Battlefield Earth: A Saga of the Year 3000

  3

  Lord Schleim was not the least bit rattled. He knew exactly what he was doing: he was now applying a maxim of diplomacy which stated that when diplomacy failed, one resorted to military means.

  It had become obvious to him in these last few minutes that if he continued along the previous course, he would lose. So he had shifted his entire planning suddenly and irrevocably.

  These were very troubled times. He felt the power of the small gray man had crumbled and that things were not what they used to be. Therefore, any threat of retaliation from the small gray man could be ignored. This was the first emissary meeting in over a year and he was completely certain that the power of the emissaries and collective governments had become a shadow that was no real danger to Tolnep—these empires and states were too far away.

  He had just given Half-Captain—now Captain Snowl just today—very specific orders. He had used a word code known only to officers of flag rank and executives high in the Tolnep government. Using one set of words, one could convey quite another meaning. Additionally, the radio band used was hyper-nondirectional, known only to the Tolneps, and could not be picked up on any other radio except those used by flag officers and the diplomatic service, a band which was constantly running on the bridge of every Tolnep major war vessel. And if that weren’t safe enough, the transmissions were also scrambled.

  Schleim had just ordered Rogodeter Snowl to send the ships of other combatants to the terrestrial points being defended by the Earthlings, to gather up all Tolnep forces, and to proceed with all speed to the conference location. He had told Snowl to totally disregard any and all conference warnings of the small gray man.

  Since the bulk of the Tolnep vessels were at Singapore, a little over forty-five hundred miles away—quite close, really—they would arrive over this spot in about two hours.

  Schleim had, in the bottom of his scepter, on the opposite end from the radio, a paralysis beam. All he had to do was give the end of it a twist and every person or creature within hearing would become instantly paralyzed except himself: a tap on his own ears first would close his deaf-flaps. This entire conference was at his mercy. All he had to do was get them all outside in the bowl on some pretext so that any and all guards were also within hearing distance, listen for the first signs of the arrival of his fleet, tap his own ears, and twist the bottom of the scepter.

  Tolnep diplomats were chosen for bravery as well as wits. He would pick up a gun and shoot his way to the switches of the armor cable if necessary, turn it off, and let his fleet marines in.

  As to this teleportation console, he really couldn’t care less. Tolnep would be better off if it were destroyed—a nation that based its economy on slavery was always under some kind of threat and this teleportation had interfered with Tolnep far more than it had helped.

  He himself was within flying distance of home. The other combatants were also and would have to bow to his commands or be killed. As for the rest of these emissaries, how they got home if ever was no concern of his. And dead emissaries and a dead litter of terrestrial personnel told no tales, especially when buried.

  He would, of course, go through the motions of torturing this devil and try to get the teleportation design out of him. If the devil died in the process, it did not matter.

  But the cream of the jest was that, if anything went wrong, he would use the devil’s own arguments to defend himself. He would claim that Rogodeter Snowl had turned pirate, that he had acted contrary to orders and that his approach to this conference was an outlaw act. He knew he could depose and execute Snowl and still command the Tolnep crews. Snowl would simply be sacrificed for the greater good of the state—a common expedient in such diplomatic circles.

  Schleim could even mop up the other belligerents using the Tolnep fleet if it came to that.

  It was very neat planning.

  The only thing he had to solve now was how to get this entire conference out into the bowl.

  He was now feeling so confident he was hardly even listening to this devil as he resumed his actions. Whatever the devil did would be useless, without avail.

  Tolerantly, Lord Schleim sat back and lent half an ear to the continuing proceedings.

  Diplomacy was, indeed, quite an art. But if it failed, there was always force.

  He fingered the bottom end of his scepter.

  He tuned the rest of his hearing in to catch the first rumbles of his fleet in the sky.

  4

  There had been a delay while a technician changed the cartridges in the atmosphere projector.

  The emissaries, seeing that Jonnie was again about to speak, settled down.

