Authors: Robert A. Heinlein
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Fiction, #Science fiction, #General, #Fiction - Science Fiction, #Science Fiction - General, #Adventure
Ardmore ignored them and continued his progress until he stood
immediately in front of the commander. "I am told that my people have
sinned," he announced. "The Lord Mota will deal with them."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned his back on the perplexed
official and shouted, "In the name of Shaam, Lord of Peace!" and turned on
the green ray from his staff.
He played it over the imprisoned congregation. Down they went, as if the
ray were a strong gale striking a stand of wheat. In seconds' time, every man,
woman and child lay limp on the ground, to all appearance dead. Ardmore
turned back to the PanAsian officer and bowed low. "The servant asks this
penance be accepted."
To say that the Oriental was disconcerted is to expose the inadequacy of
language. He knew how to deal with opposition, but this whole-hearted
cooperation left him without a plan; it was not in the rules.
Ardmore left him no time to think of a plan. "The Lord Mota is not
content," he informed him, "and directs that I give you and your men
presents, presents of gold!"
With that he switched on a dazzling white light and played it over the
stacked arms of the soldiers to his right. Ward followed his motions, giving his
attention to the left flank. The stacked small arms glowed and scintillated
under the ray. Wherever it touched, the metal shone with a new luster, rich
and ruddy. Gold! Raw gold!
The PanAsian common soldier was paid no better than common soldiers
usually are. Their lines shifted uneasily, like race horses at the barrier. A
sergeant stepped up to the weapons, examined one and held it up. He called
out something in his own tongue, his voice showing high excitement.
The soldiers broke ranks.
They shouted and swarmed and danced. They fought each other for
possession of the useless, precious weapons. They paid no attention to their
officers; nor were their officers free of the gold fever.
Ardmore looked at Ward and nodded. "Let 'em have it!" he commanded,
and turned his knockout ray on the PanAsian commander.
The Asiatic toppled over without learning what had hit him, for his
agonized attention was on his demoralized command. Ward had gone to
work on the staff officers.
Ardmore gave the American prisoners the counteracting effect while
Ward disintegrated a large gate in the bull pen. There developed the most
unexpected difficult part of the task -to persuade three hundred-odd, dazed
and disorganized people to listen and to move all in one direction. But two
loud voices and a fixed determination accomplished it. It was necessary to
clear a path through the struggling, wealth-mad Orientals with the aid of the
tractor and pressor beams. This gave Ardmore an idea; he used the beams
an his own followers much as a goose girl touches up a flock of geese with
her switch.
They made the nine blocks to the temple in ten minutes, moving at a
dogtrot that left many gasping and protesting. But they made it, made it
without interruption by major force, although both Ward and Ardmore found it
necessary to knock out an occasional PanAsian en route.
Ardmore wiped sweat from his face when he finally stumbled in the
temple door, sweat that was not due entirely to precipitate progress. "Ward,"
he asked with a sigh, "have you got a drink in the place?"
Thomas was calling him again before he had had time to finish a
cigarette. "Chief," he said, "we are beginning to get some reports in. I thought
you would like to know."
"Go ahead."
"It looks successful-so far. Maybe twenty percent of the priests have
reported so far through their bishops that they are back with their
congregations."
"Any casualties?"
"Yes. We lost the entire congregation in Charleston, South Carolina.
They were dead before the priest got there. He tore into the PanAsians with
his staff at full power and killed maybe two or three times as many of the
apes as they had killed of us before he beat his way to his temple and
reported."
Ardmore shook his head at this. "Too bad. I'm sorry about his
congregation, but I'm sorrier that he cut loose and killed a bunch of
PanAsians. It tips my hand before I'm ready."
"But, Chief, you can't blame him-his wife was in that crowd!"
"I'm not blaming him. Anyhow, it's done-the gloves had to come off
sooner or later; this just means that we will have to work a little faster. Any
other trouble?"
"Not much. Several places they fought a sort of rear-guard action getting
back to the temples and lost some people." Ardmore saw a messenger in the
screen hand a sheaf of_ flimsies to Thomas. Thomas glanced at them and
continued. "A bunch more reports, Chief. Want to hear 'em?"
"No. Give me a consolidated report when they are all in. Or when most of
them are in, not later than an hour from now. I'm cutting off."
The consolidated report showed that over ninety-seven percent of the
members of the cult of Mota had been safely gathered into the temples.
Ardmore called a staff meeting and outlined his immediate plans. The
meeting was, in effect, face to face, as Ardmore's place at the conference
table was taken by the pick-up and the screen of the receiver. "We've had our
hands forced," he told them. "As you know, we had not expected to start
action of our own volition for another two weeks, perhaps three. But we have
no choice now. As I see it, we have to act and act so fast that we will always
have the jump on them."
He threw the situation open to general discussion; there was agreement
that immediate action was necessary, but some disagreement as to methods.
After listening to their several opinions Ardmore selected Disorganization
Plan IV and told them to go ahead with preparations. "Remember," he
cautioned, "once we start, it's too late to turn back. This thing moves fast and
accelerates. How many basic weapons have been provided?"
The "basic weapon" was the simplest Ledbetter projector that had been
designed. It looked very much like a pistol and was intended to be used in
similar fashion. It projected a directional beam of the primary Ledbetter effect
in the frequency band fatal in those of Mongolian blood and none other. It
could be used by a layman after three minutes' instruction, since all that was
required was to point it and press a trigger, but it was practically foolproof-the user literally could not harm a fly with it, much less a Caucasian man. But
it was sudden death to Asiatics.
