Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000

by L. Ron Hubbard

  The delegates sat up. This was more like it. This is what they had been thinking all the time. Hear, hear!

  Sir Robert was thunderstruck. What was this lad up to? The war not important? Their strong points caving in, their friends dying, and he could say it wasn’t important? He looked at the two small gray men. They were both sitting there smiling, a bit vacant, but smiling. They hadn’t been smiling before and Sir Robert knew for a fact that Jonnie hadn’t talked with them, so they knew no more than he. But he had to restrain himself from jumping up to cry out that this was an important war. One point: these emissaries in their jewels and flashing clothes, strange faces and feelers, were all bobbing their heads and settling down for a real conference.

  “No,” continued Jonnie. “It would be an insult to the mighty states you represent to call you here on something as trivial as repelling pirates!”

  Lord Schleim started to slither up out of his chair. He was about to shout this devil down and force him to mend his language when he saw those eyes looking again at his boots. But it wasn’t really the glance at the boots that stopped Lord Schleim. He recognized with diplomatic shrewdness that this devil could fall into a trap of his own digging. It was a very simple matter to prove that the attacking Tolnep ships were fully commissioned, legal ships and officers of the Tolnep navy. So let the devil plow on for now. He’d fang him shortly. Hah, the fellow was no real opponent after all!

  “Such regal representatives of kings and governments,” continued Jonnie, “should—and if I am wrong, please correct me—convene on real points of treaties and intergalactic law. And on these their expertise cannot be seriously challenged or questioned.”

  Hear, hear. True. Naturally. You have a point. Pray continue! The emissaries, all except for the combatants, were sitting up, interested. And all combatant representatives began to look uneasy. All except Lord Schleim, who was beginning to feel confident—this devil was going to dig a hole for himself. There was one trouble here for Lord Schleim: each time that devil moved it made lights flash off his buttons, and Tolneps had to wear filters to convert to ordinary visible spectrum, so every flash of a button overwhelmed the power of the filter and he was getting a headache. He wished he could make them turn off that spotlight they had on this creature.

  Jonnie was sweeping on. “The definition of the category of pirate as opposed to the definition of military force is a critical question. I am sure that, from time to time, even in the best-organized, paid, and regulated military forces, elements of navies or even merchant ships have mutinied or gone astray or been misled and have turned pirate, defying the benign and responsible authority of their own governments.”

  Oh, yes. Many instances. Just last month in these troubled times, a squadron of spaceships had mutinied at Oxentab. Lots of them in history. An old point, the emissaries agreed. Lot of stories written about it. Go on.

  “So,” continued Jonnie, “to protect legitimate authority such as that which you represent,” (pleased faces except for the combatants), “and to really be able to cope with piracy when it occurs, the definition must be clarified. And this can only be done by an august body such as yours in the form of a formal treaty.”

  Good idea. Correct. Right. Very glum combatants, except Schleim who was certain now this devil would shortly be sent down in flames.

  Jonnie opened the Psychlo dictionary to a marked place. “We know that the Psychlo language is a composite of many tongues, even your own individual languages, and was not in fact a language generated solely by the Psychlos. It is a universal tongue because it was taken from many universes, which is the only reason we so generally speak it.”

  That was true. Real scholarship. The Psychlos picked up everything from others including language. Shouldn’t even be called “Psychlo.” The emissaries buzzed about it.

  “This dictionary,” said Jonnie, “is the standard recognized work, is it not?” He held it up. Yes, they nodded. Jonnie laid the book down and read from it. “It states: ‘Pirate: one who preys upon commerce or communities or planets in a vessel or spaceship or group of ships not under the regulation of a national or planetary government; also any commander or crew member of such a ship.’”

  Right, right. That was a pirate. But Lord Schleim was feeling very smug. He felt he really had this devil now. He could see exactly which way he was trying to go. It would be child’s play to fang these arguments to pieces and then proceed with the surrender talks. What a letdown the devil was going to get. Every Tolnep ship was under the direct orders of the Tolnep government. Totally legal.

