What was it that TH. Huxley had said? He remem-bered reading it when he first entered university and writing it down and posting it above his desk. It was something about the ..... great tragedy of science-the slaying of a beautiful hypothesis by an ugly fact." He had adhered to those hard-headed words and studied science in a hard-headed way. Facts, give him fact~then let the hypothesis fall by the way.

What were the facts here? He had been aboard a submarine that could not exist in the world as he under-stood it. But the sub had existed. Therefore his world image was at fault.

Saying it that way made it easier to understand-but made him angry as well. He was being lied to. The h.e.l.l with the rest of the world, they could take care of themselves, but he, Jan Kulozik, was being lied to on a continuous, full-tinie basis. He didn't like it. But how could he find out which were the lies, which the truths? With this realization came the accompanying one that Sara was right about the danger he faced.

Lies were secrets and secrets were meant to be kept. And these were state secrets. Whatever he did, what-ever he discovered, he could tell no one else about it.

Where did he start? There would be full records somewhere-but he did not know which records to look for or even what he was looking for. That would take some thought, some planning. Yet there was one thing he could do at once. Look closer at the world around him. What had Sara called him? A slave master. He didn't feel like one. It was just that his cla.s.s was used to taking care of things, taking care of people who couldn't take care of themselves. And the proles certainly couldn't be allowed to be in charge or everything would come to pieces. They just weren't bright enough or responsible enough. That was the natural order of things.

They were there at the bottom, the proles, the mil-lions and millions of unwashed bodies-most of whom were on the dole. Where they had been ever since the Wreckers let the world go to rack and ruin. It was all there in the history books. If they were all alive today it was no thanks to themselves or the Wreckers who had let it happen, but was due to the hard work of the people of his cla.s.s who had taken up the reins of government. Execu-tives and engineers who had made the most of the world's shrinking resources. The hereditary members of Parlia-ment had less and less to do with the matters of running a technological society. The Queen was just a figurehead. Knowledge was king and knowledge had kept the world alive. It had been touch and go for a while-but mankind had survived. The satellite stations had alleviated the energy crisis when the oil supplies had finally run out, and fusion power had eventually brought security to the world.

But the lesson had been learned; the fragile ecology of a single world could be easily unbalanced.

Resources ran out, raw materials were needed. The first step was to the moon, then the asteroid belt where elements were to be had for the taking. Then the stars. Hugo Foscolo made that possible, with his discovery of what had come to be known as the Foscolo Discontinuity. Foscolo had been a theoretical mathematician, an unnoticed gen-ius who earned his living as a school teacher in the state of Sao Paulo, Brazil, in a city with the Impossible name of Pindamonhangaba. The discontinuity was in the theory of relativity and when he published, in an obscure mathe-matical journal, Foscolo had apologized for casting doubt on the accepted theories of a great man and asked humbly that qualified mathematicians and physicists point out the error in his equations.

They could not-and a s.p.a.ce drive was born that took men to the stars. It took only a hundred years to search and settle and spread through the nearest star systems. It was a glorious history and it had to be a true history because it existed.

There were no slaves, Jan knew that, and was angry at Sara for saying it. There was peace in the world, and justice, food enough for all, and each man to his station. What was that word she had used?

Democracy. A form of government, obviously. He had never heard of it. Back to the encyclopedia~only with a certain reluctance this time. Jan did not enjoy finding an error in those thick tomes. It was like discovering that a treasured painting was in reality a fake. He took the volumn down and walked over to the high windows to catch the light.

DEMO(~RA(~Y. An archaic historical political science term for that form of government which flourished briefly in the small city-states of Greece. Accord-ing to Aristotle, democracy is the perverted form of the third form of government...

There was more like this and all just about as interest-ing. Some historical kind of government, like cannibalism, that had come and gone. What had this to do with the Israelis? It was all a little puzzling. Jan looked out of the window at the gray sky and the ice-specked surface of the Thames below. He shivered, still feeling the tropic sun in his bones. Where did he begin?

Not with history. It was not his field; he had no idea where to look. Did he really have to look at all? In truth he didn't want to, and he had the sudden dark sensation that once he started this quest there would be no turning back. Once Pandora's box was opened it could never be closed again. Did he want to find out these things? Yes! She had called him a slave master-and he knew he was not. Even a prole would laugh at the suggestion.

