by James A. Cox
Rivera's modernized Spanish armies andtrounced them."
Bey said, "Homer's right. Our only tactics are guerrilla ones."
Homer Crawford looked at Guemama, who had been standing in thebackground, unfamiliar with the language these others spoke, butholding his dignity. Crawford said, diplomatically, "And what sayestthou, O chieftain of the Tuareg?"
Guemama was gratified at the attention. He said in Tamaheq, "As allmen know, O El Hassan, we now outnumber by thrice the Arab _giaours_may they burn in Gehennum. Therefore, let us rush in and kill themall."
Bey shuddered.
Homer Crawford nodded seriously. "Ai, Guemama, that would be thevalorous way of the Tuareg. But the heart of El Hassan forbids him tosacrifice the lives of his people. Consequently, we shall use thetactics of the desert jackal. Instruct those of your people who aremost cunning, to infiltrate Tamanrasset in the night. Let them notcarry arms for they may well be searched by the Arab _meleccha_."
The Tuareg chieftain was intrigued. "And what shall they do inTamanrasset, El Hassan? Suddenly seize arms, one night, and rise up inwrath against the Arab dogs and kill them all?"
Homer was shaking his head. "They will address themselves to theHaratin serfs and spread to them the message of El Hassan. They willbe told that in the world of El Hassan each man shall be free to seekhis own destiny to the extent his mind and abilities allow. And no manshall be the less because he was born a serf, and no man the morebecause he was born to wealth or power in the old days."
"Aiii," Guemama all but moaned. "But such a message--"
"Is the message of El Hassan, as all men know," Homer Crawford saidflatly. He turned to Kenny Ballalou. "Kenny, take over this angle. Wewant as many propagandists in that town as possible. It's alreadychoked with refugees, most of them not knowing what they're fleeing.We might get recruits there, too. But mostly we want to appeal to thesedentary natives in town. They've got to get the dreams, too. Promisethem schools, land ... I don't have to tell you."
"Right," Kenny said.
Isobel said, "Maybe I ought to get in on this, too. The women might doa better job than men on this slant. It's going to take a lot to get aTuareg bedouin to sink to talking to a Haratin on an equal basis."
Bey and Homer had bent back over the maps, but before they could getback into the details of guerrilla warfare against Colonel Ibrahim andhis legionnaires, they were halted by a controversy from without.
"What now?" Homer growled. "This camp is getting to be like athree-ring circus."
The entrance flap was pushed aside and three of Bey's Sudanesetribesmen half escorted, half pushed a newcomer front and center.
It was Fredric Ostrander, natty as usual, but now in khaki desertwear. He was obviously in a rage at the three rifle-carrying nomadswho had him in charge.
Bey spoke to the Teda warriors in their own tongue. Then to Homer inTamaheq, which he assumed the C.I.A. man didn't know, "They picked himup in the desert in a hover-jeep. He was evidently looking for ourcamp." He dismissed the three bedouin with a gesture.
Ostrander was outraged. He snapped at Homer Crawford, "I demand anexplanation of this cavalier attack upon--"
His face expressionless, Homer held up a hand to quiet the smallerman. He looked at Jack Peters and raised his eyebrows. "_Kion li lafremdul diras?_"
Jack, serious as ever, replied in Esperanto, then turned to theAmerican C.I.A. man and said, "El Hassan has requested that Itranslate for him. He speaks only the official language of NorthAfrica to foreign representatives. Undoubtedly, sir, you have propercredentials?"
Had Fredric Ostrander been of lighter complexion, his color would haveundoubtedly gone dark red.
"Look here, Crawford," he snapped. "I'm in no mood for nonsense. TheState Department has sent me to your headquarters to make anotherattempt to bring some sense home to you. As an American citizen,owing alliance--"
Homer Crawford spoke in Esperanto to Jack Peters who nodded seriouslyand said to Ostrander, "El Hassan informs you he owes alliance only tothe people of North Africa whose chosen leader he is."
