THE WATCHMEN This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental- Star Watchman copyright © 1964 by Ben Bova. The Dueling Machine copyright © 1969 by Ben Bova. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form, A Baen Book Baen Publishing Enterprises P.O. Box 1403 Riverdale, N.Y. 10471 ISBN: 0-671-87598-1 Cover art by Darrell K. Sweet First Baen printing, April 1994 Distributed by Paramount Publishing 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, N-Y. 10020 Printed in the United States of America Author's Introduction They say you can't go home again, and as usual, they're wrong. In re-reading these two tales of the Star Watch some thirty years after I wrote them, all of the passions and motivations that went into the two novels came flooding back into my mind. I was pleasantly surprised to see how well the stories hold up, but struck by a deep sense of sadness to realize that the underlying human problems that form the focus of the novels are not only still with us, but are worse today than they were three decades ago- Star Watchman was my second novel, and I wrote it at a time when France was deeply enmeshed in colonial wars in Algeria and a place that was then known as Indo- China. French Indo-China, at that. Today we call that region Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam. The problems of colonial wars, and wars by proxy -- where major powers fight "minor" wars in some Third World country -- were uppermost in my mind as I wrote Star Watchman. Shortly after the novel was first published. 1 2 Ben Bova in 1964, President Lyndon B. Johnson started the immense American military build-up in Vietnam. Six years later President Richard M. Nixon enlarged the war into Laos and Cambodia. Some fifty thousand young Americans were killed in the fighting. All through the Vietnam years I kept wondering if I was crazy or if the people running our government were. Before undertaking Star Watchman I did a fair amount of research into the history of colonial wars in general (including our own Revolution) and of Algeria and south- east Asia in particular. I began to ask myself, as the Viet- nam fighting dragged on year after year: Even if we win, even if Ho Chin Minh surrenders abjectly, what would we gain? I mean, if I could understand that this war was fruitless, why couldn't the men in the White House? Those of us who love science fiction can't help feeling that, if the-politicians and other leaders of society would read SF, maybe we wouldn't stumble into the quagmires that we seem to find with depressing regularity. I don't think that if LBJ or Nixon had read Star Watchman either one of them would have changed his policies. But maybe it would have made them at least mink a little about what they were doing and where they were heading. Incidentally, I have not touched a word of either novel. By today's standards, they are not politically correct. Women are called girls, as they were in the Sixties. It's certainly a male chauvinist society out there on the space frontier. If anyone's sensibilities are offended by the implicit attitudes in these novels, they can always go back and re-read Jane Austen. The Dueling Machine stemmed from an entirely differ- ent source. I was working at a high-powered research laboratory in the Boston area in the early Sixties. In those days I was a pretty good fencer; even won the New England saber championship one year (novice class). I helped to organize a fencing club at the lab. On summer THE WATCHMEN 3 evenings we practiced outdoors, on the parking lot. Often our practice was interrupted by the screech of automo- bile wheels, as drivers passing our lot stared at a bunch of people merrily trying to stab one another, and forgot to watch where they were driving. Myron Lewis was one of the lab's physicists, and became a good saber fencer. One day, as we were com- plaining about lawyers (yes, lawyers were not held in high repute even then), I grumbled that Massachusetts had made a mistake when it outlawed dueling. Myron quickly suggested that it would be great if somebody could invent a dueling machine: a device in which two people could fight each other to the death, without being physically harmed, We had invented Virtual Reality, although neither of us had the sense to pursue the idea except in fiction, and the term would not be coined for another twenty- some years- 1 had earlier written a short story, "The Next Logical Step," that John Campbell published in Analog, in May 1962. It dealt with a computer system for playing war games, in which the player experienced -- with all his senses -- the battle being fought. Myron and I com- bined that idea with his to create the dueling machine. We plotted out a novelet, which I wrote. It was the cover story in Analog's May 1963 issue, with a superb cover illustration. That was during the brief era when Analog was published in large format, rather than dijgfcst-size. That novelet became the first third of the novel. The Dueling Machine, under the sub-tide " The Perfect Warrior." The theme of The Dueling Machine is once again about war, and how to avoid or prevent it- It is a thinly- disguised speculation on what would have happened in the late 1930s if doughty Winston Churchill had been Prime Minister of Britain rather than the pacifistic