ROCKET SHIP GALILEO. 1 attempted book publication earlier than I had intended to because a boysÆ book was solicited from me by a major publisher. I was unsure of myselfùbut two highly respected friends, Cleve Cartmill and Fritz Lang, urged me to try it. So I did. . . and the publisher who had asked for it rejected it. A trip to the Moon? Preposterous! He suggested that I submit another book-length MS without that silly space-travel angle.
Instead I sold it to ScribnerÆs and thereby started a sequence: one boysÆ book each yeartimed for the Christmas trade. This lasted twelve years and was a very strange relationship, as my editor disliked science fiction, disliked me (a sentiment I learned to reciprocate), and kept me on for the sole reason that my books sold so well that they kept her department out of the redùher words. Eventually she bounced one with the suggestion that I shelve it for a year and then rewrite it.
But by bouncing it she broke the chain of options. Instead of shelving it, I took it across the street. . . and won a Hugo with it.
ROCKET SHIP GALILEO was a fumbling first attempt; I have never been satisfied with it. But it has never been out of print, has appeared in fourteen languages, and has earned a preposterous amount in book royalties alone; I should not kick. Nevertheless I cringe whenever I consider its shortcomings.
My next fiction (here following) was FREE MEN. Offhand it appears to be a routine post-Holocaust story, and the detailsùidioms, place names, etc.ùjustify that assumption. In fact it is any conquered nation in any centuryù
FREE MEN
ôThat makes three provisional presidents so far,ö the Leader said. ôI wonder how many more there are?ö He handed the flimsy sheet back to the runner, who placed it in his mouth and chewed it up like gum.
The third man shrugged. ôNo telling. What worries meùö A mockingbird interrupted. ôDoity, doity, doity,ö he sang. ôTerloo, terloo, terloo, purty-purtypurty-purty.ö
The clearing was suddenly empty.
ôAs I was saying,ö came the voice of the third man in a whisper in the LeaderÆs ear, ôit ainÆt how many worries me, but how you tell a de Gaulle from a Laval. See anything?ö
ôConvoy. Stopped below us.ö The Leader peered through bushes and down the side of a bluff. The high ground pushed out toward the river here, squeezing the river road between it and the water. The road stretched away to the left, where the valley widened out into farmland, and ran into the outskirts of Barclay ten miles away.
The convoy was directly below them, eight trucks preceded and followed by halftracks. The following halftrack was backing, vortex gun cast loose and ready for trouble. Its commander apparently wanted elbow room against a possible trap.
At the second truck helmeted figures gathered
around its rear end, which was jacked up. As the Leader watched he saw one wheel temoved.
ôTrouble?ö
ôI think not. Just a breakdown. TheyÆll be gone soon.ö He wondered what was in the trucks. Food, probably. His mouth watered. A few weeks ago an opportunity like this would have meant generous rations for all, but the conquerors had smartened up.
He put useless thoughts away. ôItÆs not that that worries me, Dad,ö he added, returning to the subject. ôWeÆll be able to tell quislings from loyal Americans. But how do you tell men from boys?ö
ôThinking of Joe Benz?ö
ôMaybe. IÆd give a lot to know how far we can trust Joe. But I could have been thinking of young Morrie.ö
ôYou can trust him.ö
ôCertainly. At thirteen he doesnÆt drinkùand he wouldnÆt crack if they burned his feet off. Same with Cathleen. ItÆs not age or sexùbut how can you tell? And youÆve got to be able to tell.ö
There was a flurry below. Guards had slipped down from the trucks and withdrawn from the road when the convoy had stopped, in accordance with an orderly plan for such emergencies. Now two of them returned to the convoy, hustling between them a figure not in uniform.
The mockingbird set up a frenetic whistling.
ôItÆs the messenger,ö said the Leader. ôThe dumb fool! Why didnÆt he lie quiet? Tell Ted weÆve seen it.ö
Dad pursed his lips and whistled: ôKeewah, keewah, keewah, terloo.ö
The other ômockingbirdö answered, ôTerloo,ö and shut up.
ôWeÆll need a new post office now,ö said the Leader. ôTake care of it, Dad.ö
ôOkay.ö
ôThereÆs no real answer to the problem,ö the Leader said. ôYou can limit size of units, so that one person canÆt give away too manyùbut take a colony like ours.
It needs to be a dozen or more to work. That means they all have to be dependable, or they all go down together. So each one has a loaded gun at the head of each other one.ö
Dad grinned, wryly. ôSounds like the United Nations before the Blow Off. Cheer up, Ed. DonÆt burn your bridges before you cross them.ö
ôI wonÆt. The convoy is ready to roll.ö
When the convoy had disappeared in the distance, Ed Morgan, the Leader, and his deputy Dad Carter stood up and stretched. The ômockingbirdö had announced safety loudly and cheerfully. ôTell Ted to cover us into camp,ö Morgan ordered.
Dad wheepled and chirruped and received acknowledgement. They started back into the hills. Their route was roundabout and included check points from which they could study their back track and receive reports from Ted. Morgan was not worried about Ted being followedùhe was confident that Ted could steal baby æpossums from mamaÆs pouch. But the convoy breakdown might have been a trapùthere was no way to tell that all of the soldiers had got back into the trucks. The messenger might have been followed; certainly he had been trapped too easily.
Morgan wondered how much the messenger would spill. He could not spill much about MorganÆs own people, for the ôpost officeö rendezvous was all that he knew about them.
The base of MorganÆs group was neither better nor worse than average of the several thousand other camps of recalcitrant guerrillas throughout the area that once called itself the United States. The Twenty Minute War had not surprised everyone. The mushrooms which had blossomed over Washington, Detroit, and a score of other places had been shocking but expectedùby some.
Morgan had made no grand preparations. He had simply conceived it as a good period in which to stay
footloose and not too close to a talget area. He had taken squatterÆs rights in an abandoned mine and had stocked it with tools, food, and other useful items. He had had the simple intention to survive; it was during the weeks after Final Sunday that he discovered that there was no way for a man with foresight to avoid becoming a leader.
Morgan and Dad Carter entered the mine by a new shaft and tunnel which appeared on no map, by a dry rock route which was intended to puzzle even a bloodhound. They crawled through the tunnel, were able to raise their heads when they reached the armory, and stepped out into the common room of the colony, the largest chamber, ten by thirty feet and as high as it was wide.
