“ ‘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. I 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?”
“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.
But there was one man who suffered. Elsewhere was anger and intellectual discourse, ethical delvings and even fear. But in one man, supremely, existed the struggle between ethics and expediency. Hereford alone had the power to undo his own work. His following would believe and accept when he asked them to make this exception. Having made it, they would follow no more, and there was no place for him on Earth.
His speech had been simple, delivered without a single flickering of his torture on the fine old face. Once the thing was done, he left Earth in a way foreign to everything he had ever believed, or spoken, or recommended. He, the leader of Peace Amalgamated, who regarded with insistent disfavor the very existence of weapons, left Earth with Belter, and shared the officer’s quarters of a warship. Not only was it a warship, but it was the keying unit Delta, under the command of “Butcher” Osgood, trigger man of The Death.
For months they tracked the Invader, using their own instruments and information relayed to them by various outposts. Under no circumstances did they use tracers. One observation post and seven warships had been crushed because of that. The Invader’s reaction to a tight beam was instant and terrible. Therefore, they were limited to light reflection—what there was of it, even from the bold, bright flanks of the marauder—and the detection of the four types of drive radiations used by the ship at different accelerations.
The body of descriptive matter on the invader increased, and there were certain irrefutable conclusions. The crew of the Invader were colloidal life, like all known life, and would be subject to The Death. This was deduced by the fact that the ship was enclosed, pressurized, and contained an atmosphere of some sort, which precluded the theoretically suggested “energy” and “crystalline” life-forms. The random nature of the enemy’s vicious and casual attacks caused more controversy than almost any other factor; but as time went on, it became obvious that what the ship was doing was calling forth any attack of which the System might be capable. It had been bombed, rayed, and attempts had been made to ram. It was impervious. How long would it stay? When would its commanders conclude that they had seen the worst and, laughing, go back into the depths to bring reinforcements? And was there anything—anything at all—besides The Death that could reach the Invader, or stop him, or destroy him, or even let him know fear?
Right up until D-day—Death-day—the billions who had followed Hereford hoped that some alternative could be found, so that at least their earlier resolutions would be followed in letter if not in spirit. Many of them worked like slaves to this end, and that was the greatest anomaly of all, for all the forces of Peace were engaged in devising deadly methods and engines for use as alternative to The Death. They failed. Of course they failed.
There came a day when they had to strike. The Invader had all but vanished into the celestial north, only to come hurtling back in a great curve which would pass through the plane of the ecliptic just beyond the orbit of Jupiter. The Invader’s trajectory was predictable despite his almost unbelievable maneuverability—even for him there were limits of checking and turning, which was another fact indicating colloidal life. There was no way of knowing whether he was coming back to harass the planets, or whether he was making one last observation before swinging through the System and away from Sol, back to the unknown hell which had spawned him. But whether it was attack or withdrawal he had to be smashed. There might never be another chance.
The three Death ships moved out from the Belt, where they had lain quiet amongst the other masses floating in that great ring of detritus. Still keeping their formation, they blasted away with crushing acceleration, their crews dopey with momentomine. Their courses were set to intersect that of the Invader, or close enough to bring them well within range of The Death—twelve to twenty thousand miles. Delicate, beamless scanners checked the enemy’s course moment by moment, making automatic corrections and maintaining the formation of the three ships.
Delta was Earth-manned, Epsilon a Martian ship, and Sigma belonged to the Colonials. Originally, the plan had been to scatter Colonials through the three ships, and use a Jovian craft. But Leess, as the Jovian representative, had vetoed any Jovian participation, an action which had brought about a violent reawakening of antipathies toward the major planet. Public feeling was so loaded against the use of The Death that the responsibility must be shared. Jupiter’s stubborn and suicidal refusal to share it was inflexible; the Jovian solidarity was as thorough as ever.
Four days out, the master controls dropped the acceleration to 1G, and the air conditioners blasted out enough superoxygen to counteract the acceleration drug. Personnel came to full life again, and the command gathered on the bridge of Delta. Hereford was there too, standing well back, his face misleadingly calm, his eyes flicking from the forward screen to the tactical chart, from Belter’s absorbed face to the undershot countenance of Commander Osgood.
Osgood looked over his shoulder at the Peace leader. His voice was gravel in a wire sieve as he said: “I still don’t like that guy hanging around here. You sure he won’t be better off in his quarters?”
“We’ve been over that,” said Belter tiredly. “Commander, maybe I’m out of order, but would it be too much trouble for you to speak directly to him once in a while?”
“I am satisfied,” smiled Hereford. “I quite understand his attitude. I have little to say to him, and much to say about him, which is essentially his position as far as I am concerned. It is no more remarkable that he is unfamiliar with politeness than that I should be ignorant of spatial ballistics.”
Belter grinned. “O.K., O.K.—don’t mind me, I’m just a poor military man trying to make peace. I’ll shut up and let you and the Butcher have your inimical status quo.”
“I’ll need a little quiet here for a while, if it’s all the same to you, Councilman,” said Osgood. He was watching the tactical chart. The red spot representing Epsilon was at the far right, the blur of Sigma at the left, and down at the bottom was Delta’s green spark. A golden bar in the center of the chart showed the area on the ecliptical plane at which the Invader could be expected to pass through, and just above it was a white spot showing the I
nvader himself.
Osgood touched a toggle which added a diagram to the chart—a positioning diagram showing the placement of the three Death ships in relation to the target. Sigma and Epsilon were exactly in the centers of their white positioning circles; Delta was at the lower edge of the third circle. Osgood made a slight adjustment in the drive circuit.
“Positioning is everything,” Belter explained to Hereford. “The Death field is a resultant—a violent node of vibrations centering on the contiguous focal points of the opposed fields from Sigma and Epsilon. The beam from Delta—that’s us—kicks it off. There’s an enormous stress set up at that focal point, and our beam tears into it. The vibration changes frequency at random and with violence. It has been said that the fabric of space itself vibrates. That’s learned nonsense. But fluids do, and gases, of course, and colloids worst of all.”
“What would happen if the positions were not taken exactly?”
“Nothing. The two focal points of the concentrated fields from Epsilon and Sigma would not coincide, and Delta’s beam would be useless. And it might have the unhappy result of calling the Invader down on us. Not right away—he’s going too fast at right angles to our course—but I’m not crazy about the idea of being hunted down by that executioner.”
Hereford listened gravely, watching Osgood, watching the chart. “Just how great is the danger of The Death’s spreading like ripples in a pool—out in every direction from the node?”
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