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XIV. The Conference

 

1

The sun was sinking out of sight toward the west as the first of the two platforms came back into view of the fleet, slowed with a sudden roar, and glided into the interior of Colputt's ship. A moment later, the second followed.

Bullinger was waiting as Arakal and Colputt climbed up the ladder of the flagship. A heavy concussion, followed by a second, half-deafened them.

Bullinger's lips drew back in a grin.

"A little trouble from your old friends."

Arakal nodded. "They've got more tanks on the way. We saw them."

"If you can spot them for us, we'll take care of them before they get here."

"They're still a long way off. If you have time, why don't you come below. We think we have some answers."

Bullinger nodded, ran up a ladder, spoke with an officer on the deck above, then came back, to guide Arakal and Colputt to a different cabin than they had used the last time. Bullinger shut the door, and glanced around.

"Now, none of our 'allies' have ever been in here—so maybe it's all right. And I've had the whole place checked, inside and out. Strange to say, where we were talking the last time, there was a listening device beside the leg of the table, close under the top. There was another in one of the light fixtures. I think we got them all, but they may have been cleverer than we are. For that matter, they could have built some more in here when they made the ship. We've checked. But don't tell me anything aloud that you don't want to risk their finding out."

Arakal smiled. "If they can hear this, they can do what they want with it. I think we begin to understand them."

"Could you—fly over—?"

Arakal nodded.

"I suppose," said Bullinger hesitantly, "the snow, fog, and so on, blotted out a good deal of it?"

"From direct observation. But we've underestimated the Old O'Cracys far worse than we ever knew. The platform has devices to see through fog."

"What?"

"As I say, we've underestimated the Old O'Cracys."

Bullinger frowned at the repetition. Then he stiffened.

"The Russ are ruined, too?"

"We didn't try to see all of Russland, although with the platform that's not so impossible as it sounds. But most of what we did see was like the country well north of Kebeck Fortress in the depth of winter."

"But I thought this Central Committee of theirs meets in Moscow? That's their capital, isn't it?"

Arakal glanced at Colputt.

Colputt said, "There were three fair-sized zones of heat radiation which may mean underground dwellings. The locations correspond on our maps to places called Leningrad, Moscow, and Kiev. Further south and to the east, it looks heavily settled."

Bullinger sat back, blank-faced. "What this must mean is that the Old Soviets got clubbed in that war almost as bad as the Old O'Cracys! But they won! We've always known they won!"

Arakal said dryly, "If two men fight, and one gets shot in the head while the other gets shot in the stomach, who won?"

Colputt said, "They destroyed the Old O'Cracys. We have no memory—no continuity of thought descending from that time. They have their Central Committee, their 'S', apparently some underground centers, and the districts to the south—which may have been completely untouched by the war."

Bullinger nodded. "They won—but they almost didn't survive it. But that isn't the picture we've had. It always seemed—"

In the corridor, brisk footsteps came to a halt. There was a rap on the door.

Arakal nodded to Bullinger's questioning glance. Bullinger called, "Come in."

The door opened, and Slagiron stepped inside, frowning. He turned to Arakal.

"Catmeat's old gang has been trying to break through. They make better enemies than they did friends, but we're too well dug in; and on top of that, there's the fire from the ships. Fifteen minutes ago, a message came through. They want a 'conference'."

Arakal nodded. "They've got more tanks coming. If they can have us tied up talking when the tanks get here—"

Slagiron put his hand on the doorknob, then hesitated, "Could you see much of Russland?"

Arakal told him what he had told Bullinger, and a look of amazement spread over Slagiron's face.

"No wonder we couldn't understand them! Their position is completely different than we thought!"

Arakal said, "We still don't want to underestimate them. For all we know, they may have something in mind we haven't spotted yet."

Slagiron nodded grimly. "We'll keep our eyes open. I'll let them know what they can do with their conference."

As he turned to go out, there was a sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, then an urgent rap on the door.

