Escape Velocity Read online

  “Not too many, really; most of the murderers were hot-blooded.” He shuddered at the memory. “Very. But there were a handful of reptiles—and three of them were power-hungry, too.”

  “Why?” Sam looked up, frowning. “I mean, how much power could they get? Nothing that counts, if they couldn't leave the planet.”

  “If you'll pardon my saying so, that's a very provincial view. I mean, there's a whole planet here.”

  “But no money.”

  “Well, not real money, no. But I didn't say they were out to get rich; I said they were out for power.”

  “Power over a mud puddle? A handful of soldiers? What good is that?”

  “Thanks for rubbing my nose in it,” Dar snapped.

  “Oh! I'm sorry.” Sam's eyes widened hugely. “I just turn off other people's feelings, sometimes. I get carried away with what I'm saying.”

  “Don't we all?” Dar smiled bleakly, sawing his temper back. “I suppose that's how the lust for power begins.”

  “How—by ignoring other people's feelings?”

  Dar nodded. “Only worrying about how you feel. I suppose if you're the boss, you feel safer, and that's all that really matters.”

  “Not the bosses I've met. They're always worrying about who's going to try to kick them out and take over—and I'm just talking about bureaucrats!” She looked up at Dar. “Would you believe it—some of them actually hire bodyguards?”

  “Sure, I'd believe it! After living on a prison planet without guards.”

  “Oh. Your fellow prisoners were worse than the gorillas?”

  “Much worse,” Dar confirmed. “I mean, with the guards at least you knew who to watch out for—they wore uniforms. But with your friendly fellow prisoners, you never knew from one moment to the next who was going to try to slip a knife between your ribs.”

  “They let you have knives?”

  Dar shrugged impatiently. “The Wolmen could chip flints; so could we. Who was going to stop us, with the guards gone? No, they loaded onto the ferry and lifted off; Shacklar stepped into Government House and locked himself in behind concrete and steel with triple locks and arm-thick bolts . . . and the monsters came out of the woodwork. Anybody who had a grudge hunted down his favorite enemy, and started slicing. Or got sliced up himself.”

  “Immoral!” Sam muttered. “How could he bring himself to do such a thing!”

  Dar shrugged. “Had to be hard, I guess. Lord knows we had enough hard cases walking around. When they saw blood flowing, they started banding together to guard each other's backs. And the first thing you knew, there were little gangs roaming around, looking for people to rough up and valuables to steal.”

  Sam snorted. “What kind of valuables could you have had?”

  “Food would do, at that point. Distribution had broken down. Why should the work-gangs work, without the guards to make them? Finally, we mobbed the warehouse and broke in—and ruined more food than we ate.” He shuddered at the memory. “They started knife fights over ham hocks! That was about when I started looking for a hole to crawl into.”

  “Your general has no more ethics than a shark!” Sam blazed. “How could he just sit there and let it happen?”

  “I expect he had a pretty good idea about how it would all come out.”

  “How could he? With chaos like that, it was completely unpredictable!”

  “Well, not really. . . .”

  “What're you talking about? You could've all killed each other off!”

  “That's predictable, isn't it? But there wasn't too much chance of it, I guess. There were too many of us—half a million. That's a full society; and anarchy's an unstable condition. When the little gangs began to realize they couldn't be sure of beating the next little gang they were trying to steal from, they made a truce instead, and merged into a bigger gang that could be sure of winning a fight, because it was the biggest gang around.”

  “So other little gangs had to band together into bigger gangs too.” Sam nodded. “And that meant the bigger gangs had to merge into small armies.”

  “Right. Only most of us didn't realize all that; we just knew there were three big gangs fighting it out, all of a sudden.”

  “The power-hungry boys you told me about?”

  Dar nodded. “And they were pretty evenly balanced, too. So their battles didn't really decide anything; they just killed off sixty men. Which meant you had to stay way clear of any of 'em, or they'd draft you as a replacement.”

  “So two of them made a truce and ganged up on the third?”

  “No, the Wolmen ganged up on all of us, first.”

