"Right. Allenby, attack the cars!"
A personnel carrier, sixty men standing on its deck, charged the enemy
vehicles. MacFarland grinned when he heard the bagpipes wail.
The carrier headed toward the tiny space between the fourth and fifth
vehicles in the enemy line. It swerved suddenly and half a dozen kilted
troopers jumped from the deck and landed among the enemy vehicles. Fans
screamed as drivers maneuvered to avoid running them over. A second
squad jumped off. A third squad landed on their heels. Soon only the
piper stood on the deck of the carrier, proudly erect as his mess mates
risked their lives among rampaging machines.
The enemy line disintegrated. MacFarland picked out a hole eighty yards
wide and led the convoy forward. As they passed the carrier, he threw
the piper a salute.
"Well done," he told the mike.
"Thank you," Sabo said.
"It was a good job," Crawford Bell said, "but we had all the
advantages. Wait until it's them on foot and us mounted."
* * * * *
The crowd had grown bigger. Now its roar could be heard for miles. A
helicopter hovered over it, probably broadcasting the same kind of
propaganda as the helicopter over the convoy.
Aiming for the airport, the convoy had left the Institute on a
Northeast tack. In trying to outrun the line of cars, they had turned
until they were moving due north. The mob was running north, too, and
had almost placed itself between the convoy and the airport.
"Cut right," MacFarland told his driver. "Full speed ahead. See if you
can cross in front of the crowd."
The helicopter's spotlight irritated him. He didn't like bright lights.
Turning around, he checked to see how the scientists were doing. They
were all wearing masks and their positions told him nothing about their
feelings. He waved and one of them waved back.
Now he could hear the helicopter over the crowd. It was describing
the loss that threatened Belderkan. The situation didn't demand
sophisticated propaganda.
In a world of unrestricted international trade, with a hundred and
ten countries fighting to maintain high living standards, a nation
had to maintain a good balance between its exports and imports. The
new products talented brains could create were the key to survival.
Albert Warren, inventor of several valuable life forms, creator of the
currently accepted unified theory of the life process, was one of the
world's most valuable natural resources. He and his colleagues were
worth several battles.
Three helicopters swooped over the convoy. MacFarland ducked and looked
for signs of gas. The helicopters held a position about twenty yards in
front of his car and a few feet off the ground.
"Here it comes," Crawford Bell mumbled.
Men jumped out of the helicopters. MacFarland's driver reversed his
engine. The convoy screamed to a halt. The men jumping from the copters
hit the ground and threw themselves prostrate. In the tall grass they
could be anywhere. The helicopter overhead switched off its light.
Another helicopter landed on their left flank. A dozen Belderkans
climbed out and ran toward the scientists. "Don't leave us. Great men
that you are, think of our needs."
From Sabo's second personnel carrier, a squad ran to intercept the
pleaders before they made it impossible for the scientists to move.
The drivers of the threatened cars pulled out of the line. Arms linked,
Sabo's men managed to keep the pleaders away from the scientists.
* * * * *
The two cars carrying the scientists parked next to MacFarland. "No
wonder you like your work," Lauchstein, the genetic engineer shouted.
The other scientists didn't act so enthusiastic.
MacFarland switched on his mike. "Sabo, clear us a path through that
gang up ahead. If you work fast, we can still outrun the crowd."
"We're moving out," Sabo said.
The bagpipes screamed. Sabo's men leaped from their carriers and moved
out at a trot, the whole "regiment" of one hundred eighty men in the
formation invented by Sabo himself and used by non-violent fighters all
over the world. Half the regiment formed two parallel lines. The other
half broke into three-man squads which hunted for a path through the
Belderkan squads.
The Belderkans stood up in the grass. There were about fifty of
them. They tried to form a line in front of the convoy, but Sabo's
men jumping and blocking among them thwarted that maneuver. A leader
shouted an order and the Belderkans converged on the convoy, obviously
trying to place one or two men so close to each vehicle movement would
be impossible.
The Belderkans were as disciplined and agile as Sabo's troops. Men
danced and jumped in the tall grass. Sabo maneuvered to break a hole
in the Belderkan lines and send his two files through it, forming a
corridor for the convoy. The Belderkans maneuvered to obstruct the
double file and place men among the vehicles. Since they only had
to hold the convoy until the crowd arrived, the Belderkans had the
advantage.
"Look at it," Crawford Bell said. "It's the second time I've seen it.
Look at it."
* * * * *
It was a spectacle, all right. The polite dancing men, the wailing
bagpipes, the bodies that never touched, never even brushed lightly.
But MacFarland wasn't enjoying it. He knew how close he was to defeat.
He didn't like the danger created when heated men from different
nations faced each other on the battle field. So far no one had
forgotten the discipline of the non-violent fighter, but the old
beast still lived in the human psyche. One shove by a Belderkan or a
mercenary and the tiger would roar on the plain.
His hand gripped the side of the car. Beside him Lauchstein said
something. Then he heard Doctor Umbana.
"Childish," Doctor Umbana snorted. "Ridiculous. When are people going
to outgrow these silly games?"
