She was chosen. Selected by the gods as a new prophet. She was the way she was because it fit into the divine plan. Men had the souls of aggressors, and their souls were flawed with the evil. Women, with their beautiful bodies and their sense of family and responsibility for childbirth and early rearing, were the nurturers. The gods had decreed that she not be corrupted by men so that she could create a society where men were the subservient ones and could be taught by example the true path.
It was also clear that salvation lay in Anchor, for Flux corrupted. Flux itself, like all things of science, was indeed neutral, but human beings were too flawed to use it properly, including herself. In a practical sense, then, Flux was evil in the long term, yet it was the obvious tool of the gods.
She had often thought of the kind of society she would build if she had the power, and even had models of it in her now inaccessible computer banks. Not a Utopia, but merely a correct and simple way for humanity to live and perfect its spiritual self. There were practical considerations, of course, but these could be dealt with. Compromise was possible even with evil if the evil could be contained to its own realm and forced to cooperate with good. Perhaps it would even act as a natural filter for those corrupting people within the perfecting societies. And when the people attained the true path, attained nirvana, through incarnations and trial, the Flux would be there and no evil within it could stand, and the Flux would be the gateway to the gods.
It now became a mere engineering problem. To deny the military access to the power they had, no matter what the programs they could activate, and to create the society ideal for the purpose of the gods within each Anchor. Much of it was risky, and much of it would not be considered by a sane scientist. Tampering with the maintenance program itself, for example, on a global scale, courted the possibility of killing virtually everyone and everything on New Eden. It no longer troubled her, though, because she was certain she was right. The gods’ intentions were quite clear.
With much meditation and the aid of Short Stuff, she would spend this time of imprisonment, even if it was years, perfecting the programs, and she knew they would run and knew they would do the right thing because they came not from her but from the gods themselves. She did not even doubt that eventually the evil ones would give her sufficient access to the computers to do this thing. The gods would see to that.
In the small colony on the border of Anchor Luck, little really changed. There were some inconveniences, of course, from having their big amp disabled and being unable to contact Seventeen or even file their data with the big computer, but the inconveniences were minor and their pocket computers did a reasonable job of at least record-keeping and minor problem-solving.
There was a general feeling, though, from the Hallers to the Haldaynes to the Wus, that sealing the Gates was a good thing. None of them, having tapped the powers they had tapped, considered leaving for a moment, and none felt much loyalty to old Earth beyond protecting it from here and none really wanted to test out this alien power as the Soviets had done.
In fact, the only one with any real regrets at all seemed to be Micki Haller, and that was on a minor point of aesthetics. “Now there won’t ever be fish,” she mourned.
They all felt a tremendous release of tension after the threat and the uncertainty of the previous weeks, although none really knew when or if the Gates had yet been sealed. Rumors flew that the entire board had been arrested to prevent them from trying to talk to the invaders, and there was still some uncertainty over the future course and direction of the colony, but the major pressure point had been removed. They were now, more than ever, experimenting for themselves.
Still, other rumors and trends bothered them. A number of people in the Anchor had been killed or imprisoned, without trial or charge, by military authorities under the provisions of martial law. While the takeover had on the whole been peaceful, there was no way without Seventeen to really find out if this was typical of, or even more peaceful than, the rest of the world. There was a great deal of grumbling and unrest among the various communes and towns and ethnic and religious groups that might well lead to more open conflicts should the martial law become even more harsh or look as if it were going to become permanent.
There were rumors, too, about the Special Projects folk. Ugly rumors. They were neither loved nor trusted by most of the common folk of Anchor from the start, and now someone seemed to be feeding this sense of distrust and unease—someone official. Few ventured far from their tiny and secure community without meeting outright hostility; those marked from their experiments and encounters such as Haldayne became virtual prisoners in the community after there were mob attacks on some others, whose lives were saved only by the quick and direct action of their security shadows. Micki’s playful use of terms like “witches” and “wizards” was haunting her now; those same words were being used with conviction by the farmers and townspeople of their Anchor and perhaps others.
Lisa Wu discussed the problem with her group. Most felt that the military was behind it for reasons of their own, and there was a general suspicion that this might be not only an attempt to divert the Anchor colonists from their growing dislike of the military by furnishing another enemy, but also at the same time a way to isolate them and make them dependent upon, and, perhaps, eventually controlled by the military directly as their only friends.
“We can always just move into Flux and start our independent colony,” a number of people noted. “We can be free of any threat there. Even the weakest of us is tremendously powerful when compared to any threat!”
“Oh, really?” Micki Haller retorted somewhat acidly. “And what about twenty thousand or so Signal corps troops who live and work in the void all the time, probably have as much if not more power than we, and have the heavy weapons and access to the big computers as well? You think they’re not out there? You think that we’re not as closely monitored in the void as we are here? You must be blind!”
