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I And the birds had left, and most of humanity too. They left on tails of fire, searing the ochre skies of sunset with their vapour trails, heading outwards to new worlds with green hills and fertile fields. All across Earth the ice was creeping once again, and this battle against nature was one that man could not win. So he turned his back on his own world and swept out across the stars, like a plague of migrating locusts. But there were a flew who didn't go, a few who couldn't stand the years in space, a few who couldn't tear themselves from the planet that had spawned them. They stayed, to fight The Ice and win back the world for mankind. And, though they had inherited the tools and knowledge of thousands of generations before them, they were pitifully few. Against them was The Ice, and all the powers of nature. II "I tell you, Frank," the lean man said, his eyes alight with anger, "that we must get up to that Power Station. We're going to need power to stay alive this Winter, and that station is just begging to be used." Frank Abbott, Co-ordinator of Earth's sole remaining city, where the pitiful two million remaining inhabitants huddled together for security against the encroaching glaciers, threw his arms wide in a gesture that showed that he realised that argument was futile against the passionate beliefs of Tom Vickers. "We have huge stocks of coal and oil,." he said. "They will hold back the snows." Vickers looked disgusted. "For a year or two, maybe," he said. "But we're living on borrowed time, Frank, never forget that. Once the stockpiles have gone there will be no more natural fuels. But the uranium and thorium we have would power that station for a thousand years. We've got to get it going." "Fine words," Abbott retorted. "But who will run the station and it's reactors? There isn't a person in this city who knows how to do it. The atomic scientists and engineers were the first to quit for the stars. If you tried to get that power flowing again you'd blow the station up, and probably, set up a cloud of radioactive debris to poison the city." "There was data left behind," Vickers said. "Instruction discs. They show how to get the plant powered again. We could do it, I know we could. A group of us have been studying the principles." Abbott rose to his feet angrily. "Now you listen here, Tom," he muttered thickly. "I flatly forbid you to go near that station. This city is all that's left of humanity on Earth, and if that station blows..." "What will become of your proud colony when The Ice creeps in upon us and we have no coal or oil to power our fires and our factories, and our electric power plants?" Abbott turned half away. "The Council are hoping that a few of the scientists might come back.." he muttered, in a tone that admitted the scant likelihood of such an event. Vickers got to his feet, waving his arms in an outburst of the pent-up frustration that he felt. "Is that what you're relying on?" he shouted. "If so, forget it. Do you think that they'd give up their comfortable lives on their warm worlds out there just to come back and help us out of a jam?" "Don't judge everyone else by your own selfish standards, Tom," Abbott shouted back. "They've been gone over a century now; they've had time to colonise and develop their new homes. Now their memories will turn back to their home world. They'll start thinking of us." Vickers didn't bother to reply, just snorted contemptuously and walked for the door. Abbott raced after him and caught him by the elbow just as the door hissed open. "You think I'm a hopeless dreamer, don't you?" he said, regaining control of himself. "You think that the colonists would leave us to rot." "I know it," Vickers spat. "In this universe you have to help yourself. It's no good dreaming of fantastic assistance from the stars. It won't come." "But it is coming," Abbott shouted. He returned to his chair and motioned Vickers into the one opposite. The lean man sat suspiciously, wary for a trick. "I wasn't going to tell anyone until we have more details,'' Abbott stated, "but we picked up a message yesterday from an interstellar spacecraft. It's out of Procyon, headed for Earth. The colonists are reopening their links with us, Tom." "Did they say they were coming to help us fight The Ice?" Vickers enquired, interested, despite himself. The Co-ordinator looked dubious. "No, not exactly. They weren't very specific at all, actually, but what other reason could they have for returning?" Vickers scowled. "I shudder to think." Abbott ignored the sarcasm. "They will be here in under a week," he stated. "then we shall know. Until then, I suggest that you stop your propagandising and sedition. This Government has the right course of action underway, and now that we are to have help from the stars, our long struggle is as good as over." Vickers snorted as he got up to leave again. "There's a name for your breed," he said. "They're called optimists." He paused, at the door. "Look, even supposing that the ship from Procyon is on it's way to help us, which I don't necessarily accept; what guarantee have you that these colonists can turn back the march of The Ice. They failed a century or more ago; that was why they left in the first place, or had you forgotten that?" "No," The Co-ordinator shook his head slowly, "I hadn't forgotten. But their science has advanced by more than a century since they left, and they've had the impetus of colonising new worlds to drive them forward. There have been whispers, in the scant few contacts that have gotten through from the nearer systems, of a vast new source of power, mightier by far than that atomic power station you keep on about." Vickers' brow puckered. "And what's that?" "Antimatter energy. That could wipe the ice from Earth's face within a decade, and give us eternal Summer." The other man said