Their advent surprised no one, else they might not have lived to enter. A microphone concealed in the tunnel had conveyed their shibboleths before them. The room was unoccupied save for a young woman stirring something over a tiny, hooded fire and a girl who sat at a typewriter table mounted in front of a radio. She was wearing earphones and shoved one back and turned to face them as they came in.
ôHowdy, Boss!ö
ôHi, Margie. WhatÆs the good word?ö Then to the other, ôWhatÆs for lunch?ö
ôBark soup and a notch in your belt.ö
ôCathleen, you depress me.ö
ôWell . . . mushrooms fried in rabbit fat, but darn few of them.ö
ôThatÆs better.ö
ôYou better tell your boys to be more careful what they bring in. One more rabbit with tularemia and we wonÆt have to worry about what to eat.ö
ôHard to avoid, Cathy. You must be sure you handle them the way Doc taught you.ö He turned to the girl. ôJerry in the upper tunnel?ö
ôYes.ö
ôGet him down here, will you?ö
ôYes, sir.ö She pulled a sheet out of her typewriter and handed it to him, along with others, then left the room.
Morgan glanced over them. The enemy had abolished soap opera and singing commercials but he could not say that radio had been improved. There was an unnewsy sameness to the propaganda which now came over the air. He checked through while wishing for just one old-fashioned, uncensored newscast.
ôHereÆs an item!ö he said suddenly. ôGet this, Dadùö
ôRead it to me, Ed.ö DadÆs spectacles had been broken on Final Sunday. He could bring down a deer, or a man, at a thousand yardsùbut he might never read again.
ôæNew Center, 28 AprilùIt is with deep regret that Continental Coordinating Authority for World Unification, North American District, announces that the former city of St. Joseph, Missouri, has been subjected to sanitary measures. It is ordered that a memorial plaque setting forth the circumstances be erected on the former site of St. Joseph as soon as radioactivity permits. Despite repeated warnings the former inhabitants of this lamented city encouraged and succored marauding bands of outlaws skulking around the outskirts of their community. It is hoped that the sad fate of St. Joseph will encourage the native authorities of all North American communities to take all necessary steps to suppress treasonable intercourse with the few remaining lawless elements in our continental soci
, ,,
ety.
Dad cocked a brow at Morgan. ôHow many does that make since they took over?ö
ôLetÆs see. . . Salinas . . . Colorado Springs . . . uh, six, including St. Joe.ö
ôSon, there werenÆt more than sixty million Americans left after Final Sunday. If they keep up, weÆll be kind of thinned out in a few years.ö
ôI know.ö Morgan looked troubled. ôWeÆve got to work out ways to operate without calling attention to the towns. Too many hostages.ö
A short, dark man dressed in dirty dungarees entered from a side tunnel, followed by Margie. ôYou wanted me, boss?ö
ôYes, Jerry. I want to get word to McCracken to come in for a meeting. Two hours from now, if he can get here.ö
ôBoss, youÆre using radio too much. YouÆll get him shot and us, too.ö
ôI thought that business of bouncing it off the cliff face was foolproof?ö
ôWell . . . a dodge I can work up, somebody else can figure out. Besides, IÆve got the chassis unshipped. I was working on it.ö
ôHow long to rig it?ö
ôOh, half an hourùtwenty minutes.ö
ôDo it. This may be the last time weÆll use radio, except as utter last resort.ö
ôOkay, boss.ö
The meeting was in the common room. Morgan called it to order once all were present or accounted for. McCracken arrived just as he had decided to proceed without him. McCracken had a pass for the countryside, being a veterinarian, and held proxy for the colonyÆs underground associates in Barclay.
ôThe Barclay Free Company, a provisional unit of the United States of America, is now in session.ö Morgan announced formally. ôDoes any member have any item to lay before the Company?ö
He looked around; there was no response. ôHow about you?ö he challenged Joe Benz. ôI heard that you had some things you thought the Company ought to hear.
Benz started to speak, shook his head. ôIÆll wait.ö
ôDonÆt wait too long,ö Morgan said mildly. ôWell, I have two points to bring up for discussionùö
ôThree,ö corrected Dr. McCracken. ôIÆm glad you sent for me.ö He stepped up to Morgan and handed him a large, much folded piece of paper. Morgan looked it over, refolded it, and put it in his pocket.
ôIt fits in,ö he said to McCracken. ôWhat do the folks in town say?ö
ôThey are waiting to hear from you. TheyÆll back you upùso far, anyway.ö
ôAll right.ö Morgan turned back to the group. ôFirst itemùwe got a message today, passed by hand and about three weeks old, setting up another provisional government. The courier was grabbed right under our noses. Maybe he was a stooge; maybe he was carelessùthatÆs neither here nor there at the moment. The message was that the Honorable Albert M. Brockman proclaimed himself provisional President of these United States, under derived authority, and appointed Brigadier General Dewey Fenton commander of armed forces including irregular militiaùmeaning usùand called on all citizens to unite to throw the Invader out. All formal and proper. So what do we do about it?ö
ôAnd who the devil is the Honorable Albert M. Brockman?ö asked someone in the rear.
