"Yes," said Scone. "But I don't know if any Axes are in there."
He pointed at the door to the control room.
"If there were, we'd all be screaming with pain," said the captain.
"Anyway, they would have had to take the key from the officer on guard."
She looked suspiciously at the two, but Scone said, "You'll have to
search him. I didn't touch him, of course."
She dropped to one knee and unbuttoned the officer's inner coatpocket,
which Scone had not neglected to rebutton after replacing the key.
Rising with the key, she said, "I think you two must go back to the
dome."
Scone's face did not change expression at this evidence of distrust.
Broward smiled slightly.
"By the way," she said, "what are you doing here?"
"We escaped from the dome," said Broward. "We heard firing down this
way, and we thought we should protect our rear before going back into
the dome. We found dead Russians, but we never did see the enemy. They
must have been the ones you ran into."
"Perhaps," she said. "You must go. You know the rules. No unauthorized
personnel near the BR."
"No non-Russians, anyway," said Scone flatly. "I know. But this is an
emergency."
"You must go," she said, raising the barrel of her gun. She did not
point it at them, but they did not doubt she would.
Scone turned and strode off, Broward following. When they had turned
the first corner, Scone said, "We must leave the base on the first
excuse. We _have_ to get back to Clavius."
"So we can start our own war?"
"Not necessarily. Just declare independence. The Russ may have their
belly full of death."
"Why not wait until we find out what the situation on Earth is? If the
Russians have any strength left on Earth, we may be crushed."
"Now!" said Scone. "If we give the Russ and the Chinese time to recover
from the shock, we lose our advantage."
"Things are going too fast for me, too," said Broward. "I haven't time
or ability to think straight now. But I have thought of this. Earth
could be wiped out. If so, we on the Moon are the only human beings
left alive in the universe. And...."
"There are the Martian colonies. And the Ganymedan and Mercutian bases."
"We don't know what's happened to them. Why start something which may
end the entire human species? Perhaps, ideology should be subordinated
for survival. We need every man and woman, every...."
"We must take the chance that the Russians and Chinese won't care to
risk making _Homo sapiens_ extinct. They'll have to cooperate, let us
go free.
"We don't have time to talk. Act now; talk after it's all over."
But Scone did not stop talking. During their passage through the
corridors, he made one more statement.
"The key to peace on the Moon, and to control of this situation, is the
_Zemlya_."
Broward was puzzled. He knew Scone was referring to the Brobdingnagian
interstellar exploration vessel which had just been built and outfitted
and was now orbiting around Earth. The _Zemlya_ (Russian for Earth) had
been scheduled to leave within a few days for its ten year voyage to
Alpha Centaurus and, perhaps, the stars beyond. What the _Zemlya_ could
have to do with establishing peace on the Moon was beyond Broward. And
Scone did not seem disposed to explain.
Just then, they passed a full-length mirror, and Broward saw their
images. Scone looked like a mountain of stone walking. And he, Broward
thought, he himself looked like a man of leather. His shorter image,
dark brown where the skin showed, his head shaven so the naked skull
seemed to be overlaid with leather, his brown eyes contrasting with the
rock-pale eyes of Scone, his lips so thick compared with Scone's, which
were like a thin groove cut into granite. Leather against stone. Stone
could outwear leather. But leather was more flexible.
Was the analogy, as so many, false? Or only partly true?
Broward tended to think in analogies; Scone, directly.
At the moment, a man like Scone was needed. Practical, quick reacting.
But, like so many practical men, impractical when it came to long
range and philosophical thinking. Not much at extrapolation beyond the
immediate. Broward would follow him up to a point. Then....
* * * * *
They came to the entrance to the dome. Only the sound of voices came
from it. Together, they stuck their heads around the side of the
entrance. And they saw many dead, some wounded, a few men and women
standing together near the center of the floor. All, except one, were
in the variously colored and marked uniforms of the Soviet Republics.
The exception was a tall man in the silver dress uniform of Argentine.
His right arm hung limp and bloody; his skin was grey.
"Colonel Lorentz," said Scone. "We've one prisoner, at least."
After shouting to those within the dome not to fire, the two walked in.
Major Panchurin, the highest-ranking Russian survivor, lifted a hand to
acknowledge their salute. He was too busy talking over the bonephone to
say anything to them.
The two examined the dome. The visiting delegation of Axis officers
was dead except for Lorentz. The Russians left standing numbered six;
the Chinese, four; the Europeans, one; the Arabic, two; the Indian-East
Asiatic, none. There were four Americans alive. Broward. Scone. Captain
Nashdoi. And a badly wounded woman, Major Hoebel.
Broward walked towards Hoebel to examine her. Before he could do
anything the Russian doctor, Titiev, rose from her side. He said, "I'm
sorry, captain. She isn't going to make it."
Broward looked around the dome and made a remark which must, at the
time, have seemed irrelevant to Titiev. "Only three women left. If the
ratio is the same on the rest of the Moon, we've a real problem."
