Prisoners of Tomorrow (97 page)

Sterm stared at her unblinkingly. “To save yourself.”

“I find that insulting, and also unbecoming.”

“Do you? Or is it that you are unable, yet, to accept it?”

Celia forced as much coldness into her voice as she could muster. “I don’t like being told that I’m interested in protecting my own skin.”

Sterm was unperturbed, as if he had been expecting such an answer. “I made no mention of your wanting to save yourself physically. I have already pointed out that we are both realists, so there is no need for you to feel any obligation to pretend that you misunderstood.” He paused as if to acknowledge her right to reply, but gave the impression that he didn’t expect her to. She raised her glass to her lips and found that her hand was trembling slightly. Sterm resumed. “The dream has crumbled away, hasn’t it, Celia. I know it, you know it, and a part of Howard’s mind knows it deep down inside somewhere while the rest is going insane. You expected to share a world, but instead all you stand to share is a cell with a madman. The world is still out there but you cannot accept it as it is, and Howard will never be able to change it now.” Sterm extended a hand expressively. “And the future awaits you.” He paused again, watched as Celia lowered her eyes, and nodded. “Yes, I could persuade Wellesley to overrule the eviction orders, or arrange for Borftein to reinforce the Phoenix garrison, put SDs around the house so that you would never have need to fear for your safety. But is that what you want me to do?”

Celia looked down at the glass in her hand and bit nervously at her lip. “I don’t know,” was all she could whisper. Sterm watched her impassively. In the end she shook her head. “No.”

Sterm allowed a few seconds for her admission to settle. “Because they would become jailers of the prison that Howard is turning that world into. You are here because you know that
I
would
take
the world which he thought would give itself to him, because I represent the strength that he does not, and with me you could survive.” Celia looked up again, but Sterm’s eyes had taken on a faraway light. “Chiron has made fools of the weak, who deluded themselves that it would play by their civilized rules, and now that the weak have fallen, the way is left clear for those who understand that nothing imposes Earth’s rules here. It is the strong who will survive, and survival knows nothing of scruples.”

Celia’s eyes widened as many things suddenly became clearer. “You . . .” Her voice caught somewhere at the back of her throat. “You knew this was going to happen—Howard, Phoenix . . . everything. You were manipulating all of them from the beginning, even Wellesley. You knew what would happen after the landing but you endorsed it.”

Sterm looked back at her and smiled humorlessly. “Hardly what I would call manipulating. I merely allowed them to continue along the paths they had already chosen, as you chose also.”

“But you saw where the paths led.”

“They would never have listened if I had told them. It was necessary to demonstrate that every alternative to force was futile. Now they will understand, just as you have come to understand.”

“How—how could you justify it?”

“To whom do I have to justify anything? Those rules belong to Earth. I make my own.”

“To Congress, the people.”

Sterm snorted. “I need neither. The same forces that will subdue Chiron will subdue the people also.” His eyes flickered over Celia’s body momentarily. “And they will submit because they, like you, have an instinct to survive.”

Celia found herself staring into eyes that mirrored for a split second the calm, calculated ruthlessness that lay within, devoid of disguise or apology, or any hint that there should be any. A chill quivered down her spine. But she felt also the trapdoor in her mind straining as a need that lay imprisoned behind it, and which she was still not ready to face, responded. Sterm’s eyes were challenging her to deny anything that he had said. She was unable to make even that gesture.

Howard had sought to possess, and she had refused to become a possession. Sterm sought not to possess but to dominate Chiron. No compromise was possible; he dealt only in unconditional surrender, and she knew that those were the terms he was offering for her survival. Perhaps she had known it even before she arrived.

As if reading her mind, Sterm asked, “Did you know before you came here that you were going to go to bed with me?” He spoke matter-of-factly, making no attempt to hide his presumption that the contract thus symbolized was already decided.

“I . . . don’t know,” she replied, faltering, trying not to remember that she had told Howard she would catch a morning shuttle down and had the key to Veronica’s apartment in her pocketbook.