ôIÆve been trying to remember. The message listed government jobs heÆs held, including some assistant secretary jobùI suppose thatÆs the æderived authorityÆ angle. But I canÆt place him.ö
ôI recall him,ö Dr. McCracken said suddenly. ôI met him when I was in the Bureau of Animal Husbandry. A career civil servant. . . and a stuffed shirt.ö
There was a gloomy silence. Ted spoke up. ôThen why bother with him?ö
The Leader shook his head. ôItÆs not that simple, Ted. We canÆt assume that heÆs no good. Napoleon might have been a minor clerk under different circumstances. And the Honorable Mr. Brockman may be a revolutionary genius disguised as a bureaucrat. But thatÆs not the point. We need nationwide unification
more than anything. It doesnÆt matter right now who the titular leader is. The theory of derived authority may be shaky but it may be the only way to get everybody to accept one leadership. Little bands like ours can never win back the country. WeÆve got to have unityùand thatÆs why we canÆt ignore Brockman.ö
ôThe thing that burns me,ö McCracken said savagely, ôis that it need never have happened at all! It could have been prevented.ö
ôNo use getting in a sweat about it,ö Morgan told him. ôItÆs easy to see the governmentÆs mistakes now, but just the same I think there was an honest effort to prevent war right up to the last. It takes all nations to keep the peace, but it only takes one to start a war.ö
ôNo, no, noùI donÆt mean that, Captain,ö McCracken answered. ôI donÆt mean the War could have been prevented. I suppose it could have beenùonce. But everybody knew that another war could happen, and everybodyùeverybody, I say, knew that if it came, it would start with the blasting of American cities. Every congressman, every senator knew that a war would destroy Washington and leave the country with no government, flopping around like a chicken with its head off. They knewùwhy didnÆt they do something!ö
ôWhat could they do? Washington couldnÆt be protected.ö
ôDo? Why, they could have made plans for their own deaths! They could have slapped through a constitutional amendment calling for an alternate president and alternate congressmen and made it illegal for the alternates to be in target areasùor any scheme to provide for orderly succession in case of disaster. They could have set up secret and protected centers of government to use for storm cellars. They could have planned the same way a father takes out life insurance for his kids. Instead they went stumbling along, fat, dumb, and happy, and let themselves get killed, with no provision to carry out their sworn duties after they were dead. Theory of æderived authority,Æ pfui! ItÆs not
just disastrous; itÆs ridiculous! We used to be the greatest country in the worldùnow look at us!ö
ôTake it easy, Doc,ö Morgan suggested. ôHindsight is easier than foresight.ö
ôHummm! I saw it coming. I quit my Washington job and took a country practice, five years ahead of time. Why couldnÆt a congressman be as bright as I am?ö
ôHmmm. . . wellùyouÆre right. But we might just as well worry over the Dred Scott Decision. LetÆs get on with the problem. How about Brockman? Ideas?ö
ôWhat do you propose, boss?ö
ôIÆd rather have it come from the floor.ö
ôOh, quit scraping your foot, boss,ö urged Ted. ôWe elected you to lead.ö
ôOkay. I propose to send somebody to backtrack on the message and locate Brockmanùsmell him out and see what heÆs got. IÆll consult with as many groups as we can reach in this state and across the river, and weÆll try to manage unanimous action. I was thinking of sending Dad and Morrie.ö
Cathleen shook her head. ôEven with faked registration cards and travel permits theyÆd be grabbed for the Reconstruction Battalions. IÆll go.ö
ôIn a pigÆs eye,ö Morgan answered. ôYouÆd be grabbed for something a danged sight worse. ItÆs got to be a man.ö
ôI am afraid Cathleen is right,ö McCracken commented. ôThey shipped twelve-year-old boys and old men who could hardly walk for the Detroit project. They donÆt care how soon the radiation gets themùitÆs a plan to thin us out.ö
ôAre the cities still that bad?ö
ôFrom what I hear, yes. Detroit is still æhotÆ and she was one of the first to get it.ö
ôIÆm going to go.ö The voice was high and thin, and rarely heard in conference.
ôNow, Motherùö said Dad Carter.
ôYou keep out of this, Dad. The men and young women would be grabbed, but they WonÆt bother with me. All I need is a paper saying I have a permit to rejoin my grandson, or something.ö
McCracken nodded. ôI can supply that.ö
Morgan paused, then said suddenly, ôMrs. Carter will contact Brockman. It is so ordered. Next order of business,ö he went on briskly. ôYouÆve all seen the news about St. Joeùthis is what they posted in Barclay last night.ö He hauled out and held up the paper McCracken had given him. It was a printed notice, placing the City of Barclay on probation, subject to the ability of ôlocal authoritiesö to suppress ôbands of roving criminals.ö
There was a stir, but no comment. Most of them had lived in Barclay; all had ties there.
ôI guess youÆre waiting for me,ö McCracken began. ôWe held a meeting as soon as this was posted. We werenÆt all thereùitÆs getting harder to cover up even the smallest gatheringùbut there was no disagreement. WeÆre behind you but we want you to go a little easy. We suggest that you cut out pulling raids within, oh, say twenty miles of Barclay, and that you stop all killing unless absolutely necessary to avoid capture. ItÆs the killings they get excited aboutùit was killing of the district director that touched off St. Joe.ö
Benz sniffed. ôSo we donÆt do anything. We just give upùand stay here in the hills and starve.ö
ôLet me finish, Benz. We donÆt propose to let them scare us out and keep us enslaved forever. But casual raids donÆt do them any real harm. TheyÆre mostly for food for the Underground and for minor retaliations. WeÆve got to conserve our strength and increase it and organize, until we can hit hard enough to make it stick. We wonÆt let you starve. I can do more organizing among the farmers and some animals can be hidden out, unregistered. We can get you meatùsome, anyhow. And weÆll split our rations with you. TheyÆve got
us on 1800 calories now, but we can share it. Something can be done through the black market, too. There are ways.ö
Benz made a contemptuous sound. Morgan looked at him.
ôSpeak up, Joe. WhatÆs on your mind?ö
ôI will. ItÆs not a plan; itÆs a disorderly retreat. A year from now weÆll be twice as hungry and no further alongùand theyÆll be better dug in and stronger. Where does it get us?ö
Morgan shook his head. ôYouÆve got it wrong. Even if we hadnÆt had it forced on us, we would have been moving into this stage anyhow. The Free Companies have got to quit drawing attention to themselves. Once the food problem is solved weÆve got to build up our strength and weapons. WeÆve got to have organization and weaponsùnationwide organization and guns, knives, and hand grenades. WeÆve got to turn this mine into a factory. There are people down in Barclay who can use the stuff we can make hereùbut we canÆt risk letting Barclay be blasted in the meantime. Easy does it.ö
ôEd Morgan, youÆre kidding yourself and you know it.ö
ôHow?ö
ôæHow?Æ Look, you sold me the idea of staying on the dodge and joining upùö
ôYou volunteered.ö
ôOkay, I volunteered. It was all because you were so filled with fire and vinegar about how we would throw the enemy back into the ocean. You talked about France and Poland and how the Filipinos kept on fighting after they were occupied. You sold me a bill of goods. But there was something you didnÆt tell meùö
ôGo on.ö
ôThere never was an Underground that freed its own country. All of them had to be pulled out of the soup by an invasion from outside. Nobody is going to pull us out.ö
There was silence after this remark. The statement
had too much truth in it, but it was truth that no member of the Company could afford to think about. Young Morrie broke it. ôCaptain?ö
ôYes, Morrie.ö Being a fighting man, Morrie was therefore a citizen and a voter.