  Jonnie had turned to the book on intergalactic law. “However, according to treaties, of which intergalactic law is composed, we have a different definition. With your permission I will read it: ‘Article 234,352,678. Based on the treaties of Psychlo vs. Hawvin signed at Blonk, Psychlo vs. Camchod signed at Psychlo, a pirate shall hereinafter be defined as one who feloniously steals or mines minerals.’” Jonnie tapped the book and laughed lightly. “I guess we know who and how and why that misdefinition occurred!”

  They laughed. Psychlo was not very well liked, and a Psychlo would pass anything to protect Psychlo interests.

  “Therefore,” said Jonnie, “this august body, I feel, should define pirate and piracy among systems and planets and, after due deliberation, envisage the execution of treaties to forbid it!”

  Sir Robert groaned. The lad was proposing days of wrangling over stale things like treaties when the planet was being torn to bits with a flat-out assault, undoubtedly egged on by this Tolnep through his hidden radio. But his groans were drowned in the general assent.

  Jonnie had now drawn back from the books. He took up the wand. He tapped it in his palm. “I feel in my humble opinion,” (he certainly didn’t look humble), “that we must work upon this now in order that we should know whether the Tolnep fleet officers and crewmen are to be slowly vaporized individually as pirates or simply shot as military men when court-martialed.”

  Lord Schleim slithered up with a scream. “Stop!” He glared around at the other combatants. They sat just behind him. They were saying nothing. They simply looked stunned. Then he realized that the devil had said “Tolnep”; he had not said “combined forces.” Venom splattered as Lord Schleim hissed his protest. The devil had gone too far! In a moment Lord Schleim would tear down his house, but just now there was another point.

  “You are selecting out the honorable Tolnep forces for your venomous insinuations!” said Schleim ravingly. “This is a clear case of prejudice and has to be dismissed as such by this body! There are other combatants. I demand these statements to be stricken from our recorders as biased, slanted, and an intentional insult to the Tolnep planetary forces.”

  Jonnie calmly smiled at him and looked at the Tolnep boots and back up to the fanged face. “Bombastic conduct will right no wrongs here. Your conduct insults these lords. Behave yourself.”

  “I demand a reply!” screamed Schleim.

  Jonnie sighed tolerantly. “Very well. You shall have it. It is my opinion that the Hawvins, Bolbods, Drawkins, Jambitchow and Hockner forces were simply coerced, probably with false statements, into cooperating with the Tolneps. Since by your own testimony, your ships vastly outnumber theirs, and since your own senior officer, as you state, commanded the so-called combined force, and when killed, was succeeded by another Tolnep who is now their senior officer, it seems very evident they were forced to cooperate in this attack by the superior firepower of the Tolnep fleet. So we cannot hold these other races or forces guilty. And we are not charging them. They are only victims and cannot be regarded, in my opinion, in any other way when we apply the word pirate on a clarified definition.”

  Now! Now was the time! Lord Schleim knew the ripe moment when he saw it. He would crush this devil. He slithered himself up to his full height. He assumed the grandeur of dignity.

  “Your arguments, devil, drop into the rocks and fall like dust into the grass. The Tolnep admiral and the Tolnep captain and all
the Tolnep ships and crews were never in any way acting outside the command of the Tolnep central government. So enough of this claptrap about ‘pirates’ and let us get on with the proper business of surrender!”

  The taste of triumph and victory was sweet as poison in the Tolnep’s mouth. In a few moments now, this whole thing would be finished.

  Sir Robert groaned.

  He saw the two small gray men were looking down, nervous now. Regretting perhaps they had helped?

  2

  Jonnie looked at the Tolnep.

  He shook his head sadly.

  He looked at the assemblage. They were leaning back, beginning to lose interest. For a while there it had appeared that something would occur that would concern them.

  “My lords,” said Jonnie, “please do forgive this distraction from the main purpose of this meeting. This . . . this Tolnep is absolutely demanding that we finish this minor concern of a raid upon a peaceful planet. So with your permission, I feel I have no other choice than to settle this slight disturbance.”

