High-Opp

by Frank Herbert

  “I came up here fully expecting that,” said Movius. “My men have orders to attack if I’m not back in a specified time. If they find me dead, they’ll literally tear you limb from limb.”

  Glass sneered. “I have a crew repairing a transmitter right now. We’re going to call in outside help. After we’ve put down your stupid revolt, your men, as you call them, will be hunted down one by one and executed. I have unilateral powers to carry out this threat.”

  He doesn’t know, thought Movius. He said, “We hold all but eleven of the world’s major cities. The handful of your people remaining in those eleven are in no position to send help.”

  “That’s a lie!” The Coor’s face flamed.

  In a calm, even tone, Movius said, “By our estimates, you had fourteen million government employees in the world, a fair proportion of whom would remain loyal to you out of fear of the LP’s. We have the rest of the population.”

  “I’ve a mind to drop you where you stand,” said Glass.

  “Wait!” It was Addington. “He may be telling the truth, Helmut.”

  “What if he is?”

  “Where’s Grace?” asked Movius in the same even tone. “I’ll trade you your lives for Grace’s life.”

  “You planted that Lang bitch on me, didn’t you?” demanded Glass.

  Movius understood then that Glass and Addington did not have Grace. Cecelia had rescued Grace or Cecelia and Grace had been killed in an attempt to escape. Either way, let Glass squirm for what he had done. “Yes, I did,” said Movius. “Cecie was one of my most trusted operatives.”

  The Coor’s face contorted. He raised his gun until the muzzle was level with Movius’ chest.

  They’ll slaughter you, thought Movius. Those men who stood at attention for me will tear you to pieces a little bit at a time.

  A stutter gun chattered. With a remote feeling of amazement, Movius watched Glass crumple to the floor.

  “Drop it!” The voice was Addington’s, crazy, hysterical.

  Again there was the sound of the gun, the thump of a body falling behind Movius. Vapid-face at the door! Addington stood behind the table with the gun in his hands. He dropped it to the table, held out his hands, palms up.

  “I saved your life, Movius. I give myself up to you.”

  Movius felt a moment of disgust so deep it sickened him. He took a deep breath. “Tell your men to lay down their arms.”

  “You’ll protect me, Movius?”

  “I’ll protect you.”

  Chapter 27

  Movius looked out at the dawn light, blue and lucid on the river, the pigeons strutting on O’Brien’s window ledge. He felt drained of all emotion. Would they find her?

  Janus Peterson came into the office. Movius heard, turned. Peterson saluted, a stiff motion of finger to forehead. Why did all of the damned fools insist on that stupid gesture? Even Navvy.

  Peterson smiled. “We found them, sir. Miss Lang got her away and they found Quilliam. He hid ’em in the tunnels.”

  “Where is . . .”

  “She’s on her . . .”

  Grace pushed past Peterson. “Here, darling.” She rushed into his arms.

  The little elf, he thought, stroking her hair. The wonderful little elf! He lifted his head, saw Cecelia Lang just outside the door. For a split instant, the shield behind her eyes dropped and he saw the lost, hopeless hurt there. Then she turned away. Quilliam London took her place, came into the room, shut the door. Something odd about Quilliam, he thought. A glazed look in the eyes. A gun in his hand! Janus was backing away from the gun. Movius stiffened.

  “Now the reckoning, Mr. Movius,” said Quilliam London. His voice was tight, strange.

  Grace pushed away from Movius, turned. “Father! You said . . .”

  “I said many things to come to grips with this monster.” He motioned with the gun. “Stand away from him.”

  Grace shook her head.

  “I said stand away from him!”

  “Listen to me,” said Grace. Her voice was low, flat. “If you kill Dan I shall tell the world who did it. I’ll explain about your precious charts. They’ll tear you and your work to pieces. Your whole life will have been for nothing!”

  London’s gun hand wavered. Movius saw Peterson moving a hand slowly toward a pocket.