no more, but a grim look was on his face as he left the Co-ordinator's office. Altruism wasn't part of the colony worlds make-up. They hadn't cared a fig for Earth when the long Winter had set in, and they had fled to the warm new worlds of the stars. Therefore, unless their psychology had altered vastly since their exodus, which was unlikely, they had some ulterior motive for reopening contact with the Solar System at this time. He thought about it all the way home, but no flicker of inspiration came to him. III As the ship from Procyon plowed ever nearer the Earth, a subtle change overtook the people of the city. Abbott had leaked the news, assuming, rightly as it turned out, that Vickers would inform his associates of the ship's impending arrival, and the dull, though unadmitted, hopelessness of the city's two million had been replaced by a flickering fire of hope, which burnt stronger in direct ratio to the amount of propaganda issuing from the Co-ordinator's office. But Vickers, and his relatively few political allies, didn't share the mood of waxing optimism that pervaded the streets. As Vickers said to his wife over breakfast: "You know, Sue, I'm absolutely convinced that the Procyon colonists have some ulterior motive for their journey. They haven't come to help us, you can be sure of that." She smiled at him, but severely. "You know, Tom, you ought to try to cultivate a little faith in human nature," she said. "Has it ever occurred to you, that you might be wrong, just this once?" "Don' t say Abbott's propaganda has even convinced you," her husband said, looking sharply at her, but she merely smiled at him. "No, of course not," she denied. But then her smile faded to be replaced by a look of concern. "But neither has yours, Tom," she added. "For that's all it is, you know. Oh, sure, I agree with you that Frank Abbott is wrong to put all his faith in our oil and coal supplies. They probably won't last more than a few years more; we do need atomic power, you're absolutely right there. That far I go with you wholeheartedly. But when you start denouncing the Procyon colonists as a load of selfish opportunists, then you're spreading propaganda. The fact is, Tom, that we don't know. We must wait until they arrive and judge them from their actions." Vickers drained his coffee. "Yes, sure, but all this hope that Abbott has lit in the hearts of the people could be self-destructive in the end if the Procyon ship isn't here to help us fight The Ice. They have been raised from their lethargic acceptance, which, I know, is what I've been wanting to happen, but it's the wrong sort of hope. If nothing comes out of this starship, their morale will be lowered to almost nil. And the blame'll lie at Abbott's door." His wife poured him a fresh cup of coffee. "That's another thing, Tom. What's happened between Frank Abbott and you? You used to be friends, colleagues. Now you're at each other's throats all the while. Why? I don't like all this bickering." "Frank was - is a good administrator," Tom admitted. "When the fuel supplies were ample he was the ideal sort of man to keep the city on it's feet. But the situation we're faced with now calls for more than administrative ability; it calls for guts. And Frank seems to be lacking in that respect." "And what are 'guts', Tom?" his wife wondered. "A foolish desire to go up to the Power Station and try and start it up again, when there's not a man in the city who's had any practical experience in manning an Atomic Station." "But someone's got to do it. We'll have to learn. There was a time when atomic power was just getting started, back after the Second World War, when there were atomic pioneers to run things. They had to learn it from scratch. We'll do the same. We're not idiots, Sue." "Of course not, But the old pioneers started with simple primitive stations that they'd had a hand in planning and designing, and don't forget some of the dreadful accidents that occurred. What's up there is one of the last ultra modern stations opened before The Ice began to creep down and the long Winter set in. It's not like the old plants, Tom. It's complex, impossible for a layman to understand. You must realise that. Even I can see it, and I don't need Frank Abbott's propaganda to help me do so, either." Vickers' shoulders slumped minutely as he sat hunched over his steaming cup. "Maybe you're right, Sue,"' he said thickly, "Maybe the days of human supremacy on Earth are over, and we're doomed to freeze when the coal runs out. But, by God, we wouldn't be human if we didn't do something about it, instead of just sitting on our backsides." "You're an idealist, Tom," his wife said, throwing her arms around his shoulders, and I love you for it. It's one of the reasons. I married you, in fact. But, you know, sometimes more than idealism is needed. Sometimes you have to accept that certain things just can't be done at the moment. And, for the moment, that Power Station is just not a viable proposition; not for inexperienced personnel, anyway. We must put our trust in the Procyon ship." "We might as well pray," Vickers snorted. "That might not be such a bad idea at that," his wife said, seriously. "Anyway, Tom, promise me that you'll do nothing until we see what the Proycon people have to say." Her husband lifted his coffee cup savagely. "All right," he agreed, "I'll go that far. But I'll tell you this, Sue; there are going to be a lot of people disappointed by what those colonists have to say, I'll bet." And he drained his hot coffee with angry gulps. ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ The ship from Proycon hurtled past massive Jupiter decelerating all the time. It had taken over six months to make the long trip back to the Solar System, but it had taken over ten years to make the trip the other way, a century before. New engines were installed in the spacecraft. Gone were the old, inefficient fusion drive motors that had powered it on it's first, epic journey out to the new worlds of the stars. In their place were the antimatter drives, those furious chambers of fire, where normal and minus matter met and annihilated each other in a massive blaze of energy. Energy two hundred times more powerful than the hottest nuclear reaction. Energy that had turned planets into homes for mankind, out in the new systems of the stars. Energy that could turn the tides of ice that swept from north and south to cover the entire planet. Energy that could melt the frozen glaciers, thaw the fields and warm the air and seas. The Captain of the Procyon ship was Derry Tymball, a third generation Procyonite, from the warm fourth world of that far system. He was forty two years of age, and service in space had made him tough and grizzled, so that he looked nearer fifty. He turned to his second officer, Gary Thure, and said, "how long?" "Thirty hours, more or less," Thure replied. He gazed out of the transparent control blister into the towering night beyond. "You know, I always thought it'd be sort of, romantic, to return to the Solar System. But - now we're here it's just like any other system." "There's some better, and lots worse," Tymball agreed. "Sol's pretty average in that respect. But, tell me, how's our guest?" "In his cabin with a bottle of Cygnian Gin," the young officer replied, a twisted grin crossing his face momentarily. "You know, I don't much care for this mission, sir." Tymball chuckled. "Sentiment getting to you, boy?" he enquired. Then he sobered: "In this business you have to cast all that aside. To us Sol has got to be just another sun in the wide, wide galaxy. Hell, nowadays Sol IS just another sun. It stopped being man's home when the cold weather drove out the original settlers, and forced them to flee to the stars. These days our home is out there; Sol and it's planets are just an anachronism." "Then why was this mission launched? Why is Administrator Akklin sitting in his cabin getting drunk? Why are we spending years out in the wastes of this part of space while our wives grow older back on Procyon IV? There must be something of value to the Galaxy on Earth. This whole mission doesn't make any sort of sense otherwise." "I'd wondered about that myself," the Captain admitted. "But I long since figgered out that it's not worth my time to worry about it anymore. We will know the answer soon enough if the mission is a success and Akklin gets what he wants. And if he doesn't, well then, the incident will be a closed book and the knowledge won't matter." He turned back to the glowing chart which showed the nearest asteroids. There was no danger from them as the ship was passing well to the north of the plane of the solar system, but the crew were always on the watch for stray bits of meteoric matter. Satisfied that the probe beams showed nothing of any size near the ship the Captain continued: "You know, I can't figger out the mentality of those folks who stayed behind when the ice took Earth over. What was the point of it? They knew that the fusion plants couldn't generate enough energy to stave off the cold; all they could hope for was to keep one city warm enough to live in." "They could reclaim the entire planet if they had antimatter power stations," Thure pointed out. "And we could give them the knowledge of how to generate antimatter power." "It's dangerous stuff, contraterrene," Tymball said soberly. "Sometimes I wake up in the night, sweating, after a nightmare in which our engines run wild from an overdose of seetee injected into them. If the Terrans used the stuff unwisely they could blow the face of their planet to a cratered mess." "I sort of hoped that Akklin might be going to offer to reclaim Terra for it's inhabitants," Thure said. "I wouldn't mind moving back there myself if it was warm again." "I can't see that old bird making any offers out of pure kindness of heart," Tymball muttered, picking his teeth idly. "He's a cold fish and no mistake. No, if he's going to offer the Terrans anything at all he'll want something mighty big in return." "But what? The Terrans have nothing that we haven't got more of. What could Akklin and the Galactic Combine possibly want from them?" The Captain shook his head. "I've been trying to think of the answer to that one myself," he said, "and, as yet, I haven't come up with any bright ideas." He turned back to the control board as a green light flashing indicated a sizeable chunk of meteoric matter within ten thousand kilometres. V 'TODAY'S THE DAY' the headlines screamed in thick black type. There was not a man, woman or child in Earth's last city who wasn't aware of the impending arrival of the Procyon ship. Already the vast interstellar craft had been parked in an orbit of the Earth that held it steady above the last city twenty four hours a day, and a smaller landing craft had been dispatched from it and was due to arrive within the hour. Thousands of people flocked around the landing point, on a flat plain of ice two miles beyond the warm boundary of the metropolis, and a gaggle of dignitaries stood, or sat, as took their fancy, on a heated rostrum, near the point marked for the ferryship's touchdown. Frank Abbott sat on the rostrum, a slightly worried look on his face. In the crowd, stamping their feet to keep out the numbing cold of the ice, stood Tom Vickers and his wife, in the midst of a throng of their supporters. This tiny group muttered angrily amongst themselves, and there was not one of them who believed that the Procyonites had the slightest benevolent intention. The mood among the rest of the large crowd, however, was one of suppressed euphoria. The mass of the city's populace genuinely believed that their salvation was now in sight. Scientists had worked out from the speed of the spacecraft's entry into the Solar System, that it