by Ian Miller
* * *
"My! You look pleased with yourself," Marisa said, as she looked up when Gaius entered.
"I am," Gaius beamed. "Natasha's been rescued!"
"I'm so pleased!" Marisa exclaimed. "She's not hurt?"
"She's fine," Gaius replied, "although hell won't have more fury towards Munros."
"I'll be happy to lend her that trident I was warming up for one of them," Marisa added.
"I'm very pleased for both of you too," Harry said, "but . . ."
"But?"
"I'm sorry, but we need to know what you're going to do now."
"I'm going to help you with the Munros, assuming you want me to, that is."
"Of course we do," Harry said eagerly, "but what's changed?"
"You mean, why continue intervening now the personal reason's gone?"
"Without being rude, yes. You've made such a thing out of why it's so bad that I've come to believe it myself."
"I don't think you're being rude," Gaius replied, with a nod of appreciation to Harry. "I'm not sure I've got much choice. The Munros still have alien assistance, so I've got to try to restore the balance. Also they've almost introduced an alien pest that could go some way towards wiping out humanity, but there's even more to it than that. Even if none of these things had happened, I'd have still had to do something."
"Why?" Harry asked.
"You," Gaius replied calmly.
"Me? What'd I do?" asked the somewhat startled Harry.
"You will eventually come to grips with the inertial equivalence unit. Marcellus is prepared to bet heavily that you will get there, and Marcellus almost never loses bets, except deliberately, and he could never do that with a bet like this. Marcellus has virtually ordered me to intervene!"
"Just for making one convenient tool?" Harry seemed even more startled.
"It's not just one tool," Gaius explained. "If you make this unit, going about it by developing the theory first, you make a startling number of developments soon after. Our analysis of your strange drive tells us you are on the brink of interstellar flight, albeit using a rather unconventional means. Even if you're going about it in an awkward way, very soon you can't be prevented from meeting with other members of the Ulsian confederation. The only question that remains is, what sort of society goes into space?"
"And that matters enough for you to do something about it?"
"No choice," Gaius shrugged. "Either your society is acceptable, or it will be prevented from getting there. On this matter, there is no room for debate. The Ranhynn for one would obliterate you first, or at least try."
"And in their judgement we don't make it?" Marisa said with a touch of acid.
"The Ulsian sociodynamic analysis indicates that if Natasha wins, that should be enough to avert disaster. And that, I might add, is the curse the Gods have placed on me," Gaius added with a touch of bitterness.
"How do you mean?" asked a puzzled Marisa.
"You may or may not have noticed but there was more involvement from me towards Natasha than there would normally be between two officers," Gaius muttered, as he stared into space.
"There've been times when I've had trouble seeing things," Harry laughed, "but not that much trouble."
"No. I should think not. Well, when Natasha turned her back on the Livia she also turned her back on me. She said she had to do it, because nobody else could. The curse is, I think she's probably right."
"There must be some way around that," Marisa said. "There's always –"
"No," Gaius shrugged. "When you're cursed by the Gods, stay cursed. Fighting the inevitable merely makes you doubly cursed."
"Gaius, I could tear up those calculations," Harry said, after a moment of thought.
"That is extraordinarily generous of you," Gaius replied with an almost stunned expression, "but no. That cannot be. Apart from the fact that it would be wrong of me to ask, it'd make no difference. Natasha would never forgive me."
"Why does it have to be Natasha?" Marisa asked slowly. "Couldn't you prime someone else?"
"Who? Nobody else has her reputation, her record," Gaius shrugged.
"There are others," Marisa replied. "They may not have Natasha's reputation, but surely –"
"How many would want to get this right? And how many would Natasha trust? Even if you could get someone to change their spots, why's Natasha going to watch them do it?"
"So what will you do?" Harry asked quietly.
