Beggars In Spain

by Nancy Kress

  Charles Stauffer, fifty-three, head of Sanctuary external security. Like all good soldiers, he was constantly prepared for attack, constantly ready to have his preparations justified. It was not such a long step, Jennifer thought, from preparation to actuality, from ready to eager.

  Barbara Barcheski, sixty-three, the silent, thoughtful head of a firm dealing in corporate information modeling. For a long time Jennifer had been unsure about Barcheski. She was a student of political systems, coming over decades to believe that unlimited technological progress and community loyalty were basically incompatible, a premise she heavily supported by studies of societies in flux, from Renaissance Venice to the industrial revolution to the early orbital utopias. Study of a paradox, Jennifer knew, leads almost inevitably to evaluation—but not necessarily negative evaluation. She waited. Eventually Barbara Barcheski made up her methodical mind: When a society must choose, community loyalty carried the better long-term odds for survival than even technological progress. Barbara Barcheski loved Sanctuary. She supported Jennifer.

  Dr. Raymond Toliveri, sixty-one, the brilliant chief researcher of Sharifi Labs. Jennifer had never questioned his support for this project; he’d created it. What had been difficult was to get Toliveri, whose fanatical work schedule made him a virtual recluse, elected to the Council. That had taken Jennifer a long time.

  Then there were Will Sandaleros, Najla and her husband Lars Johnson, and Hermione Sharifi. All stood taut and proud, knowing fully the consequences of what they were about to do, and accepting those consequences without evasion, without weakness, without excuses.

  Only Ricky stood slumped against the far wall of the Council dome, his eyes on the floor, his arms folded across his chest. Hermione, Jennifer saw, would not look at her husband. They must have fought over this. And it was Hermione—only Jennifer’s daughter-in-law, not her genetic son—who supported the side of justice. A complex emotion kindled in Jennifer—anger and pain and aching maternal guilt—but she pushed it away. There was no more time for Ricky’s failures. It was Sanctuary’s time.

  “Now,” Will said, “Fire,” and he activated the all-Sanctuary communications net, comlink screens and holostages inside, speakers outside. Jennifer smoothed the folds of her white abbaya and stepped forward.

  “Citizens of Sanctuary. This is Jennifer Sharifi, speaking to you from the Council dome, where the Sanctuary Council is in full emergency session. The United States has answered our Declaration of Independence as we expected, with the announcement of a Sleeper invasion tomorrow morning. This must not be allowed to happen. To permit this delegation to dock at Sanctuary would say that we permit negotiation where no negotiation is possible, would signal irresolution where we are resolute, would allow for the possibility of economic and judicial punishment where we are morally and evolutionarily right. The delegation must not dock at Sanctuary.

  “But to try to stop the beggars by force might endanger or harm them. This too would send to the United States a false statement. Sleepless do not attack where there has been no attack. We understand self-defense, and we accept its necessity, but we do not want war. We want to be left alone, to pursue in our own way the lives, liberty, and pursuit of happiness by our own labors that until now have been denied us.

  “No, the most we can do to stop the beggars is give them a show of that force we will not use unless we are pressed to do so in defense. Accordingly, the following demonstration, created by the authority of all members of the Sanctuary Council, is being broadcast simultaneously to major United States newsgrids, overriding their own broadcasts.”

  Caroline Renleigh keyed manual codes into her console. Will Sandaleros spoke on a closed link to Sanctuary internal security, a group so seldom used that most people had forgotten it existed—which had allowed Will free rein in building it up. On every comlink in Sanctuary, and every comlink on Earth turned to the five serious donkey newsgrids, there appeared an image of the decaying habitat Sanctuary had purchased from the Japanese, Kagura Orbital, whose name meant “god music.”

  Jennifer’s voice spoke over the image. “This is the Sanctuary Council. The United States government has announced an invasion of Sanctuary tomorrow morning, in the form of a so-called peace-keeping delegation. But there can be no true peace where there is physical and economic coercion. We have not agreed to host this delegation. We are a peace-loving people who wish to be left alone. If the United States does not honor this wish, it in effect will be launching the first attack. We will not permit Sanctuary to be attacked.