Neville 4 Ben Bow Chamberlain. Was World War II inevitable? I do not believe any event in human history was inevitable. Which is one reason why we read science fiction, I think. By looking forward into the possible futures that we may face, we can begin to make decisions about which of those futures we would like to live in, and per- haps even take steps to help that future to come about. The future is no more inevitable than the past. It is created by what we do in the present -- and what we fail to do. So, here are two tales of the future from thirty years ago. I think they stil! have things to say to today's readers, and I fondly hope that they are as entertaining now as they were when they were first written. Ben Bova Naples, Florida PARTI Star Watchman To Mrs. Jaffe, wherever you are Shinar The Tel-ran Empire stretched over half the Milky Way galaxy, from the lonely fringes of the immense spiral of stars to its richly-packed center. Earth was the capital of this vast Empire, but the planet Mars was headquarters for the Star Watch. The Empire's military arm, the Star Watch had bases on many planets, in all the farthest reaches of the immense Terran domain. But Mars -- covered from pole to pole with mighty buildings housing the men and machinery that ran the Star Watch -- was headquarters. In a small office in one of those buildings, a noncom was startled out of his usual routine. His desk communi- cator lit up, and the dour features of the Chief-of-StafT took form on the screen. "I want the complete file on Oran VI immediately." 'Tes sir." Before the chiefs image had completely faded from" the screen, the noncom's fingers were tap- ping out a message on his desktop keyboard to the mam- moth computer that held the Star Watch's master files. 8 Ben Bova He decided to check and make certain that he had requested the correct information from the computer. (The possibility of the computer making an error was unthinkable.) He punched a button on the desk and the communicator screen lit up again. The screen showed a map of the Milky Way galaxy, with the position of the star Oran marked out. It was on the edge of the Terran Empire, out in one of the farther spiral arms of the galaxy, near the territory of the Komani nation. The map faded, and a block of written data filled tTip scrGCii" ORAN; galactic coordinates ZJJ 27458330194126-3232. Eight planets, one terrestrial (Oran VI). ORAN vi; radius 1.04, density 0.91, gravity 1.025. Atmosphere Earth-normal (0.004 deviation). Three major continents, surface 80% sea-covered. Native human pop- ulation, 3.4 billion (estimated). Economy: rural agricul- tural; underdeveloped industrial base. Subject to Imperial Development Plan 400R, priority 3C. Former colony of Masters, incorporated into Empire immediately following Galactic War of last century. Native name for planet: Shinar. "SHI-NARl" The square was thronged with people. Shouting, jump- ing, dancing people. It was hard to see how so many people could jam into the city square, but still more were pouring in from every avenue. They waved banners and held aloft placards. Several groundcars were overturned and swarmed over. A bonfire glowed near a statue at one end of the square. The people shouted one word, which rose and fell like the endless waves of the sea: "SHI-NARl SHEE-^AR!" The Terran governor stood frowning on the balcony of his official residence, at the head of the jam-packed square. He turned to the garrison commander standing beside him. "This has got to be stopped!" The governor THE WATCHMEN 9 had to shout to be heard over the roars of the crowd. "There'll be another riot down there in a few minutes. The native police can't handle that mob." The commander arched his eyebrows. "Sir, if I send my troops into the square, there may be bloodshed." 'That can't be helped now," the governor said. "Send in the troops, Star Watch Junior Officer Emil Vorgens sat in his tiny compartment aboard the starship and reread his orders for the tenth time. He found it hard to believe that he was finally a full-fledged officer of the Star Watch. School was finished, his commission was safely tucked away in his travel kit, and here -- on plastic film -- were the orders for his first official mission. He slid the tiny film into his pocket viewer again and projected the words onto the bare compartment wall: "You will proceed to Oran VI and assist the Imperial Governor there in dealing with certain dissident elements of the native population." Like most Star Watch orders, there was a good deal of meaning in the words that were not there. The Star Watch was the Terran Empire's interstellar miBtary arm. In fact, the Star Watch pre-dated the Empire, and existed even back in the old days of the Confederation, more than a century ago. It had been the Star Watch that fought the successful war against the Masters, the war that had made the Ter- ran Confederation -- almost against its own will -- the new masters of most of the galaxy. The problems of ruling such a vast territory had been solved only by the creation of the Empire. Now the Star Watch served to control the interstellar space routes. A subsidiary branch, the Imperial Marines, handled any planet-home fighting that had to be done. Vorgens sat back in his webbed chair and studied his orders, a worried