“Yeah-why?” asked Belter. “Oh … never mind the rest of the record,” he added suddenly. “I don’t know how the rest of you feel, but at the moment I’m hypnotized by the jet-blasted thing.
“Why, Hereford wants to know. If we knew that, maybe we could plan something. Defenses, anyway.”
Somebody murmured: “It’s not a campaign. It’s murder.”
“That’s it. The Invader reaches out with some sort of a short-range disrupting bomb and wipes out the base on Outpost. Then it wanders into the System, washes out an uninhabited asteroid beacon, drifts down through the shield screening of Titan and kills off half the population with a cyanogen synthesizing catalyst. It captures three different scanner-scouts, holding them with some sort of a tractor beam, whirling them around like a stone on a string, and letting them go straight at the nearest planet. Earth ships, Martian, Jovian—doesn’t matter. It can outfly and outfight anything we have so far, except—”
“Except The Death,” whispered Hereford. “Go on, Belter. I knew it was coming to this.”
“Well, it’s true! And then the cities. If it ever drops a disrupter like that”—he waved at the wall, indicating the portion of the record they had just seen—”on a large city, there wouldn’t be any point in even looking for it, let alone rebuilding it. We can’t communicate with the Invader—if we send out a general signal it ignores us, and if we send out a beam it charges us or sends one of those warping disrupter bombs. We can’t even surrender to it! It just wanders through the System, changing course and speed from moment to moment, and every once in a while taking a crack at something.”
The Martian member glanced at Hereford, and then away. “I don’t see why we’ve waited so long. I saw Titan, Belter. In another century it’ll be dead as Luna.” He shook his head. “No pre-Peace agreement can stand in the way of the defense of the System no matter how solemn the agreement was. I voted to outlaw The Death, too. I don’t like the idea of it any more than … than Hereford there. But circumstances alter cases. Are we going to sacrifice everything the race has built just for an outdated principle? Are we going to sit smugly behind an idealistic scrap of paper while some secret weapon chops us down bit by bit?”
“Scrap of paper,” said Hereford. “Son, have you read your ancient history?”
The translator hissed. Through it, Leess spoke. The flat, unaccented words were the barest framework for the anger which those who knew Jovians could detect by the sudden paling of the creature’s sensory organ. “Leess object phrase secret weapon. Man from Mars suggest Invader Jovian work.”
“Cool down, Leess,” Belter said, reaching over and firmly putting the Martian back in his seat. “Hey you—watch your language or you’ll go back to the canals to blow the rust off supersoy. Now, Leess; I rather think the delegate from Mars let his emotions get the better of him. No one thinks that the Invader is Jovian. It’s from deep space somewhere. It has a drive far superior to anything we’ve got, and the armament … well, if Jupiter had anything like that, you wouldn’t have lost the war. And then there was Titan. I don’t think Jovians would kill off so many of their own just to camouflage a new secret weapon.”
The Martian’s eyebrows lifted a trifle. Belter frowned, and the Martian’s face went forcibly blank. The Jovian relaxed.
Addressing the Council generally, but looking at the Martian, Belter gritted: “The war is over. We’re all Solarians, and the Invader is a menace to our System. After we get rid of the Invader we’ll have time to tangle with each other. Not before. Is that clear?”
“No human trust Jupiter. No man trust Leess,” sulked the Jovian. “Leess no think. Leess no help. Jupiter better off dead than not trusted.”
Belter threw up his hands in disgust. The sensitivity and stubbornness of the Jovian were well known. “If there’s a clumsy, flat-footed way of doing things, a Martian’ll find it,” he growled. “Here we need every convolution of every brain here. The Jovian has a way of thinking different enough so he might help us crack this thing, and you have to go and run him out on strike.”
The Martian bit his lips. Belter turned to the Jovian. “Leess, please—come off your high horse. Maybe the Solar System is a little crowded these days, but we all have to live in it. Are you going to cooperate?”