must be powered by some new energy drive, and the rumour that the ship had an antimatter engine (supported by the fact that, when it went into parking orbit, the ship had emitted, a flood of neutrinos during it's braking manoeuvre) had spread like wild fire through the crowd. And most of them realised that antimatter power could drive back The Ice and make the Earth a warm and pleasant planet once again. "I don't like this mood," Vickers said quietly to his wife. "It's too much like hysteria. When the big let- down comes, as I'm sure it will, the effect will be all the greater because of it." "Perhaps you're being too pessimistic," his wife suggested. "You always judge the colonists too harshly." "They ran out on Earth when it needed them most, didn't they?" Vickers retorted. "I have no reason to suppose that time has changed their attitudes." A muted gasp from the crowd stopped his wife's reply while it still hovered on her lips unspoken. A glowing dot had appeared in the sky, to the west, and, from it's motion it was obvious that it was the ferry ship, decelerating for a landing at the strip that had been cleared for it. Gradually the dot swelled into a bulbous shape as it descended towards the waiting crowds. From the assembled multitudes a ragged cheer arose as the hundred foot long craft swooped down on streamers of fire. Somewhere towards the rear, a slightly weary band began to play something martial. The Procyon ferry craft touched down amid a cloud of steam from the vaporised ice beneath it's jets of streaming flame. Then a hush fell over the crowd, while the drifting steam dissipated gradually. The ferry craft had hollowed out a small crater in the ice with the heat of it's exhaust, and now a metallic gangway was extruded from a side port. After a short space the port opened fully and three men, in the blue uniform of the Galactic Fleet, walked out, to rising shouts from the crowd. They proceeded along the gangway, their hands always near the blasters that hung at their hip, not looking entirely ceremonial, and stepped onto the forecourt of ice, before the dignitaries on the rostrum. Then they paused. A new figure was emerging from the port. He was a middle aged man, slightly aristocratic in manner and gait, and it seemed to Vickers that he sniffed slightly as he strode along the gangway towards the crowds. He passed the three crewmen with a curt nod, and strode up the steps to join the people waiting on the dais. He shook hands briefly with the Co-ordinator and one or two others, then, without a word to the assembled leaders of the city he walked forward to the microphone. "Citizens of Earth," his voice boomed out across the ice, and the hard, metallic quality of it was not entirely imparted by the amplifiers, "we of the Galactic Council have watched your struggle against the icepacks for several decades now. We are aware that the situation has lately become grave for you, and that you are unlikely to be able to stave off the cold for more than another five years, at the outside. Therefore, we came to the decision that aid must be given to restore Earth to it's true, natural state, for the good of all humanity. We, of Procyon and the other colony stars, have come up through more than a century of hard toil against the raw forces of nature; we know how to fight. In the last thirty years we have developed a new technology, arisen from the liberated power of antimatter. This new, vastly more powerful, energy is the only hope that you folks have of beating back the glaciers. We intend to make sure you succeed." A huge cheer went up from the crowd at this, but Vickers didn't join in. "Fine so far, Sue," he muttered to his wife, "but just wait. He'll soon start telling us of the ways in which we can 'assist'. Then we'll find out the price of the colonists' aid." He stared bleakly back at the rostrum where Frank Abbott was managing a weak smile. Vickers thought to himself: "He's finally beginning to realise there's more to this than meets the eye. That Galactic chap is a cynical devil, and Frank must see that." But his thoughts were interrupted as he realised that the emissary was speaking again. "Naturally, you will appreciate that this whole project will involve considerable expense to the colony worlds, and that we cannot be expected to pour these vast amounts into this undertaking without some return. We would not expect Earth to pay for our help in money, or raw materials; we are very aware of your low stockpiles. No, the repayment we desire is something less tangible, and something that it will not hurt you folk to give. In fact, the benefits that will accrue from it to you, will make it seem to most of you like a pleasure rather than a payment." "Obviously," the emissary went on, "I cannot as yet spell out our precise terms. This is something that has to be discussed with your leaders. To that end, I hope that it will be possible to arrange a full meeting of your executive body at nine o'clock, tomorrow morning, when I will address them. For the moment, then, that is all, but be assured, my friends, that the Earth shall be green again." With that he stood back from the microphones, bowed slightly to Abbott and the other city leaders and marched from the rostrum and back across the gangway, into the ferry ship. The three guards fell in behind him as he passed them, and when all four has disappeared through the open port, it slid to noiselessly and the gangway was withdrawn. As it vanished back into the Procyon craft, Vickers let out a deep breath. "Well, how about that for a calculated snub," he said. "That Galactic chap didn't even give Abbott a chance to reply. Merely order him to be there at nine tomorrow; presumably to get his orders. I'd sure as hell like to know what his terms are to be. I've got to have a word with Abbott." He pushed his way through the crowd, who seemed impressed by the emissary's