Scone had followed Broward. After Titiev had left, and after making
sure their bonephones were not on, Scone said in a low voice, "There
were seventy-five Russians stationed here. I doubt if there are over
forty left in the entire base. I wonder how many in Pushkin?"
Pushkin was the base on the other side of the Moon.
They walked back to the group around Panchurin and turned on their
phones so they could listen in.
Panchurin's skin paled, his eyes widened, his hands raised
protestingly.
"No, no," he moaned out loud.
"What is it?" said Scone, who had heard only the last three words
coming in through the device implanted in his skull.
Panchurin turned a suddenly old face to him. "The commander of the
_Zemlya_ said that the Argentineans have set off an undetermined number
of cobalt bombs. More than twenty, at the very least."
He added, "The _Zemlya_ is leaving its orbit. It intends to establish
a new one around the Moon. It won't leave until we evaluate our
situation. If then."
Every Soviet in the room looked at Lorentz.
* * * * *
The Argentinean straightened up from his weary slump and summoned all
the strength left in his bleeding body. He spoke in Russian so all
would understand.
"We told you pigs we would take the whole world with us before we'd
bend our necks to the Communist yoke!" he shouted.
At that moment, his gaunt high-cheekboned face with its long upper lip,
thin lipline mustache, and fanatical blue eyes made him resemble the
dictator of his country, Félipé Howards, El Macho (The Sledgehammer).
Panchurin ordered two soldiers and the doctor to take him to the
jail. "I would like to kill the beast now," he said. "But he may have
valuable information. Make sure he lives ... for the time being."
Then, Panchurin looked upwards again to Earth, hanging only a little
distance above the horizon. The others also stared.
Earth, dark now, except for steady glares here and there, forest fires
and cities, probably, which would burn for days. Perhaps weeks. Then,
when the fires died out, the embers cooled, no more fire. No more
vegetation, no more animals, no more human beings. Not for centuries.
Suddenly, Panchurin's face crumpled, tears flowed, and he began sobbing
loudly, rackingly.
The others could not withstand this show of grief. They understood now.
The shock had worn off enough to allow sorrow to have its way. Grief
ran through them like fire through the forests of their native homes.
Broward, also weeping, looked at Scone and could not understand. Scone,
alone among the men and women under the dome and the Earth, was not
crying. His face was as impassive as the slope of a Moon mountain.
Scone did not wait for Panchurin to master himself, to think clearly.
He said, "I request permission to return to Clavius, sir."
Panchurin could not speak; he could only nod his head.
"Do you know what the situation is at Clavius?" said Scone
relentlessly.
Panchurin managed a few words. "Some missiles ... Axis base ... came
close ... but no damage ... intercepted."
Scone saluted, turned, and beckoned to Broward and Nashdoi. They
followed him to the exit to the field. Here Scone made sure that the
air-retaining and gamma-ray and sun-deflecting force field outside the
dome was on. Then the North Americans stepped outside onto the field
without their spacesuits. They had done this so many times they no
longer felt the fear and helplessness first experienced upon venturing
from the protecting walls into what seemed empty space. They entered
their craft, and Scone took over the controls.
After identifying himself to the control tower, Scone lifted the dish
and brought it to the very edge of the force field. He put the controls
on automatic, the field disappeared for the two seconds necessary for
the craft to pass the boundary, and the dish, impelled by its own power
and by the push of escaping air, shot forward.
Behind them, the faint flicker indicating the presence of the field
returned. And the escaped air formed brief and bright streamers that
melted under the full impact of the sun.
"That's something that will have to be rectified in the future," said
Scone. "It's an inefficient, air-wasting method. We're not so long on
power we can use it to make more air every time a dish enters or leaves
a field."
He returned on the r-t, contacted Clavius, told them they were coming
in. To the operator, he said, "Pei, how're things going?"
"We're still at battle stations, sir. Though we doubt if there will
be any more attacks. Both the Argentinean and South African bases
were wrecked. They don't have any retaliatory capabilities, but
survivors may be left deep underground. We've received no orders from
Eratosthenes to dispatch searchers to look for survivors. The base at
Pushkin doesn't answer. It must...."
* * * * *
There was a crackling and a roar. When the noise died down, a voice
in Russian said, "This is Eratosthenes. You will refrain from
further radio communication until permission is received to resume.
Acknowledge."
"Colonel Scone on the United Soviet Americas Force destroyer _Broun_.
Order acknowledged."
He flipped the switch off. To Broward, he said, "Damn Russkies are
starting to clamp down already. But they're rattled. Did you notice
I was talking to Pei in English, and they didn't say a thing about
that? I don't think they'll take much effective action or start any
witch-hunts until they recover fully from the shock and have a chance
to evaluate.
"Tell me, is Nashdoi one of you Athenians?"
Broward looked at Nashdoi, who was slumped on a seat at the other end
of the bridge. She was not within earshot of a low voice.
"No," said Broward. "I don't think she's anything but a lukewarm
Marxist. She's a member of the Party, of course. Who on the Moon
isn't? But like so many scientists here, she takes a minimum interest
in ideology, just enough not to be turned down when she applied for
psychological research here.