ôHow can Joe be so sure he knows what heÆs talking about? History doesnÆt repeat. Anyhow, maybe we will get some help. England, maybe-or even the Russians.
Benz snorted. ôListen to the punk! Look, kid, England was smashed like we were, only worseùand Russia, too. Grow up; quit daydreaming.ö
The boy looked at him doggedly. ôYou donÆt know that. We only know what they chose to tell us. And there arenÆt enough of them to hold down the whole world, everybody, everywhere. We never managed to lick the Yaquis, or the Moros. And they canÆt lick us unless we let them. IÆve read some history too.ö
Benz shrugged. ôOkay, okay. Now we can all sing æMy Country æTis of TheeÆ and recite the Scout oath. That ought to make Morrie happyùö
ôTake it easy, Joe!ö
ôWe have free speech here, donÆt we? What I want to know is: How long does this go on? IÆm getting tired of competing with coyotes for the privilege of eating jackrabbits. You know IÆve fought with the best of them. IÆve gone on the raids. Well, havenÆt I? HavenÆt I? You canÆt call me yellow.ö
ôYouÆve been on some raids,ö Morgan conceded.
ôAll right. IÆd go along indefinitely if I could see some sensible plan. ThatÆs why I ask, æHow long does this go on?Æ When do we move? Next spring? Next year?ö
Morgan gestured impatiently. ôHow do I know? It may be next spring; it may be ten years. The Poles waited three hundred years.ö
ôThat tears it,ö Benz said slowly. ôI was hoping you could offer some reasonable plan. Wait and arm ourselvesùthatÆs a pretty picture! Homemade hand grenades against atom bombs! Why donÆt you quit
kidding yourselves? WeÆre licked!ö He hitched at his belt. ôThe rest of you can do as you pleaseùIÆm through.ö
Morgan shrugged. ôIf a man wonÆt fight, I canÆt make him. YouÆre assigned noncombatant duties. Turn in your gun. Report to Cathleen.ö
ôYou donÆt get me, Ed. IÆm through.ö
ôYou donÆt get me, Joe. You donÆt resign from an Underground.ö
ôThereÆs no risk. IÆll leave quietly, and let myself be registered as a straggler. It doesnÆt mean anything to the rest of you. IÆll keep my mouth shutùthat goes without saying.ö
Morgan took a long breath, then answered, ôJoe, IÆve learned by bitter experience not to trust statements set off by ænaturally,Æ æof course,Æ or æthat goes without saying.Æö
ôOh, so you donÆt trust me?ö
ôAs Captain of this Company I canÆt afford to. Unless you can get the Company to recall me from office, my rulings stand. YouÆre under arrest. Hand over your gun.
Benz glanced around, at blank, unfriendly faces. He reached for his waist, ôWith your left hand, Joe!ö
Instead of complying, Benz drew suddenly, backed away. ôKeep clear!ö he said shrilly. ôI donÆt want to hurt anybodyùbut keep clear!ö
Morgan was unarmed. There might have been a knife or two in the assembly, but most of them had come directly from the dinner table. It was not their custom to be armed inside the mine.
Young Morrie was armed with a rifle, having come from lookout duty. He did not have room to bring it into play, but Morgan could see that he intended to try. So could Benz.
ôStop it, Morrie!ö Morgan assumed obedience and turned instantly to the others. ôLet him go. Nobody move. Get going, Joe.ö
ôThatÆs better.ö Benz backed down the main tunnel, toward the main entrance, weed and drift choked for
years. Its unused condition was their principal camouflage, but it could be negotiated.
He backed away into the gloom, still covering them. The tunnel curved; shortly he was concealed by the bend.
Dad Carter went scurrying in the other direction as soon as Benz no longer covered them. He reappeared at once, carrying something. ôHeads down!ö he shouted, as he passed through them and took out after Benz.
ôDad!ö shouted Morgan. But Carter was gone.
Seconds later a concussion tore at their ears and noses.
Morgan picked himself up and brushed at his clothes, saying in annoyed tones, ôI never did like explosives in cramped quarters. CleveùArt. Go check on it. Move!ö
ôRight, boss!ö They were gone.
ôThe rest of you get ready to carry out withdrawal planùfull plan, with provisions and supplies. Jerry, donÆt disconnect either the receiver or theline-of-sight till I give the word. Margie will help you. Cathleen, get ready to serve anything that canÆt be carried. WeÆll have one big meal. æThe condemned ate hearty.Æö
ôJust a moment, Captain.ö McCracken touched his sleeve. ôI had better get a message into Barclay.ö
ôSoon as the boys report. You better get back into town.ö
ôI wonder. Benz knows me. I think IÆm here to stay.ö
ôHm.. . well, you know best. How about your family?ö
McCracken shrugged. ôThey canÆt be worse off than they would be if IÆm picked up. IÆd like to have them warned and then arrangements made for them to rejoin me if possible.ö
ôWeÆll do it. YouÆll have to give me a new contact.ö
ôPlanned for. This message will go through and my number-two man will step into my shoes. The name is Hobartùruns a feed store on Pelham Street.ö
Morgan nodded. ôShould have known you had it
worked out. Well, what we donÆt knowùö He was interrupted by Cleve, reporting.
ôHe got away, Boss.ö
ôWhy didnÆt you go after him?ö
ôHalf the roof came down when Dad chucked the grenade. TunnelÆs choked with rock. Found a place where I could see but couldnÆt crawl through. HeÆs not in the tunnel.ö
ôHow about Dad?ö
ôHeÆs all right. Got clipped on the head with a splinter but not really hurt.ö
Morgan stopped two of the women hurrying past, intent on preparations for withdrawal. ôHereùJean, and you, Mrs. Bowen. Go take care of Dad Carter and tell Art to get back here fast. Shake a leg!ö
When Art reported Morgan said, ôYou and Cleve go out and find Benz. Assume that he is heading for Barclay. Stop him and bring him in if you can. Otherwise kill him. Art is in charge. Get going.ö He turned to McCracken. ôNow for a message.ö He fumbled in his pocket for paper, found the poster notice that McCracken had given him, tore off a piece, and started to write. He showed it to McCracken. ôHowÆs that?ö he asked.
