"Not that kind. Not now at least. Though in London-G.o.d, it seems like centuries ag~I suppose I was very much my own person. Until I got in the way of the authorities. Since then I have been living in a social nightmare. I can't begin to tell you the ugliness and restrictions of life on Halvm6rk-nor do I intend to try. Breakfast is a far better idea.

The plumbing was functional, instead of ultraluxurious like the Waldorf-Astoria. He approved of it this way he realized, as the pipes gurgled and clanked and finally produced hot water. It worked-and he was sure that everyone in the country had one that was just as good. A concept of democracy he had not considered before. Equal-ity of physical comfort as well as equality of opportunity. A growl of hunger in his midriff drove all philosophical thoughts away; he quickly washed and dressed. Then followed his nose to a large, open kitchen, where a young man and a woman sat at a long trestle table. They nodded as he came in and Dvora handed him a steaming mug of coffee.

"Food first, introductions later," she said. "How do you like your eggs?"

"On a plate."

"Intelligent decision. There's some matzoh brei here which will introduce you to good heavy kosher cooking if you have not had that pleasure before."

The young couple waved and slipped away without being introduced. Jan realized then that few names would be exchanged here in the heart of the secret service. Dvora served them both at the same time and sat down across from him. She ate with as good an appet.i.te as he did, while they chatted lightly about totally unimportant things. They were just finishing up when the other girl returned, bursting into the room.

Her smile was gone now.

"Ben-Haim wants you both right away. It's trouble, big trouble.

The atmosphere was thick with it. Ben-Haim sat slumped wearily in the same chair where they had left him the night before, might very well have been there the entire time. He was sucking on a pipe long dead and seemed completely unaware of it.

"It appears that Thurgood-Smythe is putting on some pressure. I should have realized that he would not simply ask for a favor from us. That's not his way.

"What happened?" Dvora asked.

"Raids. Right around the world in every country. Reports are still coming in. Protective custody, they say. Because of the emergency. Our people, all of them. Busi-ness representatives and trade missions, even secret opera- - tives we thought were still secret. He's got them, all of them, arrested. Two thousand, maybe more."

"Pressure," Jan said. "He's tightening the screw. Have you considered what else he might do?"

"What else can he do? The few thousand of our dtizens that he has taken into custody are ~he only ones who, legally or illegally, are outside Israel and the adjoin-ing countries. He has them all."

"I'm sure that he is up to something. I know Thurgood-Smythe's manner of operation by now~ and this is just the first step2"

Jan was unhappily proved right within the hour. All of the television programs, on every one of the hundred and twelve channels, were interrupted with news of an important announcement. It would be carried on every channel and would be presented by Doctor Bal Ram Mahant, the President of the United Nations. The posi-tion was an honorary one, and the Doctor's activities were usually confined to opening and closing UN sessions. However he did make the occasional important announce-ment such as this one. A military bra.s.s band played patriotic marches while the world watched-and waited. The band's image faded and Doctor Mahant appeared. He nodded his head at the unseen audience and began to speak in his familiar, high-pitched voice.

"Citizens of the world. We are in the midst of a terrible war brought to us by anarchist elements among the body of faithful citizens of the planets of the great Commonwealth of Earth. But I am not here to discuss that now, that great battle that our citizen-soldiers are waging and winning for the freedom of mankind. I am here to tell you of an even greater threat to our security. Certain individuals in the United Nations Conclave of Israel have been holding back vital food supplies for their own bene-fit. They are war profiteers, making money out of the starvation of others. This will not be permitted to contin-ue.

They must be made to understand the error of their ways. Justice must be done before others try to follow their example."

Doctor Mahant sighed; the weight of responsibility for the world was upon his shoulders. But he accepted the burden and went on.

"Even as I talk our soldiers are moving into Egypt, Jordan, Syria and all of the other important food-producing countries in this area. No one of you will go hungry, that I: promise you. Food shipments will continue despite the efforts of the selfish minority. Rebellion will be put down and we will march on together to victory."

The President faded from view to the accompaniment of jubilant recorded applause and his image was replaced by the dILle and white flag of Earth cracking in the wind. The bra.s.s band played enthusiastically. Ben-Haim turned off the set.

"I don't understand," Jan said.

