Vulcan's Hammer (11 page)

He could not believe what he heard; he was stunned, because he knew at once what it implied.

“Good luck to you and all the rest of your type,” the monitor said and rang off; the screen went dead.

Why not? Barris thought. They can quit because they have a place to go. They only need to walk outside onto the street. And there they’ll find the Movement.

As soon as he reached his office he switched on the vidsender there. After some delay he managed to raise a monitor somewhere within the building itself. “This is urgent,” he said. “I have to contact Managing Director Dill. Do everything you can for me.”

“Yes, sir,” the monitor said.

A few minutes later, as Barris sat tautly at his desk, the screen relit. Leaning forward, he said, “Dill—”

But it was not Jason Dill. He found himself facing Smith.

“Sir,” Smith said jerkily, “you better come back.” His face twisted; his eyes had a wild, sightless quality. “We don’t know what it is or how it got in there, but it’s in there now. Flying around. We sealed it off; we didn’t know it was there until—”

“It’s in with Vulcan 2?” Barris said.

“Yes, it must have come in with you. It’s metal, but it isn’t anything we ever—”

“Blow it up,” Barris said.

“Everything?”

“Yes,” he said. “Be sure you get it. There’s no point in my coming back. Report to me as soon as you destroy it. Don’t try to save anything.”

Smith said, “What is it, that thing in there?”

“It’s the thing,” Barris said, “that’s going to get us all. Unless we get it first.” And, he thought, I don’t think we’re going to. He broke the connection, then, and jiggled for the monitor. “Haven’t you gotten hold of Dill yet?” he said. Now he felt a dreary, penetrating resignation; it was hopeless.

The monitor said, “Yes, sir, I have Mr. Dill here.” After a pause the monitor’s face faded and Jason Dill’s appeared in its place.

Dill said, “You were successful, weren’t you?” His face had a gray, shocked bleakness. “You revived Vulcan 2 and got the information you wanted.”

“One of those things got in,” Barris said. “From Vulcan 3.”

“I know that,” Jason Dill said. “At least, I assumed it. Half an hour ago Vulcan 3 called an extraordinary Directors’ Council meeting. They’re probably notifying you right now. The reason—” His mouth writhed, and then he regained control. “To have me removed and tried for treason. It would be good if I could count on you, Barris. I need your support, your testimony.”

“I’ll be right there,” Barris said. “I’ll meet you at your offices at Unity Control. In about an hour.” He cut the circuit and then contacted the field. “Get me the fastest ship possible,” he ordered. “Have it ready, and have two armed escorts that can follow along. I may run into trouble.”

At the other end of the line, the officer said, “Where did you want to go, Director?” He spoke in a slow, drawling voice, and Barris had never seen him before.

Barris said, “To Geneva.”

The man grinned and said, “Director, I have a suggestion.”

Feeling a chill of apprehension crawl up the back of his neck, Barris said, “What’s your suggestion?”

“You can jump in the Atlantic,” the man said, “and swim to Geneva.” He did not ring off; he stared mockingly at Barris, showing no fear. No anticipation of punishment.

Barris said, “I’m coming over to the field.”

“Indeed,” the man said. “We’ll look forward to seeing you. In fact”—he glanced at someone with him whom Barris could not see— “we’ll be expecting you.”

“Fine,” Barris said. He managed to keep his hands from shaking as he reached out and cut the circuit. The grinning, mocking face was gone. Rising from his chair, Barris walked to the door of his office and opened it. To one of his secretaries he said, “Have all the police in the building come up here at once. Tell them to bring sidearms and anything else they can get hold of.”

Ten minutes later, a dozen or so police straggled into his office. Is this all? he wondered. Twelve out of perhaps two hundred.

“I have to get to Geneva,” he told them. “So we’re going to go over to the field and get a ship there, in spite of what’s going on.”