  “Oh.” Sam looked surprised, then nodded slowly. “Makes sense, of course. I mean, why should they just sit back and wait for you to get yourselves organized?”

  “Right. It made a lot more sense to hit us while we were still disorganized. And we'd stopped keeping sentries on the wall, and the Wolmen knew enough to hit us at night.”

  Sam shuddered. “Why weren't you all killed in your beds?”

  “Because the Big Three did have sentries, to make sure none of the others tried a night attack. So all of a sudden, the sirens were howling, and everybody was running around yelling—and military conditioning took over.”

  “Military conditioning?” Sam frowned. “I thought you were convicts!”

  “Yeah, but we were still soldiers. What'd you think—the Army provided a few battalions to fight off the Wolmen for us? We had to do our own fighting, with our own sergeants and lieutenants. The guards just stood back and made sure we didn't try to get any big ideas . . . and handled the laser cannons.”

  “But how could they let you have weapons?”

  Dar shrugged. “Bows and arrows, tops. That gave us a fair chance against the Wolmen. So when the sirens shrieked, we just automatically ran for the armory and grabbed our bows, and jumped any Wolman who got in our way. Then, when we had our weapons, we just naturally yelled, ‘What do we do, Sarge?’ I mean, he was there getting his weapons, too—if he was still alive.”

  “And most of them were?”

  “What can I tell you? Rank has its privileges. Yeah, most of them were there, and they told us where to go.”

  “Sergeants usually do, I understand.”

  “Well, yes. But in this case, they just took us out to chop up anything that didn't wear a uniform—and look for a lieutenant to ask orders from. We pulled together into companies—and the lieutenants were already squawking into their wrist coms, demanding that Shacklar tell them what to do.”

  “Why would they do . . . ?” Sam broke off, her eyes widening. “I just realized something: soldiers are basically bureaucrats. Nobody wants to take a chance on getting blamed.”

  “It is kind of drilled into you,” Dar admitted. “And as I said, when the Wolmen came over the wall, habit took over. It did for Shacklar, too, I guess. He started telling them what to do.”

  “Habit, my great toe! He'd been waiting for a chance like that—counting on it!”

  “Looking for me to disagree with you? Anyway, he had the viewscreens, and he knew the tactics; so he started giving orders.” Dar shook his head in disbelief. “If you can call them orders! ‘Lieutenant Walker, there's a band of Wolmen breaking through over on the left; I really think you should run over and arrange a little surprise for them.’ ‘Lieutenant Able, Sergeant Dorter's squad is outnumbered two to one over on your company's right; would you send your reserves over to join him, please?’ ”

  “Come off it! No general talks to his subordinates that way!”

  Dar held up a palm. “So help me, he did it! I overheard Lieutenant Walker's communicator.”

  “You mean you were in that battle?”

  “I had a choice?”

  “But I thought you tried to find a hole to crawl into!”

  “Sure. I didn't say I succeeded, did I?”

  Sam turned away, glowering. “I still don't believe it. Why should he be so polite?”

  “We figured it out later. In
effect, he was telling us it was our war, and it was up to us to fight it; but he was willing to give us advice, if we wanted it.”

  “Good advice, I take it?”

  “Oh, very good! We had the Wolmen pushed back against the wall in an hour. Then Shacklar told the lieutenants to pull back and give them a chance to get away. They all answered, basically, ‘The hell with that noise! We've got a chance to wipe out the bastards!’ ‘Indeed you do,’ Shacklar answered, ‘and they all have brothers and cousins back home—six of them for every one of you. But if you do try to exterminate them—well, you'll manage it, but they'll kill two of your men for every one of theirs.’ Well, the lieutenants allowed that he had a point, so they did what he said and pulled back; and the Wolmen, with great daring and ingenuity, managed to get back up over the wall and away.”

  “Then he told you to break out the laser cannon?”

