Coming back to conscious awareness, Kurt Zen simultaneously realized that something which he had been experiencing, and which had been very important, faded out of his memory like a gray ghost sliding silently away into a pearl-colored mist.
Nedra was shaking him by the shoulder and was smiling down at him. "Wake up, sleepy head. You've been snoozing for eighteen hours. That ought to be enough even for a growing boy like you."
Her face was radiant and alive. She looked as if she had just stepped out of a cold shower and had rubbed her beautiful body with a rough towel to bring the blood close to the surface of the skin.
"You look wonderful," Zen muttered, remembering what John had hinted. "Did you have a good night's sleep?"
"A couple of hours."
"No more than that?"
"I needed no more."
"Mm?" Zen said. He started to add another word, "Alone?" but managed to catch the question before it was out of his mouth. He examined her thoughtfully. "You look very contented," he said, without adding that in his experience women who looked so contented had only one reason for it.
"Why shouldn't I look contented? After spending so much time in the wilderness, I'm back on the stairway to heaven."
"What's the wilderness?"
"The world down below." She swept her hand in a gesture that included the unseen ranges and the plains below.
"Ah, yes," he yawned himself to wakefulness. "I was reading the most fascinating book before I dropped off to sleep. Here. I'll show you."
The book was not on his blanket. It was not in the wall niche. Nor was it behind the bed. "Hey, it's gone," he said. His eyes went around the room. He discovered other things that were missing. "The lieutenant's gun! And my pack!"
"Perhaps you just dreamed you had been reading a book."
"I didn't dream the gun and the pack. I carried both of them in here."
"I can explain about them. They were taken."
"Hunh? Why?"
"Weapons are not permitted here. Your gun and your pack were both taken for this reason."
"Hunh?" A growl came unbidden into his voice. He put these items out of his mind with the resolve to speak to someone about them at a later time. Something more important had happened. What was it? A memory of his dream flicked through his mind but was gone before he could grasp it. A frown on his face, he said, "I know—" As he tried to speak, what he had intended to say slid out of his mind.
"You know what?" Nedra asked.
"Everything."
Her face showed surprise. "This is a great deal for one man to know. Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Positive?"
"Hell, yes!"
An emotion that was like a curtain opening and closing slipped across her face. "Well, in that case, tell me things."
"I would, except I can't remember 'em."
Doubt came into the violet eyes. "What you need is some breakfast. Your blood sugar levels are too low. Breakfast will take care of that." Her voice was firm and sure.
"That's one thing I need," Zen said, his voice equally firm. "But there is one thing I don't need—an examination by a head shrinker."
"A what?"
"A psycho," he explained. "I call 'em head shrinkers because that is what they do. Oh, maybe I need such an examination but I have no intention of submitting to it."
Breakfast consisted of cornmeal mush, fried to a golden brown, and served with butter and honey. There was no coffee but he had long since learned to do without it. He ate ravenously. "I'm hungry right down to the marrow of my bones," he said. "Where does all this grub come from?"
"We get it," Nedra answered evasively.
"What do you do, raid the low country for supplies, like Cuso's men?"
"No, colonel, hardly that. We are not thieves." Her face showed displeasure.
"Well, where do you get it? I don't know how many of you are here, but if you have as many as a hundred, keeping this place supplied calls for some doing." He was fishing for information on the number of people hidden in this old mine.
"Actually, very little food is needed."
"How come, don't they eat?"
"Are you reading my mind?" the girl demanded. "If so, you might as well learn right now that this is not considered good manners here!" Momentarily, she was angry. "And besides, if you do it again, I'll close off my thoughts to you."
Zen, with a forkful of mush halfway to his mouth, was so surprised that he tried to speak and to swallow the mush at the same time, with the result that he choked. The inference back of her words opened up wide horizons of speculative thought. Was mind reading actually commonplace here?
"I'm sorry you choked," Nedra said. She pounded him on the back.
"Why don't you put me over your shoulder and burp me?" Zen complained. "Lay off with that pounding."
"Do you feel you really need burping?"
"Aw, shut up," Zen answered. If she thought he had read her mind, did this mean that she was actually capable of reading his thoughts? Could all of these people read his mind? Had the nude bronze girl going through the rhythmic exercises known what he was thinking about her. Zen felt himself coloring. It was one thing to have the normal libidinous impulses of the male but it was quite another thing to have every woman know what he was thinking about her.
"Colonel, I do believe you are blushing," Nedra said, a twinkle in her eyes.
"I am not," Zen said. "Actually I was wondering—"
"Whether or not I could read your mind? I told you it was not good manners here."
"Good manners or not, you seemed to know what I was thinking."
"It isn't necessary to read your mind to know what you are thinking if a pretty woman is concerned," Nedra said, primly. "Your thoughts are written on your face."
"Uh!" For a moment, his confusion grew. Her understanding was much too acute. Was she playing games, making fun? If so, this was a game that two could play. "In that case, since you already know about me—how about it?" he said, looking boldly at her.
She understood his meaning. For a moment, the violet eyes showed sadness. They seemed to indicate that she was disappointed in him, that she had hoped for much better from him. Then a sparkle came into them. "I told you once before—"
"Yeah, I know. You are going to wash out my mind with soap. But let's not do it right now. I'm still hungry."
"You are one of the most perplexing men I have ever met," Nedra said, as she rose to fill his plate again. "Also one of the fastest—"
"I thought we were going to stay away from that subject," he protested.
"I intended to say fastest on his mental feet," she answered. "And if you don't stop interrupting me to make a play on words, I'm going to give you a hit on the head. After that, Sam wants to see you."
"Sam, huh?" he said, with no real enthusiasm in his voice. Somehow this morning, he did not relish seeing the craggy man. But there was the matter of the missing pack and gun to be taken up with someone in authority. He suspected that West was that person.