frown on his face. It was a youthful 10 Ben Bova face, with a high forehead. His skin was a golden brown, his closely cropped hair copperish red, his eyes tawny. Although born into the Terran Empire, and fully human, Vorgens was not an Earth-man, but a native of the Plei- ades star cluster. His orders troubled him. To send a Star Watchman to Oran VI meant that the Empire was considering military action there. "Dissident elements of the native popula- tion." That could mean almost anything. It sounded serious. Just how serious. Vorgens learned a few days later. A coded message from Star Watch headquarters was beamed to the ship for him. When he decoded it, the order stated: "The Imperial Governor of Oran VI has been mur- dered. You will assist Brigadier Aikens, 305th Imperial Marines, in restoring order to the planet." The starship hurtled on toward its destination as Vor- gens spent his days fretfully trying to get more informa- tion on the situation on Oran VI. Very little could be learned. The Imperial Marines had landed there and the planet was in turmoil. Evidently a band of Komani raid- ers, sensing a chance for battle and looting, had also landed on Oran VI, A few days before reaching the planet, Vorgens received a final change in orders; "You will seek out the Komani leader and warn him of the consequences of fighting against the Empire. The Komani raiders are to be offered safe conduct back to their homeworld in return for immediately quitting Oran VI. The Komani leader is to be reminded that all Komani clans have sworn allegiance to the Empire, and he can expect no assistance from the rest of the Komani nation." Almost before Vorgens had a chance to digest the news that these orders implied, the starship broke out of sub- space and entered an orbit around Oran VI. A planetary shuttle brought him down to the major spaceport, heavily guarded by Marines. THE WATCHMEN 11 The major in charge outlined the situation to him quickly; "Things are pretty confused here. Watchman. We con- trol the four major cities on the planet, and this space- port. The Komani raiders have been shooting up the countryside. There are bands of native rebels with them- Brigadier Aikens has the Mobile Force out hunting down the raiders." Without more ado, the major bundled Vorgens into an aircar and sent the Watchman off. with a Marine pilot and gunner, to find Brigadier Aikens and the Mobile Force. II The Valley Sergeant Mclntyre had come a long way in the heat of the afternoon, scrabbling over the broken rocks, half tumbling down the steep slope of the valley, while the big yellow sun of Oran blazed hotter and brighter every minute. Finally he saw the first outpost of the Mobile Force -- a scout car, its turret hatches open, and a few men sitting lazily in the scant slice of shade the car offered. As he approached, one of the troopers got up slowly. adjusted his glare visor, picked up his weapon and hailed him; "Who goes?" "Sergeant Mclntyre, K Company, returning from patrol." Mclntyre stopped a few paces before the younger man. He could feel the sweat trickling down his flanks. "Returning from patrol?" the trooper echoed. "Where's the patrol, Sarge?" 12 THE WATCHMEN 13 "You're looldn* at it, Idd," Mclntyre answered. "Are we gonna stand here all day? I'm hot, tired, thirsty and I've gotta make a report to my company commander." The soldier swallowed his amazement, "Yeah, sure, Sarge. Come on over to the car." He turned and bawled out, "Lieutenant!" Mclntyre trudged over to the shade and squatted down on the bare, dusty ground, leaning his back against the dark, cool metal of the scout car. He took off his helmet, squinted painfully into the shimmering afternoon haze as he mopped his head with a tattered sleeve, then replaced the helmet and slid the glare visor over his eyes again. One of the men offered him a canteen. A lean, spotless lieutenant climbed down from the tur- ret and confronted Mclntyre. "Sergeant, are you the man who led this morning's patrol through here and out to the southern edge of the valley?" "Yes sir," Mclntyre said, getting slowly to his feet. "Where's the rest of your patrol? You had twenty men, didn't you?" "Yes sir. The others were all lolled or captured, sir." "What? Impossible!" Mclntyre shook his head. "I wish it was impossible, sir. I only wish it was." Sergeant Mclntyre made his report by tri-di beam from the scout car to the communications center of the Mobile Force's main body, camped down in the heart of the valley. "Sorry we don't have a vehicle for you," the lieutenant said a little stiffly, to hide his embarrassment. "We've been ordered to remain here at the perimeter." 