The Seventh Science Fiction Megapack

by Robert Silverberg

  Don Cort, despite his four phantom stars, was telling himself he must not let these middle-aged men make him feel like a boy. Each of them had had a chance to do something positive and each had failed.

  “Gentlemen,” Don said, “my latest information from Washington confirms that the Gizls have actually tunneled under the cities they say their militant faction wants to take up to the asteroid belt, just as they dug in under Superior before it took off. So they’re not bluffing.”

  “How’d we find out about Magnitogorsk?” Ed Clark asked. “Iron curtain getting rusty?”

  Don told him that the Russians, impressed by the urgency of an unprecedented telephone call from the White House to the Kremlin, had finally admitted that their great industrial city was sitting on top of a honeycomb. The telephone conversation had also touched delicately on the subject of the submarine that had been sunk in mid-Atlantic, and there had been tacit agreement that the sub commander had exceeded his authority in firing the missiles and that the sinking would not be referred to again.

  Maynard Rubach turned away from the window. “Here they come. Three of them. But they’re not coming from the direction of the McFerson place.”

  “They could have come up from under the grandstand.” Don said. “Miss Jervis and I found one of their tunnels there. Remember, Jen?”

  Jen Jervis colored slightly and Don was sorry he’d brought it up. “Yes,” she said. “I fainted and Don—Mr. Cort—General Cort—helped me.”

  “I’m obliged to the general,” Senator Thebold said.

  Professor Garet went to the door. The three Gizls followed him into the room. Everyone stood up formally. There was some embarrassed scurrying around because no one had remembered that the Gizls required backless chairs to accommodate their tails.

  The Gizls, looking remarkably alike, sat close together. Don tentatively addressed the one in the middle.

  “Gentlemen,” he said, “first it is my privilege to award to you in the name of the President, the Medal of Merit in appreciation of your quick action in saving uncounted lives during the submarine incident. The actual medal will be presented to you when we re-establish physical contact with Earth.”

  Rezar, who, it turned out, was the one in the middle, accepted with a grave bow. “Our regret is that we were unable to prevent the loss of many valuable objects as well,” he said.

  “Mr. Rezar,” Don said, “I haven’t been trained in diplomacy so I’ll speak plainly. We don’t intend to give up New York. Contrary to general belief, there are about eight million people who do want to live there. And I’m sure the inhabitants of Heidelberg and Magnitogorsk feel the same way about their cities.”

  “Then you yield Superior,” Rezar said.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yield Superior and we will guarantee safe passage to Earth for all its inhabitants. We only want its physical facilities.”

  “We’ll yield the bubble gum factory to help your dental problem—for suitable reparations,” Don said.

  “Payment will be made for anything we take. Give us Superior intact, including the factory and Cavalier Institute, and we will transport to any place you name an area of equal size from the planet Mars.”

  “Mars?” Don said. “That’d be a very valuable piece of real estate for the researchers.”

  “Take it,” Don heard Frank Fogarty say from the Pentagon.

  Professor Garet spoke up. “If Cavalier goes, I go with it. I won’t leave it.”

  “And I won’t leave you, Osbert,” his wife said. “Will there be air up there among the asteroids?”

  “We are air-breathers like you,” Rezar said. “When we have assembled our planet there will be plenty. You will be welcome, Professor and Mrs. Garet.”

  “Hector?” Don said. “You’re still mayor of Cavalier. What do you think?”

  “They can have it,” Hector said. “I’ll take a nice steady civil service job with the Federal Government, if you can arrange it.”

  “Hector,” Ed Clark said, “I think that sums up why you’ve never been a howling success in politics. You don’t give a damn for the people. All you care about is yourself.”

  Hector shrugged. “You needn’t be so holy-sounding, Eddie-boy,” he said. “Why isn’t the Sentry out this week? I’ll tell you why. Because you’ve been so busy filing to the Trimble-Grayson papers on Thebold’s private radio that you haven’t had time for anything else. How much are they paying you?”

  Ed Clark, deflated, muttered, “News is news.”

