Which is the only level within the building not occupied by interview compartments or equipment,” he went on. “The roof and three walls of the reception area are transparent but completely impervious to radiation, and will enable you to watch the approach of the rest of your people. Around the three walls are pictures, more than two hundred of them, showing all the different species who make up the Federation of Galactic Sentients. By pressing the sensor plate that is under each picture you will be given a brief summary of the physiology, environment, and culture of the species concerned. Your people might find this material instructive…”
“I have no wish to learn anything about Galactics,” the First said.
“… Or an amusing means of occupying your waiting time,” Martin went on. “But there is an area which you should avoid, the desks lining the fourth wall and the doors behind them. These doors must not be forced open. They form part of the Citizen examination and matter transmission network which would move the person entering to a compartment in a different part of this or another building, and time would be wasted finding and getting them back again.”
“My people are not barbarians, off-worlder,” the First said angrily. “They will not damage your equipment. In any case, none of them would be passed by your examination machines, they are warriors.”