Which explained why a sheet of light brightened the sky over that way, then faded.
“If I didn’t know better,” Marty said, “I’d think we were driving through a revolution.”
“It can’t be,” Larry said. “The people aren’t throwing paving stones.”
I decided not to remind him that the streets of Aphrodite were made of poured plasticrete.
Finally, we saw the spaceport terminal gliding past us on our left.
“Why aren’t we going in through customs?” Lacey asked, frowning.
“You kidding?” Chovy said. “You folks are the people of the hour. Nobody would think of trying to slow you down tonight—not after that performance! You rate first-class treatment in every way tonight, you do!”
Well, that was more than enough for Lacey and Larry; they sat up a little straighter in their seats, and you could fairly see them preening.
The gates to the field swam out of the darkness at us— but if we were such big heroes, how come there was a uniformed cop stepping out in front?
“Got to have a guard,” Chovy explained, “or there would be no point to customs.”
Well, that made sense. But Marty asked, “So how come he’s carrying a bolt thrower?”
The big energy gun did look kind of mean.
“Wouldn’t you?” Chovy said, as if that settled it.
Susanne turned half-around, looking back through the window at the bright lights coming right up behind us. “What’s that truck doing crowding us?”
“Just next in line, love,” Chovy said. “That’s the boys with your costumes and props, y’know.”
The cop hulked awfully menacingly for an honor guard, as he came up near the cab. ‘Taxis at the terminal, kid. What are you trying to pull?”
A dark shape rose up behind him, and a hand the size of a dinner plate clamped down on his shoulder. The cop yowled. I recognized the hold—somebody who knew something was hitting a pressure point. The cop half turned, his mouth wide open yelling, trying to bring his blaster to bear—but somebody else came out of the night to knock it out of his hand. Then two more hid him from our sight. He stopped yelling, and the whole cluster of them moved away.
I was aware of everybody else’s eyes on me, but nobody said a word. Me least of all—what could I have said?
Then Bolo was stepping up beside the cab, and his smile was a little on the grim side. “Guard says there’s no problem, Chovy. We just had to explain things to him.”
I wondered how hard they had needed to explain. “Right, mate.” Chovy gave him the thumb up as a couple of the other boys broke the lock and hauled the gates open. Chovy drove through.
“Rather direct, aren’t they?” Lacey was wide-eyed. “Direct it is,” Chovy said. “Why shilly-shally around, eh? Here you are, folks.”
The Cotton Blossom towered beside us. We got out, thinking that our battered old spaceship had never looked so good.
“Thanks, Chovy.” I gave him whatever money I had left in my wallet—after all, this shore leave was over, and payday was due. “You’ve been a great host.”
“It’s easy, with guests like you.” Chovy waved and closed the door. We turned away toward the boarding ramp, but Susanne glanced back with a frown. “Strange—he’s driving back toward the spaceport.”
“Probably checking to see if anyone needs a ride back into town,” Lacey said. “After all, why go back empty, when he could have a paying fare?”
“I suppose so,” Susanne said dubiously, but she went on up the ramp.
I knew how she felt—there was something odd about this whole thing. I mean, I liked thinking that the audience loved our show so much that they’d roll out the red carpet for us—but this seemed a little too much. Maybe a lot too much. Besides, that carpet would have been nicer coming in.
Horace was standing there by the hatch, checking us off on his noteboard. “Ramou—rear guard, as always. Nobody lagging?”
“None that I could see.”
“Good, because if we’ve left anyone behind, we will not be able to come back to pick them up.” Horace tucked the minimal computer under his arm and turned up the companionway. “According to my tally, we have everybody. Thank you for being shepherd, my boy.”
“Hey, at least I feel useful. Anything else I can do—like maybe check the staterooms?”
“Yes, do, please. Then I believe Captain McLeod wants you on the bridge.”
“McLeod!” I slapped my forehead. “I don’t have the right reflexes yet.” I headed for the nearest intercom, hit the “talk” button, and said, “Ensign Lazarian aboard and reporting for duty.”