  “Is that what you were doing in Senator Thebold’s Gripe Room on the midway?” Don asked Clark. “Making this deal?”

  “Now, General,” Thebold said. “Would you deprive the people of their right to know? Throughout my Senate career I have carried the torch against government censorship, which is the path to a totalitarian state.”

  “I’m sure part of the deal was that Clark’s copy didn’t make you anything less than a hero,” Don said.

  “Don’t be too righteous, young man,” Thebold said. “‘Lest ye be judged,’ as they say. Are you not at this moment bargaining away a piece of a sovereign State of the sovereign United States? I don’t happen to represent Ohio, but if I did I would rise in the upper chamber to demand your court-martial.”

  “At ease, Senator!” Don ordered. “You’re not in the upper chamber now. You’re on an artificial satellite which at any moment is apt to take off into outer space.”

  Doc Bendy spoke for the first time: “Oops-a-daisy! You tell ’im, Donny-boy. Soo-perior—the town everybody looks up to.”

  Don frowned at him. Bendy had sunk deep into his chair in his corner. He acknowledged Don’s look with a broad smile that vanished in a hiccup.

  “Y’ don’t have to say it, Donny. I been drinkin’. Ever since Superior looped the looperior and flung me feet over forehead into the bee-yond. Shatterin’ experience to have nothin’ but a kangaroo-hop between you and eternity. Yop, ol’ Bendy’s been on a bender ever since. But you carry on, boy. Y’ doin’ a great job.”

  “Thanks,” Don said in irony. “I guess that completes the roster of those qualified to speak for Superior. Oh, I’m sorry, Dr. Rubach. Did you have something to say?”

  But all the portly president of Cavalier had to say, though he said it at great length, was that if Cavalier were taken as part of a package deal, its trustees would have to receive adequate compensation. Professor Garet tugged at his sleeve and said, “Sit down, Maynard. They’ve already said they’ll pay.”

  Fogarty’s voice rumbled at Don: “Let’s try to speed things up, General. Close the deal on Superior, at least, before the press get there.”

  “The press?”

  “The rest of the papers couldn’t let the Trimble-Grayson chain keep their exclusive. Clark’s going to have lots of company soon. The boys have hired a vertiplane. First one off the assembly line. You’ve seen it. Lands anywhere.”

  “Okay, I’ll try to hurry it up.” To the Gizls Don said, “All right. You take Superior, minus its people, and bring us a piece of Mars.”

  “Agreed,” Rezar said. It was as easy as that. Nobody objected. Too many of Superior’s self-proclaimed saviors had been caught with their motives showing.

  “You’ve got to give up New York, though,” Don said. He felt as if he were playing a game of interplanetary Monopoly. “Well give you a chunk of the great central desert instead, if Australia’s willing. (Would that come under the South East Asia Treaty Organization, Mr. Secretary?) Complete with kangaroos and assorted wallabies, if you want them.”

  “Agreed,” said Rezar.

  Don sighed quietly to himself. It should be smooth sailing now that the hurdle of New York was past.

  But Kaliz, the one Alis had called the Bad Gizl, shook his head violently and spoke for the first time. “No,” he said firmly. “We must have New York. It is by far the greatest of our conquests and I will not yield it.”

  Rezar said sharply, “We have foresworn conquest.”
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  “I am tired of your moralizing,” Kaliz said. “We are dealing with beings whose greatest respect is for power. If we temporize now we will lose their respect. They will think our new world weak and itself open to conquest. We have the power—let us use it. I say take New York and its people and hold them hostage. The city is ready for lifting.”

  “No!” Don said. “You can’t have New York.”

  Kaliz seemed to smile. “We already have it. It’s merely a question of transporting it.” He put a long-fingered hand to his furry chest where, almost hidden in the blue-gray fur, was a flat perforated disk. He said into it, “Show them that New York is ours!”

  “Wait!” Rezar said.

  “Merely a demonstration,” Kaliz told him, “for the moment at least.”

