The COMPLEAT Collected SFF Works, page 436
"... The personal involvement is minimal in a programme natural catastrophe," one of them was saying. "A major earthquake takes out, say, one quarter of the indigenous population. Lack of food, shelter and medical assistance accounts for another quarter. Subsequent famine and associated diseases will account for another quarter, and certainly for the majority of the children. Very little effort is needed at that stage to make the survivors eliminate each other."
"It's untidy," said his companion. "The two or three per cent who survive will be tough, pre-adolescents or young adults, and no longer easily controlled. They would be widely scattered and be far from ideal targets for biological, or any other, weapons. With respect, it's untidy."
"Perhaps," the other replied, "but your urban operation is more complex and has a much greater danger of personal involvement ..."
"A nice way of saying killed in a riot."
"... Admittedly the degree of control is much greater," the other man went on. "A few words in the right situation can sometimes achieve more than earthquakes and biologicals ... Oh, survive."
"Survive," replied the other as his colleague stepped into the elevator cage. In a few seconds it was Malcolm's turn.
As the one-man cage climbed steadily Malcolm could see no obvious differences in the higher levels. There were the same white expanses of flooring, transparent or opaque cubicles, high mirrored ceilings and white-cowled figures moving gravely about their business. The only changes were in the lengths of the queues waiting for the elevators. The people going up became fewer as he neared Level Fifty, but lengthened again when he passed into John territory. They also contained both sexes, with the females resembling Big Mary and the males looking very like all the other men.
Ann was waiting for him at Level Forty-three. She turned and led the way to her blister without speaking, and the silence continued when they were inside. Her expression was hidden by the folds of her cowl, but her fists were clenched. Instinctively Malcolm reached out to comfort her, then staggered back as she launched herself at him.
For a moment he thought that he was being attacked, that she had been brainwashed or had undergone a personality change at the hands of the Johns. But then it became plain that she was not trying to crush him to death but was holding on to him in the way that a swimmer holds on to a rock when there is danger of being swept away, in desperation, he put his arms around her very tightly and, in complete silence, they stood pressed together for several minutes while they apparently tried their best to deform each other's rib cages.
Incredibly, considering their situation, Malcolm became sexually aroused.
Ann gave a near-hysterical laugh and pushed him away. She said, "I've ... I've been told that we are undergoing basic reorientation for non-aligned local auxiliaries, whatever that means. I don't think they would like it if we furnished material for an anthropology lesson." Suddenly her voice broke. "Where are we?"
"Easy, dear," said Malcolm. "In time, not far from the hospital. We're underground, of course. I thought at first we were underneath the hospital, but the amount of dirt taken from a hole this size would be impossible to transport in secret."
"Did you do it?" she said harshly. "If you didn't, do it now. Up and down as high as you can."
Malcolm opened his mouth to protest, then saw that she was serious. After the first two jumps he staggered and almost lost balance. By the fourth jump he realised what she was getting at and the surprise made him overbalance again. He was about to try a fifth, just to be absolutely sure, when a Mary entered.
"Well, well." she said in the same pleasant, contralto voice he had heard another Mary using to the professor. "The training supervisor tells me that you've worked out the elapsed time since your transfer by the density of your facial hair, and now you've established where you aren't by jumping up and down. Now, will you follow me to the elevators, please, we're going to Level One. You may as well know the worst ..."
Once again he was climbing, this time with Ann in the cage above his and the Mary in the one above that. They passed level after level of reorientation blisters until the green John territory gave way to the yellow of Administration, where the entire floor areas were filled with what looked like communications and computer equipment. The white-robed figures on these levels were smaller men, with just a sprinkling of Lukes or Johns or Marys. Yellow, it seemed, signified neutral territory.
The floor area of One was minute compared with the deeper levels, just a fifty-foot diameter circle of whiteness enclosed by an opaque white dome. In the centre of the floor there was a control console surrounded by an open ring of couches facing outwards. Except for themselves the level was empty.
"You will sit down, please," said the Mary, indicating one of the conches, "while I render the dome transparent."
Malcolm was glad that he was sitting because otherwise he might have fallen down with shock, he was not completely unprepared, however—his difficulty in maintaining balance while walking fast, and his ability to do a surprisingly high standing jump, had made him suspect that he was on a world where the gravity pull was significantly less than that of Earth. Ann had realised it long before he had, and had been badly frightened. But now her expression showed more wonder than fear as she stared upwards and all around at the alien sky and landscape.
"This ... isn't a projection?" asked Malcolm.
The Mary shook her head.
Malcolm swallowed, then returned his attention to the great, swollen, cloud-wrapped world which filled almost a quarter of the sky overhead. Lit by a sun which was either very dim or very distant and which was, in any case, below the horizon just then, the planet was lined with great bands of dull yellow, brown and copper-coloured clouds. On what seemed to be the planet's equator there were two tiny smudges which were probably the shadows of large moons. The vast globe was bright enough to light the planetary surface outside their observation dome so that they could see clearly to the horizon.
