IX

Coming back to conscious awareness, Kurt Zen simultaneously realized

that something which he had been experiencing, and which had been very

important, faded out of his memory like a gray ghost sliding silently

away into a pearl-colored mist.

Nedra was shaking him by the shoulder and was smiling down at him.

"Wake up, sleepy head. You've been snoozing for eighteen hours. That

ought to be enough even for a growing boy like you."

Her face was radiant and alive. She looked as if she had just stepped

out of a cold shower and had rubbed her beautiful body with a rough

towel to bring the blood close to the surface of the skin.

"You look wonderful," Zen muttered, remembering what John had hinted.

"Did you have a good night's sleep?"

"A couple of hours."

"No more than that?"

"I needed no more."

"Mm?" Zen said. He started to add another word, "Alone?" but managed

to catch the question before it was out of his mouth. He examined her

thoughtfully. "You look very contented," he said, without adding that

in his experience women who looked so contented had only one reason for

it.

"Why shouldn't I look contented? After spending so much time in the

wilderness, I'm back on the stairway to heaven."

"What's the wilderness?"

"The world down below." She swept her hand in a gesture that included

the unseen ranges and the plains below.

"Ah, yes," he yawned himself to wakefulness. "I was reading the most

fascinating book before I dropped off to sleep. Here. I'll show you."

The book was not on his blanket. It was not in the wall niche. Nor was

it behind the bed. "Hey, it's gone," he said. His eyes went around the

room. He discovered other things that were missing. "The lieutenant's

gun! And my pack!"

"Perhaps you just dreamed you had been reading a book."

"I didn't dream the gun and the pack. I carried both of them in here."

"I can explain about them. They were taken."

"Hunh? Why?"

"Weapons are not permitted here. Your gun and your pack were both taken

for this reason."

"Hunh?" A growl came unbidden into his voice. He put these items out

of his mind with the resolve to speak to someone about them at a later

time. Something more important had happened. What was it? A memory of

his dream flicked through his mind but was gone before he could grasp

it. A frown on his face, he said, "I know--" As he tried to speak, what

he had intended to say slid out of his mind.

"You know what?" Nedra asked.

"Everything."

Her face showed surprise. "This is a great deal for one man to know.

Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Positive?"

"Hell, yes!"

An emotion that was like a curtain opening and closing slipped across

her face. "Well, in that case, tell me things."

"I would, except I can't remember 'em."

Doubt came into the violet eyes. "What you need is some breakfast. Your

blood sugar levels are too low. Breakfast will take care of that." Her

voice was firm and sure.

"That's one thing I need," Zen said, his voice equally firm. "But there

is one thing I don't need--an examination by a head shrinker."

"A what?"

"A psycho," he explained. "I call 'em head shrinkers because that

is what they do. Oh, maybe I need such an examination but I have no

intention of submitting to it."

Breakfast consisted of cornmeal mush, fried to a golden brown, and

served with butter and honey. There was no coffee but he had long since

learned to do without it. He ate ravenously. "I'm hungry right down to

the marrow of my bones," he said. "Where does all this grub come from?"

"We get it," Nedra answered evasively.

"What do you do, raid the low country for supplies, like Cuso's men?"

"No, colonel, hardly that. We are not thieves." Her face showed

displeasure.

"Well, where do you get it? I don't know how many of you are here, but

if you have as many as a hundred, keeping this place supplied calls for

some doing." He was fishing for information on the number of people

hidden in this old mine.

"Actually, very little food is needed."

"How come, don't they eat?"

"Are you reading my mind?" the girl demanded. "If so, you might as

well learn right now that this is not considered good manners here!"

Momentarily, she was angry. "And besides, if you do it again, I'll

close off my thoughts to you."

Zen, with a forkful of mush halfway to his mouth, was so surprised that

he tried to speak and to swallow the mush at the same time, with the

result that he choked. The inference back of her words opened up wide

horizons of speculative thought. Was mind reading actually commonplace

here?

"I'm sorry you choked," Nedra said. She pounded him on the back.

"Why don't you put me over your shoulder and burp me?" Zen complained.

"Lay off with that pounding."

"Do you feel you really need burping?"

"Aw, shut up," Zen answered. If she thought he had read her mind,

did this mean that she was actually capable of reading his thoughts?