The craggy man was alone in the room to which Nedra took him when he had finished breakfast. West was standing with his back to them as they entered, staring out of a picture window that was set flush with the wall of the building. Turning, he nodded to them, then motioned to them to come and stand beside him. Kurt Zen looked out on one of the most breath-takingly beautiful scenes he had ever seen. Directly below them the cliff dropped away for hundreds of feet, a blank wall of sheer rock. To the left, climbing up into the sky, was the peak of the mountain, solid granite. They were just at the edge of timberline here. Lower, the trees began: spruce, fir, and aspen, marching downward tier on tier over a series of rolling hills that concealed more than they revealed. In the distance was the front range, a towering sweep of mountains that looked small but which Zen knew to be rugged country. He had climbed them too recently to have any doubts as to how high they were. And how rugged.
In the far distance cumulus clouds were visible, thunder-storms beyond the mountains.
"Thy purple mountain's majesty above the fruited plain...."
The words of the song came unbidden into Kurt's mind. Down below him was—America. Or what was left of it. A pang came up in his throat at the thought and he felt muscles pull and knot in his stomach. He had loved this land.
America had stood for freedom. Her sons had fought for it, on battlefields in every corner of the earth, from sun-baked equatorial Africa to the freezing bitter steppes of Central Asia. While her sons had found graves, fighting for freedom, something had happened to the freedom for which they fought.
Nobody knew quite what had happened, but it had gone away. Possibly it had been lost as emergency followed emergency on the international scene, possibly it had been strangled in red tape as regulation followed regulation on the national scene. The time had come in America, too, as it had come to foreign lands, when all actions that were not compulsory were forbidden.
Thus freedom had died.
"Do you feel as bad as all that, colonel?" West said softly. The man's face was grave and each ridge on it seemed carved out of another and harder kind of granite.
"It seems such a shame," Zen said. "I loved this land. It was my country. And I don't feel that I have to apologize for a gulp in my tongue as I talk about it."
"It is not necessary to apologize for loving one's own land, colonel," West said, his voice softer still. "You are not alone."
"Not alone?" Zen said. "From you, this talk sounds strange."
"We have all loved this land, too, colonel, and the principles for which it stood. That is why we are here." West's voice became softer still, but the gravity in his face seemed to increase.
"That is good talk," Zen said. "However, if I have learned one thing, it is that talk is cheap. You are outlaws hiding here yet you talk of loving the land that you have failed to serve." He felt his voice grate as he spoke.
"Bravely spoken, colonel," West applauded. A glint that might have been appreciation and might have been the edge of hidden anger showed in his eyes. "Particularly so since you are in the power of these—ah—outlaws."
"Very brave," Nedra agreed. "And very foolish."
"You did not bring me here to tell me that I am in your power," Zen answered. "Nor to comment on my bravery. Nor my foolishness."
"I think he can read minds," Nedra said.
"I do not in the least doubt it," West answered. "If he did not possess this ability, or almost possess it, he would not be here."
"I, in my turn, think both of you are nuts," Zen answered. "I'm not putting on a mind-reading act."
"Not consciously, colonel, of course," West agreed. "You think your thoughts are your own. Often they are. But there are also times when they have originated with somebody else. However, before you tell me that I did not call you up here to discuss your mind-reading ability, or lack of it, I will show you one reason why I wanted you. Take the glasses, observe the ridge in the far distance, just under the pines. Tell me what you see there."
"Horses," Zen said. "No, mules. With riders. Cuso's men going out on a raiding party looking for food, ammo, and women, if they can catch 'em."
"Quite right, colonel. Except that they probably have the additional duty of inspecting the damage their blooper did when it exploded."
"I hope they inspect that damage from close range," Zen said fervidly. "That area is hot. If they will only spend an hour or so—" He broke off as he remembered that both Nedra and West had spent too much time in the same hot zone.
"They will not be that foolish," West said.
"I know some people who were," Zen said.
"Perhaps the area, at least on the fringes, was not as hot as you had thought," West suggested.
"My counter said it was," Zen answered.
"Possibly your counter was in error. Now if you will come into this room, colonel." West moved through an archway in the stone wall and into another room, holding the heavy draperies aside so Zen and Nedra could enter. An opaque screen was set into the wall. Several chairs, including one large seat with control buttons built into the arms, were in this room. West closed the curtain over the arch through which they had entered and motioned Zen to a chair. The craggy man slid into the chair with the buttons on the arms. Nedra sat beside Zen. Relaxed and at ease in the chair, she seemed to have forgotten that such creatures as colonels of intelligence existed. West pushed a button. Light flicked across the screen, danced an erratic pattern there, and vanished. An image began to form. Firming, it increased in detail, and became a city.
Or what had once been a city.
The place was blackened now, the buildings lying in ruins. Towers had toppled, windows had broken, the ravages of fire were visible. Here and there tall buildings had crumbled into streets that crossed and criss-crossed each other at crazy angles. The rubble from the broken buildings still lay where it had fallen.
"Washington, by thunder!" Zen said. "This was their prime target. We stopped their bombers cold but they eventually got through with a guided missile. The city is still hot. You can see it right there on the screen. Not a sign of life!" He became excited as he re-lived those first mad moments when the Asian Federation had struck out of nowhere. In this moment what little freedom that had remained in America had been given up in the face of the seemingly more important necessity of remaining alive.
"Yes," West said. "Now what do you see?"
The ruined Washington faded from the scene. As it faded, the broken dome of the capitol building—its top had been blown off in the blast—was revealed looking like a mysterious crater on the moon open to the sea of space.
Another city came on the screen, a mass of broken buildings where two rivers met.
"I think that's Pittsburgh," Zen said. "They were eager to hit us there, to cut down on our industrial production potential. They got Gary, Indiana, and South Chicago, for the same reason. In spite of everything we could do to stop it, they eventually got through to our major production centers. If we hadn't foreseen the possibility of this happening, and had not spread our industry across the country, breaking it up into small parts, they would have crippled us so badly before the war even started that we would not have lasted long. However, even with our production spread, when they hit the sources of our raw materials, they hurt us—bad. Our stock piles gave out after a couple of years. Since then we've been scavenging for metal wherever we can find it."