  “My lords,” said Jonnie. “I do appreciate your indulgence in permitting me to clean up the remaining bits of this odious Tolnep matter. Indeed, I am impressed by your patience. I assure you we may soon be able to proceed with the legitimate concerns of such an authoritative group.” The influence of the polite instruction disks of the Chinkos was coming in very handy now. These lords, except for the combatants, were definitely on his side.

  Jonnie stood tall in the mine spotlight. His buttons flashed. The dragon on the helmet seemed to move as he turned his head to Lord Schleim.

  “Tolnep,” said Jonnie, with disdain and contempt in the word, “I have some views that were taken while the conference was verifying credentials. I am going to ask you to identify certain things for me.”

  Schleim sat back easily, quite composed now. “Go ahead, devil,” he said almost airily.

  Jonnie looked at him closely. What had caused this sudden calm? Was it just an exhibition of diplomatic supercontrol? Schleim was, after all, a clever and well-trained diplomat.

  With a deft touch of switch buttons, the mine spotlight went off and a new view appeared, filling all the empty space in the room to Jonnie’s left. It was a remarkable shot. The emissaries sat up and peered, very interested.

  There, just as though seen from the port of a spaceship, bright and clear, projected in three dimensions upon the empty air, was the whole system where the Tolnep planet rode in the ninth ring. The huge combination sun, a double star with the small companion circling the larger orb, shed its double-shadowed light upon the vast system of planets and their moons. The name of the system was Batafor in the Psychlo coordination books, Sirius or the Dog Star in the ancient man-constellation charts.

  “Is this Batafor?” Jonnie asked Lord Schleim.

  The Tolnep laughed. “If you took the shot, you know what it is. Why ask me?”

  Jonnie searched out the Hawvin in the second row with his wand as a pointer. “Perhaps the regal emissary of the Hawvins might care to assist us. Is this the Batafor System?”

  The Hawvin had been regretting his involvement in all this for some time. His nation was a traditional enemy of the Tolneps and had suffered much in times past from their slave raids. He had begun to suspect that there were penalties and reparations coming up sometime soon. This “spirit of Earth” seemed to have been taking pains to exclude the other combatants, and he had seen a possibility of escaping censure if it all went wrong here—as it definitely seemed to be doing. Best curry some favor. He could see no danger in it.

  He rose and came forward and Jonnie handed him his wand with the pointer beam turned on.

  The Hawvin waved the beam generally across the system. “I recognize and attest this is indeed the Batafor System. That is the old Psychlo name. We locally call the double sun ‘Twino,’ which stands for ‘Mother and Child’ in the Hawvin tongue.”

  He tapped the planet ring nearest the sun. “This is Jubo, uninhabited due to its extreme heat and gravity pulls.” He pointed rapidly to the second, third, fourth and fifth rings. “These have names, but are not important. Uninhabited, for they are subject to earthquakes and volcanic upheavals.” He tapped the sixth ring, the planet almost hidden behind the double sun. “This is Torthut, a Psychlo mining planet: it had a population once, but they were annihilated.”

  The Hawvin looked
inquiringly at the Hockner. “My lord, do you mind if I go on?”

  The Hockner shrugged, then gave a strained laugh. “As you have already as much as said so, my dear colleague, you may tell them it is a possession of Hockner!”

  “Very good,” continued the Hawvin. “This seventh planet is Holoban, part of the Hockner Confederacy. The eighth planet is Balor, one of our own Hawvin planets.”

  He lowered the beam and looked at Lord Schleim. But Lord Schleim simply shrugged and said, “You make a very fine astronomy lecturer, lord of the Hawvins. You have omitted some of the fauna and flora but go ahead.”

  The Hawvin put the pointer on the ninth ring. “And this, I can attest, is Tolnep.” He peered more closely. “Yes, these specks about it are the five moons, though one is hidden from this angle. Tolnep is remarkable for its moons in a system where planets seldom have more than one. The reflective quality of these moons is a bit remarkable due to their composition. The double sun can give out the normal light spectrum, but on reflection from these moons, the light shifts upward in the spectrum. The Tolnep civilization prefers to work by moonlight and normally sleeps in the direct sun. It is said they are not indigenous—”

  “Oh, spare us, spare us,” said Lord Schleim. “You’ll be telling us about Tolnep egg-mating next! Keep it clean, Hawvin!”