“Does he expect you tonight?” Sterm inquired curiously, although Celia couldn’t avoid a feeling that he already knew the answer. She shook her head. “Where are you supposed to be?”

“With a friend in Baltimore,” she told him, thus making her capitulation total. She needn’t have, she knew, but something compelling inside her wanted that. She knew also that it was Sterm’s way of forcing her to admit it to herself. The terms were now understood.

“Then there is no reason for us to allow unseemly haste to lower the quality of the evening,” Sterm said, sitting forward and reaching with a leisurely movement of his hand for the decanter. “A little time ripens more than just fine cognac. Will you join me in a refill?”

“Of course,” Celia whispered and passed him her glass.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“We’ll take care of that.” Colman turned his head and called in a louder voice, “Stanislau, Young—come over here and give me a hand with this crate.” Rifles slung across their backs, Stanislau and Young stepped away from the squad standing on the sidewalk and helped Colman to heave the crate into the truck waiting to leave for the border checkpoint, while the Chironian who had been struggling to lift it with his teenage son watched. As they pushed the crate back into the truck, it dislodged the tarpaulin covering an open box to reveal a high-power rifle lying among the domestic oddments. The Chironian saw it and lifted his head to look at Colman curiously. Colman threw the tarp back over the box and turned away.

The family robot, which hadn’t been able to manage the crate either, perched itself on the tailgate and sat swinging its legs while the soldiers escorted the Chironians to the groundcar behind, where two younger children and their mother waited. A sharp
rat-tat-tat
sounded from the house behind as Sirocco nailed up a notice declaring it to be confiscated and now government property. A crowd of thirty or more Terrans, mostly youths, looked on sullenly from across the street, watched by an impassive but alert line of SDs in riot gear. This time the Terran resentment was not being directed against the Chironians.

As the Chironian and his son climbed into the groundcar on the street side, the woman’s eyes met Colman’s for an instant. There was no malice in them. “I know,” she said through the window. “You’ve got a job that you have to do for a little while longer. Don’t worry about it. We can use the vacation. We’ll be back.” Colman managed the shadow of a grin. Seconds later the truck moved away, the robot sitting in the rear, and the groundcar followed, two wistful young faces pressed against the rear window.

Angry murmurs were heard from the Terran civilians. Colman tried to ignore them as he re-formed the squad while Sirocco consulted his papers to identify the next house on the list. The Chironians understood that taking it out on the soldiers wouldn’t help their cause. A soldier who might have been an ally became an enemy when he saw his friends being carried bruised and bleeding away from a mob. Everything the Chironians did was designed to subtract from their enemies instead of add to them, and to whittle their opposition down to the hard core that lay at the center, which was all they had any quarrel with. He could see it; Sirocco could see it, and the men could see it. Why couldn’t more of the Terrans see it too?

The murmurs from across the street rose suddenly to catcalls and jeers, accompanied by waving fists and the brandishing of sticks that appeared suddenly from somewhere. Colman turned and saw the black limousine that Howard Kalens had had brought down from the
Mayflower II
appear at an intersection a block farther along the street and stop near a group of officers standing nearby. Major Thorpe detached himself from the group and walked across. Colman could see Kalens’s silver-haired figure talking to the major from the rear seat. Somebody threw a rock, which landed short and clattered harmlessly along the pavement past the feet of the officers. More followed, and several Terrans moved forward threateningly.

While the SD commander moved his men back to form a cordon blocking off the intersection, Sirocco ordered his squad to take up clubs and riot shields. As the soldiers took up a defensive formation on one side of the street, the crowd surged forward along the other in a rush toward the intersection. Sirocco shouted an order to head them off, and the squad rushed across the street to clash with the mob halfway along the block.