"Yes. I know," West said.
"Of course, while they were hurting us, we weren't exactly helping them," Zen said. "We had a few guided missiles ready in their launching racks ourselves. We weren't exactly defenseless." Pride came into his voice as he spoke.
"I agree with you there," West said. "Would you like to see some of our results."
"Hell, yes," Zen blurted out, surprised. "Our photo ships have never gotten really good pics. Have to fly too high for that. Oh, we have turned loose a flood of pics that purported to show how we had bombed hell out of the enemy, but these were all re-touched, to boost public morale. But—how does this radar work? Do you mean to tell me you can actually see what is going on inside the country of the enemy?" Puzzled wonder crept into his voice. Behind the feeling was a keen interest. If he could use this radar to see into the country of the enemy, it was a very important invention, though West did not seem to realize this.
In war, information was always as important as weapons, and sometimes more so. Knowledge of the enemy's troop dispositions, of his strength and his weaknesses, was often more than half the battle.
West did not answer. Another city swam into position on the screen. Zen caught a glimpse of a single minaret standing among the bare ruins and hazarded a guess as to the identity of the city.
"Moscow?"
"Yes."
"Good. One of our fast planes sneaked over in full daylight, dumping his load. When the photo plane passed over hours later, the city was still burning. We really blasted the hell out of that dump!"
"You sound pleased, colonel. Do you know how many millions of people died directly or indirectly in that bomb explosion?"
"How many millions died in Washington, Pittsburgh, and Chicago?" Zen flared.
"Granted," West answered. "But after the first man has been killed, does it help the situation to kill a second? Or does killing the second one merely make it more likely that a third one will have to be destroyed?"
"What the hell difference does it make? This is war."
"That is also granted. However, the rules of life do not change because men declare war."
"Don't be so damned academic that you forget to be realistic. They were striking at our heart," Zen said, bitterness deep in his voice. "Look, we didn't seek this war. We did everything we could to prevent it. We tried compromise, arbitration, placation, and everything else we could think of. Nothing worked. They struck in the dark, without warning." As he spoke, his bitterness turned into deep anger.
"That is also granted," West said, while the ruined city was displayed on the screen. "But does it make a great deal of difference?"
Zen stared at the man, wondering what kind of a human he was. In the dim room, it was difficult to make out West's features. "It makes all the difference in the world. We believed in fairness. They ignored it. We believed in a better world. They would plunge us back into the night of barbarism. We believed in freedom. They wanted slaves. They set up a slave state and threw armed slaves against free men. We had no choice except to fight back."
"I see nothing to argue in all you have said," West answered. "Nor is it to my purpose to attempt to justify the actions of the western democracies. They need no justification. Nor do the actions of the Asian Federation need justification. In their eyes, they were right." His voice was a low monotone of sound without the trace of an emotion in it.
"Then what is your purpose?" Zen demanded.
"First, to point out that the human race is one organism. Viewed in its totality, it is just that, an organism. All the billions of individuals who compose it are cells in that organism."
"I am familiar with that theory," Zen answered. "A few crackpots have always insisted that we are a biological entity. But they have not succeeded in proving this."
"Haven't they?" West said. The slightest touch of irony appeared in his voice.
"Not so far as I know."
"Is it possible, colonel, that you do not know everything?" West asked.
"It is not only possible, it is obvious," Zen answered, unruffled by the cutting question. "If I knew everything, I wouldn't be sitting here talking to you. I would be out there winning a war."
"The point I want to make, colonel, is that the human race is divided against itself. Historically, this has been going on since remote ages. War after war after war."
"I do not see how America is responsible for the errors of history," Zen said. "We tried to avoid them. God knows we tried." Emphasis crept into his voice.
"I did not say these were errors, colonel," West replied. "I merely said they were history."
"But what point are you making if not the one that wars are mistakes?" Zen asked, surprised at the way the other's thinking had gone.
"I am making the point that war seems to be the way the entity, the human race as a whole, evolves. The method of evolution revealed by history is the pitting of one part of the entity against another part, then letting them fight it out to see which is the more efficient." A touch of grimness sounded in the voice of the craggy man. In the dimly lighted room, his face was as bleak—and as lonely—as the granite outcropping at the top of a mountain.
"This is a very savage philosophy," Kurt Zen commented.
"If I may disagree with you again, colonel, I do not think that this philosophy is necessarily savage. True, a great many men die in fiendishly ingenious ways. A great many women and children suffer. True, this system produces hunger in the world, and a fear so deep and so intense that the heart is hurt even to contemplate it."
"How can this be anything but savage?" Zen protested. "I don't care whether our side or the other side is doing it—it's still total savagery, utter barbarism!"
"But that is a short-term view and one which does not take into consideration all the factors in the equation. What is the purpose back of this savagery, if it is not to force men to learn and to grow? What if this so-called savagery is also the result of ignorance, of an entity trying desperately to learn how to solve a problem, but never quite succeeding?"
"But surely there must be some way which does not involve so much suffering," Zen protested. He was growing more and more uncomfortable. It was his impression that he was shifting sides in the argument without quite realizing he was doing it. Or perhaps West was the one who was shifting sides. This side-changing was producing confusion in his thinking.
"I have harbored the same hope," West answered. "However, I know of no way to accomplish this result. In a human being, we have a growing, evolving organism that is possessed of a keen brain and a vast curiosity. Such an organism, by its very nature, will have to try every possible road." West pressed a button.
Again the screen came to life. Dim and shadowy, human figures began to move there. Kurt Zen leaned forward to see them more clearly.
At first, the figures were indistinct and Zen could not see them clearly. He mentioned this to West.
"They will get sharper in a minute," the craggy man answered. His voice had sunk to a whisper heard from afar. Zen glanced at him to make certain he was still there. The colonel had the flickering impression that the chair was vacant but before the impression could firm itself, West, faster than the eyes could follow, seemed to be back in the chair. "Note the screen now, Kurt," West said.
