commissioned as soon as possible. He and the deck officer had already begun to sketch out the chain of command among the Outlanders.
At this point, Captain Nordstrom broke in: “In order to minimize unnecessary alarm, I’ve suggested that we simply announce that the Coordinating Committee has decided to form a defense force and that we will begin organizing soon. No special sense of urgency. In actuality, we should work like the devil to get the best officers and men enlisted pronto, and the training program underway.”
“Has anyone thought of negotiating with these people? Perhaps this woman wants something we can provide—a ‘trade’ agreement?” The questioner was Jane Warner.
“I’ll answer that, if I may,” Hardy spoke up. “Based on the information these two men have brought us, there is no room to negotiate anything with the so-called queen and her own government council. It would be, in my opinion, a fool’s errand. And we cannot afford to send a boat, let alone a single person, into her zone of authority without some realistic hope that something might be accomplished. If there was any chance of a different outcome, I would be all for it. Anyhow, the idea is a good one, and that’s what this meeting is for. Any others?”
Peter Mavimbela raised his hand and was recognized. “I’ll tell you what I have in mind,” he said. “Why don’t we turn the table on these criminals, launch an attack against them, catch them by surprise, and put an end to the whole business? I don’t like the idea of just waiting around, expecting the axe to fall at any moment, but not knowing where or when trouble will find us. That’s not the Zulu way; that’s not the way of the new South Africa; and I don’t think it should be the way of the new civilization we’re trying to build.”
“A good point,” said the general, “and, Peter, I like your fighting spirit. But I must tell you that we’ve considered that possibility, and for the time being it doesn’t seem feasible. We simply don’t have the resources. We would need a navy—an invasion fleet—while all we have is a few lifeboats converted to fishing vessels. The enemy, on the other hand, seems to have a number of speedy sailing yachts. And even if we could overcome that disadvantage, we would lose the tactical edge that we have now. We would be the weary invader, having crossed the water and needing to carry supplies rather than the army comfortably planted on our home soil.”
“Yes, but the element of surprise, that’s what the invader has.”
“It’s not complete surprise if we know that they’re making plans. We just have to be as alert as we can be. As for the suspense, well, we’ll just have to tough it out.”
“Also, Peter”—now it was Wilson Hardy speaking—“think of how mounting an invasion would disrupt the important work that is going on here. Our industrial revolution would come to a screeching halt. All our dreams for the future would have to be put on hold.”
Mavimbela grimaced slightly, and nodded his head to show understanding and agreement.
Since there seemed to be no other questions from the floor, Hardy turned to General White and asked conversationally, but loud enough for all to hear, “Allen, what are your thoughts about the ultimate role of this Defense Committee? And about the army and its officers. Who should have the right to give orders to whom, and under what circumstances?”
“That’s an easy one, Wilson,” answered the general. “Whatever worked for the United States of America— and how wonderfully well it worked for more than two centuries—is good enough for me. Civilian control of the military. It’s as simple as that.”
“The question of power is never simple,” said Richard Frost, “if you will forgive me for saying so. History tells us that we must expect frequent conflicts and a constant clash of ambitions. So far, we haven’t even had democratic elections.”
“I’m sure that the general is assuming that will happen,” Wilson Hardy said. “At the end of our first year, by previous agreement, we will have our constitutional convention, our elections, and all that good stuff. I take him to mean that for now the military commanders will take their orders from the Defense Committee, which in turn will answer to the Coordinating Committee, which is, in effect, the chief governing body.”
“That’s exactly right,” said the general.” I want everybody here to understand it, and we must make sure that all of our military people understand it, too.”
At this point, Wilson Hardy turned toward his son and said, “Get that down in writing, young man, and protect the principle with your life, if need be.”
The recording secretary wrote carefully, feeling for the moment as if he was at a meeting of the Continental Congress. Would General White be the George Washington of this new era? And would Wil’s dad be the equivalent of Thomas Jefferson, or perhaps Benjamin Franklin, or some other founding father?
It was a moving moment, although not everyone present was thrilled with the idea of basing the new world order on American traditions alone. “You know,” muttered Captain Nordstrom, “there are other democracies in the world—or there were—Norway, for example, just to name one.”
As the meeting reached its conclusion, a consensus developed around writing down the basic principle, as it had been discussed, without reference to any particular previously existing national constitution or heritage. This was done, and a solemn confirming vote was taken.
Approval was unanimous, and the meeting was adjourned about two a.m.
Wilson Hardy, Jr., went to his father and hugged him, surprising the older man. “Thanks. What was that for?” the elder Hardy said.
“Just felt like doing it,” Wil responded.
Then, as they walked out into the darkness, he sighed deeply and said, “It looks as if we may be heading toward our first war of the new era. It’s sad.”
“Yes it is. Inevitable, I suppose, but sad nonetheless. We could probably be of great assistance to the people of Madagascar, and they to us. God knows there are so few of us left.”
“I’m very curious about this Queen Ranavolana character. It seems she’s an American. I wonder if I’ll ever get to meet her.”
“Not if I have any say about it.” Wilson Hardy looked at his son, a younger, slimmer, taller version of himself. “You’re still my boy, and I’ll not have you cavorting with pirate queens.”
“I don’t even know the meaning of ‘cavorting,’ Dad…. Anyhow, I’ve got to get back to Sarah. Good night.”
“Good night, son. Sleep well.”
FROM THE JOURNAL OF WILSON HARDY, JR.
Well, I had to keep my mouth shut about the issues before the Expanded Defense Committee, but I hadn’t had the sense to do so earlier. My own words echoed and rattled around in my mind.
What had gotten into me? Perhaps it was all that talk about elementary particles and electromagnetic waves. Come to think of it, this enigmatic “stuff” of the universe has somehow evolved into living creatures. And one thing we know about living creatures: they seem determined to endure and reproduce themselves. Maybe that basic impulse, lodged deep within me, simply chose this moment to express itself.
Or possibly, thinking about the complex technological society we are determined to recreate—and pondering the number of people needed to support such a society—I suddenly reckoned there was not a moment to lose in enlarging the population.
Looked at another way, my remark was simply a cry of defiance. To hell with the scientific view and to hell with the demands of technology. And to hell with the universe itself, which has done its best to annihilate us. I have survived. Sarah and I have survived—as a couple. Why have we survived if we do not carry on, if we do not reproduce and foil the fates that tried to do us in?
But why overintellectualize the whole business? I’m simply a man in love with a woman, and I want a cozy home with a cuddly family. To want babies seems the most normal, instinctual, non-philosophical impulse one can have.
But what am I saying? I don’t even like babies! At least I never have in the past. Ah, but I didn’t say anything about babies. I said “children.” Babies are just something you have on your way to having children. And I guess I could learn to love them. Most people seem to.
