Battlefield Earth (115 page)

     The treaty signing, Jonnie was told, would be that afternoon.

They came, Lord Dom and Dries Gloton, to the ops room. Dries seemed extraordinarily pleased. “I hear,” he said, “that the Earth representative arrived last night. Be sure he is at the signing.”

Jonnie glanced at his watch. It was midmorning. He went to the room where they had put both the old War Chief and Dunneldeen.

Dunneldeen was up and dressed and seemed bright enough for all his bandaged face. Sir Robert was just groggily opening his eyes so Jonnie took Dunneldeen back to ops.

“I want you to take over this post,” said Jonnie. “I’ll stay for the signing but right after that I’m getting out of here to search for Stormalong.” He spent some time genning Dunneldeen in and then went back to Sir Robert.

The old Scot was as grumpy as a bear. He was sitting on the edge of bed with nothing much to cover his bony limbs and eating something Chief Chong-won had brought him.

“Treaty signing!” he grumped between bites. “Waste of time. They’ll never keep any treaties. This is a beautiful planet here and they want it! I belong right up in Edinburgh helping dig those poor people out. Oh, you were right, MacTyler, they all should have been at Cornwall!”

Jonnie let him finish his food and then, while he was having some tea, went out and got an atmosphere projector. And although Sir Robert spent much of his time muttering and railing about being absent from Scotland, Jonnie briefed him carefully on events and what they could possibly do. When he had finished, he stood back.

“I’m no diplomat!” said Sir Robert. “I proved that! And I’m no lawyer and I’m no banker! ‘Tis a thin chance, but I’ll do what you say.”

That was all Jonnie wanted.

In midafternoon they went to the conference room. Sir Robert was in his regimentals, Jonnie in his helmet and black tunic. Nobody paid them much attention.

The emissaries had drawn up the treaty Jonnie had heard voted and they had it on a big scroll, laid out in such a way that each emissary could walk up to the table where it lay, sign it, affix his seals, get the signature and pattern or print attested by the bank, and then go back to his seat.

It was a sort of parade. Dries Gloton and Fowljopan were the only ones who stood at the table.

Sir Robert sat and fumed about wasting time, but he did so only in a very low voice and only to Jonnie. They signed and signed. It took them almost an hour.

Earth was the last signature, and Sir Robert went up and put down his name, got a match and melted some wax, and then smashed his big seal ring onto it. Dries drew a bank trace around it and held it up.

“I hereby certify,” said Dries, “that the Galactic Bank has attested the authenticity of this Treaty of Kariba, Earth. It is complete. May I suggest that immediate copies of it be transmitted to all ships concerned.” He spread the treaty out, pulled a small picto-tracer from his breast pocket, and scanned it down the scroll.

Jonnie passed it to Dunneldeen in ops for transmission and copies for themselves and all delegates and the bank.

The lord of the Hawvins stood up. “I have received word that all prisoners were put down at the designated place and signed for by the Earth representative there.”

Dries looked at Jonnie. Word had come from Thor in mid-morning. There had been seven pilots, three Russian soldiers, two Sherpas, and one Scot. Thirteen in all. They had been in fair condition. But since none of these invading ships had the kind of food terrestrials ate, they were suffering badly from starvation and certainly would have died in months-long space travel. They had been rushed to Aberdeen for intravenous feeding and treatment of minor injuries. Thor had had a row with the Hawvin officer in charge of the landing for one of the pilots remembered another pilot he was sure the Tolneps had picked up. After sending the first group off Thor had stood by, and sure enough, the Tolneps had another pilot, a German. It had taken two hours to get him set down. They swore that was all. Thor had then believed them.

“Our officer attests we have the prisoners back,” said Jonnie.

The emissaries who had ships in orbit then passed their orders to their respective commanders.

There was a wait. Then Dunneldeen came in to report that according to sightings from Russia, the whole flotilla in orbit had flamed up, gotten into formation around the Tolnep vessels, and left. The phenomena of their getting very big and vanishing had been observed. Radio contact was lost.

The whole group went outside and Angus fired a spitting, naked, and chained Schleim to the slave market in Creeth.[2] The emissaries came back to the conference room.

Sir Robert thought that was all. He was sitting in the front row, grumbling.

Dries Gloton smiled. He walked over to Sir Robert and he drew a thick paper from his pocket.

“My lords,” said Dries to the assemblage, “are witnesses to the fact that there is no further dispute over the ownership of Earth. The government of the planet is intact. The king is recovering. The Earth representative here is legally empowered to act for the government.

“The title to the planet is clear!” he said triumphantly. “Emissary of Earth! I hereby serve you with a notice of delinquency of payments! If, after a discussion, but in no case later than one week, this mortgage remains unhandled or unpaid, it will result in foreclosure on the planet and all its assets and peoples.”

He dropped the paper in Sir Robert’s lap. “Consider yourself legally served with due process!”