"She was married, you know. Her husband was called back to Earth
only a little while ago. No one knew if it was for the reasons given
or if he'd done something to displease the Russkies or arouse their
suspicions. You know how it is. You're called back, and maybe you're
never heard of again."
"What other way is there?" said Scone. "Although I don't like the
Russky dictating the fate of any American."
"Yes?" said Broward. He looked curiously at Scone, thinking of what a
mass of contradictions, from his viewpoint, existed inside that massive
head. Scone believed thoroughly in the Soviet system except for one
thing. He was a Nationalist; he wanted an absolutely independent North
American republic, one which would reassert its place as the strongest
in the world.
And that made him dangerous to the Russians and the Chinese.
* * * * *
America had fallen, prey more to its own softness and confusion than
to the machinations of the Soviets. Then, in the turbulent bloody
starving years that followed the fall with their purges, uprisings,
savage repressions, mass transportations to Siberia and other areas,
importation of other nationalities to create division, and bludgeoning
propaganda and reeducation, only the strong and the intelligent
survived.
Scone, Broward, and Nashdoi were of the second generation born after
the fall of Canada and the United States. They had been born and had
lived because their parents were flexible, hardy, and quick. And
because they had inherited and improved these qualities.
The Americans had become a problem to the Russians. And to the Chinese.
Those Americans transported to Siberia had, together with other
nationalities brought to that area, performed miracles with the harsh
climate and soil, had made a garden. But they had become Siberians,
not too friendly with the Russians.
China, to the south, looking for an area in which to dump their excess
population, had protested at the bringing in of other nationalities.
Russia's refusal to permit Chinese entry had been one more added to the
long list of grievances felt by China towards her elder brother in the
Marx family.
And on the North American continent, the American Communists had
become another trial to Moscow. Russia, rich with loot from the U.S.,
had become fat. The lean underfed hungry Americans, using the Party
to work within, had alarmed the Russians with their increasing power
and influence. Moreover, America had recovered, was again a great
industrial empire. Ostensibly under Russian control, the Americans were
pushing and pressuring subtly, and not so subtly, to get their own way.
Moscow had to resist being Uncle Samified.
To complicate the world picture, thousands of North Americans had
taken refuge during the fall of their country in Argentine. And there
the energetic and tough-minded Yanks (the soft and foolish died on
the way or after reaching Argentine) followed the paths of thousands
of Italians and Germans who had fled there long ago. They became rich
and powerful; Félipé Howards, El Macho, was part-Argentinean Spanish,
part-German, part-American.
The South African (sub-Saharan) peoples had ousted their Communist
and Fascist rulers because they were white or white-influenced.
Pan-Africanism was their motto. Recently, the South African
Confederation had formed an alliance with Argentine. And the Axis
had warned the Soviets that they must cease all underground activity
in Axis countries, cease at once the terrible economic pressures and
discriminations against them, and treat them as full partners in the
nations of the world.
If this were not done, and if a war started, and the Argentineans saw
their country was about to-be crushed, they would explode cobalt bombs.
Rather death than dishonor.
The Soviets knew the temper of the proud and arrogant Argentineans.
They had seemed to capitulate. There was a conference among the heads
of the leading Soviets and Axes. Peaceful coexistence was being talked
about.
But, apparently, the Axis had not swallowed this phrase as others had
once swallowed it. And they had decided on a desperate move.
Having cheap lithium bombs and photon compressors and the means to
deliver them with gravitomagnetic drives, the Axis was as well armed
as their foes. Perhaps, their thought must have been, if they delivered
the first blow, their anti-missiles could intercept enough Soviet
missiles so that the few that did get through would do a minimum of
damage. Perhaps. No one really knew what caused the Axis to start the
war.
Whatever the decision of the Axis, the Axis had put on a good show. One
of its features was the visit by their Moon officers to the base at
Eratosthenes, the first presumably, in a series of reciprocal visits
and parties to toast the new amiable relations.
Result: a dying Earth and a torn Moon.
* * * * *
Broward belonged to that small underground which neither believed in
the old Soviet nor the old capitalist system. It wanted a form of
government based on the ancient Athenian method of democracy on the
local level and a loose confederation on the world level. All national
boundaries would be abolished.
Such considerations, thought Broward, must be put aside for the time
being. Getting independence of the Russians, getting rid of the hellish
bonephones, was the thing to do now. Or so it had seemed to him.
But would not that inevitably lead to war and the destruction of all of
humanity? Would it not be better to work with the other Soviets and
hope that eventually the Communist ideal could be subverted and the
Athenian established? With communities so small, the modified Athenian
form of government would be workable. Later, after the Moon colonies
increased in size and population, means could be found for working out
intercolonial problems.
Or perhaps, thought Broward, watching the monolithic Scone, Scone did
not really intend to force the other Soviets to cooperate? Perhaps, he
hoped they would fight to the death and the North American base alone
would be left to repopulate the world.
"Broward," said Scone, "go sound out Nashdoi. Do it subtly."
"Wise as the serpent, subtle as the dove," said Broward. "Or is it the
other way around?"