  “For the purpose of deterring this attack, and as a demonstration of the lengths to which we will go to protect our home, Sanctuary offers the following demonstration. The United States press has speculated on what weapons Sanctuary could possibly bring to bear to defend itself. We don’t want this to be a speculative question. We don’t want our secession from the United States to be tarred with any imputation of withholding vital information. We do want to avoid war by the illustration of how terrible such a war would be.

  “This is Kagura Orbital, which Sanctuary now owns. There are no humans left on the orbital. Animal life does remain here: domestic livestock, insects used for pollination, birds and reptiles used for ecological balance, and miscellaneous rodents.”

  Each holostage or comlink screen showed the interior of Kagura, first in a long pan and then in close-ups of grazing goatows and bicattle. The Japanese had fewer restraints on genetic engineering than the United States; the meat stock was thick, slow, juicy, contented, and stupid. The robot cameras followed the flight of a bird, the scuttle of an insect on a leaf.

  “In a single hidden packet on this orbital is an organism developed by Sanctuary genetic engineers. It is wind-borne. Its genetic code includes a built-in seventy-two-hour destruct from the time it is released. This packet will now be released by remote from Sanctuary.”

  The view of the orbital showed no change in sound or light. A gentle breeze created by maintenance ruffled some leaves. The meat animal munching them, a bicow, rolled its eyes. It made a single anguished, painful sound and crumpled.

  Birds fell from the skies. The drone of insects stopped. Within two minutes nothing moved except the leaves, rustling in the lethal breeze.

  Jennifer’s voice said quietly, “Kagura Orbital is open to any scientific expedition that wishes to verify this phenomenon. Wear full contamination suits if you arrive before seventy-two hours have passed, and exercise utmost caution. We advise you to wait until after that time.

  “There are similar packets, in multiples, throughout the cities of New York, Washington, Chicago, and Los Angeles.

  “Do not attempt to dock any delegation at Sanctuary tomorrow, or to fire upon Sanctuary in any way. If you do so, we will consider ourselves justified in retaliating. The retaliation will take the form you’ve just seen.

  “We in Sanctuary leave you with a thought from one of your own great statesmen, Thomas Paine: ‘We fight not to enslave, but to set a country free, and to make room for honest men to live.’”

  Caroline Renleigh terminated the broadcast.

  Immediately the Council screens filled with scenes from inside Sanctuary. People streamed into the central park where Remembrance Day speeches were held. The lattices had not been put up over the growing plants and Jennifer, watching intently, thought it a good sign that no one trampled any plants. Her people were angry, but not destructive. She looked from face to face, cataloging the anger.

  No one in Sanctuary had been told about the Kagura demonstration except the Council, which had voted for it, the carefully-chosen graduate students who had planted the packets on Earth, and Will Sandaleros’s equally-carefully chosen security force. The secrecy had been a hard fight for Jennifer. The elected councilors, fiercely committed to their community, had wanted to discuss the weapon with their constituents. Jennifer had invoked her own trial, when someone inside the old Sanctuary in Cattaraugus County, someone never identified, had mailed the Sanctuary Oath to Leisha Camden bef
ore the Council was ready to release it. The same thing could happen again. And Richard Keller—Najla looked fiercely out the window, Ricky at his feet—had taken information about their operations to that same Leisha Camden, imperiling them all. The same thing could happen again. The Council had finally, reluctantly, agreed to secrecy.

  “Sanctuary is not a military machine!” a face now shouted into the comlink. It was Douglas Wagner, an original settler, in his youth a peace activist. He had formidable organizational skills; he could be very powerful.

  Will said, “I’ll sequester him and later I’ll talk to him myself.”

  “Take him quietly,” Jennifer said, so softly that no one but Will heard. “Don’t create a rallying point.” She tried to watch all the screens at once.

  “We should have been told!” a woman cried. “How is Sanctuary different from the beggars’ society if decisions are made for us, about us, without our knowledge or consent? We aren’t dependents, and we aren’t killers! This was no part of the independence plan we were told about!” A small crowd gathered to listen to the woman.

