He had thought like a child to have believed he could have done more
than bluff. He had thought like a child to have taken the impossible
gamble at all. Already he had committed a fatal error, and he knew that
were it not for his physical appearance the farce would not have lasted
ten seconds.
Nonsense! Was not a high stake worth the toss of any dice? Perhaps he
was slightly mad, but he had _not_ thought like a child. Slightly mad,
mad enough to suppose that to win happiness there must be courage, and
with the courage, success, somehow.
He could feel the solidity of the corridor floor beneath his feet as he
followed her toward the panel at its end upon which the words Office
Of The Senior Quadrate stood boldly, with the insignia of the office
inscribed beneath them.
Fatal error be damned!
He would satisfy Tayne! As soon as the panel of the large, private
office slid shut behind them, he would countermand his order to the
secretary and have her scrap the section of her records which was so
much more damning to himself than it could ever be to Tayne. There
would be some other way....
Yes, it was politics. But it was the only weapon he knew, and for the
moment he would have to wield it more skillfully than he ever had in
his life.
And idly, he wondered what they would do if he failed. If, somehow they
saw through the disguise of his body....
He knew what they would do. They would make him build a new
Contraption, make him go. And the Contraption they would make him
build--there was of course too great a chance that he and Dorothy would
miss their own point in time, become hopelessly lost....
And wouldn't it be sheer idiocy to risk that?
* * * * *
The office was a miniature of the council chamber. It was elliptical,
furnished with two desks of smooth, soft-finished metal molded to fit
the general configurations of the chamber itself, and planned for both
business-like efficiency and personal comfort. The name-plate on the
larger desk bore his insignia and said Douglas J. Blair; that on the
smaller said Miss Jane Landis.
He seated himself.
"Miss Landis, about that report to the Director. Perhaps--perhaps as
you suggested, it was in, shall we say, bad taste. Better file it.
Future reference."
"Why Doug--what on Earth's the matter?" She put the recording device on
her desk, walked over to his. There was a look of concern on her face
that he didn't understand. What had he said wrong now? Whatever it was,
there was no hint of suspicion in her look, only a vague puzzlement.
Young, and pretty. A trap, perhaps--no, they hadn't tumbled yet.
Perhaps just Nature's own trap and that was all. Funny, Doug thought,
very funny. There were rules. Sometimes you were supposed to be
thankful to Nature, worship her, hold her in awe--and other times, you
were supposed to completely deny that she existed, and villify her if
she had done too good a job. She had done a good job on Miss Landis.
"Why, nothing. It is simply that--"
"But why the 'Miss' Landis? Did I do something wrong? And the way you
just went over and sat down...."
"Sorry ... sorry, Jane." He smiled. "It's Tayne. I think I handled him
rather badly."
"Don't worry so, Doug! I've never seen such a little thing get under
your skin. Everyone knows he never got properly conditioned, even the
Director himself. He's a good games officer, and that's that. He's
always trying to draw someone into a state of anger, and you told me
yourself just yesterday that you're his special target just for the
job. It's a good thing you didn't blow up in there. What came over
you--giving an order like that, I mean?"
"I--let's say I was confused for the moment."
"As long as he's the only headquarters man like that there's nothing to
keep you so upset, Doug. Now come on--"
She was behind the desk, a slender hand on the back of his chair.
"Not--no not now Jane. Anyway you should appreciate my--"
"Your position ... yes.... But Lisa's not the jealous sort Doug, you
know that. Your wife's always been willing to share you with others...."
"I--yes I know that of course...." _Good Lord_ ...
He hadn't even thought of it, hadn't been ready. The entire set-up of
conventions would of course have so many differences--what was simple
bad taste in his time-phase might be accepted as a matter of course
here. And vice-versa perhaps--how was he to know? And he would have to
know.
"Doug...."
He said nothing, and she withdrew a little.
"Doug I'm sorry about getting out of line when I said what I did about
the way you handled Tayne, if that's what it is ... I know my business
and I know yours...."
He remained silent, and she left his side of the desk.
He tried to think, tried to remember the early days in the courtroom.
And he must say something quickly--
"No--no honestly I'm glad you said it. After all, how long have we
known each other, Jane?"
"Ever since--ever since your election to the Quadrature almost ten
years ago."
"Yes--it's a long time, isn't it? Tell me, had you ever known anything
about me before then?"
"Why, only your name, your accomplishments. Your work for the great
cause of politics and government as a journalist. I read a lot of your
work. I thought there was never a man more devoted to his party since
the formation of the Prelatinate itself. You were a great man then just
as you are now, Doug--and you're third in worship only to the Prelate
General himself."
