To the Stars Trilogy Part 7

When she handed him the coat she had another note ready. YOU'LL BE CONTACTED it read. She squeezed his hand in hers-then kissed him swiftly on the cheek before she let him out.

Almost a week pa.s.sed before Jan was contacted again. His work in the lab improved when he found that he could now devote his entire attention to it. Though he was still in danger, probably more danger than before since he was consorting with the underground, he was more re-laxed. Less lonely. That was the important thing. Until he had talked with Sara, brief as the meeting had been, there had been no one to confide in, no one to talk with about the momentous discoveries and doubts. That solitary exis-tence had ended, would be ended, since he had no doubt that contact would be reestablished soon.

It had been his habit for some weeks now to go into a bar close to the satellite laboratories for a drink or two before going home. The barman, fat, friendly, was a specialist in mixed drinks and devilish concoctions. There seemed to be no end to his repertoire and Jan had settled on a half dozen of the more interesting ones.

"Brian, what was the name of that bittersweet thing I had here a few days ago?"

'A negroni c.o.c.ktail, your honor, specialty of Italy. Wotild you like one?"

"Yes. It appears to have great relaxing powers.

Jan was sipping at it, his mind still on orientation circuits for solar cell banks, when someone sat on the stool next to him. Female he was aware of that when the rich mink coat brushed his arm. The voice was very familiar though the accent wasn't.

"Why Jan! It is Jan Kulozik, isn't it?"

It was Sara, but a very different Sara. Her makeup and clothes were in the same cla.s.s as her coat-as was her accent. "Why, h.e.l.lo," was the best he could come up with.

"I was sure it was you, though I bet you don't remem-ber little me, Cynthia Barton, we met at that dreadful party a few weeks ago. Whatever you're drinking looks divine; order me up one like a good lad."

"Nice to see you again.

"Nicer to see you, it's been one of those days. Hmmm, this is simply super, jtist what the doctor ordered. But don't you find it hideously noisy in here, the music and all these people? Let's drink these an4 go back to your place. I remember you were very insistent about a painting there you wanted me to see. At the time I thought it was just an excuse to get into my knickers, but now I don't know. You're such a serious chap that perhaps you do have a painting and I'll risk my honor to find out."

There was more like this, even in the cab, and Jan found that he need not answer but just let himself be washed along on the tide of words. Only after his apart-ment door was closed did she stop talking and look to him for a lead.

"It's all right," he said. "I've installed a number of alarms, bug detectors and the telltale, that lamp bulb, says all clear. If it were out I would know there had been some tampering. Dare I ask who Cynthia Barton is?"

Sara threw her coat on the chair and looked around the room. "Someone who looks a good deal like me. Not a duplicate by any means, but the same general size and hair color. When she's away-she's at a country house in Yorkshire this week-I use her persona to move in better circles. My ID is pretty good, enough for any casual identification."

"I'm glad she's awav. It's nice to see you again."

"The feeling is mutual because there have been some rapid developments since I talked to you last."

"Like what?"

"I'll tell you in a little while, in context. I want you to get a clearer picture of the entire situation first. The man you were supposed to meet last time, code name John, is on his way over here now. I came first to let you know what was happening. You've got a stunning place here," she added, with rapid change of subject.

"I can't take any credit. When I bought it I was going out with a girl who had pretences of being an interior decorator. With my money and her talent this is what we got."

"Why do you say 'pretences'? She seems quite good."

"Well, you know, it's not really a woman's field."

"Male chauvinist pig."

"What does that mean? It doesn't sound nice."

"It isn't. An archaic term of contempt-and I apolo-gize. It's not your fault. You have been raised in a strictly male-oriented society where women are respected, but still second-cla.s.s citizens A chime rang and she raised her eyebrows in query.

"That's the entrance. Could it be John?"

"It should be. He was given a key to the garage entrance of this building and told to come to this apart-ment number. As far as he knows it is just a safe house where we are meeting; he has no way of discovering that you live here. It's not perfect, I know, but it's the best we could do in a hurry. In any case he is not an active man in the organization and there is little contact with him, other than as an information source. Better put this on." Sara took a face-changer from her purse. 'And the dark gla.s.ses, too. I'll let him in."

In the bathroom Jan pulled the flexible disguise over his head and the effect was astonishing. When he looked in the mirror a stranger stared back. If he didn't recognize himself then he would never be able to identify the man called John. If he wore one of these as well.