"If we gave your system, under Natasha, a little shove here or there, there would be no problem. If the Munros prevail, action would have to be taken to prevent the Terrans from reaching deep space. Don't expect protection from Ulse either. Ulse would hardly risk tearing apart the confederation just to help what would be at best an obnoxious irritant, and at worst another enemy they can't control. And it's not just Ulse or Ranh that would act. Terran society is developing at a rate where intervention of one sort or another is inevitable. A casual glance at the Munro's morality leaves me with absolutely no doubt which is the correct side to support."
"Gaius," Marisa said slowly, "all the reasons you gave for not intervening were true, weren't they?"
"Yes."
"Which means that this intervention you're proposing may not help us," Harry added. "Isn't it better to take the risk, and see if we can sort this out ourselves?"
"This is a Terran problem, to be solved by Terrans, who must know they've solved it, and be seen by everyone to have solved it. You're quite right. No outside influence must be suspected."
"Then . . ?"
"Then the intervention has to be subtle," Gaius shrugged. "You two alone will know what I'm up to. Now, we've got to have a coordinated plan. I want you two to seek out everyone in Defence who can be trusted, and get them to do the same. Organize a tree, and get communications right."
"A tree like that'll leak," Marisa warned. "Sooner or later, someone will tell a traitor."
"As long as it's later, it hardly matters," Gaius assured her. "Those further down will be given simple and very specific tasks. It's like a battle. Very very few have any real idea of even roughly what's going on. A centurion may be asked to guard a bridge. His men guard that bridge. The bridge may be irrelevant to the battle, and the centurion may not even know it's being fought, let alone who's winning. He does his job because his commander wants the bridge guarded, perhaps for no better reason than the century is battle weary and deserves a rest. When you give out information, make sure nobody knows more than they and the men they command need to know. Then make sure that as many really trustworthy men as possible can be organized to do the difficult jobs."
"And what are they?" Harry asked curiously.
"Get your men organized," Gaius said, "then I'll tell you."
"What he means," Marisa said tartly, "is by then he hopes he'll have worked something out!"
"There's a lot of truth in that," Gaius admitted, as he turned to leave, "but let's not waste time. You two, and your pilots, have a lot to do."
"What an awful problem," Marisa whispered as Gaius left the room. "Harry, we've got to do something."
"Mmmmm"
"To help Gaius," Marisa went on. "After all he's done for us . . ."
"Yes?"
"Well, there's no need to get carried away with enthusiasm, I suppose."
"Marisa, I think I know how to arrange for a little intervention of our own. We'll ask the Ulsians to do just one more thing."
"And how, exactly, do we get in touch with them?"
"I'm sure Marcellus could arrange for a message to be passed through. There's one problem, though."
"Whether this would really be a help?"
"Yes. Anything we could do just might end up being a disaster for the two of them."
"Harry," Marisa said as she sidled up beside him, "it's already a disaster, so it's worth having a go at fixing it."
Chapter 17
Elizabeth Garrett looked across her desk and smiled. The plan looked good, although she had to
admit it was not flawless. First, she had to be seen to attempt to arrest Munro. He, of course, would resist. He had to! Because if he did not, the whole move against GenCorp would fail. Munro might be the controlling force behind GenCorp, but there was little doubt in Elizabeth's mind that should Harvey remove himself voluntarily, GenCorp operations would suffer a very minor hiccup then it would be business as usual. The problem was not Munro, but GenCorp itself. The corporation drove the people within it, yet one could hardly arrest a corporation. But Munro would resist, because he would not be prepared to sacrifice himself.
So far Munro had been predictable. Munro had been drawn, like a wasp to honey, to the most senior of the New York supreme court judges. The judge had been under surveillance, a move itself of doubtful legality, but the evidential surveillance computers had recorded the judge sign a document from the Munro lawyer and receive five hundred thousand fecus. The judge had automatically been disbarred and arrested, and all his warrants had been declared invalid.