speech, rather than annoyed by his curt departure. On the rostrum, the city's leaders were muttering amongst themselves, and Abbott was speaking somewhat disjointedly to the crowd, assuring them that the city's administrators would meet with the Galactic ambassador the following day, and that everyone would be kept informed of fresh developments. Vickers face grew taut as he pushed his way forward. V "I've got to be there tomorrow," Vickers insisted, as he sat facing a tense Frank Abbott in the Co- ordinator's office shortly afterwards. "You saw how rude that fellow was. He's not intending to negotiate with us; he's going to present his terms and tell us to take them or leave them, knowing full well that we have no choice. The danger is that you milksops who run the city might accept." Abbott coloured. "There's no need to be abusive, Vickers," he snapped. "As for the emissary's behaviour, manners are probably different on his home planet. As for his proposals, we shall certainly not accept them without the utmost thought and consideration." "No. You'll think about them, consider them., and then accept them," Vickers retorted. "You know full well that you have no choice, Frank. If you would consent to the reopening of the atomic power station, you'd have a credible alternative to offer the people. As it is you have to go begging to these damned colonials." The Co-ordinator's eyes flamed at the taunt. "Don't be a fool, Vickers," he shouted. "Your atomic power might keep us going when the oil runs out, if we knew how to get the plant operational again; which we don't. But only antimatter power can make the Earth fit for habitation again. That's the goal I'm aiming for, Tom, and the Procyonites have offered their help." "Yes, yes, but for what return? These colonists aren't fools; they've had to live the hard life for the past couple of hundred years, while they were consolidating their new territories. It's made them shrewd bargainers. They aren't altruists, They'll be after their pound of flesh." "I admit their emissary wasn't exactly polite," Vickers said uneasily, "but we can't judge all the colonists by the standards of one man." "Damn it all, Frank, he's the man we've got to deal with. The colonists sent him to talk with us. They'd hardly send a man they considered wrong for the job." "Well, be that as it may, we can't alter things now," the Co-ordinator insisted. "We have to make the best of a bad job." Vickers grunted. "Am I going to be at that meeting?" "I shan't stop you coming," Abbott said, "but your presence won't make the slightest policy difference. We will be a vast majority, I and my supporters, and whatever I decide to do will be carried, you can be sure of that." Vickers nodded. "Yes, but I want to be sure that what you decide, whatever deal you make with their ambassador, isn't hushed up and swept under the carpet. I want to be sure that what I hear in the media and read in the newsvids is the truth, and not some garbled, twisted, version of the facts fed out by your propagandists." "We have never lied to the people," Abbott insisted. Vickers gave a brief snort of laughter. "You've never been found out, you mean." The Co-ordinator rose from his chair. "That's all the time I can allow you," he said "I'm a busy man, you know. Be sure to be on time tomorrow; if you're late we certainly won't be waiting for you." "I'll be there, don't you fret," Vickers stated grimly. He walked from the Co-ordinator's office with a big scowl on his face, conscious all the time of Abbott's eyes boring into his back. VII The conference room was alive with the muted chatter of the delegates. The Procyon emissary had not yet arrived, and the clock read two minutes to nine. Abbott was conferring hastily with a few of the top members, of his party, whilst Vickers sat at one end of the table, jotting notes on a large pad that he had spread out on the table before him. At ten seconds to nine the doors burst open and two starship guards walked in, blast rifles slung across their shoulders. They took up positions either side of the door, and held it open while Akklin strode through, head high and expression haughty. He took the vacant seat at the head of the conference table and pulled a single sheet of paper from his fat briefcase. The hubbub died abruptly away. "I knew that the usual way to begin such a meeting, as this is, is for both sides to make long and tedious speeches," the Procyonite began, "but in the present situation, which calls for swift and correct decisions to be made there would seem to be little point in going through a long list of banal formalities. Therefore I shall proceed to the main topic with the upmost expedition. As you know, we of the colonies, and Procyon in particular have, within the last few decades, liberated the power of the annihilation of matter, by the bombardment of that matter with negative mass. The precise details of our engines are still secret and probably incomprehensible to most of you here, but their effects are obvious. The annihilation of mass liberates hundreds of times as much energy as a fission reaction, and has the advantage that any material can be used as fuel; dirt, water, gas, liquid, metal of any sort; all can be annihilated to produce energy of a most powerful type, This liberated energy could make the Earth warm and fertile again, as it has made the cold outer worlds of Procyon habitable for our people. With antimatter stations you could make Mars a paradise, open up colonies on Ganymede, Callisto and Titan, We have the knowledge. A fleet of ships stands ready, back at Proycon, and so do teams of scientists, technicians and engineers, If you agree to receive our help, I can arrange for a message drone to be dispatched to Procyon today; it will be there within six months. Within fifteen months of today, our teams could be at work, making the Earth green once again, driving