"Take away their machines," Lanny replied, "and this is all you have
left."
* * * * *
Lanny and his brother made an easy adjustment to the new community.
The social stratification was an uncomplicated division of men into
three types: the teachers, the old ones who had survived the invasion,
and the children who had grown up since the war--by far the largest
group. The classification was logical and unobtrusive; it produced no
frustrating social pressures. Since the children had known no other
form of society, they assumed that men had always organized their
culture with such understandable simplicity.
The chief occupation of the community was always the education of the
young. That, too, Lanny and Gill assumed to be the normal activity
of man. The teachers were the real government of every treaty area.
Their control was subtle, engineered through an unofficial--and
illegal--representative body, usually called the resistance council.
Since Pendillo had been a teacher in his home settlement, he took up
residence with Dr. Endhart. They kept Tak Laleen with them, a prisoner
confined to the house. For nearly a week she lay on a pallet suffering
the miseries of a cold. Lanny knew that older survivors in every
settlement sometimes had the same malady. Pendillo had taught his sons
that sickness happened because some of the survivors of the invasion
had been so demoralized by defeat they had lost the mental ability to
control their own physical processes. But Tak Laleen was one of the
conquerors; nothing had demoralized the Almost-men. There was only one
possible conclusion Lanny could reach: the invaders had never learned
to control the energy units in their body cells.
A hunter's assignment, Lanny found, was easier than it had been in the
smaller Santa Barbara settlement. The Almost-men had set up a vast
hunting preserve north and east of the bay; it was kept well-stocked
with game. There was no need for the hunting parties to break through
the pylon barrier and raid territory ceded to the invaders. The hunters
simply crossed the skyport bridge, circled the opalescent dome, and
entered the forest, where broad trails had been conveniently laid out
under the trees.
This generous provision came about because the enemy considered the
San Francisco compound something of a showplace, an experimental
laboratory for improving relations with the conquered. A steady stream
of tourists, sociologists, politicians and religious leaders poured
into the San Francisco skyport from the mechanized home world of the
Almost-men. They came to satisfy their curiosity, to purchase tourist
relics, to examine and sometimes criticize the occupation policy.
Frequently, when Lanny was hunting in the forest, he saw Almost-men who
were recent arrivals in the skyport. Usually they floated above the
trees in their individual, degravitized, force-field capsules, watching
the hunt and eagerly recording the activity with their expensive
cameras. Sometimes they whipped up enough courage to descend to the
forest trails and talk to their captives.
Several times Lanny was interviewed by the enemy, and slowly he began
to flesh out a more realistic definition of the Almost-men. They were
no longer a clear-cut symbol for something he hated, but suddenly more
human and more understandable. They were physically weak, just like the
older survivors in the treaty settlements. They were timid and unsure
of themselves. They were hopelessly caught in a mire of pretty words,
which they seemed to believe themselves. And without their machines
they were helpless.
* * * * *
After Lanny and his brother had been in the San Francisco area for
nearly two weeks, they were invited to a formal session of the local
resistance council, where they were accepted as new citizens of the
community. The delegates met at night in the rubble of the old city. A
narrow passage tunneled through the ruins to an underground room which
had once been the vault of a bank and had, therefore, survived the
bombing and the slashing fire of the energy guns.
Gill did not stay with his brother in the rear of the vault. Instead
he joined the young hotheads who formed the war party in the local
council. At home Gill had dominated the same element.
The men in every treaty area were split between two points of view. One
group wanted to organize an immediate attack upon the invader, in spite
of the inequality in arms. The others counciled caution, until they had
the strength to strike a real blow to free the Earth.
Since men had no weapons and no metals from which to make them, the
obvious basis for any successful attack had to be a scheme for seizing
arms from the enemy. "We can only destroy the Almost-men if we use
their own machines." Again and again the San Francisco war party
repeated that fact; it seemed an argument so self-evident that it was
beyond any rational challenge. "The machines have no intelligence, no
sense of values; they will obey us just as readily as they obey the
enemy."
"More so." Gill spoke clear and loud, in crisp self-confidence. "I do
not believe the enemy knows how to feel the structure of matter."
This statement created a minor sensation. The heads of the delegates
turned slowly toward Gill. Gill was smiling, his mane of blond hair
shimmering like gold in the flickering light. Lanny felt, as always, a
tremendous admiration for his brother. Gill was so sure of himself, so
certain that he was right. Gill's mind would never have been plagued by
shadowy fears he couldn't understand.