The figures had become clear. It seemed to be a view of some kind of underground cavern where men were working on an object that looked like—Zen squinted his eyes, to make certain.
"A small space ship!" the colonel said. He felt eagerness rise in his voice. Like so many kids born in the age of science, he had harbored the dream of the days to come when men would fly beyond the sky, to storied space islands that lay afar. Science had promised that this would happen and the fiction writers had embellished this belief with dream worlds. Somehow, it had never come to pass. One problem after another had prevented realization of this dream. The war, which should have accelerated development, had stopped it completely. Neither side had the materials or the engineers or the skilled technicians to construct a vessel capable of space flight.
"No," West said. His voice was toneless and the far-away note was still strong in it. "Sorry to contradict you, colonel, but that is not a small space ship, though it is designed to get out of the atmosphere for a short time. Look again."
"Hell, it's a super bomb!" Zen gasped, as recognition came to him.
"Right, colonel!"
"A bomb big enough to devastate a continent!" Cold currents suddenly flurried at the base of Zen's spine.
"Right, colonel." West's voice was as dry as the Nevada wind.
"I didn't know we had such a bomb under construction," Zen blurted out.
"We haven't."
"Then who—where?" The cold currents at the base of Zen's back were flowing down both legs and up his spine.
"Look at the men, colonel. Look closely." West's voice was also cold.
"They're Asiatics!" Shouting the words, Zen was out of his chair. "I didn't see the yellow faces and the slanted eyes at first. West, that's a huge guided missile. It's being built to drop out of the sky at thousands of miles an hour, on us!"
"Yes," West said. He did not move a muscle in his body. On the other side of Kurt Zen, Nedra sat equally silent and motionless.
"I have to get out of here," Zen said. "This information must be reported to the general staff, at once!" Urgency pounded in the tones of his voice.
"The new people do not fight," West said. "I thought you were one of us."
"It doesn't matter who I am," Zen said quickly. "The building of this super bomb must be reported.It must be!Extra warnings must be issued. We must alert every z-type fighter we possess and have them in the air constantly, in the hope that we can destroy this bomb before it lands. We've got to follow the construction hourly, so we will know when it is ready to be launched. And that means we've got to have top-flight intelligence men here, to follow the building of that bomb every inch of the way. Or we've got to take this super-radar of yours to headquarters and use it there. That's the best solution, if it is at all practical." Zen was striding back and forth in the darkened room, planning the steps that had to be taken.
"West, do you realize this super-radar of yours will win the war!" Excitement tightened the colonel's voice. "With it, the enemy won't be able to make a move that we don't know about in advance." His excitement grew as the vast longing hidden in him for the end of the war tried to come to the surface.
"You have tears in your eyes, colonel," West said.
"You're out of your mind," Zen retorted. But he knew the craggy man was speaking the truth. He swallowed harder. "We've got the Asians cold. We'll know every move they make in advance." He exulted as he realized again how much this meant.
"I have always known every move they made in advance," West answered.
"We'll have them on their knees in—huh? What was that you just said? What was that?" Desperation appeared in the colonel's voice.
West repeated his words.
"Then why didn't you warn us?" Zen felt each word sting as it left his lips. "Why didn't you warn us? Why did you let so many of us die so unnecessarily?"
West did not answer.
The silence in the room grew deeper. Cold had begun to appear in the air. On the screen, the silent figures continued busily engaged in the building of their bomb.
"Don't you realize that your failure to report what you knew is high treason?" Zen continued.
The silence grew. West sat as solid and as immobile as a mountain. Nedra seemed to have shrunk in upon herself still farther. More than ever she looked like a very small girl who had somehow managed to intrude into a world of adults and was tremendously confused and hurt by what was happening here.
"Don't you hear me?" Zen said.
"I hear you," West answered. "Your loyalty to your country does you credit, colonel. It is to be expected from a person in your stage of development. However, you seem to have forgotten that I am not a citizen of your country. Or perhaps you did not know this?"
"Not a citizen?" Zen said. "But this mountain exists in America. I don't know whether it is actually on Canadian ground or lies in the United States, but this does not matter. By mutual treaty, the countries have become one nation. A citizen of one is automatically a citizen of the other."
"True, colonel." West did not attempt to explain.
"Then what country do you claim to belong to?" Zen felt his voice falter as he tried to grasp what lay back of this very strange man. "You talk like an American."
"I was born here."
"Then you are a citizen."
"No. I resigned my citizenship. As to my real country, it is a far land. I am sure you have no knowledge of it. My loyalty, colonel, is not to any nation on the face of the globe, but is to—growth, to the new people who will come into existence one day."
As West spoke, the cold that was freezing Zen's spine suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a sudden deep warmth. The words seemed to touch some hidden spring of warmth within him.
"My loyalty is to the future, to the growing tip of the life force, to what the human race will become, not to what it is today. Only the future has meaning, colonel, and to the building of that future I have dedicated my life."
In spite of the fact that the words thrilled him, Zen knew he had to deny them. "This is sophistry," he snapped. "I think any court in the land would hold it to be evasion of your proper duties. You can't continue living in a country and enjoying its ble—" Confusion came into Zen's mind.
"Were you going to sayblessings, colonel?" West said, almost maliciously.
"Yes."
"Would you point out these blessings?"
"We had them once," Zen said. "And we're going to have them again."
"Are you?" West nodded toward the screen where the far-off enemy technicians and engineers were busy with their super bomb.
"Now that we know that it exists, that bomb will never land," Zen said. "I'll see to that personally."
"How are you going to discharge this responsibility?" West inquired.
"I'll find a way," Zen answered.
"I admire your spirit, colonel, though not necessarily your evaluation of your personal position at this moment. Also, there is one other thing that I want you to see."
The screen went blank. Slowly another scene formed on it. Zen, staring, blurted out words.