Sir Robert sat there, staring at the paper.

Dries Gloton smiled a shark-like smile at Jonnie. “Thank you very much for getting him here and into the open so that he could legally be given this paper. In addition to being branch manager, I also usually act as my own collections department.”

He went over to a chair and picked up a foot-high stack of large booklets. He returned to the platform and addressed the assembled emissaries.

“Honored lords,” said Dries, “the primary business of this conference-to clear the title of Earth- is complete. However, I know each one of you has full authority to acquire territories for your state. There are other means than war.”

The lords shrugged. War was the surer method, said one. The mental health of the people depended upon war, said another. How was a state to demonstrate its power without war? said Browl. The Galactic Bank would have a hard time surviving without making war loans, quipped Dom. Rulers only became famous when they prosecuted war, laughed another. They were all in a jovial mood.

Jonnie listened to all this with a kind of horror. The impersonal cruelty of large government was brought home to him.

“Get on with it, Your Excellency,” chuckled Fowljopan. “We all know what you’re going to say.”

Dries smiled and began to hand out the booklets. “Here are some brochures I made up while waiting for a clear title. You will find data like mass, surface area, weather, numbers of seas, heights of mountains, and you will also find some scenic views. It is a very pretty planet, really. It would support several billion people, providing they could breathe air. But most of you have air-breathing colonies that even now are overcrowded.”

He finished handing the brochures about and the lords began to scan through the colored pictures. “You have collateral and credit and, many of you, cash. It would take a minimum mercenary force to occupy it for, as you know, its defenses are quite antiquated and it has minimum personnel to resist an invasion. Conveyance of title would include all people and assets.

“Therefore, should you care to linger, there will be an auction of this planet as a bank foreclosure and repossession in the next seven days unless suitable arrangements for payments of its debts are made-which hardly seems likely for they are without other adequate cash or collateral or credit. Thank you, my

lords.”

They were all chattering to one another and examining the brochure and seemed quite in a holiday mood. It was obvious they would stay around, even those from distant universes.

Jonnie said to Dries Gloton, “So it was all just a question of money!”

Dries smiled. “We have not the slightest feeling of hostility toward you. Banking is banking and business is business. One must pay one’s obligations. Any child knows that.”

The banker turned to Sir Robert, “Arrange a meeting for negotiations as soon as possible, will you? Then we can get this thing over with and done.”

Sir Robert and Jonnie walked out.

     There was a lot of activity in the bowl. Chief Chong-won’s tribe of Chinese had, for the most part, been replaced in Edinburgh by the North Chinese Jonnie had sent there from Russia.

The returning people were smudged and singed. Some were in a state of obvious exhaustion that not even rest on the flight from Edinburgh had eased. They rushed gladly to their children, scooping them up, embracing them, throwing questions to the older children. The dogs were straining at their leashes and barking joyously. It was a scene of glad reunion.

Jonnie was glad he had gotten them replaced on the rescue team. They had worked without ceasing and soon would have been unable to carry on. Yet they had worked until they nearly dropped. Watching fathers in happy chattering exchange with their youngsters, watching mothers anxiously verifying whether this or that had been done properly as to feeding and naps, Jonnie thought of those disdainful and arrogant lords and the soulless haughtiness of government. What did they care what happened to people like these? Yes, such governments might go through gestures of justice and perhaps even social work, but they remained cold, hard forces that could disrupt and shatter lives and people without conscience, without a second thought.

Chief Chong-won was getting them organized. He told Jonnie, as he rushed by, that he was moving them all to the old minesite dome that had been cleaned up: it had rooms underground and the armor cable was working there now.

Well! Jonnie was free of the signing conference. Dunneldeen was available to take over.

In ops he asked Dunneldeen, “Any news from Edinburgh come in with this tribe?”

Dunneldeen shook his head.

Jonnie grabbed an air mask and flight jacket. “Then I’m off to find Stormalong!”

He got no further than the exit to the bowl. He collided head on with Stormalong himself.

“Where have you been?” cried Jonnie. “I have called and called and called!”

Stormalong pushed him into a bunker where they could not be overheard. “I have been fighting and flying my goggles off for days!” He looked it. He was gaunt and hollow of eye; his white scarf was dirty, his jacket stained with sweat and grease. He even had a gun burn in his shoulder.

“You’re hurt,” said Jonnie.

“No, no, it’s nothing. A Drawkin officer wouldn’t surrender. I had to chase him with a marine attack plane! Imagine it, him on foot running up the side of a mountain, Ben Lomond, and me having to stun him, not kill him, just stun him, mind you, with a blast cannon! And then when I landed and got out, he was just playing dead and he shot me and I had to stun him again with a handgun. Oh, laddie, it has been a wild time!”

“What have you been demanded Jonnie, making no sense of it.