Could all of these people read his mind? Had the nude bronze girl

going through the rhythmic exercises known what he was thinking about

her. Zen felt himself coloring. It was one thing to have the normal

libidinous impulses of the male but it was quite another thing to have

every woman know what he was thinking about her.

"Colonel, I do believe you are blushing," Nedra said, a twinkle in her

eyes.

"I am not," Zen said. "Actually I was wondering--"

"Whether or not I could read your mind? I told you it was not good

manners here."

"Good manners or not, you seemed to know what I was thinking."

"It isn't necessary to read your mind to know what you are thinking if

a pretty woman is concerned," Nedra said, primly. "Your thoughts are

written on your face."

"Uh!" For a moment, his confusion grew. Her understanding was much too

acute. Was she playing games, making fun? If so, this was a game that

two could play. "In that case, since you already know about me--how

about it?" he said, looking boldly at her.

She understood his meaning. For a moment, the violet eyes showed

sadness. They seemed to indicate that she was disappointed in him, that

she had hoped for much better from him. Then a sparkle came into them.

"I told you once before--"

"Yeah, I know. You are going to wash out my mind with soap. But let's

not do it right now. I'm still hungry."

"You are one of the most perplexing men I have ever met," Nedra said,

as she rose to fill his plate again. "Also one of the fastest--"

"I thought we were going to stay away from that subject," he protested.

"I intended to say fastest on his mental feet," she answered. "And if

you don't stop interrupting me to make a play on words, I'm going to

give you a hit on the head. After that, Sam wants to see you."

"Sam, huh?" he said, with no real enthusiasm in his voice. Somehow

this morning, he did not relish seeing the craggy man. But there was

the matter of the missing pack and gun to be taken up with someone in

authority. He suspected that West was that person.

The craggy man was alone in the room to which Nedra took him when he

had finished breakfast. West was standing with his back to them as

they entered, staring out of a picture window that was set flush with

the wall of the building. Turning, he nodded to them, then motioned

to them to come and stand beside him. Kurt Zen looked out on one of

the most breath-takingly beautiful scenes he had ever seen. Directly

below them the cliff dropped away for hundreds of feet, a blank wall

of sheer rock. To the left, climbing up into the sky, was the peak of

the mountain, solid granite. They were just at the edge of timberline

here. Lower, the trees began: spruce, fir, and aspen, marching downward

tier on tier over a series of rolling hills that concealed more than

they revealed. In the distance was the front range, a towering sweep of

mountains that looked small but which Zen knew to be rugged country. He

had climbed them too recently to have any doubts as to how high they

were. And how rugged.

In the far distance cumulus clouds were visible, thunder-storms beyond

the mountains.

"_Thy purple mountain's majesty above the fruited plain...._"

The words of the song came unbidden into Kurt's mind. Down below him

was--America. Or what was left of it. A pang came up in his throat at

the thought and he felt muscles pull and knot in his stomach. He had

loved this land.

America had stood for freedom. Her sons had fought for it, on

battlefields in every corner of the earth, from sun-baked equatorial

Africa to the freezing bitter steppes of Central Asia. While her sons

had found graves, fighting for freedom, something had happened to the

freedom for which they fought.

Nobody knew quite what had happened, but it had gone away. Possibly

it had been lost as emergency followed emergency on the international

scene, possibly it had been strangled in red tape as regulation

followed regulation on the national scene. The time had come in

America, too, as it had come to foreign lands, when all actions that

were not compulsory were forbidden.

Thus freedom had died.

"Do you feel as bad as all that, colonel?" West said softly. The man's

face was grave and each ridge on it seemed carved out of another and

harder kind of granite.

"It seems such a shame," Zen said. "I loved this land. It was my

country. And I don't feel that I have to apologize for a gulp in my

tongue as I talk about it."

"It is not necessary to apologize for loving one's own land, colonel,"

West said, his voice softer still. "You are not alone."

"Not alone?" Zen said. "From you, this talk sounds strange."

"We have all loved this land, too, colonel, and the principles for

which it stood. That is why we are here." West's voice became softer

still, but the gravity in his face seemed to increase.

"That is good talk," Zen said. "However, if I have learned one thing,

it is that talk is cheap. You are outlaws hiding here yet you talk of

loving the land that you have failed to serve." He felt his voice grate

as he spoke.