"That's another one. They're making two of those super bombs. I didn't think they had the materials and the technical know-how to make even one! This doubles the problem, and more than doubles the urgency. We'll have to guard the skyways from all directions, including straight up. Damn it, West!" Zen slapped his fist into his open palm to emphasize his feeling of urgency.
"Look again, colonel," the craggy man invited.
On second look Zen saw something that he had missed before. "Those are Americans! We're building that bomb!" His words were little gusts of explosive sound in the quiet room.
"Right," West said. His voice was very grim.
"Then it's a race to see which side gets its bomb built first?" Zen asked. He did not know whether or not he liked what his eyes were seeing and the interpretation his mind was giving him.
"I am afraid that is true," West reluctantly agreed. "But doesn't that change the picture, colonel?"
"How?" Zen demanded. "We're going to win a war. We've got to win it." The words were firmly spoken but somewhere a lingering doubt remained as if some point had not been considered.
"The other side also thinks it has to win," West pointed out.
"To hell with what they think. They started it. We didn't. Man, you don't intend to tell me that you are going to sit right here and watch two nations frantically try to destroy each other—and maybe the Earth with them—when you have the means to stop it in your hand?" Horror exploded in Zen's words.
"I am going to do just that," West stated. His voice was as firm and as solid as the granite core of a mountain.
"But you can't!" Zen expostulated.
"Why can't I?" West demanded. "I am not a citizen of either country and I owe nothing to any nation."
"Even if you are not a citizen of either country, you're still a human being. You owe loyalty to your own race," Zen said.
The craggy man showed faint signs of discomfort. But when he spoke, his voice was still imperturbable. "Granting your statement, what do you propose I do?"
"Stop the Asians," Zen answered promptly. "Give us complete information on the location of their super-bomb. We'll make certain we get ours finished first and we'll use it to blow their installation out of existence." At the moment, his plan seemed feasible.
"That would create the very danger you are trying to avoid, would it not?" West pointed out. "Both super bombs would explode simultaneously. Do you think the Earth would remain in its orbit if this happened?"
"I don't know," Zen answered. "That would be up to the astronomers and the astronomical physicists to decide. In any case, if the danger is too great, we'll use ordinary weapons to touch off their super bomb. Well get the job done before they finish."
"They are working underground, in a cavern at least three thousand feet deep," West pointed out. "Do you have a weapon that will penetrate to this depth?"
"We'll build one!"
"You talk very glibly, colonel."
"Somebody has got to talk!" Zen said fiercely. "Even if they are building their bomb underground, they must have an exit for it somewhere. We'll locate their exit and drop an H-bomb on it."
"And thus destroy their bomb and the best of their scientists and engineers?"
"This is war. You can't have sympathy in war."
"This is my point, colonel," West said patiently. "I have no sympathy—with either side."
"Then what do you propose—to sit here and do nothing?"
"I propose to let each side destroy the other as much as they wish and can. Then, when they have completely demonstrated the futility of their efforts, when it is utterly clear to the few who have survived that warfare is not the way to the future, then the new people will emerge to show the way to those who have survived." West's voice was calm. He seemed to be considering a situation often pondered and to be stating a conclusion firmly and definitely reached.
"But that involves senseless slaughter," Zen protested. "This was the reason that lay back of the dropping of the first atom bomb—to stop senseless slaughter."
"All slaughter is senseless, colonel, though from the viewpoint of the individual or nation doing it, slaughter is generally considered to be right at the time."
Zen started to comment on what the craggy man had just said, then changed his mind. Was he dealing with a madman? This seemed possible. West's words certainly did not fit any pattern that Zen knew. The act of sitting by and letting two nations commit suicide went beyond the bounds of rational thinking.
"I beg you, let me report this to the high command," Zen said, making one last plea.
"In reply, I want to ask one question," West answered. "What would happen to the people here, and to me, if I revealed the existence of this instrument?"
"You would be a hero," Zen said promptly, and knew he was lying as he spoke. "Your people would be protected."
"I dislike calling you a liar, colonel, but that is exactly what you are," West answered. "We would all be taken care of, as long as all of us did exactly what the high command wanted. The instant I tried to do anything else, my actions would be called treason and I would be considered a traitor. My equipment would be confiscated, 'for the convenience of the government,' and I would be lucky if I did not face a firing squad. Tell me honestly, colonel, would not this happen?" For the first time, West's words had a tinge of anger in them. Or was it sorrow?
"Sam—" Nedra said. "Something—" Her voice was a whisper from some far-off land.
"What is it, Nedra?" West asked. In an instant, he had forgotten all about Kurt Zen.
The nurse sat up straight and stiff. All color fled from her face. "Something—" Her voice was the faintest whisper of sound in this quiet room.
"Nedra, what is it?" West's tones had alarm in them.
Instead of answering, the nurse slid from her chair to the floor, in a faint.
Dim and distant in the silence that followed came a popping sound.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat—
Zen had heard this death-dealing rattle too often to mistake its identity.
"A sub-machine gun!"
The drapes that covered the archway leading into this hidden room were shoved aside. A man fell through them. Zen knew at a glance that he was another of the kids who lived here in this hidden cavern inside a mountain. Blood was spewing from a hole in his back and he was fighting desperately for breath.
"They're—coming with guns!" he gasped.
West dropped to his knees and took the head of the youth in his lap. His face was dark as he saw the wound on the back. Cuddling the youth's head in his lap as one would a frightened child, he asked, "What happened, Carl?"
"I don't know. They came out of nowhere. There was no one. Then these men were here. They came—shooting." Blood came out of his mouth as he spoke. He tried to cough it away, and failed. His hand went to his mouth and wiped at the blood, then he lifted his hand to his eyes and saw what was there.
"How many are there?" Zen asked.
Carl's eyes wandered until he found the source of this question. "Dozens," he said, his voice dull. Blood was draining from his mouth across West's legs and was forming a pool on the floor.
Listening, Zen could distinguish three machine guns going now. Men were yelling. A girl was screaming. At the sounds, the colonel's lips formed into a line as sharp as the edge of a knife.
