The Syndic

by C. M. Kornbluth

  X

  It took minutes only.

  He had headed back to the waterfront, afraid to run, with some vaguenotion of stealing a boat. Before he reached the row of saloons andjoints, a smart-looking squad of eight tall men overtook him.

  "Hold it, mister," a sergeant said. "Are you Orsino?"

  "No," he said hopelessly. "That crazy woman began to yell at me that Iwas Orsino, but my name's Wyman. What's this about?"

  The other men fell in beside and behind him. "We're stepping over toO.N.I.," the sergeant said.

  "There's the son of a bitch!" somebody bawled. Suddenly there were adozen sweatered Guardsmen around them. Their leader was the thug Orsinohad beaten in a fair fight. He said silkily to the sergeant: "We wantthat boy, leatherneck. Blow."

  * * * * *

  The sergeant went pale. "He's wanted for questioning by the O.N.I.," hesaid stolidly.

  "Get the marine three-striper!" the Guardsman chortled. He stuck his jawinto the sergeant's face. "Tell your squad to blow. You marines ought toknow by now that you don't mess with the Guard."

  A very junior officer appeared. "What's going on here, you men?" heshrilled. "Atten-_shun_!" He was ignored as Guardsman and marinesmeasured one another with their eyes. "I said _attention_! Dammit,sergeant, _report_!" There was no reaction. The officer yelled: "You menmay think you can get away with this but by God, you're wrong!" Hestrode away, his fists clenched and his face very red.

  Orsino saw him stride through a gate into a lot marked _Bupers MotorPool_. And he felt a sudden wave of communal understanding that therewere only seconds to go. The sergeant played for time: "I'll be glad tosurrender the prisoner," he started, "if you have anything to show inthe way of--"

  The Guardsman kicked for the pit of the sergeant's stomach. He was asucker Orsino thought abstractedly as he saw the sergeant catch hisfoot, dump him and pivot to block another Guardsman. Then he wasfighting for his life himself, against three bellowing Guardsmen.

  A ripping, hammering noise filled the air suddenly. Like cold magic, itfroze the milling mob where it stood. Fifty-caliber noise.

  The jaygee was back, this time in a jeep with a twin fifty. And he wasglaring down its barrels into the crowd. People were beginning to streamfrom the saloons, joints and shipfitting shops.

  The jaygee cocked his cap rakishly over one eye. "_Fall in!_" he rasped,and a haunting air of familiarity came over Orsino.

  The waiting jeep, almost bucking in its eagerness to be letloose--Orsino on the ground, knees trembling with tension--a perfectchange of mount scene in a polo match. He reacted automatically.

  There was a surrealist flash of the jaygee's face before he clipped himinto the back of the square little truck. There was another flash ofspectators scrambling as he roared the jeep down the road.

  From then on it was just a question of hanging onto the wheel with onehand, trying to secure the free-traversing twin-fifty with the other,glancing back to see if the jaygee was still out, avoiding yapping dogsand pedestrians, staying on the rutted road, pushing all possible speedout of the jeep, noting landmarks, estimating the possibility ofdangerous pursuit. For a two-goal polo player, a dull little practicesession.

  The road, such as it was, wound five miles inland through scrubbywoodland and terminated at a lumber camp where chained men in rags weredragging logs.

  Orsino back tracked a quarter-mile from the camp and jolted overland ina kidney-cracking hare and hounds course at fifty per.

  The jeep took it for an hour in the fading afternoon light and thenbucked to a halt. Orsino turned for an overdue check on the jaygee andfound him conscious, but greenly clinging to the sides of the vehicle.But he saw Orsino staring and gamely struggled to his feet, standing inthe truck bed. "You're under arrest, sailor," he said. "Striking anofficer, abuse of government property, driving a government vehiclewithout a trip-ticket--" His legs betrayed him and he sat down, hard.

  Orsino thought very briefly of letting him have a burst from thetwin-fifty, and abandoned the idea.

  He seemed to have bitched up everything so far, but he was still on amission. He had a commissioned officer of the Government approximatelyin his power. He snapped: "Nonsense. _You're_ under arrest."

  The jaygee seemed to be reviewing rapidly any transgressions he may havecommitted, and asked at last, cautiously: "By what authority?"

  "I represent the Syndic."

  It was a block-buster. The jaygee stammered: "But you can't--But thereisn't any way--But how--"

  "Never mind how."

  "You're crazy. You must be, or you wouldn't stop here. I don't believeyou're from the continent and I don't believe the jeep's broken down."He was beginning to sound just a little hysterical. "It can't break downhere. We must be more than thirty miles inland."

  "What's special about thirty miles inland?"

  "The natives, you fool!"

  The natives again. "I'm not worried about natives. Not with a pair offifties."

  "You don't understand," the jaygee said, forcing calm into his voice."This is The Outback. They're in charge here. We can't do a thing withthem. They jump people in the dark and skewer them. Now fix this damnjeep and let's get rolling!"

  "Into a firing squad? Don't be silly, lieutenant. I presume you won'tslug me while I check the engine?"

  The jaygee was looking around him. "My God, no," he said. "You may be agangster, but--" He trailed off.

  Orsino stiffened. Gangster was semi-dirty talk. "Listen, pirate," hesaid nastily, "I don't believe--"

  "_Pirate?_" the jaygee roared indignantly, and then shut his mouth witha click, looking apprehensively about. The gesture wasn't faked; italarmed Orsino.

  "Tell me about your wildmen," he said.

  "Go to hell," the jaygee said sulkily.