"Bravely spoken, colonel," West applauded. A glint that might have

been appreciation and might have been the edge of hidden anger

showed in his eyes. "Particularly so since you are in the power of

these--ah--outlaws."

"Very brave," Nedra agreed. "And very foolish."

"You did not bring me here to tell me that I am in your power," Zen

answered. "Nor to comment on my bravery. Nor my foolishness."

"I think he can read minds," Nedra said.

"I do not in the least doubt it," West answered. "If he did not possess

this ability, or almost possess it, he would not be here."

"I, in my turn, think both of you are nuts," Zen answered. "I'm not

putting on a mind-reading act."

"Not consciously, colonel, of course," West agreed. "You think your

thoughts are your own. Often they are. But there are also times when

they have originated with somebody else. However, before you tell me

that I did not call you up here to discuss your mind-reading ability,

or lack of it, I will show you one reason why I wanted you. Take the

glasses, observe the ridge in the far distance, just under the pines.

Tell me what you see there."

"Horses," Zen said. "No, mules. With riders. Cuso's men going out on a

raiding party looking for food, ammo, and women, if they can catch 'em."

"Quite right, colonel. Except that they probably have the additional

duty of inspecting the damage their blooper did when it exploded."

"I hope they inspect that damage from close range," Zen said fervidly.

"That area is hot. If they will only spend an hour or so--" He broke

off as he remembered that both Nedra and West had spent too much time

in the same hot zone.

"They will not be that foolish," West said.

"I know some people who were," Zen said.

"Perhaps the area, at least on the fringes, was not as hot as you had

thought," West suggested.

"My counter said it was," Zen answered.

"Possibly your counter was in error. Now if you will come into this

room, colonel." West moved through an archway in the stone wall and

into another room, holding the heavy draperies aside so Zen and Nedra

could enter. An opaque screen was set into the wall. Several chairs,

including one large seat with control buttons built into the arms,

were in this room. West closed the curtain over the arch through which

they had entered and motioned Zen to a chair. The craggy man slid into

the chair with the buttons on the arms. Nedra sat beside Zen. Relaxed

and at ease in the chair, she seemed to have forgotten that such

creatures as colonels of intelligence existed. West pushed a button.

Light flicked across the screen, danced an erratic pattern there, and

vanished. An image began to form. Firming, it increased in detail, and

became a city.

Or what had once been a city.

The place was blackened now, the buildings lying in ruins. Towers had

toppled, windows had broken, the ravages of fire were visible. Here

and there tall buildings had crumbled into streets that crossed and

criss-crossed each other at crazy angles. The rubble from the broken

buildings still lay where it had fallen.

"Washington, by thunder!" Zen said. "This was their prime target. We

stopped their bombers cold but they eventually got through with a

guided missile. The city is still hot. You can see it right there on

the screen. Not a sign of life!" He became excited as he re-lived those

first mad moments when the Asian Federation had struck out of nowhere.

In this moment what little freedom that had remained in America had

been given up in the face of the seemingly more important necessity of

remaining alive.

"Yes," West said. "Now what do you see?"

The ruined Washington faded from the scene. As it faded, the broken

dome of the capitol building--its top had been blown off in the

blast--was revealed looking like a mysterious crater on the moon open

to the sea of space.

Another city came on the screen, a mass of broken buildings where two

rivers met.

"I think that's Pittsburgh," Zen said. "They were eager to hit us

there, to cut down on our industrial production potential. They got

Gary, Indiana, and South Chicago, for the same reason. In spite of

everything we could do to stop it, they eventually got through to our

major production centers. If we hadn't foreseen the possibility of this

happening, and had not spread our industry across the country, breaking

it up into small parts, they would have crippled us so badly before the

war even started that we would not have lasted long. However, even with

our production spread, when they hit the sources of our raw materials,

they hurt us--bad. Our stock piles gave out after a couple of years.

Since then we've been scavenging for metal wherever we can find it."

"Yes. I know," West said.

"Of course, while they were hurting us, we weren't exactly helping

them," Zen said. "We had a few guided missiles ready in their launching

racks ourselves. We weren't exactly defenseless." Pride came into his

voice as he spoke.

"I agree with you there," West said. "Would you like to see some of our

results."