Sara was talking to a short, stocky man when he returned. Though he had taken off his overcoat he was still wearing his hat and gloves. Hair and hands invisible. Sara was undisguised which meant that her ident.i.ty was known to them both. "John," she said. "This is Bill. The man who wants to ask you some questions."

"Happy to be of service, Bill." His voice was mellow, educated. "What do you want to know?"

"I don't know where to begin, what to ask. I know some things about Israel that differ from texts I have-and I suppose that is the extent of my knowledge. Other than what I was taught in school."

"Well that's a g9od beginning. You have doubts and you have seen that the world is not as you always suspected. So I shan't waste time trying to convince you to open your mind. May we sit down?"

John settled into his chair and crossed his legs com-fortably. When he talked he tended to lecture, to tick off the points made on his fingers. It was obvious he was an academic of some kind, probably an historian.

"Let us go back to the close of the twentieth century and look closely at events since that date. Let your mind be a tabula rasa and try not to interrupt with questions. There'll be time enough later for those. The world of the year 2000 was very much as depicted in the historical texts you have studied, physically that is, although the govern-ments of the world were definitely not what you have been told. At that time there were varying degrees of personal freedom throughout the world, with forms of government ranging from the liberal to the most oppressive. All of that has changed in the intervening years. The Wreckers were to blame for it all, just as you have learned. That much at least is true." He coughed. "My dear, might I have a gla.s.s of water?"

Sara brought it to him and he went on.

"None of the world leaders or governments, the Wreck-ers, took any real notice of the depletion of natural resources until it was too late. Populations expanded past the limit of natural resources, while the supplies of fossil fuels quickly ran out. There was much fear of an atomic war that would devastate the world, but apparently the fear was mutually felt among the world powers because the big bang never came. Of course there were some atomic incidents in Africa, using what were quaintly re-ferred to as homemade atomic bombs, but these petered out quickly enough. The world did not end with the bang, as had been feared, but with a whimper. I quote the poet."

He sipped daintily from his gla.s.s and went on.

"With no energy, factory after factory closed. With no fuel vehicles could not run and the economies of the world spiraled downward into depression and ma.s.sive unemployment. The weaker and more unstable nations went by the board, torn apart by starvation and dissent. The stronger nations had enough worries at home with-out attempting to cope with the troubles of others. The surviving citizens of what used t6 be called the third world eventually stabilized with small populations and basic agrar-ian economies.

'A different solution was needed for the developed, industrial economies. I will use Britain to demonstrate this, since you are familiar with what life here has become. You must cast your mind back to an earlier day when the form of government was democratic, regular elections were held, and the Houses of Parliament were not heredi-tary and powerless as they are now. Democracy, where all individuals are held to be equal, one man one vote to elect the rulers, is a luxury of the very rich. By that I mean very rich countries. Any decline in living standards and the national product can only mean a lessening of democracy. A simple example. An employed man with a regular income has a choice of dwelling, diet, recreation, what might be called lifestyle. An unemployed man on the dole must live where he is told, eat what he is given, and accommodate himself to an unchanging and unvarying, drab existence. Britain survived the disaster years-but paid a terrible price in personal freedom. There was no money to import food, so the country had to be self-sufficient agriculturally. This meant microscopic amounts of meat, only for the very rich, and a vegetarian diet for the rest. A meat-eating nation does not easily take to a change like this so the change had to be enforced. The ruling elite issued the orders and police and troops saw that they were carried out. This was the only alternative to chaos, famine, and death at the time, so it seemed reasonable. And it wa& reasonable given the circ.u.m-stances. The only trouble was that when the emergency lifted and things were physically much better, the ruling elite liked the authority they had and did not want to relinquish it. A great thinker once wrote that power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Once the hobnailed boot is firmly planted on the neck it will not be raised voluntarily."

"What hobnailed boot?" Jan asked, puzzled.

"I do beg your pardon. A simile, very out of date, excuse the excess. I mean to say that recovery was gradual and the governments in power simply stayed in power. Populations gradually reduced and stabilized at a replace-ment level. The first generating satellites were built and beamed their energy down to Earth. Then came fusion power that a.s.sured abundant energy for all needs. Mutat-ed plants supplied the chemicals formerly obtained from petroleum. Satellite colonies processed the raw materials of the moon and their manufactured products were brought to Earth. The discovery of a workable s.p.a.ce drive sent ships out to explore and settle on the planets of the nearest stars. So there we have it, what we have today. An earthly paradise, even a heavenly paradise, where no man need fear war or famine. Where all are provided for and none need want.

