"Five hundred thousand miles out from Earth," Laura said, two weeks
later.
"I still don't get it," Alan admitted. "They didn't even try to follow
us. It's as if Keifer suddenly didn't care whether we escaped to Earth
or not."
"Maybe he believes we're going to have our hands full trying to get
Earth to repair the space-warp. Maybe he knows we won't be able to
bother him or interfere with his plans."
But Alan shook his head, his brow creasing into a frown. "No that's
not it. I just can't figure it." He walked to the fore viewport and
gazed at the legions of stars against the black velvet immensity of
space. In the upper right hand corner of the viewport he could see the
Earth-moon system, the larger sphere pale green, mottled with white and
brown, the smaller a dazzling white. He realized all at once that he
had two homes. The Mars of his boyhood, the Earth and New Washington
University, where he had spent his young manhood. He could never
forsake one for the other. He was as much of Earth as he was of Mars,
the verdant green richness of the one tugging at him with no less force
than the arid, wild frontier of the other.
"See if you can get anything on the radio," he told Laura. The warp
ship's receiver was a small one not meant for interplanetary distances,
but Alan guessed it could pick up the more powerful Earth stations
beamed to space through the Heavyside Layer.
The radio squawked and whistled, then they heard an announcer's voice
faintly. "... of Alan Tremaine's Federation forces. All Earth is still
shocked over Tremaine's ultimatum. The International Security Council
has been meeting in closed session for two days now, with no announced
decisions.
"Authoritative sources close to the Council say that President Holland
has admitted the Earth is helpless. It has been known for more than a
century that man's science was capable of building a cobalt bomb which,
with a weight of perhaps four hundred tons, could poison all life on
Earth with radioactivity.
"As we all have known since last Wednesday, this is precisely what
Tremaine has in mind. The cobalt bomb is actually a hydrogen bomb with
a layer of cobalt isotope surrounding it. While radioactive cobalt
tritium from the H-bomb trigger is quickly dispersed and rendered
harmless because the half-life of tritium is so short, radioactive
cobalt can spread through the Earth's upper atmosphere on the
jet-stream, raining lethal gamma rays from pole to pole.
"It is this terrible force which Alan Tremaine has threatened to
unleash on the Earth."
"That's a lie!" Laura cried. "You are not even there. It's Keifer,
using your name."
Alan nodded grimly. "He couldn't give such an ultimatum himself.
The Outworld people wouldn't listen. But if they believe it's my
decision...."
The commentator was saying: "... brief review of the points of
Tremaine's ultimatum. One, unconditional surrender of all remaining
Earth forces on the Outworlds. Two, repair of the space-warp bringing
water from Venus to Mars. Tremaine claims Earth broke the warp, but
the government has denied this right along. It is believed Tremaine
is instilling hatred for Earth in the Federation peoples with this
diabolical lie. Three, total independence for the Outworlds. Four,
Tremaine threatens that if the first three conditions are not complied
with by tomorrow night, twenty-three hundred hours Greenwich Time, he
will unleash the cobalt bomb.
"Since Tremaine's Federation has sundered the space-warp itself, Earth
is unable to comply with the second of Tremaine's points. While radar
defenses are being alerted on a planet-wide basis, an unmanned rocket
with a cobalt-bomb warhead, approaching the Earth at interplanetary
speeds, could not be stopped. The Earth government has continued its
hourly appeal to Tremaine not to destroy the civilization which has
carried mankind out to the planets. So far, Tremaine has not responded."
"He--he wouldn't dare," Laura said as Alan shut the radio. But her
voice lacked conviction.
"He might, Laura. He just might do anything. The radioactivity wouldn't
last forever. Keifer might be planning to wait until it's dispersed,
then return to Earth and extend his plans for empire there. All life
would die, but he could replant crops, bring his hand-picked leaders to
settle with him, and govern the solar system as a small totalitarian
state."
"But I thought he wanted to take over Earth and all its people."