"Hell, yes," Zen blurted out, surprised. "Our photo ships have never

gotten really good pics. Have to fly too high for that. Oh, we have

turned loose a flood of pics that purported to show how we had bombed

hell out of the enemy, but these were all re-touched, to boost public

morale. But--how does this radar work? Do you mean to tell me you can

actually see what is going on inside the country of the enemy?" Puzzled

wonder crept into his voice. Behind the feeling was a keen interest. If

he could use this radar to see into the country of the enemy, it was a

very important invention, though West did not seem to realize this.

In war, information was always as important as weapons, and sometimes

more so. Knowledge of the enemy's troop dispositions, of his strength

and his weaknesses, was often more than half the battle.

West did not answer. Another city swam into position on the screen. Zen

caught a glimpse of a single minaret standing among the bare ruins and

hazarded a guess as to the identity of the city.

"Moscow?"

"Yes."

"Good. One of our fast planes sneaked over in full daylight, dumping

his load. When the photo plane passed over hours later, the city was

still burning. We really blasted the hell out of that dump!"

"You sound pleased, colonel. Do you know how many millions of people

died directly or indirectly in that bomb explosion?"

"How many millions died in Washington, Pittsburgh, and Chicago?" Zen

flared.

"Granted," West answered. "But after the first man has been killed,

does it help the situation to kill a second? Or does killing the

second one merely make it more likely that a third one will have to be

destroyed?"

"What the hell difference does it make? This is war."

"That is also granted. However, the rules of life do not change because

men declare war."

"Don't be so damned academic that you forget to be realistic. They were

striking at our heart," Zen said, bitterness deep in his voice. "Look,

we didn't seek this war. We did everything we could to prevent it. We

tried compromise, arbitration, placation, and everything else we could

think of. Nothing worked. They struck in the dark, without warning." As

he spoke, his bitterness turned into deep anger.

"That is also granted," West said, while the ruined city was displayed

on the screen. "But does it make a great deal of difference?"

Zen stared at the man, wondering what kind of a human he was. In the

dim room, it was difficult to make out West's features. "It makes all

the difference in the world. We believed in fairness. They ignored it.

We believed in a better world. They would plunge us back into the night

of barbarism. We believed in freedom. They wanted slaves. They set up a

slave state and threw armed slaves against free men. We had no choice

except to fight back."

"I see nothing to argue in all you have said," West answered. "Nor

is it to my purpose to attempt to justify the actions of the western

democracies. They need no justification. Nor do the actions of the

Asian Federation need justification. In their eyes, they were right."

His voice was a low monotone of sound without the trace of an emotion

in it.

"Then what is your purpose?" Zen demanded.

"First, to point out that the human race is one organism. Viewed in

its totality, it is just that, an organism. All the billions of

individuals who compose it are cells in that organism."

"I am familiar with that theory," Zen answered. "A few crackpots have

always insisted that we are a biological entity. But they have not

succeeded in proving this."

"Haven't they?" West said. The slightest touch of irony appeared in his

voice.

"Not so far as I know."

"Is it possible, colonel, that you do not know everything?" West asked.

"It is not only possible, it is obvious," Zen answered, unruffled by

the cutting question. "If I knew everything, I wouldn't be sitting here

talking to you. I would be out there winning a war."

"The point I want to make, colonel, is that the human race is divided

against itself. Historically, this has been going on since remote ages.

War after war after war."

"I do not see how America is responsible for the errors of history,"

Zen said. "We tried to avoid them. God knows we tried." Emphasis crept

into his voice.

"I did not say these were errors, colonel," West replied. "I merely

said they were history."

"But what point are you making if not the one that wars are mistakes?"

Zen asked, surprised at the way the other's thinking had gone.

"I am making the point that war seems to be the way the entity, the

human race as a whole, evolves. The method of evolution revealed by

history is the pitting of one part of the entity against another part,

then letting them fight it out to see which is the more efficient." A

touch of grimness sounded in the voice of the craggy man. In the dimly

lighted room, his face was as bleak--and as lonely--as the granite

outcropping at the top of a mountain.

"This is a very savage philosophy," Kurt Zen commented.

"If I may disagree with you again, colonel, I do not think that this

philosophy is necessarily savage. True, a great many men die in

fiendishly ingenious ways. A great many women and children suffer.