“No. Martian man no trust Jupiter. Mars die, Jupiter die, Earth die. Good. Nobody not trust Jupiter.” The creature creased inward upon itself a movement as indicative as the thrusting out of a lower lip.
“Leess is in this with the rest of us,” said the Martian. “We ought to—”
“That’ll do!” barked Belter. “You’ve said enough chum. Concentrate on the Invader and leave Leess alone. He has a vote on this council and by the same token, he has the right to refrain from voting.”
“Whose side are you on?” flashed the Martian, rising.
Belter came up with him, but Hereford’s soft, deep voice came between them like a barrier. The Peace delegate said: “He’s on the side of the System. All of us must be. We have no choice. You Martians are fighting men. Do you think you can separate yourselves from the rest of us and stop the Invader?”
Flushed, the Martian opened his mouth, closed it again, sat down. Hereford looked at Belter, and he sat down, too. The tension in the chamber lessened, but the matter obviously relegated itself to the “For Further Action” files in at least two men’s minds.
Belter gazed at his fingers until they would be still without effort, and then said quietly: “Well, gentlemen, we’ve tried everything. There is no defense. We’ve lost ships, and men, and bases. We will lose more. If the Invader can be destroyed, we can be sure of a little time, at least, for preparation.”
“Preparation?” asked Hereford.
“Certainly! You don’t think for a minute that that ship isn’t, or won’t soon be, in communication with its own kind? Suppose we can’t destroy it. It will be able to go back where it came from, with the news that there’s a culture here for the taking, with no weapon powerful enough to touch them. You can’t be so naive as to believe that this one ship is the only one they have, or the only one we’ll ever see! Our only course is to wipe out this ship and then prepare for a full-scale invasion. If it doesn’t come before we’re prepared, our only safe course will be to carry the invasion to them, wherever they may be!”
Hereford shook his head sadly. “The old story.”
Belter’s fist came down with a crash. “Hereford. I know that Peace Amalgamated is a great cultural stride forward. I know that to de-condition the public on three planets and a hundred colonies from the peaceful way of life is a destructive move. But—can you suggest a way of keeping the peaceful way and saving our System? Can you?”
“Yes … if … if the Invaders can be persuaded to follow the peaceful way.”
“When they won’t communicate? When they commit warlike acts for nothing—without plan, without conquest, apparently for the sheer joy of destruction? Hereford—we’re not dealing with anything Solarian. This is some life-form that is so different in its aims and its logic that the only thing we can do is reciprocate. Fire with fire! You talk of your ancient history. Wasn’t fascism conquered when the democratic nations went all but fascist to fight them?”
“No,” said Hereford firmly. “The fruits of fascism were conquered. Fascism itself was conquered only by democracy.”
Belter shook his head in puzzlement. “That’s irrelevant. I … think,” he added, because he was an honest man. “To get back to the Invader: we have a weapon with which we can destroy him. We can’t use it now because of Peace Amalgamated; because the Solarian peoples have determined to outlaw it forever. The law is specific: The Death is not to be used for any purposes, under any circumstances. We, the military, can say we want it until our arteries harden, but our chances of getting it are negligible unless we have public support in repealing the law. The Invader has been with us for eighteen months or more, and in spite of his depredations, there is still no sign that the public would suppo
rt repeal. Why?” He stabbed out a stumpy forefinger. “Because they follow you, Hereford. They have completely absorbed your quasi-religious attitude of … what was your phrase?”
“‘Moral Assay.’”
“Yeah—Moral Assay. The test of cultural stamina. The will power to stand up for a principle in spite of emergencies, in spite of drastic changes in circumstances. A good line, Hereford, but unless you retract it, the public won’t. We could bulldoze ‘em into it, maybe; and maybe we’d have a revolution on our hands, get a lot of people killed, and wind up with a bunch of dewy-eyed idealists coming out on top, ready to defend the principles of peace with guns if they have to draft every able-bodied Solarian in the System. Meanwhile, the Invader—and perhaps, by that time, his pals—will continue to circulate around, taking a crack at any target he happens to admire. Already the crackpots are beginning to yell about the Invader being sent to test their love of peace, and calling this the second year of the Moral Assay.”
