"Deck Officer Gustafsson and I have had preliminary discussions about this situation and believe that a simple and direct approach is best. In our earliest meetings—after our fishing boat's encounter with the queen—a few members of our committee suggested that we take advantage of the special engineering talent in our midst and attempt to develop one or more 'magic weapons.' We decided against this course of action. I personally have seen too many high-tech weapons that didn't perform as advertised, and I could not approve putting our faith in magic devices of any sort. We do have a certain number of rifles and pistols available, and using these judiciously, our group agreed that the tried and true methods of a modern infantry would serve us best. We find ourselves living in relatively primitive conditions, and the same situation must pertain to any potential opponents. As for the present danger, from what we understand, these so-called pirates, no matter how ferocious they may be, are in no position to overcome an armed, well-disciplined group of citizen-soldiers. They will have the disadvantage of having to cross two hundred and fifty miles of open sea, and their numbers cannot be large—I would guess, from what we have heard, two or three hundred at most."
The general paced back and forth for a moment, as if on parade, and then continued, "We propose to recruit militia troops—like in the days of the American Revolution. We will seek out able-bodied volunteers, say five hundred from Engineering Village—the ship's crew alone provides many likely prospects—and an equal number from Ulundi. There is no sense in making the troops more numerous since we probably won't be able to round up more than a few hundred guns, and while some of our support forces may not need to carry weapons, in general we don't want to send unarmed soldiers into battle. Incidentally, let me say for the record that I favor enlisting men only. On the other hand, we're not going to make an issue of it if a few women insist on joining."
The overall force, as envisioned by the general, would be a regiment comprised of two battalions of roughly the same size—one from Ulundi, the other from Engineering Village. Each battalion would be comprised of two companies, each company of ten platoons, following the standard military order. Each unit, from the smallest to the largest would have one commander and one second. For example, the regiment would be commanded by White, with Gustafsson as his second. He asked Kemm to give him a list of prospective officers to be interviewed and commissioned as soon as possible. He and the deck officer had already begun to sketch out the chain of command among the Outlanders.
At this point, Captain Nordstrom broke in: "In order to minimize unnecessary alarm, I've suggested that we simply announce that the Coordinating Committee has decided to form a defense force and that we will begin organizing soon. No special sense of urgency. In actuality, we should work like the devil to get the best officers and men enlisted pronto, and the training program underway."
"Has anyone thought of negotiating with these people? Perhaps this woman wants something we can provide—a 'trade' agreement?" The questioner was Jane Warner.
"I'll answer that, if I may," Hardy spoke up. "Based on the information these two men have brought us, there is no room to negotiate anything with the so-called queen and her own government council. It would be, in my opinion, a fool's errand. And we cannot afford to send a boat, let alone a single person, into her zone of authority without some realistic hope that something might be accomplished. If there was any chance of a different outcome, I would be all for it. Anyhow, the idea is a good one, and that's what this meeting is for. Any others?"
Peter Mavimbela raised his hand and was recognized. "I'll tell you what I have in mind," he said. "Why don't we turn the table on these criminals, launch an attack against them, catch them by surprise, and put an end to the whole business? I don't like the idea of just waiting around, expecting the axe to fall at any moment, but not knowing where or when trouble will find us. That's not the Zulu way; that's not the way of the new South Africa; and I don't think it should be the way of the new civilization we're trying to build."
"A good point," said the general, "and, Peter, I like your fighting spirit. But I must tell you that we've considered that possibility, and for the time being it doesn't seem feasible. We simply don't have the resources. We would need a navy—an invasion fleet— while all we have is a few lifeboats converted to fishing vessels. The enemy, on the other hand, seems to have a number of speedy sailing yachts. And even if we could overcome that disadvantage, we would lose the tactical edge that we have now. We would be the weary invader, having crossed the water and needing to carry supplies rather than the army comfortably planted on our home soil."