"I have seen an enemy bleed," Gill went on. "They do not know how to
heal a wound."
"That might be true of some," one of delegates answered. "Some of
our old ones have forgotten, too. But you spoke as if the individual
community of cells could be extended to include integration with all
external matter."
"By touch; I have done it myself."
"You mean the extension into the energy units of your hunting club."
The delegate smiled depreciatingly. "We all understand that. But a
wooden club was once a living thing. Community control over other forms
of matter is entirely different."
"No, the machines respond the same way. I made a motor turn over, when
it had been idle and without fuel for twenty years. It frightened me
when it happened. The energy in the metal was something new, and I
couldn't understand the structure at first. But I've thought about it
since, and I'm sure--"
"We'll look into the possibilities--after we capture the enemy
machines. Our problems at the moment is to get the machines."
The delegates returned to their discussion. They had agreed, long ago,
that the only way to attack the skyport was from inside the protective,
force-field dome. For years the Almost-men had tried to encourage trade
between the skyport and the treaty area, and the resistance council had
turned that to their advantage.
Gradually they had increased the number of young men who went to the
city with necklaces of animal teeth and meaningless gee-gaws for the
tourist trade. The Almost-men had grown used to seeing a mob of men
milling on the bridge and in the lower tiers of the city. The council
had regularly altered the trading parties, so that every man in the San
Francisco colony had been under the dome half a dozen times. They knew
their way around in the skyport; they knew the location of the power
station and the city arsenal. When the attack came, fifty men in the
city would seize the power plant and the rest would attempt to take the
arsenal.
One of the hotheads arose from his place beside Gill. "We have
discussed this and argued it for almost as long as I can remember," he
said. "There is nothing more to be said, for it or against it. Hasn't
the time come to take a vote?"
A moderate protested mildly, "But have we weighed all the risks? If we
make a mistake now--"
"Can you suggest a better way to get weapons?"
And the moderate admitted, "True, we can't defeat the enemy unless we
have weapons comparable to theirs."
It was the last gasp of an old argument. Everything that could be said
had already been said; every delegate knew both sides to the debate,
and every delegate was driven by the same instinct to make a fight
to reclaim his lost world. When the vote was counted, a majority of
the council favored war. A committee was appointed to make the final
disposition of forces and to set the time for the attack. Lanny was not
surprised when Gill was named a member of the committee.
* * * * *
On the afternoon following the meeting, Lanny was assigned to a group
of traders so he might learn the geography of the skyport before the
attack. As the enemy capital on Earth and a tourist attraction, the
San Francisco skyport was a miniature replica of an enemy city. Under
the dome were tiers of streets and walkways, interwoven in complex
patterns, and the battlement spires of luxury hotels, theatres,
cabarets, public buildings. The streets overflowed with a flood of
jangling traffic, and the air was filled with the well-to-do riding
their de-grav cars in the enviable security of their private capsules.
Lanny's overall impression was a place of intolerable noise and
glitter. The Almost-men seemed to make a fetish of their machines. They
found it necessary to use their clattering vehicles even though their
destination might be a building only one tier away. The air under the
dome was fetid with the stench of vehicle fuels.
The trading area was confined to a small, metal-surfaced square on the
lowest level of the city, close to the narrow, neutralized vent through
the force-field dome. Tall buildings swarmed above the trading booths,
blotting out the sun. Lanny felt boxed in, imprisoned by the high
walls, choked by the artificial, filtered air.
He sold a satisfactory quota of trade goods to the tourists who had
adventured down to the booths. And he dutifully noted the location of
the walkway to the power center and the arsenal. But he gave a sigh
of relief when his duty was done and he was free to go back across
the bridge to the treaty area. He filled his lungs with the crisp,
damp air, unsterilized by the fans of the enemy city. How could the
Almost-men survive, he wondered, how were they capable of clear-headed
thinking, in such seething confusion?
In the treaty areas, where men could put their naked feet upon the
soil and feel the life-energy of the earth, where men breathed the
fresh wind and held sovereignty over their environment--only there were
men really free. Would he trade that for the city walls that blotted
out the sun, and the monotonous throbbing of machines? The victor was
the slave; the conquered had found the road to liberty. For the first
time in his life Lanny understood the paradox. Stated in those terms,
what did men actually have to fight for?