And, of course, deep down, they all knew she was right.
“It’s true that our group is the most closely monitored,” Lisa Wu told them, “but that’s because we’re the official experiment, funded by and for the benefit of the company. Equally, there is Special Projects in the capital here, funded by Security, and also independent projects by Signals and by Transportation and Energy. But none of us—none of us—are powerless in this. We no longer have a company, so we no longer have a boss. Many others, independently and in freelance associations, have also done their own research and development on this. Counting the children, it is estimated that several thousand at least have this power. Of those, perhaps a few hundred have huge power and the training and background to make the best use of it. The vast majority of those are here. I worry about a thousand things, but I do not worry about the Signal corps or Security, who cannot even find hundreds, perhaps more, duggers out there. We will be discovered only if and when we wish to be discovered.”
“Then you think we should leave?” someone asked.
“I think everyone should make their own decisions. As for me, so long as I have some voice here, and at least I am listened to, I feel I must stay. There are things afoot—unsettling things—that have split even the commands of the military. Those of you who wish to leave may do so with my blessing, but only into the void. If you go elsewhere in Anchor, you will be marked and possibly die. The Home Guard and Watanabe’s crazy church are fanning the flames against us for their own different reasons, but both have our names and pictures, and those who have changed beyond that stand out for other reasons. Until things sort themselves out, we are safe here, but only here, with our backs to our escape route into the void. The big amp will never again be reconnected— they found quite a number of illegal ones since the military takeover of the network and they cannot take the chance of activating one without risking them all. Now that we are a closed society, those once bound by duty or loyalty to others will feel free to act. I for one will sit here and see if things sort out in our favor and try to influence what I can. But I am keeping my family dressed and my bags packed.”
15
THEORDER OF THE TRIPLE CROSS
“You must leave, and quickly,” the stranger told Lisa Wu. “You and all the others here, whether they have power or not.”
“I’m not about to pack up everything and run on your say-so, Mr.—Singh, was it? I have Admiral Cockburn’s personal assurances and protection.”
The dark man in the turban sighed. “Madam Director, Admiral Cockburn is dead. The news has not yet been made public for various reasons.”
She sat bolt upright. “What!”
“I said that the admiral is no more. He was shot to death as he rounded the turn heading out of the wood toward his house while perched atop his miniature train. His batman, Shindler, and his personal staff are also dead, and most of his headquarters personnel are even now in the process of being shot or processed by computer if they have value.”
“That’s not possible! Who would do such a thing—and why? I don’t believe you for a moment.”
“Madam Director, Ngomo has declared himself field marshal and president of the Holy Islamic Republic of New Eden. His actions were well-planned, his politics flawless. Even as we speak, resistance is being mopped up in capital after capital, including here.”
“My God! Ngomo? Now I know you’re mad!”
“I wish to God I were, but I am not. He had the troops, he had the Home Guard and the sympathies of many former soldiers, and what he lacked he recruited from the Islamic Anchors.”
“But—good Lord! Ngomo? I mean, hell, nobody even took him seriously!”
“That is precisely the point. Everyone tended to underestimate him. It was almost forgotten that he organized everything here before anyone else arrived. He got the supplies through, he set up the auxiliary computers, he pretty much designed the way things were laid out. It is a monumental job of organization and politics, and he did not leave it all to lesser officers. He is a brilliant organizer and tactician. He was also on this project because he had been part of a prior military junta in his native land who was no longer necessary. He organized the coup and its government and got popular support, but the others feared his power and his honesty and expelled him from the country. Originally his work with Westrex was just to get money and a power base to use to return, but he got caught up in the adventure and scope of our project and never did return. This is not a man to tread upon, and tread upon him they did.”
“Well, he was certainly demoted,” she noted, trying not to believe this strange man.
“He was a Moslem among three Roman Catholics. He was a black man to tread upon, and tread upon him they did.”
“Well, he was certainly demoted,” she noted, trying not to believe this strange man.
“He was a Moslem among three Roman Catholics. He was a black man, an African, among three whites. He made them uncomfortable, although fully half the population here is of color and perhaps that many, although not all the same people, are one or another sort of Moslem. I am brown and you are yellow. You can understand what it did to his pride. And men of his intelligence and ability can suffer that sort of thing only so long.”
“But—why now?”
