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 11
Director William Barris entered the massive UnityControl 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.