That was it. The proles. He knew enough of them, he worked with them, that was where he would start.

He would go back to the Walsoken Plant in the morning-he was expected there in any case to check on the installation and maintenance that he had ordered. Only this time he would talk more to the proles there. Admittedly he had not done this very much in the past, but that was only because he had been busy. As long as he was circ.u.mspect he would not get into trouble. There were certain social customs about dealing with proles and he was not going to break them. But he was going to ask some questions and listen closely to the answers.

It did not take him long to discoyer that this was not an easy thing to do.

"Welcome back, your honor, welcome back," the man-ager said, hurrying from the works door when Jan pulled up in his car. His breath smoked in the cold air and he moved uneasily from one foot to the other.

"Thank you, Raddifle. I hope things have been going well while I have been away?"

Radcliffe's ready smile had an edge of worry to it. "Not bad at all, sir. Not completed, I'm sorry to say, shortage of spares. Perhaps you can jielp us expedite them. But let me show you the record."

Nothing appeared to have changed. There were still pools of liquid underfoot despite the lethargic actions of a man with a mop. Jan started to snap about thi~actually opened his mouth-then closed it again. Radcliffe seemed to be expecting it too because he glanced quickly over his shoulder. Jan smiled back. One for the home team. Per-haps he had been quick to find fault in the past-but he wasn't going to do that now. You do more catching with honey. A few pleasant words and then a conversation. It was working well.

It still took an effort to control his temper when he went through the printouts. He had to say something.

"Really, Radcliffe, I don't mean to be repet.i.tive-but this won't do at all. You've had over two weeks and the list is as long as ever.

"We've had men out sick, sir, a hard winter. And you'll see, this work has been done..."

"But you've had breakdowns that more than make up for it..."

Jan heard the angry tone in his voice and snapped his mouth shut. He was not going to lose his temper this time. Trying not to stamp he went to the office door and looked out at the main floor of the plant. A movement caught his eye and he saw the tea trolley being pushed down a corridor. Yes, a cup of tea, that was more like it. He went t() his case and opened it.

"Blast!"

Anything wrong, sir?"

"Nothing important. Just that when I left my bag at hotel this morning I forgot to pick up my thermos of the tea."

"I can send a man on a bike, sir. Won't he but a few minutes."

'~No, not worth the effort." Then Jan had the tremen-dous, almost daring idea. "Get the trolley in here.

We'll both have a cup of tea."

Radcliffe's eyes opened wide and he was silent for a moment with shock. "Oh, no, your honor. You wouldn't like the stuff we serve here. Right muck. I'll send..."

"Nonsense. Ge~ it in here."

It was a trial by embarra.s.sment that Jan never noticed as he went through the printouts again, checking off priorities. The bent tea woman kept rubbing her hands on her skirt and bowing slightly in his direction.

Radcliffe slipped out and returned quickly with a clean towel with which she wiped and wiped one of the mugs. When i~was finally served it rested alone on the battered tray.

"You, too, Radcliffe, that's an order."

The tea was hot and that was about all that could be said for it, the mug thick and chipped where he put it to his lips. "Very good," Jan said.

"Yes, your honor, it ~52' Agonized eyes alxwe his own cup.

"We'll have to do this again."

The answer was silence and Jan had no idea where to take the conversation from there. The silence lengthened until he had finished his own tea and there was nothing to do except go back to work.

There was more than enough calibration to do, as well as some pressing repairs that had been ignored dur-ing his absence. Jan became involved in his labors and it was well after six before he yawned and stretched and realized that the day shift had all gone home. He remem-bered Radcliffe looking in and saying something, but that was all. That was enough for one day. He packed his papers, slipped into the fleece-lined coat, and let himself out. The night was cold and dry, the stars flickering icily above. A long way from the Red Sea. It was a relief to get into the car and turn on the heater.

A good day's work. The control setup was working fine and if he applied pressure the repairs and mainte-nance might be improved. Had to be improved. He pulled hard on the wheel to avoid a bicyclist who suddenly appeared in the beam of his headlights. Dark clothes and a black bike with no reflectors.

