Lords of the Earth td-61

by Warren Murphy

"Don't you worry?"

  "Sure, sometimes. But then I forget what I was worrying about," Ramo said.

  "Good luck anyway," Smith said.

  Barry Schweid was working the keys as Smith spoke. Smith had gotten the young computer genius into light summer pants and a short-sleeved shirt, gotten a waterproof container for his piece of blue blanket. Barry was even getting a tan and eating vegetables.

  Smith could never quite tan. He would redden in degrees and if he got enough sun he would burn. St. Martin seemed to have the hottest sun in the Caribbean and he was using a total sunblock to protect his skin. He wore checkered shorts and a plaid sports shirt, but even strolling along the dusty roads toward the eastern side of the island among passing herds of cows and wandering goats, he looked as if he were attending a conference down some hall. He just couldn't get away from it.

  "They'd better do well," Barry said.

  "Who?" said Smith.

  "I don't know who," said Barry. "But if they don't do well, I wouldn't give you much chance to save mankind."

  Smith checked his earpiece to see if Barry could tap in. He couldn't. He knew also that he had been talking softly and Barry's hearing was almost nonexistent. This was not because of any natural defect; it was simply that Barry ignored all surroundings but his computer.

  And he was now looking at the organization's access mode, inside Smith's briefcase, and shaking his head. "What are you talking about, Barry?"

  Barry explained in terms of numbers and masses of numbers. He talked calculus and theoretical math and Smith, despite a handful of technical college degrees, could not follow him.

  But by the time they reached the small enclosed bay and the boat that would take them to a small flat island a quarter-mile away, called Pinel, Smith had gotten the gist of what Barry was saying.

  While Smith had been talking to Remo, Barry had been pulling from the computer's memories background data to test voice activation. The computer had told him of two groups of competing organisms, one large, the other small. So far, the large were in charge, but the access board warned Barry that this might soon change. Smith thought of men and insects.

  Barry said, "The computer said that if the larger units don't stop the smaller units in this try, zowee. You see, this was all activated by whatever it was you were talking about on the phone. Anyway, it's going to be like Zorkmonster. Because the smaller units are headed toward a big final victory. This is a crucial one. Just like Zorkmonster."

  "What's Zorkmonster?" Smith asked.

  "It's a game. You play it with a joystick. It's called humans against the Zorkmonster, only when the Zorkmonster becomes invincible, he sets up a final battle at one point to try to trap you and wipe you out. You, of course, represent the humans."

  "Of course," Smith said.

  "At that time, there's only one way to beat Zorkmonster," Barry said.

  "What is it?" Smith said quickly. He might try to reach Remo with this information.

  "All you can do is unplug the machine. Zorkmonster never loses," Barry said.

  The news media were generally ecstatic. Despite financial cutbacks from America, despite criticism from reactionary groups, the IHAEO now was making headway against the dreaded curse of central Africa, the Ung beetle.

  Twenty-four jetloads of delegates arrived at the main airport of Uwenda, the country that now comprised five tribes including the Inuti.

  Amabasa Francois Ndo was returning home in triumph.

  A television announcer said: "We are witnessing here Africans helping Africans, despite Western white obstruction. We see here a triumph of indigenous peoples over their oppressors." The television announcer was from an American network.

  The delegates' jets were met by air-conditioned limousines that stretched out along the roads, a caravan of wealth. Ndo, normally the darling of the press, refused all interviews. He had not slept well since Chiun had taken the god Ga from him. He recognized the hills outside the car and realized he was returning to his own home village. The horror hit him then that the village elders would demand he show them that he had safely kept Ga with him. But he did not have it for them.

  Fortunately, he was on good terms with the president, vice-president, chief magistrate, chief of police, and head of the Agricultural Department of Liwenda. They were all his cousins. The commander in chief of the Army was his brother. Together, they might all keep the rest of the village at bay. Certainly he had shipped home enough money for them and they might just realize that if he stopped, the money stopped. Still, Ga was a powerful god. He was thinking these things as someone up front was talking white nonsense about the damned beetle they were all going to see get killed. They should have sent a fly swatter.

