“What happened?”
“Frank Ferris!” he barked suddenly. “The Sugarton crowd—with their dynamite! They got into the city.”
CENTRAL FROM SARQUIST, he typed. WHERE ARE THE DAMAGED COORDINATORS LOCATED?
UNDERGROUND VAULT AT MAP COORDINATES K-81.
“Outside the city,” he breathed. “They haven’t got to the main tanks yet. We’ve got a little time.”
PROCEED WITH ORDINANCE LISTING, he commanded.
Half an hour later they were finished. Then he began the long task of relisting each ordinance number and typing after it: REPEALED; CITY EVACUATED.
“I hear gunshots,” Marta interrupted. She went to the window to peer up and down the dimly lighted streets.
Mitch worked grimly. It would take them a couple of hours to get into the heart of the city, unless they knew how to capture a robot vehicle and make it serve them. But with enough men and enough guns, they would wreck subunits until Central withdrew. Then they could walk freely into the heart of the city and wreck the main coordinators, with a consequent cessation of all city services. Then they would be free to pillage, to make a mechanical graveyard of the city that awaited the return of man.
“They’re coming down this street, I think,” she called.
“Then turn out all the lights!” he snapped, “and keep quiet.”
“They’ll see all the cops out in the street. They’ll wonder why.”
He worked frantically to get all the codes out of the machine before the Sugarton crowd came past. He was destroying its duties, its habit patterns, its normal functions. When he was finished it would stand by helplessly and let Ferris’s gang wreak their havoc, unless he could replace the voided ordinances with new, more practical ones.
“Aren’t you finished yet?” she called. “They’re a couple of blocks away. The cops have quit fighting, but the men are still shooting them.”
“I’m finished now!” He began rattling the keyboard frantically.
SUPPLEMENTAL ORDINANCES: #1: THERE IS NO LIMIT OF SUBUNIT EXPENDITURE.
YOU WILL NOT PHYSICALLY INJURE ANY HUMAN BEING, EXCEPT IN DEFENSE OF CENTRAL COORDINATOR UNITS.
ALL MECHANICAL TRAFFIC WILL BE CLEARED FROM THE STREETS IMMEDIATELY.
YOU WILL DEFEND CENTRAL COORDINATORS AT ALL COSTS.
THE HUMAN LISTED IN YOUR MEMORY UNITS UNDER THE NAME ‘WILLIE JESSER” WILL BE ALLOWED ACCESS TO CENTRAL DATA WITHOUT CHALLENGE.
TO THE LIMIT OF YOUR ABILITY YOU WILL SET YOUR OWN TASKS IN PURSUANCE OF THE GOAL: TO KEEP THE CITY’S SERVICES INTACT AND IN GOOD REPAIR, READY FOR HUMAN USAGE.
YOU WILL APPREHEND HUMANS ENGAGED IN ARSON, GRAND THEFT, OR PHYSICAL VIOLENCE AND EJECT THEM SUMMARILY FROM THE CITY.
YOU WILL OFFER YOUR SERVICES TO PROTECT THE PERSON OF WILLIE JESSER.
“They’re here!” shouted the girl. “They’re coming up the walk!”
—AND WILL ASSIST HIM IN THE TASK OF RENOVATING THE CITY, TOGETHER WITH SUCH PERSONS AS ARE WILLING TO HELP REBUILD.
The girl was shaking him. “They’re here, I tell you!”
Mitch punched a button labeled “commit to data,” and the screen went blank. He leaned back and grinned at her. There was a sound of shouting in the street, and someone was beating at the door.
Then the skaters came rolling in a tide of sound two blocks away. The shouting died, and there were several bursts of gunfire. But the skaters came on, and the shouting grew frantic.
She muttered: “Now we’re in for it.”
But Mitch just grinned at her and lit a cigarette. Fifty men couldn’t stand for long against a couple of thousand subunits who now had no expenditure limit.
He typed one last instruction into the unit. WHEN THE PLUNDERERS ARE TAKEN PRISONER, OFFER THEM THIS CHOICE: STAY AND HELP REBUILD, OR KEEP AWAY FROM THE CITY.