the glaciers back towards the poles." "But, as you are aware, every bargain is two sided. To mount this operation would cost we of Procyon untold billions of credits. We must be able to show our people something in return for our help. Our administrators have therefore sent me to offer you a deal in return for our help in reclaiming the territories of Earth, and terraforming the other useable worlds of this system, we require the use of certain territories here on Earth for our own purposes.'' "What territories?" Abbott broke in, startled. "And what uses?" another party official added. The Procyonite smiled gently. "We would need to take over the continents of Europe, Asia, Africa, South America and Australia," he said. "As for the use we would make of them, it is our intention to move some of our people back to this planet. Many of them have indicated that they would like to settle back on Earth if the climate were more equable. The settled territories would, of course, be a part of the Galactic Federation, and, as such, subject to our laws and taxes." "That only leaves us one continent," Abbot protested. "Which is more than you have now," Akklin pointed out. "Which is better? One continent, or just one city?" Vickers rose for the first time, his brow beetled in a monstrous scowl. "So what you propose, then," he said thickly, "is that seven eighths of Earth should be taken over by the Galactic Federation in order for your assistance. How long will it be before your future colonists, through subversion or war, infiltrate America and take us over too?" Another delegate broke in before Akklin could reply to Vickers' question. "What about the other planets and satellites that you have mentioned. Who will settle those?" "They will be yours," Akklin promised. "We Galactics have no wish to move in wholesale on your system." "No," Vickers cursed. "You just want the best. I see it all now. At first we will be left with just North America. As your colonies in the other continents grow in power over the years, excuses would be found to push us out from even this one 'reservation', and exile us to the other planets. The Galactics would then own the Earth and we'd be reduced to a pitiful existence on a partly reclaimed outer world." "That is pure fiction," Akklin replied smoothly. "We have no wish to exile you. Our only wish is that the human race be reunited once again. Don't forget, we too were Earthmen a few centuries ago." "Yes, until the going got tough and you ran out on us." Vickers retorted angrily. Abbott rose to his feet hastily. "Tom, if you can't be civil. I shall have to ask you to leave this meeting." The emissary waved his hand for order. "No matter, Mr. Co-ordinator," he purred, "I sense that Mr. Vickers represents only a dissident minority of your people. Don' t forget that we have antimatter power, and without it, you will perish when your fuel supplies dwindle away, as they surely must do soon." "Wait!" Vickers was on his feet again. He faced Akklin stolidly. "Presumably, you of the colony worlds also know how to use atomic power?" "Of course," Akklin replied. "It is now considered an out of date form of energy to our needs, but we still have a few local areas subsisting on nuclear energy." "Then there is an alternative to your antimatter. Just a few kilometres away, on top of the range of hills to the west of the city, is a nuclear power station from the pre Ice days. If we knew how to operate it we could survive for thousands of years without any help. True, we couldn't reclaim any territory other than in a purely localised area, but this city. and it's environs will do us for a century at least. By then we may be able to build more power stations and expand our living area." "All it needs is for you to provide one engineer who can tell us how to make the station functional again. There is probably a member of your crew who, has the necessary knowledge. We are perfectly able to pay for the services of that one man for so short a time. What do you say to that?" "Obviously impossible," Akklin replied, though there was a brief pause before he spoke. "Who is to say that the station is still in working order. It would require years for a competent team to inspect every component, and without such an inspection, I could not risk the life of any of the members of my crew. Besides, the agreement I have just outlined is the only one I am authorised to offer. I am afraid that I must tell you that it is a case of 'take it or leave it' for the people of Earth. And you must decide straightaway." "Very well then," Abbott said. "Let us take a vote on the motion that we should accept emissary Akklin's terms in full, and begin to implement the provisions of the agreement right away." A swift show of hands among the delegates resulted in a large majority for the motion, which was carried by 45 votes to 10. But Abbott was shaken, for that score of ten yesses against, was nine higher than he had anticipated. Vickers had won nine of the delegates over to his way of thinking. As the meeting broke up he found himself sitting down and wondering how long it would be before Vickers had eroded the rest of his majority away, and turned his own party, against him. He looked up to ask Akklin a question, but the emissary had been the first to leave the room. A hurried query soon established that he was already back aboard the ferry craft. VIII Vickers sat in his sitting room, reading the city's evening newsvid. He tossed it aside, and laughed humourlessly. "According to the editorial, I'm the prize troublemaker of all time," he told his wife. "Oh, they reported my point of view alright, but then used all the journalistic tricks of the trade to twist my position until it looks as if I want the city to freeze to death just to satisfy my own principles." "It doesn't seem a terribly bad deal to me," his wife said softly. "We will have a