  Yet the man in the kimono had insisted, so here he was, the director general of the IHAEO, in a stinking muddy village with people who didn't even know how to dress. Home, unsweet home.

  An especially backward and despicable looking pair were fawning over the polish on his new limousine. "Get those two out of there. They smell," Ndo said to his chauffeur.

  "They say they're your parents, your Excellency."

  "Oh well, put them in some clothes and get the photographer."

  "Yes, your Excellency."

  "And bathe them. Yes, god, bathe them."

  "Yes, your Excellency."

  The place was even worse than he imagined. The fields of maize were even more scraggly, the village square in the center of the huts dustier, and the roads were absolutely impassable. Come rainy season, they would be a sea of mud.

  "The roads are awful. What happened to them?"

  "The French left, your Excellency."

  "They didn't take the roads with them, did they? Did they steal them?"

  "They stopped repairing them, Excellency."

  "All right, all right: Let's get this experiment over with and get back to where it's livable."

  "The scientists have not arrived yet, your Excellency."

  "Why not? What's holding them up?" asked Ndo, looking over the long line of dark roofs, the immaculate limousines stretched out like an expensive technological necklace through the yellow dried fields.

  "There were only so many limousines to go around, Excellency," his aide said.

  "So?"

  "So the scientists are coming by ox cart."

  Dara Worthington did not mind the ox cart. She did not mind the dust. She had been raised in country like this and it was good to get back to Africa, good to see the people again: Even good to ride in an ox cart again.

  Remo and Chiun rode beside her with the other scientists in the carts behind. At several points along the road, they had to pay road tolls.

  What they were paying for was occasional patches of asphalt, left from the days of the French. Who they were paying were soldiers of the Uwenda Army.

  The Uwenda Army performed other public functions. They collected money at the markets from both shoppers and vendors. They collected money from dice games. They collected cold cash from anyone who wanted to build anything in Uwenda.

  Up ahead on the somewhat asphalt road, soldiers now were menacingly turning their machine guns toward the carts. Behind them was a tank, its large cannon also pointed at the small carts.

  Dara had heard about a diplomatic tiff when the Soviets had given Uwenda seven tanks. The President for Eternity, Claude Ndo, had read in a British publication that the tanks Uwenda had received were not the most modern in the Soviet arsenal. He did not want second-line tanks.

  A Soviet general was sent to Uwenda to explain to the President for Eternity, Claude Ndo, cousin of the director general of IHAEO, that the only difference between the first-line Soviet tank and the second line was a refractionary voltage regulator for use in arctic conditions.

  "You have no need of the newer model," the general said.

  "Do you need it?"

  "We maneuver in arctic conditions," the Russian said.

  "We have interests in freezing areas just like any other nation."
r />   "Who are you going to fight in the arctic?" the general asked.

  "Whoever we wish. Just like you."

  "How are you going to get the tanks there?"

  "Give us the tools and we will do the rest. We are your allies. The Third World stands in solidarity with you."

  The general mumbled something about the need for the new tanks being ridiculous and was told that the Russians always had a reputation for being crude and insensitive. He was told that this crudeness might cost them allies in Africa. He was told that even now there was a movement in America to get more African allies.

  The President for Eternity did not hear the Russian general mumble an old childhood prayer asking that all this might come to pass. The general faced a real problem: if Uwenda got the new tank, then every other African country would want the new tank.

  Gabon, for instance, was not going to sit around while Tanzania had the new tank because that would mean a loss of face. And if Tanzania got the new tank, then of course, Mozambique, Zimbabwe and Ghana would also have to have the new tank.

  It was a nightmare to contemplate so the Soviet general, as he had been instructed by the Soviet foreign office, pulled out a manila envelope.

