Edward Llewellyn - Prelude to Chaos

I was not quite so sure when I arrived in the Council Chamber to find Anslinger and three of his tame Elders in conference with a small brusque man whose clothes were civilian but whose manner was Army. “This is Gavin Smith, Colonel Forsyth,” said Anslinger when I entered. “He has had some military experience.”

“Military experience?” barked the Colonel, turning to give me a parade-ground inspection. “What kind of military experience?”

“Special Strike Force. Ten years ago.” I returned his in-

spection with the stare with which we of the elite had surveyed lesser breeds within the armed forces of the United States “SSF?” He looked at me sharply. “What rank?”

“Lieutenant, sir.”

He liked the “Sir.”

“What unit?”

“The Third.”

“Third, eh?” He warmed slightly. “Then you were in Bolivia.”

“Not Bolivia, sir. It was the Second that got cut up in Bolivia. I was in Libya, Socotra, Brunei—and others!” I decided not to mention Moonbase.

“And your Commanding Officer?” He was still not sure of me.

“In Libya and Socotra—Colonel Fowler. Until he got zapped. Then Colonel Jewett.”

“Jewett eh? So you served with Jewett” He nodded his head approvingly. “Know anything about stores and supplies?”

“Only that they usually didn’t arrive. Or went to the wrong mob. In the Third we learned to live on what we took in. And off the country!” I was becoming irritated at this peremptory interrogation by some little Quartermaster Corps Colonel.

“By God—that’s right!” Instead of being insulted, he laughed and slapped his right leg. It was a prosthesis. “That’s why I got this. And why I’m in the Corps. When I had both legs I was in the Second.”

So that was the source of his disdain! It was not the fussy self-importance of a Quartermaster Corps Colonel, but the attitude natural to anyone who had ever served in the Special Strike Force.

Anslinger, dismayed by the abruptness of the interchange between the Colonel and myself, broke in, “Mister Smith didn’t give me the details of his military service.”

“He was Third Strike—so I’m not surprised! Does he know what we want him to do?”

“I haven’t mentioned it to him, Colonel. I thought you had better meet him first.”

“Now I have!” He swung on me. “Lieutenant—your past is your business. Did you realize that a general dispensation was issued over Socotra? Probably not—it was only circulated to those under threat of civil action. You weren’t one, eh? I’m just as glad. Bad business that!” He shook his head. “Well, these days I’m only concerned with the proper care and maintenance of stores and supplies controlled by the Department of Defense. Did you know that the Sherando Settlement is likely to be designated an official Defense Depot?”

“No sir.”

“Good! You weren’t supposed to know. But you know now! You will not mention the fact to anybody else.”

“Colonel—one of the things I learned with the Third was to keep my mouth shut about anything the Army did—however crazy.”

Anslinger again looked dismayed, showing how far away he had been from the real Army. The Colonel laughed. “Sometimes crazy like a fool! Sometimes crazy like a foxl” “They were both the same to me then. They still are now.” “Spoken like a Trooper! Well, since you’re here, I’m prepared to approve the establishment of a Defense Depot at Sherando. Deacon Anslinger will explain the details.” The Colonel turned to Anslinger whose concern had changed to relief. “Tell your Council that the Depot is in being as from today. Shipments will start arriving shortly. They will come in civilian trucks with armed escorts wearing civilian clothing. The escorts will be responsible for the unloading and proper storage in those stone warehouses you’ve built. Let Lieutenant Smith keep an eye on them—he should know about weaponry. Who were you with, Deacon? Intelligence Corps—of course!” He managed to inject just the correct amount of contempt into that last phrase. Anslinger looked pleased; he did not realize he had been insulted. Colonel Forsyth was the genuine article!

“And you’ll be visiting us upon occasion, Colonel?” “Depends on the occasion, Deacon. But I’ll certainly be back. Good day, gentlemen.” He turned toward the door. “Smith, I’d like a word with you outside.”

I glanced at Anslinger, who nodded approval, so I followed the Colonel out onto the plaza. He went limping across it and only stopped for me to catch up when he was well out of earshot of the buildings. “Persuade these yokels to keep their hands off the hot stuff or they’ll blow their bodies to Hell and their brains to Hades! Understand?”

“There’ll be CBW agents among the supplies you’re going to store here?”

“There will. Some real beauts! Horrible stuff, most of it!” He shook his head. “But there’ll be plenty of small arms ammo. And other standard items they can use to bang away with—if they have to!” He looked at the earthworks. “You planned this layout?”

“No sir. It’s modified Vauban.”

“Vauban?” He looked puzzled, then laughed. “Back to the seventeenth century, eh? Well, you’re probably right. And you’re doing a good job. Glad to see it.” He paused, then added softly, “I’m going to retire here—when the time comes.” He held out his hand. “Nice to know I’ll have somebody to talk to.”

I watched his car drive out through the gateway and walked back to the Council Chamber. Anslinger and his allies were in animated discussion, and the Deacon broke it off to greet me. “Nicely done, Gavin. You had me worried for a moment. But we’ve passed the test. The Colonel was hesitant about approving a Depot here until he was sure there would be somebody familiar with the material he’s going to store.” He rubbed his hands together. “Once the Army fills the Depot—then I guess we’ll have everything we need. In case of need! Eh, Gavin?”

“Only after we’ve got men who know how to use it.” Use it on whom, I wondered.

I had hardly spoken to Judith for a month; I had seen her shaking out rags or dumping garbage, and on those occasions she had made quite a performance of not seeing me. She had continued to retain her spinsterhood, and I decided that An-slinger’s warning was a distant threat; that his old tried and true methods of maintaining discipline would have to wait until the situation outside the Settlement made it obvious to the whole population that their existence was at stake. Law and order were still being maintained in most parts of the United States, and Anslinger had no immediate excuse for persuading Council to revive the methods of Dracon.

Judith was changing. In the Pen she had been a competent and self-contained person. During our escape she had shown herself to be brave and essentially sensible. Her rejection of me as a husband was not sensible from the practical point of view. From our brief exchanges, from her looks and words, I felt that she was on the verge of doing something desperate.

I thought I could understand why; she had lost her cause, the reason for which she had risked her life and her memory. It was now obvious that Paxin was a dead issue. Most outsiders knew it was a chemical reenforcer of learned behavior and didn’t seem to care. They used it as an escape from concern about their personal futures. And in Sherando it was not needed—Believers were quite sure of their physical and spiritual futures. In any case it was a post-1990 chemical and therefore evil by definition and banned by rule. Even if she recovered her report from the data banks of NIH its publication now would cause hardly a ripple. And all this meant not only had Judith lost her reason for suffering and escaping, it meant that Eugene Drummond had died in a pointless undertaking.