"He might figure they won't listen to him. If they do, he takes over.
If they don't, he goes through with his ultimatum. Either way, he has
Earth."
"But Alan. Five billion people...."
"I'm going down there," Alan said. "I've got to find out all the
details."
"Alan, they'll kill you! They think it's _your_ ultimatum, your cobalt
bomb."
"If anyone can stop Keifer, I can. The Federation is loyal to me."
"They won't listen to you. They won't let you talk. They'll kill you."
"My father died for what he believed," Alan said. "So did your father.
As long as there's a chance, I've got to go down there. Keifer's
ultimatum is set for tomorrow night."
* * * * *
Impulsively, Laura took his hands and squeezed them. "I won't let you
throw your life away. I can't lose you now, Alan. I can't. I...."
Alan tilted her chin with his hand and looked into her eyes. Her lips
were trembling. She was going to cry, he thought. "Darling," he said,
"you've got to listen. I love you. I ... I think I was falling in love
with you on the Mars liner, before all this started to happen. I never
had a chance to tell you. I'm telling you now."
"Then you can't...."
Their lips came together, gently at first, then fiercely, as if this
were their first kiss of love and perhaps their last. "Oh, Alan. Yes,
Alan. I love you. So you can't...."
"No," Alan told her quietly. "I've got to. Once a great poet of Earth
put it so clearly, so much better than I could ever say it. How did it
go? Something about 'I could not love thee, dear, so much, lov'd I not
honor more.' Do you think for a minute we could live with ourselves or
ever look each other in the eye again if we let this happen without
trying to stop it?"
"I'm begging you, Alan. They will kill you as soon as you set foot on
Earth."
"I said I'm going down there. I am going. But not before I convince
you." He spoke long and persuasively. He told her about other lovers,
everywhere, about the men and women of Earth, the five billion helpless
people who had a right to live their own lives too and fall in love and
marry, about the hundreds of millions of Outworlders whose minds and
hearts would be fettered by Bennett Keifer if he had his way, about how
a man had this double allegiance all his life, to the people he loved
and to freedom and democracy and the ideas in which he believed. How
the one allegiance might make a man think of an island somewhere or a
small asteroid where the rest of the world wouldn't matter but how the
other allegiance always brought him back to the crowded places, the
dangerous places.
Laura kissed him again, sobbing, clinging to him. When finally he let
her go, she whispered so low he hardly could hear the words: "You are
right, Alan. It's your duty to go."
"Whatever happens, Laura, I love you."
"Keep telling me that all the time, Alan. I don't want to hear anything
else. I'm going with you."
He smiled, then shook his head. "You're going to Earth all right. But
you're going where you'll be safe."
Then Alan took the ship down, watching the great green globe of Earth
swelling up toward them and then the wondrous sight of the continents
swimming into view and the vast blue-green seas and the white cottony
puffs of cloud formations and wondering if he soon would be saying
goodbye to Laura for the last time.
* * * * *
It was night in New Washington. Outside, you could hear the familiar
street sounds, the jet-cars rushing by, the muted talk of people after
the theater down the street closed for the night, the gentle sighing of
wind in the trees which spanned the avenue.
Inside the fraternity lodge, everything was quiet. New Washington
students were studying in their small rooms; some of them had already
retired. Bill Graham, who had been Alan's room-mate in the good days,
said: "You know I want to believe you, Alan. We've been friends ever
since we started through college together."
"All I want you to do is watch Laura. Don't let her out of your sight."
"But everyone says you gave Earth the ultimatum."
"Would I be here now if I did? I'm trying to prevent it, Bill. You've
got to believe me."
"All I have to do is watch her?"
"Yes. I'm going straight to the President if I can. Something's been
bothering me about this ultimatum of Keifer's all along. Now I think
I know what it is. I think we have a chance to stop him, Bill. Just a
chance, but we can try."
"What about your ship? How did you get through the radar net?"
Alan smiled grimly. "I remembered your registration number, Bill. I had
to give it to them. They'll think it was your ship."