  "These are the plans to show you how your tank is as good as any around," the general said.

  The President for Eternity opened the envelope and mumbled, "Not quite a large enough demonstration."

  "Would you take a check for the rest?" said the general.

  "I think that is good strategy," said the President for Eternity, taking the American hundred-dollar bills from the manila envelope. He insisted upon American dollars because Russians rubles always had to be converted into dollars anyway before they would buy anything worthwhile.

  There was one more problem with the tanks that now lined the roadways of Uwenda, looking like magnets for dust.

  "Where are the drivers? The people to use the radar for the guns? The mechanics to fix the tanks? You are not dealing with some fool. These things do not run themselves," said Claude Ndo.

  And so the general promised advisers also. What Uwenda supplied was the Army officer to sit in the cockpit and stiffly salute the President for Eternity during parades.

  One rainy season, the Russian mechanics became ill and the entire armored corps of Uwenda stayed where it was. By the time the Russians recovered, the tanks had been cannibalized and only one could be made to run again. This one now stood alongside the road, protecting the ox-cart caravan which was bringing the scientists who would try to fight the Ung beetle.

  A soldier hopped from the top of the tank and strolled up to the first cart. Dara put her body between the soldier and the white refrigerated box holding the chemical pheromones developed by Dr. Ravits.

  Four other soldiers followed him. They all looked at Dara Worthington and began lowering their pants. Remo asked them once to pull up their pants. He asked them twice. He even suggested a third time that they do this.

  Perhaps, Remo thought, they did not understand English. This had been a French colony.

  Remo spoke no French so he settled on a more universal language. He yanked the AK-47 rifle from the nearest soldier's hands and stuck it down the soldier's nearest and pulled the trigger. The soldier jumped as if stung by bees, flipping backward, but even as he did, Remo made sure he felt no pain. He crushed the soldier's temple with a flick of a finger. The other four soldiers understood the message perfectly. Up came the pants. But so did their guns. Remo faded slowly to the left to draw their fire and Chiun faded slowly right. Guns barked in the hot central African dust like coughing machines. The bullets hit rocks, kicked up little beige showers of dust, shredded dry leaves, but missed the two of them.

  The soldiers sprayed their shots and launched grenades and still the two looked like mirages floating out there, teasing the men with the guns.

  The soldiers were not bad shots but unfortunately they were shooting only at what they saw. None of them had noticed that before the firing, the two men had begun to sway, ever so slightly, but rhythmically, like a snake charmer with a cobra, moving so that the movements locked eyes on them, then relaxed the eyes on them. Some of the soldiers actually hit what they thought they saw, but what they were looking for was never in front of their bullets.

  Dara watched in astonishment as four soldiers emptied their guns around her, but always away from her. When the final pop was gone, she saw the two new scientists step out from behind the ox cart and casually remove the weapons from the soldiers and stack them up. Then they attached the soldiers to the carts with wires and used them to help the oxen move faster.

  Cheers, soft at first, then louder, came from behind nearby rocks. Old women and children crept out. Then young women. Then men, some in just loincloths, some in tattered long pants.

  They rushed up to the last remaining tank in the Uwenda armored arsenal. One jumped inside and started to pass out bundles. It was their food which the soldiers had stolen. Some of them recovered old trinkets they had treasured.

  "Viye la France!" one cried, thinking all whites were French. One of them asked in French when the French were coming back.

  Chiun, who understood the old French, answered that they were not coming back. There were moans of sadness.

  To Dara and Remo as the carts pulled closer to the Inuti village up ahead, Chiun explained that this had once been a thriving land of great Inuti kings, but then the white man had come and taught another way of life. It looked like a better way and for a while it was, but it required white men to run it.

  The old ways of the Inuti were forgotten; the old kings discredited. The loyalty of king to subject and subject to king was ignored. The efficient Inuti way of farming was abandoned. Then the whites left.