  Yes, oh, well, go ahead. One doesn’t see where this is going now, but go ahead. I suppose the Tolnep will just keep interrupting. So go ahead.

  Jonnie sighed. “Thank you, your lordships. You are very tolerant.” Then he turned to Lord Schleim. Jonnie took a very firm stand with his feet. He had picked up the wand and was now tapping it in his palm.

  “Lord Schleim,” said Jonnie, “for I believe that is what some call you, please produce the orders given to your admirals and captains.”

  Schleim laughed. “You know very well an emissary cannot carry with him the whole files of a military establishment. Furthermore, although you, as a barbarian, would have no inkling of this, a Tolnep commander is at liberty to exercise autonomy on military expeditions.”

  “As I suspected,” said Jonnie. “There were no legal orders.”

  “I did not say that!” hissed Schleim.

  “I’m afraid you did,” said Jonnie. “I have no choice now but to proceed, for you are delaying more important proceedings.”

  Jonnie smacked the wand into his palm twice. It sounded like two pistol shots.

  There was an instant rush down the aisle as two uniformed technicians came, pushing a mine cart. The cart had been plated in gold. It looked very sleek. On it rested a projector of some size and it too was gold-plated. It was an atmosphere-screen projector. Its general use was to project pictures of mine shafts or tunnels. It used a projection light based on the same principle as an atmosphere-armor cable with a variation. The light, striking atmosphere ions, made them condense to greater or lesser degree and reflect back. By putting a stick for scale in the original scene, one could then take the projected picture and actually measure distances in it from point to point. It put, in this way, a three-dimensional picture on thin air.

  The technicians moved it into place where it would project into the large, empty space to Jonnie’s left. They placed a multiple-button switch on the invisible table close to Jonnie’s hand. They bowed, about-faced, and withdrew.

  They had come in so fast and left so quickly that Lord Schleim had not had time to get in an objection. Now he did. “I must protest this display of foolish flimflam! I will not permit you to hoodwink this august body further—”

  “Schleim!” said Jonnie severely. “It will do no good for you to seek to suppress evidence when you well know it will work to your disfavor.”

  Mutters from the emissaries. Sit down, Schleim. Be quiet. This looks like it will be interesting. Hush, Schleim.

  Jonnie pressed two buttons. The spotlight at the door went out and simultaneously a picture flashed on it. It was a three-dimensional, remarkably detailed closeup of Roof Arsebogger. He seemed to the emissaries to be standing right there in what had been empty space. There was no sound. But they had never before seen a mine atmosphere projector for the simple reason that the Psychlos never marketed entertainment gadgets and this was mining equipment.

  Roof Arsebogger’s face was patched with the sores of disease. His fangs were black and one was broken. He was dressed in something that looked like it had been discarded from a slum. It was part of a long series of pictures shot by pilots flying air cover at the Purgatoire River. It had been taken with a radio telephoto camera. The shots had been left in Jonnie’s room to help do the briefing of the time he had been out of action.

  Jonnie said, “Is this man a member of your government? Now answer carefully, Schleim. Is this a minister of any department, an official of the military?”

  Several emissaries tittered. The figure was so disgusting that if this were a member of the Tolnep government . . . well!

  Schleim was stung. He looked at the picture. What a disgusting creature! Vomitous! Eyes still dazzling a little bit from the lights flashing off the devil, he pawed at his filter and stared again. Was there something vaguely familiar about that figure?

  That he was peering so hard made it seem that maybe the Tolnep government was composed of such riffraff. Several emissaries laughed out loud.

  That did it. Schleim lashed out, “Of course not! That filthy creature would be thrown out of any government department on Tolnep! You are insulting me. You are insulting Tolnep! You are running a calculated campaign to degrade the dignity and importance of my office and my planet. I must protest—”

  “Quiet,” said Jonnie, soothingly. “Just pay attention here. You have said he is no part of your government and has no official capacity. Is that right?”