From now on, there weren’t going to be any nonparticipators.
Mitch closed down the unit and went out to watch the waning fight.
A bigger job was ahead.
1952
BLOOD BANK
The colonel’s secretary heard clomping footsteps in the corridor and looked up from her typing. The footsteps stopped in the doorway. A pair of jet-black eyes bored through her once, then looked away. A tall, thin joker in a space commander’s uniform stalked into the reception room, sat in the corner, and folded his hands stiffly in his lap. The secretary arched her plucked brows. It had been six months since a visitor had done that—walked in without saying boo to the girl behind the rail.
“You have an appointment, sir?” she asked with a professional smile.
The man nodded curtly but said nothing. His eyes flickered toward her briefly, then returned to the wall. She tried to decide whether he was angry or in pain. The black eyes burned with cold fire. She checked the list of appointments. Her smile disappeared, to be replaced by a tight-lipped expression of scorn.
“You’re Space Commander Eli Roki?” she asked in an icy tone.
Again the curt nod. She gazed at him steadily for several seconds. “Colonel Beth will see you in a few minutes.” Then her typewriter began clattering with sharp sounds of hate.
The man sat quietly, motionlessly. The colonel passed through the reception room once and gave him a brief nod. Two majors came in from the corridor and entered the colonel’s office without looking at him. A few moments later, the intercom crackled, “Send Roki in, Dela. Bring your pad and come with him.”
The girl looked at Roki, but he was already on his feet, striding toward the door. Evidently he came from an unchivalrous planet; he opened the door without looking at her and let her catch in when it started to slam.
Chubby, elderly Colonel Beth sat waiting behind his desk, flanked by the pair of majors. Roki’s bearing as he approached and saluted was that of the professional soldier, trained from birth for the military.
“Sit down, Roki.”
The tall space commander sat at attention and waited, his face expressionless, his eyes coolly upon the colonel’s forehead. Beth shuffled some papers on his desk, then spoke slowly.
“Before we begin, I want you to understand something, commander.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You are not being tried. This is not a court-martial. There are no charges against you. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
The colonel’s pale eyes managed to look at Roki’s face without showing any contempt. “This investigation is for the record, and for the public. The incident has already been investigated, as you know. But the people are aroused, and we have to make a show of some kind.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Then let’s begin. Dela, take notes, please.” The colonel glanced at the papers before him. “Space Commander Roki, will you please tell us in your own words what happened during patrol flight Sixty-one on fourday sixmonth, year eighty-seven?”
There was a brief silence. The girl was staring at the back of Roki’s neck as if she longed to attack it with a hatchet. Roki’s thin face was a waxen mask as he framed his words. His voice came calm as a bell and clear.
“The flight was a random patrol. We blasted off Jod VII at thirteen hours, Universal Patrol Time, switched on the high-C drive, and penetrated to the ten-thousandth level of the C’th component. We re-entered the continuum on the outer patrol radius at thirty-six degrees theta and two-hundred degrees psi. My navigator threw the dice to select a random course. We were to proceed to a point on the same co-ordinate shell at thirty theta and one-fifty psi. We began—”
The colonel interrupted. “Were you aware at the time that your course would intersect that of the mercy ship?”
The girl looked up again. Roki failed to wince at the question. “I was aware of it, sir.”
“Go on.”
“We proceeded along the randomly selected course until the warp detectors warned us of a ship. When we came in range, I told the engineer to jockey into a parallel course and to lock the automatics to keep us parallel. When that wa
s accomplished, I called the unknown freighter with the standard challenge.”
“You saw its insignia?”
“Yes, sir. The yellow mercy star.”
“Go on. Did they answer your challenge?”
“Yes, sir. The reply, decoded, was: Mercy liner Sol-G-6, departure Sol III, destination Jod VI, cargo emergency surgi-bank supplies, Cluster Request A-4-J.”
Beth nodded and watched Roki with clinical curiosity. “You knew about the Jod VI disaster? That twenty thousand casualties were waiting in Suspendfreeze lockers for those supplies?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry they died.”