Bullinger called, "Come in!"

Beane stepped inside, nodded to Slagiron, and glanced at Arakal.

"Sir, I think we're about to be treated to some new trick. We've just had a message from what purports to be the chairman of their Central Committee. A 'Mikhael Zhtutin' is coming to see us as their 'plenipotentiary'. He is, quote, authorized to deal with all the matters of mutual disagreement between us, end-quote. They—the Central Committee—want a truce in the fighting while he's here."

Arakal thought a moment, then nodded.

"All right. We'll risk it." He glanced at Slagiron. "Tell Koljuberowski's people we'll agree to a cease-fire, but we don't want any conference with them, since Zhtutin will be here. We'll put the platforms up, to see what's coming."

When Beane and Slagiron had gone out, Arakal turned to Bullinger.

"What chance is there of small boats sneaking up on us in the fog, to board?"

"I've already warned the captains. We'll make it hot for them if they try it."

Colputt came to his feet. "I'll get the platforms up."

Arakal nodded. "This conference may be useful. Or it could turn out to be pure poison."

 

2

It was morning when Slagiron's deputy, Casey, sent word that the plenipotentiary had arrived. Arakal headed for the conference room.

Mikhael Zhtutin turned out to be a lean, somber man, well above average height, neat, slightly stooped, and dressed in a heavy fur coat and large fur hat with flaps for the back of the head and the ears. With him came an interpreter, also wearing fur hat and fur coat.

Arakal, Slagiron, and Beane stood at the end of the table as Zhtutin was escorted in.

Zhtutin cast a penetrating glance at each of the three men, and his gaze settled on Arakal.

Zhtutin spoke in a low, courteous voice. His interpreter turned to Arakal, and adopted the air of a schoolmaster addressing children caught marking the walls.

"You are the tribal chief known as Arakal?"

Zhtutin, just removing his fur hat, froze. Frowning, he asked the interpreter a question.

Behind Arakal, one of his own interpreters leaned forward and spoke in a low voice.

"Mr. Zhtutin asks if the question was courteously put. The interpreter replies that he used the proper tone for the occasion."

Arakal said, "Politely say to the Russ plenipotentiary that we use that tone of voice to dogs that steal food from the table."

Arakal's interpreter thought a moment, then spoke politely.

Zhtutin spoke agitatedly to his interpreter. The interpreter looked intently from Arakal's interpreter to Arakal, looked at Arakal and said, his voice exaggeratedly polite, "It is you who call yourself Arakal?" The interpreter raised one arm as if to point.

Zhtutin's face went blank. His hand flashed for the open front of his coat. There was a deafening explosion. The interpreter slammed against the bulkhead.

Arakal, Slagiron, and Beane, guns in hand, straightened from behind the table.

At the far end of the table, Zhtutin, his expression angry and exasperated, slid a large shiny revolver back inside his coat.

The interpreter, partly hidden by the table, lay on the deck.

At the door, Bullinger, backed up by half-a-dozen armed men, looked in. He glanced at Zhtutin, then at Arakal.

Arakal said, "Get some men in here to clean up the place, and take out the interpreter. Watch out when you move him. He probably had a sleeve gun."

Bullinger called in several sailors, who carefully bent over the interpreter, put a small shiny pistol on the table, carried out the body, then methodically cleaned the room's floor and walls, the deck, part of the table nearby, and Zhtutin's coat.

Slagiron, Beane, and Arakal watched the proceedings in silence. Zhtutin, glum and apparently embarrassed, waited silently, and gave a nod of thanks to the sailors as they went out. Arakal sent one of his own interpreters to the far end of the table. Zhtutin, his lips compressed, nodded his thanks to Arakal, glanced back at the interpreter Arakal was lending him, smiled ruefully, and spoke to the interpreter, who grinned and said something in return.