"Worship ... you mean public admiration, respect...."
"Doug, how can you say such a thing? It's like--well, as if they'd said
years ago that they--that they admired or respected their God!"
He felt the muscles in his jaw slacken, caught them.
"There's been a lot of progress since that era, of course. A lot
of hard, exhausting work...." He was careful, lest any of his
question-marks show. At any moment he could imagine her whirling upon
him, shrieking "Imposter!"
But she was taking the bait.
"It seems impossible that there could ever have been a way of life
without the Prelatinate, the Quadrature. Impossible even that there
was once such a thing as war. How terrible it must have been--no
conditioning, the constant killing of valuable adults...."
* * * * *
He let her words sink into his memory, pushed them, crammed them into
it, then tried to make them follow through.
"Ironic, isn't it, that without such beastiality there might never
have been a world as we know it now. I sometimes wonder how often they
thought about the future--if they thought about it as we do today.
You know, Jane, I think about the future a lot. Remember what we were
talking about just the other day--a week or so ago, wasn't it?"
And he waited, tensed. Too far, perhaps--
"Doug--Doug you mustn't talk about that any more! The S-Council would
have both of us in a minute if they ever heard us. The boys in white
have sterilized people for less than talking about the desirability of
inter-political marriages. But God, how I wish I'd been brought up a
Liberal! Lisa wouldn't have had a chance!"
"I suppose it would've made the children a problem...."
"An understatement if I ever heard one! Your twin sons--I bet they're
good solid Liberals by now! Do they--do they ever question, Doug? I've
often wondered about kids, brought up in the family party from the time
they're old enough to say 'Prelatinate'. Have Kurt and Ronal ever--do
they ever show a streak of heresy--you know what I mean ... I should
think kids'd rebel, try out some ideas of their own."
"Well, did you ever, when you were a child?"
"No--no I guess not. I see what you mean. If you come out with a really
good question, there's always an answer for you right out of the
Constitutional Commandments."
"And of course no one dares challenge them!"
"Doug!"
"Oh, don't misunderstand, Jane." Almost, that time. He could feel the
sweat start under his arms again. Dammit what an organization. They
worshipped government, they were scrupulously careful to keep a perfect
check-and-balance on political spheres of influence, they had such
well-oiled machinery that even war was impossible.
"Don't worry, I don't."
"I just meant that sometimes it really makes me realize what a
wonderful balance we've achieved. Education, population."
"No form of birth control could ever have solved the problems of
over-crowding and starvation and war as well as the games. You should
know! Without work like yours, Doug, just think what the whole world
could be like! There'd be the problem of enforcing the birth control
laws again, knowing that every time they were violated the threat of
unbalance would grow a little more."
The games again. What kind of magic, what kind of panacea were they? He
thought of the teeming, overcrowded millions in Europe, Asia--World
War I, World War II, Korea, the Puerto Rican revolution in 1955. New
York and her East Side slums, Chicago, and--whatever it was he headed,
it solved these things.
"Guess I'd better get back to the big job," he said then. "--Or
Tayne'll be your new boss! And then--"
"Doug what a perfectly awful thing to say! You've got to stop worrying.
Sometimes you're hardly yourself--honestly, if I didn't know you better
I'd think you'd lost the old self-confidence, the old strut! Your voice
even sounds kind of different. You've got to relax, mister."
"When I get things taken care of, maybe then.... And I think--I think I
can give them something they can't say no to if I go over every detail
once more--a whole re-study." He watched her face closely, nerves taut
for the first tell-tale sign that he'd fallen on his face. But she
nodded.
"Probably help. Shall I bring in the whole file for last year?
Checklists, film-strips, the works?
"Yes," he said. "Yes. That's what I want--the works."
* * * * *
Neatly lettered on the file-tab of the heavy folder she brought were
the words WAR GAMES, 1957, and he did not understand.
_War Games, and she had said there was no war...._
Suddenly, he was afraid. Afraid to reach inside the folder, afraid to
find what would tell him that for some fearful reason she had lied,
that this beautiful, sparkling world was nothing but a lie....
He read the file-tab again. WAR GAMES, 1957, it said. No--no he did not
understand.
He drew out the four thick volumes of bound records, the square can
containing the film-strips, the thin sheaf of checklists.
And he opened the personal record titled _Senior Quadrate's Report. May
1, 1957-May 7, 1957. Blair._
And simply, directly, it began on the first page.