'That's okay, sir," Mclntyre answered. Then he added, with just a hint of malice, "I don't mind walldn' back. I'll be going away from the Komani for a change." By the time he reached the main encampment of the 14 Ben Bow Mobile Force, the hot, yellow sun had sunk behind the hills. The sky overhead was still bright, but the valley itself was now in shadow. As Mclntyre made his way through the maze of land cruisers, dreadnaughts, troop carriers, supply vans and scout cars, it became obvious to him that his own report had been matched by equally bad reports from the other patrols of that morning. None of the guard details took the time to ask his identity. None of the shavetail officers stopped him for a lecture about his no-longer-regulation uniform. They knew where most of his equipment had been left, why he had buckled to his hip an extra sidearm (taken from a dying corporal), whose blood was on his ragged shirt. The petty routine of military life was finished. They were all too busy with the urgency of self-preservation to bother. They were digging in, all across the valley. The Mobile Force of the 305th Imperial Marines, the military extension of the Terran Empire that ruled most of the galaxy, was threatened with annihilation. It was cooler now that the sun had dipped behind the western hills. That was one thing to be grateful for, Mclntyre thought as he searched out his company com- mander in the confusion of men and vehicles. The valley was in shadow, but the hills, where the enemy was, were still bright with daylight. Surrounded, Mclntyre thought to himself. Totally cut off. I wonder how the Brigadier is taking the news? "Totally impossible!" snapped Brigadier Aikens. "I'm afraid not, sir." his executive officer answered quietly. "Alt the patrols report the same thing -- we are surrounded." Aikens' pinched face, topped by a balding dome, glow- ered red as he stared at the stereomap on his desktop viewscreen. "Are any of the patrols still out?" "Only two, sir. It doesn't look as though they're going THE WATCHMEN 15 to make it back. The other patrols were badly mauled. One of them lost every man except a single sergeant." Aikens got up from his chair and crossed the tiny com- partment in three restless strides. Though the dread- naught was huge for a land-going vehicle, all the compartments inside had to be as compact as humanly possible. "Surrounded," he muttered, "trapped in this valley by a horde of barbarians." "They don't fight like barbarians, sir." the exec murmured. "What's that?" The officer flushed. "I only meant, sir, that they have been using modem weapons -- very effectively, sir." Aikens nodded. "I know, I know." He returned to his desk and sat down again. "I've led my men into a trap. Now I've got to lead them out of it." The brigadier stared at the stereomap for a long moment while his aide stood motionless, listening to the faint whir of the air- conditioning system. The exec was in his prime middle years, tall and dark- haired. A long stretch of desk duty, as part of the original garrison of Oran VI, had filled out his midsection and softened his face somewhat. Aikens, although older by at least a dozen years, was straight-backed and flat-stomached- The brigadier had picked his aide on the strength of the younger man's first-hand knowledge of the planet. Finally Aikens looked up. "Well, we'll hold our ground tonight. Double the guard around our perimeter." "Yes sir." "They can maul foot patrols, can they?" the brigadier muttered. "Tomorrow morning we'll see what they can do against some solid armor." He looked at the map on his desk again- "All right, you may go. Make certain you get a verbal report from all the company commanders 16 Ben Boca after the guard Is changed, and tell my staff I will meet them here in two hours." "Yes sir." The exec remained at attention before the desk. "I said you may go," Aikens repeated. "There's one more item, sir. That Star Watch officer who joined the Force two days ago. He's still waiting to see you, sir." Aikens slammed a heavy hand on the desktop. "The situation isn't bad enough! Now I have to put up with shavetails from the Star Watch Academy who want to peep over my shoulder!" "Sir, he's been waiting two days, and his orders are direct from Star Watch Headquarters." Aikens fumed silently for a few moments, then said, "All right, get him in here. On the double." "Very well, sir." The exec saluted, turned, and ducked through the low doorway of Aikens' cubbyhole officer After a few minutes of searching through the dread- naught's command section, the exec found Vorgens hunched beside a seated technician in the communica- tions compartment, staring intently at a static-streaked viewscreen. "It's no good, sir," the technician was saying. "The enemy has every frequency jammed. We can't get a word in or out." Vorgens straightened up. His black-and-silver uniform was in stark contrast to the bright-colored coveralls that identified the crewmen's various jobs aboard the dreadnaught. "I see," the Watchman said. "Thank you anyway." "So here's where you've been hiding," the exec called out. "Come on, the brigadier wants to see you right away." Vorgens stepped out of the communications compart- ment and into the narrow passageway. THE WATCHMEN 17 "I've been trying to establish contact with the cities or Star Watch Headquarters. No luck," Vorgens said as they started down the passageway - "They've got us boxed in pretty well," the exec said. "The reports from the patrols seem to indicate that," Vorgens admitted. "Any chance of signaling to the orbiting ships?" "What orbiting ships?" "The transports that brought the Mobile Force here, and their escorts. Perhaps the ships could ..." "The ships aren't there. Watchman. They dropped the Mobile Force three weeks ago and left Oran VI immedi- ately. They won't be back until they're called for." Vorgens blinked in disbeBef. "But ... why?" "It's a big Empire, son," the exec answered patiently, "and