"How did they get past your fear generators?" he said to West.
"I don't know," the craggy man answered. "Perhaps they found an unguarded tunnel."
Zen could not see what difference it made how the intruders had secured entry. They were here. "Where are your weapons?" he demanded. In his mind was the thought that the new people would have weapons adequate to defend their own citadel.
"Weapons?" West did not seem to understand the term. "We have none."
"What?" Zen said. Hadn't West understood him. Every farmer, every rancher, and every householder had his stock of weapons. Almost all people went armed. "No rifles?"
"No."
"Not even tear gas?"
"No, colonel."
"Then how in the hell did you expect to stay alive?" Zen burst out. "You surely knew they would find you sometime."
"Staying alive is actually not as important as you think. Yes, son." West bent again to listen to the youth's words.
"Good—good—" The whisper was very faint.
West understood. "Goodbye," he said. "We will meet again. But, goodbye for now."
The youth sighed. All pain and all fear went from his face. Peace came to him.
But when West rose to his feet, his face was bleak. "He was new here," he said as if this explained something that he felt needed explaining.
Somewhere a woman was screaming. West listened to the sound, then started toward it. Zen caught his arm.
"The invaders have guns." His tone conveyed the impression that West was at fault because no weapons existed inside the mine. "Or do you want to go join him?" He nodded toward the body on the floor. Blood had stopped spilling from that body now. The essence of life had gone elsewhere and the tides of life had ceased flowing.
"Yes," West said bluntly. "I want to go with him." His face had grown more black. Heat lightning was dancing in his eyes.
Zen caught the impulse to say that this made two of them who wanted to join the bronze-skinned youth. He knew how to deal with this reaction.
"Okay," he said. "Good bye."
West blinked startled eyes at him.
"Run along," Zen said.
"Eh?"
"I'll take over here and fight the battle you are running from," Zen continued.
As if he were dispelling a mist from some hidden corner of his mind, the craggy man shook his head. "Sorry," he apologized. "However, the call is very strong. Only the sense of a job not yet done has kept me from going for—a long time." He shook his head again. "No, I shall not follow him, for another while, though I am positive that he is luckier than we are."
"I agree," Zen said.
Stooping, West picked up Nedra. She lay in his arms like a tired, sleeping child. Had she followed the youth? Kurt Zen had a moment of heartbreak as the thought passed through his mind before he saw that she was still breathing regularly.
"Follow me," West said.
The heat lightning still danced in the eyes of the craggy man as he moved across the room. The solid wall swung aside into another hidden door. "None of my people know this is here," he explained. "The combination lock is actuated only by my body."
As Kurt Zen went through the door he could hear the girl still screaming somewhere.
The passage was narrow. To one side, another passage led into a room where Zen caught a glimpse of some kind of electrical equipment in operation, the technical guts of the super-radar, he suspected.
Ahead, West growled, a sound that came from deep in his throat. He had stopped and was staring down into a hidden opening in the wall. Zen saw that the opening, through some hidden arrangement of mirrors, revealed the interior of the big gallery where he had spent the night.
Hell was loose in there now.
Jake, Ed, and Cal were part of that hell. Each carried a smoking weapon in his hands. A body lay on the floor. Somewhere in one of the small rooms a woman was screaming. In the middle of the room stood the man who was obviously in charge of the situation. At the sight of this man, Kurt Zen felt his breath draw into his body so heavily that it whistled through his nostrils.
Cuso's lieutenant!
The others in the room were the Asians who had been with the lieutenant the night before.
"I should have slit their throats while they were asleep and in my power last night," Zen raged.
The only sound in the passage was that of West breathing heavily, like a man who had run a marathon and had lost. No, there were two men! Additional shock came up in Kurt Zen when he realized he was the second man. He seized the craggy man by the shoulder.
"West! They can't have that super radar. If we lose that, we have lost the war."
The craggy man did not move.
Anguish grew in Zen's voice. "If we lose this one, it will be the first war we have ever lost. And the last one. Nothing will remain to come after us except death and desolation."
"I know," West said. "The race soul will have to start over, in the swamps and on the mud flats, trying to rebuild the race with tools long since worn out and out of place in time." Again the tones of a bell were in his voice. But now the bell was tolling the death of a people, wailing that the glory that once had been was truly gone, wailing that the brave world that some men had tried to build was going into ashes and into doom.
"Do you believe in the race soul too?" West gasped.
"Beliefis too weak a word. Iknowit exists."
Nedra sighed in West's arms and opened her eyes. Seeing who was holding her, she lay back in the arms of the craggy man, more than ever like a tired child. "What was it?" she whispered. "What's wrong? I—I took a little nap."
West set her on her feet and pointed at the opening. She clutched at the stone wall as she saw what was happening inside.
Running, the bronze girl who had danced to the slow music the night before, came fleeing from a room. One of Cuso's soldiers was pursuing her. She fled like a deer before some great hound that was interested in pulling her down but she did not flee fast enough. The soldier caught her and dragged her back into a room.
"West, how many of these kids did you have here?" Zen asked.
"About fifty," the craggy man answered. "I don't know how many are left nor can I guess how many will choose to stay alive if they are conquered before their training is completed."
"And no weapons?"
"None."
"What about my gun that was taken from me while I slept?"
"What good would one gun do now?"
"None, I guess," Zen said, helplessly. "But as they try to run me down, I'd like to have it in my hands. I'd at least take a few of them with me before they got me."
"We will survive," West said, his voice a mumble.
Zen pointed through the opening to the bodies lying on the floor below them. "They didn't," he said.
The craggy man groaned. "If I had time I would try to explain to you that survival does not lie in the body and can never be achieved there."
Zen answered, "I have no time for metaphysics. For purposes of defense, I'm taking command." He felt foolish as he spoke. What resources were his to command, what troops, what weapons? He knew the answer as the thought crossed his mind. If he only had the remnants of the broken column moving down the mountains after its disastrous encounter with Cuso's blooper. An idea came into his mind. Perhaps he could have these troops. "Where's my pack?" he demanded. His radio equipment was in that.