Behind Arakal, his interpreter leaned forward. "Mr. Zhtutin said, 'Don't worry, we don't always treat our interpreters that way.' Our man said, 'That's all right. It's all in the line of duty.'"

Arakal and Slagiron, smiling, glanced at the Russ Plenipotentiary, who looked questioning, and reached for the chair, still in its place at the table. Arakal nodded, and they all sat down.

Zhtutin spoke in a regretful tone, and the interpreter translated. "I regret that incident. I will explain the background if you wish, but it is related to a change of view within our own councils which has, whether everyone realizes it or not, been settled."

Arakal said courteously, "We ask to hear only what you wish to tell us."

Zhtutin's face cleared. He said, with a slight air of apology, "I should perhaps mention that the name which I am using is a cover for my actual identity, but that I am fully empowered to speak for the Central Committee."

Arakal smiled. "It is your message which interests us. You are welcome here under whatever name you choose to use."

Zhtutin smiled and relaxed, then looked serious.

"Is it safe to talk here?"

"We have removed every listening device we could find."

"Of ours?"

"Yes."

"Can you speak freely?"

Arakal answered without hesitation. "Yes."

Zhtutin looked searchingly at Arakal, as if not certain whether Arakal's answer was a reply to him, or might possibly be meant to convince someone else who might be listening.

Arakal added, his voice courteous, "We have no 'S'."

Zhtutin smiled briefly

"Then I will speak plainly. Power abides with those who use it well. The foolish and the indolent lose it. And also eventually the arrogant and the presumptuous. The Central Committee authorizes me to tell you that we will grant you your independence, and the independence of what you call Old Brunswick and what we call the U.K. In return, there are certain things you must do for us."

Arakal waited a moment, then spoke carefully and distinctly.

"We are sworn to free Old Brunswick and Old Kebeck. Can you turn over to us all information on S in those two countries?"

Zhtutin looked fixedly at Arakal, then he slowly nodded. He appeared to select his words with care.

"We, in our turn, demand that you use what means you possess to correct—in good time and very judiciously—certain errors made in the past. Are you familiar with that of which I speak?"

Arakal kept his gaze fixed on Zhtutin. "We can make no promises, except that we will do what we can to relieve you of the curse which has settled on you, and we aim to do it once we understand the situation and the method clearly."

Zhtutin's eyes seemed momentarily very bright.

"You understand, it is necessary to use great care."

"That is becoming more and more clear to us."

Zhtutin sat still a moment, then sighed and sat back.

"You will have the agent lists for the U.K. and France as soon as they can be gotten here. I must go back to my vehicle, and radio our agreement at once. Of course—" he smiled faintly "—The cousins may already know of it. We will take great care with those lists."

"If you need guards—"

Zhtutin shook his head. "There are a few who still do not understand. That is all."

 

3

Slagiron sat looking at the door by which the plenipotentiary had gone out.

"There must be something to this Central Committee, after all. But what was that you said about a curse?"

Arakal said, "There are some things that have to be seen to be believed. Let's find out if Colputt's back. If so, there's something we want to check and you might like to see it."

 

4

The ground dropped away rapidly as Slagiron, his jaws clenched, hands gripping the edge of the control panel, stared out through the wide curving window where the landscape shrank and the horizon dropped and the whole earth seemed to tilt and then vanish, to leave only blowing mist.

Arakal relaxed with an effort, and looked around.

Colputt was bent beside his pilot, who nodded, glanced up briefly, and tapped a spot on the angled plate where a view of the snow-covered landscape rolled back toward them.

Slagiron exhaled carefully, observed his hands still clamped on the edge of the control panel, and let go.

Colputt cleared his throat.

"A few moments more." He glanced at Arakal. "I'm afraid the Russ may be counting on us to do something we can't do."

Arakal shook his head.

"I think they know exactly what they're doing. And we made no promise that we can't keep."

"Then," said Colputt ruefully, "there must be something you see that I don't."

Arakal looked through the wide window at the glow toward which they were rushing.