One of the police said, “They’re pretty strong in there, sir. That’s where they started out; they apparently seized the tower and then landed a couple of shiploads of their own men. We couldn’t do anything because we had our hands full here, keeping control of—”

“Okay,” Barris interrupted. “You did all you could.” At least, he thought, I hope so. I hope I can count on you. “Let’s go,” he said. “And see what we can accomplish. I’ll take you with me to Geneva; I think I’ll need you there.”

Together, the thirteen of them set off along the corridor, in the direction of the ramp that led to the field.

“Unlucky number,” one of the police said nervously as they reached the ramp. Now they were out of the Unity Building, suspended over New York. The ramp moved beneath their feet, picking them up and carrying them across the canyon to the terminal building of the field.

As they crossed, Barris was aware of a sound. A low murmur, like the roar of the ocean.

Gazing down at the streets below, he saw a vast mob. It seethed along, a tide of men and women, growing each moment. And with them were the brown-clad figures of the Healers.

Even as he watched, the crowd moved toward the Unity Building. Stones and bricks crashed against the windows, shattering into the offices. Clubs and steel pipes. Surging, yelling, angry people.

The Healers had begun their final move.

Beside him, one of the police said, “We’re almost across, sir.”

“Do you want a weapon of some sort, sir?” another policeman asked him.

Barris accepted a heavy-duty hand weapon from one of the police. They continued on, carried by the ramp; a moment later the first line of police bumped up against the entrance port of the terminal building. The police stepped down, their weapons ready.

I must get to Geneva
,
Barris thought. At any cost. Even that of human life!

Ahead of them, a group of field employees stood in an irregular cordon. Jeering, shaking their fists, they came forward; a broken bottle flew past Barris and crashed against the floor. Some of the people grinned sheepishly; they seemed embarrassed by the situation. Others showed on their faces the accumulated grievances of years.

“Hi, Director!” one of them called.

“You want your ship?” another yelled.

“You can’t have it.”

“It belongs to Father, now.”

Barris said, “That ship belongs to me. It’s for my use.” He walked a few steps forward . . .

A rock struck him on the shoulder. Suddenly the air reeked of heat; a pencil beam had flicked on, and he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a policeman go down.

There’s nothing else to do, he realized. We have to fight.

“Shoot back,” he said to the remaining police.

One of them protested, “But most of those people are unarmed.”

Raising his own weapon, Barris fired into the group of Movement sympathizers.

Screams and cries of pain. Clouds of smoke billowed up; the air became hot. Barris walked on, the policemen with him. Those of the sympathizers that remained fell back; their group split into two parts. More police fell; again he saw the flash of pencil beams, the official weapon of Unity, now turned against it.

He walked on. Turning a corner, he came out on a stairway leading down to the field.

Of the police, five made it with him to the edge of the field. He entered the first ship that looked as if it had any capacity for high performance; bringing the police inside with him, he locked the doors of the ship and seated himself at the controls.

No one opposed their take-off. They rose from the field and headed east out over the Atlantic, in the direction of Europe . . . and Geneva.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Director William Barris entered the massive Unity Control Building at Geneva, his armed police trailing after him. Outside the central auditorium he was met by Jason Dill.

“We haven’t much time,” Dill said. He too had his police with him, several dozen of them, all with weapons showing. The man looked gray and sick; he spoke in a voice barely audible to Barris. “They’re pushing it through as fast as they can. All the Directors who’re against me got here a long time ago; the uncommitted ones are just now arriving. Obviously, Vulcan 3 saw to it—” He noticed the five policemen. “Is that all you could muster?
Five
men?” Glancing about to be sure they were not overheard, he muttered, “I’ve given secret orders to everyone I can trust; they’re to arm and be ready outside this auditorium during the trial. This is a trial, you realize, not a meeting.”

Barris said, “Who went over to the Healers? Any Directors?”

“I don’t know.” In a bewildered manner, Dill said, “Vulcan 3 sent each Director an order to appear and a statement on what had happened. A description of my
treason
—how I deliberately falsified data and maintained a curtain between it and Unity. You got no such statement? Of course not; Vulcan 3 knows you’re loyal to me.”

“Who’ll prosecute?” Barris said. “Who’s speaking for Vulcan 3?”

