CHAPTER 5
_And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night._
--Dover Beach, _by Matthew Arnold_
I am not going to try to describe point by point all that happened thenext half hour because there was too much of it and it involved allthree of us, sometimes doing different things at the same time, andalthough we were told a lot of things, we were seldom if ever told thewhy of them, and through it all was the constant impression that wewere dealing with human beings (I almost left out the "human" and I'mstill not absolutely sure whether I shouldn't) of vastly greaterscope--and probably intelligence too--than ourselves.
And that was just the _basic_ confusion, to give it a name. After awhile the situation got more difficult, as I'll try to tell in duecourse.
* * * * *
To begin with, it was extremely weird to plunge from a rather leisurelyconfab about a fairy-tale fellowship of non-practicing murderers into ashooting war between a violet blob and a dark red puddle on a shadowyfluorescent map. The voice didn't throw any great shining lights on thistopic, because after the first--and perhaps unguarded--revelation, welearned little more of the war between Atla-Hi and Savannah Fortress andnothing of the reasons behind it. Presumably Savannah was the aggressor,reaching out north after the conquest of Birmingham, but even that wasjust a guess. It is hard to describe how shadowy it all felt to me;there were some minutes while my mind kept mixing up the whole thingwith what I'd read long ago about the Civil War: Savannah was Lee,Atla-Hi was Grant, and we had been dropped spang into the middle of thesecond Battle of the Wilderness.
Apparently the Savannah planes had some sort of needle ray as part oftheir armament--at any rate I was warned to watch out for "swinginglines in the haze, like straight strings of pink stars" and later toldto aim at the sources of such lines. And naturally I guessed that thesteel cubes must be some crucial weapon for Atla-Hi, or ammunition for aweapon, or parts for some essential instrument like a giant computer,but the voice ignored my questions on that point and didn't fall intothe couple of crude conversational traps I tried to set. We were to dropthe cubes when told, that was all. Pop had the box of them closed againand rigged to the parachute--he took over that job because Alice and mewere busy with other things when the instructions on that camethrough--and he was told how to open the door of the plane for the drop(you just held your hand steadily on a point beside the door), but, as Isay, that was all.
Naturally it occurred to me that once we had made the drop, Atla-Hiwould have no more use for us and might simply let us be destroyed bySavannah or otherwise--perhaps _want_ us to be destroyed--so that itmight be wisest for us to refuse to make the drop when the signal cameand hang onto those myriad steel cubes as our only bargaining point.Still, I could see no advantage to refusing _before_ the signal came.I'd have liked to discuss the point with Alice and maybe Pop too, butapparently everything we said, even whispered, could be overheard byAtla-Hi. (We never did determine, incidentally, whether Atla-Hi could_see_ into the cabin of the plane also. I don't believe they could,though they sure had it bugged for sound.)
All in all, we found out almost nothing about Atla-Hi. In fact, threewitless germs traveling in a cabin in an iron filing wasn't a baddescription of us at all. As I often say of my deductivefaculties--think--shmink! But Atla-Hi (always meaning, of course, thepersonality behind the voice from the screen) found out all it wantedabout us--and apparently knew a good deal to start with. For one thing,they must have been tracking our plane for some time, because theyguessed it was on automatic and that we could reverse its course butnothing else. Though they seemed under the impression that we couldreverse its course to Los Alamos, not the cracking plant. Here obviouslyI did get a nugget of new data, though it was just about the only one.For a moment the voice from the screen got real unguarded--anxious as itasked, "Do you know if it is true that they have stopped dying at LosAlamos, or are they merely broadcasting that to cheer us up?"
I answered, "Oh yes, they're all fine," to that, but I couldn't havemade it very convincing, because the next thing I knew the voice wasgetting me to admit that we'd only boarded the plane somewhere in theCentral Deathlands. I even had to describe the cracking plant andfreeway and gas tanks--I couldn't think of a lie that mightn't get usinto as much trouble as the truth--and the voice said, "Oh, did Graylstay there?" and I said, "Yes," and braced myself to do some moreadmitting, or some heavy lying, as the inspiration took me.
But the voice continued to skirt around the question of what exactly hadhappened to Grayl. I guess they knew well enough we'd bumped him off,but didn't bring it up because they needed our cooperation--they werehandling us like children or savages, you see.
* * * * *
One pretty amazing point--Atla-Hi apparently knew something about Pop'sfairy-tale fellowship of non-practicing murderers, because when he hadto speak up, while he was getting instructions on preparing the stufffor the drop, the voice said, "Excuse me, but you sound like one ofthose M. A. boys."
Murderers Anonymous, Pop had said some of their boys called theirunorganized organization.
"Yep, I am," Pop admitted uncomfortably.
