Oath of Fealty

by Larry Niven

  "Did you see Lunan's broadcast?" Tony asked.

  "Some of it-"

  "Good. Look, your boss has gone nuts, and I have to talk to somebody," Rand said with a rush. Got that out, he thought.

  There was a long pause. "Um. Tony, I'm dripping bathwater. Come down in twenty minutes, okay? We'll talk about it. I'm sure Mr. Bonner knows what he's doing-"

  "I used to think so too."

  "Oh, come on. Anyway, shall I have coffee waiting, or a drink?"

  "Thanks. Uh-both. Irish coffee."

  A tiny pause in which Rand suddenly realized that the bartender would be sending drinks in pairs to Delores's room. And the guards would know he was there. No privacy at all in Todos Santos. Tony had stopped noticing years ago, but Lunan's broadcast.

  "Done," she said, and hung up.

  Twenty minutes. "Be a nice girl and call me in fifteen minutes," Tony said aloud, using the voice shift that MILLIE recognized.

  "SURE THING, BOSS. I HAVE MESSAGES-"

  "Give them to me."

  "FROM SIR GEORGE REEDY. 'I WOULD LIKE TO SEE YOU AGAIN TO DISCUSS DETAILS OF MY NEW ARCOLOGY. I UNDERSTAND HOW BUSY YOU ARE DUE TO EMERGENCIES. ARE YOU FREE FOR DINNER TOMORROW NIGHT?"

  Rand scowled. Everything happened at once … but he had to find a chance to pick Reedy's brain. "Tell Sir George six o'clock, Schramm's, if it's convenient. Phrase it better."

  "WILL DO."

  "Thank you."

  "ANYTIME."

  Lunan was taking a camera through his own apartment in Santa Monica. This was the damndest documentary Rand had ever seen. But it made sense in context, because Lunan was talking about fear and the siege mentality. He showed good locks, and cheap stereo equipment visible from a window, and expensive equipment hidden, and the cheap place where he stashed his car. Jesus, Rand thought. If things were really that bad outside, why would he be showing all his secrets? Lunan must be planning to move tomorrow!

  And what of Zach? My boy's growing up in that, instead of here where he belongs. And does Genevieve deserve that? Oh, damn- Lunan was back with the Drinkwaters again. Cheryl was saying, "I don't see how you can live like that. I don't see how anyone could." And now back to an Angelino woman saying, "I don't see how they can live like that. Eyes on the back of your neck, all the time. Sure, I shop there-" Cut back to the Shopping Mall again, view down a fast pedway, another kaleidoscope; boys with toilet paper rope (Tony smiled; it happened to him at least twice a year); Cheryl again, laughing. "No, of course not," she giggled. "Nobody ducks. Well, Angelinos duck-"

  Not bad, Tony thought. Not bad at all. He dressed hurriedly, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach. He wanted to talk, dammit; but his glands told him he wanted something more, and he might, just might

  “ - siege mentality," Lunan was saying. "Todos Santos has always seen itself as apart from Los Angeles. Although not everyone thinks so-"

  Cut to Barbara Churchward, neatly tailored skirt suit and bright silk scarf, radiating both femininity and competence. "A large part of our development loans go to outsiders," she was saying. "Of course, most are to let outsiders come inside. But yes, we depend on Los Angeles for a lot of goods and services that it wouldn't make sense to do in-house." She paused, as if in thought; Lunan's audience would assume it was thought. Would Lunan? "Example: in one Todos Santos laboratory recently, within a week they needed Plexiglas sheets, several sizes of 0 rings, three sizes of drill bits, silicone glue, glass tubing, a dry cell battery, some insulated wire, three lenses, two highly polished mirrors-I could go on, but surely the point is made? Only a big city would have all those things in stock and readily available."

  "So you do depend on Los Angeles," Lunan said.