"Holy Mac!" Bill Graham cried. "Then they'll think I--"
"If Keifer wins, we'll all be dead tomorrow night anyway. It was the
only thing I could do Bill. I had to get through."
Bill Graham chuckled softly, as if it all were very funny. But he
reached out and shook Alan's hand. "I'll watch her, Alan."
Alan nodded, turned to Laura and kissed her quickly without saying
goodbye. That way, he thought, he had to see her again....
Everything was so normal on the streets of New Washington, it almost
made Alan think the Federation uprising, the death of his father
and Laura's father, Keifer's ultimatum to Earth--all were part of
some wild, impossible dream. The boys and girls were walking hand in
hand. The old men were walking their dogs or taking their evening
constitutionals or stopping on street corners to talk with their
friends. The theater marquees were gay and well-lighted. It was only
when you studied the faces and saw the lines of worry, the furrowed
brows, the thoughtful, furtive looks, only when you listened to the
conversations and heard "Tremaine's ultimatum" ... "nothing we can
do" ... "helpless" ... "he wouldn't dare" ... "I'm going to pretend
nothing's wrong and just go right on living till tomorrow night" ...
"what else can you do?" ... "dear God, what else?" ... it was only then
that you knew.
Alan took a bus to the center of the city and fell in with a group
of reporters converging on the White House. One of them was saying,
"About time they let us in on this. That International Security Council
hasn't uttered a peep since the ultimatum, but they've been meeting
continuously."
"Ought to make a few banner headlines," another man said.
"So what? After tomorrow night, there won't be any more headlines--or
anything. If I could just get that Tremaine here, how I'd love to choke
the life out of him with these two hands."
"You and about five billion other people."
* * * * *
They entered the White House grounds. Ahead of them, the stately white
building was ablaze with light. Guards were stationed at all the
entrances.
The reporters began to queue up in single file as two uniformed men
examined their credentials. His heart pounding, Alan let the line carry
him forward. All the doors were guarded. If he could not get in this
way, he could not get in at all.
Finally, he was saying: "Adams, New York Times."
"Your press card, Mr. Adams?"
"I left it at the hotel."
The guard shook his head. "Sorry. You'll have to get it."
"I don't want to miss the press conference."
The guard looked up and shouted, "Anyone else from the New York Times
here?"
A man behind Alan nodded.
"You know this fellow?"
The man studied Alan, then shrugged. "Don't think so. I never forget a
face."
"He says he's from the Times."
"The devil he is."
"Who are you?" the guard asked Alan.
For answer, Alan shoved him out of the way and plunged inside the
building. His feet pounded a loud tattoo on the polished marble floor
as he sprinted down the corridor. There were shouts and the pounding of
more feet behind him. He followed an arrow which pointed straight ahead
above the words PRESS ROOM. He climbed a broad marble staircase. The
voices were louder behind him, the click-clacking feet closer.
Breathing harshly, he charged through the doorway to the press gallery.
He stopped in his tracks.
The International Security Council was assembled in special session,
ready to meet the reporters and their questions. Alan recognized
the faces, the gaunt, weary but somehow intensely warm features of
President Holland, the other faces, all grave and tired, about the
horseshoe-shaped table.
The guards sprinted up behind Alan, pinning his arms to his sides.
The Secretary General of the International Security Council, seated at
President Holland's right, looked up and said, "What is the trouble
here?"
"Begging your pardon, sir," the first guard explained, "this man has no
proper identification."
President Holland glanced up at Alan, the deep-set eyes studying him.
"I've seen that face before," he said. "I don't know where, but I'm
sure I've seen him."
"Come on, bud," the guard told Alan. "You're going to answer some
questions downstairs." He led Alan back toward the door.
Wrenching his arms free, Alan ran back toward the horseshoe-shaped
table. The eyes of the ministers of all the federated Earth states were
on him. He took a deep breath and said, "Gentlemen, I am Alan Tremaine."