whole continent, instead of just our single city." "But for how long?" Vickers muttered. "How many years until the people of Earth, the ones who stayed to fight The Ice when the colonists ran for the stars, find themselves pushed out to Mars, or Callisto or Umbriel? Atomic power wouldn't give us as much right away as antimatter energy, but it would be best in the long run. Trouble is, no-one who matters, will see my point of view until it's too late." As his wife opened her mouth to reply, there was a knock at the door. It was a timid, furtive sort of knock. Vickers looked at the clock in surprise. "Who can this be, at this time?" he muttered. His wife got up with a sigh and switched the door open. A man was revealed standing on the threshold, blue cap in his hand, neat uniform immaculate. He coughed apologetically as Vickers bade him enter. "Why," Sue Vickers said, surprised, "aren't you from the starship?" The man nodded. "Yes. My name is Gary Thure, second officer of the Procyon craft, and commander of the ferry boat that brought emissary Akklin to Earth. But I'm coming to you merely as a man with some of the same thoughts as yourself." Vickers' brow creased into a frown. "Oh? You'd better have a seat and tell me what this is all about." Thure seated himself on the edge of the chair that Vickers indicated, then leaned forward, his expression eager, yet guarded. "No-one on board the ship knows I'm here," he said. "If they knew that I had come to you I'd be in serious trouble. Officially, I'm on shore leave, touring the bars of the city. But I had to see you." "Why?" Vickers demanded. "I wouldn't have thought that I was exactly the most popular man aboard the Procyon ship at the moment." Thure smiled grimly. "You aren't. Far from it. But there are a few of us - more now than before you spoke -who agree with you and think that this deal can only lead, to trouble. I want to settle back on Earth all right, but I don't want to do it under the eagle eye of the Galactic Federation Already, out in the colony worlds, a vast new bureaucracy is building up, and, if it's allowed to continue, the Galaxy'll be choked with rules and regulations before another century is past. There must be another system; something to oppose the colonists, not by force of arms, but with an alternative way of life. We hoped, that with colonial support in your reclamation programme, you could make Earth such a place in due course. But now it seems from what Akklin has said, and what we suspected from rumours on the home worlds before we even left Procyon, that Earth is to be merely an extension of the Galactic system, and any free thinking will be stifled before it gets a start." "But there will still be North America," Sue pointed out. "You could settle here." For a while, yes," "Thure nodded. "But it is only a matter of time before the Galactics choke your continent, either by threatening to cut off the antimatter engines that will keep this continent habitable, or else by economic means. For be sure that no matter how independent you think you are, the opening of the antimatter stations, and all the auxiliary plants and factories that will necessitate, will mean that Federation industry will have established a wedge in the door. Almost without realising it you will become dependant on the Galactic economy, as they insidiously take over financial control of most of your continent's industry. In less than a century, America would be no more independent than the rest of Earth." "So that's how they would operate," Vickers muttered to himself. "Very clever. They take us over, lock, stock and barrel. But why don't they just move in and take over by force?" "Politics. The people - the electors - of the colonies want to resettle Earth, but they don't want any force. If the present ruling body brought in warships, there'd be an immediate revolt amongst the electorate. But in doing it this way, it looks as if the Federation is helping Earth, which is what the majority of decent, ordinary people out in the stars want to do. And, in the end, the Federation gains control just as surely, and makes an economic killing at the same time." "But you should go to Frank Abbott and tell him this," Sue exclaimed. "Then he'd be forced to call off the deal." "Hah!" her husband exclaimed, "You must be joking. He'd have us arrested, and everything would be hushed up. Abbott has no vision, he's too concerned with the immediate future, and with consolidating his own position." Thure nodded. "But your speech has got him worried," he added, "and Akklin too. You won over nine delegates at the meeting, and a sizeable minority, which could turn into a majority. Others are beginning to question the deal. But at the moment there is no alternative. Your dream of atomic power is fine, in theory, but the city's inhabitants realise that without technical know-how to start the atomic reactors, it's just a pipe dream. They need a symbol, and then you might get a majority over to your side." Vickers nodded. "True," he admitted, "Our hands are tied. With the help of Akklin and the Galactic Federation we lose our freedom, but without his help we all freeze to death within a decade. It's a hard decision to make." Thure nodded agreement. "But you have an alternative," he said slowly. Vickers' head snapped round. "What? What alternative do I have?" "If the people could see the atomic power plant operating, wouldn't that convince them that you have a credible alternative to Abbott's agreement?" Thure enquired. "Sure, sure, but we can't get it, working. I don't know anything about atomics, except what I've read in books, and neither does anyone else in the city. Akklin has all the atomic technicians, and he's not sharing." "I'm an atomic engineer," Thure said quietly. "It was part of my basic training as a starship officer. Although we don't use fission drives anymore, we have one as a backup