The message warned Hobart of Benz and asked him to try to head him off. It did not tell him that the Barclay Free Company was moving but did designate the ôpost officeö through which next contact would be expectedùthe menÆs rest room of the bus station.
ôBetter cut out the post office,ö McCracken advised. ôHobart knows it and we may contact him half a dozen other ways. But IÆd like to ask him to get my family out of sight. Just tell him that we are sorry to hear that Aunt Dinah is dead.ö
ôIs that enough?ö
Yes.
ôOkay.ö Morgan made the changes, then called, ôMargie! Put this in code and tell Jerry to get it out fast. Tell him itÆs the strike-out edition. He can knock down his sets as soon as itÆs out.ö
ôOkay, boss.ö Margie had no knowledge of cryptography. Instead she had command of jive talk, adolΘscent slang, and high school double-talk which would be meaningless to any but another American bobbysoxer. At the other end a fifteen-year-old interpreted her butchered English by methods which impressed her foster parents as being telepathyùbut it worked.
The fifteen-year-old could be trusted. Her entire family, save herself, had been in Los Angeles on Final Sunday.
Art and Cleve had no trouble picking up BenzÆs trail. His tracks were on the tailings spilling down from the main entrance to the mine. The earth and rock had been undisturbed since the last heavy rain; BenzÆs flight left clear traces.
But trail was cold by more than twenty minutes; they had left the mine by the secret entrance a quarter of a mile from where Benz had made his exit.
Art picked it up where Benz had left the tailings and followed it through brush with the woodsmanship of the Eagle Scout he had been. From the careless signs he left behind Benz was evidently in a hurry and heading by the shortest route for the highway. The two followed him as fast as they could cover ground, discarding caution for speed.
They checked just before entering the highway. ôSee anything?ö asked Cleve.
æ æ l\lo . ~
ôWhich way would he go?ö
ôThe Old Man said to head him off from Barclay.ö
ôYeah, but suppose he headed south instead? He used to work in Wickamton. He might head that way.ö
ôThe Boss said to cover Barclay. LetÆs go.ö
They had to cache their guns; from here on it would be their wits and their knives. An armed American on a highway would be as conspicuous as a nudist at a garden party.
Their object now was speed; they must catch up with him, or get ahead of him and waylay him.
Nine miles and two and a half hours later-one
hundred and fifty minutes of dog trot, with time lost lying in the roadside brush when convoys thundered pastùthey were in the outskirts of Barclay. Around a bend, out of sight, was the roadblock of the InvadersÆ check station. The point was a bottleneck; Benz must come this way if he were heading for Barclay.
ôIs he ahead or behind us?ö asked Cleve, peering out through bushes.
ôBehind, unless he was picked up by a convoy-or sprouted wings. WeÆll give him an hour.ö
A horse-drawn hayrack lumbered up the road. Cleve studied it. Americans were permitted no power vehicles except under supervision, but this farmer and his load could go into town with only routine check at the road block. ôMaybe we ought to hide in that and look for him in town.ö
ôAnd get a bayonet in your ribs? DonÆt be silly.ö
ôOkay. DonÆt blow your top.ö Cleve continued to watch the rig. ôHey,ö he said presently. ôGet a load of that!ö
ôThatö was a figure which dropped from the tail of the wagon as it started around the bend, rolled to the ditch on the far side, and slithered out of sight.
ôThat was Joe!ö
ôAre you sure?ö
ôSure! Here we go.ö
ôHow?ö Art objected. ôTake it easy. Follow me.ö They faded back two hundred yards, to where they could cross the road on hands and knees through a drainage pipe. Then they worked up the other side to where Benz had disappeared in weeds.
They found the place where he had been; grass and weeds were still straightening up. The route he must have taken was evidentùdown toward the river bank, then upstream to the city. There were drops of blood. ôDad must have missed stopping him by a gnatÆs whisker,ö Cleve commented.
Bad job he didn t.
ôAnother thingùhe said he was going to give himself up. I donÆt think he is, or he would have stayed
with the wagon and turned himself in at the check station. HeÆs heading for some hideout. Who does he know in Barclay?ö
ôI donÆt know. WeÆd better get going.ö
ôWait a minute. If he touches off an alarm, theyÆll shoot him for us. If he gets by the æeyes,Æ weÆve lost him and weÆll have to pick him up inside. Either way, we donÆt gain anything by blundering ahead. WeÆve got to go in by the chute.ö
Like all cities the Invader had consolidated, Barclay was girdled by electric-eye circuits. The enemy had trimmed the town to fit, dynamiting and burning where necessary to achieve unbroken sequence of automatic sentries. But the ôchuteöùan abandoned and forgotten aqueductùpassed under the alarms. Art knew how to use it; he had been in town twice since Final Sunday.
They worked back up the highway, crossed over, and took to the hills. Thirty minutes later they were on the streets of Barclay, reasonably safe as long as they were quick to step off the sidewalk for the occasional Invader.
The first ôpost office,ö a clothesline near their exit, told them nothingùthe line was bare. They went to the bus station. Cleve studied the notices posted for inhabitants while Art went into the menÆs rest room. On the wall, defaced by scrawlings of every sort, mostly vulgar, he found what he sought: ôKillroy was here.ö The misspelling of Kilroy was the clueùexactly eighteen inches below it and six to the right was an address: ô1745 Spruceùask for Mabel.ö
He read it as 2856 Pine-one block beyond Spruce. Art passed the address to Cleve, then they set out separately, hurrying to beat the curfew but proceeding with cautionùat least one of them must get through. They met in the backyard of the translated address. Art knocked on the kitchen door. It was opened a crack by a middle-aged man who did not seem glad to see them. ôWell?ö
ôWeÆre looking for Mabel.ö
ôNobody here by that name.ö
ôSorry,ö said Art. ôWe must have made a mistake.ö He shivered. ôChilly out,ö he remarked. ôThe nights are getting longer.ö
ôTheyÆll get shorter by and by,ö the man answered.
ôWeÆve got to think so, anyhow,ö Art countered.