As he always did when he had a problem, Lanny went to Juan Pendillo. It
was late in the afternoon. Already the cooking fires were being lighted
on the small rectangles of earth in front of the houses where the
older survivors lived. But Pendillo and Dr. Endhart were still inside,
packing away the models which Endhart had used to teach his last class
for the day. They usually waited for Lanny or Gill to make their night
fire, since Pendillo's sons did the work so effortlessly. Tak Laleen
was with the teachers. She sat on the only chair in the room, playing
abstractly with one of Endhart's teaching tools--a crude mock-up of the
structure of a living energy unit. It was the same sort of learning-toy
Lanny himself had been given when he was a child.
Lanny burst in on them excitedly. He began to talk at once, trying to
put in words the conviction that had come to him as he stood on the
bridge. Suddenly the words were gone. In his own mind it was clear
enough, but how was he to explain it? How could he tell them it would
be self-destruction to capture the city of the Almost-men?
"You wanted to talk to us?" Pendillo prompted him.
"It--it's this vote we've taken for war, father." Lanny glanced at Tak
Laleen. His father and Endhart smiled disarmingly.
"You can talk quite freely," Endhart said. "Tak Laleen knows the vote
has been counted. She knows what it means."
"Unarmed men are going to attack the city," the missionary said without
expression. "You are very courageous people. But you are certain you
will win--against our machines and our energy guns." With a frown, she
put aside the model she had been holding. Her face was drawn and tense;
there was doubt and fear in her eyes.
"Of course we'll take the skyport," Lanny assured her. "That doesn't
worry me. It's what happens afterward--what we do when we have your
guns and your machines."
Endhart and Pendillo exchanged glances, in subtle understanding. "The
city will belong to us," his father said.
"Why do we want it? The city is a prison!"
The eyes of the elders met again. "We need guns to protect ourselves.
Haven't you always said that, Lanny? You've heard all the discussions
in the council meetings."
"But do we, father? Answer me honestly."
"You can answer that better than I, my son."
Tak Laleen stood up, wringing her hands. "You will face the
force-field and our guns--but you wonder if you need weapons." With
an effort she checked the hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat.
"My people would say you had gone mad; but who knows the meaning of
madness?"
Pendillo took the missionary's hand firmly in his. "She's tired, Lanny.
Our ways are still new to her."
"And we've had her cooped up in the house too long," Endhart added.
Pendillo glanced sharply at his friend. Endhart nodded. "It is time,"
he said cryptically.
Pendillo turned toward his son. "A walk outside would do her good,
Lanny."
"Is it safe?"
"She won't try to escape; you and I will go with her."
Pendillo led her toward the door. Her face glowed with hope. She
glanced eagerly down the long street, lit by the evening fires. Lanny
was sure she was looking for the nearest Chapel of the Triangle,
calculating her chances of escape. She was the enemy. What reason did
his father or Endhart have to trust her so blindly?
At the door Pendillo turned for a moment toward Endhart. "You'll make
sure Gill knows?"
"At the proper time; leave it to me."
"Knows what?" Lanny demanded.
"That we may be a little late for dinner," his father answered blandly.
He nodded toward Tak Laleen and Lanny understood.
Lanny walked on one side of Tak Laleen and slid his arm firmly under
hers. She kept running her fingers nervously over his arm. She tripped
once, when her foot caught in a shallow hole; her nails tore a deep
gash in Lanny's flesh as he reached out to keep her from falling. He
healed the wound at once, except for a small area where the germ colony
needed exposure to the life-energy of the sun. She looked at his arm.
Her lips were trembling; her face was white.
"So you can do it, Lanny."
For a moment he had forgotten her remarkable inability. "You mean the
healing? All men do that; we always have. A rational mind controls the
structure and energy of organized matter."
"I've listened to Dr. Endhart teaching that to the small children," she
replied. "It--it is difficult to believe." She began to laugh again;
waves of hysteria swept her body. "I'm sorry, Lanny. I've thought,
sometimes, that I'm losing my mind. We're never really certain of
ourselves, are we? Two plus two doesn't have to make four, I suppose;
it's just more convenient when it does."
"I could show you how to heal yourself, Tak Laleen."
"Ever since I came here I've been learning, Lanny. But it does no good
unless I'm willing to learn first. My mind is tied down by everything I
already know. I can put my two and two together as often as I like, and
I still come up with four. Any other answer is insanity."