Perhaps Munro had been too predictable. Perhaps Munro had known about the surveillance, and had been prepared to deliberately sacrifice the judge merely to give her, Elizabeth Garrett, a false sense of security. Yes! That was far more likely. Munro wished to bring the confrontation to a head, and he was using this legal ruse to draw Justice into the fray, a move that could allow him to crush the only potent legalized opposition. Perhaps. Nevertheless, now was the time for action. The clock was running. By dawn tomorrow GenCorp must be dismembered or her own future was very very bleak.
* * *
The first move was simple. It was late afternoon as her cortege drew slowly past Manhattan's latest monument, a mass of metal which still gave off sufficient heat that waifs could squirt water on it and still get a commendable column of steam. On impulse, Elizabeth ordered the vehicles to halt, and she stepped from the car. Standing at the back of the group was a young girl; her age would be no more than eleven; she had a torn raggedy dress crudely sewn from what appeared to be an old curtain, her skin was probably pale, but months of grime had left a dull grey. There were darker smears of black down her left cheek and right arm, her greasy blond hair hung down her back, tied behind the neck with a piece of string, and she had bare feet, with her legs and feet sprinkled with scars and still festering scabs. She was so thin, she had so little, yet she seemed happy, and she jumped gleefully with each jet of steam. Perhaps she had cause to be happy, as she was furiously devouring what appeared to be a roll of bread.
Suddenly, from her left, an equally ill-dressed boy leaped towards her, knocked her to one side, grabbed her bread, and ran. The young girl screamed an obscenity and began to chase. The two were coming straight towards Elizabeth. Too late the boy saw the vehicles. He tried to swerve, but Elizabeth reached out and grabbed his arm. The boy pulled, but could not break free. He kicked hard, and Elizabeth felt a searing pain through her lower right leg. She gasped, and the boy broke free, only to run into one of the guards. The guard kicked the boy's feet from underneath him, and raised his rifle butt, intending to bring it down on the boy's head.
"No!" Elizabeth shouted, as she hobbled around, still in acute pain. Everybody froze, and watched her hobble. The boy started to move, but he quickly froze again as the guard's rifle butt threatened him.
"You run, and you're dead!" Elizabeth scowled at the boy. She rubbed her leg again, and hobbled towards him. She leaned over, and grasped the bread from between his hands, then turned towards the girl. "Here you are."
The little girl turned towards Elizabeth, then stopped, then started to back away.
"I won't hurt you," Elizabeth smiled.
"It's a trap!" the boy called. "Stay away!"
The guard moved threateningly, but Elizabeth stayed him. "As long as he doesn't try to escape, he can do what he likes," she said, then she turned towards the girl, "It's no trap. It's your bread. Come and get it!"
The girl looked suspiciously at Elizabeth, then backed away.
"You like chocolate?" Elizabeth asked, and reached into her bag. "Here's some real chocolate. It's for you."
The girl almost salivated and she began to move forward.
"Poison!" the boy yelled as a warning, and immediately the shocked girl retreated.
"Poison?" Elizabeth asked almost incredulously. "What is wrong with you?"
The boy refused to speak.
"What have I ever done to you?" Elizabeth asked desperately.
"You kill us for sport," the boy finally spat, "you corporate bitch!"
"So that's it," Elizabeth nodded. The boy was lying, huddled waiting for the retribution, but to his surprise, nothing happened. Elizabeth turned back towards the girl and held the chocolate high in the air. "No poison," she said, as she took off the wrapper, broke off four squares, and placed them in her mouth. "See!" she said as she munched away. "It tastes good!" She then began to walk towards the girl, who immediately backed away. Elizabeth walked slightly to one side, until she reached an old tangle of rusty iron. She placed the food on top of the metal, then walked away. "Take it!" she called. "Nobody'll hurt you."
She walked back towards the vehicles, and when she reached them, she turned around and saw, to her delight, the girl had rushed forward and taken the food.
She turned to the boy, and said, "So you think I'm a corporate?"
The boy remained silent.
"Read that!" she said, pointing to the side of her vehicle. "What corporation do you think that is?"
The boy remained silent.