True, this system produces hunger in the world, and a fear so deep and

so intense that the heart is hurt even to contemplate it."

"How can this be anything but savage?" Zen protested. "I don't care

whether our side or the other side is doing it--it's still total

savagery, utter barbarism!"

"But that is a short-term view and one which does not take into

consideration all the factors in the equation. What is the purpose

back of this savagery, if it is not to force men to learn and to grow?

What if this so-called savagery is also the result of ignorance, of an

entity trying desperately to learn how to solve a problem, but never

quite succeeding?"

"But surely there must be some way which does not involve so much

suffering," Zen protested. He was growing more and more uncomfortable.

It was his impression that he was shifting sides in the argument

without quite realizing he was doing it. Or perhaps West was the one

who was shifting sides. This side-changing was producing confusion in

his thinking.

"I have harbored the same hope," West answered. "However, I know of no

way to accomplish this result. In a human being, we have a growing,

evolving organism that is possessed of a keen brain and a vast

curiosity. Such an organism, by its very nature, will have to try every

possible road." West pressed a button.

Again the screen came to life. Dim and shadowy, human figures began to

move there. Kurt Zen leaned forward to see them more clearly.

X

At first, the figures were indistinct and Zen could not see them

clearly. He mentioned this to West.

"They will get sharper in a minute," the craggy man answered. His voice

had sunk to a whisper heard from afar. Zen glanced at him to make

certain he was still there. The colonel had the flickering impression

that the chair was vacant but before the impression could firm itself,

West, faster than the eyes could follow, seemed to be back in the

chair. "Note the screen now, Kurt," West said.

The figures had become clear. It seemed to be a view of some kind of

underground cavern where men were working on an object that looked

like--Zen squinted his eyes, to make certain.

"A small space ship!" the colonel said. He felt eagerness rise in his

voice. Like so many kids born in the age of science, he had harbored

the dream of the days to come when men would fly beyond the sky, to

storied space islands that lay afar. Science had promised that this

would happen and the fiction writers had embellished this belief with

dream worlds. Somehow, it had never come to pass. One problem after

another had prevented realization of this dream. The war, which should

have accelerated development, had stopped it completely. Neither side

had the materials or the engineers or the skilled technicians to

construct a vessel capable of space flight.

"No," West said. His voice was toneless and the far-away note was still

strong in it. "Sorry to contradict you, colonel, but that is not a

small space ship, though it is designed to get out of the atmosphere

for a short time. Look again."

"Hell, it's a super bomb!" Zen gasped, as recognition came to him.

"Right, colonel!"

"A bomb big enough to devastate a continent!" Cold currents suddenly

flurried at the base of Zen's spine.

"Right, colonel." West's voice was as dry as the Nevada wind.

"I didn't know we had such a bomb under construction," Zen blurted out.

"We haven't."

"Then who--where?" The cold currents at the base of Zen's back were

flowing down both legs and up his spine.

"Look at the men, colonel. Look closely." West's voice was also cold.

"They're Asiatics!" Shouting the words, Zen was out of his chair. "I

didn't see the yellow faces and the slanted eyes at first. West, that's

a huge guided missile. It's being built to drop out of the sky at

thousands of miles an hour, on us!"

"Yes," West said. He did not move a muscle in his body. On the other

side of Kurt Zen, Nedra sat equally silent and motionless.

"I have to get out of here," Zen said. "This information must be

reported to the general staff, at once!" Urgency pounded in the tones

of his voice.

"The new people do not fight," West said. "I thought you were one of

us."

"It doesn't matter who I am," Zen said quickly. "The building of this

super bomb must be reported. _It must be!_ Extra warnings must be

issued. We must alert every z-type fighter we possess and have them in

the air constantly, in the hope that we can destroy this bomb before

it lands. We've got to follow the construction hourly, so we will know

when it is ready to be launched. And that means we've got to have

top-flight intelligence men here, to follow the building of that bomb

every inch of the way. Or we've got to take this super-radar of yours

to headquarters and use it there. That's the best solution, if it is

at all practical." Zen was striding back and forth in the darkened

room, planning the steps that had to be taken.

"West, do you realize this super-radar of yours will win the war!"

Excitement tightened the colonel's voice. "With it, the enemy won't

be able to make a move that we don't know about in advance." His

excitement grew as the vast longing hidden in him for the end of the

war tried to come to the surface.