"Yes, but the element of surprise, that's what the invader has."
"It's not complete surprise if we know that they're making plans. We just have to be as alert as we can be. As for the suspense, well, we'll just have to tough it out."
"Also, Peter"—now it was Wilson Hardy speaking—"think of how mounting an invasion would disrupt the important work that is going on here. Our industrial revolution would come to a screeching halt. All our dreams for the future would have to be put on hold."
Mavimbela grimaced slightly, and nodded his head to show understanding and agreement.
Since there seemed to be no other questions from the floor, Hardy turned to General White and asked conversationally, but loud enough for all to hear, "Allen, what are your thoughts about the ultimate role of this Defense Committee? And about the army and its officers. Who should have the right to give orders to whom, and under what circumstances?"
"That's an easy one, Wilson," answered the general. "Whatever worked for the United States of America—and how wonderfully well it worked for more than two centuries—is good enough for me. Civilian control of the military. It's as simple as that."
"The question of power is never simple," said Richard Frost, "if you will forgive me for saying so. History tells us that we must expect frequent conflicts and a constant clash of ambitions. So far, we haven't even had democratic elections."
"I'm sure that the general is assuming that will happen," Wilson Hardy said. "At the end of our first year, by previous agreement, we will have our constitutional convention, our elections, and all that good stuff. I take him to mean that for now the military commanders will take their orders from the Defense Committee, which in turn will answer to the Coordinating Committee, which is, in effect, the chief governing body."
"That's exactly right," said the general." I want everybody here to understand it, and we must make sure that all of our military people understand it, too."
At this point, Wilson Hardy turned toward his son and said, "Get that down in writing, young man, and protect the principle with your life, if need be."
The recording secretary wrote carefully, feeling for the moment as if he was at a meeting of the Continental Congress. Would General White be the George Washington of this new era? And would Wil's dad be the equivalent of Thomas Jefferson, or perhaps Benjamin Franklin, or some other founding father?
It was a moving moment, although not everyone present was thrilled with the idea of basing the new world order on American traditions alone. "You know," muttered Captain Nordstrom, "there are other democracies in the world—or there were—Norway, for example, just to name one."
As the meeting reached its conclusion, a consensus developed around writing down the basic principle, as it had been discussed, without reference to any particular previously existing national constitution or heritage. This was done, and a solemn confirming vote was taken.
Approval was unanimous, and the meeting was adjourned about two a.m.
Wilson Hardy, Jr., went to his father and hugged him, surprising the older man. "Thanks. What was that for?" the elder Hardy said.
"Just felt like doing it," Wil responded.
Then, as they walked out into the darkness, he sighed deeply and said, "It looks as if we may be heading toward our first war of the new era. It's sad."
"Yes it is. Inevitable, I suppose, but sad nonetheless. We coul
d probably be of great assistance to the people of Madagascar, and they to us. God knows there are so few of us left."
"I'm very curious about this Queen Ranavolana character. It seems she's an American. I wonder if I'll ever get to meet her."
"Not if I have any say about it." Wilson Hardy looked at his son, a younger, slimmer, taller version of himself. "You're still my boy, and I'll not have you cavorting with pirate queens."
"I don't even know the meaning of 'cavorting,' Dad.... Anyhow, I've got to get back to Sarah. Good night."
"Good night, son. Sleep well."
FROM THE JOURNAL OF WILSON HARDY, JR.
Well, I had to keep my mouth shut about the issues before the Expanded Defense Committee, but I hadn't had the sense to do so earlier. My own words echoed and rattled around in my mind.
"And in marrying and having children."
What had gotten into me? Perhaps it was all that talk about elementary particles and electromagnetic waves. Come to think of it, this enigmatic "stuff" of the universe has somehow evolved into living creatures. And one thing we know about living creatures: they seem determined to endure and reproduce themselves. Maybe that basic impulse, lodged deep within me, simply chose this moment to express itself.