  Churchward laughed. "Let's just say we spend a lot of money in Los Angeles, probably more than most Angelinos realize. After all, we could have our goods shipped in from some other city. But we'd rather not." She said more, but Tony wasn't listening. Twenty minutes, Delores had said. And waiting was tough. Would a cold shower help? Damn.

  “- and an ugly mood has developed lately," Lunan said. "Typified by a phrase that seems to have caught on in Todos Santos." The camera zoomed down on a sticker attached to an elevator door. "THINK OF IT AS EVOLUTION IN ACTION."

  "Since nothing happens in Todos Santos without at least tacit approval by Bonner and his people," Lunan said, "we may assume that the TS managers agree with this sentiment. I haven't been able to trace the origin of the phrase-"

  Ye gods, Tony thought. I have seen that stuck up here and there. Lunan makes it look universal, but it's not, not really. And dammit, where did I hear it first? Somewhere. The night Pres had to kill those kids-Yeah, that night, but not then, earlier. The leaper. Hell, I said it! How'd it get out to the public?

  "I'M CALLING YOU-000-000-000," MILLIE warbled "TEN FIFTY P.M."

  "Thanks, sweetheart," Tony said. "Be a nice girl."

  "READY."

  "Rand in 234 Level 28," Tony said.

  "HOW LONG, BOSS?"

  "Indefinite," Tony said, and felt his stomach knot again. Ah, hell.

  XII. VISITING HOURS

  Make no little plans; they have no magic to stir men's blood.

  -Daniel Hudson Burnham

  The Irish coffee was waiting, still hot, the whipped cream half melted. Rand had been picturing Delores in negligee, half transparent; but she was in what were probably called hostess pajamas, loose, flowing, violent orange, and quite opaque. She also wore a welcoming smile, which was reassuring.

  "So Mr. Bonner has gone out of his mind," she said.

  "Yeah. He wants me to-"

  "I know what he wants," Delores said.

  Hmm. Did Bonner call her, or had she called Bonner to report the court magician's misgivings? Good question. I can find out who called whom from MILLIE. Or I can if Art doesn't mind my knowing. MILLIE was one of the few systems in Todos Santos that Tony Rand didn't control. At least not completely. His mind toyed briefly with an idea, a way to get MILLIE to tell him things Bonner didn't want known- "Well?" Delores asked. She gave him a half smile, an indication that she understood his preoccupations but she was damned if she'd be ignored when he was in her apartment.

  "Delores, you've known Art a long time. Is he serious?" Tony asked.

  She looked at him. "Tony, we can't leave Pres with the Angelinos."

  Oops. Carefully, Tony said, "That's not Pres's opinion. I think he wants absolution. He wants to be acquitted in court."

  "No matter what it costs us?"

  Tony shrugged. "Maybe he hasn't thought of it that way. He thinks it's his life."

  "And it isn't," Delores said.

  Rand looked away. Suddenly, he didn't want to look at Delores. She lived in dark colors and soft curves. Deep brown rug, a couple of bean bag chairs, tables with no corners, a king-sized water bed piled with huge pillows. Delores was high in the hierarchy. Her apartment was at least half the size of Tony's, and none of it was work space.

  "Put it this way, Tony," she said. "We-well, Johnny Shapiro - claimed no crime was committed. That Pres was doing his duty. And now Judge Norton has ruled against us. What does that mean?"

  "Well-"

  "It means that the County of Los Angeles, and the State of California, consider that a crime has been committed. There's no doubt as to who did what; so just what is a trial going to be about?"

  "Legal maneuvers-"

  "Sure. So if we're lucky we get Pres off on technicalities. Won't he just love that?"

  "No. But a jailbreak?"

  "It's not impossible, is it?"

  "I don't know. I haven't thought that far." Tony looked at Delores and saw she was in dead earnest. "It'd be a felony whether it worked or not. Even talking about it is felony conspiracy-"

  That didn't faze her either. Of course it wouldn't. Tony giggled.