"It went with your gun into the deep hole," West said. "The deep hole is a fault the old miners uncovered here. It's miles deep." He shook his head.
"Damn!" Kurt Zen said. The depression in him was as deep as the fault in the mountain. "Isn't there any place where we can hide?"
"Many places," West said. "This whole mountain is a honeycomb of tunnels and shafts. We have explored fifteen separate levels and there are others which lie below the present water line." He did not protest at Zen's statement that the latter was taking command, but seemed willing to submit to the colonel's authority, and also interested in seeing how Zen would handle the problem.
"Then find us a place to hide until we can decide what to do to eliminate Cuso's men. A hiding hole first, then radio equipment. As soon as I can gain access to short-wave transmitting equipment, I can have a regiment of paratroopers on their way here."
"You sound as if you have authority," Nedra commented.
"I have."
"But you gave me the impression you were a deserter."
"They haven't discovered that yet, at headquarters. So far as they are concerned, I'm on a secret mission. And I haven't deserted the human race." Zen put sting into his words. The implication was that two people present were really deserters.
"Ah, well, colonel, we shall see about that." West had recovered most of his aplomb. Again he seemed to be observing from a great distance the antics of this strange species called human. But his face remained bleak and his eyes had flickers of lightning in them. He started away from the opening.
And stopped as metal clanged ahead of them.
A door opened there. An Asian soldier with his rifle at the ready came through. A second one followed the first. The rifles of both covered West.
Zen jerked his arms toward the roof. Neither the craggy man nor Nedra moved a muscle.
Slowly, West and Nedra raised their hands. At gun point, the two soldiers herded them toward the main gallery. At the sight of them the lieutenant hastily called Cal to him.
"Is this the one?" he demanded, pointing at West.
"That's him," Cal answered. "He's the leader here. He's the one you want."
Elation appeared as a shock-wave on the yellow face of the Asian lieutenant. Calling two men to him, he had West step aside, treating the craggy man with respect that bordered on deference but also with great firmness.
"You two stand against the wall with the others," he said to Nedra and Kurt Zen. There was no deference in his voice as he spoke to them. "If they move, shoot them!" he ordered his men. As Kurt and Nedra obeyed, the lieutenant drew West to one side and began a conversation with him. His men were still busy searching the old mine tunnels. Now and then they brought more captives to the main gallery.
Cal, Jake, and Ed remained in the center of the big room. Cal was trying to look important but the expression on his face indicated he was hiding guilt pangs somewhere inside. As soon as he saw Nedra, Ed's eyes became fixed on her though he did not look at her face. Jake's murky eyes were roving the chamber. He did not seem to comprehend what he was seeing but seemed to be living in some other world that was even more confusing and more clouded than this one.
The bronze girl, utterly naked, came limping into the gallery from one of the small rooms. She had a dazed expression on her face and she looked around the room as if she could not comprehend what was happening. At the sight of her, the lieutenant left off talking to West for a moment, his eyes glowing. But his conversation with West was more important than his lust. He motioned with his gun for the bronze girl to take her place against the wall. She stared at him as if she did not understand him. He waved the gun again.
Some dull comprehension of his meaning penetrated her mind. She stumbled to the wall but fell face downward on the stone floor.
Nedra, with a little cry of pity on her lips, moved quickly to the side of the bronze girl. Zen started to move, then stopped, but not because the rifle of one of the guards was swinging up to menace him. Nedra gave a quick examination of the girl, then got slowly to her feet.
"Dead?" Zen said.
"Y-es. But how did you know?"
"Just a hunch. What caused it, shock?"
"I imagine so. After she was violated, she wanted to die. So she really died because she wanted to. I—I—" Tears appeared in Nedra's violet eyes and ran down her cheeks. But she did not sob, though muscles moved in her throat.
West glanced at the bronze girl. He seemed to know, without being told, what had happened. His face became bleak. The lieutenant regarded the body of the dead girl with regret. When the soldier who had violated her came out of the room, the lieutenant ordered him to remove the body.
Zen got the impression that the lieutenant, even though he was talking earnestly with the craggy man, was waiting. Forty of the new people were herded into the room and forced to stand against the walls. Bronze striplings, they were. Not a one was out of his twenties and several were obviously in their teens. Though they were confused, they kept silent.
"Is this all?" Zen heard the lieutenant ask West.
The craggy man must have known at a glance the answer to this question but he took the time to count every person. "This is all," he said positively. The lieutenant seemed to believe him but Zen would have given odds that the man was lying.
The lieutenant continued to wait.
A guard, entering hastily, saluted. When Zen saw who was following the soldier he realized why the lieutenant had been waiting.
Cuso came into the gallery.
The Asian leader was a giant almost seven feet tall and big in proportion. He looked capable of killing a man with his bare hands, and probably was. Just looking at him, Zen knew why he had been selected to lead the airborne landing in America. Radiating power and strength, he was the type for this kind of mission.
Besides power, he radiated something else. Zen sensed this something else as a sickening feeling at the pit of his stomach, a tightening of muscles in the diaphragm.
When Cuso appeared, the lieutenant stiffened himself to attention and almost broke his arm saluting. He and Cuso spoke together in a sing-song dialect that Zen did not pretend to understand. As they talked, the lieutenant continued to point at West. A grin broke out on Cuso's face. He beckoned the craggy man to him.
The craggy man approached, but did not salute. Prisoners were not permitted to salute. Nor did he get down on his hands and knees, which was not only permitted but required among the Asians. West stood arrow-straight.
In spite of his disagreements with him, Zen felt proud of Sam West now. Cuso was grinning placatingly but in spite of the grin, West surely knew that he was looking at death, that the slightest show of resistance on his part would have only one result, although Cuso might save him until he had wrung all possible information out of him. Zen did not in the least doubt that information was what the Asian wanted first. After that, there was the tradition of torturing helpless prisoners.