Or possibly, thinking about the complex technological society we are determined to recreate—and pondering the number of people needed to support such a society—I suddenly reckoned there was not a moment to lose in enlarging the population.
Looked at another way, my remark was simply a cry of defiance. To hell with the scientific view and to hell with the demands of technology. And to hell with the universe itself, which has done its best to annihilate us. I have survived. Sarah and I have survived—as a couple. Why have we survived if we do not carry on, if we do not reproduce and foil the fates that tried to do us in?
But why overintellectualize the whole business? I'm simply a man in love with a woman, and I want a cozy home with a cuddly family. To want babies seems the most normal, instinctual, non-philosophical impulse one can have.
But what am I saying? I don't even like babies! At least I never have in the past. Ah, but I didn't say anything about babies. I said "children." Babies are just something you have on your way to having children. And I guess I could learn to love them. Most people seem to.
Whatever the root cause of my remark—which nobody will ever know, and who cares?—the practical effect was, as Herb put it, "electrifying." Just as we three couples had decided that we would marry—spontaneously, as a unit it seemed, back on the Queen of Africa—so did we now decide that the time had come to set the date. And further, the time was at hand to start thinking seriously about having kids.
Almost from the first day we landed on the beach, news had circulated of twosomes among the passengers and crew who were getting married. The shock of the Event and the uncertainty of the future seemed to bring couples together, instinctively seeking an affirmative link. Most of the ceremonies were brief verging on perfunctory, performed by Captain Nordstrom. We had clergy among us, but for the urgent, precipitate unions being ratified, the ship's captain seemed the appropriate choice. Captain Nordstorm honored the yearnings of the young couples, but begrudged the demands on his time. It followed that the wedding parties were very small, and celebration, in the sense of music and dancing, was out of the question. After we made contact with the Inlanders, we learned that some of them also were rushing into marriage. Sarah speculated that the dwindling supplies of birth control materials had something to do with it.
However, until I made my remark about marrying and having children, the six of us in the Focus Group had not considered the planning of weddings. There seemed no need to rush. The "engagements" to which we were pledged provided commitment enough. And the pressures of working for group survival made the idea of ceremony seem frivolous. But by the time of my outburst— I recall that the date was February 3—forty days had passed since the Event. Survival, at least in the short run, seemed assured. The first stage of planning for the long term had been concluded. And though the real work of building a sustainable community was only beginning, it was possible—indeed, only normal—to start arranging our personal futures.
—————
When we gathered the evening after my impetuous outburst, the topic was foremost in everyone's mind. We skirted around it with some nervous, idle chatter, until Tom suddenly spoke up.
"It's still not the time to be talking about weddings," he said. "I'm just too damned busy to think about such a happening, much less plan it. Unless," he added, "we have a quick ceremony just to make our unions honorable. But I don't think that Mary is interested in a Captain Nordstrom five-minute special."
"You know it," Mary said. "Not that I'm happy about living in sin, mind you. But as long as we've come this far, I want to do things right, with a priest, a pretty dress, and festivities with music."
"I've always thought about having a flower-child wedding," Roxy said. "A hippie ceremony at sunrise, celebrating beauty, and at the same time repudiating the values of an over-commercialized world. But with most of the world wiped out, there doesn't seem to be much sense in making a statement of protest. So I'm game for just about anything that's nice, as long as there's plenty of dancing at the party."
There appeared to be agreement that the three ceremonies would take place at the same time. Nobody said it in so many words, but as often seemed to be our way, consensus was in the air.
"I haven't discussed it with Roxy," Herb said, "but I'd like us to be married by a rabbi and stand under a huppah."
"Under a what?" Roxy asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.
"A canopy," Herb said. "It symbolizes the home to be established by the newlyweds. We'll have a flower-covered trellis, and I guarantee that you'll love it."
"Sounds nice," I said. "Can we stand under it, too?"
