A fat mess sergeant slops some fish and rice and stewed apricots on our plates and fills tin cups with cold tea.
'Army-style here,' says Pierson.
After we finish eating, he lights a cigarette and grins at me through the smoke.
'Well, I guess you are wondering what this is all about.'
'Yeah.'
'Come along to my digs and I'll explain. Some of it, at least.'
I know quite a bit already. Much more than I want him to think I know. And I know that the less he tells me the better chance I have of getting out of here alive. I've already seen that the oil rig is a rocket-launching pad. Things are falling into place.
He leads the way to a small prefab. He turns to Jim and Kiki: 'Why don't you two look around? Do some fishing. You can get tackle at the PX. The lake is stocked with largemouth bass ... You'll do well here....'
I nod to Jim and he walks away with Kiki. Pierson unlocks the door and we go in. A cot, a card table, some chairs, a few books. He motions me to a chair, sits down and looks at me. 'You saw the launching pad?'
'Yes.'
'And what do you think it will be used for?'
'To launch something, obviously.'
'Obviously. A space capsule that will also be a communications satellite.'
I am beginning to understand what they are planning to communicate.
'Now, just suppose an atom bomb should fall on New York City. Who would get the blame for that?'
'The Commies.'
'Right. And suppose a mysterious plague broke out attacking the white race, while the yellow, black, and brown seemed to be mysteriously immune? Who would be blamed for that?'
'Yellow black brown. Yellow especially.'
'Right. So we would then be justified in using any biologic and/or chemical weapon in retaliations, would we not?'
'You would do it justified or not. But the plague might well decimate the white race ... destroy them as a genetic entity.'
'We would have the fever sperm stocks. We could rebuild the white race to our specifications, after we ...'
The table of thirty boys flashed in front of my eyes. 'Pretty neat. And you want me to write the scenario.'
'That's it. You've written enough already to get the ball rolling.'
'What about the Countess de Gulpa? How does she figure in this?'
'Ah, the Countess. She doesn't figure. She is not nearly as important as you may have thought. She would hardly go along with destroying the blacks and browns, because she makes her money out of them. She still thinks in terms of money.'
'Her laboratories?'
'Not much we could use. Certain lines of specialized experimentation ... interesting, perhaps. She has, for example, succeeded in reanimating headless men. These she gives to her friends as love slaves. They are fed through the rectum. I don't see any practical applications. We had thought of using her in scandals to discredit the rank-and-file
