Computer War

pressed an average of more than twenty miles across the borders of the aggressor.”

“Let me see it,” he muttered, halting at her desk. “The computers didn’t figure on an advance quite that fast.”

She held out a portable scanner for him.

He grunted. “Everywhere victorious?” he asked sarcastically. “They haven’t even come in contact with the enemy yet.”

“The funkers are in full retreat,” she said. “Even their navy. It all remains submerged, afraid to come to blows with our ships.”

Ross looked at her. “See these reports get on my desk.” He handed back the scanner and headed again for his office.

He tried to remember the figures on the size of the Betastani navy. As he recalled, it was on the smallish side and consisted almost entirely of lighter craft. Possibly the girl was right and the enemy ships were afraid to come to blows with their heavier Alphaland opponents.

Martha Taylor was waiting in his inner quarters. She sat primly on the edge of the most uncomfortable chair in the room, a lettercase in her lap.

He took his own chair and said wearily, “Coaid Taylor?”

She stood and put the folder before him.

“The atrocity releases,” she said.

“The what?”

“The atrocities,” she told him. “Four of them, so far. Mobs of uncontrolled slum elements in New Betatown roaming the streets, breaking into the houses of citizens of Alphaland and destroying their furniture, burning their possessions, beating them sometimes to death, all while Betastani police look on laughing.”

“Holy Jumping Zen!” he blurted. “How do you know? How could you get such a report?”

It was her turn to look blank. She said, “Assistant Deputy Bauserman himself wrote it up.”

He shook his head, realizing that he hadn’t been concentrating. This was, after all, the department of propaganda. He was comparatively new to the job, but he wasn’t that naive.

“What else?” he said.

She put a paper before him. “Two Temple Monks crucified and their Temple burned to the ground. Three Nuns hospitalized after being raped.”

He closed his eyes briefly at that one.

“What else?”

“The President of Betastan has issued orders that his armies take no prisoners of war.”

“That’s going to be refuted awfully quickly. They have access to the airwaves, too. Besides, President Alf Mortuary is internationally known as a bumbling, easygoing old figurehead—not as a fire-eater who orders prisoners shot.”

Her dried out, sexless face expressed doubt. “Perhaps we could report him fleeing the country for sanctuary in Moravia. Then we could hang the Karlist label on him that much more strongly, since Moravia is now in the hands of the Karlists.”

Ross looked up at her. “Listen, here in my own office, let’s stick to reality.”

“I beg your pardon, Coaid Deputy?”

“The Karlists aren’t in control of Moravia, and you know it. And you also know that old Mortuary isn’t a Karlist. He doesn’t have enough brains to be a Karlist.”

Martha Taylor did a double take. “Why, Coaid…”

“What’s the fourth release?” he asked wearily.

“Betastani civilians, resident here in Alphaland, are blowing up bridges, destroying communication lines, cutting pneumatic pressure lines.”

“Oh, now, that’s too raw. Remember, this material goes out all over the planet. No neutral is going to swallow that.”

She was wide-eyed. “But, Coaid, that’s the one that’s really true.”

“What?”

She held up another report. “Evidently bands of them are all over the countryside. Deputy Fielder has ordered out over half his Surety men. Thousands of Betastani nationals have taken to our woods, the mountains, and are committing endless depredations.”

“Holy Jumping Zen ” Ross muttered. “Tilly.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Listen, take all this to Coaid Bauserman and tell him I said to use his discretion.”

“Yes, Coaid Deputy.”

“And don’t bother me with such stuff in the future. It’s strictly routine anyway, isn’t it?”

“Well,” she seemed upset “I suppose so, Coaid Deputy.”

“All right, toss it into Bausennan’s lap. It had a tendency to nauseate me.”

When she was gone, after flashing her shock at him, he realized he had gone too far. Well, the hell with it. He realized, too, that he disliked the presence of Coaid Martha Taylor, that she made him nervous.

He switched on his orderbox and said into it. “Rundown of latest dispatches. Verbal.”

The orderbox said, ” The government of the arch-criminal Alf Mortuary has deserted the capital, New Betatown, and its present location is unknown. Rumors are that it is fleeing the country.”

Ross grunted. That was surprisingly similar to the propaganda release Martha Taylor had just recommended.

The report continued. ” Contact between the glorious avenging armies of Alphaland and the retreating Betastan forces has yet to be made. Our armies are at some points now fifty miles into the interior. Advance elements are slowing, to allow supply columns to come up and to repair roads, bridges and communications lines destroyed by the retreating enemy. Alphaland air units have complete control of the skies. Enemy aircraft have as yet been uncommitted.

“On the home front, Deputy John Matheison of the (Commissariat of Finance has announced that his organization is working around the clock reestablishing order in the medium of exchange. He has warned unpatriotic elements that taking advantage of the present credit situation can lead to legal prosecution, and, since the nation is at war defending itself against the aggressors of Betastan, the death penalty can be suffered.”

Ross Westley hissed surprise through his teeth. Jon Matheison must have his troubles indeed, to get that tough. Evidently many a less than loyal citizen of Alphaland was taking advantage of the chaos to enrich himself. Ross was almost amused. It was going to be all but impossible to apprehend any such opportunists. Business was in such a state of unbelievable confusion that he wondered at Number One’s decision to get the war under way before the financial mess had been cleaned up.

He said into the orderbox, “That will be all,” and then slumped back and stared at it. He shifted in his chair, uncomfortably, unhappily. And suddenly he came to his feet. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to try and find out what had happened to her.

Ross Westley strode quickly toward the closet-like receptacle of his one-seated private pneumatic.

There was a Surety man in riot police uniform, standing before the bookshop which had been the front for Tilly Trice. When Ross came up the brawny agent looked at him scowlingly.

“Move along, Coaid,” he said.

Ross Westley considered for a moment, but the urge was upon him. He brought forth his wallet and showed the other his credentials. The Surety man snapped to attention, eyes forward.

“Yes, Coaid Deputy.”

Ross said, “What’re you doing here, Coaid?”

“Yes, Coaid Deputy. This is the former business and residence of a Betastani national. I have been posted to guard it against neighborhood reprisal, until a thorough search of the premises can be made.”

Ross nodded. “I see. Protection against demonstrators, eh?”

“Yes, Coaid Deputy. Only it seems that this Tilly Trice was kinda popular around the neighborhood, even if she was a Betastani cloddy. So not even the kids’ve thrown any rocks or anything. They don’t need me here.”

Ross winked at him. “Well, I’m glad I arrived before the search squad. I hope you have the key, Coaid.”