"Commissioner," one of the guards interposed. "I don't think the boy can read."
"What?" Elizabeth gasped, then she turned to the boy, and asked quietly, "Can you read, son?"
"I'm not your son!" the boy scowled.
"No, you're not," Elizabeth agreed quietly. "Can you read?"
"No," the boy admitted sullenly.
"Can any of you read?"
"Joel can."
"Joel!" Elizabeth called out. "Is there any Joel there?"
Silence.
"Now the little girl's eaten her food, I'm going to let this boy go," Elizabeth called out, "but if there's a Joel there, or anyone else who can read, I want them to read the signs on the side of these vehicles, then decide whether we're corporates."
She turned to the guard, and indicated that the young boy should be allowed to leave. As he started to walk away, she turned back to the waifs, and called out, "In another three hours here, I'll be back. I'm going to bring a lot of food and an assortment of clothes. If any of you are interested, check with those who can read. We're not corporates, and we're not going to trap you, and we're not going to kill you. We're from Justice, and if you can trust us, we'll put an end to what the corporates are doing to you."
"Well, that was a waste of time," one of the guards mumbled, as the group began to return to their vehicles.
"What was that?" Elizabeth spat, and she turned on the guard.
The guard was silent, but his rapidly reddening face showed his discomfort.
"So you think feeding these children is a waste of time. You think they should be left to starve?"
The guard remained silent.
"Then what the hell are you fighting for?" Elizabeth snarled angrily. "You're no better than the corporates. You just don't even care!"
"What I meant was," the guard mumbled in embarrassment, "this is a dangerous assignment." He paused, to see Elizabeth still staring at him. "What I meant was," he stumbled on, "taking time off in the middle could hurt our chances. I think we should concentrate. I mean, we could still feed them tomorrow, assuming we win, that is."
"Assuming we win," Elizabeth snarled. "What a vote of confidence! And what do you propose to do to help our chances along a little?"
"I'll do my bit!" the guard protested.
"I'm sure you will," Elizabeth shrugged. "Listen to me," she added more quietly, but quite menacingly, "you're right to say we have a difficult task. But you're wrong if you think that was a waste of time. Tell me," she
said in a louder tone as she turned again on the guard, "how do you think these kids eat?"
"I dunno. Same as we do."
"Don't be inane! And don't you even think of being deliberately stupid, or you'll be deeply involved in effluent enforcement. I'll tell you how they eat. They steal food, from the likes of Munro. That's why Munro and his ilk shoot them and poison them. They treat the kids as vermin, because, as far as they're concerned, they are. And how do the kids get away with it?"
"I dunno," the guard said sheepishly.
"They know all the underground passages, the service ducts, everything you need to know about getting in and out of buildings without being seen. Now, perhaps, you just might be able to work out why the kids might be useful?"
"Yes, Commissioner."
"Then you'll see the need to keep our word. Someone has to arrange to get food for them this evening."
"Yes, Commissioner."
"Then get on with it! That someone's you!"
"Yes, Commissioner," came the now totally abashed reply.
* * *
Just as the column of vehicles came to a halt opposite the shaded entrance to the building now used by the Munros, a cloud passed in front of the sun and a chill swept through the party. Elizabeth Garrett swallowed hard, then looked around. None of her men had moved. She steadied herself, grasped the door handle, and opened it. As she stepped out, she noted some of the guards were also carefully stepping out onto the road, their eyes peering everywhere. The street was deserted, but they all felt the dozens of eyes watching their every movement from the various floors of the buildings on both sides of the street. This area, for three blocks in each direction, was controlled by GenCorp, a fact clearly stated by the warning signs to tourists to keep away. Just what would happen to a tourist who ventured in was unclear, and from Elizabeth's best research efforts, nobody had ever tried to find out. That, thought Elizabeth Garrett, was real power; power, she realized wistfully, that would always evade her. But if that were so, then it was wrong to vest it in the Munros. Something had to be done, and she had to do it. Now!