  Frank Fogarty’s voice, alarmed, said urgently, “Tell him we believe him. New York’s reporting an earthquake, or something very like it. For God’s sake tell him to put it back while we reorient our thinking.”

  Kaliz nodded in satisfaction. “The city is as it was. Our people under New York raised it a mere fraction of an inch. It could as easily have been a mile. Do not underestimate our power.”

  Rezar was agitated. “We came in peace,” he said to his fellow Gizl. “Let us not leave in war. There’s power on both sides, capable of untold destruction. Neither must use it. We are a democratic people. Let us vote. I say we must not take New York.”

  “And I say we must,” Kaliz told him, “in self-interest.”

  They turned to the third of their people, who had been looking from one to the other, his eyes reflecting indecision.

  Kaliz barked at him: “Well, Ezial? Vote!”

  Ezial said, “I abstain.”

  Deadlock.

  Don was sweating. He looked at the others in the room. They were tense but silent, apparently willing to leave it up to Don and his link with the Defense Department.

  Frank Fogarty’s voice said:

  “SAC has been airborne in total strength for half an hour, General. It was a purely precautionary alert at the time.”

  Don started to interrupt.

  “I know they hear me,” the Secretary of Defense said. “I intend that they should. We don’t want to fight but we will if we must. Son…” The rough voice faltered for a moment. “If necessary, we’ll destroy Superior to kill this alien and save New York. As a soldier, I hope you understand. It’s the lives of three thousand people against the lives of eight million.”

  Only Don and the Gizl had heard. Don looked across the room and into Alis’ eyes. She gave him a tentative smile, noting his grave expression.

  “Yes, sir,” Don said finally.

  Rezar spoke. “This is folly.” He touched the disk in the fur of his own chest.

  “No!” Kaliz cried.

  “It is time,” Rezar said. “We are beginning to fail in our mission.” He spoke reverently into the disk, “My lord, awake.”

  Kaliz said quickly, “Raise New York! Take it up!”

  “They will not obey you now,” Rezar said. “I have invoked the counsel of the Master.”

  * * * *

  The man was frail and incredibly old. He had sparse white hair and a deeply lined face, but his eyes were alert and wise. He wore a cloak-like garment of soft, warm-looking material. His expression was one of kindliness but strength.

  The doorbell had rung and Mrs. Garet had answered it. The old man had walked slowly into the room, followed respectfully by two Gizls.

  “My lord,” said Rezar. He got to his feet and bowed, as did the other Gizls. “I had hoped to let you sleep until your new world had been prepared for you. But the risk was great that, if I delayed, your world would never be. Forgive me.”

  “You did well,” the old man said.

  Don stood up too, feeling the sense of awe that this personage inspired. “How do you do, sir,” he said.

  “How do you do, General Cort.”

  “You know my name?”

  “I know many things. Too many for such a frail old body. But someone had to preserve the heritage of our people, and I was chosen.”

  “Won’t you sit down, sir?”

  “I’ll stand, thanks. I’ve rested long enough. Generations, as a matter of fact. Shall I answer some of your obvious questions? I’d better say a few things quickly, before Foghorn Frank hits the panic button.”

  Don smiled. “Can he hear you or shall I repeat everything?”

  “Oh, he hears me. I’ve got gadgets galore, even though I’m between planets at the moment. I must say it’s a pleasure to be among people again.” He nodded pleasantly around the room.

  Mrs. Garet smiled to him. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  “Later, perhaps, thank you. First I must assure you and everyone of Earth that no one will be harmed by us and that we want nothing for our new world that you are not willing to give.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Don said. “I gather you’ve been in some kind of suspended animation since you left your old world. So I wonder how you’re able to speak English.”

  “Everything was suspended but the subconscious. That kept perking along, absorbing everything the Gizls fed into it. And they’ve been absorbing your culture for ten years, so I’m pretty fluent. And I certainly know enough to apologize for all the inconvenience my associates have caused you in their zeal to re-establish the human race of Gorel-zed. In the case of Kaliz, of course, it was excessive zeal which will necessitate his rehabilitation.”