“Good to hear you, Number Three.” McLeod’s voice was a tinny rattle over the tiny speaker. “Check the passengers and report to the bridge.”
“Yes, sir!” I hurried off to the lift, reflecting that it was kind of confusing, changing jobs as I came on board. Fun, though—in its way. Being third officer was kind of a kick, especially when I was talking to Larry.
I checked to see that Mamie was still bubbling, that Larry was going to stay in his acceleration couch, that Susanne had all her straps in the right places, that Ogden had nothing stronger than water in his hand, and that everybody was webbed in. Then I reported to the bridge.
As I came in, I saw a professional-looking face on the screen. Behind him was the Company’s logo. He looked a little harried, but he was delivering the news reports with the proper aplomb. “There is, of course, no cause for concern.”
I stared. What was wrong?
“Citizens are asked to clear the streets,” the smooth voice went on, “and not interfere with Company security officers in the execution of their duties. Reports of street violence are false.”
“What reports?” I asked.
“We seem to have triggered an armed insurrection,” Barry said, his face taut and pale. “Workers have erected barricades and stormed the main utility plant, the 3DT station, the oxygen factory, and the management complex.”
The announcer’s picture turned into jagged streaks; the sound was covered by a roar of static. Then a harsh voice overrode the white noise, saying, “Two hundred-odd Company security men have joined the rebellion! Most of the rest are standing at their posts with their arms crossed, refusing to fire on their fellow workers! Only a hundred or so are fighting it out with our men, trying to keep us out of the management complex! We have the power plant, and we’ve almost broken through to the 3DT studio and the oxygen plant!”
“We didn’t see any of that!” I cried.
“Disappointed at missing the show?” Merlo asked.
“Apparently there was a confrontation with energy weapons,” Horace said, “and stray oxygen went up in flames for half a kilometer all around the city center. It died out within seconds, of course—as soon as all the oxygen was gone, there could be no more fire—but it lasted long enough for the rebels to take one of the 3DT stations, which they apparently do not know how to operate properly.”
“But we were out there!”
“It would seem our faithful Chovy made certain we would all be driven back along a route that avoided the worst of the violence,” Barry noted.
“Considerate of him,” Horace said.
Another voice burst in, filled with static, loud and harsh. “The Company goons at headquarters are battling it out with our brave fighters, but they’re losing ground fast. We should be inside the building in ten minutes.”
The audio hash cut out, the picture settled down, and the announcer was saying, “The only disorder is excessive celebration, due to the unsettling performance paraded by the shameless troupe of off-planet actors.”
“What?” I bleated, but Merlo shushed me, then turned back to the screen, where the announcer was saying, “Director of Schools Seeholder has condemned the actors for their outrageous behavior.”
His picture was replaced by Seeholder’s, standing right outside the gym, obviously fighting for self-control. “Sacrilege!” he was saying. “To twist t
he words of the greatest poet of the English language, just to titillate the masses, was totally irresponsible.”
“Twist?” Barry stared as if he couldn’t believe his ears.
“The lines they added were scandalous!”
“We did it line for line as it came from the Bard,” Horace snapped, “except for the ones he made us cut.”
But Barry lifted his head, eyes widening with understanding. “He doesn’t know the real play! He only knows what he read in high school!”
And the high school version, of course, had been suitably censored to prevent scandal—and to suit the Company’s liking.
“Are you taking action against them?” a disembodied, professional voice asked.
“I certainly am! I’ve asked the management to issue a warrant for their arrest!”
“All of them?”
“The whole gang!”
“But … on what charge?”
“Importing inflammatory ideas! And incendiary artifacts, too—we have reason to believe they smuggled in some tobacco lighters!”
“That’s it!” McLeod hit the talk button. “Cotton Blossom to ground control. That ship from Orbit Three just landed, didn’t it?”
“Well, uh …” Ground Control stalled.
“Then the orbit’s free, so we’ll use it to take off. Nice of you to agree, ground control. So long!”
“But wait!” Ground Control squawked. “They’re issuing a warrant for your arrest! I just saw it on the news!”
“No, you saw Seeholder asking for one. Wish I could wait to find out if they give it to him, but we have a performance date to catch.”