“Reynolds of Eastern Europe. Very young, very aggressive and ambitious. If he’s successful he’ll probably be Managing Director. Vulcan 3 has no doubt supplied him with all the data he needs.” Dill clenched and unclenched his fists. “I’m very pessimistic about the outcome of this, Barris. You yourself were suspicious of me until just recently. So much depends on the
way
this is looked at.” Dill started through the doors, into the auditorium. “The interpretation that’s put on the facts. After all, I did withhold information—that’s true.”

The auditorium was almost filled. Each of the Directors present had with him armed police from his region. All waited impatiently for the session to begin. Edward Reynolds stood behind the speaker’s desk on the raised platform, his hands resting dramatically on the marble surface, watching the audience intently.

Reynolds was a tall man. He wore his gray suit with confidence, towering over other T-class people. He was thirty-two; he had risen rapidly and efficiently. For a moment his cold blue eyes rested on Jason Dill and Barris.

“The session is about to begin,” he stated. “Director Barris will take his seat.” He pointed to Dill. “Come up here, so you can be examined.”

Uncertainly, Dill moved toward the platform, surrounded by his guards. He climbed the marble steps and, after some hesitation, took a seat facing Reynolds; it seemed to be the only vacant one. Barris remained where he was, thinking, Reynolds has done it; he’s already managed to cut us off from each other. To isolate Dill from me.

“Take your seat,” Reynolds ordered him sharply.

Instead, Barris moved down the aisle toward him. “What is the purpose of this session? By what legal authority are you standing up there? Or have you merely seized that spot?”

A nervous murmur moved through the auditorium. All eyes were on Barris now. The Directors were uneasy anyhow; there had never been, in the history of the Unity structure, a treason indictment of a Managing Director—and, in addition, no Director was unaware of the pressure of the Healers, the force from outside the building, lapping at their heels. If Jason Dill could be shown to be disloyal, if a scapegoat could be made of him, one that would convince the body of Directors, possibly their inability to deal with the Healers could be explained. Or, Barris thought acidly, rationalized.

Picking up a directive lying in front of him, Reynolds said, “You failed to read the report sent you, evidently. It outlined—”

“I question the legality of this session,” Barris broke in, halting directly in front of the platform. “I question your right to give orders to Managing Director Dill—your superior.” Stepping up on the platform, Barris said, “This appears to be a crude attempt to seize power and force out Jason Dill. Let’s see you demonstrate otherwise. The burden of proof is on you—not on Jason Dill!”

The murmur burst into a roar of excitement. Reynolds waited calmly for it to die down. “This is a critical time,” he said at last. He gave no sign of being perturbed. “The revolutionary Movement of Healers is attacking us all over the world; their purpose is to reach Vulcan 3 and destroy the structure of Unity. The purpose of this session is to indict Jason Dill as an agent of the Healers—a traitor working against Unity. Dill deliberately withheld information from Vulcan 3. He made Vulcan 3 powerless to act against the Healers; he rendered it helpless, and so made impotent the entire Unity organization.”

Now the audience listened not to Barris but Reynolds.

Rising, John Chai of South Asia said, “What do you say to that Director Barris? Is this true?”

Edgar Stone of West Africa joined Chai. “Our hands have been tied; we’ve had to stand idle while the Healers grow. You know it as well as we do—in fact, you put direct questions to Jason Dill yourself. You mistrusted him too.”

Facing the Directors, not Reynolds, Barris said, “I mistrusted him until I had proof that he acted in the interests of Unity.”

“What was that proof?” Alex Faine of Greenland demanded.

Beside Barris, Jason Dill said, “Show them the memory elements from Vulcan 2. The ones you reconstructed.”

“I can’t,” Barris said.

“Why not?” With panic, Dill said, “Didn’t you bring them?”

Barris said, “I had to destroy them.”

For a long time Jason Dill stared at him speechlessly. All the color had drained from his face.

“When one of those metal mobile extensions got in,” Barris said, “I had to act instantly.”

