Don Pendleton's Science Fiction Collection, 3 Books Box Set, (The Guns of Terra 10; The Godmakers; The Olympians)

by Don Pendleton

  “The Reevers saved us all!” Johns-Fielding shouted. “Their feat has been unequalled by hundreds of years of machine programming! Maybe what this old world needs is a bit of reversion here and there.”

  “The Director of Defense will be removed from the chamber!”

  Bond-Durant leapt to his feet and towered above Johns-Fielding. “Gunner Whaleman arrives!” he announced dramatically, pivoting to sweep a long arm toward the doorway.

  The door swung wide to admit Whaleman and his honor guard of defense commanders. They moved silently into the chamber and proceeded directly to the dais above the council table. The fifty or so men of the honor guard quickly arranged themselves into a formation resembling the defense command insignia, a pyramidal shield, with Whaleman standing stiffly at the apex.

  A group of managers in the third section rose to their feet and began quietly applauding. Others quickly followed. Moments later, the Gunner was receiving a standing ovation from the assembled Corporate Body. He stood stoically accepting the thunderous applause. Long before it ended, however, the Chairman’s security squadron began filing into the chamber from the Corporate quarters and gathered in a somber group behind the council table.

  Even Johns-Fielding could not believe that which followed, especially in view of the reception accorded Whaleman by the Corporate Body. Before the applause had completely subsided, the automat was reading the charge against the Gunner.

  “It is the decision of the Solan Corporation that the Defense Commander known as Gunner Zachary Whaleman be presented for disciplinary action, that he be stripped of all rank, decommissioned from the command, and remanded to the custody of the security squadron as an evolutionary revert. It shall be noted that the Board of Directors, by voice poll, have indicated a desire that the Gunner be allowed to answer this indictment. The Gunner may now make his statement.”

  Whaleman’s eyes fell in dumb misery and disbelief to the tortured gaze of Ian Johns-Fielding.

  “Does the Gunner wish to record a statement?” the automat whirred.

  Whaleman’s mouth opened and closed. His shoulders inclined forward in a tensely belligerent stance and a brief emotion flickered across his face.

  “In name of humankind, Reevers must be freed,” he stated in a choked voice.

  “The Gunner’s statement has been noted,” the automat quickly replied. “He is now remanded to the custody of the Security Squadron.”

  Johns-Fielding again leapt to his feet. “This is outrageous!” he cried. “The Corporate Body has not yet voted on this indictment!”

  “The vote is hereby ordered delayed for twenty-four hours, so that proxies may be recertified. In the meantime, Gunner Whaleman is remanded to custody. This congress is adjourned.”

  The men of the Chairman’s special police began moving toward the dais. Bond-Durant stepped forward and violently shoved the leading policeman back. A brief scuffle ensued. A number of giant defense commanders leapt from the dais and took up a screening position. Bond-Durant broke contact with the police and joined the commanders at the base of the dais. The chamber was in an uproar. Johns-Fielding climbed onto his chair and wildly waved his arms, signaling for order.

  “DDO will not allow this action to stand!” he roared.

  The Chairman’s police and the defense commanders were glowering at each other in a close confrontation. Whaleman raised his arms above his head and held them there. The noise of the chamber began to subside.

  Johns-Fielding cried, “This is a mockery of Solan management. The Chairman of the Board of Directors does not hold sovereign powers.” He looked at Whaleman. “Has the Gunner completed his statement?” he asked loudly.

  “No,” Whaleman said, his mind obviously struggling toward speech formation. “Statement has not begun. Zach does not defend insubordination indictment. Zach defends human spirit. Reevers are not incompetent, not childlike, not irresponsible. This is lie of centuries, carefully perpetuated. Lies must end. Reevers are not Reevers. Reevers are highest expression of human spirit. These humans must be set free, must take place in Solan society before too late, before last hope of human spirit vanishes. This is statement. Proof is like same, talking guns of Terra 10. This is complete, this is statement.”