They were on a flat, dry area of a world with a very thin atmosphere, judging by the sharp outlines of distant objects. A few yards beyond the circumference of their dome there was a ring of alien, desiccated corpses and skeletons of creatures—animals, he hoped—who had blundered into some kind of invisible protective screen. Beyond the outer protection there was no sign of movement among the vegetation, which was bulbous and spiked like cacti, or any other buildings or fabrications.
"You are looking at Trennechoran A," said the Mary in a hushed, respectful voice. She cleared her throat, then went on in a more normal tone, "We are on Trennechoran B. It is debatable whether Trennechoran is a double planet or B is simply a large satellite of A. There are two other worlds circling this system's sun, neither of which support life. Trennechoran is a word which translates roughly as birth-place or home. Your own sun is not visible from here without a telescope."
Without giving them any time to react, she went on, "By now you will have realised that I, unlike you locals, was not born on Earth and was not, in fact, born at all. You will also have realised that the level of technology apparent here, particularly the communication and instantaneous transport systems, is far beyond anything that Earth science could produce even before the Powerdown. You will also have questions about this extra-terrestrial intervention in Earth affairs. Ask them."
"You ... are human?" said Malcolm.
"Of course."
"I would say superhuman," said Ann quietly.
"That, too," the Mary replied. "But only if you mean by superhuman that we possess a combination of the best physical and intellectual characteristics available in the human genetic pool. The original selection and breeding programme was assisted by Trennechoran geneticists and the end results were cloned rather than mass bred. Super persons rarely breed true, as you know, so it is much better, having produced the ideal types, to duplicate them in whatever numbers are required.
"Perfect duplication," she went on, "also means that the education of these Guardians or Administrators or Scientists is not complicated by the necessity for tailoring the training programme to fit individual requirements, such as differing psychological and emotional responses and learning curves. Initially, from the foetal stage to pre-adolescence, training is the same for all types. But occasions arise which necessitate an Administrator or Scientist being given Guardian training to fit him or her for a particular local role. For example, I am both a Scientist and a Guardian, one of the relatively few female Guardians who—"
"There are very few females here," Ann broke in. "Is it because the emotions associated with mating might humanise, even partly, clones who otherwise would—"
"There are very many females on the Scientist levels," the Mary replied quietly. "Cloned infants have to be loved and carefully tended just like ordinary children if they are to mature without psychological flaws. We may give the impression of being celibate to locals, but that is because we have each other and local men and women are, from the sexual standpoint, repugnant to us."
"But you're all identical!" said Ann, unable to hide any longer the anger and revulsion she felt for this splendid female creature whose organisation was responsible for so much deliberate and callous destruction of life. "Surely there must be times when you would accept second best, if only for the change?"
The Mary regarded her impassively for a moment, which was just long enough to make them realise that Ann was stepping dangerously out of line, then she said, "If we were to accept second best, as you call it, it would mean that we were flawed, that many thousands of a particular Guardian or Administrator or Scientist batch was flawed. Such flaws would be detected at a very early age and production discontinued. There is therefore nobody among us who would accept second best, nobody who would give himself or herself to what in effect would be a handsome or beautiful semi-intelligent animal. Is this clear?"
The frightening thing about her was that she was not even angry. Her manner was that of a fond mother who was performing the unpleasant task of delivering a well-deserved scolding to an erring child.
"Until recently," she went on, "the local people who came here had attained Guardian level on Earth. They were properly trained and indoctrinated, the local elite, and absolutely dedicated to their Luke or John philosophy. Here we give extra training, unveil as much of our overall purpose as is deemed necessary, and send them back to Earth to positions of special responsibility. You two, on the other hand, have arrived by the back door.
"You have not earned your places here," she continued, "and yet I have been instructed to give you much more information than any of the advanced local candidates undergoing training on the John and Luke levels, none of whom have ever been up to Level One or looked upon Trennechoran."
"I suppose," said Ann in a subdued but unrepentant voice, "we are lucky."
Malcolm glared at her to be silent while he tried to ward off further potential trouble by asking a general question, lie said, "Mary, what are you trying to achieve on Earth?"
He thought she was going to ignore the question at first as she said, "You are among the first of the Neutrals who will come here. You subscribe to neither the Luke nor John philosophy and, hopefully, you will return as co-operative and properly motivated assistants. The work you will be expected to do will be difficult, perhaps even distressing, but it will not run counter to your existing local philosophies or codes of behaviour. You will be fully informed on everything that is happening. Much better informed, as I have said, than the Guardians. But you must be completely secretive about everything you learn from this moment on.
"If you were to give such information to locals or lower level Guardians it would embarrass, but not seriously hamper us in our operation," she went on, "and we would be much too busy to deal leniently with offenders."
"We would not want to embarrass you," said Malcolm. Silently, he added, We would like to stop you and your extraterrestrial masters dead in your tracks.
"As for your question, Doctor," said the Mary, "we have diagnosed, and are in the process of treating, a very sick planet."