  “Grace . . .” How old Quilliam’s voice sounded. “I’m . . .”

  “You’ll be a forgotten nothing,” she said. “I’ll teach your grandchild to hate your memory.”

  Grandchild, thought Movius. Great Roper! Did any man ever learn under stranger circumstances that he was to be a father?

  London said, “Grandchild?” His voice sounded querulous.

  Grace strode toward him. “Give me that gun!”

  He handed it to her. “Yes, Leone.”

  Leone was Grace’s mother.

  He allowed Grace to lead him from the room, following quietly.

  O’Brien came in sight, strode briskly into the room, stared after Grace and her father, started to turn away and whirled back, “That’s Quilliam!” he said. “He swore he’d . . .”

  “It’s all right,” said Movius. “They’re going down to the infirmary for a sedative. Quilliam isn’t feeling well.” He pointed to the papers O’Brien carried. “What are those?”

  O’Brien seemed to recall his mission. “Dan, we’ve got to do something fast. They’re smashing the registration kiosks. A mob broke into Comp Section, ripped apart the Selector. It’ll take a month to repair it. I’ve a . . .”

  Movius took the papers from O’Brien, waved them. “What are these?”

  “Messages.” Creases appeared above O’Brien’s eyebrows. “I don’t understand them.”

  Movius smiled. “Is there really something you don’t understand, Nate?”

  “This is no joke, Dan!” O’Brien snatched back the papers, read from the first one. “Hail, O Movius, savior of the LPs.” He shuffled the papers. “That was from Athens. This is from Peking: ‘To Movius, Light of the Earth.’ Here’s one from New York: ‘Movius, we await your orders.’”

  Movius pulled the papers from O’Brien’s hand, examined them.

  “They were brought in by couriers,” said O’Brien. “They all say they await your commands.”

  “Let me study them,” said Movius. “Bring me any others that arrive.” He took the papers to the table, sat down.

  “Dan, this requires immediate action! The people are completely out of hand.”

  “Later,” said Movius, waving a hand.

  O’Brien started to protest, felt a hand on his arm. He looked up to see Peterson scowling at him. “Mr. Movius wants to be alone to think.” Peterson urged him toward the door.

  “But this is my . . .”

  “You heard Mr. Movius!” Peterson growled the words.

  O’Brien allowed himself to be led from his own office.

  Chapter 28

  The pendulum had swung through its full arc. What smacked of the old regime could not be tolerated. Although it was not expressed in these terms, the words smacking too much of the poll government, Movius bowed to popular opinion.

  The ceremony was held in St. Peter’s Church, Rome, beneath the dome that centuries of worship had gone to preserve. It was a ceremony which took several months to research and preparation to get all of the details correct, but correct they were, down to the smallest costume for the smallest page. Video cameras focused on the event for all the world to see.

  On the island of St. Kitts in the Caribbean, three exiles also watched. They sat in a warm room, open to the sea breeze and the smell of flowers. A wide verandah shaded them from the hot sun. In the dim room there was the big, square screen, the murmurous buzzing of flies.

  Warren Gerard leaned back in a rattan chair, nervously wiping perspiration from his bald head. Loren Addington sat with his back to a wall, chewed placidly on a lozenge. A door slammed somewhere in the house. He jumped, resumed his chewing.

  Quilliam London, his body finally fail
ing after the years of poor food in the Warrens, sat in a wheel chair, a crutch across his lap. As the spiritual descendant of Peter lowered the golden crown onto Emperor Movius’ head, Quilliam London threw his crutch at the video screen, smashing the picture tube.

  “Thank you,” said Gerard. “I had nothing to throw.”

  “I thought it was kind of pretty,” said Addington.

  “You would, owl guts,” said Gerard.

  Across the ocean in Rome, Emperor Movius stepped back, watched the crowning of his empress. The bulge of her abdomen where she carried Movius II hardly showed at all through her royal robes.