"I do, only too well," Ben-Haim answered. "You are forgetting that the rest of the world does not even know that our nation exists. They will be only too happy to see these countries occupied to make sure their bellies stay full. These are lands of peasant farmers for the most part, shipping out their produce through their cooperatives. But we are the ones who taught them how to irrigate and fertilize the desert to grow these crops, and we are the ones who set up their marketing boards as well. And our country has handled all of the external shipments with our fleet of air transports. Until now. Now do you see what he is doing to us? We are being pushed out, sent back within our own borders. And more attrition will follow. This is all Thurgood~Smythe's doing. No one else cares about the fate of this tiny corner of the world, not at this time. And see what a good student of history he is. With what care he revives those sneering twentieth century terms of approbation, those anti-semitic labels that surely date back to medieval Europe. Profiteers, usurers, get-ting rich while others starve. His message is very clear:'

Jan nodded. "Forcing your hand. If you don't do as he ordered, the country is going to suffer."

"Either way we suffer. We lose~r we lose. As long as he big powers of the world paid no attention to us we ~rvived. Our tiny balance of terror, our few atom bombs gi exchange for their myriad atom bombs made us not ~rth bothering about. As long as we kept peace in the ~ar East, stayed humbly in this area-and saw that they h~d continuous supplies of fresh oranges and avocados in the winter time, why then we just weren't worth bothering i~out, Now Thurgood-Smythe is tightening the clamps and this war gives him a perfect excuse. Their troops will move in slowly, up to our borders. We can't stop them.

They'll occupy all of our external missile sites. When that 'I done they can drop their bombs or send in the tanks. It ~akes no difference. We lose either way?'

'And Thurgood-Smythe will do it," Jan said angrily. .~"Not out of revenge for your not helping him-that would be a show of emotion, and an emotional person can always ~be appealed to, possibly convinced to change his mind. ~ut Thurgood-Smythe will proceed calmly to do this, even if all of his plans fail. What he begins he finishes. He wants you to be sure of that."

"You know him. very well," Ben-Haim said, looking dosely at Jan. "Wheels within wheels. I can see why he sent you as emissary. There was really no need to have you carry his message in person. But he wanted us to be ,bsolutely sure of his resolve, to know exactly what kind of ~ man he really was. So you are the devil's advocate, G.o.d help you whether you like it or not. We are back once again to the father of lies. Best not to let the rabbis get hold of this theory or they will have us all believing it."

"What are we to do?" Dvora asked, her voice empty .~d lost.

"The Knesset must be convinced that our only chance ~~w is to proceed along the lines Thurgood~Smythe has laid ou~ I will have the radio message sent that we will cooperate, whether the Knesset has agreed or not by that time. They'll come around in the end. They have no alternative. And then there will have to be a second Diaspora."

"Why? What do you mean?"

"The Diaspora occurred when the Jews were expelled from the land of Israel, thousands of years ago.

This time we will go voluntarily. If the attack on the Mojave base fails their retribution will be instant-and atomic. This entire tiny country will become a radioactive pit. We must there-fore plan to reduce the mortality if we can. There will have to be volunteers who will stay behind to keep the services going and conceal our withdrawal. Everyone else will leave, quietly, by filtering out into the surrounding countries where we have our good Arab friends. Hopeful-ly, if the raid is a successful one, they will be able to come home again. If not, well, we have carried our religion and our culture with us before to alien lands.

We will survive.

Dvora nodded in grim agreement and Jan knew for the first time what had kept these people going through the millennia, despite the worst kind of persecution. He knew that they would be in the future as they were in the past.

Ben-Haim shook himself, like someone upon whom a chilling wind has blown. He took the cold pipe from his mouth and stared at it as though he had just become aware or its presence. Laying it carefully on the table he rose and went slowly from the room, walking like an old man for the first time. Dvora watched him go, then turned to Jan and held him tightly, her face pressed against his chest, as though finding some security there to ward off the dark future hurrying toward them.

"I wonder where it will end," she said, in a voice so quiet he could barely hear it.

"In peace for all mankind. You're the one who said it. The war to end all wars. I have been in this fight from the beginning. Now, like it or not, it looks like your people are as well. I just wish I knew what Thurgood-Smythe was thinking. Whether this is a plot to destroy us~~r to bring lasting peace. I just wish that I knew."

It was late in the afternoon, almost dusk, when the helicopter arrived, dropping out of the sky with a roar of engines and blades. Jan and Dvora were in the garden when he was sent for.

"Look at this," Ben-Haim said, pointing to the sealed suitcase on the floor. "Special delivery for you from the United Nations in Tel-Aviv. They brought it to our sup-posedly secret office next door to them, the one that monitors their communications. The manner of delivery identifies its sender. It is a message for me that they know more about our operations than we think they do. And for you-you will have to look and see."