  “Your pardon, Master,” Kaliz said humbly.

  “Granted. But you’ll be rehabilitated anyway.”

  Don asked, “Did I understand you to say you plan to re-establish your race? Do you mean there are more of you, aside from the kangaroo-people?”

  “Oh, yes. Young people. The youngest of all from Gorel-zed. They were put to sleep like me, to be ready to carry on when their new world is built. I won’t wake them till then. I hope to live that much longer.”

  “I’m sure you will, sir.”

  “Kind of you. But let’s get on with the horse trading. Of course we won’t take New York, or the two other cities.” (There was a collection of sighs of relief from Washington.) “But we would like some of your uninhabited jungle land—the lusher the better, to help us out in the oxygen department. We’d also like some of your air, if you can spare it. We’ve got a planet to supply now, not just ships.”

  “How would you get air across space?” Don asked.

  “At the moment,” the Master said, “I’m afraid we’re not prepared to barter our scientific knowledge.”

  “I didn’t mean to pry. It just didn’t seem to be something you could do. Do you think we could spare some air, Mr. Secretary?”

  “I’ll have to ask the science boys about that one,” Frank Fogarty said. “Meanwhile it’s okay with Australia on the desert. But your Gizl friends have to agree to relocate the aborigines from that tract, and they must take every last rabbit or it’s no deal.”

  “Agreed,” the Master said with a smile. “But please ask their stockmen to hold their fire. My friends only look like kangaroos.”

  * * * *

  As Don and the Master were making arrangements for Superior to touch down so its people could be transferred to Earth, a blaze of light stabbed down from the sky. Through the window they saw the vertiplane settling slowly to the campus.

  “It sure beats a blimp,” Senator Thebold said in admiration.

  Professor Garet got up to look. “It’s the press,” he said to his wife. “You might as well invite them in. I hope we have enough tea.”

  The vertiplane’s door opened and the first wave of reporters spilled out.

  CHAPTER XIII

  As Superior headed back across the Atlantic, the Earth-people were given a farewell tour. For the first time they had an authorized look at the underground domain of the Gizls, which they reached through the tunnel that led below from under Cavalier’s grandstand.

  The observation room which Don and Jen
Jervis had found was connected by a hidden elevator to a vast main chamber. A control console formed the entire wall of one end of it. Half a dozen Gizls stood at the base of the console. From time to time one of them would launch himself upward with his powerful legs, grab a protruding rung, make an adjustment, then drop lightly back to the floor.

  Don and Alis stood for a moment watching Professor Garet, who was tugging at his beard as he became aware of the magnitude of the operation which drove Superior through the skies and was soon to take it across space to the asteroid belt.

  “Poor Father,” Alis whispered to Don. “Magnology in action, after all these years—and he didn’t have a thing to do with it.”

  “Is that why he wants to go with the Master?”

  “I imagine so. If he stayed on Earth he’d have nothing. He’s too old to start again. It’s kind of them to take him—and Mother. In a way, I suppose, his going is justification for his years of work. He’ll at least be close to the things he might have developed in the right circumstances.”

  “He certainly won’t be lonely,” Don said. “Have you noticed the rush to emigrate? Cheeky McFerson’s decided to stick with his bubble gum factory. He says the Gizls are a ready-made market. He saw one of them cram five Super-Bubs into his mouth, at one time. That’s twenty-five cents right there.”

  Alis giggled. “And half of the student body of Cavalier wants to go. You’d think they’d be disillusioned with Father, but they’re not. I guess they had to be crazy to enroll in the first place.”

  “Senator Thebold’s started campaigning to be named U.S. Ambassador to Superior. I heard him talking to the man from the New York Times. I suspect they’ll give it to him—they’ll need his influence to get Senate approval of the treaty with the Gizls.”

  “I had a little talk with Jen Jervis,” Alis said. “She’s radiant, have you noticed? The Senator finally asked her to marry him. That’s all that was the matter with her—Bobby the Bold had left her hanging by her thumbs too long.”