"I have heard much about you," Cuso said. For an Asian, he spoke fair English.
"I am greatly honored," West answered. "However, I am curious as to how you heard about me."
A sly grin flitted across the Asian's face. "We 'ave our sources of information."
"Spies?" West asked.
"We 'ave spies, of course, but they could not find out much about you. There are other ways—how do you say it?"
"Clairvoyants?" West asked.
"Yes, that is right." Cuso looked pleased to be given the right word. He also looked startled because he had been given the right fact. Zen, listening, was surprised too. He knew that the suggestion to use clairvoyants to find out what the enemy was doing had often been made. As an intelligence officer, he had investigated several clairvoyants who had volunteered for this purpose. He knew that such a project had been set up but he did not know what the results had been, if any. However, to learn that the enemy had not only entertained the same ideas, but had used them with some success, startled him.
"I suspected clairvoyants," West said.
"Ah," Cuso said. "Did you also suspect that the only reason this airborne landing was made on these shores was to capture you?"
Even West's perfect control of his features could not hide the start of surprise at these words. "I am not that important," he said.
Cuso smiled deprecatingly and made a little gesture with his hand which said that such modesty was becoming in the truly great. Oddly, Zen had the impression that the Asian leader meant this. "As to that, I have the great privilege of offering you a commission as a field marshal in the armies of United Asia." His voice dripped oil and awe, oil because he was selling, awe because he was truly impressed by the rank of field marshal. Perhaps as a result of the successful achievement of this difficult mission, even he might have this rank. Hunger thickened on Cuso's face as he thought of this.
West blinked, then smiled back at Cuso. "That is interesting. But what makes you think I would be interested in such a commission—or in any commission—in your armies?"
"For protection, for one reason," Cuso answered promptly. "Our reports indicate that you are not a citizen of any country. Since this leaves you with no friends to protect you, this is an undesirable position. On the other hand, since you belong to no one, every country feels that you are an enemy. Because of this, your life is constantly in danger. However, holding our commission, you are automatically a citizen of United Asia, and thus are under our protection."
Cuso spoke as if being a citizen of United Asia was important and that holding a commission in its armies was even more so.
"Do you think I have no friends?" West asked.
"Well, you are not a citizen of—"
"Why do you think I need protection?" West continued.
The oily smile slid off of the giant Asian's face. For an instant, the wild beast underneath showed through. "Perhaps you do not need protection personally. But under the circumstances as I have outlined them, our mantle would automatically extend to the people working with you." His eyes went around the room to the youths standing rigidly against the wall. In this circuit, his gaze flicked contemptuously past the corpses lying on the floor.
The face of the craggy man got bleak again. He understood only too well what lay back of Cuso's words. "I see what you mean. But what do you wish of me?" His voice carried an intimation of surrender in the face of odds that he recognized as being hopeless.
Zen, with his back to the wall, tried to keep from squirming. Emotions that were causing actual pain were in his body. Why would the race mind permit such an outrage as this?
The smile on Cuso's face went from ear to ear. Here was victory, here was the submission of the enemy. Here was what his leaders wanted. Here was a marshal's baton for him.
"Really very little." He drew in his breath with a hiss as he addressed West, a sign of deferent politeness. "Merely that you show us what you have here. And, of course, that you should explain it all to our scientists and engineers, showing them how your equipment operates."
The room got very quiet after Cuso had finished speaking. West seemed to muse. "What do you think we have here?" he said.
"If I knew the answer to that question, I would not be asking such a stupid thing," Cuso answered.
"Quite true," West agreed. "I was stupid to even ask such a question."
"The time is here to end stupidity," Cuso said.
"Again I agree," the craggy man answered. He shrugged. "Well, when and where do you want me to start?" The smile on his face was a mixture of fear and resignation. It indicated that he had given up completely.
"Now you are talking the kind of words I like to hear," Cuso said emphatically. "You will start now, and show me, personally, everything that is of importance in this mountain."
"Very well. Follow me." West turned and moved toward the opening that led to the chamber where the super radar was hidden.
"Wait here," Cuso snapped at his lieutenant. "Shoot any person who moves."
"Yes, great one," the lieutenant answered, saluting. This was the kind of order he loved to obey.
Cuso and West went out of sight.
Jake, Cal, and Ed stood in the middle of the room. Ed approached the lieutenant, nodded toward Nedra, and spoke earnestly to the man. The lieutenant shook his head vigorously, a gesture which seemed to indicate that Ed was being very stupid. The bantam grumbled to himself and moved away. Out of the corners of his eyes he kept watching the nurse.
Nedra ignored him. She also ignored Kurt Zen. As silent as so many statues, the new people stood against the stone walls. They seemed stunned. The impossible had happened to them and they were having difficulty in adjusting to it. John was not in the room. Either he had succeeded in hiding or he had been killed.
The fat youth was standing directly across the gallery from Zen. Farther down the wall, clad in pants and a bra, was a shapely blonde. When he was not watching Nedra, Ed paid attention to her. His actions seemed to irritate the lieutenant. Lifting his rifle, he fired a single shot through the head of the bantam.
Ed collapsed, dead before he hit the floor. Two Asian soldiers carried the body away.
"That lieutenant is hell on lovers," Zen whispered.
Nedra did not answer him. Her face was pale and her breathing was shallow. A film of sweat glistened on her forehead. Glancing at her, Zen had the impression that she was listening.
For what? he wondered. The only thing that was left for any of them was the sounding of the trump of doom. Zen had no illusions that Cuso would keep his promises for any longer than was expedient. First, West and all the others must be pumped dry of information, the whole interior of the mountain must be thoroughly explored, then—more bodies for the deep hole.
Zen had no illusions that either West or the new people would long survive the information they could be forced to divulge. As to Cuso's talk of West being given a commission as a marshal of the Asian Federation, for protection, the colonel knew that Asian field marshals had been listed among the missing before now. A field marshal who fell from grace vanished.
Across the gallery the fat youth also vanished.
One second he was there, the next second he was—gone!