transports are too valuable to be tied up sitting at one planet, empty and useless." "You mean we couldn't retreat off the planet, even if we wanted to?" "We could commandeer whatever ships are available on the planet, which wouldn't be enough to carry all the men, let alone the equipment. We could get Star Watch ships in a week or so if we could make contact with somebody outside this blasted valley." "How in the world did all this come about?" Vorgens wondered out loud. The exec took him literally and replied, "It started with some protest demonstrations -- some farmers complaining about a nutrient-processing center we were building for them. The next thing we knew, there were riots in the cities. Then the Governor was murdered by some fanatic. The Mobile Force landed a week later, and two days after that these Komani hordes landed in half a dozen places across the planet and started terrorizing the coun- tryside. So here we are." The exec stopped walking abruptly, and Vorgens real- ized he was standing before Brigadier Aikens' door. 18 Ben Bova "You know what I think," the executive officer stated, rather than asked. "I think the whole mess is a plan by the Komani to take over this planet, and it's just the first step in a much bigger Komani plan." "But they were our allies against the Masters," Vorgens said. "That was a hundred years ago, Watchman. Times have changed since then." Vorgens nodded. "Well," said the exec, "good luck with the Old Man." "You're not coming in with me?" "No, I've got several chores to carry off before I get my supper. If I get a chance to eat tonight." He flicked a salute at Vorgens and turned away. Vorgens automatically returned the salute, then turned and confronted the brigadier's door. After an instant's hesitation, he knocked twice. "Enter." He stepped into the compartment, saluted, and stood at ramrod attention. Aikens. sitting behind his desk, regarded the young Watchman for a moment, then indi- cated with a nod the only other chair in the office. Vor- gens sat down. No two men on Oran VI looked less like each other. Vorgens was small and wiry, and his golden brown skin and coppery hair proclaimed him to be of non-Earthly stock. His thin, fine-boned face, surmounted by a high forehead, gave him a peculiarly babyish look- Aikens was a typical Terran, towering above Vorgens' height and outweighing him by half again. The brigadier's only sign of encroaching years was his thinning hair and well-creased face. He had made it a point to foster care- fully the impression among his men that he was a flam- boyant and daring leader. Even now he was wearing the Imperial Marines' semi-dress uniform of green, red and gold, as opposed to Vorgens' standard Star Watch black- and-silver. THE WATCHMEN 19 "I imagine you realize the situation we're in," Aikens said flatly. Vorgens nodded. "I have seen the reports of today's patrols." "This Mobile Force was dispatched to Oran VI to bol- ster the Imperial garrison and restore order among the native populace. When the Komani raiders landed, we were ordered to induce them to return to their home- world. 'A demonstration of force': that's how the orders read. Well, for nearly three weeks now we've been trying to pin them down for our little demonstration. Now they've led us into a nasty trap. We're surrounded in this valley, and it looks as though the Komani are perfectly willing and eager to fight a full-scale battle." "I know," Vorgens said. "They're well armed with modem weapons, and their tactics so far have been masterful. In short, Vorgens, they've led me around by the nose for three weeks, and they're ready to start slugging." "Have you any idea of their numbers?" Aikens shrugged. "We're outnumbered, that much is certain. How badly, I can't tell. But that doesn't worry me. Trained troops can always lick an undisciplined horde of barbarians, no matter how clever the barbarians are. They may have modem weapons, but we have more firepower ... and armored vehicles." "They seem to have greater mobility, though," Vorgens observed. "True enough, and their reconnaissance is much better than ours. What we need is some airpower and a column of reinforcements." "Reinforcements?" "Certainly. Oh, I'm positive we could handle this Komani mob with the men we have right here, but once they start taking a beating, the barbarians will melt back into the hills again and we'll lose them." Aikens tapped a forefinger on .the stereomap as he spoke. "I want a 20 Ben Bova column of reinforcements, from the city garrisons, with air cover and support, so we can pin down these barbar- ians from the outside- Then, between our two forces, we can crush them once and for all!" Vorgens sat in puzzled thought for a moment. Then he said, "Sir, there are two problems on Shinan the native rebels, and the Komani raiders. If you strip the cities of their garrisons to hit the Komani, you will be giving the cities to the rebels." Aikens shrugged. "One problem at a time. Watchman. First we crush the Komani. The rebels will be easy to handle after that. Why, we can even show the natives that we helped them get rid of the barbarian invaders. Might win back most of the populace that way." "But your aide thinks that the rebels are working for the Komani." 