Chapter Fifteen – Police Operation
FROM HIS firing position inside an underpass in a city on the very sick planet, Inspector Reynolds was killing bare-armed people as fast as he could while he wondered sickly whether he was just another symptom of the disease afflicting his society or if he was contributing in a small way towards its eventual cure. These targets were human-like things who intended wiping out large numbers of human beings, he kept reminding himself, and eliminating them should not bother him.
He had dropped three of them in as many seconds, and four more before they could begin ducking and weaving among the ordinary pedestrians. But now they had started throwing grenades on to the cycle and pedestrian ways. Shrapnel whanged off the catwalk's metal floor, but none of it hit him. On the unpowered lanes, cyclists screamed and crashed. Within seconds the cycle-way was plugged solid, allowing the bombing teams to cross unimpeded. Reynolds thought he hit another bomber, but there was so much smoke from the grenades that he could not be sure, so he returned his attention to the pedestrian way below him where there was less smoke.
There was a trio of bombers zig-zagging frantically among the pedestrians as they headed for the nearest factory exit door, and Reynolds loosed off a hasty shot as he caught a glimpse of a tunic between two bare arms. He must have missed the man and hit his satchel because there was a sudden flare of red and a mushroom of flames as black, oily smoke rose and flattened itself against the tunnel roof. Before the visibility was reduced to zero, he saw two figures rolling about on the pavement and beating at their burning clothing with bare hands. One of them had bare arms as well. He tried to ignore the sounds the two men and all the other casualties were making as he ran from the darkened section of the catwalk to get clear of the choking, black smoke.
He emerged from the smoke above one of the emergency exits just as an attack was developing. His crew-member inside the door dropped one of the bombers before the man could get off a shot, and Reynolds sent another spinning to the pavement with a chunk missing from his shoulder. A third man looked up, saw him on the lighted section of catwalk, and fired. But handguns were not very accurate at thirty yards, so the man braced himself against the tunnel wall, feet apart and using both hands to steady his aim, he tried for another shot. Reynolds, who was using the guardrail to steady his much more accurate weapon, fired first. The man sat down abruptly, leaving a red smear on the wall.
Reynolds caught sight of another bomber bending over the one he had wounded, rolling down the injured man's sleeves, then rolling down his own. There were too many IBs around for him to get a clear shot, but it was plain that the attack on the nitrates factory was being called off—by these two, at least.
Inside one of the exits on the opposite wall of the tunnel the war was still going on, however. A bombing team had gone in and at least one of them was still there, firing his handgun in reply to the sharper crack of a police high-velocity weapon. Reynolds guessed that his crew-man was fighting a delaying action on the spiral stairs just inside the exit. Meanwhile, outside the door four bare-armed men were waiting to go in, but were being cautious because three of their friends were lying untidily just inside the opening. They had become impatient as well as cautious, because one of them was holding a small box which he flung far inside the doorway before jumping aside. There was a muffled explosion and smoke belched out of the opening, making it impossible for Reynolds to identify targets.
His crew-member, the company guard and the man or men of the bombing team who were already inside were equally expendable, apparently. Reynolds swore and headed for the nearest descending ladder.
As he ran towards the still smoking doorway a few seconds later, pushing pedestrian and cyclist IBs aside and jumping over the casualties, he was thinking fearfully about the imminent danger to the vast nitrates plant which stretched for nearly half a mile on each side of the underpass and sixty levels about it.
The plant, which processed nitrates from the city's organic wastes, consisted of several large, pre-Powerdown buildings with more recent structures cementing them together into one vast, three-dimensional labyrinth. Timber was used extensively throughout the building and the nitrates it produced were explosively flammable, so the fire precautions were incredibly strict. Because of the pedestrian and cycle traffic congestion in the area, its all-male workforce lived on the premises and rarely left them. They enjoyed a fairly generous food allowance, whatever entertainment they could provide for themselves, and job security—so much so that there were people willing to risk invading this secure and stinking world.
That was why the emergency exits, although kept open to conform with the city's fire regulations, were guarded with ex-power walkers armed with clubs. Occasionally someone would try to sneak in and climb the emergency stairs and hide until he could get a company uniform—usually by killing someone for it. Once he was wearing company coveralls he was safe, because the workforce moved around a lot inside the building and nobody remembered names or faces very well these days. There were just too many people, and in the factory hives, one bunk was just as lousy as any other.
But the four men who had gone into the building a few minutes earlier were not seeking secure jobs. They were intent on doing something which would make the massacre in old Hesketh's living block look like a minor traffic riot. There had been ten bombing teams assigned to this operation, more than enough to achieve their objective, but those four men could do just as much damage if they planted their devices correctly and were willing to fight off counter-measures and perish with the building ...
Reynolds ran past the exit as dozens of other pedestrians were doing, then leaned against the tunnel wall to catch his breath and re-examine the brief picture of the interior that he had seen as he had gone past.
The device which had been thrown in a few minutes earlier had been a little too destructive. Not only had it silenced the Security opposition and taken out the members of the earlier bombing team, it had virtually demolished the first twenty feet of spiral stairway. All of the stair treads had been blasted away and the metal handrails and supports hung from the level above like a surrealistic ladder, which three of the men were climbing while the fourth stood guard at the base.