“The Gates are sealed. Westrex gave him a high position and authority when he was an outcast. For loyalty to them and to the dream, and out of idealism and hope that what we did here would benefit his people, he was a good soldier, even when the others reorganized him out of a command and out of any true power base. They dissolved his command and no longer consulted him except in a pro forma way, and they gave him a meaningless title and job. When the dugger attacks reached a few Anchors, he played that up into a new position and convinced them that he should head it. The Anchor or Home Guard. As is true with most in great positions of power and authority, the other three did not even realize the depth of his hurt or the brilliance of his organizational mind. When they sealed the Gates, he no longer had anything he could do for his people back on Earth or any more loyalty to Westrex, which became irrelevant. He is moving for his own pride and also for what people he now has—the Moslems of New Eden, and perhaps the blacks as well, although I believe he is more color blind than those who opposed and denigrated him.”
“Well, dammit, man—you said you were from Security. Why the hell didn’t you find out about this? The organization involved for a worldwide plot of this magnitude in so short a time couldn’t have been kept secret!” The Gates had now been sealed for seventeen months.
“Correct, as far as it went. We did get wind of it almost from the start, but he is quite clever and he had allies. It appeared that the thing originated from below—younger officers and some of the holy men who held influence over them in the mosques—and was quite widespread. We let it go for a while to see where it would lead, and to identify all of the major leaders with an eye to crushing them at once and minimizing bloodshed and rebellion. We were betrayed instead. As an old hand at coups, Ngomo knew that if one needs to make a pact in blood with the devil to do something, he will sign such a pact and try to deal with his distasteful allies later.”
Lisa Wu had a sudden creeping feeling in the pit of her stomach. “That bitch Watanabe.”
“Yes. You do not seem surprised. It fairly shocked us. Watanabe hates the military, you see, and Islam would hardly be conducive to her all-female church.”
Six months after the Gates had been sealed, the former directors had been released from custody, Watanabe included, but restricted to Anchor and forbidden to live even in the capital, let alone enter the headquarters building. All were watched by Security personnel and the Anchor Guard, but Ngomo had some allies in the middle ranks of Security, and knew the list of Security personnel already at least somewhat under Watanabe’s control.
And Watanabe was still a genius. Security made the same mistake that Cockburn and the others had made; in the end, Coydt’s people had relied on what the computers reported to them, and the computers were not necessarily giving them the story. Key people under Watanabe or Ngomo’s control, either literally or through ultimate loyalty, were shifted by computer orders to certain vital points; others who could and would have unmasked the whole thing wound up watching the wrong people, or minor people, and reporting a wholly credible and totally misleading revolutionary scenario that was bearing apparent fruit to Security but was nowhere near acting.
“The key was Watanabe,” Singh told her. “We never suspected her for a moment. For years, since the founding of this place, we have had access to her innermost thoughts and ideas—or so we believed. We had no idea that she suspected, let alone discovered this. She did not stop it. She is far too clever for that. She simply placed data filters in line between our readouts and her input. What we got was so bad, we never suspected that anything more was being kept from us. And once she was in control, she could insulate Ngomo and his key officers as well.”
“And—her price?”
“Ngomo gets the whole world except for her cluster. She gets that to do with as she will. All of Ngomo’s people and any Moslems there will be allowed out before she assumes total control. The troops there are specially processed by her, using a procedure we cannot begin to understand. They are subservient to the church, loyal to her, and willing to fight to the death for her church, male or female. This gives her security and absolute control of four 7800 series, thirty-two 7240 series, and several hundred lesser computers, all for her own use, as well as access through the network to the entire data bank for amplifiers and the like.”
The idea was chilling. “And Ngomo thinks he can contain her there? After what she’s already shown she can do?”
“Ngomo is no fool. He has had the fruits of revolution snatched from him by compatriots before, remember. He has the military command codes. He has used them to set up conditions under which any violation of the agreement by Watanabe will result in a Region Three master shutdown. He feels secure for a while with this, although he is not, as I said, a stupid man. Eventually, after consolidating his new regime elsewhere, he will turn those military programs on Watanabe.”
“And she knows this. It’s still going to be cat and mouse.”
“Indeed. Highly unpleasant cat and mouse. And they did in fact make several serious errors in their takeover, as might be expected of something so complex, the most fatal of which was that General Ryan discovered the full scope of things too late to stop it but in time to prevent a meeting of the general staff at which time Ngomo was going to imprison or kill the others.
“Cockburn simply placed his Headquarters Anchor on full alert and dispatched Coydt and several top computer experts from Security and Signals to Region Three to try to cut it off if they could. They were still getting set up for the countermove when Ngomo, realizing the jig was up, moved precipitously. Headquarters had five thousand troops, but most were technicians and bureaucrats. When Cockburn and the top officers on the staff were taken out. most of them switched rather than fought. The few hundred who did not were quickly taken out.”
“But—Security and Signals!”