"Probably never," Lauchstein said. "You can't change human nature."
The bagpipes screamed triumph. Sabo had outmaneuvered the Belderkans.
MacFarland's driver switched on the fans and the car leaped between the
lines of running men. Outside the double line, Belderkan soldiers ran
to block the exit from the human alley. They were too late. When the
car shot out the front of the line, the Belderkans were yards behind.
"The crowd's got us blocked," Crawford Bell said. "It took too long."
Sabo's men were climbing onto the decks of their carriers. The crowd
stretched between the convoy and the airport. Moving on a short radius,
it could block them no matter how widely they circled.
MacFarland glanced at his watch. Eleven o'clock. "What have you got,
Crawford?"
"Psycho gas'll break them up."
"No. Use psycho gas on a crowd like that and they may go berserk. It's
been a long time since a human being died in a battle. I'd hate to be
the man responsible for ending a winning streak."
* * * * *
Crawford Bell tapped the keys of his computer. His eyes studied the
crowd. The night before he had programmed the computer with data on
Belderkan culture. Now he turned his immediate observations and trained
hunches into mathematical quantities and fed them into the machine.
"You said you had some girls."
"I'm calling them now," MacFarland said.
The crowd was about five hundred yards away. The people were singing
the national anthem of the Belderkan Republic. He could barely hear the
loudspeaker above his head.
"Eagle nine here," a voice said on his radio.
"Eagle One. Can you see the crowd?"
"We're watching them."
"Attack. Hit them on my left."
He put the mike down. Crawford Bell was reciting a string of figures
into the mike.
"Sound," the psych technician said. "Tell Sabo to keep his pipes quiet."
The helicopter still marked them with its spotlight. Its loudspeaker
pleaded with the scientists. By straining his ears, he could hear some
of what it said. The pleas made him a little uncomfortable.
What had he said to Doctor Umbana? "It's starship time, Doctor. We've
abolished international violence. We've conquered poverty and disease.
We've explored the Solar System out to Saturn and if we haven't gone
further, it's because nobody thinks it's worth the effort. Where do we
go now? We can't stand still. We've developed psychological techniques
that turn men into brainless slaves and the pressures of international
competition are forcing us to use them. To stay free, the human race
has to expand. It's star ship time and we need you."
That was still true. Doctor Warren's team belonged on a starship
project, and it might as well be the United States project. But even
having them on the Common Market or the Soviet Republic starship would
be better than letting them stay in Belderkan. Or would it? They were
doing important research here. They were the foundation of Belderkan's
prosperity.
There was no way to reason out which was better. Settle it on the
battle field and hope the right side won. If that helicopter's
propaganda was bothering him, what was it doing to the scientists?
"Sabo, muffle the pipes."
* * * * *
The convoy slowed down. The crowd had stopped running and started
walking. Their togas, mostly emerald green and pearl white, were made
from a hard fabric that gleamed in the light from the helicopter.
Through his binoculars he tried to estimate the percentage of men and
the percentage of young people. The section right in front of him
looked young and predominantly male. By now many of the women and the
older men had fallen behind. That was something to be glad about.
In the crowd several voices screamed a war cry. Then the whole crowd
shouted and started running toward the convoy.
Three personnel carriers skimmed into view on his left. He raised his
binoculars and studied their passengers. It was hard to look at them
with the detachment of a commander inspecting his troops. He was a
young man and the girls standing on the decks of the carriers were
pretty.
The carriers crossed the front of the crowd and the girls jumped off.
They started undressing as soon as they hit. Running into the crowd,
they offered themselves to the men.
Mike in hand, Crawford Bell leaned forward. "It's all in the timing."
Tension choked his voice.
"Get it right," MacFarland growled.
There was only one girl for every dozen men, but that was enough to
cause trouble. At least two men per girl forgot their patriotic fervor
and yielded to opportunity. Other men forgot the invaders and tried
to drag their comrades back to duty. Women, probably jealous, screamed
curses at MacFarland's shock troops.
The personnel carriers, all their girls dropped, turned and swept along
the rear of the crowd. On each deck a man tossed coins and bills at the
Belderkans.
The loudspeaker above the crowd exhorted them to remember their
country. The loudspeaker above the convoy shamed the scientists for
using such tactics.
"Now!" Crawford Bell shouted at his mike.
MacFarland covered his ears too late. Even through his mask he heard
the sound that rose from the sixth vehicle in the convoy.
It was sound mathematically calculated to shatter the nerves of the
crowd. Pitch, rhythm, intensity, had been computed by Crawford Bell's
machine. Even MacFarland felt hysteria creep up his back.
Its emotions shattered by the women, the money and the sound, the
crowd lost its slight discipline and its great motivation. The people
staggered under the triple psychological punch.
Sabo's personnel carriers swept forward and threw a cordon of men
around the left of the crowd. The convoy raced toward the airport.
* * * * *
MacFarland could see the airport through his binoculars. The helicopter
still marked them with its light, but the crowd was a long way behind.
"Cigarette?" Crawford Bell asked.
"No thanks. I'm keeping my mask on."