"I don't think the problem Zhtutin mentioned is his most pressing problem. They have long since adapted to that. I think the pressing difficulty is one he didn't want to mention aloud—that somehow they have to control S. And the immediate value of this agreement to him is, he is using us to do it. The thought that we might also be able to clear this up—this terrific problem that we have just seen for the first time—that is a useful pretext, and if we can do it some day, it's a bonus, thrown in free."

Colputt looked puzzled. "To control S? Why?"

Slagiron glanced at Colputt.

"How would you like to have S for a subordinate? They have to use S to keep a hold on the army, and to keep the populace too tied in knots to rise up. But it's the nature of organizations to take over more and more, and since this organization is secret, how do you know all it's doing, in order to control it? When there's an enemy to concentrate on, that must focus the attention of S more or less where they want it. But we were knocked so flat so long it must have become a question when S would take them over. And whatever anyone may say, S isn't equipped to govern. S can spy, thwart, and suppress—but it can't lead."

Colputt blinked. "Then if we eliminate the networks of S in Old Brunswick and Old Kebeck—what we are doing for them is to prune back an overgrown organization?"

Slagiron nodded. "After that, S ought to be so busy trying to rebuild its networks that they will be able to get it loose from them."

Colputt stroked his long white beard, then shook his head.

"Such things are as far beyond my understanding as the Old O'Cracy's calculating machines."

"What I don't see," said Slagiron, glancing at Arakal, "is this 'curse' you spoke of. Zhtutin knew what you meant. But—"

Colputt said, "Look out there."

As Slagiron turned, the increasing brightness outside lit their faces, lit the edges of the window, lit the snowflakes whirling back, and glowed on the ceiling overhead. The brilliance grew to a blaze; then the substance of the window itself seemed to darken to shade out the glare.

Below, the dazzle of the snow came to a sudden end, and beyond it an arc of land lay dark and steaming beneath clouds of brilliantly lit vapor rushing in the wind.

The pilot swung them out of the dazzling light, dropped fast, and shot through the blowing mist. Suddenly they were racing along above the dark earth, with high snowbanks to either side. Ahead, blowing snow was spreading across a charred band of earth as the pilot dropped still lower.

Slagiron leaned forward, and as they raced along in a channel between high banks of snow, he gave a low exclamation. "It's getting dark!"

Colputt said, "As we go up, look at the sun."

They were rising in the dimness through thick blowing snow. Then suddenly snow and mist were gone. Through the curving window shone a field of stars.

Slagiron looked around. "There's no sun! But it was daylight!"

Ahead of them, swinging into the center of the curving window as they turned, there was a thin fiery arc at the edge of a grayness shot through with tiny brilliant specks.

For a long moment, they stared at it in silence, as it moved across the slowly turning window.

"My God!" said Slagiron. "Is that the sun?"

Colputt said, "Yes. There's curse enough for anyone. Now watch."

He tapped the control that turned the opaque upper walls and ceiling transparent.

They looked up and around, at dazzling arcs and disks of glaring brilliance, hanging amongst the stars as if the sun, blotted out where it belonged, had sprung to new locations in space.

"But—" Slagiron paused. "Zhtutin said there had been 'certain errors'. Errors? That the sun itself had been blotted out? Or somehow refocused?"

Colputt tapped the control, and again the upper hull was opaque.

Arakal cleared his throat.

"I think that's what Zhtutin meant."

Slagiron looked at him.

"Who made the errors?"

Arakal said, "Until Zhtutin used that way of expressing it, I thought the Old O'Cracys must have done this. I still think so. Who else could have done it, if Zhtutin wants us to undo it?"

Colputt said, "There is quite a gap in our records. But it must be."

"But—How did they do it?"

"Consider this platform," said Colputt. "Is it surprising that people who could make such things as this could go into the space between the Earth and the sun?"

"No," said Slagiron. "But, having got there—to screen out the sun itself? That's impossible!"

