He drew limp form downward, settled it in left seat, secured harness almost tenderly. “Hale was his last command; this is where he belongs,” he explained, voice unsteady.
He turned back to me. “I wish there had been some way I could have kept you from seeing that,” he continued, still speaking with difficulty. “I know that you were very close to him. But Harris was a good marine, an experienced old campaigner. I knew that I would be lucky to catch him with his guard down even once. I had to strike the moment the opportunity presented.
“Now” — Kyril turned back to instruments — “I don’t think that it lies within the realm of reasonable possibility that a radio message sent from here would be heard by anyone listening at Vandenberg; that’s clear on the other side of the world, after all. However…” tore open communications panel fascia; extracted circuit boards, gazed at them thoughtfully, then deliberately began breaking them into small pieces, “…I cannot take the chance. And fanatic though I am, I do not want to have to kill you in cold blood…
“I said earlier that I wished I could have met you after you grew up. I meant it. I still mean it. I have never met a woman of any age whom I hold in higher esteem. Our children are educated from birth to understand, as I do, that we exist only to discharge our guardianship; that to sacrifice one’s life in that endeavor is the sacred duty and privilege of every one of us — yet I doubt whether any one of them, at a comparable age, would have volunteered as you did. I do not exaggerate when I say that I was more stunned than McDivott when you stepped forward.”
Kyril turned back from ruined radio. “There, that takes care of that. We both know that I could never watch you every second; this way I don’t have to — nor do I have to kill you. There is no possible way for you to warn your friends.”
Only then did situation’s gravity sink in: Responsibility for mission’s success, failure, now rested solely with me — no advice, no help, no backup. Survival of all but tiny handful of my people hung in balance (and earthquakes meant chances slim even for group in shelters); would be decided by my actions during next few minutes. Never in short, busy life have I felt so totally alone, inadequate, helpless.
Forced attention back to here/now. Realized Kyril speaking flawless, accent-free English; conclusion sent goosebumps up, down spine: To play rôle so convincingly, over so long a timespan; to get past AAs’ drug-assisted hypnotic interrogation; to deceive Teacher, Peter, all those AAs — even muscle-reading Gayle — Kyril good at job. Faced first-class opponent.
Now understood why Harris kept lid on my karate skills. And grateful. Opponent still in dark, thanks to him; thought of me as ordinary child, apart from freakish strength. Experienced old campaigner, indeed — crafty: After working with him all this time, old marine still mistrusted smiling Russian’s sincerity; held back final trump card — me.
Sure hoped Harris knew his business; awful lot riding on outcome — and now would be really bad time to learn was given to excess optimism regarding associates’ talents, capabilities. Intended to do very best, of course; but wouldn’t have bet penny on own chances at that moment.
But even as thoughts raced — searching for solution, weighing alternatives, evaluating risks — was already laying groundwork for whatever action might decide on: Feigned horrified, wide-eyed helplessness (didn’t take that much feigning!); encouraged tears to come (damned nuisance in free-fall, too; stayed right where formed, pooling, growing deeper; interfered dreadfully with vision); plus began wailing in heartbroken tones.
“Bu-but why, Kyril?” I blubbered, swiping ineffectually at eyes. “This is crazy. Your people are all blown up. What good will it do to kill everybody now? What are you accomplishing? It’s meanness for meanness’ sake. It’s dumb — it’s just being a Dog-In-The-Manger. It’s — Kyril! Don’t ignore me…!”
“I am not ignoring you.” Response came in unexpected whisper. Looked more closely. Russian in midst of deep-breathing exercise, apparently fighting for emotional control. “I would never ignore you. But becoming a hero of the people is not without cost. Just how much cost I had not realized. I had accepted death for myself. But Harris was the best friend I had among your people. He was brave, intelligent — ‘noble’ is not too strong an adjective.
“He would have made a great Khranitel,” Kyril finished mournfully. Suddenly he added, “No, Candy, my people are not all dead.”
Heart skipped beat. “What…?” I blurted; “how could anybody…”
“None of us died in the holocaust. Many of our subordinates did; but it was necessary to leak their locations to create a convincing illusion of our total annihilation. It seemed poor strategy to have you genetically superior hominems aware that we survived your retaliation.”
“ ‘You genetically superior hominems’?” I parroted, not believing ears. “But — aren’t you a hominem, too? What are you then? Who are you people…?”
“No, I’m not one of you Homo post hominems,” Kyril continued obligingly. “None of the Khraniteli are. Your people subjected me to a remarkable variety of tests in their efforts to prove or disprove the sincerity of my defection, but that one never occurred to them. Fortunately I was able to remain healthy and they never suspected.
“Because of my regard for you, I will tell you who we are and how matters have come to this sorry state. It can do no harm now.
“We are a small, meticulously screened, rigorously trained group of true humans — Homo sapiens, rightful owners of this planet. We discovered you and yours even before Dr. McDivott did. We studied you thoroughly. We learned your strengths, your weaknesses — we learned your genetic imperative…”
Voice grew resonant; took on edge. “And we decided that we did not want to be replaced. Homo sapiens is a mighty race. We are not as easily brushed aside as was Neanderthal by Cro-Magnon.”
“But we wouldn’t…”
Kyril cut off protest almost midsyllable: “Not from malice,” he said sternly; “nor by force. You wouldn’t have to; you breed true: Sapiens/hominem breedings produce only hominem offspring; we have proven it. In a few generations you would have replaced us completely.
“So within the framework of the Bratstvo, but unknown to them, we formed the Khraniteli, the ‘Guardians,’ in English: a secret society within a secret society, dedicated to the preservation of true humans. Naturally, given the genetic realities of the situation, the only means of doing that was, and is, to eliminate you before you eliminated us.
“The Bratstvo, at the time we infiltrated and took over its direction, was working efficiently toward eventual world domination for ideological reasons, a goal with which we were in complete accord. But it was only a beginning; we encouraged their natural impulses and broadened the scope of their thinking. It didn’t take too much psychology to bring them around to believing that they had invented for themselves the idea of starting over, unopposed, on an otherwise uninhabited planet.
“There were quite a few hominems in the Bratstvo already — though none ever realized that they were different from the rest of us. All were first-generation hominems, raised by human parents unaware of their potential. All were angry, disturbed antisocials, the type your people have labeled ‘classic AB sociopaths.’