unit, in case we have to close down the antimatter engines. I know enough about atomics to get that station operating, if there is enough fissile material to power it." "There is," Vickers almost shouted. "Tons of it, left from before The Ice. And it has a half life of billions of years, so it will still be useable. There isn't much time, Thure. We could get that power plant operating tonight, I bet." "Providing the machinery is still in good working order, we probably could," the starship man agreed. "These late model stations were so automated that it's really just a question of pressing the right buttons." "Of course, the power we produce will just bleed off," the Earthman mused, "because the connections to the electrical supply plants were cut years ago, when they switched back to coal and oil. But we can invite the city's administration up to see the power station operating. And the newsmen too. Once the public get to hear of it, Abbott will be out of office in a week, and we can send Akklin back to Procyon with a flea in his ear. Minus those of his crew who, like you, might wish to stay, of course." "My leave runs out at two a.m.," Thure muttered, glancing at his watch. "It's now just after eight. We have six hours to get up to the station and get it operative. I reckon we can just do it." Vickers nodded. "I have a sidecar outside in the garage," he said. 'That will take us over the ice, and up the hills to the power station. Let's get going!" The two men rose. Sue Vickers stared after her husband as he moved for the door. "Tom, is this wise?" she said, alarmed. "If things go wrong, or the machinery has become worn over the years you could blow the station up, and poison the city with radioactive dust; apart from killing yourself. Go to Frank Abbott with your plan. He'll help, I know." Vickers laughed bitterly. "Abbott help? He'd have us locked up. He's only concerned with staying in office. No, this is something we must do. Look, Sue, it's not just for us; it's for the whole city and the future welfare of all Earth." With that final sentence he followed Thure through the door, and out into the chill night. Shortly afterwards came the sound of his sled car revving away from the house. Sue Vickers stood for awhile, tear brimmed eyes gazing out of the window, towards the dark hills beyond the city. Then she slipped on a heavy fur coat and activated the door mechanism. IX Frank Abbott woke from an uneasy sleep, dominated by nightmares of starship soldiers marching across the face of the Earth, to the sound of an insistent hammering at his tightly locked door. Abbott had never married; the exigencies of his political life had not permitted time for romance, and so he was alone in his bedroom. Groaning slightly, he flipped on the wall light and rose from his warm bed, pulling on a monogrammed dressing gown. Rubbing his eyes, he walked across into his front room, and from there to the door. The hammering that had woken him sounded again. "All right," he muttered as he punched the button that unlocked the door and slid it back, on well oiled grooves. Abbott shuddered as the cold night air of the city swept into the room, but he forgot the chill with a start of surprise as he saw who his visitor was. "Sue Vickers," he exclaimed. "Come in. He had not seen Mrs. Vickers socially for over a year now since he split in the administration which had made Tom Vickers and himself political enemies. But he had been round to Vickers' house often in the days before that split, and had always got on very well with Sue. But he was definitely surprised to see her, of all people, here at the heart of night. "What is it?" he asked, concerned at her expression. He sensed that she was on the verge of tears. "It's Tom," she said. "I've come to you, Frank, because only you can stop him now. I think he's become so obsessed with his visions of a free Earth; it's taken control of him, driven out his reason. You two used to be friends, until this damned politics drove you apart. Now he's.." she faltered.. Alarm began to show in Abbott's eyes. "Now he's what?" he asked urgently. "What's he done, Sue?" "He's gone up to the Power Station, Frank. He left just after nine. I walked around for an hour or two, I had to make up my mind. In the end I knew I had to come to you. You've got to stop him, Frank. He's got a technician from Akklin's ship with him; Second Officer Thure. He says he knows about atomics. Him and Tom are going to try and start the plant up again. They think they can sway the city's people into supporting Tom's plan if only they can get the power station operational again." Abbott glanced at the wall clock, eyes wide with alarm. "They left just after nine, you say? Christ, they'll be there. by now; Tom must be mad to try and start that plant up again, after all these years." He picked up his vidphone and dialled hastily. "Commander," he rapped, as a faint voice answered at the other end. "Get a squad of men together as quickly as you can. Get them up to the Power Station in the hills. Someone's up there; they've got to be stopped at all costs. Get onto it right away. Right." He slammed the receiver down and stared back at Sue Vickers, who stood in the centre of the room, eyes downcast. "You think you've betrayed Tom, I know," Abbott said slowly, "but it's the best thing for everyone, what you've done, and you've got to realise that. If Tom thinks that he can get that station running again he must be .... " His words trailed off as he saw that day had dawned with terrible swiftness outside his window. Day, at eleven thirty p.m. And the false sun grew brighter and hotter until it was a searing incandescent ball sitting on the top of the hills. A great plume of fire seared into the sky, and a tremendous shock wave rocked the city. Abbott cringed to the floor, his hands cupped over his eyes. "Oh my God," he mumbled. "Oh, my bloody God." |