"Absolutely," Herb said. "We can have a huppah big enough for three couples. Why not? Unless," he added, "Mary's priest objects, or somebody's parents, or who knows what? Once you start planning weddings, complications are sure to follow."
Considering our many debates and discussions, the Focus Group had not spent much time discussing religion. Aside from Mary, a devout Roman Catholic, religious faith didn't play a central role in our lives. Roxy, a one-time Southern Baptist, dabbled with Buddhism, but not in any coherent way. Sarah had grown up as a Presbyterian, Herb as a Jew, and I as an Episcopalian, but all in such secularized families that we were destined to wander from the fold. Tom claimed to be as close to an atheist as a thoughtful person can be, and I sometimes wondered how he and Mary hit it off so well. Love seemed to conquer all, and that, as far as I could tell, was that.
"I wouldn't worry about such things," Tom said. "With the world shot to hell, people aren't going to stand on petty formalities."
"Wrong," Herb said. "How else are we going to prove that we're still human, if we don't show that we can still be petty?"
"All kidding aside," Sarah said. "Are we going to make plans or aren't we?"
"Let's do it," I said. "I might be the one who blurted out that remark about children, but obviously we're all primed to think marriage. Yet," I couldn't help but add, "Tom's right about the timing. If we want ceremony and partying, we have to wait until the situation is a bit less hectic, until living conditions are less primitive, until constructive work projects are more firmly established. We're talking about a few months at least."
"I always wanted to be a June bride," Sarah said. "That's four months away."
"You know, June isn't spring in these parts," Tom said. "It's the beginning of winter."
"Yes, but the winters are fairly mild," Herb said, "especially at these lower elevations near the sea. Assuming, of course, that nature doesn't pull any more of her nasty tricks on us."
"Let's do it," I said again. And we did. We set the date for the first Sunday in June. It seemed far in the future then, and today, a little more than six months after the day, it seems
far in the past. But it was an occasion, needless to say, that will be ever fresh in my memory.
The planning did not turn out to be petty or quarrelsome as Herb had predicted, and as I had secretly feared. Tom, as one of the leaders of the R and D operation, was literally too busy to spare a moment from his work. He had a key assignment in planning for the future, and as the weeks went by and his talents were noted by his peers, the demands on his time were relentless. Although I was much lower on the scale of ability and importance, I also found myself working long hours.
As recording secretary to the various leadership groups, I was constantly on call. I thought after the first month or so of meetings (endless meetings!), with the basic plans established, the work of oversight and governance would abate. But I should have known better. Herb, as my sometime assistant, was also needed at many lengthy meetings. So, in a reversion to the conventions of previous generations, most of the wedding arrangements were handled by the women.
Not that "the little ladies," as Herb sometimes had the nerve to call them, weren't extremely busy as well. Mary, the civil engineer, was occupied with roads and pipelines. Roxy was a whirlwind in morale-building ventures—planning athletic events and other group activities, especially dancing. Sometimes she worked with the medical people. It turned out that she had done some nursing in her checkered career. Sarah, starting within a few days of her dramatic parade, became something of a commissioner of cultural affairs. She was perpetually busy with classes, concerts, theater, and other artistic pursuits. But somehow, along with Mary and Roxy, she arranged a grand wedding celebration, one that will be remembered in these parts for many a day.
Once the planning was underway, Herb started to refer to the wedding as "the catered affair." We all picked up on the term. It was a pleasant connection to the good old days. As a catered affair, the first consideration, of course, was food and drink. Here Sarah made the very wise move of bringing Captain Nordstrom into the process. It was an open secret that the Queen of Africa chefs still had a hidden cache of special tinned delicacies and fine wines, and some of these were peremptorily earmarked for our great day. Also the kitchen and dining-room staffs, after many weeks of having to serve Spartan rations in austere conditions, were delighted to be involved in plans for a grand shindig.
The Aftermath Page 25