  Some of the uninvolved emissaries laughed. Schleim was wriggling his way back into their good graces.

  “The tenth planet,” the Hawvin went on, “is a Psychlo mining planet, Tung. The population existed once, but had actually been removed by the Tolneps before Psychlo occupation. The eleventh—”

  “Thank you very much, lord of the Hawvins,” said Jonnie. “You have been very helpful.”

  The Hawvin stepped down and would have gone back to his seat but Jonnie checked him. Jonnie hit another button.

  A clear view of the city magically appeared in the air. It was just as though one were suspended in space well above it.

  “That is Creeth,” said the Hawvin. “The Tolnep capital. Very distinctive. See how the streets wind their way and entwine.” He came back up and took the pointer. “This is the House of Plunder, their legislative center; see how its sections wind around and come back together. Unmistakably Tolnep in its architecture. This is Grath, their famous combined public park and slave auction center. This rock hill with the holes in it—”

  “Thank you,” said Jonnie. “And now this is what I really want you for.” He pushed a button and the picture changed. It swooped down at the park and gave the emissaries the feeling they were free-falling in space. The park stayed still but all the surroundings swooped sideways and away, making it look for a moment like a bowl. The camera had steadied. The view now showed just the park.

  One could see the long slave auction blocks, the comfortable seats and boxes for the buyers. But what was remarkable was the huge clock face laid out in the hill at the edge.

  “The clock,” said Jonnie.

  “Ah, yes, the clock.” The Hawvin sighed and glanced at Lord Schleim, but his lordship was sitting there, a smile on his mouth below his glasses, fingering his scepter. “The clock is built of slave bones, it is said. Huge masses of them have been inset into wheels that turn and show through the windows. It is said that fifty-eight thousand female slaves were killed to make up the border you see—”

  “I meant the time and date,” said Jonnie. “They are in Tolnep script and I suppose you read it.”

  “Ah,” said the Hawvin, glad to be off the hook. He was afraid Lord Schleim might rip into him. “The hour, the date. Why, yes. I do know the Tolnep number system. This was taken about two hours ago.” He glanced at his own watch. “About one hour and fifty-one minutes ago, to be exact. Remarkable. Was it taken with the teleportation rig out there just today?” He stared at it. “Must have been.”

  “I do thank you,” said Jonnie. He took the pointer from the Hawvin lord who then stepped down, casting a somewhat fearful look at Schleim.

  Jonnie hit another button. Into view flashed the Tolnep planet and its five moons. It was remarkably detailed.

  “Lord Schleim,” said Jonnie, “is this the Tolnep planet and its moons?”

  Schleim laughed. “It wouldn’t do me any good to say no, would it? Yes, devil, it doesn’t take an astronomy professor like our friend the Hawvin here to detect that that is Tolnep and its five moons.” He laughed easily.

  “Very good,” said Jonnie. “Then, as a native of Tolnep and someone undoubtedly fond of its moons, could you tell me which moon you like best?”

  This sudden dive sideways made Schleim wary. He was only giving it half his attention. There would be a while before the fleet could arrive, he supposed, but they might send a scout racing ahead. He glanced at his watch. He fingered the bottom of the scepter. He was preoccupied with how to get these emissaries outside so both they and the guards could be all taken in at one twist of the scepter bottom.

  “Well,” said Schleim, “I’m afraid I have better things to do at home than stand around gazing at moons.”

  “Which one do you like the least?” persisted Jonnie.

  “Oh, any of them,” said Schleim easily.

  Jonnie smiled. The dragon on the helmet flashed and seemed to move as he turned to the emissaries.

  “As Lord Schleim has no preference,” said Jonnie, reaching out with the pointer beam, “we will choose this one. Asart!” And he tapped it with the light. “Notice the peculiar crater patterns, these five ellipses, that make this moon distinctive.”