Colputt shook his head. "What is impossible if you possess the means to bring it about? The Old O'Cracys possessed substances very light and thin, yet very strong, and they possessed the means to silver these substances so that they would reflect light. Right there we have the basis of what would be needed. Now—would a shield made from those thin substances last? I don't know. And could the shields be exactly positioned to do the work? Again I don't know. Apparently whatever it is has been put in orbit around the sun, and keeps precise pace with the Earth. More than that. The sum total of whatever has been put up seems to be very carefully designed to deliver just as much extra heat, carefully focused, in some places, as it withholds in others. The sum total, over a period of time, apparently remains the same as if there were no interference with the sun. The complications are mind-staggering. But the Old O'Cracys may very well have had the means to do it."

"The depth of that snow didn't look like the delivery of as much heat as had been withheld."

"The depth there. But go a little further, and we find a place with no snow Anyway, the total amount of heat delivered must not have changed."

"Why?"

"At the rim of the Baltic," said Colputt, "they say the weather fluctuates. But in Old Kebeck, you heard no complaint of a change in the weather. If there were a serious change here, in the amount of heat received, it would have been bound to affect the weather in Old Kebeck."

Slagiron nodded. "Yes, that's reasonable."

Arakal said, "That means, then, that whatever was done was done very carefully."

Colputt nodded. "And with great skill."

Arakal looked out at the mist again streaming past as they headed back.

"If it was done with such care, would it have been a war? And yet . . . what else could it have been but a war?"

Colputt shook his head. "I don't know."

Slagiron was frowning. "If anyone won, it was the Old Soviets. But, if the O'Cracys had such means as these—"

Arakal said, "The details can change everything. To understand this, we need to know exactly how it happened."

Slagiron nodded.

"We'll have to try to find out."

 

5

Zhtutin, visibly wary, settled into the seat at the end of the table. He spoke briefly and sharply.

Arakal's translator cleared his throat.

"Mr. Zhtutin says, 'You have lists. What more do you want?'"

"There is a question of our doing what we can do, as soon as we understand the situation, and know how to do it."

Zhtutin looked directly at Arakal.

"What of that?"

"You spoke of an 'accident'."

Zhtutin's gaze briefly wavered, then he looked directly at Arakal.

"You object to my choice of words?"

"I spoke of a 'curse'. You made no objection."

"What objection is required?"

"Our word is then pledged only to deal with a 'curse' resulting from an 'accident'?"

Zhtutin frowned.

"What is it you want?"

"The facts we don't have."

"That is your problem."

Arakal leaned forward.

"Mr. Plenipotentiary, in my opinion, very possibly there was no war. If so, you have never won in fair combat, because there was no combat. There was, as you say, an 'accident'. I want to know about that accident."

Zhtutin shoved back his chair, started to get up, paused with one hand on the table, looking toward the door, then slowly sat down, turning, and looked directly at Arakal.

"You say there was no war! You see you own country in ruins! It was, once, greater than these European nations you admire. You see the hell in the Soviet Union—and you tell me there was no war! Are you insane?"

"We merely have no S," said Arakal, his voice quiet, "to tell us what to think, and so we can think. Perhaps later, if we develop further, we will have an S of our own, and be as unable to think then as you think we are now. But as for now, if you want us to end the problem, we need to understand the problem. And to do that, it would help for you to tell us about the accident."

"And if I refuse?"

"We will keep our word. You are here under our safe-conduct, and can leave anytime. But neither we nor you know when we will have the facts, or when we will know whether in fact the curse we spoke of is in reality a blessing."

Zhtutin, scowling, looked sharply at Arakal, then frowned, and turned away.

"I am only the plenipotentiary, not the Central Committee."

Arakal nodded.

Zhtutin sat back, frowning. Finally, he shrugged, and looked back at Arakal.

"I can show you something, if you will go where I tell you. Let us go in your spacecraft."

 

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