"You have tears in your eyes, colonel," West said.

"You're out of your mind," Zen retorted. But he knew the craggy man was

speaking the truth. He swallowed harder. "We've got the Asians cold.

We'll know every move they make in advance." He exulted as he realized

again how much this meant.

"I have always known every move they made in advance," West answered.

"We'll have them on their knees in--huh? What was that you just said?

What was that?" Desperation appeared in the colonel's voice.

West repeated his words.

"Then why didn't you warn us?" Zen felt each word sting as it left his

lips. "Why didn't you warn us? Why did you let so many of us die so

unnecessarily?"

West did not answer.

The silence in the room grew deeper. Cold had begun to appear in the

air. On the screen, the silent figures continued busily engaged in the

building of their bomb.

"Don't you realize that your failure to report what you knew is high

treason?" Zen continued.

The silence grew. West sat as solid and as immobile as a mountain.

Nedra seemed to have shrunk in upon herself still farther. More than

ever she looked like a very small girl who had somehow managed to

intrude into a world of adults and was tremendously confused and hurt

by what was happening here.

"Don't you hear me?" Zen said.

"I hear you," West answered. "Your loyalty to your country does you

credit, colonel. It is to be expected from a person in your stage

of development. However, you seem to have forgotten that I am not a

citizen of your country. Or perhaps you did not know this?"

"Not a citizen?" Zen said. "But this mountain exists in America.

I don't know whether it is actually on Canadian ground or lies in

the United States, but this does not matter. By mutual treaty, the

countries have become one nation. A citizen of one is automatically a

citizen of the other."

"True, colonel." West did not attempt to explain.

"Then what country do you claim to belong to?" Zen felt his voice

falter as he tried to grasp what lay back of this very strange man.

"You talk like an American."

"I was born here."

"Then you are a citizen."

"No. I resigned my citizenship. As to my real country, it is a far

land. I am sure you have no knowledge of it. My loyalty, colonel, is

not to any nation on the face of the globe, but is to--growth, to the

new people who will come into existence one day."

As West spoke, the cold that was freezing Zen's spine suddenly

disappeared and was replaced by a sudden deep warmth. The words seemed

to touch some hidden spring of warmth within him.

"My loyalty is to the future, to the growing tip of the life force,

to what the human race will become, not to what it is today. Only the

future has meaning, colonel, and to the building of that future I have

dedicated my life."

In spite of the fact that the words thrilled him, Zen knew he had to

deny them. "This is sophistry," he snapped. "I think any court in the

land would hold it to be evasion of your proper duties. You can't

continue living in a country and enjoying its ble--" Confusion came

into Zen's mind.

"Were you going to say _blessings_, colonel?" West said, almost

maliciously.

"Yes."

"Would you point out these blessings?"

"We had them once," Zen said. "And we're going to have them again."

"Are you?" West nodded toward the screen where the far-off enemy

technicians and engineers were busy with their super bomb.

"Now that we know that it exists, that bomb will never land," Zen said.

"I'll see to that personally."

"How are you going to discharge this responsibility?" West inquired.

"I'll find a way," Zen answered.

"I admire your spirit, colonel, though not necessarily your evaluation

of your personal position at this moment. Also, there is one other

thing that I want you to see."

The screen went blank. Slowly another scene formed on it. Zen, staring,

blurted out words.

"That's another one. They're making two of those super bombs. I didn't

think they had the materials and the technical know-how to make even

one! This doubles the problem, and more than doubles the urgency. We'll

have to guard the skyways from all directions, including straight up.

Damn it, West!" Zen slapped his fist into his open palm to emphasize

his feeling of urgency.

"Look again, colonel," the craggy man invited.

On second look Zen saw something that he had missed before. "Those are

Americans! We're building that bomb!" His words were little gusts of

explosive sound in the quiet room.

"Right," West said. His voice was very grim.

"Then it's a race to see which side gets its bomb built first?" Zen

asked. He did not know whether or not he liked what his eyes were

seeing and the interpretation his mind was giving him.

"I am afraid that is true," West reluctantly agreed. "But doesn't that

change the picture, colonel?"

"How?" Zen demanded. "We're going to win a war. We've got to win it."

The words were firmly spoken but somewhere a lingering doubt remained

as if some point had not been considered.