"However there is one thing wrong with this picture of paradise. Absolute oligarchic rule has clamped down on the countries of Earth, extended to the satellite colonies, and beyond them to the planets. The rulers of each major country are in collusion with all of the other rulers a.s.sure that no hint of personal freedom be allowed the ma.s.ses. Complete freedom at the to~your cla.s.s, Bill, from your accent-and economic serfdom, slavery, for all below. With instant imprisonment or death for any bold enough to protest."

"Is it really that bad?" Jan asked.

"It's far worse than you can imagine," Sara said. 'And you will have to see for yourself'. Until you are absolutely convinced that there is need for a change you will be a danger to yourself and others."

"This orientation program has been carried out at my suggestion," John said, unable to keep the pedantic pride from his voice. "It is one thing to read printed doc.u.ments and hear spoken words. It is another to experience the realities of the world we live in. Only a brute would be unmoved. I will talk to you again after your descent into the inferno. I will let myself out, if I may."

"He's a funny little man," Jan said after the outside door had closed.

"Funny and endearing and absolutely invaluable to us. A social theoretician with answers rather than questions."

Jan pulled off the face-changer and wiped the perspi-ration from his face. "Obviously an academic, probably an historian .

"Don't!" Sara said sharply. "Don't theorize about him, even to yourself, or one day you may reveal him to those who shouldn't know. Put the man from your thoughts and remember his words. Can you take off a few days from your work?"

'Any time, of course. I make my own hours. What do you want?"

"Tell them that you need a break and you want to go to the country, to see a friend,~something like that, where it won't be too easy to trace you.

"What about skiing? I usually go to Scotland once or twice a winter for cross country."

"I don't know what that is."

"Special kind of skis for going on the flat, not down-hill. I carry a pack, camp out a bit, stay in inns and hotels, make my own way.

"That sounds ideally perfect. So tell your people that you are going skiing, starting next Tuesday, for a few days. Don't mention any addresses or places in particular. Pack a bag and put it in your car."

"Will I be going to Scotland?"

"No. You will be going even farther away. You are going to descend into that inferno right here in London."

Ten.

Jan had been parked at the appointed spot for over a half an hour, well past the time when he was to have been met. Outside only the yellow gleams of the streetlights could be seen through the swirling snow. The pavements were empty. The dark bulk of Primrose Hill vanished into the darkness beyond the road. The only traffic had been a police car that had driven by earlier, slowed a bit, then speeded up and vanished. Perhaps he was being watched for some reason and his contact would not appear.

Even as he thought this the door opened letting in a blast of frigid air. A heavily bundled man slid into the pa.s.senger seat, closing the door quickly behind him.

"You wouldn't like to say something, would you, gov?" the man said.

"It's going to get a lot colder before it gets warmer.

"You're right about that." Sara had briefed him with the identification phrase. "What else do you know?"

Nothing. I was told to park here, wait for someone, identify myself, and wait for instructions."

"Right. Or it's going to be right if you take the instructions and do everything exactly like I say to do it.

You're what you are and I'm a prole and you are going to have to take your orders from me. Can you?"

"I don't see why not." Jan inwardly cursed the hesitan-cy in his voice. This wasn't easy.

"Do you really mean it? Obey a prole-and one that don't smell too good?"

Now that he had mentioned it there was a definite stench in the air from his heavy clothes. Long unwashed fabric and body odor mixed with traces of smoke and cooking.

"I mean it," Jan said, in sudden anger. "I don't think it is going to be easy but I'll do my best. And I'll live with the smell too."

There was a silence and Jan could see the man's eyes, barely visible under his cloth cap, examining him closely. He suddenly shot out a gnailed hand.

"Put it there, gov. I think you're going to be all right." Jan found his hand clamped in a calloused, hard grip. "I was told to call you John, and John it is. I'm called Fryer since I work in a chipper, so we'll leave it at that. If you'll just head east now I'll call out turnings."

There was very little traffic about and the tires cut black marks in the freshly fallen snow. They stayed off the main roads and Jan had very little idea of where they were exactly, just northeast of London.