“Go on with your account.”
“I ordered the navigator to throw the dice again, to determine whether or not the freighter should be boarded for random cargo inspection. He threw a twelve, the yes-number. I called the freighter again, ordered the outer locks opened. It failed to answer, or respond in any way.”
“One moment. You explained the reason for boarding? Sol is on the outer rim of the galaxy. It doesn’t belong to any cluster system. Primitive place—or regressed. They wouldn’t understand our ways.”
“I allowed for that, sir,” continued the cold-faced Roki. “I explained the situation, even read them extracts of our patrol regs. They failed to acknowledge. I thought perhaps they were out of contact, so I had the message repeated to them by blinker. I know they got it, because the blinker-operator acknowledged the message. Evidently carried it to his superiors. Apparently they told him to ignore us, because when we blinked again, he failed to acknowledge. I then attempted to pull alongside and attach to their hull by magnetic grapples.”
“They resisted?”
“Yes, sir. They tried to break away by driving to a higher C-level. Our warp was already at six-thousand C’s. The mass-components of our star cluster at that level were just a collapsing gas cloud. Of course, with our automatic trackers, they just dragged us with them, stalled, and plunged the other way. They pulled us down to the quarter-C level; most of the galaxy was at the red-dwarf stage. I suppose they realized then that they couldn’t get away from us like that. They came back to a sensible warp and continued on their previous course.”
“And you did what?”
“We warned them by every means of communication at our disposal, read them the standard warning.”
“They acknowledge?”
“Once, sir. They came back to say: This is an emergency shipment. We have orders not to stop. We are continuing on course, and will report you to authority upon arrival.” Roki paused, eyeing the colonel doubtfully. “May I make a personal observation, sir?”
Beth nodded tolerantly. “Go ahead.”
“They wasted more time dodging about in the C’th component than they would have lost if they had allowed us to board them. I regarded this behavior as highly suspicious.”
“Did it occur to you that it might be due to some peculiarity in Sol III’s culture? Some stubbornness, or resentment of authority?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you ask opinions of your crew?”
A slight frown creased Roki’s high forehead. “No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Regulation does not require it, sir. My personal reason—the cultural peculiarities of my planet.”
The barb struck home. Colonel Beth knew the military culture of Roki’s world—Coph IV. Military rank was inherited. On his own planet, Roki was a nobleman and an officer of the war-college. He had been taught to rely upon his own decisions and to expect crisp, quick obedience. The colonel frowned at his desk.
“Let’s put it this way: Did you know the opinions of the crew?”
“Yes, sir. They thought that we should abandon the pursuit and allow the freighter to continue. I was forced to confine two of them to the brig for insubordination and attempted mutiny.” He stopped and glanced at one of the majors. “All due apologies to you, sir.”
The major flushed. He ranked Roki, but he had been with the patrol as an observer, and despite his higher rank, he was subject to the ship commander’s authority while in space. He had also been tossed in the brig. Now he glared at the Cophian space commander without speaking.
“All right, commander, when they refused to halt, what did you do?”
“I withdrew to a safe range and fired a warning charge ahead of them. It exploded in full view of their scopes, dead ahead. They ignored the warning and tried to flee again.”
“Go on.”
Roki’s shoulders lifted in the suggestion of a shrug. “In accordance with Article Thirty of the Code; I shot them out of space.”
The girl made a choking sound. “And over ten thousand people died on Jod VI because you—”
“That will do, Dala!” snapped Colonel Beth.
There was a long silence. Roki waited calmly for further questioning. He seemed unaware of the girl’s outburst. The colonel’s voice came again with a forced softness.
“You examined the debris of the destroyed vessel?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did you find?”
“Fragments of quick-frozen bone, blood plasma, various bodily organs and tissues in cultured or frozen form, prepared for surgical use in transplanting operations; in other words, a complete stock of surgibank supplies, as was anticipated. We gathered up samples, but we had no facilities for preserving what was left.”