  “I know her,” Councilor Barcheski said. “Will, have her brought here to a meeting room. I’ll talk to her.”

  A face on Will’s security comlink said, “All quiet in B section, Will. People seem to agree that the demonstration was necessary, if distasteful.”

  “Good,” Will said.

  Councilor Dey said, “Here they come.”

  A group of citizens stalked purposefully toward the Council dome, which had been opaqued. The surveillance screen showed the citizens try the door, try again, and realize that the dome was locked. A computer voice said smoothly, “The Council wants to hear all your opinions on the controversial demonstration of Sanctuary power, but right now we must concentrate on the reactions from Earth. Please come back later.” The Sleepless looked at each other: Indignation. Resignation. Anger. Fear. Jennifer studied their faces.

  After ten minutes of loud protests, they went away.

  The broadcasts from Earth began.

  “…unprecedented terrorist threat from a quarter long suspected by many to be not only disloyal but dangerous…”

  “Instant crisis in the developing standoff between the Sanctuary Orbital and the United States government from which it is trying to secede…”

  “…dangerous panic in the four cities allegedly mined with deadly viruses, although officials are…”

  “…a mistake to believe that just because a threat has been made the capability to carry out that threat necessarily exists. American genemod expert Dr. Stanley Kassenbaum is here with us now to…”

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the president of the United States!”

  The donkey grids were fast. Jennifer would give them that. She wondered if the other grids would continue their inane jokes about Oregon.

  President Meyerhoff spoke in his slow, rich, reassuring voice, reassuring in part because it was heard so seldom and had therefore taken on the value of a scarce luxury, like three-carat natural diamonds.

  “My fellow Americans, as most of you know, the United States has received a terrorist threat from Sanctuary Orbital. They claim the capability to cause serious harm to four major American cities through illegal genetically modified viruses. They threaten to release these viruses if the scheduled federal delegation attempts to dock at Sanctuary tomorrow. This situation is intolerable for several reasons. The longstanding policy of the United States has been to never bargain with terrorists, under any circumstances. At the same time, however, absolutely paramount must be the safety and well-being of our citizens. That is never negotiable.

  “To the citizens of New York and Chicago, of Washington and Los Angeles, I say this: Do not panic. Do not leave your homes. The United States will allow no action that will imperil your safety. Even as I speak to you, expert teams of biological warfare specialists are securing the safety of our cities. Even as I speak to you, every attention is being given to this intolerable and cowardly threat. I repeat: The best thing you can do is remain in your homes…”

  The newsgrids continued to show people fighting to leave Washington, Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles. Aircars streamed above ground; super-rail cars were jammed; groundcars clogged the highways.

  The White House broadcast never directly answered the question: Will the delegation attempt to dock at Sanctuary tomorrow morning?

  “Keeping their options open,” Councilor Dey said grimly. “A mistake.”

  “They’re Sleepers,” Councilor Aleone said, with contempt. But his breath came quickly.

  An hour after the Kagura orbital demonstration, Sanctuary received a focused, high-powered communication from the White House, demanding immediate surrender of all illegal weapons, including the alleged criminal possession of biologicals. Sanctuary sent back a quote from Patrick Henry this one recognizable even to some of the Livers: “Give me liberty or…”

  Two hours after the demonstration, Sanctuary sent another multi-channel conventional broadcast, audio only. It announced that the deadly genemod virus packets were cached not in Washington, New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago, but in Washington, Dallas, New Orleans, and St. Louis.

  People started to stream out of St. Louis, and to riot in New Orleans. The evacuation didn’t slow from Chicago, New York, or Los Angeles.

  A hysterical woman in Atlanta reported that all the pigeons on her terrace had just died all at once. People began to leave Atlanta, while a team in contamination suits rushed out from the CDC. They found the pigeons had eaten rat poison, but by that time the newsgrids had replaced the story with one about dead cattle near Fort Worth.