"Well, a word of advice then, or perhaps I only mean gossip," the screensaid, for once getting on a side track. "Most of our people do notbelieve you are serious about it, although you may think that you are.Our skeptics (which includes all but a very few of us) split quiteevenly between those who think that the M. A. spirit is a terminalpsychotic illusion and those who believe it is an elaborate ruse inpreparation for some concerted attack on cities by Deathlanders."
"Can't say that I blame the either of them," was Pop's only comment. "Ithink I'm nuts myself and a murderer forever." Alice glared at him forthat admission, but it seemed to do us no damage. Pop really did seemout of his depth though during this part of our adventure, more out ofhis depth than even Alice and me--I mean, as if he could only reallyfunction in the Deathland with Deathlanders and wanted to get anythingelse over quickly.
* * * * *
I think one reason Pop was that way was that he was feeling veryintensely something I was feeling myself: a sort of sadness andbewilderment that beings as smart as the voice from the screen soundedshould still be fighting wars. Murder, as you must know by now, I canunderstand and sympathize with deeply, but war?--no!
Oh, I can understand cultural queers fighting city squares and even geta kick out of it and whoop 'em on, but these Atla-Hi and Alamos folkseemed a different sort of cat altogether (though I'd only come to thatpoint of view today)--the kind of cat that ought to have outgrown war orthought its way around it. Maybe Savannah Fortress had simply forced thewar on them and they had to defend themselves. I hadn't contacted anySavannans--they might be as blood-simple as the Porterites. Still, Idon't know that it's always a good excuse that somebody else forced youinto war. That sort of justification can keep on until the end of time.But who's a germ to judge?
A minute later I was feeling doubly like a germ and a very lowly one,because the situation had just got more difficult and depressingtoo--the thing had happened that I said I'd tell you about in duecourse.
The voice was just repeating its instructions to Pop on making the drop,when it broke off of a sudden and a second voice came in, a deep voicewith a sort of European accent (not Chinese, oddly)--not talking _to_us, I think, but to the first voice and overlooking or not caring thatwe could hear.
"_Also_ tell them," the second voice said, "that we will blow them outof the sky the instant they stop obeying us! If they should hesitate tomake the drop or if they should put a finger on the button that reversestheir course, then--_pouf!_ Such brutes understand only the language offorce. _Also_ warn them that the blocks are atomic grenades that willblow them out of the sky too if--"
&
nbsp; "Dr. Kovalsky, will you permit me to point out--" the first voiceinterrupted, getting as close to expressing irritation as I imagine itever allowed itself to do. Then both voices cut off abruptly and thescreen was silent for ten seconds or so. I guess the first voice thoughtit wasn't nice for us to overhear Atla-Hi bickering with itself, even ifthe second voice didn't give a damn (any more than a farmer would mindthe pigs overhearing him squabble with his hired man; of course this guyseemed to overlook that we were killer-pigs, but there wasn't anythingwe could do in that line just now except get burned up).
When the screen came on again, it was just the first voice talking oncemore, but it had something to say that was probably the result of arapid conference and compromise.
"Attention, everyone! I wish to inform you that the plane in which youare traveling can be exploded--melted in the air, rather--if we activatea certain control at this end. We will _not_ do so, now or subsequently,if you make the drop when we give the signal and if you remain on yourpresent course until then. Afterwards you will be at liberty to reverseyour course and escape as best you may. Let me re-emphasize that whenyou told me you had taken over for Grayl I accepted that assertion infull faith and still so accept it. Is that all fully understood?"
We all told him "Yes," though I don't imagine we sounded very happyabout it, even Pop. However I did get that funny feeling again that thevoice was being really sincere--an illusion, I supposed, but still acomforting one.
Now while all these things were going on, believe it or not, and whilethe plane continued to bullet through the orange haze--which hadn'tshown any foreign objects in it so far, thank God, even vultures, letalone "straight strings of pink stars"--I was receiving a cram course ingunnery! (Do you wonder I don't try to tell this part of my storyconsecutively?)
* * * * *
It turned out that Alice had been brilliantly right about one thing: ifyou pushed some of the buttons simultaneously in patterns of five theyunlocked and you could play on them like organ keys. Two sets of fivekeys, played properly, would rig out a sight just in front of theviewport and let you aim and fire the plane's main gun in any forwarddirection. There was a rearward firing gun too, that you aimed bychanging over the World Screen to a rear-view TV window, but we didn'tget around to mastering that one. In fact, in spite of my specialtalents it was all I could do to achieve a beginner's control over themain gun, and I wouldn't have managed even that except that Alice, fromthe thinking she'd been doing about patterns of five, was quick atunderstanding from the voice's descriptions which buttons were meant.She couldn't work them herself of course, what with her stump and burnthand, but she could point them out for me.
After twenty minutes of drill I was a gunner of sorts, sprawled in theright-hand kneeling seat and intently scanning the onrushing orange hazewhich at last was beginning to change toward the bronze of evening. Ifsomething showed up in it I'd be able to make a stab at getting a shotin. Not that I knew what my gun fired--the voice wasn't giving away anyunnecessary data.