“He won’t back down,” said the Martian suddenly. “Why should he? The way he is, he’s set for life.”
“You have a lousy way of putting things!” snapped Belter, wondering How much does personal power mean to the old saint?
“Why this pressure?” asked Hereford gently. “You, Belter, with your martial rationalizing, and our Martian colleague here, with his personal insults—why not put it to a vote?”
Belter studied him. Was there a chance that the old man would accept the wishes of the majority here? The majority opinion of the Council was not necessarily the majority opinion of the System. And besides—how many of the Council would go along with Hereford if he chose to vote against it?
He took a deep breath. “We’ve got to know where we stand,” he said. “Informally, now—shall we use The Death on the Invader? Let’s have a show of hands.”
There was a shuffling of feet. All the men looked at Hereford, who sat still with his eyes downcast. The Martian raised his hand defiantly. The Phoebe-Titan Colonial delegate followed suit. Earth. The Belt. Five, six—eight. Nine.
“Nine,” said Belter. He looked at the Jovian, who looked back, unblinking. Not voting. Hereford’s hands were on the table.
“That’s three-quarters,” Belter said.
“Not enough,” answered Hereford. “The law stipulates over three-quarters.”
“You know what my vote is.”
“Sorry, Belter. You can’t vote. As chairman, you are powerless unless all members vote, and then all you can do is establish a tie so that the matter can be referred for further discussion. The regulations purposely keep a deciding vote out of the Chair, and with the membership. I … frankly, Belter, I can’t be expected to go further than this. I have refrained from voting. I have kept you from voting. If that keeps The Death from being used—”
Belter’s knuckles cracked. He thought of the horror at Outpost, and the choking death on Titan, and what had happened to their asteroid. It and its abandoned mine workings had flared up like a baby nova, and what was left wouldn’t dirty a handkerchief. It was a fine thing for every Solarian that at long last a terrible instrument of war had been outlawed, this time by the unquestionable wish of the people. It would be a bad thing for civilization if an exception should be made to this great rule. It was conceivable that, once the precedent was established, the long-run effects on civilization would be worse than anything the Invader could do. And yet—all his life Belter had operated under a philosophy which dictated action. Do something. It may be wrong, but—do something.
“May I speak with you alone?” he asked Hereford.
“If it is a matter which concerns the Council—”
“It concerns you only. A matter of ideology.”
Hereford inclined his head and rose. “This won’t take long,” said Belter over his shoulder, as he let the peace delegate precede him into an antechamber.
“Beat it, Jerry,” he said to the guard. The man saluted and left.
Belter leaned back against a desk, folded his arms and said: “Hereford, I’m going to tear this thing right down to essentials. If I don’t, we can spend the rest of our lives in arguing about social necessities and cultural evolution and the laws of probability as applied to the intentions of the Invader. I am going to ask you some questions. Simple ones. Please try to keep the answers simple.”
“You know I prefer that.”
“You do. All right—the whole basis of the Peace movement is to prevent fighting, on the grounds that there is always a better way. Right?”
“That is right.”
“And the Peace movement recognizes no need for violence in any form, and no conceivable exception to that idea.”
“That is right.”
“Hereford—pay close attention. You and I are in here because of the Invader, and because of the refusal of Peace Amalgamated to allow the use of the only known counter-measure.”
“Obviously.”
“Good. Just one more thing, t hold you in higher regard than any other man I know. And the same goes for the work you have done. Do you believe that?”
Hereford smiled slowly and nodded. “I believe it.”
“Well, it’s true,” said Belter, and with all his strength brought his open hand across Hereford’s mouth.
