some moth-eaten opinion supporting the need for keeping the ignorant happy, or teaching the basic virtues, or some such. You’ve been dragging your heels about speaking up and announcing what you truly believe.”
He looked at her unhappily.
Altshuler laughed. “Tilly, you sound like a soapbox lecturer, rather than the head of a couple dozen ragged ‘guerrillas’.”
She snorted back at him. “One’s as important as the other, each in its place.”
She came to Ross again. “The same apathy applies in the field of political economy. Look back over your history, Rossie, and consider how long some people put up with ridiculous social systems after everyone in the nation, for all practical purposes, knew them to be ridiculous.
“But that apathy, given a spark, can be changed overnight to the desire for changes. Had you suggested, one year before the Declaration of Independence, that complete freedom from England was the only solution to the problems of the colonists, you probably would have been stoned in the streets. Lenin wrote, less than six months before coming to power, that he never expected to live long enough to see the proletarian revolution. And so it goes.
“Rossie, the Karlists have been waiting a long time for this opportune moment. The Alphaland invasion of Betastan was the spark that set things underway. Not only in Alphaland, where your people are already on the streets in revolt against the war and the government of Number One and his Coaids, but in Betastan as well”
Gonzales, the electronics expert, spoke up for the first time. “And in four or five of the neutrals, according to radio. Karlists in some of those countries were kept from acting, only because they were afraid of the Alphaland air marines intervening if they tried anything, but with this country tied up, the revolt was on.”
Tilly’s voice went persuasive. “What does it take to bring you around, lover-mine? In your secret heart you’ve known for a long time where you really stood. Otherwise you wouldn’t have been leaking information to me that could be used against Number One.”
Ross looked from her to Pater Riggin, to Combs, to Altshuler, to Bernal and the rest. And then, desperately, completely around the circle again.
He stood suddenly. “What do you expect from me?” he demanded.
“Sit down, son,” Pater Riggin said mildly. “Well bring you up to date.”
He pursed his plump lips. “In actuality, there has been as much unscheduled change in Betastan as there has been here. At present, real government is in the hands of the guerrillas, the leaders of whom are Karlists. They wish as quick an end of hostilities as possible so that they can present their program to the people for an immediate vote.”
“And what is their program?”
“Immediate amalgamation with Alphaland, with the eventual aim of world government.”
“WHAT!”
The false Temple Monk looked at him without answer.
Ross blurted, “But that’s Number One’s program!”
Tilly tinkled laughter. The young guerrillas around her chuckled softly.
Pater Riggin said slowly, “Only to a certain point, Ross. To a certain point it is the program of any thinking person. This planet is well suited for a unified government and has been for some time; Betastan and Alphaland being so delicately balanced has stood in the way of such a unification. Number One, of course, has wished world rule—under Number One and his Coaids. That is rejected, obviously, by the Karlists. The new government will be decided upon by representatives from all the participating countries—a Constitutional Convention, you might call it, with the basic theory of the Karlists behind it”
Ross slumped back in his seat.
For the moment they didn’t disturb him, though watching carefully, waiting for a response that they all seemed to expect. All, perhaps, except Centurion Combs who had a cynical expression on his youthful face.
Ross Westley finally took a deep breath and said, “All right. What has all this got to do with me? What is it you want from me?”
A sigh went through them.
Two or three of the exhausted irregulars, as though this were all that had been keeping them from needed rest, went back to their bunks.
Pater Riggin quickly outlined the developments of the past twenty-four hours, during which time Ross had been recovering from his concussion.
“Fielder and his triumvirate are making their bid for power. They won’t win, eventually, but unless thwarted now, they’ll cause endless additional bloodshed.”
“What can we possibly do to prevent them?”
The former Temple Monk said, “A great deal. The strongest positions they hold are Surety, the military and Finance, none of which are particularly popular now for obvious reasons.”
“Well,” Ross said sarcastically. “We hold nothing.”
Pater Riggin arched his eyebrows. “To the contrary, we have Number One, himself, you, the Deputy of Information, and Philip McGivern, head of the Department of Socioeconomics though he is now hospitalized.”
Ross looked at the older man as though he were mad. “You expect Number One to support a Karlist takeover?”
The other smiled and shook his heavy head. “Not exactly. I expect him to combat a take-over by Fielder, Croft-Gordon and Matheison. In his present fury—I might mention, he is not a particularly intelligent man—he is not taking the long view. He would rather pull his whole world down around his shoulders, than see his immediate enemies prevail over
Ross thought about it briefly.
“Well,” he said. “You’ve got your work cut out. Let’s say that we could write up a speech for Number One to give. It would call upon everyone to put down their arms and support the movement for a democratic conference to plan a world government. He would resign his office, as a gesture of sincerity, call upon Alphaland forces to return to their homeland immediately. I could give another, brief talk to back him. So could Academician McGivern. But there’s one bug in the ointment.”
Tilly and Pater Riggin looked at him.
“And what is that?”
“They have the communications system in their control, not us.”
Tilly yawned mightily and came to her feet. “That’s where we come in. Combs! Altshuler! Bernal! Come on, fellas, all of you. On your feet. Gonzales, put out a general alarm to all our groups. Project Propaganda goes into effect.”
The men in the bunks groaned.
One yelled over, “Why didn’t you characters keep on talking? It was like being rocked to sleep.”
Gonzales headed for the electronics equipment in the corner, and Ross, looking after him, wondered what complicated Rube Goldberg devices they could have dreamed up to avoid detection by Mark Fielder’s Surety.
He turned to Tilly and said, “How many men can you gather?”
Tilly thought about it, twisting her mouth. “ ’Bout five hundred to a thousand, as of this morning. Maybe some of them have been killed or taken since then.”
Pater Riggin said, “We’ve got to get working on that speech. Wait for me here. I’ll have to check with Jim. He’ll be boiling, I’ve been gone so long from where I’ve got him stashed out.”
“Who’s Jim?” Combs growled.
Pater Riggin looked at him. “Number One.”
Combs grunted. “It never occurred to me the cloddy had a first name.”
Pater Riggin murmured, “Everybody has a first name—to the right person.” He added softly. “It’s been a task remaining that right person for so many years, waiting for this moment.” He was gone.
The room was a bedlam as men sought their weapons and other equipment.
Ross and Tilly Trice stood alone, momentarily, looking into each other’s faces.
“And when it’s all over?” he said.
“Like I said,” she told him.
It all hit him at once. He said in pure astonishment, “But you people have won. And you haven’t had the use of a single computer to figure it out”