“You smuggled in matches!”
“Surely we didn’t!” Barry exclaimed.
I groaned.
Barry turned to me. “You know something about this, Ramou? Tell me at once!”
“Not ‘know,’ ” I said, “but I can guess. Remember how Larry tried to bring in cigarettes?”
“Don’t tell me he found a way!”
“I wondered why he was looking so pleased with himself yesterday morning,” Horace said, thin-lipped. “And where you bring cigarettes, of course, you must bring lighters— mustn’t you?”
“But what are they using them for?”
Static burst on our ears again, and the announcer’s picture turned into jagged streaks as the harsh voice told us, “Rebels have captured an oxygen freighter just off Aphrodite! They’ve opened the petcocks and made a gigantic oxygen spill! The breath of life is lying all over the Aphrodite harbor, and a kilometer out to sea! Our men are standing on the docks with matches! Management, surrender, or they’ll strike a light that will be seen all the way to Terra!”
“This really is a revolution!” Horace gasped—but he had to shout to be heard over the rumble of the warming engines.
“Cotton Blossom, turn off those engines!” Ground Control squawked. “We’ve just had word from the chief executive officer! You may not, repeat not, lift off! Any attempt to do so will be an act of treason against the government of New Venus! You will not be allowed to make planetfall on any other colony world! Douse those engines! If I see so much as a flicker from the power meter on your launch cradle, I’ll call for a cannon and hole you amidships! You’re under arrest! Repeat, you are under arrest! Power down and wait for Company security to take you into custody!”
“He can’t think we really will, can he?” I asked, incredulous.
“No,” Horace said, “but he has to make his position clear for the record, or he will be fired.”
“You can’t … uhhhhh!” There was a confused assortment of cracks and dull thuds from the loudspeaker; then a new voice said, “Orbit Three? Right as rain, mate. Have a good trip!”
McLeod hit the button, and the ship roared beneath us. For a few minutes, we were too busy—trying to keep our faces from melting into our seat backs—to be able to talk; but when the acceleration was over, I leaned forward and hit the key for Susanne’s cabin. “Susanne, please check on Ogden! No grounds for concern—just routine.” Then I swung back to the communicator. “Chovy?”
“No, I’m his uncle,” Ground Control answered.
Another voice chimed in. “This is Chovy, mate. But don’t worry, my uncle is ground control for the New Venus Provisional Urban Revolutionary Government Executive, so you’re clear with the new bosses—and just in case we don’t last, you have a great case to keep you clear with any other planetary authorities you meet. You are recording this, aren’t you?”
I stared at Ramou, who stared back at me, dumbstruck.
“We are recording, aren’t we?” I finally asked.
Ramou gulped and nodded.
“You might reassure him on the point,” I said.
“Uh, yeah!” Ramou turned back to the audio pickup. “Good to hear you, Chovy. Uh, what’s the New Venus Provisional Urban Revolutionary Government Executive?”
“New PURGE,” Chovy shortened it helpfully. “You might’ve heard about the union, mate?”
“Uh, yeah! But I kinda thought they were part of the establishment.”
“They were. We’re not them. We’re a bunch of disaffected members who realized the union was playing footsy with management, so we started our own new and very secret organization.”
“Young Turks,” Barry muttered.
“Not all young,” Chovy corrected. “The top folks are in their fifties and sixties; I’m just a low-ranker. There’re a lot of us, mates.”
“Including your uncle,” Ramou said.
“Also my aunt,” Chovy corroborated, “and my mother and father, and my sisters and big brother. It’s the new family business, you might say.”
‘Talk about a grand opening,” Ramou muttered. “Widespread, huh?”
“Oh, very. Been going for fifty years, we have—and had everything set up for a coup. Frustrating as hell, though— the kindling and wood were all laid, but we didn’t have a match.”
“A catalyst.” My mouth was suddenly dry.
“Or a trigger. Right. Some event that would set the whole population howling for management’s blood.”
“Macbeth?” Ramou bleated.
‘There is a curse on the play,” I reminded him.