'True enough. He's probably right. But the majority of the natives don't know that." "It's a very mixed-up situation," Vorgens said. Aikens smiled grimly. "We're going to unmix it and make it perfectly simple. The first step is to get the city garrisons marching toward this valley. I'm certain the Komani won't be able to launch a full-scale attack on us for several days. They've got us pinned down, and they'll want us to run out of food and water before they attack. Attrition tactics." "Perhaps so," Vorgens said. "Now, brigadier, my orders ..." "Yes, your orders, that's why I called you in here." Aikens leaned back in his chair. "I have a copy of your orders here on my desk, but I'd like to hear how you interpret them." "There's not much to interpret." "Come now, Watchman," Aikens countered. "You've been with Mobile Force for how long now? Two full days, isn't it? Certainly by now you realize that orders cut and processed at Star Watch Headquarters couldn't THE WATCHMEN 21 possibly foresee all the details of the situation here on Oran VI." "The orders are quite simple and explicit," Vorgens insisted. "I am instructed to attempt to negotiate with the chief of the Komani raiders. I am to tell him that his people can return peacefully to their homeworid if they stop their raiding on Oran VI immediately. I am also to tell him that the Komani clan chieftains have sworn to the Terran Council that they will remain loyal to the Empire and will not in any way aid or sympathize with this attack on Oran VI. I suppose I should remind the raiders that the Komani were allies of the Terrans during the Galactic War of the last century, and that this attack on Imperial territory is a breach of friendship." Commander Aikens gazed toward the ceiling as he quietly asked, "And just how do you propose to contact the Komani chief?" 'That's the difficult part," Vorgens admitted- "I had hoped to arrive on this planet before the fighting got so intense that the Komani would refuse to parley. It looks as though I barely made it in time." "What do you mean by that?" "Why, simply that the Komani have not really opened battle yet. We might still be able to discuss a truce." "While we're surrounded?" Aikens shook his head. "You don't understand these barbarians- The only time they're ready to negotiate is when they're taking a beating." "My orders command me to attempt .. -" "Your orders," Aikens interrupted, "place you under my command for the duration of your stay on Oran VI. Correct?" "Yes ,.. but with the understanding that as an officer of the Imperial Marines you are subject to the orders of the Star Watch High Command and that you will assist the Star Watch's attempt to bring about a peaceful settle- ment with the Komani." 22 Ben Bova Aikens rose from his chair and strode wordlessly across the small compartment. Then he turned and pointed a finger at Vorgens. "Listen, youngster, I'm just as anxious as you are to talk the Komani out of a bloodletting. Those are my men out ther°, and I'm responsible for their lives -- every last one of them. But if we try to parley from our present position -- surrounded, cut off, and outnumbered -- the Komani will simply take it as a sign of weakness. We'll be encouraging mem to attack. We'll be convincing them that they've got us licked." "It may be entirely unnecessary to fight at all," Vor- gens insisted- The brigadier nodded curtly. "Maybe. We'll see." Aikens returned to his desk and sat down. Leaning over die stereomap, he said to Vorgens: 'This is what we're going to do. Tomorrow morning', I'll send out more patrols -- stronger patrols than today's -- with armor. They'll probe the Komani lines and keep the barbarians off balance. Meanwhile, you will take an armored cruiser and a picked detachment of men and break through the Komani lines." Vorgens' mouth dropped open, but the brigadier waved him down before he could say anything. "You will break through the Komani lines and outrun their communications jammers. Then you will call for rein- forcements from the garrisons of the cities we now hold." "These are your orders?" "That's right. Watchman. I'll give you two days and two nights to get the reinforcements here. I doubt if the Komani will attack before men. They've got men scat- tered halfway across the planet, and they'll want to group them together before they tackle us in earnest. "Youu have to draw every last man you can get. Use your authority as a Star Watchman. I want a strong enough force to smash these marauding barbarians once and for all." THE WATCHMEN 23 "And the truce negotiations?" "Let them make the request for a truce," Aikens snapped. "Then you refuse to obey the express orders of the Star Watch High Command?" Aikens glared at the Watchman. "What are you trying to do, youngster, set me up for a board of inquiry? No, I do not refuse to carry out the High Command's orders, I simply feel that the situation is so precarious at the moment that the orders can't be put into effect. Not at this time and place." Vorgens stood up. "I suppose it would be pointless to attempt to argue you out of this decision." "Completely pointless. Good evening." The young Star Watchman saluted and left the briga- dier's compartment. He stood outside the door for a moment after closing it, frowning worriedly. Then he slowly made his way down the narrow passage, past the compact booths