The psych technician started to take off his own mask, then changed his
mind. "They're probably feeling desperate. This is when I'd start using
gas."
"It's eleven fifteen. We'll be at the airport in ten minutes." His eyes
narrowed. "They must have something left."
The night wind made him shiver. He adjusted the heating unit in his
tweed jacket. When he looked up, he saw the lights of the runway. Then
he saw the white dome of the terminal building. Before the airport
fence and the airport gate, a line of men stood shoulder to shoulder.
Crawford Bell glanced at his watch. "Here's where I earn my money." His
fingers tapped the computer keys.
MacFarland's stomach tingled. He wanted to jump out of the car and push
the toga clad men aside with his bare hands. Days of frustration were
reaching a climax.
He switched on the mike. "Sabo, we'll have to stand toe to toe with
those boys and slug it out. I want you to guard our rear. Have your
men put a tight line behind us. Don't let the crowd get near the
convoy."
They halted in front of the airport gate, less than twenty feet from
the enemy line. The other vehicles pulled up beside them.
The scientists parked on his left. "You've done a good job," Doctor
Warren said, "but it looks like we're not going any further."
"Did you bring machine guns and clubs?" Doctor Umbana asked. "If you
didn't let's go home and get some sleep."
MacFarland stood up. "Gentlemen, we've got half an hour and a good crew
of technicians." The line of Belderkans looked grim and unmoving. Their
black faces gleamed in the light from the helicopter.
"Now," Crawford Bell said.
Again, the awful sound rose from the noisemaker. MacFarland tried to
look indifferent but after the first seconds he grabbed his ears with
his hands. It was the scream of pain and madness and the evil thing
beyond the campfire. The faces of the Belderkans distorted with anguish.
Using noise was tricky. How hard did the air molecules have to strike
the ears or how painful did the noise have to be, before sound became
physical violence? The noise selected by the computer was supposed to
be psychologically, but not physically, uncomfortable.
The noise ended abruptly. On MacFarland's right, one of Crawford Bell's
technicians aimed a battery of lights at the enemy line. Flickering
colors made shifting patterns on the faces of the Belderkan troops. The
colors were supposed to create mental confusion and weaken motivation.
"Look at their faces," Doctor Warren said. "Wouldn't a club be more
humane?"
* * * * *
Two Belderkan trucks were parked behind the line. Technicians came out
of them and set up lights which neutralized the lights of the invaders.
A jet screamed into a runway at the far end of the airport. MacFarland
watched it taxi to the terminal building. It was the flight the
scientists were supposed to leave on. He glanced at his watch. Twenty
minutes.
This was where the human imagination met its test. The mind struggled
to invent alternatives to violence. There could be no appeal to the
enemy's reason. Conflicting interests clashed head on. Only maneuver
and cunning could win the day.
He stepped out of the car and walked up to the Belderkan line. "How
much do you want? My government'll give thousands to the man that lets
us through. We can give you things money can't buy. Our loveliest
women. A palace. Pleasure for the rest of your life. Don't you like
money? Wouldn't you like to be rich?"
No one answered. Walking down the line, he repeated his offer. He
stopped in front of a thin, spectacled youth who couldn't possibly be
older than nineteen.
"You can make your fortune in a minute. The rest of your life, you can
do what you please." He named a famous beauty. "Wouldn't you like her?
She's on our payroll."
The youth avoided MacFarland's eyes. "I won't be tempted. I can't be
tempted."
Doctor Umbana jumped out of his car. "Oafs. Peasants. What right have
you got to stop us? I'm a free man. Get out of my way."
MacFarland stepped in front of the angry biochemist. "Get back," he
hissed. "Do you want to go to jail? I'll handle this."
"You're the man that brought us here. Kick them aside and drive
through. Won't you go to jail for your country?"
Lauchstein bellowed with laughter. "Let MacFarland handle this," Doctor
Warren said. "Pete, come on back to the car."
Doctor Umbana glared at his colleagues. "I won't stand for this. We're
free scientists. We have the right to travel where we please."
MacFarland swore to himself. Already passengers were leaving the
terminal and walking toward the airliner.
The crowd, sounding even noisier than it had before, was bearing down
on the airport. Sabo would hold them, of course, but their pleas to the
scientists would be impossible to silence.
Crawford Bell jerked his thumb at the enemy lines. "They're carrying
masks. We can't use gas on them."
* * * * *
MacFarland could see the future as plainly as if it were already
a memory. The situation had a logic which could lead to only one
solution. It was a solution he had been dreading since his first day in
Belderkan.
"This is no place for psych tricks." He dropped a weary hand on
Crawford Bell's shoulder. "Keep working, but psych tricks won't budge
those boys. They're disciplined and they're in a good position."
"You aren't giving up?"
He turned to face the Belderkans. "So you won't be moved?" he shouted.
"Well, I'm not moving either. I'm staying here until I rot. You'd
better have full stomachs and big bladders if you want to keep me out
of that airport."
"A fine speech," the helicopter answered, "but we don't care if you
stay or not, aggressor. Only the five doctors count. You're of no
importance."