  The Director for Personnel was on his feet. He cleared his throat with a harsh bark and said, “This statement should be taken under advisement as a separate issue, and Personnel hereby makes that motion. Also, Personnel wishes to offer counsel to the Gunner of Terra 10. It is your right, Gunner, to personally confront your accuser. Who is the accuser in the indictment of Gunner Whaleman?” He had turned to the Chairman’s automat.

  The automat whirred a reply. “Let the record show that the Gunner has been advised of his rights.”

  “Who is the accuser?” the Personnel Director persisted.

  “The Corporate Body of Solana brings the indictment,” the automat replied. “The Gunner is now facing his accusers.”

  “That’s not true!” Johns-Fielding snapped. “A Corporate vote has not been recorded. Let the record show that the Chairman of the Board is the accuser of Gunner Whaleman!”

  “DDO is out of order,” the automat whirred.

  “This congress is out of order,” Johns-Fielding retorted. “Gunner, the Chairman is your accuser. Ask your questions!”

  “Is Chairman this automat?” Whaleman quietly inquired.

  Johns-Fielding’s face dropped, then he smiled brightly. “Good point, Gunner. Let the record show that the Director for Defense assumes counsel for Gunner Whaleman. The Chairman of the Board of Directors will now present himself in the chamber for interrogation.”

  A reedy voice replaced the whirring tones of the automat. “Have you taken leave of your senses, Johns-Fielding? The Chairman may not show himself in the chamber!”

  “Then these charges must be dropped,” Johns-Fielding replied smugly. “Let the record show that the Gunner is publicly exonerated, no charge having been made.”

  “No!” Whaleman barked. “Gunner Whaleman has been charged. Let now this charge be answered.”

  Johns-Fielding’s face was creased in a baffled smile. “Well... I guess that’s your right, Zach.”

  “Get that man out of here,” the reedy voice demanded. “The Congress stands adjourned.”

  “No!” Mark Bond-Durant cried. “This is true. Gunner has right to face accuser. As ranking military officer present, Squadroneer Bond-Durant declares for record this must stand. Will Chairman present himself, or will Defense Command assure his presence?”

  The aged voice shrilled, “This is a military plot! The Security Squadron is ordered to defend the person of the Chairman of the Board!”

  Bond-Durant was already signaling the defense commanders of the Whaleman honor guard. Outnumbering the police by four to one, they quickly neutralized that authority and hustled the policemen to the corridor. The Corporate Body within the chamber sat in frozen silence, perhaps aware that they were witnessing a startling moment of history.

  Bond-Durant, Johns-Fielding and three commanders proceeded directly to the heavy door leading to the Corporate quarters, official sequestuary of the Chairman. Another brief scuffle ensued as they forced their way through the automated doorlocks.

  Moments later, Bond-Durant reappeared, his face white and shaken. He stalked woodenly to the center of the council table, obviously stunned and laboring under a heavy emotion, raised a hand to rub his forehead, and said quietly, “Is true, Chairman cannot appear publicly. Apology, Chairman cannot appear.” He lifted a hand toward Whaleman. “Zach, come. Confront accuser in Chairman’s quarters.”

  Whaleman left the dais and moved slowly to his superior. Their eyes met and locked. Bond-Durant said, “Come,” and whirled about and quickly returned through the shattered doorway.

  Whaleman followed closely. The Squadroneer halted just inside the door and said, “Zach, prepare for shock.”

  He led the young Gunner on into the quarters and steered him into a glass-enclosed c
ubicle at the far side of a darkened room. Johns-Fielding and the three commanders stood in a quiet consultation alongside a turret of automats. Barely visible at the open end of the turret was the head of a high bed. Upon the bed lay a shriveled, barely human form. The wasted body was all but blanketed by a maze of electrodes, with a network of fine wires leading to the automat-turret surrounding the bed. The head was little more than a skull with a thin covering of practically transparent skin.

  Whaleman flinched, then bent down for a closer look. Bloodless lips trembled and a reedy voice sighed, “Well, are you satisfied? Get out! Get out and leave me alone!”

  “This is Chairman of Board?” Whaleman murmured.

  The lips trembled again, but no sound issued through them.

