Isaac Asimov - The Mammoth Book of Golden Age SF

“Devils! Anti-Christs! Violation of the Bible!” Violations of this and that. Some, right here in the city, I suppose, would be glad to build a bonfire to cook us right back to the flames from which we’ve sprung. I wonder what the various groups are going to do now that the truth can be seen. Who can read lips in Aramaic, or Latin, or Coptic? And is a mechanical miracle a miracle?

This changes everything. We’ve been moved. Where, I don’t know, except that the weather is warm, and we’re on some military reservation, judging from the lack of civilians. Now we know what we’re up against. What started out to be just a time-killing occupation, Joe, has turned out to be a necessary preface to what I’m going to ask you to do. Finish this, and then move fast! We won’t be able to get this to you for a while yet, so I’ll go on for a bit the way I started, to kill time. Like our clippings:

Tabloid : “…Such a weapon cannot, must not be loosed in unscrupulous hands. The last professional production of the infamous pair proves what distortions can be wrested from isolated and misunderstood events. In the hands of perpetrators of heretical isms, no property, no business deal, no personal life could be sacrosanct, no foreign policy could be…”

Times : “…colonies stand with us firmly… liquidation of the Empire… white man’s burden…”

Le Matin : “…rightful place… restore proud France…”

Pravda : “…democratic imperialist plot… our glorious scientists ready to announce…”

Nichi-Nichi : “…incontrovertibly prove divine descent…”

La Prensa : “…oil concessions… dollar diplomacy…”

Detroit Journal : “…under our noses in a sinister fortress on East Warren… under close Federal supervision… perfection by our production-trained technicians a mighty aid to law-enforcement agencies… tirades against politicians and business common sense carried too far… tomorrow revelations by…”

L’Osservatore Romano : “Council of Cardinals… announcement expected hourly…”

Jackson Star-Clarion : “…proper handling will prove the fallacy of race equality…”

Almost unanimously the press screamed; Pegler frothed, Winchell leered. We got the surface side of the situation from the press. But a military guard is composed of individuals, hotel rooms must be swept by maids, waiters must serve food, and a chain is as strong—We got what we think is the truth from those who work for a living.

There are meetings on street corners and homes, two great veteran groups have arbitrarily fired their officials, seven governors have resigned, three senators and over a dozen representatives have retired because of “ill health.” The general temper is ugly. International travelers report the same in Europe; Asia is bubbling, and transport planes with motors running stud the airports of South America. A general rumor is that a constitutional amendment is being rammed through to forbid the use of similar instruments by any individual, with the manufacture and leasing by the federal government to law-enforcement agencies or financially responsible corporations suggested; it is whispered that motor caravans are forming throughout the country for a Washington march to demand a decision by the Supreme Court on the truth of our charges; it is generally suspected that all news disseminating services are under direct Federal-Army control; wires are supposed to be sizzling with petitions and demands to Congress, which are seldom delivered.

One day the chambermaid said: “And the whole hotel might as well close up shop. The whole floor is blocked off, there’re MPs at every door, and they’re clearing out all the other guests as fast as they can be moved. The whole place wouldn’t be big enough to hold the letters and wires addressed to you, or the ones that are trying to get in to see you. Fat chance they have,” she added grimly. “The joint is lousy with brass.”

Mike glanced at me, and I cleared my throat. “What’s your idea of the whole thing?”

Expertly she spanked and reversed a pillow. “I saw your last picture before they shut it down. I saw all your pictures. When I wasn’t working, I listened to your trial. I heard you tell them off. I never got married because my boy friend never came back from Burma. Ask him what he thinks,” and she jerked her head at the young private who was supposed to keep her from talking. “Ask him if he wants some bunch of stinkers to start him shooting at some other poor chump. See what he says, and then ask me if I want an atom bomb dropped down my neck just because some chiselers want more than they got.” She left suddenly, and the soldier left with her. Mike and I had a beer and went to bed. Next week the papers had headlines a mile high.

We were freed all right, Bronson and the President being responsible for that. But the President and Bronson don’t know, I’m sure, that we were arrested immediately. We were told that we’ll be held in “protective custody” until enough states have ratified the proposed constitutional amendment. The Man Without a Country was in what you might call “protective custody,” too. We’ll likely be released the same way he was.

We’re allowed no newspapers, no radio, allowed no communication coming or going, and we’re given no reason, as if that was necessary. They’ll never let us go, and they’d be fools if they did. They think that if we can’t communicate, or if we can’t build another machine, our fangs are drawn, and when the excitement dies, we fall into oblivion, six feet of it. Well, we can’t build another machine. But, communicate?

Look at it this way. A soldier is a soldier because he wants to serve his country. A soldier doesn’t want to die unless his country is at war. Even then, death is only a last resort. And war isn’t necessary anymore, not with our machine. In the dark? Try to plan or plot in absolute darkness, which is what would be needed. Try to plot or carry on a war without putting things in writing. O.K. Now…

The Army has Mike’s machine. The Army has Mike. They call it military expediency, I suppose. Bosh! Anyone beyond the grade of moron can see that to keep that machine, to hide it, is to invite the world to attack, and attack in self-defense. If every nation, or if every man, had a machine, each would be equally open, or equally protected. But if only one nation, or only one man, can see, the rest will not long be blind. Maybe we did this all wrong. God knows, we thought about it often. God knows, we did our best to keep man out of his own trap.

There isn’t much time left. One of the soldiers guarding us will get this to you, I hope, in time.

A long time ago we gave you a key, and hoped we would never have to ask you to use it. But now is the time. That key fits a box at the Detroit Savings Bank. In that box are letters. Mail them, not all at once, or in the same place. They’ll go all over the world, to men we know, and have watched well, men clever, honest, and capable of following the plans we’ve enclosed.

But you’ve got to hurry! One of these bright days, someone is going to wonder if we’ve made more than one machine. We haven’t, of course. That would have been foolish. But if some smart young lieutenant gets hold of that machine long enough to start tracing back our movement, they’ll find that safety deposit box, with the plans and letters ready to be scattered broadside. You can see the need for haste — if the rest of the world, or any particular nation, wants that machine bad enough, they’ll fight for it. And they will! They must! Later on, when the Army gets used to the machine and its capabilities, it will become obvious to everyone, as it already has to Mike and me, that, with every plan open to inspection as soon as it’s made, no nation or group of nations would have a chance in open warfare. So if there is to be an attack, it will have to be deadly, and fast, and sure. Please God that we haven’t shoved the world into a war we tried to make impossible. With all the atom bombs and rockets that have been made in the past few years — Joe, you’ve got to hurry!