ôCome in,ö the man said. ôThe patrol may see you.ö He opened the door and stepped aside. ôMy nameÆs Hobart. WhatÆs your business?ö
ôWeÆre looking for a man named Benz. He may have sneaked into town this afternoon and found someplace toùö
ôYes, yes,ö Hobart said impatiently. ôHe got in about an hour ago and heÆs holed up with a character named Moyland.ö As he spoke he removed a half loaf of bread from a cupboard, cut four slices, and added cold sausage, producing two sandwiches. He did not ask if they were hungry; he simply handed them to Art and Cleve.
ôThanks, pal. So heÆs holed up. HavenÆt you done anything about it? He has got to be shut up at once or heÆll spill his guts.ö
ôWeÆve got a tap in on the telephone line. We had to wait for dark. You canÆt expect me to sacrifice good boys just to shut his mouth unless itÆs absolutely necessary.
ôWell, itÆs dark now, and weÆll be the boys you mentioned. You can call yours off.ö
ôOkay.ö Hobart started pulling on shoes.
ôNo need for you to stick your neck out,ö Art told him. ôJust tell us where this Moyland lives.ö
ôAnd get your throat cut, too. IÆll take you.ö
ôWhat sort of a guy is this Moyland? Is he safe?ö
ôYou canÆt prove it by me. HeÆs a black market broker, but that doesnÆt prove anything. HeÆs not part of the organization but we havenÆt anything against him.ö
Hobart took them over his back fence, across a dark side street, through a playground, where they lay for several minutes under bushes because of a false alarm,
then through many more backyards, back alleys, and dark byways. The man seemed to h~tve a nose for the enemy; there were no more alarms. At last he brought them through a cellar door into a private home. They went upstairs and through a room where a woman was nursing a baby. She looked up, but otherwise ignored them. They ended up in a dark attic. ôHi, Jim,ö Hobart called out softly. ôWhatÆs new?ö
The man addressed lay propped on his elbows, peering out into the night through opera glasses held to slots of a ventilating louvre. He rolled over and lowered the glasses, pushing one of a pair of earphones from his head as he did so. ôHello, Chief. Nothing much. Benz is getting drunk, it looks like.ö
ôIÆd like to know where Moyland gets it,ö Hobart said. ôHas he telephoned?ö
ôWould I be doing nothing if he had? A couple of calls came in, but they didnÆt amount to anything, so I let him talk.ö
How do you know they didnÆt amount to anything?ö Jim shrugged, turned back to the louvre. ôMoyland just pulled down the shade,ö he announced.
Art turned to Hobart. ôWe canÆt wait. WeÆre going
Benz arrived at MoylandÆs house in bad condition. The wound in his shoulder, caused by CarterÆs grenade, was bleeding. He had pushed a handkerchief up against it as a compress, but his activity started the blood again; he was shaking for fear his condition would attract attention before he could get under cover.
Moyland answered the door. ôIs that you, Zack?ö Benz demanded, shrinking back as he spoke.
ôYes. Who is it?ö
ôItÆs meùJoe Benz. Let me in, Zackùquick!ö
Moyland seemed about to close the door, then suddenly opened it. ôGet inside.ö When the door was bolted, he demanded, ôNowùwhatÆs your trouble? Why come to me?ö
ôI had to go someplace, Zack. I had to get off the street. TheyÆd pick me up.ö
Moyland studied him. ôYouÆre not registered. Why not?ö
Benz did not answer. Moyland waited, then went on, ôYou know what I can get for harboring a fugitive. YouÆre in the UndergroundùarenÆt you?ö
ôOh, no, Zack! I wouldnÆt do that to you. IÆm just aù a straggler. I gotta get registered, Zack.ö
ôThatÆs blood on your coat. How?ö
ôUh. . . just an accident. Maybe you could let me have clean rags and some iodine.ö
Moyland stared at him, his bland face expressionless, then smiled. ôYouÆve got no troubles we canÆt fix. Sit down.ö He stepped to a cabinet and took out a bottle of bourbon, poured three fingers in a water glass, and handed it to Benz. ôWork on that and IÆll fix you up.
He returned with some torn toweling and a bottle. ôSit here with your back to the window, and open your shirt. Have another drink. YouÆll need it before IÆm through.ö
Benz glanced nervously at the window. ôWhy donÆt you draw the shade?ö
ôIt would attract attention. Honest people leave their shades up these days. Hold still. This is going to hurt.ö
Three drinks later Benz was feeling better. Moyland seemed willing to sit and drink with him and to soothe his nerves. ôYou did well to come in,ö Moyland told him. ôThereÆs no sense hiding like a scared rabbit. ItÆs just butting your head against a stone wall. Stupid.ö
Benz nodded. ôThatÆs what I told them.ö
ôTold who?ö
ôHunh? Oh, nobody. Just some guys I was talking to. Tramps.ö
Moyland poured him another drink. ôAs a matter of fact you were in the Underground.ö
ôMe? DonÆt be silly, Zack.ö
ôLook, Joe, you donÆt have to kid me. IÆm your friend. Even if you did tell me it wOuldnÆt matter. In the first place, I wouldnÆt have any proof. In the second place, IÆm sympathetic to the Undergroundùany American is. I just think theyÆre wrong-headed and foolish. Otherwise IÆd join æem myself.ö
ôTheyÆre foolish all right! You can say that again.ö
ôSo you were in it?ö
ôHuh? YouÆre trying to trap me. I gave my word of honorùö
ôOh, relax!ö Moyland said hastily. ôForget it. I didnÆt hear anything; I canÆt tell anything. Hear no evil, see no evilùthatÆs me.ö He changed the subject.