  Bond-Durant tugged Whaleman away. They joined Johns-Fielding who was interestedly inspecting the automats grouped about the bed.

  “This is fantastic,” the Director whispered. “Practically every biological function is being carried on by these robots. He’s little more than a brain, and I suspect that the automats are largely supplementing even that. My God, no wonder we seldom hear his own voice. He couldn’t have strength enough for more than a dozen words a day.”

  The Gunner and the Squadroneer began a close inspection of the machines. The Director for Personnel stepped into the room and went to the bed. His face blanched noticeably, and he hurriedly joined the others.

  “Fools!” he hissed. “What fools we’ve been! And for how many years? When was the last time you saw the Chairman, Ian?”

  Johns-Fielding miserably shook his head. “Never,” he admitted. “Seventeen years on the board, and I never thought to question this setup.”

  “But it’s been this way from beyond living memory,” the other director muttered. “On what basis could we have questioned?”

  “A one-man dynasty,” Johns-Fielding commented, shaking his head.

  Whaleman’s technological genius had quickly deduced the function of the automated nurses.

  “Correction,” he murmured, “a machine dynasty. This Chairman is one percent human, ninety-nine percent machine. Is question now, which rules? The one percent, or the ninety-nine?”

  Johns-Fielding sighed. “I guess we all know the answer to that, Zach.”

  “Yes, all know. Personnel Director says fools? This is true. Is question, for how long have machines ruled Solana?”

  “That’s not the question, Zach,” Johns-Fielding replied. “The question now is how much longer. And I will presume to answer that question. The answer is, not another day, Zach. Not another minute.”

  “I’m going to bring the other directors in here,” the Personnel man announced. “They all have to see this.”

  “All of Solana should see this,” the Gunner angrily muttered. “All of humankind. Fools, yes. All fools. Are only Reevers fools, Director?”

  “No, you’re right, Zach. We’re all fools. It’s part of the human equation, isn’t it. Only machines cannot be foolish.”

  The Gunner smiled faintly. “Is not so bad, this fools, Director. Is human. Is this fools restore Zach’s faith in Solana. Reevers say Zach naive. Zach says, maybe so, but these fools naive also, like same. Zach speak to Board, for humankind. Board speaks back, these naive fools, speaking also for humankind with machine for Chairman.” “Zach, I don’t know how to—”

  “No, this is way of humankind. Sometime fool, sometime Godlike. This is good, Director. Is give hope for destiny of man.”

  The Personnel Director was returning, the balance of the Board filing in silently behind him.

  Johns-Fielding sighed again. “Wait until you see the new telepic, Zach, then you’ll see what fools we’ve really been.”

  “This concerns Reevers? Means they will be freed?”

  “It could mean, Zach, that all mankind will be freed.”

  Whaleman grinned. “Free also to be fools?”

  Johns-Fielding smiled wryly and nodded his head. “Yes, that, too. I guess that’s as precious a freedom as any, isn’t it?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  The Probabilities

  Stel met him in the vehicle bay of Terra 10. They embraced, and the bubblingly happy girl told him, “We got the news on the communicators, Zach. It’s so wonderful. Everything’s going to be all right, now, isn’t it?”

  “Probabilities for this about sixty-forty affirmative,” Whaleman replied. He wrapped an arm about her, and they trudged up to the command cabin.

  Blue was seated at the master console, running through a dummy exercise with Hedge watching closely over his shoulder. Blue looked up at their entry and cried, “Hey, Boob! Home is the conquering warrior! Hey, I about got this thing figured out. Hedge, too. Give me a problem, any problem.”

  Whaleman grinned and replied, “Interrogate probabilities of Solani emigration to new world.”

  “I don’t need to put that through an interrogator,” Blue declared. “It’s a matter of common sense. Seventeen billion people are just too many for one small planet to feed. I’d say there’s going to be a—”

  Laughing, Hedge broke in with, “See, Zach, he still don’t trust the computer as much as his own hunches.”

  “Hunches maybe good also,” the Gunner said. “Here is problem, Blue. Calculate probabilities two trained Reevers assigned lead design teams, new transports with propulsion system like same Terra 10.”

