And what use could he make of the information? So much had happened to Chandler, so quickly, that he seemed to have numbed his reflexes. He was not reacting as rapidly or as surely as he should; in this Wonderland if the Red Queen were to come up to him and lop off his head he might not even remember to die. Dizzying, worryinghis sensory network simply could not cope with the demands on it. But all the same, he thought slowly and painfully, there was a weapon here, a lever… .
Just before they left Koitska and two or three of the other execs quizzed him briefly.
He was too tired to think beyond the questions, but they seemed to be trying to find out if he were able to do the simpler parts of the construction without supervision, and they seemed satisfied with the answers. He flew the helicopter home, with someone else guiding his arms and legs, but he was half asleep as he did it, and he never quite remembered how he managed to get back to his room at Tripler.
The next morning he went back to Parts ‘n Plenty with an additional list, covering replacement of some components that had turned out defective. Hsi glanced at it quickly and nodded. “All this stuff I have. You can pick it up this afternoon if you like.”
Chandler offered him a cigarette out of a stale pack.
“About the other night “
But Hsi shook his head violently. He began to perspire, but he said, casually enough, “Interested in baseball?”
“Baseball?”
Hsi said, as though there had been nothing incongruous about the question, “Why, there’s a little league game this afternoon. Back of the school on Punahou and Wilder. I thought I might stop by, then we can come back and pick up the rest of your gear. Two o’clock. Hope I’ll see you.”
Chandler walked away thoughtfully. Something in Hsi’s attitude suggested more than a ball game; after a quick and poor lunch he decided to go.
The field was a dirty playground, scuffed out of what had probably once been an attractive campus. The players were ten-year-olds, of the mixture of hair colors and complexions typical of the islands. Chandler was puzzled Surely even the wildest baseball rooter wouldn’t go far out of his way for this, and yet there was an audience of at least fifty adults watching the game. And none seemed to be related to the ballplayers. The little leaguers played grave, careful ball, and the audience watched them without a word of parental encouragement or joy.
Hsi approached him from the shadow of the school building. “Glad you could make it. Chandler. No, no questions. Just watch.”
In the fifth inning, with the score aggregating around thirty, there was an interruption. A tall, red-headed man glanced at his watch, licked his lips, took a deep breath and walked out onto the diamond. He glanced at the crowd, while the kids suspended play without surprise.
Then the red-headed man nodded to the umpire and stepped off the field. The ballplayers resumed their game, but now the whole attention of the audience was on the red-headed man.
Suspicion crossed Chandler’s mind. In a moment it was confirmed, as the red-headed man raised his hands waist high and clasped his right hand around his left wristonly for a moment, but that was enough.
The ball game was a cover. Chandler was present at a meeting of what Hsi had called The Society of Slaves, the underground that dared to pit itself against the Execs.
Hsi cleared his throat and said, “This is the one. I vouch for him.” And that was startling too, Chandler thought, because all these wrist-circled men and women were looking at him.
“All right,” said the red-headed man nervously, “let’s get started then. First thing, anybody got any weapons?
Sure? Take a lookwe don’t want any slip-ups. Turn out your pockets.”
There was a flurry and a woman near Chandler held up a key ring with a tiny knife on it. “Penknife? Hell, yes; get rid of it. Throw it in the outfield. You can pick it up after the meeting.” A hundred eyes watched the pearly object fly. “We ought to be all right here,” said the red-headed man. “The kids have been playing every day this week and nobody looked in. But watch your neighbor. See anything suspicious, don’t wait. Don’t take a chance. Holier ‘Kill the umpire!’ or anything you like, but holier. Good and loud.”
He paused, breathing hard. “All right, Hsi. Introduce him.”
The parts man took Chandler firmly by the shoulder.
“This fellow has something for us,” he said. “He’s working for the Exec Koitska, building what can’t be anything else but a duplicate of the machine that they use to control us!”
Chandler was jolted out of his detached calm. “Hey!”
he cried. “I never said anything like that!”
“You didn’t have to,” Hsi said tightly. “What the hell do you think I am, an idiot? I’ve filled all your parts orders, remember? It’s higher frequency, but otherwise it’s a duplicate of the master transmitter.”
“But they never told me”
“Told you? Did they have to tell you? What else would they be so busy at?”
Chandler hesitated, staring around. The words had been actually frightening. And yetand yet, he realized, he had been sure within himself that the project he was working on was something very like that. A duplicate of the controlling machine. And that meant
A tail, thin, bearded man was moving forward, staring at Chandler angrily. He said dangerously, “You don’t seem too reliable, friend. Which side are you on?”
Chandler shrugged. “Whyyours, of course, I guess. I mean”
“You guess, hub?” The man nodded, then leaned forward and peered furiously into Chandler’s face. “Look at his head!” he cried, his face only inches away from Chandler’s own. “Don’t you see? He’s branded!”
Chandler fell back, touching his scar. The man followed.
“Damned Hoaxer! Look at him! The lowest species of life on the face of the earthsomeone who pretended to be possessed in order to do some damned dirty act. What was it, hoaxer? Murder? Burning babies alive?”
Hsi economically let go of Chandler’s shoulder, half turned the bearded man with one hand and swung with the other, knocking him down. “Shut up, Linton. Wait till you hear what he’s got for us.”
The bearded man, sprawling and groggy, slowly rose as Hsi explained tersely what he had guessed of Chandler’s workas much as Chandler himself knew, it seemed.
“Maybe this is only a duplicate. Maybe it won’t be used.
But maybe it willand Chandler’s the man who can sabotage it! How would you like that? The Exec switching over to this equipment while the other one is down for maintenanceand their headsets don’t work!”
“There was a terrible silence, except for the sounds of the children playing ball. Two runs had just scored. Chandler recognized the silence. It was hope.
Linton broke it, his blue eyes gleaming above the beard.
“No! Better than that. Why wait? We can use this fellow’s machine. Set it up, get us some headsetsand we can control the Execs themselves!”
The silence was even longer; then there was a babble of discussion, but Chandler did not take part in it. He was thinking. It was a tremendous thought.
Suppose a man like himself were actually able to do what they wanted of him. Never mind the practical difficultieslearning how it worked, getting a headset, bypassing the traps Koitska would surely have set to prevent just that. Never mind the penalties for failure.
Suppose he could make it work, and find fifty headsets, and fit them to the fifty men and women here in this clandestine meeting of The Society of Slaves …
Would there, after all, be any change worth mentioning in the state of the world?
Or was Lord Acton, always and everywhere, right?
Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. The power locked in the coronets of the Exec was more than flesh and blood could stand; he could almost sense the rot in those near him at the mere thought.
But Hsi was throwing cold water on the idea. “Sorry, but I know that much: One exec can’t control another.
The headpieces insulate against control. Well.” He glanced at his watch. “We agreed on twenty minutes maximum for this meeting,” he reminded the red-headed man, who nodded.
“You’re right.” He glanced around the group. “I’ll make the rest of it fast. News: You all know they got some more of us last week. Have you all been by the Monument? Three of our comrades were still there this morning.
But I don’t think they know we’re organized, they think it’s only individual acts of sabotage. In case any of you don’t know, the execs can’t read our minds. Not even when they’re controlling us. Proof is we’re all still alive.