  Afterward, at the remodeled Palazzo San Lorenzo, Emperor Movius granted an audience to his chief counselor, Nathan O’Brien. The audience was in a throne room with O’Brien’s short figure standing at the foot of six steps leading up to a gold throne. Emperor Movius relaxed on the throne.

  “Dan, I . . .”

  “Just a moment,” said Emperor Movius. “We are now the Emperor, the first Emperor of the entire world.”

  “Yes, sir,” said O’Brien.

  “The proper form of address is Your Majesty,” said Emperor Movius.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said O’Brien. “Now, if you’ll . . .”

  “Just a moment,” said Emperor Movius. “An Emperor may grant his intimates special privileges. In our private audiences, you may call us Dan.”

  “Yes, Dan; I know. Now . . .”

  “You knew?” Movius grinned. “Well be quiet a minute, then, and listen.”

  O’Brien assumed an air of suffering silence. He knew he was being paid for the years he had manipulated Movius’ life. He also knew that the role of Emperor struck Movius mostly as a joke. “Proceed,” said O’Brien.

  “When you run out of other things to call me you may refer to our august person as Ultimate High-Opp,” said Movius. “Now to business. We are this day giving you, our chief counselor, an additional duty. Duke Navvy will assist you in this duty which carries an Earldom for yourself. We want you to take over a Department of Education. We have a long list of suggested compulsory subjects.”

  “Excellent,” said Earl O’Brien. “And now . . .”

  “We have not finished,” said Emperor Movius. “We also want you to bend your efforts to a plan of oppression for our peoples.”

  “A what?”

  “We want to be gently oppressive,” said Emperor Movius. “When it has become too much for our peoples to bear, they will come to us demanding their equivalent of the Magna Carta. Protesting the divine rights of Emperors, we will grant their demands.”

  “So the cycle starts again,” said O’Brien.

  “Act,” said Emperor Movius. “Lastly, we wish you to start research on space flight. There should be no lack of volunteers. A suitable refuge should be found for ourselves or descendants, anticipating the moment when the cycle rounds its next curve.”

  “Are you quite finished?” asked O’Brien.

  “Yes.” Emperor Movius gave a lordly wave of his hand. “Say, I’m getting pretty good at the high and mighty attitude.” He waved the hand once more. “Notice the wrist.”

  “I have an important message,” said O’Brien.

  “Eh? Oh, yes, of course. Proceed.”

  O’Brien cleared his throat. “I have a report from one of our cell chiefs in Istanbul. A group of sixty-one former government employees has started a revolutionary group there. They call themselves the ‘Unity’ party. They . . .”

  “Unity Party,” said Emperor Movius. “That has a nice sound, hasn’t it?”

  O’Brien glared at him. “Dan, this is serious! The report is that these are some of the toughest boys from the old government and they may have friends elsewhere.”

  “What do you want me to do?” asked O’Brien.

  “Roper’s Na . . . I mean, Great Emperor! Isn’t it obvious?”

  Emperor Movius shook his head. “No.”

  “I want authorization for a control squad to check back on these people and eliminate them before they grow stronger.”

  Emperor Movius jumped from his throne. “You’ll get nothing of the kind!” He pointed a finger down at O’Brien. “We are holding you personally responsible for the safety of these people. You’ll see that their movement thrives and prospers.”

  “What?” O’Brien quivered with indignant fury, mounted the first step to the throne. “They mean to kill you!”

  Emperor Movius resumed his seat on his throne. “Of course they do. That’s Janus Peterson’s worry.” He shook his head. “Poor Nate. In spite of all of your charts and figures, the very simple meaning of everything you did has escaped you.”

  O’Brien folded his arms across his chest. “Really?”

  Movius’ face grew serious. “Nate, you of all people should see it.” He leaned forward, “15 years ago . . . whenever it was you saw this crisis coming, you decided to take a hand in it. Your motive was preserving your own special knowledge, the cultural data you had accumulated for the use of future generations.”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “Let me finish.” Movius leaned back, watching O’Brien carefully. “You took a hand - you looked for the catalyst. Brownley was one who failed. You picked me up back there somewhere, guided, cajoled and tricked me into the crucial position in the revolution. It was revolution—and this is the important point—against the government of which you were a part. You might say you planned to overthrow yourself.”