Wouldn't they ever learn? Empty fields on all sides and not a house in sight. What on earth was the man doing out here in the darkness?

The next turn brought the answer. Glowing windows and a lighted sign beside the road ahead. A public house, of course, he had pa.s.sed it countless times without even noticing it. No reason to. Jan slowed the car. The Jron Duke the board read, with a portrait of the Duke himself', aristocratic nose held high. But not so aristocratic, the clientele; not a car about and bicycles racked along the front wall. No wonder he had never noticed it before.

He hit the brakes. Of course! He would stop here for a drink, talk to people.There could be nothing wrong in this. The customers would surely be pleased to have him. Bring a touch of interest to a cold evening. What a very good idea.

Jan closed and locked the car and stamped across the hard ground to the front door. It swung wide at his touch and he entered a large brightly lit room, the air thick with the clouds of cheap tobacco and marijuana smoke. A loud, very boring piece of music was pouring from wall speakers and drowned out any sound of conversation from the crowd of men at the bar, seated at the small tables. No women, he noticed with interest. In a proper pub at least half~or more-of the customers would be women. He found an opening at the bar and rapped for attention when the barman did not notice him.

"Why yes, sir, very pleased to have you here, sir," the man said, hurrying over with a warm smile on his fat lips. "What will be your pleasure?"

'A large whiskey-and something for yourself as well."

"Why thank you, sir. I'll have similar."

Jan didn't notice the brand name; it was rougher than the whiskey he usually drank. But fairly priced. The round was less than a single at his local. These people had no cause for complaint.

There was more s.p.a.ce at the bar now-in fact he had it almost to himself. Jan turned about and there, at a nearby table, sat Radcliffe and some of the other workers from the Walsoken Plant. Jan waved and walked over.

"Well, Radcliffe, relaxing a bit?"

"You might say so, yout honor." The words were cold and formal; the man seemed embarra.s.sed for some reason.

"Mind if I join you?"

There were some wordless mutters that Jan took to be a.s.sent. He pulled an empty stool over from the next table and sat down and looked around. No one met his eyes; they all seemed to be finding things of interest in their liters of beer.

"Cold night, isn't it?" One of them drank noisily, the only answer. 'And the winters are going to stay cold for the next few years. It's called a little climatic, a small weather change within the larger cycles of weather. We won't have another ice age, not at once, but we can count on these cold winters lasting awhile."

His audience was not exactly bursting with enthusiasm and Jan had the sudden realization that he was making a fool of himsel Why had he come in here in the first place? What could he learn from these stolid dolts? The whole idea was stupid. He drained his gla.s.s and left it on the table.

"Enjoy you rsel{ Radcliffe. All of you. See you at work in the morning and we'll really get cracking on the mainte-nance. A lot of work to do."

They muttered something which he didn't stay to hear. The devil with theories and blond-haired girls in subma-rines. He must be going out of his head to do what he was doing, think what he was thinking. ~he h.e.l.l with it. The bite of cold air was sharp and good after the reek of the pub. His car was there with two men bent over the open door.

"Stop there! What do you think you're doing?"

Jan ran toward them, slipping on the icy ground. They looked up quickly, a blur of white faces, then turned and ran into the darkness.

"Stop! Do you hear me-stop!"

Breaking into his car, criminals! They weren't getting away with it. He ran after them around the building and one df them stopped. Good! Turned to him...

He never saw the man's fist. Jan felt the explosion of agony on his jaw. Falling.

It was a hard, cruel blow, and he must have been unconscious for a moment or two because the next thing he knew he was on his hands and knees, shaking his head with pain. There were shouts around him, more running footsteps, and hands on his shoulders pulling him to his feet. Someone helped him to walk back to the pub, into a small room where he dropped heavily into a deep chair. There was a wet towel then, cool on his forehead, stinging on his jaw. He took it and held it himself and looked up at Radcliffe who was alone in the room with him.

"I know the man, the man that hit me," Jan said.

"I don't think you do, sir. I don't think it was no one who works at the plant. I have someone watching the car, sir. Nothing taken that I can see, you were too quick. Looks like a little damage where the door was jimmied open ...

"I said I know him. Had a clear view of his face when he hit me. And he did work at the plant!"