_Subject: War Games, 1957: Notes._
_Location: Venus, northern mass, west: N Lat. 38°24' to N Lat. 37°12' E
Long. 41°6' to E Long 39°12'._
_Force: 1,231,693._
_Age range: Reg. 10 yrs. 1 mo. to 10 yrs. 4 mos. Av: 10 yrs. 2-1/2 mos._
_Mortality: 483,912._
_Wounded In Action (Retrieved): 202,516._
_Balance: Minus 200 M; plus 173 WIA._
_Remarks: Within forgiveness margin._
_Conditioning: 3% held over._
_Personal observation: Full month training period completed by entire
quadrant. For male children of the 10-year age level, exceptionally
excellent military discipline this year. From what I witnessed of
the quadrants under Tayne, Klauss and Vladkow, they have experienced
the same good results. Despite use of outmoded weapons, combat
exceptionally vigorous, well-executed and effective. This was
especially true in final phase, with all quadrants meeting on common
front, northern mass (See map, Final Phase,) at which time 692,511 were
committed. Full day rest allowed all quadrants during transfer from
southwestern mass of quadrants 2 and 4._
_Klauss is to be especially commended for this thoroughness in
psychologically preparing his quadrant. Each of its members seemed
completely convinced that battle was necessary to survival; I assume
Klauss' extraordinary success may be laid to a great extent on his
expert use of the propaganda techniques so successful in the World War._
_Tayne is also to be commended, as is Vladkow, for having trained his
quadrant to an admirably high degree of technical proficiency with both
broadsword and mace. (See Recommendations, Final Report.)_
_Removal of dead done with somewhat lower expedience than usual in all
quadrants, due, however to the increased vigor on numerous occasions
to...._
Doug shut his eyes.
No. No, none of this was so. None of it....
"Jane!"
"Yes, Doug. Something--"
"I want to see the strips--now, if possible."
"Hit on something already?"
"The strips I said! Now!"
"Of course--right away, Doug." She pressed a stud in a panel flush with
the desk-top. He knew he had startled her.
But he had to see. If he could see, he'd understand. The words had made
no sense at all, they were gibberish, crazy and he didn't know what
they meant.
* * * * *
He held his muscles rigid as he waited for the orderly she had summoned
to prepare the recessed projector, inset wall-screen. _Hurry, damn you,
hurry!_
"Verbal commentary desired, sir?"
"Oh--yes, yes of course."
"All ready then, sir."
"Go ahead then, go on."
The suffused lighting of the chamber suddenly dimmed, and Jane rose
from her desk.
"I'll be in the eightieth level records library, sir, if I'm needed."
"I don't--well if you wish, Miss Landis." She left. Because she
knew--yes, of course she'd known what was coming. And she had left--
In full color, the pictures flashed on the screen.
He watched, only subconsciously aware of the intermittent voice
describing, evaluating, analyzing. He sat and watched as though there
were not a mobile muscle in his sweating body.
_Ten-year-old children, somewhere beneath a fantastic milk-white sky,
painting an impossible blue plain with the red of their own blood...._
The broadswords rose and fell with a savagery unknown to any but the
ancient Turk, Mongol, Spartan. They glinted strangely in a daylight
where there was no sun, and the piked maces swung in circles of red
horror as they tore, smashed, at young, half-naked bodies....
They swarmed across the wide, flat expanses of bush, blue grass,
and the cries that issued from their throats as they charged like
hunger-crazed beasts into the sword-points of their opponents were
mercifully deleted; the maddened distortion of the features on their
white, young faces was enough.
The voice explained, pointed out, reconciled pre-calculated plans with
facts as they transpired.
The masses of mangled young flesh surged now forward now back, to
either side; swelled, bunched, drove, fell writhing....
He saw a head fall, a running body split in two down the back.
"That's all, that's _all_!"
There was bitter stuff in his throat and he fought to keep the violent
sickness bottled inside him.
"Yes, yes sir."
_No no no no no!_
* * * * *
The illumination had returned fully when Tayne walked in, saluted
loosely. He carried something in his right hand.
"Yes?"
"There's been an alteration in our rosters--Old Man himself, I had
nothing to do with it. Here."
Senses still numbed, he took the thin plastisheets. He tried to get
the words to make sense. Subject, transfer, quadrant 3 to quadrant 1,
attention, Quadrates concerned.
"Apparently the Director thought it would be better this way. For
myself, I don't see that it could make any actual difference."
What was the man saying? What did--there it was. Ronal Blair, Kurt
Blair: quadrant 3, Blair, to quadrant 1, Tayne. By Command: Gundar
Tayne, Director....
His thoughts spun dizzily. _Mike, Terry--no, those were not the names.
The other Blair's sons...._
_This time, thank God, the other Blair's sons...._