Number One said, “I assume the point you wished to raise didn’t deal with this now past matter of the anti-Amish propaganda.”
Ross turned back to his ultimate superior. “No, Your Leadership. I rose to protest the sneak attack the Marshal proposes. The plan to strike all their most important cities, industrial complexes and military bases without warning.”
“What!” Croft-Gordon barked. “Our whole campaign… !”
Number One held up a hand. “That will be all, Co-aid Marshal.”
He turned back to Ross. “Develop your point, Coaid Westley.”
Ross went on doggedly. “We have already had a bad start on our propaganda meant to influence our own people, the neutrals and dissatisfied elements among the Betastani. An attack without a previous formal declaration of war will unite the Betastani, shock our own people who are poorly prepared for this aggressive war at any rate, and will certainly turn the neutrals against us.”
The Central Comita broke into mutterings.
Number One said, “Marshal?”
The Marshal said heatedly, “The plans have all been explained. The computers have worked on the basis of such a surprise… I resent the Coaid Deputy’s use of the term ‘sneak attack.’ Without it we would still triumph easily, of course, but the cost in casualties and finances would inevitably be higher.”
Ross said, “It will be higher still if the neutrals enter the war on the side of Betastan.”
“You heard the report Graves gave on that. They won’t have the time to mobilize, even if they did want to enter. The war will be over in weeks.”
Number One was irritated by the overriding inflection of his military chief. He said, thoughtfully, “We could send them an ultimatum concerning their unprovoked attacks upon our border stations. It could be worded in such a way that they wouldn’t actually expect us to attack. However, we could hold a secret session of the Peoples Parliament and declare war and have our missiles and bombers on the way within minutes. Public opinion would be satisfied, but at the same time the attack would have practically the same effect as if no warning had been given.”
He looked about at his Comita members. “If there are no other opinions, I so rule.”
The Marshal opened his mouth angrily, shut it again and shook his head.
Number One said, “Are there further questions at this point?”
Deputy Mark Fielder of the Commissariat of Surety came easily to his feet.
“This bears on the present issue only obliquely, Your Leadership. However, since Coaid Westley was the last speaker…” He took up a report from before him.
“There has been so obvious an increase in enemy ECE, Espionage-Counter-Espionage, so many leaks of our innermost secrets to Betastan, that I have taken the freedom to check upon all elements who might possibly be involved. Even, Your Leadership, to the point of, ah, keeping tabs upon our membership.”
There was the sound of inhaled air throughout the council room.
Number One’s eyes were cold. “We have been through this before, Coaid Fielder. You seem to have ignored my earlier directives.”
Fielder said smoothly, “If so, inadvertently, Your Leadership. Please hear me out. Purely as routine check I assigned two of my most discreet men to observe the activities of each of us.”
“Including yourself, I assume,” the Presidor said. “Go on, Coaid. I suppose you found Coaid Wilkonson, or possibly Academician McGivern, secretly supplying information to the Betastan espionage.”
Fielder was not upset. He shook his head. “No, Your Leadership, but something equally strange. The two Surety agents who were assigned to Coaid Westley disappeared while on duty and were eventually found trampled beyond easy recognition in the pachyderm exhibit at the Interplanetary Zoo.”
“What’s a pachyderm?” someone said.
The Surety head looked at the speaker. “A large Earthside animal, now extinct except for specimens in zoos.” He brought his eyes back to Number One. “But that is not all. In spite of the condition of the bodies, an autopsy was performed. Both contained elements of the drug popularly known as Come-Along, an ultra-effective hypnotic.”
Number One took in Ross Westley from the side of his eyes. The young propaganda chief was sitting in mute astonishment, his mouth half open. In the decision of his ultimate superior, who considered himself a judge of men, the younger deputy was as taken aback as anyone present.
Number One said, his voice harsh, “Your recommendation, Coaid Deputy Fielder?”
“That Coaid Westley be put under Scop and questioned.”
Number One lapsed into thought and the murmuring immediately hushed. For long minutes they stayed that way, Deputy Fielder still on his feet, but hesitant even to sink into his chair.
Ross Westley felt the cold go through him. Given Scop, he would betray not only himself, but Tilly as well. There was no question of that. No man resisted the insidiousness of the truth serum. He must think of some out! He must think of some escape.
But there was no thinking, there was no out!
Number One, though his face was expressionless, was in a fury. Mark Fielder and Marshal Croft-Gordon were becoming increasingly bold in their formerly subtle opposition to his supreme command. Nothing overt thus far, but when the pressures of the war were on Alphaland, to what extent would they continue to undermine his authority? They must be sat upon, and quickly. He considered, momentarily, relieving them both of their positions. But no, a purge at this time would be disastrous. The effects upon the people, immediately before an unpopular war, could only be a blow to morale. It had been such a long time since the Central Comita had suffered a purge that many thought them a thing of the past.
At long last, the Presidor spoke again, his voice deceptively mild.
“Coaid Fielder, only a short time ago it was brought to our attention that you had seen fit to bug the offices and living quarters of even these, your most intimate Coaids. At that time I pointed out that if my regime rested upon the shoulders of Coaids who had to be kept under surveillance by the Commissariat of Surety, then the government of the Free Democratic Commonwealth was built upon foundations of sand. Coaid Westley, young and possibly somewhat inexperienced as he may be, is the son of Franklin Westley, one of the Old Hands. Perhaps the term is meaningless to you, but it is not to such Coaids present as McGivern and Wilkonson, both of whom stood shoulder to shoulder with Franklin Westley in the decisive days. The son of Franklin Westley will not be given Scop in my behalf, nor will any of the Central Comita.”
There was a murmuring of applause through the chamber.
Temple Bishop Stockwater said soothingly, “Undoubtedly, whilst about their duties, the two Surety operatives of whom Coaid Fielder tells us ran into criminals or enemy agents, and in dealing with them met their untimely ends.”
“Undoubtedly,” Fielder muttered. He bowed his head in submission to the Presidor’s decision.
Ross Westley burst into the tiny shop devoted to first editions, old prints, bookbinding and the literature of the past.
He called, “Tilly, Till!” heading for the back rooms.
He had crossed the shop and pushed through into her private quarters before she fully realized his presence.
Tilly Trice was in the process of pulling a masculine shirt over the top of her head and the upper part of her diminutive, elfin figure.
He came to a quick halt and blinked at the woman he loved.
She turned her back and finished tucking the garment into her trousers.
“Why, Coaid Westley,” she said, mockery behind the scolding, “aren’t you a bit impetuous?” She took up a jerkin and began shrugging into it.
Ross began to stutter an apology but then cut himself short. Against the table leaned a long bow, and on it rested a quiver of arrows.