The older man staggered back and stood, his fingers straying up to his face. In his eyes was utter disbelief as he stared at Belter, who stood again with his arms folded, his face impassive. The disbelief was slowly clouded over by puzzlement, and then hurt began to show. “Why—”
But before he could say another word, Belter was on him again. He crossed to Hereford’s chest, and when the Peace delegate’s hands came down, he struck him twice more on the mouth. Hereford made an inarticulate sound and covered his face. Belter hit him in the stomach.
Hereford moaned, turned, and made for the door. Belter dove, tackled him. They slid into a thrashing heap on the soft carpeting. Belter rolled clear, pulled the other to his feet and hit him again. Hereford shook his head and began to sink down, his arms over his head. Belter lifted him again, waited for just the right opening, and his hand flashed through for still another stinging slap across the mouth. Hereford grunted, and before Belter quite knew what was happening, he came up with one great blasting right that landed half on Belter’s dropped chin, half on his collar bone. Belter came up off the floor in a cloud of sparks and fell heavily six feet away. He looked up to see Hereford standing over him, big fists bunched.
“Get up,” said the Peace delegate hoarsely. Belter lay back, put his hands under his head, spat out some blood, and began to laugh. “Get up!”
Belter rolled over and got slowly to his feet. “It’s all over, Hereford. No more rough stuff, I promise you.”
Hereford backed off, his face working. “Did you think,” he spat, “that you could resort to such childish, insane measures to force me into condoning murder?”
“Yup,” said Belter.
“You’re mad,” said Hereford, and went to the door. “Stop!”
There was a note of complete command in Belter’s voice. It was that note, and the man behind it which had put Belter where he was. Equally startling was the softness of his voice as he said: “Please come here, Hereford. It isn’t like you to leave a thing half understood.”
If he had said “Half finished,” he would have lost the play. Hereford came slowly back, saying ruefully: “I know you, Belter. I know there’s a reason for this. But it better be good.”
Belter stood where he had been, leaning against the desk, and he folded his arms. “Hereford,” he said, “one more simple question. The Peace movement recognizes no need for violence in any form, and no conceivable exception to that idea.” It sounded like a recording of the same words, said a few minutes before, except for his carefully controlled breathing.
Hereford touched his bruised mouth. “Yes.”
“Then,” Belter grinned, “why did you hit me?”
“Why? Why did you hit me?”
&nb
sp; “I didn’t ask you that. Please keep it simple. Why did you hit me?”
“It was … I don’t know. It happened. It was the only way to make you stop,”
Belter grinned. Hereford stumbled on. “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to make some parallel between the Invader and your attack on me. But you attacked me unexpectedly, apparently without reason—” Belter grinned more widely.
Hereford was frankly floundering now. “But I … I had to strike you, or I… I—”
“Hereford,” said Belter gently, “shall we go back now, and vote before that eye of yours blackens?”
The three Death ships, each with its cover of destroyer escorts, slipped into the Asteroid Belt. Delta, the keying unit, was flanked on each side by the opposed twins Epsilon and Sigma, which maintained a rough thousand-mile separation from the key. Behind them, on Earth, they had left a froth of controversy. Editorial comment on the air and in print, both on facsimile and the distributed press, was pulling and hauling on the age-old question of the actions of duly elected administrators. We are the people. We choose these men to represent us. What must we do when their actions run contrary to our interest?
And—do they run contrary? How much change can there be in a man’s attitude, and in the man himself, between the time he is elected and the time he votes on a vital measure? Can we hark back to our original Judgment of the man and trust his action as we trusted him at election time?
And again—the old bugaboo of security. When a legislative body makes a decision on a military matter, there must be news restrictions. The Death was the supreme weapon. Despite the will of the majority, there were still those who wanted it for their own purposes; people who felt it had not been used enough in the war; others who felt it should be kept assembled and ready, as the teeth in a dictatorial peace. As of old, the mass of the people had to curb its speech and sometimes its thought, to protect itself against the megalomaniac minorities.
Selections Page 59