“Only for management,” Chovy said. “But then, they’re the ones who tried to censor it, right? And we made sure the people on the street knew all about that, too—we had an agent in Seeholder’s office. Wasn’t a young buck in Aphrodite wasn’t out for his blood … Anyway, we passed the word that you were going to be showing folk how to fight back, through your play.”
Barry groaned, his head sinking into his hand.
“So they were prepared to perceive a revolutionary message,” I said, my mouth turned to cotton.
“You mean they only heard what they were expecting?” I Ramou asked.
“Every bit, mate. Old Shakespeare maybe knew that, when you were talking about tearing down a tyrant king, it was dangerous stuff—but old Jamie his king didn’t, did he?
I mean, whether a king’s good or bad kind of has something to do with whether or not he’s on your side. So when MacDuff said, ‘Bleed, bleed, poor country! Great tyranny! The title is afeared!’ our folk knew they were really talking about the Company.”
“I don’t think Shakespeare …” I gasped.
But Chovy wasn’t done. “Of course, we pushed it a bit, by having our boys shout slogans when they were attacking the castle.”
“I wondered about that ‘Purge the tyrants!’ line,” Ramou said. “Publicity for your organization, huh?”
“No, the signal for the uprising,” Chovy said. “The word went out all through your audience—as soon as you finished your bows, they were to grab up their sticks and start hunting the Company.”
“Sticks?” Ramou stared. “Against ray guns and energy weapons? What kind of sticks could do you any good there?”
“Matchsticks,” Chovy said. “We really didn’t need the ones your friend distributed with the cigarettes he was selling for
a kwaher a pack …”
“A what?!”
“Oh, he had buyers,” Chovy said. “Worth more than gold, here. But we had half a dozen crews ready to take over their oxygen freighters, so they’re sitting in ports right now, spreading oxygen all over the docks and standing there with matches in their hands.”
“Talk about a strike…” Ramou murmured.
“It’s all over but the shouting,” Chovy assured us. “We j kidnapped the vice CEO on his way out of the Grand Gym, and our boys are breaking through into the CEO’s office even as we speak. The rest of the managers are all tied up, as they’ve claimed to be whenever we’ve had a complaint for the last ten years—so don’t worry about a bad recco keeping you from landing on your next planet.”
I glanced at Barry and Ramou, then at McLeod. He nodded. “So there isn’t any warrant?”
We heard a loud ripping sound, and Chovy said, “Not a bit, lads. Be off with you now, and have a good trip. Give my love to the ladies.”
“Will do, Chovy,” Ramou answered. “And, uh, thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome, mate. Come back any time.”
Barry shook his head silently.
McLeod hit the button, and we swung out of orbit and off toward the stars.
“One could wish them luck,” I said quietly.
“Yes, and I do,” Barry said. “However, you’ll pardon me for feeling used—and somewhat badly.”
“They did not make us perform, Barry,” I reminded him, “and it was the Company itself that made us do Macbeth.”
“They must not have known about the curse on the play.” Barry sighed.
“They do now,” Merlo said.
20
Barry stepped up onto a chair and called out over the hubbub, “A moment’s silence, my friends, please!”
It took a while for the laughter and the excited chatter to die. All were enjoying themselves—Mamie actually engaged in civil, even animated, discourse with Winston, and lowering herself to exchange kind words with Merlo and Grudy. Ogden lounged in a huge chair, quietly and happily absorbing an increasing amount of alcohol, and Susanne was only occasionally sparing him an anxious glance, between dances. Everyone was in high spirits and higher voice, so it did take a while before they all quieted. But quiet they did, though the raucous battering that the younger generation is pleased to call “music” did continue for several minutes, until Ramou went over and killed the power. He’d been dying to do that for some time, to judge by his face—he’d had to stand by watching Susanne dancing with Larry while Lacey danced with Marty, and what they called dancing could have inflamed a stick of wood, if it had been male. Ramou had definitely been the odd man out, and smoldering through it, even though what Marty called dancing was absolutely hilarious to watch.
We Open on Venus - Starship Troupers 2 Page 31