The level of the bottle dropped while Moyland explained current events as he saw them. ôItÆs a shame we had to take such a shellacking to learn our lesson but the fact of the matter is, we were standing in the way of the natural logic of progress. There was a time back in æ45 when we could have pulled the same stunt ourselves, only we werenÆt bright enough to do it. World organization, world government. We stood in the way, so we got smeared. It had to come. A smart man can see that.ö
Benz was bleary but he did not find this comment easy to take. ôLook, Zackùyou donÆt mean you like what happened to us?ö
ôLike it? Of course not. But it was necessary. You donÆt have to like having a tooth pulledùbut it has to be done. Anyhow,ö he went on, ôitÆs not all bad. The big cities were economically unsound anyway. We should have blown them up ourselves. Slum clearance, you might call it.ö
Benz banged his empty glass down. ôMaybe soùbut they made slaves out of us!ö
ôTake it easy, Joe,ö Moyland said, filling his glass, ôyouÆre talking abstractions. The cop on the corner could push you around whenever he wanted to. Is that freedom? Does it matter whether the cop talks with an Irish accent or some other accent? No, chum, thereÆs a
lot of guff talked about freedom. No man is free. There is no such thing as freedom. There are only various privileges. Free speechùweÆre talking freely now, arenÆt we? After all, you donÆt want to get up on a platform and shoot off your face. Free press? When did you ever own a newspaper? DonÆt be a chump. Now that youÆve shown sense and come in, you are going to find that things arenÆt so very different. A little more orderly and no more fear of war, thatÆs all. Girls make love just like they used to, the smart guys get along, and the suckers still get the short end of the deal.ö
Benz nodded. ôYouÆre right, Zack. IÆve been a fool.ö
ôIÆm glad you see it. Now take those wild men you were with. What freedom have they got? Freedom to starve, freedom to sleep on the cold ground, freedom to be hunted.ö
ôThat was it,ö Benz agreed. ôDid you ever sleep in a mine, Zack? Cold. That ainÆt half of it. Damp, too.ö
ôI can imagine,ö Moyland agreed. ôThe Capehart Lode always was wet.ö
ôIt wasnÆt the Capehart; it was the Harknùö He caught himself and looked puzzled.
ôThe Harkness, eh? ThatÆs the headquarters?ö
ôI didnÆt say that! YouÆre putting words in my mouth! Youùö
ôCalm yourself, Joe. Forget it.öMoyland got up and drew down the shade. ôYou didnÆt say anything.ö
ôOf course I didnÆt.ö Benz stared at his glass. ôSay, Zack, where do I sleep? I donÆt feel good.ö
ôYouÆll have a nice place to sleep any minute now.ö
ôHuh? Well, show me. I gotta fold up.ö
ôAny minute. YouÆve got to check in first.ö
ôHuh? Oh, I canÆt do that tonight, Zack. IÆm in no shape.ö
ôIÆm afraid youÆll have to. See me pull that shade down? TheyÆll be along any moment.ö
Benz stood up, swaying a little. ôYou framed me!ö he yelled, and lunged at his host.
Moyland sidestepped, put a hand on his shoulder
and pushed him down into the chair. ôSit down, sucker,ö he said pleasantly. ôYou donÆt expect me to get A-bombed just for you and your pals, do you?ö
Benz shook his head, then began to sob.
Hobart escorted them out of the house, saying to Art as they left, ôIf you get back, tell McCracken that Aunt Dinah is resting peacefully.ö
ôOkay.ö
ôGive us two minutes, then go in. Good luck.ö
Cleve took the outside; Art went in. The back door was locked, but the upper panel was glass. He broke it with the hilt of his knife, reached in and unbolted the door. He was inside when Moyland showed up to investigate the noise.
Art kicked him in the belly, then let him have the point in the neck as he went down. Art stopped just long enough to insure that Moyland would stay dead, then went looking for the room where Benz had been when the shade was drawn.
He found Benz in it. The man blinked his eyes and tried to focus them, as if he found it impossible to believe what he saw. ôArt!ö he got out at last. ôJeez, boy! Am I glad to see you! LetÆs get out of hereùthis place is æhot.Æ
Art advanced, knife out.
Benz looked amazed. ôHey, Art! Art! YouÆre making a mistake. Art. You canÆt do thisùö Art let him have the first one in the soft tissues under the breast bone, then cut his throat to be sure. After that he got out quickly.
Thirty-five minutes later he was emerging from the country end of the chute. His throat was burning from exertion and his left arm was uselessùhe could not tell whether it was broken or simply wounded.
Cleve lay dead in the alley behind MoylandÆs house, having done a good job of covering ArtÆs rear.
It took Art all night and part of the next morning to get back near the mine. He had to go through the hills
the entire way; the highway was, he judged, too warm at the moment.
He did not expect that the Company would still be there. He was reasonably sure that Morgan would have carried out the evacuation pending certain evidence that BenzÆs mouth had been shut. He hurried.
But he did not expect what he did findùa helicopter hovering over the neighborhood of the mine.
He stopped to consider the matter. If Morgan had got them out safely, he knew where to rejoin. If they were still inside, he had to figure out some way to help them. The futility of his position depressed him-one man, with a knife and a bad arm, against a helicopter.
Somewhere a bluejay screamed and cursed. Without much hope he chirped his own identification. The bluejay shut up and a mockingbird answered himù Ted.
Art signaled that he would wait where he was. He considered himself well hidden; he expected to have to signal again when Ted got closer, but he underestimated TedÆs ability. A hand was laid on his shoulder.
He rolled over, knife out, and hurt his shoulder as he did so. ôTed! Man, do you look good to me!ö
ôSame here. Did you get him?ö
ôBenz? Yes, but maybe not in time. WhereÆs the gang?ö
ôA quarter mile north of back door. WeÆre pinned down. WhereÆs Cleve?ö
ôCleveÆs not coming back. What do you mean æpinned downÆ?ö
ôThat damned æcopter can see right down the draw weÆre in. DadÆs got æem under an overhang and theyÆre safe enough for the moment, but we canÆt move.ö
ôWhat do you mean æDadÆs got æemÆ?ö demanded Art. ôWhereÆs the Boss?ö
ôHe ainÆt in such good shape, Art. Got a machine gun slug in the ribs. We had a dust up. CathleenÆs dead.ö
ôThe hell you say!ö
ôThatÆs right. Margie and Maw Carter have got her baby. But thatÆs one reason why weöre pinned downù the Boss and the kid, I mean.ö
A mockingbirdÆs call sounded far away. ôThereÆs Dad,ö Ted announced. ôWe got to get back.ö
ôCan we?ö
ôSure. Just keep behind me. IÆll watch out that I donÆt get too far ahead.ö
Art followed Ted in, by a circuitous and, at one point, almost perpendicular route. He found the Company huddled under a shelf of rock which had been undercut by a stream, now dry. Against the wall Morgan was on his back, with Dad Carter and Dr. McCracken squatting beside him. Art went up and made his report.