'Almost there," Fryer said. 'Another mile to go, but we can't drive. Slow now, it's the second turning on the left."

"Why can't we drive?"

"Security barrier. Nothing to be seen of course, you wouldn't know you were going past it. But circuitry under the road surface would query the transponder in your car and get its ident.i.ty. Goes in the record.

Start people wondering what you're doing here. Walking over is safer, though a lot colder."

"I never knew they did anything like that."

"This is going to be an educational holiday for you, John. Slow-stop. I'll open that lockup garage and you just edge this vehicle in. It'll be safe enough here."

The garage was cold and musty. Jan waited in the darkness while Fryer closed and locked the door, then shuffled by, finding his way with the light from a small flashlight. There was a room beyond, a shed behind the garage, lit by a single unshielded light bulb. Fryer turned on a single-bar electric fire which did little or nothing to relieve the chill of the room.

"Here's where we make the change, gov," Fryer said, taking some rough clothes down from a peg on the wall.

"I see you didn't shave today as told, very wise. And your boots will do, after we scuff them up a bit and rub in some ashes. But off with the rest, from the small clothes out."

Jan tried not to shiver, but it proved impossible to control. The thick, stained trousers were like ice on his already cold legs. Rough shirt, waistcoat with b.u.t.tons missing, ragged sweater, even more ragged greatcoat. However once the chill was off of everything it proved warm enough.

"Didn't know your size so I got this," Fryer said, holding up a hand-knitted balaclava. "Best thing for this weather anyway. Sorry to say it, but you'll have to leave behind those fine fur gloves. Not many on the dole have gloves. Just jam your hands into your pockets and you'll be all right. That's it, wonderful. Your own mam would never recognize you in the rig. So here we go.

Once they were moving through the dark streets it was not too bad. The wool of the balaclava covered Jan's mouth and nose, his hands were buried in the deep pockets, his feet warm enough in the old climbing boots he had unearthed in the back of his closet. His mood was good for there was a spirit of adventure in this whole affair.

"You keep your mouth -shut unless I tell you it's ()K, gov. One word from you and they'll all know who you are. Time now for a half liter, thirsty work this. Just drink what you're given and say naught."

"What if someone talks to me?"

"They won't. It's not that kind of pub."

A blast of warm, noisome air blew over them when they pushed through the heavy front door. Men, only men, sitting at tables and standing at the bar. Some were eating plates of food served through a hatch in one wall. Stew of some kind, Jan saw when they squeezed past a crowded table, along with chunks of dark bread. There was room at the scarred, damp bar and they stood there while Fryer signaled one of the barmen.

"Two halfs of skrumpy," he said, then confided in Jan, "mild's like swill here, better the cider."

Jan grunted a.s.sent and buried his face in the gla.s.s when it came. Acid and terrible. What could the beer possibly be like!

Fryer was right; this was not a sociable bar. Men were talking together who had obviously arrived together. Those who were alone stayed alone, seeking communion only with their drink. An air of depression hung over the dark room unchallenged by the stained brewery posters on the walls, the only decoration of any kind. The drinkers were obviously seeking oblivion not relaxation. Jan drank deep when Fryer moved away in the crowd. He returned in a moment with another man, appearing no different from the others in his rumpled dark clothes.

"We'll go now," Fryer said, making no attempt to introduce the man. Once outside they tramped through the snow, now beginning to drift over the curbs, their footsteps silent in its softness.

"My mate here knows a lot of people," Fryer said, nodding his head in the direction of their new acquain-tance. "Knows everyone. Knows everything going on here in Islington."

"Been inside too," the man said, his words very liquid and lisping. He appeared to have very few teeth in his head. "Caught using the stuff. Hard work cutting them trees in Scotland. Cured the habit though. The hard way. This old woman now, you'll see how she lives. Not much of a life but she'll be well out of it soon."

They turned in through the gates of a brooding rank of tall council flats, crossing the open area between them. It could have been gra.s.sed or paved, impossible to tell now. Spotlights h!gh - up on the building lit the area like a prison yard, spilling brightly over the children who were building a giant snowman. An altercation - broke out and they fell to shouting and beating one small boy who finally broke from them and ran away crying loudly, leaving a trail of red drops in the snow behind him. Neither ofJan's companions seemed aware of the scene so Jan put it from his mind as well.