The problem of manufacturing and distributing quantities of weapons to
be used in the deciding conflict had been difficult. The staffs used by the
priests were out of the question; each was a precision instrument comparable
to a fine Swiss watch. Scheer himself had laboriously fashioned by hand the
most delicate parts of each staff, and, nevertheless, required the assistance
of many other skilled metalsmiths and toolmakers to keep pace with the
demand. It was all handwork; mass production was impossible until
Americans once more controlled their own factories.
Furthermore, detailed instruction and arduous supervised practice were
indispensable in order for a priest to become even moderately skillful in the
use of the remarkable powers of his staff.
The basic weapon was the pragmatic answer. It was simple and rugged
and contained no moving parts other than the activating switch, or trigger.
Even so, it could not be manufactured in quantity at the Citadel, as there
would have been no way to distribute the weapons to widely separated parts
of the country without attracting unhealthy attention from the PanAsian
authorities. Each priest carried to his own temple one sample of the basic
weapon; it was then his responsibility to locate and enlist in his own
community, workmen with -the necessary skill in metalwork for producing the
comparatively simple device.
In the secret places down underneath each temple, workmen had been
busy for weeks at the task grinding, polishing, shaping, reproducing by hand
row on row of the lethal little gadgets.
The supply staff officer gave Ardmore the information he had requested.
"Very well," Ardmore acknowledged, "that's fewer weapons than we have
members of our congregations, but it will have to do. There will be a lot of
dead wood, anyway. This damned cult business has attracted every
screwball and crackpot in the country-all the long-haired men and shorthaired women. By the time we count them out we may have a few basic
weapons left over. Which reminds me-if we do have any left over, there ought
to be some women in every congregation who are young and strong and
tough-minded enough to be useful in a fight. We'll arm them. About the
crackpots you'll find a note in the general indoctrination plan as to how each
priest is to break the news to his flock that the whole thing is really a hoax for
military purposes. I want to add to it. Nine people out of ten will be overjoyed
to hear the truth and strongly cooperative. That tenth one may cause trouble,
get hysterical, maybe try to do a bunk out of the temple. Caution each priest,
for God's sake, to be careful; break the news to them in small numbers at a
time, and be ready to turn the sleepy ray on anybody that looks like a source
of trouble. Then lock 'em up until the fun is over-we haven't time to try to
reorient the soft-minded.
"Now get on with it. The priests will need the rest of the day to
indoctrinate their congregations and to get them organized into something
resembling military lines. Thomas, I want the scout car assigned tonight to
the job involving the Prince Royal to stop here first and pick me up. Have
Wilkie and Scheer man it."
"Very well, sir. But I had planned to be in that car myself. Do you object
to that slight change?"
"I do," Ardmore said dryly. "If you will look at Disorganization Plan IV you
will see that it calls for the commanding officer to remain in the Citadel. Since
I am already here, outside the Citadel, you will remain in my place."
"But, Chief-"
"We are not going to risk both of us, not at this stage of the game. Now
pipe down."
"Yes, sir."
Ardmore was called back to the communicator later that morning. The
face of the headquarters communication watch officer peered out of the
screen at him. "O1-Major Ardmore, Salt Lake City is trying to reach you with
a priority routing."
"Put them on."
The face gave way to that of the priest at Salt Lake City.
"Chief," he began, "we've got a most extraordinary prisoner. I'm of the
opinion you'd better question him yourself."
"I'm short of time. Why?"
"Well, he's a PanAsian, but claims he is a white man and that you will
know him. The funny thing about it is that he got past our screen. I thought
that was impossible."
"So it is. Let me see him."
It was Downer, as Ardmore had begun to suspect. Ardmore introduced
him to the local priest and as cured that official that his screens had not failed
him. "Now, Captain, out with it."
"Sir, I decided to come in and report to you in detail because things are
coming to a head."
"I know it. Give me all the details you can."
"I will, sir. I wonder if you have any idea how much damage you've done
the enemy already?-their morale is cracking up like rotten ice in a thaw. They
axe all nervous, uncertain of themselves. What happened?"
Ardmore sketched out briefly the events of the past twenty-four hours,
his own arrest, the arrest of the priests, the arrest of the entire cult of Mota,
and the subsequent delivery. Downer nodded. "That explains it. I couldn't
really tell what had happened; they never tell a common soldier anything-but
I could see them going to pieces, and I thought you had better know."
"What happened?"
"Well-I guess I had better just tell you what I saw, and let you make your
own inferences. The second battalion of the Dragon Regiment at Salt Lake
City is under arrest. I heard a rumor that every officer in it had committed
suicide. I suppose that is the outfit that let the local congregation escape, but
I don't know."
"Probably. Go ahead."
"All I know is what I saw. They were marched in about the middle of the
morning with their banners reversed and confined to their barracks, with a
heavy guard - around the buildings. But that's not all. It affects more than the
one outfit under arrest. Chief, you know how an entire regiment will go to
pieces if the colo nel starts losing his grip?"
"I do. Is that the way they act?"
"Yes-at least the command stationed at Salt Lake City. I'm damned well
certain that the big shot there is afraid of something he can't understand, and
his fear has infected his troops, right down to the ordinary soldiers. Suicides,
lots of 'em, even among the common soldiers. A man will get moody for
about a day, then sit down facing toward the Pacific and rip out his guts.
"But here is the tip-off, the thing that proves that morale is bad all over
the country. There has been a general order issued by the Prince Royal, in