  “No, he'd sent the cannons home with the guards. Good thing, too; I'd hate to think what those three power-mongers would've done with them. But we did have hand-blasters, in the armories. Each of the power-mongers had managed to seize an armory as a power base as soon as he'd recruited a gang. They'd opened the doors and issued sidearms as soon as the sirens screamed. They weren't much good for the close fighting inside the wall; but, once the Wolmen were over the top and running, we got up on the parapet and started shooting after them, until the lieutenants yelled at us to stop wasting our charges. The Wolmen were running, and they didn't stop until morning.”

  “A victory,” Sam said dryly.

  “A bigger one than you think—because as soon as the shooting was over the three would-be warlords showed up with their henchmen, bawling, ‘All right, it's all over! Turn in your guns! Go home!’ ”

  “They what!”

  “Well, sure.” Dar shrugged. “After all, they'd opened up the armories for us, hadn't they? Shouldn't we give them their guns back now? I mean, you've got to see it from their viewpoint.”

  “I hope you didn't!”

  “Of course we didn't. We just turned around grinning, and pointed the guns at them. But we didn't say anything; we let the lieutenants do the talking.”

  “What talking?”

  “It depended. The nice ones said, ‘Hands up.’ The rest of them just said, ‘Fire!’ And we did.”

  Sam formed a silent O with her lips.

  “It was quick and merciful,” Dar pointed out. “More than they had a right to, really.”

  “What did you do without them? I mean, they had provided some sort of social order.”

  “I see you favor loose definitions. But while the ashes cooled, the lieutenants got together and did some talking.”

  “They elected a leader?”

  “Yeah, they could all agree that they needed to. But they weren't so unanimous about who. There were four main candidates, and they wrangled and haggled, but nobody could agree on anything—I mean, not even enough to call for a vote.”

  “How long did they keep that up?”

  “Long enough for it to get pretty tense, and the boys on the battlements were getting kind of edgy, eyeing each other and wondering if we were going to be ordered to start burning each other pretty soon.”

  “You wouldn't really have done it!”

  “I dunno. That military conditioning runs pretty deep. You don't know what you'll do when you hear your lieutenant call, ‘Fire!’ ”

  Sam shuddered. “What are you—animals?”

  “I understand the philosophers are still debating that one. My favorite is, ‘Man is the animal who laughs.' Fortunately, Lieutenant Mandring thought the same way.”

  “Who's Lieutenant Mandring?”

  “The one with the sense of humor. He nominated General Shacklar.”

  Sam whirled, the picture of fury. Then she developed a sudden faraway look. “You know . . .”

  Dar pointed a finger at her. “That's just about the way all the other lieutenants reacted. They started to yell—then they realized he meant it for a joke. After they'd finished rolling around on the ground and had it throttled down to a chuckle, they started eyeing each other, and it got awfully quiet.”

  “But Shacklar didn't even try to talk them into it!”

  “He didn't have to; he'd given them a taste of do-it-yourself government. So they were ready to consider a change of diet—but nobody wanted to be the first one to say it. So Lieutenant Griffin had to take it—he's the one with the talent for saving other people's faces. Too bad he can't do anything about his own. . . .”

  “What happened!”

  “Oh! Yes . . . well, all he said was, ‘Why don't we ask him what he thinks?’ And after they got done laughing again, Lieutenant Able said, ‘It'd be good for a laugh.’ And Lieutenant Walker said, ‘Sure. I mean, we don't have to do what he says, you know.’ Well, they could all agree on that, of course, so they put Lieutenant Walker up to it, he having spoken last, and he called the General on his wrist com, explained the situation, and asked what he'd do in their place. He said he was willing to serve, but really thought they ought to elect one of their own number.”

  Sam smiled. “How nice of him! What'd they do back at Square One?”

  “They asked the comedian for a suggestion. He said they ought to call out each lieutenant's name and have everybody who had confidence in him raise a hand.”

  “Who won?”

  “Everybody; they all pulled, ‘No confidence.' So Lieutenant Mandring called for a vote on General Shacklar.”

  “How long was the pause?”

  “Long enough for everybody to realize they were getting hungry. But after a while they started raising hands, and three hundred sixty out of four hundred went up.”