  O’Brien took a step toward the throne, waved an angry hand. “You’re the one who misses the point. I was trying to preserve something in spite of a revolution that was inevitably coming. Inevitably is the important word. There was no chance the government wouldn’t be overthrown, I was trying to save . . .”

  Movius interrupted him. “And what makes you think this will last?” He waved a hand around the throne room, at the gold trappings and ostentation, “How long do you think the people of the world will tolerate me . . . or if they don’t assassinate me, it will be one of my descendants.” He frowned. “Another revolution is even more inevitable than the last one.”

  O’Brien took another step up toward the throne. “The report from Istanbul could be the faint beginnings of the end for everything you represent.”

  Movius stood up, looked down on the tiny figure of O’Brien. “Of course it is! That is why you are personally responsible for the safety of those people. We have been fortunate enough to catch the countermovement at the beginning. We can nurture it if we want to preserve whatever is worth saving in our present culture. Do you see my point now?”

  O’Brien pulled at his ear. “I think you’re out of your mind,” he said.

  Emperor Movius smiled a grim smile. “The significance of what we have done has been known to many governments, seldom practiced in its pure form.”

  “Get to the point, will you?” snapped O’Brien.

  Emperor Movius ignored the anger of his advisor. He extended his arms regally. “For a civilization to survive a crisis . . . in order that the good will not go with the bad . . . it is essential that an element of the government have charge of the revolution.”

  Look for These & Other Digital Works from WordFire Press

  by Frank Herbert

  Direct Descent

  Earth has become a library planet for thousands of years, a bastion of both useful and useless knowledge—esoterica of all types, history, science, politics—gathered by teams of “pack rats” who scour the galaxy for any scrap of information. Knowledge is power, knowledge is wealth, and knowledge can be a weapon. As powerful dictators come and go over the course of history, the cadre of dedicated librarians is sworn to obey the lawful government . . . and use their wits to protect the treasure trove of knowledge they have collected over the millennia.

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  The starship Earthling, filled with thousands of hybernating colonists en route to a new world at Tau Ceti, is stranded beyond the solar system when the ship’s three Organic Menta
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  Frank Herbert’s classic novel that begins the epic Pandora Sequence (written with Bill Ransom), which also includes The Jesus Incident, The Lazarus Effect, and The Ascension Factor.

  The Heaven Makers

  Immortal aliens have observed Earth for centuries, making full sensory movies of wars, natural disasters, and horrific human activities . . . all to relieve their boredom. When they finally became jaded by ordinary, run-of-the-mill tragedies, they found ways to create their own disasters, just to amuse themselves. However, interfering with human activities was forbidden, and by the time Investigator Kelexel arrived to investigate, things were really getting out of hand. . . .

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  A sentient Ship with godlike powers (and aspirations) delivers the last survivors of humanity to a horrific, poisonous planet, Pandora—rife with deadly Nerve-Runners, Hooded Dashers, airborne jellyfish, and intelligent kelp. Chaplain/Psychiatrist Raja Lon Flattery is brought back out of hybernation to witness Ship’s machinations as well as the schemes of human scientists manipulating the genetic structure of humanity. Sequel to Frank Herbert’s Destination: Void, the first book in Herbert & Ransom’s Pandora Sequence.

  Man of Two Worlds (with Brian Herbert)

  Frank Herbert’s last published novel, a charming and witty science fiction adventure coauthored with his son Brian. What if the entire universe were the creation of alien minds? After an unfortunate spaceship accident, the hedonistic and ambitious human Lutt Hansen, Jr., finds himself sharing his body and mind with a naive alien dreamer. The two have to survive numerous dangers, schemes and assassination attempts . . . but can they survive each other?