"Hasn't it been opened?"

"Sealed shut. With a combination lock. Dare we guess that we know the correct number by now? And no need to send Dvora to the bottom of the garden to open this one. Our friend has bigger goals than blowing up an old man. May I?"

Without waiting for an answer Ben-Haim leaned for-ward and touched the b.u.t.tons in quick succession.

The lock clicked as it unsealed itself. Jan picked up the case and put it on the table, opened it.

There was a black uniform inside, black boots and a matching cloth cap with a starburst insignia on it..

Lying on top of the clothing was a transparent plastic envelope. It contained an ID card in the name of John Halliday and a thick technical manual with a computer disc inside the cover. Tucked into the manual so it projected a bit was a brief note. It was addressed to Jan. He took it up and read it aloud.

"John Halliday is a UNO technician working at the communications center in Cairo. He is also in the s.p.a.ce Fbrces Reserve where he is a communications technician. You will master this occupation very quickly, Jan, and the enclosed manual should help. You have two full days to learn the job and to get to Cairo. Your friends in Israel will be able to arrange that without your being detected en route. Once in the city I suggest you wear this uniform and go directly to the airport. Your orders will be waiting at the Security desk there. I wish you luck. We are all depending on you." Jan looked up. "That's all it says. It's unsigned"

It did not have to be. They all knew that Thurgood-Smythe's plans had moved forward one more notch.

Fourteen.

"You cut it pretty fine, soldier," the Security man said, looking Jan up and down coldly as though trying to find an open b.u.t.ton in his uniform. There were none.

"I got here as soon as I heard," Jan said.

"Just because you're over here enjoying the luxuries of life don't mean you're exempt from your duties."

As he proceeded with the ritual chastis.e.m.e.nt, the Security officer slipped the ID into his terminal and nod-ded to Jan, who placed the fingertips of his right hand on the identification plate. Almost as exact as a retinal print and much faster to use for normal identification. The ID was ejected and handed back to Jan, his ident.i.ty accepted. Thurgood-Smythe must have access to identification files at the topmost level-with no one to monitor his actions.

"Well, sir, it looks like they're giving you first cla.s.s transportation." The change in the Security man's att.i.tude was very abrupt and Jan knew that his new status was far higher than the man had expected.

"There's a military jet on the way for you now. If you would like to wait in the bar I'll have someone come and get you when the plane arrives. Is that all right? I'll look after your bag for you."

Jan nodded and headed for the bar, not as pleased with his new high-ranking status as Security was. He was by himself, completely alone. It is one thing to consider that in theory, another to actually be subjected to it. The shadowy form of Thurgood-Smythe lurked behind him all of the time, but that just made him more insecure. A p.a.w.n on a chessboard with Thurgood-Smythe manipulat-ing all of the pieces. Not for the first time did he wonder just what the man was planning.

The beer was tasteless but cold, and he limited him-self to one bottle. This was n6t a day to have a thick head. He was alone with the Egyptian bartender who solemnly polished gla.s.s after gla.s.s in silence. There was apparently little traffic through Cairo airport. Nor was there any sign of the occupation troops that featured so largely in Presi-dent Mahant's speech. Had it all been a ruse? There was no way of telling.

But his position was real enough and he was not looking forward to the coming encounters with any great enthusiasm. Events were rushing past him, get. ting ahead of him so that it was growing more and mor~ difficult to keep up with the accelerating changes. Th~ boring years he had spent on Halvmo~rk seemed almos~ attractive by comparison. When he returned-if h~ returned-life would be quiet and satisfactory.

He would have a family there, his wife, a child on the way, more children. The future of the plan'et to worry about. Alzbeta; she had scarcely been in his thoughts at all of late. Too little time. He saw her now in his mind's eye, smiling, her arms out to him. But it was hard to hold this image; it melted away, was overlaid with the far stronger one of Dvora, naked and close, the musky smell of her body in his nostrils .

d.a.m.n! He drained his gla.s.s and signaled for a second one. Life was very complex. As dangerous as it had been since his arrival back on Earth it also had been... what? Fun? No, he couldn't call it that.

Interesting, it was surely that, and d.a.m.n exciting once he knew that he was going to live for at least a little bit longer. He shouldn't be thinking about the future now, not until he was sure that he was going to have one. Wait and see, that was all that he could do.