Morgan nodded, his face gray with pain. His shirt had been cut away; bandaging was wrapped around his ribs, covering a thick pad. ôYou did well, Art. Too bad about Cleve. Ted, weÆre getting out of here and youÆre going first, because youÆre taking the kid.ö
ôThe baby? Howùö
ôDocÆll dope it so that it wonÆt let out a peep. Then you strap it to your back, papoose fashion.ö
Ted thought about it. ôNo, to my front. ThereÆs some knee-and-shoulder work on the best way out.ö
ôOkay. ItÆs your job.ö
ôHow do you get out, boss?ö
ôDonÆt be silly.ö
ôLook here, boss, if you think weÆre going to walk off and leave you, youÆve got anotherùö
ôShut up and scram!ö The exertion hurt Morgan; he coughed and wiped his mouth.
ôYes, sir.ö Ted and Art backed away.
ôNow, Edùö said Carter.
ôYou shut up, too. You still sure you donÆt want to be Captain?ö
ôYou know better than that, Ed. They took things from me while I was your deppity, but they wouldnÆt have me for Captain.ö
ôThat puts it up to you, Doc.ö
McCracken looked troubled. ôThey donÆt know me that well, Captain.ö
ôTheyÆll take you. People have an instinct for such things.ö
ôAnyhow, if I am Captain, I wonÆt agree to your plan of staying here by yourself. WeÆll stay till dark and carry you out.ö
ôAnd get picked up by an infrared spotter, like sitting ducks? ThatÆs supposing they let you alone until sundownùthat other æcopter will be back with more troops before long.ö
ôI donÆt think theyÆd let me walk off on you.ö
ôItÆs up to you to make them. Oh, I appreciate your kindly thoughts, Doc, but youÆll think differently as soon as youÆre Captain. YouÆll know you have to cut your losses.ö
McCracken did not answer. Morgan turned his head to Carter. ôGather them around, Dad.ö
They crowded in, shoulder to shoulder. Morgan looked from one troubled face to another and smiled. ôThe Barclay Free Company, a provisional unit of the United States of America, is now in session,ö he announced, his voice suddenly firm. ôIÆm resigning the captaincy for reasons of physical disability. Any nommat ions?ö
The silence was disturbed only by calls of birds, the sounds of insects.
Morgan caught CarterÆs eyes. Dad cleared his throat. ôI nominate Doc McCracken.ö
ôAny other nominations?ö He waited, then continued, ôAll right, all in favor of Doc make it known by raising your right hand. Okay-opposed the same sign. Dr. McCracken is unanimously elected. ItÆs all yours, Captain. Good luck to you.ö
McCracken stood up, stooping to avoid the rock overhead. ôWeÆre evacuating at once. Mrs. Carter, give the baby about another tablespoon of the syrup, then help Ted. He knows what to do. YouÆll follow Ted.
Then Jerry. Margie, you are next. IÆll assign the others presently. Once out of the canyon, spread out and go it alone. Rendezvous at dusk, same place as under Captain MorganÆs withdrawal planùthe cave.ö He paused. Morgan caught his eye and motioned him over, ôThatÆs all until Ted and the baby are ready to leave. Now back away and give Captain Morgan a little air.ö
When they had withdrawn McCracken leaned over Morgan the better to hear his weak words. ôDonÆt be too sure youÆve seen the last of me, Captain. I might join up in a few days.ö
ôYou might at that. IÆm going to leave you bundled up warm and plenty of water within reach. IÆll leave you some pills, tooùthatÆll give you some comfort and ease. Only half a pill for youùtheyÆre intended for cows.ö He grinned at his patient.
ôHalf a pill it is. Why not let Dad handle the evacuation? HeÆll make you a good deputyùand IÆd like to talk with you until you leave.ö
ôRight.ö He called Carter over, instructed him, and turned back to Morgan.
ôAfter you join up with PowellÆs outfit,ö whispered Morgan, ôyour first job is to get into touch with Brockman. Better get Mrs. Carter started right away, once youÆve talked it over with Powell.ö
ææI will.ÆÆ
ôThatÆs the most important thing weÆve got to worry about, Doc. WeÆve got to have unity, and one plan, from coast to coast. I look forward to a day when there will be an American assigned, by name, to each and every one of them. Then at a set timeùzzzt!ö He drew a thumb across his throat.
McCracken nodded. ôCould be. It will be. How long do you think it will take us?ö
ôI donÆt know. I donÆt think about æhow longÆ. Two years, five years, ten yearsùmaybe a century. ThatÆs not the point. The only question is whether or not there are any guts left in America.ö He glanced out where the fifth person to leave was awaiting a signal
from Carter, who in turn was awaiting a signal from Art, hidden out where he could watch for the helicopter. ôThose people will stick.ö
ôIÆm sure of that.ö
Presently Morgan added, ôThereÆs one thing this has taught me: You canÆt enslave a free man. Only person can do that to a man is himself. No, sirùyou canÆt enslave a free man. The most you can do is kill him.ö
ôThatÆs a fact, Ed.ö
ôIt is. Got a cigarette, Doc?ö
ôIt wonÆt do you any good, Ed.ö
ôIt wonÆt do me any harm, eitherùnow, will it?ö
ôWell, not much.ö McCracken unregretfully gave him his last and watched him smoke it.
Later, Morgan said, ôDadÆs ready for you, Captain. So long.ö
ôSo long. DonÆt forget. Half a pill at a time. Drink all the water you want, but donÆt take your blankets off, no matter how hot you get.ö
ôHalf a pill it is. Good luck.ö
ôIÆll have Ted check on you tomorrow.ö Morgan shook his head. ôThatÆs too soon. Not for a couple of days at least.ö
McCracken smiled. ôIÆll decide that, Ed. You just keep yourself wrapped up. Good luck.ö He withdrew to where Carter waited for him. ôYou go ahead, Dad. IÆll bring up the rear. Signal Art to start.ö
Carter hesitated. ôTell me straight, Doc. What kind of shape is he in?ö
McCracken studied CarterÆs face, then said in a low voice, ôI give him about two hours.ö
ôIÆll stay behind with him.ö
ôNo, Dad, youÆll carry out your orders.ö Seeing the distress in the old manÆs eyes, he added, ôDonÆt you worry about Morgan. A free man can take care of himself. Now get moving.ö