  “Absolutely! If you think—”

  “Then,” said Jonnie, “what is he doing giving orders to Quarter-Admiral Snowleter?”

  He pressed another button. The camera seemed to draw away. Motion occurred in the scene. The bridge of the Capture came into view, along with the diamond with a slash, the Tolnep insignia. And there was Quarter-Admiral Snowleter facing the horrible creature Roof Arsebogger.

  Jonnie touched another button. Sound came on. The rumble of a capital, nonatmosphere ship as picked off the vibration of its bridge window glass was clearly penetrated by the voice of Roof Arsebogger.

  “You must act independently, Snowleter! You must do whatever gives you the best chance of private profit! What I am telling you to do is rush on down to that base and grab it all for yourself! Once you have this planet under your personal control you can tell everybody else to buzz off and be damned. Smash the place. Seize the people and sell them for your own profit. I will cover you. And like it or not, that is what you must do! The power is mine! And we will split the profits! Understood?”

  Snowleter was smiling. He touched his quarter-admiral’s cap in a salute. “I am at your orders!”

  Jonnie hit another button. The camera seemed to draw further away. It showed the whole combined force in the sky over the Purgatoire River. The sound was off.

  “That is your admiral, that is the fleet.” Jonnie hit a pair of buttons. The picture was gone and the spotlight back on.

  The emissaries were enthralled. They had never seen atmosphere projection before. It was like looking at a totally live scene. Yes, that was the Tolnep fleet all right. That was the admiral. Schleim’s attitude said clearly it was.

  Suddenly Lord Schleim exploded. “Doctored pictures. Anyone can doctor recordings. This so-called evidence—”

  “Oh come now, Schleim,” said Jonnie. “Bombast and hysteria won’t cancel this. The pictures were too clear to be ‘doctored’ as you call it.”

  He turned to the emissaries. “So you see, your lordships, the Tolnep admiral was not acting under the orders of his government, but under those of a private individual. He was acting for personal profit and not for his planet. Be quiet, Schleim; you can’t cover up evidence with shockingly bad temper. My apologies for his conduct, my lords. One can sympathize with his position. This Quarter-Admiral Snowleter, by the way, is the uncle of Half-Captain Rogodeter Snowl and was brought into the venture by his nephew according to disks and traces we have available. It was a family matter and the piratical ventur
e is obviously being continued by the nephew.”

  Jonnie didn’t tell them there was a lot more in the views just shown which did not necessarily carry out his point. But very clearly Roof Arsebogger had been the one to egg the admiral on.

  “So the point of piracy,” said Jonnie, “has been proven. Here we had a fleet operating by another authority from that of its government. If you will indulge me a moment longer, I will simply ask this Schleim for the surrender of those ships and then we can get about our more appropriate business of piracies and treaties. Schleim, will you please call whoever is in command now and tell him to gather his ships in a meadow I will name—”

  “You must be mad!” screamed Schleim. “Our fleet is in full command of your skies and you ask us—”

  “To help end a pirate venture,” Jonnie finished for him. “My lords, forgive me, but this Schleim is going to occupy a little more of your valuable time before you are rid of him. With your permission, we will complete this odious business.”

  Yes, yes. By all means go ahead. We can take up the treaty later. They agreed. The combatant-planet emissaries were looking at one another, a bit frightened. What had they gotten themselves mixed up in?

  The small gray men looked less hangdog.

  But Sir Robert, studying Schleim, knew he was far from finished. He was using the moment to hiss into his radio. He was giving orders, something about making suicide crashes. He must be a bit rattled, for he was speaking Psychlo.

  Sir Robert excused himself and stepped quickly over to operations to tell their forces what was going on, to tell them to be alert, to double their efforts to fight back.

  The first small gray man slipped out and passed an order to his ship to turn on two red lights and change the radio signal to “Alert! Alert! An interplanetary, intergalactic conference is taking place within this area. Any capital ship or vessel of any kind entering this zone will be branded an intergalactic outlaw and its government or owner subject to all penalties that can be imposed. Alert! Alert! An interplanetary, intergalactic conference is . . .”