"The other side also thinks it has to win," West pointed out.

"To hell with what they think. They started it. We didn't. Man, you

don't intend to tell me that you are going to sit right here and watch

two nations frantically try to destroy each other--and maybe the Earth

with them--when you have the means to stop it in your hand?" Horror

exploded in Zen's words.

"I am going to do just that," West stated. His voice was as firm and as

solid as the granite core of a mountain.

"But you can't!" Zen expostulated.

"Why can't I?" West demanded. "I am not a citizen of either country and

I owe nothing to any nation."

"Even if you are not a citizen of either country, you're still a human

being. You owe loyalty to your own race," Zen said.

The craggy man showed faint signs of discomfort. But when he spoke, his

voice was still imperturbable. "Granting your statement, what do you

propose I do?"

"Stop the Asians," Zen answered promptly. "Give us complete information

on the location of their super-bomb. We'll make certain we get ours

finished first and we'll use it to blow their installation out of

existence." At the moment, his plan seemed feasible.

"That would create the very danger you are trying to avoid, would it

not?" West pointed out. "Both super bombs would explode simultaneously.

Do you think the Earth would remain in its orbit if this happened?"

"I don't know," Zen answered. "That would be up to the astronomers and

the astronomical physicists to decide. In any case, if the danger is

too great, we'll use ordinary weapons to touch off their super bomb.

Well get the job done before they finish."

"They are working underground, in a cavern at least three thousand feet

deep," West pointed out. "Do you have a weapon that will penetrate to

this depth?"

"We'll build one!"

"You talk very glibly, colonel."

"Somebody has got to talk!" Zen said fiercely. "Even if they are

building their bomb underground, they must have an exit for it

somewhere. We'll locate their exit and drop an H-bomb on it."

"And thus destroy their bomb and the best of their scientists and

engineers?"

"This is war. You can't have sympathy in war."

"This is my point, colonel," West said patiently. "I have no

sympathy--with either side."

"Then what do you propose--to sit here and do nothing?"

"I propose to let each side destroy the other as much as they wish and

can. Then, when they have completely demonstrated the futility of their

efforts, when it is utterly clear to the few who have survived that

warfare is not the way to the future, then the new people will emerge

to show the way to those who have survived." West's voice was calm. He

seemed to be considering a situation often pondered and to be stating a

conclusion firmly and definitely reached.

"But that involves senseless slaughter," Zen protested. "This was the

reason that lay back of the dropping of the first atom bomb--to stop

senseless slaughter."

"All slaughter is senseless, colonel, though from the viewpoint of the

individual or nation doing it, slaughter is generally considered to be

right at the time."

Zen started to comment on what the craggy man had just said, then

changed his mind. Was he dealing with a madman? This seemed possible.

West's words certainly did not fit any pattern that Zen knew. The act

of sitting by and letting two nations commit suicide went beyond the

bounds of rational thinking.

"I beg you, let me report this to the high command," Zen said, making

one last plea.

"In reply, I want to ask one question," West answered. "What would

happen to the people here, and to me, if I revealed the existence of

this instrument?"

"You would be a hero," Zen said promptly, and knew he was lying as he

spoke. "Your people would be protected."

"I dislike calling you a liar, colonel, but that is exactly what you

are," West answered. "We would all be taken care of, as long as all

of us did exactly what the high command wanted. The instant I tried

to do anything else, my actions would be called treason and I would

be considered a traitor. My equipment would be confiscated, '_for the

convenience of the government_,' and I would be lucky if I did not face

a firing squad. Tell me honestly, colonel, would not this happen?" For

the first time, West's words had a tinge of anger in them. Or was it

sorrow?

"Sam--" Nedra said. "Something--" Her voice was a whisper from some

far-off land.

"What is it, Nedra?" West asked. In an instant, he had forgotten all

about Kurt Zen.

The nurse sat up straight and stiff. All color fled from her face.

"Something--" Her voice was the faintest whisper of sound in this quiet

room.

"Nedra, what is it?" West's tones had alarm in them.

Instead of answering, the nurse slid from her chair to the floor, in a

faint.

Dim and distant in the silence that followed came a popping sound.

_Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat--_

Zen had heard this death-dealing rattle too often to mistake its

identity.

"A sub-machine gun!"