Naturally I had asked why didn't the voice teach me to fly the plane sothat I could maneuver in case of attack, and naturally the voice hadtold me it was out of the question--much too difficult and besides theywanted us on a known course so they could plan better for the drop andrecovery. (I think maybe the voice would have given me some hints--andmaybe even told me more about the steel cubes too and how much danger wewere in from them--if it hadn't been for the second voice, whichpresumably had issued from a being who was keeping watch to make sureamong other things that the first voice didn't get soft-hearted.)
So there I was being a front gunner. Actually a part of me was getting abig bang out of it--from antique Banker's Special to needle cannon (orwhatever it was)--but at the same time another part of me was disgustedwith the idea of acting like I belonged to a live culture (even a smart,unqueer one) and working in a war (even just so as to get out of itfast), while a third part of me--one that I normally keep down--was verysimply horrified.
Pop was back by the door with the box and 'chute, ready to make thedrop.
Alice had no duties for the moment, but she'd suddenly started gatheringup food cans and packing them in one bag--I couldn't figure out at firstwhat she had in mind. Orderly housewife wouldn't be exactly mydescription of her occupational personality.
Then of course everything had to happen at once.
The voice said, "Make the drop!"
Alice crossed to Pop and thrust out the bag of cans toward him, writhingher lips in silent "talk" to tell him something. She had a knife in herburnt hand too.
* * * * *
But I didn't have time to do any lip-reading, because just then aglittering pink asterisk showed up in the darkening haze ahead--a wholehalf dozen straight lines spreading out from a blank central spot, as ifa super-fast gigantic spider had laid in the first strands of its web.
Wind whistled as the door of the plane started to open.
I fought to center my sight on the blank central spot, which driftedtoward the left.
One of the straight lines grew dazzlingly bright.
I heard Alice whisper fiercely, "Drop _these_!" and the part of my mindthat couldn't be applied to gunnery instantly deduced that she'd hadsome last-minute inspiration about dropping a bunch of cans instead ofthe steel cubes.
I got the sight centered and held down the firing combo. The thoughtflashed to me: _it's a city you're firing at, not a plane_, and Iflinched.
The dazzlingly pink line dipped down toward me.
Behind me, the sound of a struggle. Alice snarling and Pop giving agrunt.
Then all at once a scream from Alice, a big whoosh of wind, a flash wayahead (where I'd aimed), a spatter of hot metal inside the cabin, ablinding spot in the middle of the World Screen, a searing beam inchesfrom my neck, an electric shock that lifted me from my seat and rippedat my consciousness!
* * * * *
When I came to (if I really ever was out--seconds later, at most) therewere no more pink lines. The haze was just its disgustingly tawnyevening self with black spots that were only after-images. The cabinstunk of ozone, but wind funneling through a hole in the one-time WorldScreen was blowing it out fast enough--Savannah had gotten in one lick,all right. And we were falling, the plane was swinging down like acrippled bird--I could feel it and there was no use kidding myself.
But staring at the control panel wouldn't keep us from crashing if thatwas in the cards. I looked around and there were Pop and Alice glaringat each other across the closing door. He looked mean. She lookedagonized and was pressing her burnt hand into her side with her elbow asif he'd stamped on the hand, maybe. I didn't see any blood though. Ididn't see the box and 'chute either, though I did see Alice's bag ofgroceries. I guessed Pop had made the drop.
Now, it occurred to me, was a bully time for Voice Two to melt theplane--if he hadn't already tried. My first thought had been that thespatter of hot metal had come from the Savannah craft spitting us, butthere was no way to be sure.
I looked around at the viewport in time to see rocks and stunted treesjump out of the haze. _Good old Ray_, I thought, _always in at thedeath_. But just then the plane took a sickening bounce, as if itsantigravity had only started to operate within yards of the ground.Another lurching fall and another bounce, less violent. A couple ofrepetitions of that, each one a little gentler, and then we were sort ofbumping along on an even keel with the rocks and such sliding past fastabout a hundred feet below, I judged. We'd been spoiled for altitudework, it seemed, but we could still cripple along in some sort oflow-power repulsion field.
I looked at the North America screen and the buttons, wondering if Ishould start us back west again or leave us set on Atla-Hi and see whatthe hell happened--at the moment I hardly cared what else Savannah didto us. I needn't have wasted the mental energy. The decision was madefor me. As I watched, the Atla-Hi button jumped up by itself and thebutton for the cracking
plant went down and there was some extra bumpingas we swung around.
Also, the violet patch of Atla-Hi went real dim and the button for it nolonger had a violet nimbus. The Los Alamos blue went dull too. Thecracking-plant dot glowed a brighter green--that was all.
All except for one thing. As the violet dimmed I thought I heard VoiceOne very faintly (not as if speaking directly but as if the screen hadheard and remembered--not a voice but the fluorescent ghost of one):"Thank you and good luck!"