The colonel drummed his fingers. “You said ‘anticipated.’ Then you knew full well the nature of the cargo, and you did not suspect contraband material of any kind?”
Roki paused. “I suspected contraband, colonel,” he said quietly.
Beth lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “You didn’t say that before.”
“I was never asked.”
“Why didn’t you say it anyway?”
“I had no proof.”
“Ah, yes,” murmured the colonel. “The culture of Coph IV again. Very well, but in examining the debris, you found no evidence of contraband?” The colonel’s distasteful expression told the room that he knew the answer, but only wanted it on the record.
But Roki paused a long time. Finally, he said, “No evidence, sir.”
“Why do you hesitate?”
“Because I still suspect an illegality—without proof, I’m afraid.”
This time, the colonel’s personal feelings betrayed him in a snort of disgust. He shuffled his papers for a long time, then looked at the major who had accompanied the patrol. “Will you confirm Roki’s testimony, major? Is it essentially truthful, as far as you know?”
The embarrassed officer glared at Roki in undisguised hatred. “For the record, sir—I think the commander behaved disgracefully and insensibly. The results of the stoppage of vitally needed supplies prove—”
“I didn’t ask for a moral judgment!” Beth snapped. “I asked you to confirm what he has said here. Were the incidents as he described them?”
The major swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.”
The colonel nodded. “Very well. I’ll ask your opinions, gentlemen. Was there an infraction of regulations? Did Commander Roki behave as required by Space Code, or did he not? Yes or no, please. Major Tuli?”
“No direct infraction, sir, but—”
“No buts! Major Go’an?”
“Uh—no infraction, sir.”
“I find myself in agreement.” The colonel spoke directly at Dela’s note pad. “The ultimate results of the incident were disastrous, indeed. And, Roki’s action was unfortunate, ill-advised, and not as the Sixty Star Patrol would approve. Laws, codes, regulations are made for men, not men for regulations. Roki observed the letter of the law, but was perhaps forgetful of its spirit. However, no charge can be found against him. This investigating body recommends that he be temporarily grounded without prejudice, and given thorough physical and mental examinations before being returned to duty. That brings us to an end, gentlemen. Dela, you may go.”
With another glare at the haughty Cophian, the girl stalked out of the r
oom. Beth leaned back in his chair, while the majors saluted and excused themselves. His eyes kept Roki locked in his chair. When they were alone, Beth said:
“You have anything to say to me off the record?”
Roki nodded. “I can submit my resignation from the patrol through your office, can’t I, sir?”
Beth smiled coldly. “I thought you’d do that, Roki.” He opened a desk drawer and brought out a single sheet of paper. “I took the liberty of having it prepared for your signature. Don’t misunderstand. I’m not urging you to resign, but we’re prepared to accept it if you choose to do so. If you don’t like this standard from, you may prepare your own.”
The jet-eyed commander took the paper quickly and slashed his name quickly across the bottom. “Is this effective immediately, sir?”
“In this case, we can make it so.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t regard it as a favor.” The colonel witnessed the signature.
The Cophian could not be stung. “May I go now?”
Beth looked up, noticing with amusement that Roki—now a civilian—had suddenly dropped the “sir.” And his eyes were no longer cold. They were angry, hurt, despairing.
“What makes you Cophians tick anyway?” he murmured thoughtfully.
Roki stood up. “I don’t care to discuss it with you, colonel. I’ll be going now.”
“Wait, Roki.” Beth frowned ominously to cover whatever he felt.
“I’m waiting.”
“Up until this incident, I liked you, Roki. In fact, I told the general that you were the most promising young officer in my force.”
“Kind of you,” he replied tonelessly.
“And you could have been sitting at this desk, in a few years. You hoped to, I believe.”
A curt nod, and a quick glance at Beth’s shoulder insignia.
“You chose your career, and now you don’t have it. I know what it means to you.”
A tightening of the Cophian’s jaw told the colonel that he wanted no sympathy, but Beth continued.
“Since this is the oldest, most established, most static planet in the Cluster, you’re out of a job in a place where there’s no work.”
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