  A sudden chill hit Schleim. Asart! Covered under its surface were the huge shops and hangars of the entire Tolnep navy. To this place local freighters took the parts of space vessels and on Asart they were reassembled. The mighty nonatmosphere ships of Tolnep could not even take off from a planetary surface. Before every material or crew delivery, all the heavens were combed for hostile surveillance. Before every war vessel launch, surface-fired spy ships rose from Tolnep itself and scanned the skies. The function of Asart was a hard-kept secret. How had this devil come upon such data? Or was it a lucky choice? Schleim felt a crawling unease.

  And then abruptly any worry he had was dispelled. The devil with the strange beast on his helmet said, “Could I ask all your lordships to come outside? Seats have been placed for your ease. And there will be what I think you will find an interesting demonstration.”

  He had just unwittingly solved Schleim’s problem!

  5

  Lord Schleim was making very sure that he was the last to leave the room. He wanted nobody left in here. He had noticed that the room had a door and that it had a lock. By leaving last he could quite naturally close the door and turn the lock. That would be one less door he would have to watch and he could be certain that nobody lurked in this nearly soundproof room to see what would go on and leap out to surprise him.

  All the other emissaries filed out. As the one deepest in the room, it was natural that he be the last to leave. The devil had tagged after them and he was gone. The small gray men had departed.

  But this confounded host! The elderly man in the fancy Chinese gown seemed to have accumulated some papers and they were on the floor beside the chair where he had sat. Guest lists, of course! And one must have fallen back of the chair, for he was searching it out. He finally found it and then stood there going over it, evidently rehearsing some hard-to-pronounce names. So Schleim had to pretend that he had misplaced something and stood there going through his pockets and looking thoughtful. It was a bit of a strain waiting the host out. The man did not seem to notice him but just stood there, running a finger down a list and muttering. Fine time to rehearse, thought Schleim acidly. In another few moments his own delay would become noticeable. But he had to be sure this was an empty room. Too soundproof! And it might have screens in it—he looked about. There was a device in one upper corner. Could it be a viewing device? Hard to tell. Bad light. This projector might also be a viewer. No, he better wait in case somebody should look in here.

/>   At last! The host moved with a sort of sailing walk up the aisle to the door, still muttering over his list. Schleim went along right behind him.

  The Tolnep was almost to the door, was even reaching to close it, when the host stopped.

  Lord Schleim, almost in the doorway now, eyes only for the door, was distracted by two technicians appearing. The same technicians who had set up the projector. They were rushing in to move it.

  The collision was sudden and violent.

  The scepter flew from Schleim’s hand.

  A technician caught a glimpse of fangs right in front of his face and raised his arm. Unable to check its forward crush, the technician’s heavy sleeve banged into Schleim’s mouth.

  The reaction of a Tolnep was inevitable. He bit! He bit hard and repeatedly, hissing in rage as he struck!

  With a yell the technician reeled back. He staggered away, holding his sleeve close to his body with the other hand, and vanished into another doorway.

  The second technician was chattering horrified apologies in some tongue. Chinese? He reached down and picked up a gold object from the floor and shakingly handed it to Schleim.

  Schleim gripped it. He felt the perforations at the top and the rings at the bottom. He straightened up his glasses and heaved a sigh of relief. At least the scepter was secure!

  The host was brushing him off with heavy, frantic apologies. The host took a second to gesture impatiently at the second technician and only then did the hovering man go in and get the projector and wheel it out.

  Managing to hang back and seem offended, Schleim at last got the room empty and, without the concerned host remarking it, closed and locked the door. Schleim even pretended to limp a bit. He told the host not to mind. And he went to join the others.

  In the hospital, Dr. Allen and a nurse were getting the Chinese “technician” out of his jacket. They did it very delicately. Dr. Allen took the padded sleeve and, without touching it, cut it off the jacket and let it fall into a wide-mouthed jar. Drops of poison were visible on the cloth, oozing back up out of the padding.