The cool cloth helped. "Sampson, something like that. Remember, the man who tried to burn the place down. Simmons-that's the name."

"Couldn't have been him, sir. He's dead."

"Dead? I don't understand. He was in perfect health two weeks ago."

"Killed himself, sir. Couldn't face going back on the dole. Studied for years to get the job. Only had it a few months."

"Well you can't blame me for his incompetence. You agreed with me, as I recall, that firing him was the only thing to do. You remember?"

Radcliffe did not lower his eyes this time and there was an unaccustomed note of hardness in his voice.

"I remember asking you to keep him on. You refused."

"You aren't implying by any chance that I'm responsi-ble for his death, are you?"

Radcliffe did not answer, nor did his empty expres-sion change. Nor did he lower his eyes from Jan's. It was Jan who turned away first.

"Management decisions are hard to make sometimes. But they have to be done. Yet I swear that man was Simmons. Looked just like him."

"Yes, sir. It was his brother. You can find that out easy enough if you want to."

"Well thank you for telling me. The police will deal with this matter easily enough."

"Will they, Engineer Kulozik?" Radcliffe sat up straight and there was a timbre in his voice that Jan had never detected before. "Do you have to tell them? Simmons is dead, isn't that enough? His brother is looking after the wife and kiddies. All on the dole. For all of their lives. Do you wonder he was angry?

I'm not excusing him; he had no business doing what he did. If you would forget it there would be some grateful people around here. He hasn't been the same since he found his brother dead."

"I have a duty...

"Do you, sir? To do what? To stay with your own kind and leave us alone. If you hadn't come nosing around here tonight, pushing in where you're not wanted, none of this would have happened. Leave well enough alone, I say. Get in your car and get out of here. Leave things as they are.

"Not wanted...?" Jan tried to accept the thought, that these men could fe~ that way about him.

"Not wanted here. I've said enough, your honor. Maybe too much. Do whatever you want. What's done is done. Someone will be by the car until you're ready to go.

He left Jan alone. Feeling more alone than he had at any other time in his life.

Five.

Jan drove slowly back to his hotel in Wisbech in a poison-ous frame of mind. There was a crowd in the bar at the White Lion which he pa.s.sed by swiftly and on up the creaking stairs to his room. The bruise on the side of his face felt far worse than it looked. He bathed it again in cold water, holding the damp cloth to his face and staring at himself in the mirror. He felt an absolute fool.

After pouring himself a large drink from the room bar, he stared unseeingly out of the window and tried to understand why he had not yet called the police. With every pa.s.sing minute it was becoming more and more impossible, since they would want to know why he had delayed. Why was he delaying? He had been brutally attacked, his car broken into, damaged. He had every right to report the man.

Had he been responsible for Simmons's death?

He~couldn't be, it was not possible. If a man did not do his job well, he did not deserve to have it.

When one man in ten had employment he had better be good or he was out. And Simmons had been no good. So he was out. And dead.

"I did not do it," Jan said aloud, firmly. Then went to pack his bag. The hdl with the Walsoken Plant and all the people who worked there. His responsibility had ended when the control installation had been completed and come on line. Maintenance was not his job. Someone else could worry about that. He wotild send in his report in the morning and let engineerconcent worry about what to do next. There was plenty of work waiting for him; with his seniority he could pick and choose. And he did not choose to stay on at the leaking spirit works among the frozen fields.

His face hurt and he drank more than he should on the trip back. When the car reached the London exit of the highway he switched onto manual control with no result. The computer had been monitoring his blood alcohol level and he was over the legal minimum. It did not relinquish control. The drive was slow, dull, and infuriating since the computer had only a few routes through London and all were out of the way for him. No short cuts. And hesitancy at all crossings, with priority given to any manually operated vehicle no matter how slow. The computer only cut out at the garage door and he exacted a small amount of pleasure from speeding headlong down the ramp and slamming into his s.p.a.ce with a fender-scratching crunch. More whiskey followed and he woke at three in the morning to find the light still on and the TV talking to itself in the corner. After that he slept late and was just finishing his first cup of coffee when the door annunciator signaled. He squinted at the screen and pressed the release. It was his brother-in-law.

"You look a little on the ragged side this morning," Thurgood-Smythe said, laying his coat and gloves neatly on the couch.