At last some color returned to Dill’s aging face. “I see,” he said. “You should have told me.”

Barris said, “I didn’t know at that time that I’d need them for a purpose such as this.” He too felt the grim futility of their position. The memory elements would have been effective proof . . . and they were gone. “The tapes,” he said. “That you first showed me. The two final tapes from Vulcan 2.”

Nodding, Dill reached into his briefcase. He produced the two reels of tape, displaying them for all the Directors to see.

“What do you have?” John Chai demanded, standing up.

“These tapes,” Dill said, “are from Vulcan 2. I was working under its instructions. It instructed me to withhold data from Vulcan 3 and I did so. I acted in the interests of Unity.”

At once, Reynolds said, “Why should data—any kind of data—have been withheld from Vulcan 3? How could it be justified?”

Jason Dill said nothing; he started to speak, but evidently he found no words. Turning to Barris he said, “Can you—”

“Vulcan 3 is a menace to the Unity system,” Barris said. “It has built mobile units which have gone out and murdered. Vulcan 2 was aware of this danger on a theoretical level. It deduced from the nature of Vulcan 3 that Vulcan 3 would show inclinations similar enough to the survival drive of living organisms to—”

Reynolds interrupted, “To be considered what?” His voice took on a contemptuous tone. “Not alive, surely.” He smiled without any humor. “Tell us that Vulcan 3 is alive,” he said.

“Every Director in this room is free to examine these tapes,” Barris said. “The issue is not whether Vulcan 3 is alive or not— but whether Jason Dill
believed
it to be alive. After all, his job is not to make original decisions, but to carry out the decisions made by the Vulcan computers. He was instructed by Vulcan 2 to the effect that the facts indicated—”

Reynolds said, “But Vulcan 2 is a discard. It was not Dill’s job to consult it. It is Vulcan 3 who makes policy.”

That was a strong point, Barris realized. He had to nod in agreement.

In a loud voice, Dill said, “Vulcan 2 was convinced that if Vulcan 3 learned about the Healers, it would do terrible things in order to protect itself. For fifteen months I wore myself out, I exhausted myself, day after day, seeing to it that all data pertaining to the Movement were kept out of the feeding-troughs.”

“Of course you did,” Reynolds said. “Because you were ordered to by the Healers. You did it to protect them.”

“That’s a lie,” Dill said.

Barris said, “Can any proof be offered in that direction?” Raising his hand he pointed at Reynolds. “Can you show any evidence of any kind whatsoever that Jason Dill had any contact with the Healers?”

“On the third subsurface level of this building,” Reynolds said, “you will find Dill’s contact with the Movement.”

Uneasiness and surprise moved through Barris. “What are you talking about?”

Reynolds’ blue eyes were cold with hostile triumph. “The daughter of Father Fields—Dill’s contact with the Movement. Marion Fields is here in this building.”

At this point, there was stunned silence. Even Barris stood wordlessly.

“I told you about her,” Dill was saying to him, close to his ear. “That I took her out of her school. It was her teacher who was murdered, that Agnes Parker woman.”

“No,” Barris said. “You didn’t tell me.” But, he realized, I didn’t tell you that I had destroyed the remains of Vulcan 2. There just wasn’t time. We’ve been under too much pressure.

“Reynolds must have spies everywhere,” Dill said.

“Yes,” Barris said. Spies. But they were not Reynolds’. They were Vulcan 3’s. And it was true; they were everywhere.

“I brought the girl here to question her,” Dill said aloud, to the silent auditorium. “It was clearly within my legal right.”

But very foolish, Barris thought. Far too foolish for a man holding the top position in a paranoid structure like this.

We may have to fight, he realized. Carefully, he moved his hand until he was touching his pencil beam. It may be the only way for us, he thought. This is no genuine legal proceeding; no ethic binds us to abide by it. This is nothing but a device on the part of Vulcan 3 to further protect itself, a further extension of its needs.

Aloud, Barris said to the Directors, “You men have no conception of the danger that exists for all of us. Danger emanating from Vulcan 3. Dill has risked his life for months. These lethal mobile units—”

“Let’s see one,” Reynolds broke in. “Do you have one you can show us?”