“Catching prisoners! They left marines and pilots scattered around the Singapore site, some wounded, some not. They didn’t bother to pick up their wounded in Russia. Dunneldeen must have shot down thirty enemy planes around Edinburgh and pilots that ejected are scattered to the west and in the

Highlands. It takes some doing, let me tell you, to pick them up. They think they’ll be tortured or sprinkled with virus or killed. And they don’t surrender easily!”

“All by yourself?”

“Except for half-a-dozen bank guards. And they’re French, Jonnie. They’re not soldiers. They can maybe guard a vault or carry valuables-”

“Stormalong, I had radios in all those places! You must have had your set on. People must have seen you!” None of it made any sense to Jonnie.

“It’s MacAdam, Jonnie. He wouldn’t let me answer. And anybody we saw, he told them they mustn’t put on the air they’d seen us. I told him you would be worried. But he said, no, no. Radio silence utterly and absolutely! I am sorry, Jonnie.”

With careful patience, Jonnie said, “Begin at the beginning. Did you deliver the copies of the talk I had with the small gray men?”

Stormalong sank down on an ammunition box. He verified they were out of sight and hearing of everyone. “I got there about dawn and I went right to MacAdam’s bedroom, and when he heard I was from you, he put the whole thing on a projector. Then he called the German and grabbed six bank guards and a whole basketload of Galactic bank notes, and he told a girl in his office not to give out any information at all and we got airborne. He just plain kidnapped me!

“We’ve been to every battleground looking for officers. He had a list of nationalities and he wanted several of each. Jonnie, those French bank guards are no help! I had to do all the flying and fighting. But I did get some rest. Every time we’d collect some officers…did you know both he and the German speak excellent Psychlo? I was surprised they’d been studying so hard…they’d interrogate them and I’d get a couple of hours of catnap. Then we’d load the prisoners aboard, all tied up…the bank guards could sit there with a gun on them…and off we’d go to another location.”

“What was he asking them?”

“Oh, I don’t know. He didn’t use torture. Sometimes he handed out a fistful of Galactic bank notes. They talked.”

Jonnie looked out the bunker entrance at the plane. There were the bank guards all right. They were dressed in gray uniforms. But they weren’t pushing prisoners. They were unloading boxes and some Chinese were bringing up some mine carts and rushing loads into the bowl. “I don’t see any prisoners,” said Jonnie.

“Oh, well,” said Stormalong, “we came back to Luxembourg and picked up some boxes and he got a couple more bank guards- Germans this time-and we flew down to the Victoria minesite. I got a pretty good rest there because he spent so much time talking to the captives we already had there. Then we dumped out prisoners and came on and here we are. And that’s the whole thing.”

It was a long way from the whole thing, Jonnie thought. He told Stormalong to go get some food and rest and went out to find the banker.

MacAdam, short and stocky, his black beard flecked with gray, was pointing this way and that and rushing people along. He stopped abruptly when he saw Jonnie and shook his hand vigorously. Then he turned and beckoned another man to come over.

“I don’t believe you ever met Baron von Roth,” said MacAdam, “the other member of the Earth Planetary Bank.”

The German was a huge man, as tall as Jonnie and heavier. He was bluff and hearty, red of face. “Ach, but I am pleased!” he bellowed and promptly gave Jonnie a huge hug.

MacAdam had vanished into the bowl and the German picked up a heavy box and rushed after him.

Jonnie knew something of the German. Although he had made a fortune in dairy and other foodstuffs, he was descended from a family that was supposed to have controlled European banking for centuries before the Psychlo invasion. He looked like a very tough, capable man.

The last of the baggage from the marine attack plane was being wheeled into the entrance. Jonnie couldn’t figure out what they were up to.

Inside, a crew of Chinese and some bank guards, under the direction of Chong-won, were hanging huge mine tarpaulins all around the pagoda eaves to completely hide the firing platform itself. Some more Chinese were stringing mine cables and hanging tarps on them to make a covered passage from a bunker to the console. They were totally hiding the platform and all operation of it.

MacAdam was talking with Angus, and although they smiled at him when Jonnie came up, MacAdam was very rushed and he said, “Later, later.”

All the baggage had vanished into the covered bunker. The Chinese children and dogs were all gone. Some Chinese were cleaning the bowl up. Some emissaries wandered out and watched what was happening with the tarpaulins and then, showing little curiosity, wandered off showing each other bits and points in the brochure.

Dunneldeen was on the job in the ops room and told Jonnie that he’d talked Stormalong into getting his beard trimmed like “Sir Francis Drake.” No, nothing new from Edinburgh except that the North Chinese now working there were doing fine. Did Jonnie know they were much bigger men? Oh, yes, and Ker and two bank guards were holding blast rifles on fifty new prisoners at Victoria.

Jonnie glanced up at the sky. If worse came to worst, he had his own way to handle this: a way which might make a fatal future but which might have to be done.

He went to his room to get into less spectacular clothes. They had a few short days. But days had a habit of passing awfully fast when you needed them.

The final confrontation, the last battle, was all too near.