Frederik Pohl - The Cool War

“I bet there may,” said Hake, staring out the window. Past the thousands dashing themselves against the window, through the dung-colored discoloration of the air, he could see turbulent activity in the streets below. Women were streaming out toward the farms, carrying nets, that looked like wicker fish traps and wire-screen cylinders, while hydro-trucks of men with heavy equipment were threading past them. Farther out, the sky was black. There appeared to be two layers of clouds, the rust of the swarm beneath, the red-lavender of sunrise on the wisps of cirrus higher up.

“Oh, Horny, let’s go outside and see!”

Hake tore himself away. “We might as well, I suppose.” They dressed quickly and took the elevator. The lobby was full of guests, milling around far earlier than most of them had intended to rise. By the time they reached the sidewalk the sun was above the horizon, but it was still twilight—a green-browny twilight that rustled and buzzed. The fountain outside the door was already crusted with a skin of drowning insects, and a porter was setting up an electric fan to blow clouds of them into a net sack. As they stepped off the curb, bugs crunched under their feet. Alys stared around, thrilled, oblivious of the insects that drove against her face and were caught in her hair. “How exciting!” she said. “Do you suppose they do this often?”

“If they did there wouldn’t be any farms,” Hake said. “They call them ‘seventeen-year’ locusts, but I don’t think they come even that often. And time’s running out for us.”

“Horny! You can’t be thinking of going after Leota in this. We don’t even know where she is.”

From behind them, Rama Reddi said, “She is in the gardens at the palace.”

Hake spun. “How do you know that?”

“Oh,” said the Indian, “it is not only her jailers who can track her electronically. Do you want to talk or get on with the project?”

Hake hesitated. “Why did you change your mind?”

“I did not change my mind. It is the circumstances that have changed.” Reddi waved an arm at the locusts. “There is much confusion because of this, and the odds become better. I don’t promise. But I have a car; let’s go see.”

The air was filled with insects now. To supplement the dull, dingy sun the Land Rover’s headlights were on, and their beams painted two shafts of insect bodies ahead of them. Reddi drove carefully through the hurrying farm workers, circling around trucks on the shoulder of the road; it was not far. They crossed a bridge over a rapidly flowing river, with what looked like a waterfall just below —no, not a waterfall; it was a hump in the river itself. And past the bridge, in a field that had once been barley and was now green-brown insects, shadowy figures were scattered by great fans. From what they wore Hake knew they were women; he could not have told in any other way, because what they wore was flowing robes and the headdress and scarf—the hatta w-‘aqqal —that was meant to protect against desert sand, and worked as well against locusts. Across the road a line of men was moving away from them, beating at the plants and forcing the locusts into flight again. Hake could not see what purpose that served, until he saw that the insects in flight were being sucked through the fans into wire cages. It was not just the fans. Hake became aware of a pungent, cockroachy smell: pheromone attractants.

At a turning, Reddi stopped the car and turned off the headlights.

“What’s the matter? Why don’t we go find Leota?”

The Indian said, “She is the third one in line back there. Did you not see her? But her little bracelet is still broadcasting, and my device located her.” He stared around, scowling. “However,” he said, “there are problems.”

“What sort of problems?” Hake demanded.

“You see them!” He gestured at the men across the road. “They have radios too. And it is probable the sheik himself is wandering about. He enjoys adventure— Hell!” He stared in the rearview mirror, then jumped out of the car and held up a warning hand.

One of the women was walking toward them. At Reddi’s signal, she stopped. It was impossible to make out her face, but Hake had no doubt who she was.

“She saw us pass,” said Reddi. “But it is too dangerous.”

He tugged at his scant beard, and then shook his head. “We will go on and try again, later.”

“The hell you say! This is the best chance we’ll ever have, Reddi!”

“It is no chance at all. If there were no men near— But there are, and the guards are always monitoring. We cannot even speak to her, or they will hear.”

“We can just take the radio off her—”

“And do what? They are all around. If they look to where she is supposed to be and see no one, what will they do, Hake? Say, ‘Oh, perhaps my vision is blurred, I must be mistaken’? No. They will investigate. Then they will search, and if they search they will find us. And if we take her in the car, even if we do not speak, they will hear the sound of the car over the radio, and will locate her with the direction-finders. No. It is impossible. A little later—”

“I don’t believe you’ll do it later,” Hake said. Alys put her hand on his arm.

“Mr. Reddi? Why can’t I take her place?”

“What?” Hake cried. “Don’t be insane! You don’t know what you’re saying.”

She leaned to kiss his cheek. “Dear Horny,” she said, “Leota is my friend, too. And anyway—it does sound interesting. And when you come right down to it, men always liked me better than Leota, back in college, and I don’t think Sheik Hassabou will mind too much.”

She jumped out of the car. The Indian glanced once at Hake, then followed. Hake started after them, then stopped himself; it was out of his hands; if he said anything, it would be heard and they would all be caught. He squinted through the blur of locusts as Reddi produced wire cutters and expertly snipped the golden arm-bracelet. It was soft, easy to remove, easy to bend onto Alys’s willing arm.

Almost at once a voice came from it. “What is happening, Leota?”

“Nothing,” said Leota, chin on Alys’s shoulder. “I just tripped and bumped into something.” She hesitated. “I’m getting tired of being out here,” she complained. “I’m going back to my room to sleep for a while, if His Excellency doesn’t require me.”

The voice laughed. “His Excellency will surely wake you if he does.”

Alys touched the bracelet, then smiled at them. She formed with her lips the words Get out of here! as she turned to move slowly toward the distant loom of the palace. Hake stared after her as they turned and retraced their path, until Reddi snapped, “Eyes front! Don’t attract attention! That’s the sheik.” They were crossing the bridge, and down the stream, on the permanent hump of water, someone was standing on a surfboard, moving back and forth across the standing wave. He did not look toward them, and in a moment the locusts hid him from view.

Having stuffed herself, gauze pants, harem vest and all, into one of Alys’s baggier suits, Leota was now trying to make her face look more civilized in Alys’s mirror with some of Alys’s cosmetics. Rama Reddi, in the copilot seat, was busy with a notebook, studying what and writing what Hake did not want to imagine. The pilot was obviously consumed with curiosity. He had put the plane on autopilot long since and was trying to strike up conversations with the passengers.

At least he had gotten over being indignant at being forced to take off in a locust swarm, but now he wanted to chat. “It was quite exciting, was it not, effendi?” he called to Hake, enunciating each syllable with care for Hake’s practicing ear. “But what a pity! These people know nothing of locusts. They will capture only a few. The rest willfly on. If it would rain— Then they would stay on the ground and could be scooped up. But it will not, I think.”