"Technician Halliday," the PA system said. "Technician Halliday to Gate Three."

Jan heard the message twice before it penetrated that it was for him. His new ident.i.ty. He put down his gla.s.s and headed for Gate Three. The same Security officer was waiting for him there.

"If you'll come with me, sir. The plane's been refueled aiad is ready to go. Your bag's aboard already."

Jan nodded and followed the man out into the heat of the day, the sun reflected the glaring from the white concrete. They came to a supersonic two-place fighter marked with the white star of the United States Air Force; travel in style indeed. The mechanics held the stairs as Jan climbed aboard, one of them following him up to close and seal the hatch. The pilot turned and waved his hand over his shoulder in greeting.

"Someone sure in a hurry to get your a.s.s out of here. Pulled me out of a poker game, never even let me play my hand. Strap in."

The jets roared and vibrated beneath them and they were airborne almost as soon as they turned into the runway.

"Where are we going?" Jan asked, as soon as the gear was up and they were in a steady climb up to cruising alt.i.tude. "Mojave?"

"s.h.i.t no. I wish we were. I been out in a desert field here so long I'm beginning to grow a hump like a camel. And hump, real hump, that's what I'd be getting if I were flying into Mojave. No, we're vectored right into Baikonur, soon as I get above the commercial lanes. Them Russkies don't like no one, even themselves. Lock you in a little room, guards with guns everywheres. Sign eight thousand G.o.dd.a.m.n forms for the fuel. Get crabs from the furniture, I swear I know an old boy lay over there and got crabs. Says they jump further than Texas crabs and they jump fourteen feet..."

It took no large effort to tune out~the pilot's reminis-cences. Apparently his voice worked separately from his mind because he flew the plane with great precision, instrument and navigation checks and all.

Without shut-ting up for a second.

Baikonur. Somewhere in southern Russia, that's all Jan remembered. Not an important base, too small for anything other than orbital lifters. Probably just there to prove that the Soviets were members of the big-nation club. He was undoubtedly going to be put into s.p.a.ce from there. With no idea yet of his final destination.

Wartime had intensified the traditional Russian para-noia and the tower at Baikonur was in continual radio contact with the pilot as soon as they had started across the Black Sea.

"This is a security warning, Air Force four three niner, and must be obeyed exactly. Any deviation will cause automatic reprisal. Do you read me?"

"Read you? For Christ's sake, Baikonur, I told you I did, about seventeen G.o.dd.a.m.ned times now! My autopilot's locked on your frequency, I am steady at your specified height of twenty thousand. I'm just a pa.s.senger in this plane, so you bring it in and talk to your machinery if you want to issue any more orders."

Unmoved, the deep voice carried on insistently.

"No deviation will be allowed. Do you read me, Air Force four three niner?"

"I read you, I read you," the pilot said wearily, defeated by Slavic stolidity.

It was night when they crossed the Soviet sh.o.r.e and began their approach to the s.p.a.ce complex. The lights of towns and cities swept by beneath them, but Baikonur itself was completely blacked out because of the hostilities. It was disconcerting to see that the plane was dropping lower and lower toward the ground while still completely under airport control. It is one thing to know abstractly that radar and electronic communications need no light, that they work just as well in complete darkness; still another to hear the wing flaps grinding into position, the landing gear locking down-when there is nothing visible in any direction. All of this was controlled by the comput-er on the ground-the ground which was still totally invisible in the darkness ahead. The aircraft's landing lights stayed off, as did the runway lights. Jan found that he was holding his breath as the engine throttled back and they dropped.

To make a perfect landing on the still invisible run-way. Only when they had come to a complete stop at the end of the taxiway was control returned to the pilot.

"Feel like a G.o.dd.a.m.ned pa.s.senger," he muttered to himself, settling his infrared goggles firmly into place.

The FOLLOW ME car finally arrived and they taxied after it into a blacked-out hangar; the lights came on only after the door was closed. Jan blinked in the sudden glare as he unbuckled his straps. An officer, wearing the same black uniform as his, was waiting at the foot of the steps.

"Technician Halliday?"

"Yes, sir."

"Get your bag and come with me. There's a supply shuttle on line now with a window coming up in about twenty minutes. We can make it if we hurry. Let's go.