of officers' quarters, climbed through a hatch and clambered down the side of the dreadnaught to the ground. It was not much wanner outside than in, now that Oran had set. But the night was never completely dark, despite the hour. Oran was six times brighter than Sol, and its luminosity was great enough to keep a twilight glow in the air all night long. Vorgens paced slowly around the mammoth dread- naught, watching his boots stir up the dust. The Star Watch orders me to parley; the brigadier orders me to fight, he thought to himself. Orders are orders. But which set do I obey? Ill Father and Son Halfway across the planet it was still bright dayBght. The home of Clanthas, the merchant, was neither par- ticularly large nor well-adomed, It stood at the crest of a hill, flanked by equally good houses, and overlooked the harbor of the small city of Katan. Unlike the four major cities of Shinar, the port city of Katan was not occupied by a Terran garrison. Until a year earlier, Clanthas had been distinguished from his fellow merchants only by being a shade quicker- witted and, perhaps, blessed with slightly more man his share of good fortune. In those days, before the rebellion against me Terran Empire, Clanthas could be seen dur- ing most sunny afternoons of the warm summer sitting on the balcony that spanned his house, either relaxing or conducting business, as the occasion demanded. It was about a year ago that the first farmers began to trickle into Katan, complaining that the Terrans had driven them off their own soil, so that the land could be used for factories that made synthetic foodstuffs. 24 THE WATCHMEN 25 Clanthas, whose business depended on buying and selling the farmers' produce, appealed to the Terran gov- ernor. The nutrient processors were necessary, even vital, he was told. Instead of quietly trying to make the best of the situa- tion, as most of his countrymen did, Clanthas recalled something his son had told him, some quotation from galactic history that the youth was studying at the university: "A man is free because he has the brains and the courage to stand on his own feet and go his own way. And for a man to remain free, he and his fellow men must be strong enough to resist those who would enslave them." Those words had been spoken more than a century ago by a Terran, Geoffrey Knowland, the conqueror who defeated the Masters and established the Terrans as rulers over Shinar. Clanthas decided that the Terran's words made sense, even when applied against the Terrans themselves. So he acted- He organized the farmers and held a demonstration in Katan. He organized similar demonstrations in the major cities. Inevitably, some of the larger demonstrations developed into riots. Troops were called in; shots were fired. Unarmed civilians were killed. Tempers flared. Vio- Jent men took action. The Terran governor was mur- dered. The Imperial Marines arrived. Komani warriors landed on the planet. Before he had time to realize it, Clanthas had become the acting leader of his people. He was squarely in an increasingly impossible position. On the one hand stood the Empire-building Terrans, intent on "pacifying" Shi- nar and returning it to the status of a docile colony. On the other were the fearsome Komani, with plans of their own. Even among his own people, there were hotheads and opportunists over whom Clanthas had no control. 26 Ben Bova On this particular afternoon, however, he was trying to put aside thoughts of politics and fighting to confront his only son simply as a bewildered and outraged father. Clanthas sat on the edge of a large, well-padded chair. He watched intently the image of his son on the screen of the tri-di transceiver in the small room that Clanthas used for private conversations. By the standards of his race, the' merchant was in prime middle life. His com- plexion was nut brown, his hair dark, his eyes like coal. He had accumulated weight with his years, so that now he was broad-girthed and puffy-faced, but his eyes were still clear and piercing. His son, Merdon, showed what the merchant must have looked like in his youth: tall, broad, strong-limbed. The two men shared the same facial characteristics -- prominent cheekbones, broad brow, massive, stubborn jaw. \ "Merdon. I told you this was raving lunacy when you first revealea your idiotic plans to me," the older man raged. "I was wrong. It's worse. It's doom. It's damna- tion. It's the ruin ofour planet and our people- And my son -- my only son -- is the ringleader." Merdon shook his head slowly and waited for his father to go on. "Why couldn't you have trusted my judgment? You, of all people! You should have remained at my side, and helped me to control your hot-blooded young friends. You should have warned me of the plot against the gover- nor's life. Instead you remained siTent. You should have spoken against those who wanted to shoot back at the Terrans. Instead you went even farther." "I did what I had to do, Father. The Terrans weren't going to be swayed by mere words." "Oh no, you had to be clever. One step ahead of every- one, including your father. Free the pfanet! Throw the foreigners out! How? By inviting other foreigners in to fight for us. Barbarians!" THE WATCHMEN 27 "But it's working," the youth said defensively. "The Komani have beaten