Menesee grimaced in distaste. He had no liking for Squires, a harsh,
arrogant man, notorious for his relentless persecution of any director
or officer who, in Squires' opinion, had become slack in his duties to
the Machine. But he had a large following in the upper echelons, and
his words carried weight.
Squires folded his arms, said unhurriedly as if savoring each word,
"As you pointed out, Spokesman Dorn, we cannot hurt the person of this
prisoner. His immediate accomplices also remain beyond our reach at
present. However, our hands are not--as you seem to imply--so
completely tied that we cannot strike back at these rascals at once.
There are camps on Earth filled with people of the same political
stripe--potential supporters of the Mars Convicts who would be in
fullest sympathy with their goals if they learned of them.
"I suggest that these people serve now as an object lesson to show the
Mars Convicts the full measure of our determination to submit to no
threats of force! Let this prisoner and the other convicts who
doubtless are lurking in nearby space beyond Earth's defense fields
know that _for every day_ their obscene threat against the high
officers of the Machine continues hundreds of malcontents who would
welcome them on Earth will be painfully executed! Let them--"
Pain doubled Menesee abruptly over the table before him. A savage,
compressing pain, very different from the fiery touch of the nerve
stimulators, which held him immobile, unable to cry out or draw
breath.
It relaxed almost as instantaneously as it had come on. Menesee
slumped back in his chair, shaken and choking, fighting down bitter
nausea. His eyes refocused painfully on Rainbolt, gray-faced but on
his feet, in the prisoner's area.
"You will find," Rainbolt was saying, "that Director Squires is dead.
And so, I'm very much afraid, is every other member of the upper
echelons whose heart was in no better condition than his. This was a
demonstration I had not intended to give you. But since it has been
given, it should serve as a reminder that while it is true we could
not force you directly to do as we wish, there are things we are
resolved not to tolerate."
Ojeda was whispering shakily near Menesee, "He controls his body to
the extent that he was able to bring on a heart attack in himself and
project it to all of us! He counted on his own superb physical
condition to pull him through it unharmed. _That_ is why he didn't
seem frightened when the administrator threatened him with a gun. Even
if the spokesman hadn't acted, that gun never would have been fired.
"Menesee, no precautions we could take will stop that monster from
killing us all whenever he finally chooses--simply by committing
suicide through an act of will!"
Spokesman Dorn's voice seemed to answer Ojeda.
"Director Squires," Dorn's voice said, still thinned by pain but oddly
triumphant, "became a victim of his own pointless vindictiveness. It
was a mistake which, I am certain, no member of the Machine will care
to repeat.
"Otherwise, this incident has merely served to confirm that the Mars
Convicts operate under definite limitations. They _could_ kill us but
can't afford to do it. If they are to thrive in space, they need
Earth, and Earth's resources. They are aware that if the Machine's
leadership dies, Earth will lapse into utter anarchy and turn its
tremendous weapons upon itself.
"The Mars Convicts could gain nothing from a ruined and depopulated
planet. Therefore, the situation as it stands remains a draw. We shall
devote every effort to turn it into a victory for us. The agreement we
come to eventually with the Mars Convicts will be on our terms--and
there is essentially nothing they or this man, with all his powers,
can do to prevent it."
* * * * *
The Missionary of Oneness swung his bronzed, well-muscled legs over
the side of the hammock and sat up. With an expression of great
interest, he watched Spokesman Dorn coming across the sun room towards
him from the entrance corridor of his hospital suite. It was the first
visit he'd had from any member of the organization of the Machine in
the two years he had been confined here.
For Spokesman Dorn it had been, to judge by his appearance, a
strenuous two years. He had lost weight and there were dark smudges of
fatigue under his eyes. At the moment, however, his face appeared
relaxed. It might have been the relaxation a man feels who has been
emptied out by a hard stint of work, but knows he has accomplished
everything that could possibly have been done.
Dorn came to a stop a dozen feet from the hammock. For some seconds,
the two men regarded each other without speaking.
"On my way here," Dorn remarked then, "I was wondering whether you
mightn't already know what I've come to tell you."
Rainbolt shook his head.
"No," he said. "I think I could guess what it is--I pick up
generalized impressions from outside--but I don't really know."
Spokesman Dorn considered that a moment, chewing his lower lip
reflectively. Then he shrugged.
"So actual mind-reading doesn't happen to be one of your talents," he
said. "I was rather sure of that, though others had a different
opinion. Of course, considering what you are able to do, it wouldn't
really make much difference.
"Well ... this morning we sent out a general call by space radio to
any Mars Convict ships which might be in the Solar System to come in.
The call was answered. Earth's defense fields have been shut down, and
the first FTL ships will land within an hour."
"For what purpose?" Rainbolt said curiously.
"There's a strong popular feeling," Spokesman Dorn said, "that your
colleagues should take part in deciding what pattern Earth's permanent
form of government will take. In recent months we've handled things in
a rather provisional and haphazard manner, but the situation is
straightened out well enough now to permit giving attention to such
legalistic details. Incidentally, you will naturally be free to leave
when I do. Transportation is available for you if you wish to welcome
your friends at the spaceport."
"Thank you," said Rainbolt. "I believe I will."
Spokesman Dorn shrugged. "What could we do?" he said, almost
disinterestedly. "You never slept. In the beginning you were drugged a
number of times, as you probably know, but we soon discovered that
drugging you seemed to make no difference at all."
"It doesn't," Rainbolt agreed.
"Day after day," Dorn went on, "we'd find thoughts and inclinations
coming into our minds we'd never wanted there. It was an eerie
experience--though personally I found it even more disconcerting to
awaken in the morning and discover that my attitudes had changed in
some particular or other, and as a rule changed irrevocably."
Rainbolt said, "In a sense, those weren't really your attitudes, you
know. They were results of the conditioning of the Machine. It was
the conditioning I was undermining."
"Perhaps it was that," Dorn said. "It seems to make very little
difference now." He paused, frowned. "When the first talk of
initiating change began in the councils, there were numerous
executions. I know now that we were badly frightened men. Then those
of us who had ordered the executions found themselves wanting similar
changes. Presently we had a majority, and the changes began to be
brought about. Reforms, you would call them--and reforms I suppose
they actually were. There was considerable general disturbance, of
course, but we retained the organization to keep that within
reasonable bounds."
"We expected that you would," Rainbolt said.
"It hasn't really been too bad," Spokesman Dorn said reflectively. "It
was simply an extraordinary amount of work to change the structure of
things that had been imposed on Earth by the Machine for the past
century and a half. And the curious part of it is, you know, that now
it's done we don't even feel resentment! We actually wouldn't want to
go back to what we had before. You've obtained an incredible hold on
our minds--and frankly I expect that when at last you do relinquish
your control, we'll commit suicide or go mad."
Rainbolt shook his head. "There's been just one mistake in what you've
said," he remarked.
Spokesman Dorn looked at him with tired eyes. "What's that?" he asked.
"I said I was undermining the conditioning of the Machine. I did--and
after that I did nothing. You people simply have been doing what most
of you always would have preferred to do, Spokesman. I relinquished
control of the last of you over six months ago."
* * * * *