After this, Jan was just a pa.s.senger. The chemical-fueled rocket boosted into a low orbit that was barely outside the atmosphere. A deep s.p.a.ce fusion shuttle locked to them and the pa.s.sengers, all military personnel, trans-ferred to this. Every one of them was at home in null-G. Jan was thankful that he had worked in s.p.a.ce before, or his clumsiness would have given him away instantly. Once in their seats they had to wait while the cargo was trans-ferred as well; in the interval they enjoyed the dubious pleasure of a Russian squeezepak meal. It had a soapy texture and tasted vaguely of fish. Afterward Jan read the instructions on the free fall toilet very carefully before he used it. There were as many disaster stories about its use as there were about the equivalent bit of sanitary engineering that was fitted into submarines.

Boredom very quickly replaced tension, since there was little to do other than look at recordings or catch up on sleep. The s.p.a.ce colony of Lagrange 5 was unluckily almost at its maximum distance from Earth, nearly 200,000 miles, so the trip was a long one. While pretending to doze, Jan eavesdropped shamelessly on his fellow s.p.a.cemen. The colony was being used as a base for the s.p.a.ce Force and headquarters for the Earth defense fleet, he discovered. Most of the conversation seemed to be a mixture of rumor and gossip and he memorized the best bits to be used as part of his cover.

He quickly discovered, when talking with the others, that most of them were reservists who had never served in the regular s.p.a.ce Force before. This was encouraging, since it would help to cover any omissions or slips on his part. As it turned out these precautions were not neces-sary; Thurgood-Smythe had planned his future quite pre-cisely~ When they finally docked and disembarked at Lagrange 5, Jan never even had the opportunity to see the interior of the manufacturing colony. A messenger was waiting in the s.p.a.celock chamber as they emerged.

"Technician Halliday," he shouted as the men floated by him. "Which one of you is Tech Halliday?"

Jan hesitated just an instant before he kicked off in the man's direction. His cover could not have been discovered; this development had to be part of Thurgood-Smythe's complex planning. It was.

"Get suited up and leave your gear here, Halliday. It'll be waiting when you get back. We got a scout going out and we're one tech short. You're the lucky lad who's elected." He looked at the printout he held. "Commander name of Captain Lastrup. Ship's the Ida Peter Two Five Six. Let's go."

They used a jaxter, an open skeletal framework with six metal seats fixed to it. Other than this it was little more than four jets and a control pedestal. The pilot was familiar with the little craft and kicked it away from the airlock, flipped it end for end neatly, and was on a new trajectory even before their turn was complete. The fleet of Earth made an impressive sight. Grouped around the two kilometer-long colony were scores of deep s.p.a.ce vessels of all sizes. They ranged from gigantic bulk carriers down to jaxters like the one they were in, with a spectrum of sizes, shapes and functions in between. Their course took them in an arc up over the fleet toward the shining needle of a scout ship. The crew quarters in the bow was tiny in comparison to the engines and auxiliary -fuel tanks to the rear. It bristled with antennas and detection devices of all kinds. In s.p.a.ce, beyond the fixed network of early warning stations, it was ships like this that were the eyes and ears of the fleet. The jaxter floated toward it, slowed and stopped with a quick flare of the bow jet. The large characters of identification were painted across the bow, IP-256, just above the open door of the s.p.a.celock. Jan unbuckled his safety belt, floated free of the seat, then pushed off toward the ship. He dirfted gently into the lock, seized one of the grabirons, and waved back to the jaxter pilot as he pressed the cycle b.u.t.ton. The outer port ground slowly shut.

When the pressure in the airlock equaled that in the ship, the inner lock opened automatically. Jan cracked his helmet and floated inside. The circular chamber, obvious-ly the living quarters, couldn't have been more than three meters across and just about as high. Around nine cubic meters of living s.p.a.ce for two men, Jan estimated. Won-derful. No expenses spared to make our boys in s.p.a.ce comfortable.

A man's head appeared through a circular opening in the bow end of the room, upside-down to Jan's orienta-tion. A red face with slightly bulging eyes.

"Not accomplishing very much, are you, Tech, just floating around and sightseeing." This undoubtedly was Captain Lastrup. A fine spray of saliva exploded in Jan's direction with every angry word. "Just peel out of that suit and get up here on the double."

"Yes, sir," Jan said, obeying instructions.

Within two hours, after they had unlocked from their moorings and got under way, Jan was beginning to dislike the Captain. By the time he was permitted to retire, more than twenty hours after his arrival, he loathed the man. It was painful, after only three hours sleep, to be dragged back to blurry consciousness and summoned to the control room.