  "What?"

  "Well, I suppose Art could always find someone to break us out of jail-"

  "He would, you know." Delores was dead serious. "You haven't touched
your Irish coffee."

  "Thanks." He sipped, then gulped, a bit too cool, but strong, bitter and sweet. Irish coffee tastes like a black magic healing spell.

  "How do we break him out?" Delores asked.

  Trapped. But he couldn't be jailed just for talking about it. Conspiracy requires an overt act-"I guess I'd tackle the computer system."

  "How? I've got a terminal-"

  Of course she did. And voice pickups too. Tony finished his Irish coffee, then took the chair. It didn't take him long to summon up plans of the new Los Angeles County Jail. He ran through all twelve floors, then returned to the plan for the ground floor. It was about half cells and half administrative offices and waiting rooms. "Pres is a VIP," Tony said. "Ground floor. Mmm … he said he got sunrise on the wall. Say southeast side. And the computer's on the top floor, but we don't really need to know that."

  "What do you need to know?"

  "MILLIE knows a lot already. We could fool with the computers. We might even just issue orders to transfer Preston Sanders to the Todos Santos jail."

  "If anyone noticed-"

  "We'd be up shit creek. We have to fool a computer and some human jailors, and they're likely to notice anything that happens to Sanders. He's their star guest. Thanks," he said, as Delores handed him a second Irish coffee. "Maybe we walk someone in, someone who looks vaguely like Pres. Switch them, and switch Pres's description in the computer. He's got a cell mate," Tony recommended suddenly.

  "That's bad."

  "Maybe not. The cell mate wants to sell us plumbing." Tony pulled thoughtfully at his drink. Below conscious thought he was aware of a woman's hand resting lightly on his shoulder; but his mind had forgotten Delores, the room, everything but the screen before him. "I don't like it. Everyone in that jail, from the warden to the garbage collector, know Sanders's face by heart. You know why? Not because they've seen him. Because they watch television."

  "Can't we get sneakier than that? Make our stooge look exactly like Pres?"

  "We've got a problem there. This is a felony, remember? We'll be leaving someone else in the pickle. And there aren't too many individuals of the black persuasion in the upper ranks here. Of course we don't have to be sneaky-"

  She laughed. "Whyever not?"

  "Art doesn't care who knows we did it. Prefers they know. All he cares about is whether they can prove it in a Los Angeles court."

  "That should make things easier."

  "Maybe." He stared at the screen again. "Maybe we just tell the courthouse computer to open all the doors at once. Just a minute." Tony played with the keyboard. He had to give three different security identifications, but eventually MILLIE agreed that he was authorized to have the information.

  "Yep. MILLIE can do that. So. But we can't count on Pres cooperating. Otherwise, we could just send a visitor in, and when all the lights go out, he walks Pres out through a horde of escaping convicts. With sirens going off, and fake messages of mayhem on the fifth floor, and like that. Look, it might work."

  Delores sat down on the day bed. She was on her own second Irish coffee. "Tony, none of these ideas are foolproof, are they? And if we get caught, we're caught for keeps."

  "I don't think there is any safe way. Anyway, we're just talking, right?"

  "For the moment."

  "It'd be nice if we had a plan where we could back out halfway, wouldn't it? So we could try something else."

  "Yes?" Delores looked wary.

  "You think I'm trying to back out myself. Not so. What we can do is get them to move Pres outside. The whole cell block goes funny, right? The lights go on and off. The caterers aren't delivering anything but escargot. The hot water shuts down. The fire alarms go off."

  "The doors between the men's and women's wings open-"

  "Yeah! The orgy begins, and the guardroom doors lock. The air conditioning system goes on, then the heating system-"

  "-With disinfectant smells-"

  "Then air conditioning again. Ruining the orgy. All the prisoners have to be transferred out. We get someone else's computer system to send Pres anywhere we want, and break him out on the way."

