A. Will they?
Q. We’re asking the questions. (pause) Why don’t you believe they’ll simply bombard us from orbit?
A. They need the Inner Planets. They need our industrial might in order to keep their fleet in being. Thus, ground troops will have to land to secure these things. That’s when we fight them.
Q. But orbital bombard—
A. Will give them great advantages for a time, granted. We’ll have to develop better beam and missile batteries to drive the Doom Stars away from near-Earth orbit and better point defense systems to destroy any orbital debris they rain upon us. Still, the essential point is attrition. If they want North American Sector, for instance, they will have to land troops and take it. We will of course fight them on the ground, in the cities, under the cities. Then, once they hold North American Sector, we will continue the struggle via guerrilla warfare, political assassination, terrorism—
Q. And once they own all Earth, General?
A. No. I’m not suggesting that.
Q. Perhaps I missed something then. You’ve implied they will beat us wherever we stand and fight. For how otherwise will they take North American Sector?
A. Initially, they will be victorious, yes. But you said two million soldiers before, Director. Two million soldiers cannot control forty billion people. Don’t forget that they must man their space fleet at the same time. After the first few victories and once their men are garrisoning what they’ve won, then we can overwhelm them here and there. We can assassinate a lone Highborn who visits a prostitute, say. Attrition, Directors. Bleeding the enemy to death one attack at a time. That’s why our space units must flee. An existing fleet, which we’ll have if we keep our ships, means the enemy will still have to worry about them.
Q. Yes, I’m beginning to see your strategy. But one thing worries me, General. Won’t they recruit, well, regular people into their armed forces?
A. Unquestionably.
Q. Then your entire theory is destroyed.
A. I don’t believe so. Because now we will operate in an area of our advantage.
Q. Which in your opinion is?
A. Secret police ruthlessness and superior political theory.
Q. Perhaps you’d better explain that, General.
A. In a word, egalitarianism. Modern Social Unity philosophy teaches us that one man is as good as the next. The Highborn have exactly the opposite view. They are an elite, a master race, if you will. (pause)
Q. Yes?
A. If you will permit one last historical example.
Q. Make your point, General Hawthorne.
A. Nazi Germany preached a racial superiority philosophy in the middle of the Twentieth Century. They invaded Socialist Russia—a precursor to our own political system, I might add—and won titanic battles. Yet the Nazi political philosophy insured the hatred of the people. The people were treated as inferiors even though the Germans were no different in terms of real ability versus the Russians.
In our day the Highborn actually are superior. No doubt, this will cause them to act arrogantly, especially as they rub shoulders with the conquered peoples. The masses will learn to hate the Highborn. What men fear they hate, and when a man is looked down upon, he hates that even more. Added to this is our modern thinking. People will become incensed at the idea that someone actually could be better. That, Directors, is one of our key advantages. Secondly, military governments seldom produce as ruthless a secret police as a one party political government. The Prussian General Staff thought they could outfox and be more ruthless than Lenin and his Bolsheviks back in World War One—
Q. We perceive your point, General. And that point really amounts to kill them on the ground.
A. Yes.
Q. But it entails risk.
A. Great risk. For their battle-skills may prove superior to our political skills. War hysteria and extreme paranoia of the supermen must be drummed into everyone until all Inner Planets hate the Highborn. We must ensure that our troops fight with fanatical zeal. In other words, they must fight to the last man and the last bullet in every encounter.
Q. Then we will win?
A. Yes. We will win.
End of transcript #4: Interrogation of Secret Police General James Hawthorne
4.
The weeks sped by with the news of the expanding civil war on everyone’s lips. Then a fateful day arrived for Marten Kluge and in a way for all humanity. Thanks to Hall Leader Quirn, Marten woke up in his cubicle at one in the morning, when the rest of his complex slept the sleep of the just.
His cubicle, the standard single rent, seemed barely big enough for Marten’s tall frame. So when the alarm buzzed he slid out of his sleep-shelf and in two steps reached the shower. No mementos, paintings or statuettes cluttered the tiny room or gave it a personal flair. It was stark, minimalist, clean, a holdover from his years of hiding in the Sun-Works Factory.
He went through his toiletries, ate breakfast, donned a gray jumpsuit, hardhat, and work boots. As he chewed his last bite of vitamin-reinforced algae bread, Marten squinted at the holoset—he hated its constant noise. By law and technology, the holoset was impossible to turn off. The set showed armored Social Unity infantrymen hiding behind rocks and dunes and lasering Highborn as they bounded toward them in powered battlesuits. The giant invaders crumpled one after the other, dead. Then fighters screamed over the scene, missiles zooming from their underbellies and slamming into huge tanks, which exploded soundlessly behind the commentary.
A talking head droned on the set: “Bitter fighting in the Mullarbor Plain yesterday forced the Highborn Third Army to retreat to their initial drop zone. Reinforcement fighters from Japan Sector helped stem this latest breakout attempt.
“In the east….”
Marten sneered as he picked up his lunch pail. According to the news, this was the third time this week the Highborn had retreated to their initial drop zone. How much farther could they go? He believed that instead of retreating, they advanced. He shrugged. It really didn’t matter what he thought.
He stepped out of his cubicle, closing Door No. 209 and strode along Corridor 118 until he reached the nearest conveyer belt. He rode it out of the twenty-story complex and onto the darkened street. Terraced gardens of sleeping tulips and marigolds drooped away from him, while dwarf palms rustled in the breeze. Gigantic fans connected to vents that led all the way to the surface created that breeze. High overhead, the sunlamps of Level Thirty-nine glowed at dim and soft “sleep” music played from hidden speakers. Automated street sweepers swished by Marten as he strode fast along the sidewalk. Passing him zipped a caravan of cyclists training for the upcoming Festival Games.
Others on the early morning shift passed Marten or headed in the same direction. Many shouted hearty greetings to each other and spoke of the latest Highborn defeat. Uniformed peacekeepers on patrol nodded approvingly. Once or twice, the black visor of a peacekeeper turned in Marten’s direction. He shouted no greetings to his fellow workers nor made any comments on the news. A tall peacekeeper spoke into a hand recorder. Marten wondered if he’d gained another demerit for unsociable behavior.
He entered the Far-Forty Lift Tube with twenty other people, a mixture of manual laborers and office workers. The door closed with a hiss and down they plunged. Ads played on the lift vid. A shouting emcee told of the prizes to be won on Tell-a-Friend. Then dancing girls in sequins wiggled by, singing of the wonders of algae protein shakes. “Mmmm, great!”
The lift stopped, people struggled out and others shouldered their way in. Hiss, close, down they plunged.
Fifteen minutes later Marten and five other men in gray jumpsuits, hardhats and boots strode out of the elevator. No music played down here; no vids or holos blared. The only sound was that of their boots drumming on the cool earth. They peeled away in different directions, one or two waving, and then Marten strode alone deep underground and in a semi-dark corridor.