  “This, for the man who had to hide in a fortress? What changed their minds?”

  “The chaos, mostly—especially since he'd just done a good job directing them in battle. Soldiers value that kind of thing. So they called Shacklar and told him he was elected.”

  “I take it he was glad to hear it.”

  “Hard to say; he just heaved a sigh and asked them to form a parliament before they went to lunch and to start thinking about a constitution while they ate.”

  “Constitution! In a prison?”

  “Why not? I mean, they'd just elected him, hadn't they?”

  Sam developed a fawaway look again. “I suppose. . . .”

  “So did they. That was the turning point, you see—when we started thinking of ourselves as a colony, not a prison. When we wrote the constitution, we didn't call Shacklar ‘warden'—we named him ‘governor.’ ”

  “Generous of you,” Sam smirked, “considering Terra had done it already.”

  “Yeah, but we hadn't. And once he had the consent of the populace, he could govern without guards.”

  “That . . . makes . . . a weird kind of sense.”

  “Doesn't it? Only when you can make a whole planet into a prison, of course—and there's no way out. But that's the way it is here. So he could send the guards home, and let us fight it out for ourselves.”

  “Which made you realize he was better than the natural product.”

  “It did have that advantage. And, once his position was consolidated, he could start proposing reforms to the Council.”

  “Council?”

  “The legislative body. The Wolmen are agitating for representation, now. But that's okay—we traders are angling for a rep at their moots. Anyway, Shacklar talked the Council into instituting pay.”

  “Oh, that certainly must have taken a lot of convincing!”

  “It did, as it happens; a fair number of them were Communists. But pay it was—in scrip; worthless off-planet, I'm sure, but it buys a lot here—a BTU for a neat bunk, two BTUs for a clean yard, and so forth.”

  “Great! Where could they spend it?”

  “Oh, the General talked Cholly into coming in and setting up shop, and a few of the con . . . uh, colonists, decided he had a good thing going, and . . .”

  “Pretty soon, the plac
e was lousy with capitalists.”

  “Just the bare necessities—a general store, a fix-it shop, and three taverns.”

  “That ‘general store' looks more like a shopping complex.”

  “Just a matter of scale. Anyway, that created a driving hunger for BTUs and that meant soldiers started spiffing up, and . . .”

  “Higher morale, all over,” Sam muttered. “Because they can improve their lot.”

  “Right. Then Cholly started paying top dollar for pipe-leaf traders, and . . .”

  “A drug baron!”

  “Suppose you could call him that. But it turned out there was a market for it—the drug's very low-bulk after it's processed, you see; and it doesn't provide euphoria or kill pain, but it does retard the aging process. So Universal Pharmaceuticals was interested, and Interstellar Geriatrics, and . . .”

  “I get the picture. Top money.”

  “But it costs a lot, too—especially at first, when it was a little on the hazardous side. But Cholly was bringing in trade goods that made glass beads just sharp-cornered gravel, so once we managed to get trade started, it mushroomed.”

  “And all of a sudden, the Wolmen weren't quite so hostile any more.” Sam nodded.

  “Aw, you peeked.” Dar scuffed at the turf with his boot-toe. “And from there, of course, it was just a little fast talking to get them to agree to the chalk-fights.”

  “So trade is growing, and morale is growing, and you're taking the first steps toward a unified society, and everybody feels as though they've got some opportunity, and . . .” Sam broke off, shaking her head, dazzled. “I can't believe it! The central planets are mired in malaise and self-pity, and out here in the marches, you've managed to build a growing, maybe even hopeful, society! Back on Terra, everybody's living in walking despair because nobody feels they can make things better.”

  “What?” Dar was shocked. “But they've got everything! They've . . .”

  “Got nothing,” Sam sneered. “On Terra, you'll die doing the job your father did, and everybody knows it. You've got your rooms, your servos, and your rations. And that's it.”

  “But even beggars have whole houses—with furniture that makes anything here look like firewood! And they don't have to do a lick of housework, with all those servos—their free time's all free!”