  "Do you think it'd work?"

  "I dunno. I've given you four separate plans. What do you want from the court magician?"

  "Aha! I saw that too."

  Tony had noticed that her TV was on with the sound muted. "I saw it," he said. "I wonder if he wasn't right. We're a new feudalism. That's what we're doing now, isn't it? Snatching our man out of the king's hands."

  Delores nodded, and she didn't smile. She said, "Tony, what do they do at the courthouse if the power goes off?"

  "I don't know. Let's see. No lights … no computer. They must have procedures for when the computer goes haywire."

  "I'd think so."

  "Then none of this will work. Sooner or later you come up against human beings. That's the thing about people who think they hate computers. What they really hate is lazy programmers."

  "Don't give me philosophy lessons, Tony! How do we get Pres out?"

  "Brute force? How rough do we want to get? We could send Shapiro in with a briefcase full of shaped charges. Blow the wall and go. You don't need me for that. Or take thirty of the security force through … hold it a second." Tony summoned up the ground floor plan for the County Jail. "Through the kitchen, it looks like. So we send thirty men in through the kitchen and they shoot anyone who gets in the way. The trouble is, if it doesn't work we've got to bust thirty-one men out next time."

  Delores was looking at him with active dislike. Lamely, Tony said, "Maybe we don't have to use bullets? Gas? Or … I could rig something sonic. A friend of mine came up with something for a novel. A jet engine running in a truck, with baffles behind the engine to put out sonic waves at terrific amplitude and ... "

  He paused a moment. "Be a nice girl."

  "RIGHT HERE, BOSS," MILLIE said.

  "Human Factors. Physiology. Sonic effects."

  "TOO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT, BOSS."

  "Show it to me."

  Data flashed across the screen. Tony nodded. "Enough. Thanks."

  "At nine kilocycles," Tony said. "It kills everyone within a couple of blocks by ripping the walls of the capillaries apart. We'd want something else, a frequency to stun without killing. Don't know if-"

  Her expression hadn't changed.

  "Delores, this kind of thing isn't done any more. We can't just tie a rope to the bars of a window and whip up the horse."

  "So you'll invent a whole new technology for the purpose? Tell me more, Dr. Zarkov."

  Tony looked down at his empty mug, then up. "Turn on the sound," he said.

  "What?"

  "The TV, dammit! Be a nice girl. Television audio on." He was looking at a door on a concrete wall. The legend carefully printed on the door in magic marker said: "THINK OF IT AS EVOLUTION IN ACTION."

  "Beaten to death at the foot of the stairs," Lunan's voice said. "The victim has not been identified, but it is established that he wrote the phrase not long before he was killed. No one knows why, but it seems to be the earliest appearance." There was a long shot of a pathetic bundle huddled on subway stairs. Tony recognized the clothing.

  "Be a nice girl. Television audio off."

  His eyes were still on the screen, and he was grieving. Delores asked, "What is it?"

  "He died anyway. He didn't go off the high board, but we pulled him in and sent him off in the subway, and he got off at Flower Street

  and some muggers killed him. Him too. Dammit. The same night. Dammit."

  "Tony?"

  "We can bust Pres loose. One way or another. Did you know there's a cable from the Mayor's office to the White House? It's for Civil Defense. We can give the Emergency Alert and they'll have to evacuate the city. We snatch Pres in the confusion. But what do we tell him? Shall we tell him it's my fault? I designed it wrong. I shouldn't have let them talk me into flat walls."

  "Tony, I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Flat walls
. The flat walls make Todos Santos look like a fort. Or a prison. Or a school. I could have done something else. Different shapes. It would have been as easy to defend, because you only have to defend the ground-floor level anyway. A pyramid, maybe. The damn leapers wouldn't have come flocking to a pyramid. Why should they?"

  "Build a pyramid and we have no greensward," Delores said. "I remember that argument. Tony, you wanted a pyramid."