Ostrander knew they were kidding him, but at the same time the standbeing taken was actuality. He glared at the Americans present whom heknew, Bey, Isobel, Cliff and Kenny. He snapped, "Very well, but Irepeat what I told you when last we met. The State Department of theUnited States of the Americas will not stand idly by and see this areataken over by elements dominated by red subversives."
"Holy Mackerel," Cliff growled, "are you still tooting that horn?"
Dave Moroka said sarcastically, "It's an old wheeze. The definition ofa red subversive is anybody who doesn't see eye to eye with the UnitedStates. They've been pulling the gag for decades. Remember Guatemalaand Cuba? Do anything that interferes with American business abroadand the cry goes up, _he's an enemy of the free world!_"
Ostrander spun on him, his eyes narrowing.
Dave laughed. "The definition of members of the free world, of course,being anybody who follows the American line. Anybody is free, Spanishand Portuguese dictators, absolute monarchs in Arabia, Chinesewarlords, if they're on the American side."
Ostrander snapped, "I don't believe we've met."
Moroka made a sweeping bow. "I'm afraid we don't move in the samecircles. I've spent possibly a third of my life in prison--"
"Undoubtedly," Ostrander snorted.
"... Put there by people such as yourself--in variouscountries--because I was fighting for my own version of freedom."
"Communism, undoubtedly!"
Moroka said softly, "I'm a South African, sir. Both my parents werekilled in the 1960 riots. It seems that they had dark skins--even asyou and I--and weren't able to see why that should keep them from_freedom_."
Fredric Ostrander spun back to Homer Crawford. "I'm not here toquibble with self-confessed malcontents. I've been sent to representthe State Department, to report to them, and, above all, to do what Ican to prevent your activities from redounding to the furtheradvantage of the Soviet Complex. I assume you can assign me quarters."
Straight-faced, Jack Peters translated this into Esperanto, and,straight-faced, Homer answered in the same language.
Jack turned back to the impatient C.I.A. man. "El Hassan welcomes therepresentative of the United States of the Americas and hopes thiswill be the first step toward diplomatic recognition between NorthAfrica and your great country. He has instructed me to find youquarters, which, possibly you may have to share with delegations fromCommon Europe or"--Peters cleared his throat--"the Soviet Complex. Hefurther suggests that it might be well, if you maintain communicationswith your superiors, to have sent to you books on Esperanto, theofficial language of North Africa."
Dave Moroka put in, "By the way, we'll have to go through your things.We can't allow any radio communication from El Hassan's camp, exceptthrough official El Hassan channels--for obvious military reasons."
Ostrander snorted, stared indignantly at Homer again, spun on his heeland stalked from the tent. Jack Peters followed him but not beforetipping an uncharacteristic wink at Homer.
When they were gone, Homer sighed and looked at Dave Moroka. "Thatreminds me, how are our other delegations coming?"
The South African grinned ruefully. "They're playing it cool. Waitingto see what way to jump. Give El Hassan some real success, and they'llprobably jump at the chance to be first to recognize him. Especiallythese Soviet Complex opportunists. They'd just love to suck you intotheir camp."
Isobel looked at him. "After that tearing down you gave poor Ostranderabout the United States, now you rip into the Soviet Complex. Justwhere do you stand, Dave?"
Dave shrugged her question off, as though there were more importantthings. "I'm an El Hassan man," he said. "Let those two overgrownpowers handle their own troubles."
Jimmy Peters spoke up for the first time since Ostrander entered thetent. "You know," he said, seriously, "I'm beginning to wonder if theworld can afford nationalistic patriotism. Haven't we gone too faralong the road to think of ourselves any longer as A
mericans, orRussians, or French, or West Indians, or whatever? Hasn't the humanrace grown up beyond that point?"
Kenny said mockingly, "What! Aren't you proud of being a West Indian,and a loyal subject of Her Majesty?"
Peters ignored his tone. "Why should I be proud of my country? It wasan accident of birth with which I had nothing to do, that made me aWest Indian, rather than a Canadian, a Chinese, a Norwegian, orwhatever. Intelligently, I should be proud only of things that I,myself, have accomplished."
Bey said, "If we can stop waxing philosophic for a while