Twice, as they walked through the streets, Pendillo took a turn
which led toward one of the enemy chapels. Lanny swiftly guided the
missionary in another direction. The third time they came upon the
Chapel of the Triangle suddenly, and before he could pull Tak Laleen
back she broke free and fled toward the glowing Triangle, crying for
help in her native tongue.
Lanny sprinted after her. Tak Laleen beat with her fists on the metal
door. From the air above them came the high whine of a materializing
force-field. Capsules swung down upon them. The missionary was
swallowed within the church. Lanny and his father were enveloped in a
single bubble.
It rose on an automatic beam and arched toward the skyport. In panic
Lanny glanced down through the opalescent field at the settlement
rolling by beneath them, and the choppy water of the bay, turned
scarlet by the setting sun. Pendillo leaned calmly against the curved
wall of their prison.
"She betrayed us!" Lanny cried.
"I expected her to, my son."
"You--you knew this would happen?"
"A teacher must sometimes contrive a unique--and possibly
painful--learning situation. It's one of the risks of our profession."
"Why, father? She'll tell the Almost-men about the attack on the
skyport; she'll tell them--"
Pendillo tapped the curved wall of force. "We're in a tight spot,
Lanny. It's up to you to get us out--without a gun and without any of
the enemy machines. All you have to work with are your brains and what
we've taught you for the past twenty years. I think you can count on
some help from Gill later on. He'll have to attack the skyport tonight,
without working out all his fine plans for seizing the arsenal. And
Gill won't have any guns, either."
"So you and Endhart planned this."
"That's why I insisted on keeping Tak Laleen alive. I thought we
might need her as--as a catalyst. The vote of the resistance council
rushed things a little, but on the whole I think it worked out quite
satisfactorily. Your education is finished, Lanny--for all of you who
are the new breed. Now start applying what we think you know."
* * * * *
For a brief time the prison sphere that held Lanny and Juan Pendillo
was suspended above the teeming tiers of skyport streets. Enough time,
Lanny guessed, for the enemy to question Tak Laleen and to reach some
decision based upon what she had to tell them. Abruptly the capsule was
hauled down. Lanny and his father were dumped into barred cells buried
somewhere in the bowels of the city.
"What will they do with us?" Lanny asked.
From the adjoining cell his father answered placidly, "It depends on
Tak Laleen's statement--and how much of it they believe."
"Will they condemn us to readjustment?"
"Undoubtedly, unless you solve our problem first--and these bars seem
thoroughly solid to me."
Lanny drew in his breath sharply, suddenly afraid. "What's it like,
father--the readjustment?"
"No one knows, really. A machine tears your mind apart and puts it
together again--differently."
Lanny shivered as he remembered the half-dozen readjustment cases he
had seen in the Santa Barbara treaty area--living shells, with all
initiative and individuality drained from their souls. He moved to
the barred door of his cell. For a split-second of panic he seized
the bars and futilely tried to pry them apart. Slowly edging into his
consciousness came a vague awareness of the structural pattern of the
energy units in the metal. It was the same extension of his integrated
community of cells which he had with his hunting club. His panic
vanished; he felt a little ashamed because he had been afraid. It would
be no problem to escape.
He held the bars and allowed his mind to feel through the pattern of
energy organization. The metal was very different from any of the
familiar substances Lanny knew, but far less complex because the
arrangement was so rigidly disciplined. There were two things that
Lanny might do. He could fit the energy units of his own body past
the space intervals of the metal--in effect, passing through the metal
barrier. But that would be slow and exacting work. It would require a
considerable concentration to move the specialized cells of his body
across the metal maze. The second method was easier. As he extended his
cerebral integration into the metal, he could rearrange the energy unit
pattern. The bars should fragment and fall apart.
Lanny was amazed how rapidly the change took place. Before he could
adjust the pattern of more than half a dozen energy units, a chain
reaction began. Lanny found he had to absorb an enormous flow of
superfluous energy to prevent an explosion.
As soon as he crossed into the corridor, watching photo-electric cells
sent an alarm pulsing into the guard room on the tier above. The
metal-walled corridor throbbed with the deafening cry of a siren.
Lanny darted toward his father's cell. "Hold the metal and make it over
with your mind--just as we integrate with our clubs. It's the same
principal, father."