The drapes that covered the archway leading into this hidden room were

shoved aside. A man fell through them. Zen knew at a glance that he

was another of the kids who lived here in this hidden cavern inside a

mountain. Blood was spewing from a hole in his back and he was fighting

desperately for breath.

"They're--coming with guns!" he gasped.

West dropped to his knees and took the head of the youth in his lap.

His face was dark as he saw the wound on the back. Cuddling the youth's

head in his lap as one would a frightened child, he asked, "What

happened, Carl?"

"I don't know. They came out of nowhere. There was no one. Then these

men were here. They came--shooting." Blood came out of his mouth as

he spoke. He tried to cough it away, and failed. His hand went to his

mouth and wiped at the blood, then he lifted his hand to his eyes and

saw what was there.

"How many are there?" Zen asked.

Carl's eyes wandered until he found the source of this question.

"Dozens," he said, his voice dull. Blood was draining from his mouth

across West's legs and was forming a pool on the floor.

Listening, Zen could distinguish three machine guns going now. Men were

yelling. A girl was screaming. At the sounds, the colonel's lips formed

into a line as sharp as the edge of a knife.

"How did they get past your fear generators?" he said to West.

"I don't know," the craggy man answered. "Perhaps they found an

unguarded tunnel."

Zen could not see what difference it made how the intruders had secured

entry. They were here. "Where are your weapons?" he demanded. In his

mind was the thought that the new people would have weapons adequate to

defend their own citadel.

"Weapons?" West did not seem to understand the term. "We have none."

"What?" Zen said. Hadn't West understood him. Every farmer, every

rancher, and every householder had his stock of weapons. Almost all

people went armed. "No rifles?"

"No."

"Not even tear gas?"

"No, colonel."

"Then how in the hell did you expect to stay alive?" Zen burst out.

"You surely knew they would find you sometime."

"Staying alive is actually not as important as you think. Yes, son."

West bent again to listen to the youth's words.

"Good--good--" The whisper was very faint.

West understood. "Goodbye," he said. "We will meet again. But, goodbye

for now."

The youth sighed. All pain and all fear went from his face. Peace came

to him.

But when West rose to his feet, his face was bleak. "He was new here,"

he said as if this explained something that he felt needed explaining.

Somewhere a woman was screaming. West listened to the sound, then

started toward it. Zen caught his arm.

"The invaders have guns." His tone conveyed the impression that West

was at fault because no weapons existed inside the mine. "Or do you

want to go join him?" He nodded toward the body on the floor. Blood

had stopped spilling from that body now. The essence of life had gone

elsewhere and the tides of life had ceased flowing.

"Yes," West said bluntly. "I want to go with him." His face had grown

more black. Heat lightning was dancing in his eyes.

Zen caught the impulse to say that this made two of them who wanted to

join the bronze-skinned youth. He knew how to deal with this reaction.

"Okay," he said. "Good bye."

West blinked startled eyes at him.

"Run along," Zen said.

"Eh?"

"I'll take over here and fight the battle you are running from," Zen

continued.

As if he were dispelling a mist from some hidden corner of his mind,

the craggy man shook his head. "Sorry," he apologized. "However, the

call is very strong. Only the sense of a job not yet done has kept me

from going for--a long time." He shook his head again. "No, I shall not

follow him, for another while, though I am positive that he is luckier

than we are."

"I agree," Zen said.

Stooping, West picked up Nedra. She lay in his arms like a tired,

sleeping child. Had she followed the youth? Kurt Zen had a moment of

heartbreak as the thought passed through his mind before he saw that

she was still breathing regularly.

"Follow me," West said.

The heat lightning still danced in the eyes of the craggy man as he

moved across the room. The solid wall swung aside into another hidden

door. "None of my people know this is here," he explained. "The

combination lock is actuated only by my body."

As Kurt Zen went through the door he could hear the girl still

screaming somewhere.

The passage was narrow. To one side, another passage led into a room

where Zen caught a glimpse of some kind of electrical equipment in

operation, the technical guts of the super-radar, he suspected.

Ahead, West growled, a sound that came from deep in his throat. He had

stopped and was staring down into a hidden opening in the wall. Zen saw

that the opening, through some hidden arrangement of mirrors, revealed

the interior of the big gallery where he had spent the night.

Hell was loose in there now.