“Yes,” Barris said.

For an instant, Reynolds’ composure was shaken. “Oh?” he murmured. “Well, where is it? Produce it!”

“Give me three hours,” Barris said. “It’s not present. It’s with someone else, in another part of the world.”

“You didn’t think to bring it?” Reynolds said, with sly amusement.

“No,” Barris admitted.

“How did it fall into your possession?” John Chai asked.

“It made an attack on someone near me, and was partly destroyed,” Barris said. “Enough of it survived for an analysis. It was similar to the ones which committed the murder of the school teacher, Agnes Parker, and no doubt the one which destroyed Vulcan 2.”

“But you have no proof,” Reynolds said. “Nothing here to show us. Only a story.”

Director Stone said, “Give them the time they need to produce this thing. Good Lord, if such a thing exists we should know about it.”

“I agree,” Director Faine said.

Reynolds said, “You say you were present when this attempted murder took place.”

“Yes,” Barris said. “I was in the hotel room. It came in through the window. The third person who was present is the one who has the thing now; I left it with her. And she not only can produce it, she can also verify my account.”

“Whom was the attack aimed at?” Reynolds said.

At that point, Barris stopped abruptly. I’ve made a mistake. I am close to terrible risk; they almost have me.

“Was the hotel the Hotel Bond?” Reynolds asked, examining the papers before him. “And the woman was a Mrs. Rachel Pitt, wife of the recently deceased Unity man, Arthur Pitt. You were with her in this hotel room . . . I believe the Hotel Bond is in rather a run-down part of the city, is it not? Isn’t it a favorite place for men to take girls for purposes generally concealed from society?”

His blue eyes bored at Barris. “I understand that you met Mrs. Pitt in line of official business; her husband had been killed the day before, and you dropped by her house to express official sympathy. You next turn up with her in a seedy, fourth-rate flophouse, here in Geneva. And where is she, now? Isn’t it true that you had her taken to your region, to North America, that she is your mistress, this widow of a murdered Unity man? Of course she’ll back up your story—after all, you have a sexual relationship going, a very useful one for her.” He held papers up, waving them. “Mrs. Pitt has quite a reputation in Unity circles as an ambitious, scheming woman, one of those career wives who hitch their wagons to some rising star, in order to—”

“Shut up,” Barris said.

Reynolds smiled.

He really has me, Barris realized. I must get off this topic or we are finished.

“And the third person,” Reynolds said. “Whom the attack was aimed at. Wasn’t that person Father Fields? Isn’t it a fact that Rachel Pitt was then and is now an agent of the Movement, and that she arranged a meeting between you and Father Fields?” Swinging around to point at Jason Dill, he shouted, “One of them has the girl, the other meets the father. Isn’t this treason? Isn’t this the proof that this man demanded?”

A rising murmur of agreement filled the auditorium; the Directors were nodding their approval of Reynolds’ attack.

Barris said. “This is all character assassination; it has nothing to do with the issue. The real situation that faces us is the danger from Vulcan 3, from this living organism with its immense survival drive. Forget these habitual petty suspicions, these—”

“I am surprised,” Reynolds said, “that you have picked up Jason Dill’s insane delusion.”

“What?” Barris said, taken aback.

Calmly, Reynolds said, “Jason Dill is insane. This conviction he has about Vulcan 3—it is a projection from his own mind, a rationale for handling his own ambitions.” Gazing thoughtfully at Barris, he said, “Dill has childishly anthropomorphized the mechanical construct with which he deals, month after month. It is only in a climate of fear and hysteria that such a delusion could be spread, could be passed on and shared by others. The menace of the Healers has created an atmosphere in which sober adults could give momentary credence to a palpably insane idea. Vulcan 3 has no designs on the human race; it has no will, no appetites. Recall that I am a former psychologist, associated with Atlanta for many years. I am qualified, trained to identify the symptoms of mental disturbance—
even in a Managing
Director
.”