the Terran garrison in several engagements." "Yes, and now the Imperial Marines are here." "And the Komani have trapped them." "WHAT?" "Didn't you know? The Terrans have been trapped in a valley -- in the Carmeer district. The Komani have them surrounded. It's only a matter of time...." Clanthas sank back in his chair. "Only a matter of time," he moaned, "before our planet is completely at the mercy of these barbarians." He looked up at his son. "You're certain of this?" "Okatar Kang is gathering his men from every corner of the planet. Our own fighting units are joining him. There's even talk of contingents from other Komani clans landing on Shinar to join the battle." Uke vermin attracted to an open wound, thought Clanthas. Merdon continued, "Okatar wants to be certain of overpowering strength before- we attack the Terrans. We'll wipe them out completely!" "Listen to me," Clanthas commanded. "Keep your men away from that battle. Don't join in it. The Terrans don't realize that we -- you -- invited the Komani to Shi- nar to fight for us. If they ever find out, they'll never trust any of us again." "But. . ." ^ Clanthas waved his son to silence. "If the Komani beat the Terrans, they might be weakened enough for us to overcome them. If the Terrans win, we can say we had no active role in fighting against them. Perhaps we can still escape from this circle of doom in which you've placed us." "Father, you don't understand. The Komani are our allies. They have come to Shinar because we asked them. 28 Ben Bow They are fighting for us. They are dying to help free us from the Terrans." The ex-merchant swore under his breath. Aloud, he said, "The Komani are barbarians. They have no allies. Now they are lolling Terrans. Next they will kill Shinarians." "Father, you must learn to trust them." "I trust them! I trust them to loot this planet when they've finished with the Terrans. I trust them to sack and bum and destroy everything they can't carry away with them, and I trust they'll start just as soon as the Terrans are wiped out." "No. They've promised they'll loot only the Terrans." "I suppose the villages that they've raided were popu- lated with Terrans." Merdon frowned at his father. "That was a misunder- standing. They needed food, and the stupid farmers refused to feed them. Some of the Komani warriors got out of hand, but we've made arrangements that will elim- inate that sort of thing in the future." "Fine. And what will your friend Okatar Kang do when he leams that there are warehouses full of food and an arsenal full of equipment right here in Katan?" *'l will protect you," Merdon said, a slight smile steal- ing across his face. Clanthas shook his head. "No you won't. You'll be dead- If you participate in the coming battle against the Terrans trapped in that valley, you will be killed. Either by the Terrans or the Komani-" "Father!" "Don't be naive. You are one of the principal leaders of the rebels. Alive, you are a stubborn, strong-minded, idealistic, capable leader of all the younger idiots of Shi- nar. You've turned against the Terrans. Someday you will rum against the Komani. But dead -- then you 11 be a martyr to the antiTerran cause. The Komani can count on your heroic memory to hold all your rebellious friends THE WATCHMEN 29 in line long past the point where you, yourself, would have broken with them," "I'm flattered. Father, but you overestimate my impor- tance. The real objective is to free Shinar of the Terrans and their rotten Empire." "Free us? And leave the Komani on our backs?" "They'll leave, after the Terrans have been driven off." "And after we're pillaged." "No .. -" "Do you think that the Terrans are going to allow the Komani to escape unpunished? They'O send a stronger force to Shinar. It might even be on its way here at this moment. You're turning your homeworld into a battleground." Merdon's face went completely blank. "There's no point in continuing this argument. Father. You won't change your mind. But someday you'U be proud of your son and the things he will have done for Shinar." "I hope so," Clanthas said wearily, "but I doubt it." The youth said nothing. His body gradually dissolved and disappeared, leaving his father sitting there in silence, staring at the bare screen of the tri-di transceiver. Merdon also remained sitting before his tri-di set for many minutes after his father's image had faded into nothingness. He frowned moodily, weighing his father's words of warning. Abruptly, he shook his head and got up from the seat. "You're a well-meaning old man," Merdon said softly to his unhearing father, "but you're hopelessly wedded to the past. The Terrans became our overlords by driving the Masters out of the Galaxy. It took action, force -- not words and demonstrations. To drive the Terrans off Shi- nar, we must use force." Merdon nodded to himself. He was right, he knew, and his father wrong. And yet ... Clanthas felt that the Komani could not be trusted. Per- haps there was a kernel of truth there. ) Ben Bova The youth stepped away from the tri-di booth and looked around- He was in a deserted factory, one of the few that the Terrans had built before the rebellion had broken out. Long rows of silent machines stood untended in the half-light of evening. Merdon snapped off the lamp that illuminated the tri-