  “Huh?”

  Whaleman’s grin expanded. “Is true. Technology is request services. Fontainbleu/Oraskny and Hedges/Bolsom, new grav-lock program.”

  “Then I’d say it’s the age of wonders,” Blue marveled.

  “Speaking of wonders,” Stel said, laughing, “has any one noticed how much better Zach is talking?”

  The Gunner colored somewhat and replied, “Zach promise learn speak social for Stel. Zach tries. Uh, where are Gunmen? Corporate Body wishes recognize publicly their service to Solana.”

  “Tom and Eva Rosslin took them back to 23,” Hedge reported. “They were getting nervous cooped up in here.”

  Whaleman nodded understandingly. “New commission being formed,” he told them, “Study integration of Reevers into Solan society. Meanwhile, gunmen are heroes, deserve recognition, must be presented to Corporate Body.” He stepped over to the console and punched in a comm channel.

  Bond-Durant’s voice responded, “DDO.”

  “Gunner Whaleman here,” the big commander reported. “Gunmen of Terra 10 have returned commune, AgSta 23, less Fontainbleu/Oraskny, Hedges/Bolsom, and Rogers/Brandt. Suggest contact them there.”

  “Skronk,” came the reply. “What are your intentions? Do you remain aboard gunship?”

  “Negative. Intentions are to marriage Stel.”

  Bond-Durant replied, “Unskronk.”

  The door to the command cabin had slid open during the exchange to admit Tom Cole and Subgunner Eva Rosslin, arm in arm.

  Cole bellowed, “Tell ’im he better start skronking. Mars, man, there’s liable to be marriages all over the place. Right, Eva girl?”

  “This is correct, Tom Cole,” the Subgunner replied, coloring furiously.

  Whaleman chuckled. “This is good, like same, human spirit soar to ends of universe, new horizons for mankind.”

  “Bet on that, spaceman, you just bet on it.”

  The puzzled voice of Bond-Durant came through the console. “Repeat your last, unskronk, unskronk.”

  Whaleman kissed his woman before replying, “This is new study for Personnel Director. Old human custom, maybe needs revival for new world colonies, maybe even old world. No program tracings, Squadroneer, just foolish human chances for excellence.”

  “Unskronk,” Bond-Durant repeated.

  Whaleman laughed out loud. “Request interrogate intelligence computer re: probabilities, marriage with Stel produce golden-hair Reevers versus redhair spacement. ”

  “Unskronk, unskronk.”

  Blue snorted gleefully, “You don’t need an intell—”

  Stel cut
him off, hugging Whaleman delightedly and crying, “I skronk that, Zach. I’d say the probabilities are about fifty-fifty.”

  “What is this fifty-fifty?”

  The color of Stel’s cheeks deepened. “Fifty of each.”

  The Gunner laughed heartily and propelled her toward the doorway. “Not here,” he said, “not under guns of Terra 10. Religious waterfall, Stel, this is where.”

  “Yes,” she breathed, her eyes glowing. “This is where. Probabilities are unlimited.”

  Hedge clapped his friend on the shoulder and the two of them bent their heads to the problems of the universe. Stel had been correct. The probabilities were indeed unlimited.

  ~End~

  The Godmakers

  Don Pendleton

  For Greg, and for all the Godmakers everywhere.

  “Beware of the man whose God is in the skies.”

  —George Bernard Shaw (Man and Superman)

  FOREWORD—The Measure

  The perfect man, Hadrin, stood quietly at the edge of the infinite sea with Octavia, the perfect woman.

  Octavia remarked, “You have not laughed for some time.” She thrust forward her bare belly, rubbing it upon Hadrin’s hip.

  “I have been contemplating,” replied Hadrin.

  “When the thought is complete, will you share it with me?”

  Hadrin absently caressed a daintily upthrust breast and sighed. “It is as complete as I can get it, at this time.”

  “Then tell me the thought, Hadrin.”

  Hadrin smiled. “God is the measure of all men,” he said soberly.