  And the poor tribesmen had neither white way nor traditional Inuti way to run anything.

  "So once again, we see how white ways are wrong," Chiun said.

  "I've never heard that explained so well, so beautifully," said Dara.

  "I'm still not wearing a kimono," said Remo.

  The carts arrived at a field that seemed to be undulating silver waves, glistening in the sun.

  "The Ung beetle," said Dara. "It used to be kept under control naturally but since we've been fighting it, it's actually increased."

  Then she turned in the cart and patted the white refrigerator box.

  "This is going to change it all. It used to be such a beautiful land. This is going to give the land back to the people."

  A runner emerged from the long line of black limousines, all with windows closed. The motors were running, the air conditioners on full blast.

  "His excellency wants to know when you are ready to begin."

  "In fifteen minutes," said Dara.

  "He wants the machinery set up by the cars."

  "It will work better in the middle of the field," she said.

  "All right then. Signal when you are ready."

  Dara ordered the carts into the middle of the field: The oxen twitched and almost bolted because the Ung beetles were all over them. Remo and Chiun released the Uwenda soldiers from the wires and they ran away, brushing the shiny bugs off them.

  Dara stayed at the head of the cart. The other scientists rode too, some batting the bugs away, others trying just to ignore them.

  "What are you two using? Give the rest of us some of it," Dara said.

  "Using?" said Remo.

  "That repellent. Why aren't the bugs landing on you?"

  "Just keep your skin moving," Remo said.

  "You mean you can control your own skin?"

  "You mean you can't?" Remo said, remembering now the times before his training when mosquitoes used to bother him.

  The carts reached the center of the field and the oxen were released to dash clumsily over the dry dead earth, away from the beetles which were devouring the last flimsy crop of the village.

  Dara and the scientists prepared small canisters from the large refrigerated container.

  "Yo
u see," she told Remo and Chiun, "the big danger of the Ung is that it reproduces so quickly. But that's also its weakness. Dr. Ravits found a pheromone, an attractive scent for the beetles. The canisters will release it and the beetles won't be able to stay away. They'll stop eating, just to reproduce."

  "Screwing themselves to death?" Remo said.

  "How crude you are," Dara said. "You are the most worthless scientist I ever met."

  "Doesn't DDT work?" asked Remo.

  "It did. But after a few weeks they built up a resistance to it. Then EDB didn't work. No matter how deadly the toxin, in a short time the Ung is immune to it. It actually feeds on the toxins."

  The scientists stumbled through the bugs, getting coatings of the silvery Ung all over themselves as they placed the canisters every ten yards.

  Then they ran. The heat of the day would release the scent from the canisters. Some of the scientists stumbled, blinded by the bugs, but when they had all made it back to the cars, the beetles seemed to be gone from them. Still, the very fresh memory of the bugs crawling over them made them slap their bare arms.

  Out in the middle of the field there was a hum, dull at first like a whisper and then like a train and then suddenly there appeared to be a writhing hill in the middle of the field. Not only couldn't anyone see the canisters, they couldn't have seen a person anymore if he were standing there.

  "It's working, it's working!"cried Dara. She hugged Remo. She liked what she hugged. In joy, one of the scientists hugged everyone around him and hugged Chiun too. He was allowed to escape with multiple abrasions of the arms.

  In Korean, Chiun commented that Remo had refused the best offers of Sinanju maidens but now was willing to let himself be publicly disgraced by being fondled and mauled by a passing white.

  "I'm still not wearing a kimono, Little Father," said Remo.

  When the bugs were densely packed in a hill four stories high, devouring themselves, doors opened briefly from the limousines and the delegates from the countries all over Africa and Asia gathered for the television cameras. Amabasa Franeois Ndo gave a little speech congratulating himself. Everyone applauded and then returned to the cars and headed back to the airport. All except Ndo. His car rolled up to Remo and Chiun. The door opened and he looked toward Chiun.