  "Look, you called me a gangster first. What about these natives? Youwere trying to trick me, weren't you?"

  "Kiss my royal North American eyeball, gangster."

  "Don't be childish," Charles reproved him, feeling adult and superior.(The jaygee looked a couple of years younger than he.) He climbed out ofhis seat and lifted the hood. The damage was trivial; a shear pin in thetransmission had given way. He reported mournfully: "Cracked block. Thejeep's through forever. You can get on your way, lieutenant. I won't tryto hold you."

  The jaygee fumed: "You couldn't hold me if you wanted to, gangster. Ifyou think I'm going to try and hoof back to the base alone in the dark,you're crazy. We're sticking together. Two of us may be able to holdthem off for the night. In the morning, we'll see."

  Well, maybe the officer did _believe_ there were wildmen in the woods.That didn't mean there _were_.

  The jaygee got out and looked under the hood uncertainly. It was obviousthat in the first place he was no mechanic and in the second place hecouldn't conceive of anybody voluntarily risking the woods rather thanthe naval base. "Uh-huh," he said. "Dismount that gun while I get a firestarted."

  "Yes, sir," Charles said sardonically, saluting. The jaygee absentlyreturned the salute and began to collect twigs.

  Orsino asked: "How do these aborigines of yours operate?"

  "Sneak up in the dark. They have spears and a few stolen guns. Usuallythey don't have cartridges for them but you can't count on that. Butthey have ... witches."

  Orsino snorted. He was getting very hungry indeed. "Do you know any ofthe local plants we might eat?"

  The jaygee said confidently: "I guess we can get by on roots untilmorning."

  Orsino dubiously pulled up a shrub, dabbed clods off its root and tastedit. It tasted exactly like a root. He sighed and changed the subject."What do we do with the fifties when I get them both off the mount?"

  "The jeep mount breaks down some damn way or other into two low-mounttripods. See if you can figure it out while I get the fire going."

  The jaygee had a small, smoky fire barely going in twenty minutes.Orsino was still struggling with the jeep gun mount. It came apart, butit couldn't go together again. The
jaygee strolled over at lastcontemptuously to lend a hand. He couldn't make it work either.

  Two lost tempers and four split fingernails later it developed the"elevating screw" really held the two front legs on and that youelevated by adjusting the rear tripod leg. "A hell of an officer youare," Orsino sulked.

  It began to rain, putting the fire out with a hiss. They wound up proneunder the jeep, not on speaking terms, each tending a gun, eachpresumably responsible for 180 degrees of perimeter.

  * * * * *

  Charles was fairly dry, except for a trickle of icy water following acontour that meandered to his left knee. After an hour ofeye-straining--nothing to be seen--and ear-straining--only the patter ofrain--he heard a snore and kicked the jaygee.

  The jaygee cursed wearily and said: "I guess we'd better talk to keepawake."

  "_I'm_ not having any trouble, pirate."

  "Oh, knock it off--where do you get that pirate bit, gangster?"

  "You're outlaws, aren't you?"

  "Like hell we are. _You're_ the outlaws. You rebelled against thelawfully constituted North American Government. Just because youwon--for the time being--doesn't mean you were right."

  "The fact that we won does mean that we were right. The fact that yourso-called Government lives by raiding and scavenging off us means youwere wrong. God, the things I've seen since I joined up with you thugs!"

  "I'll bet. Respect for the home, sanctity of marriage, sexual morality,law and order--you never saw anything like that back home, did yougangster?" He looked very smug.

  Orsino clenched his teeth. "Somebody's been telling you a pack of lies,"he said. "There's just as much home and family life and morality andorder back in Syndic Territory as there is here. And probably a lotmore."

  "Bull. I've seen intelligence reports; I know how you people live. Areyou telling me you don't have sexual promiscuity? Polygamy? Polyandry?Open gambling? Uncontrolled liquor trade? Corruption and shakedowns?"

  Orsino squinted along the barrel of the gun into the rain. "Look," hesaid, "take me as an average young man from Syndic Territory. I knowmaybe a hundred people. I know just three women and two men who are whatyou'd call promiscuous. I know one family with two wives and onehusband. I don't really know any people personally who go in forpolyandry, but I've met three casually. And the rest are ordinarymiddle-aged couples."

  "Ah-_hah_! Middle-aged! Do you mean to tell me you're just leaving outanybody under middle age when you talk about morality?"

  "Naturally," Charles said, baffled. "Wouldn't you?"

  The only answer was a snort.

  "What are bupers?" Charles asked.

  "Bu-Pers," the jaygee said distinctly. "Bureau of Personnel, NorthAmerican Navy."

  "What do you do there?"

  "What _would_ a personnel bureau do?" the jaygee said patiently. "Werecruit, classify, assign, promote and train personnel."

  "Paperwork, huh? No wonder you don't know how to shoot or drive."

  "If I didn't need you to cover my back, I'd shove this MG down yoursilly throat. For your information, gangster, all officers do a tour ofduty on paperwork before they're assigned to their permanent branch. I'mgoing into the pigboats."

  "Why?"

  "Family. My father commands a sub. He's Captain Van Dellen."

  _Oh, God. Van Dellen._ The sub commander Grinnel--and he--had murdered.The kid hadn't heard yet that his father had been "lost" in an emergencydive.

  * * * * *

  The rain ceased to fall; the pattering drizzle gave way to irregular,splashing drops from leaves and branches.

  "Van Dellen," Charles said. "There's something you ought to know."

  "It'll keep," the jaygee answered in a grim whisper. The bolt of his gunclicked. "I hear them out there."