  Jennifer leaned closer to the screen. “They can’t plan. Can’t coordinate. Can’t think.”

  The protests within Sanctuary had reached a peak and subsided. All its spontaneous leaders were either locked in rational argument with councilors, were “sequestered” in the building quietly prepared by Sandaleros’s security force, or were busy collecting signatures on the official petitions that were Sanctuary’s usual answer to dissent. Always before, it had been a sufficient answer.

  “The beggars can’t plan at all,” Jennifer repeated. “Not even when it’s in their own best interests.”

  Will Sandaleros smiled at her.

  “LEISHA,” STELLA SAID TIMIDLY, “do you think we should do anything about…about security?”

  Leisha didn’t answer. She sat in front of three comlinks, each turned to a different newsgrid. She sat easily, without strain, but with a stillness that not even Stella’s timidity—Stella! timid!—could penetrate.

  “I should have thought of that!” Jordan said. “I didn’t…I mean, it’s been so long since anybody hated Sleepless…Stell, who’s here this week? Maybe we can set up a rotating guard, in case we need it, I mean…”

  Drew said, “There’s a Class Six Y-field around the compound, patrolled by three armed guards.”

  Stella and Jordan stared at him. Drew added, “Since this morning. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I hoped I was wrong and Sanctuary wouldn’t do this.”

  “How did you even guess they would?” Stella snapped, her tartness back.

  “Kevin Baker. He guessed.”

  “He would,” Stella sniffed.

  Jordan said, “Thank you, Drew,” and Stella had the grace to look slightly ashamed.

  And Leisha said nothing, completely still.

  “WE HAVE NO CHOICE,” MIRI SAID TO NIKOS. They huddled in Raoul’s lab, eight Supers, all that had made for the same place when the announcement of the Kagura Orbital demonstration struck like a meteor. Some of the others had run to Miri’s lab, dodging protesters and uniformed security forces—since when had Sanctuary had uniforms? Some had run to Nikos. An official “stay-inside” command had come over all audio channels—since when had Sanctuary had official commands? The children activated the comlinks between the three buildings.

  All the normal comlinks in Sanctuary were dead.

  Miri looked at Terry Mwak
ambe a second before the Super exploded in words Miri had never heard put together before. A detached corner of her mind, a part not whirling with chaotic strings, noted that cursing combinations must have some relationship to mathematical progressions for Terry to do it so naturally.

  He immediately activated the hidden communications net the Supers had spent two months programming into every function of Sanctuary, a shadowy second orbital command so well hidden it could not be detected by the first.

  “Nikos? Are you there? Who’s with you?”

  Nikos’s face came on-line. “Diane, Christy, Allen, James, Toshio.”

  “Where’s Jonathan?”

  “With me,” Mark said, cutting in on the link. “Miri, it’s happened. They did it.”

  “What are we going to do?” Christy said. She had her arm tightly around Ludie, one of the eleven-year-olds, who was crying.

  “We can’t do anything,” Nikos said. “That’s not our agreement. They’re not harming the Supers, they’re trying to get Sanctuary free for all of us.”

  “They’re going to get all of us killed!” Raoul cried. “Or else they’re going to kill hundreds of thousands of other people in our name. Either way, we’re definitely harmed!”

  “It’s an external defense issue,” Nikos argued. “Not one for the Beggars.”

  “It’s a betrayal,” said Allen coldly. “And not just of us. Uniformed guards, stay-inside orders, cutting communications—Christ, they’re arresting people out there! I saw a guard drag Douglas Wagner into a building. For the crime of thinking differently! How is that different from killing Tony for becoming different? The Council has betrayed the citizens of Sanctuary, including us. But the others can’t do anything about it and we can!”

  “They’re our parents…” Diane said, in anguish, and Miri heard all the strings in Diane’s voice.

  Miri said, as resolutely as she could, “What we’re going to do first is link with all the Beggars, wherever they are. I don’t see Peter—does anybody know where he is? Terry, find him and link, unless he’s with Norms. Then we’re going to discuss this. Thoroughly. Everybody’s opinions. Then we’re going to make a group decision.”