The Worlds Of Robert A. Heinlein Part 5

"I thought that business of bouncing it off the cliff face was foolproof?"

"Well . . . a dodge I can work up, somebody else can figure out. Besides, I've got the cha.s.sis uns.h.i.+pped. I was working on it."

"How long to rig it?"

"Oh, half an hour - twenty minutes."

"Do it. This may be the last time we'll use radio, except as utter last resort."

Okay, boss.

The meeting was in the common room. Morgan called it to order once all were present or accounted for. McCracken arrived just as he had decided to proceed without him. McCracken had a pa.s.s for the countryside, being a veterinarian, and held proxy for the colony's underground a.s.sociates in Barclay.

"The Barclay Free Company, a provisional unit of the United States of America, is now in session," Morgan announced formally. "Does any member have any item to lay before the Company?"

He looked around; there was no response. "How about you?" he challenged Joe Benz. "I heard that you had some things you thought the Company ought to

hear."

Benz started to speak, shook his head. "I'll wait."

"Don't wait too long," Morgan said mildly. "Well, I have two points to bring up for discussion - "

"Three," corrected Dr. McCracken. "I'm glad you sent for me." He stepped up to Morgan and handed him a large, much folded piece of paper. Morgan looked it over, refolded it, and put it in his pocket.

"It fits in," he said to McCracken. "What do the folks in town say?"

"They are waiting to hear from you. They'll back you up - so far, anyway."

"All right." Morgan turned back to the group. "First item - we got a message today, pa.s.sed by hand and about three weeks old, setting up another provisional government. The courier was grabbed right under our noses.

Maybe he was a stooge; maybe he was careless - that's neither here nor there at the moment. The message was that the Honorable Albert M. Brockman proclaimed himself provisional President of these United States, under derived authority, and appointed Brigadier General Dewey Fenton commander of armed forces including irregular militia - meaning us - and called on all citizens to unite to throw the Invader out. All formal and proper. So what do we do about it?"

"And who the devil is the Honorable Albert M. Brockman?" asked someone in the rear.

"I've been trying to remember. The message listed government jobs he's held, including some a.s.sistant secretary job - I suppose that's the 'derived authority'

angle. But I can't place him."

"I recall him," Dr. McCracken said suddenly. "I met him when I was in the Bureau of Animal Husbandry. A career civil servant . . . and a stuffed s.h.i.+rt."

There was a gloomy silence. Ted spoke up. "Then why bother with him?"

The Leader shook his head. "It's not that simple, Ted. We can't a.s.sume that he's no good. Napoleon might have been a minor clerk under different circ.u.mstances. And the Honorable Mr. Brockman may be a revolutionary genius disguised as a bureaucrat. But that's not the point. We need nationwide unification more than anything. It doesn't matter right now who the t.i.tular leader is. The theory of derived authority may be shaky but it may be the only way to get everybody to accept one leaders.h.i.+p. Little bands like ours can never win back the country. We've got to have unity - and that's why we can't ignore Brockman."

"The thing that burns me," McCracken said savagely, "is that it need never have happened at all! It could have been prevented."

"No use getting in a sweat about it," Morgan told him. "It's easy to see the government's mistakes now, but just the same I think there was an honest effort to prevent war right up to the last. It takes all nations to keep the peace, but it only takes one to start a war."

"No, no, no - I don't mean that, Captain," McCracken answered. "I don't mean the War could have been prevented. I suppose it could have been - once. But everybody knew that another war could happen, and everybody - everybody, I say, knew that if it came, it would start with the blasting of American cities. Every congressman, every senator knew that a war would destroy Was.h.i.+ngton and leave the country with no government, flopping around like a chicken with its head off. They knew - why didn't they do something!"

"What could they do? Was.h.i.+ngton couldn't be protected."

''Do? Why, they could have made plans for their own deaths! They could have slapped through a const.i.tutional amendment calling for an alternate president and alternate congressmen and made it illegal for the alternates to be in target areas - or any scheme to provide for orderly succession in case of disaster. They could have set up secret and protected centers of government to use for storm cellars. They could have planned the same way a father takes out life insurance for his kids. Instead they went stumbling along, fat dumb, and happy, and let themselves get killed, with no provision to carry out their sworn duties after they were dead. Theory of 'derived authority', pfui! It's not just disastrous; it's ridiculous! We used to be the greatest country in the world - now look at us!"

"Take it easy, Doc," Morgan suggested. "Hindsight is easier than foresight."

"Hmm! I saw it coming. I quit my Was.h.i.+ngton job and took a country practice, five years ahead of time. Why couldn't a congressman be as bright as I am?"

"Hmm . . . well - you're right, but we might just as well worry over the Dred Scott Decision. Let's get on with the problem. How about Brockman?

Ideas?"

"What do you propose, boss?"

"I'd rather have it come from the floor."

"Oh, quit sc.r.a.ping your foot, boss," urged Ted. "We elected you to lead."

"Okay. I propose to send somebody to backtrack on the message and locate Brockman - smell him out and see what he's got. I'll consult with as many groups as we can reach, in this state and across the river, and well try to manage unanimous action. I was thinking of sending Dad and Morrie."

Cathleen shook her head. "Even with faked registration cards and travel permits they'd be grabbed for the Reconstruction Battalions. I'll go."

"In a pig's eye," Morgan answered. "You'd be grabbed for something a danged sight worse. It's got to be a man."

"I am afraid Cathleen is right," McCracken commented. "They s.h.i.+pped twelve-year-old boys and old men who could hardly walk for the Detroit project. They don't care how soon the radiation gets them - it's a plan to thin us out."

"Are the cities still that bad?"

"From what I hear, yes. Detroit is still 'hot' and she was one of the first to get it."

"I'm going to go." The voice was high and thin, and rarely heard in conference.

"Now, Mother - " said Dad Carter.

"You keep out of this, Dad. The men and young women would be grabbed, but they won't bother with me. All I need is a paper saying I have a permit to rejoin my grandson, or something."

McCracken nodded. "I can supply that."

Morgan paused, then said suddenly, "Mrs. Carter will contact Brockman. It is so ordered. Next order of business," he went on briskly. "You've all seen the news about St. Joe - this is what they posted in Barclay last night." He hauled out and held up the paper McCracken had given him. It was a printed notice, placing the City of Barclay on probation, subject to the ability of "local authorities" to suppress "bands of roving criminals".

There was a stir, but no comment. Most of them had lived in Barclay; all had ties there.

"I guess you're waiting for me," McCracken began. "We held a meeting as soon as this was posted. We weren't all there - it's getting harder to cover up even the smallest gathering - but there was no disagreement. We're behind you but we want you to go a little easy. We suggest that you cut out pulling raids within oh, say twenty miles of Barclay, and that you stop all killing unless absolutely necessary to avoid capture. It's the killings they get excited about - it was killing of the district director that touched off St. Joe."

Benz sniffed. "So we don't do anything. We just give up - and stay here in the hills and starve."

"Let me finish, Benz. We don't propose to let them scare us out and keep us enslaved forever. But casual raids don't do them any real harm. They're mostly for food for the Underground and for minor retaliations. We've got to conserve our strength and increase it and organize, until we can hit hard enough to make it stick. We won't let you starve. I can do more organizing among the farmers and some animals can be hidden out and unregistered. We can get you meat - some, anyhow. And we'll split our rations with you. They've got us on 1800 calories now, but we can share it.

Something can be done through the black market, too. There are ways."