Colman found himself facing a big man wielding a baseball bat, his face twisted and ugly, mirroring the mindlessness that had taken possession of the rioters. The man swung the bat viciously but clumsily. Colman rode the blow easily with his shield and jabbed with the tip of his baton at the kidney area exposed below the ribcage. His assailant staggered back with a scream of pain. Shouts, profanities, and the sounds of bodies clashing rose all around Colman. Something hard bounced off his helmet. Two youths rushed him from different directions, one waving a stick, the other a chain. Colman jumped to the side to bring the two in line for a split second’s cover, feinted with his baton, then sent the first cannoning into the second with a shove from his shield with the full weight of his shoulder behind it, and both rioters went down into a heap. Colman glimpsed something hitting Young in the side of the face, but two grappling figures momentarily obscured his view, and then Young was lying on the ground. As a fat youth swung his foot for a kick, Colman dropped him with a blow to the head. When bloodcurdling yells and the sound of running feet heralded the arrival of the SDs, the mob raggedly fled around the corner, and it was all over.

Young had a gash on his cheek that was more messy than deep and a huge bruise along his jaw to go with it, and four rioters were left behind with sore heads or other minor injuries. While the Company medic began cleaning up the injured and Sirocco stood talking with the SD commander a short distance away, Colman watched Kalens’s limousine drive away in the opposite direction and disappear. That was how it had always been, he could see now. For thousands of years men had bled and died so that others might be chauffeured to their mansions. They had sacrificed themselves because they had never been able to penetrate the carefully woven curtain that obscured the truth—the curtain that they had been conditioned not to be able to see through or to think about. But the Chironians had never had the conditioning.

The inverted logic that had puzzled him had not been something peculiar to the military mind; it was just that the military mind was the only one he had ever really known. The inversions came from the whole insane system that the Military was just a part of—the system that fought wars to protect peace and enslaved nations by liberating them; that turned hatred and revenge into the will of an all-benevolent God and programmed its litanies into the minds of children; that burned and tortured its heretics while preaching forgiveness, and made a sin of love and a virtue of murder; and which brought lunatics to power by demanding requirements of office that no balanced mind could meet. A lot of things were becoming clearer now as the Chironians relentlessly pulled the curtain away.

For the curtain that was falling away was the backcloth of the stage upon which the dolls had danced. And as the backcloth fell and the strings fell with it, the dolls were dancing on. The dolls were dancing without the strings because there were no strings. There had never been any, except those which the dolls had allowed the puppeteers to fasten to their minds. But those strings had held up the puppeteers, not the dolls, for the puppeteers were falling while the dolls danced on.

Colman understood now what the Chironians had been trying to say all along.

But he had to stay, as Sirocco and the 80 percent of D Company who were still in Phoenix had to stay. After Swyley went, Driscoll went, and many of the others went, Sirocco had called the rest together and reminded them about the weapons in the
Mayflower II.
“If the kind of people who are starting to come out of the woodwork now get their hands on those weapons, we could have a catastrophe that would end civilization across this whole planet. You’ve all seen what’s happening back on Earth. Well, the same mentalities are here too, and they’re panicking. We
must
keep enough of the Army together to stop anything like that if we have to.” And so they had stayed.

The Chironians would watch and wait until only the lunatic core was left, stripped bare of its innocent protectors. Eventually only two kinds would be left: There would be Chironians, and there would be Kalenses. And Colman no longer had any doubts as to which he would be.

In the D Company Orderly Room in the Omar Bradley barracks block, Hanlon secured his ammunition belt, put on his helmet, and took his M32 from the rack. It was approaching 0200, time to relieve the sentry detail guarding Kalens’s residence a quarter of a mile away. “Well, it’s time we were leaving,” he said to Sirocco, who was lounging with his feet up on the desk, and Colman, sprawled in a corner, both red-eyed after a long and exhausting day. “I’ll try to shout quietly. I’d hate to be disturbing His Honor in his sleep.”

Sirocco smiled tiredly. “You’re excused from taking off your boots,” he murmured.

“Are we still invited to the Fallowses tonight, Steve?” Hanlon asked, stopping at the door to look back at Colman.

Colman nodded. “I guess so. I’ll probably be asleep when you come off duty. Better give me a call.”

“I will indeed. See you later.” Hanlon left, and they heard him forming up the relief guard outside.