Frank Herbert - High-Opp

Again the machine beside Movius began to chatter. “WE WILL BARGAIN WITH YOU.” It was signed, “HELMUT GLASS.”

Navvy joined Movius at the transceiver, looked at the message. “I told you they’d offer to trade Grace for their hides.”

Movius sat down at the machine, found the RR button for Registration Reply, remembered all the times he had punched that button in the kiosks to register for opps. He typed with two fingers: “THIS IS MOVIUS. WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

The machine remained silent.

Over his shoulder, Movius said, “Nate.”

O’Brien stepped forward. “Yes?”

“We’ve won, haven’t we?”

“You know that as well as I do. No doubt about it.”

The transceiver rapped out, “ARE YOU WILLING TO BARGAIN?”

Movius sighed, typed, “DELIVER GRACE UNHARMED AND I WILL GIVE YOU YOUR LIVES.”

There was a longer wait this time, only the humming of the transceiver indicating the beam was open. Again the machine chattered: “WHERE ARE YOU?”

“Do they want to deliver her here?” asked Navvy.

“They may already have killed her and be fishing for information,” said O’Brien. “Remember, they’re desperate men.”

Movius put his hands to his face, leaned against the transceiver. Yes, they’re desperate men , he thought. There was a way to be certain of Grace’s fate, but he couldn’t ask anyone else to take the risk.

The machine clacked: “CALL OFF YOUR MEN OR WE WILL KILL HER IMMEDIATELY.”

Over his shoulder, Movius said, “Janus, tell them to hold off the attack.”

Janus ran to the door, relayed the message to a courier, returned.

“I HAVE SENT THE ORDER,” typed Movius.

The transceiver came right back: “MOVIUS, WE ARE ON ONE OF THE TOP FLOORS OF BU-COMM. COME OVER AND TALK OR WE KILL HER.”

“You can’t do that!” exploded Peterson. “Maybe they’ve… Well, maybe they just want to get both of you to kill you.”

Movius ignored him, typed, “I AM COMING.”

“Janus is right,” said O’Brien. “Send someone else.”

“Send me,” said Peterson. “I let her get caught.”

Something compounded of all the hate, the ambition, the fear for Grace became a hard lump inside Movius. “I’m still the commander here!” he barked. “I give the orders!”

Navvy said, “I’m not letting you go,” started to grab his arm.

Movius slapped down the hand. “She’s your sister, Navvy; my wife. I’m going. Don’t try to stop me.”

“Let him go,” said O’Brien.

The streets were dark, strangely silent. Only in the distance could he hear the whooshBOOM! of rocket launchers to tell him the battle was not ended. A lackluster moon ducked in and out of clouds, showed a scattering of wrecked cars on Government Avenue, a few sprawled bodies.

Three blocks to Bu-Comm. Navvy walked silently on one side, Janus Peterson on the other. They met a Sep patrol which recognized Movius and, strangely, lined up along the sidewalk, stood at attention while he passed.

“Do they know where I’m going?” asked Movius.

“I told the runner,” said Janus Peterson.

Attack squads around the Bu-Comm Building opened up to permit Movius and his companions to pass. The men stood at attention until Movius had passed. There it was—tallest building in the city with its transmission facilities and huge tower. Movius looked at the building, wondered why the men were so respectful.

As though answering his unspoken question, Peterson said, “You’ve given us LP’s back our pride, sir. We’re never going to forget that.”

Movius realized the big man was crying, thought, Janus believes I’m going to my death. Maybe I am . He could sense the presence of many men around him, could distinguish the still outlines of bodies sprawled in the street in front of the building.

“Does someone have a hand light?” he asked.

An arm came out of the darkness beside him, pressed a metal tube into his hand. A receding voice whispered to someone, “I gave him my light.” Movius had the sudden feeling of looking into the future and knew he had seen the genesis of a story. “I gave Daniel Movius my handlight the night he climbed to the Bu-Comm tower.”

Movius said, “I’ll signal from the south parapet. Three flashes means come on up, they’ve surrendered. Two flashes means wait. One flash, a delay and another flash, attack. Give me an hour. It’s a long climb.”

“What about you, sir?” asked Peterson. “I wish you’d let me go. It’s my fault they caught her.”

Movius squeezed the man’s arm. “No, it isn’t. Grace brought it on herself. She did it trying to protect me from her father.” He released Peterson’s arm. “Good opps, men.”

Out into the dark street, a dark cloud obscuring the moon. A body. He walked around it. It sound of a door opening. Someone said, “In here.” Movius could discern the outline of a man holding a stutter gun, heard a voice talking on a phone. “He just came in. I’ll bring him right up.” The phone clicked. “Elevator’s over here.” A hand took his arm, guided him.

“Elevator,” said Movius. “I thought there was no power.”

“This is the Communications Building,” said the voice. “Big emergency generators here.”

Of course , he thought. There would be.

They remained in darkness all the way up. His escort opened the elevator door, said, “To your right. Don’t use that handlight.” Then, oddly, the man whispered, “Good opps, sir.”

He walked down the hall, heard a door open. A voice said, “In here.” Another hand came out to guide him. The door closed, lights came on. It was a stuffy room, full of tobacco smoke. Thick layers of blankets had been nailed over the windows. Movius looked around. Loren Addington sat behind a table, a fat owl, nervously chewing on something. The table held a row of stutter guns, all pointing toward the door.

“A cornered rat,” thought Movius.

Helmut Glass sat on a leather couch against the right wall. A stutter gun rested in his lap. His head was swathed in bandages, his left arm in a sling. A rough night for The Coor.

The man who had pulled him into the room turned out to be vapid-face, the one who had brought Grace to Gerard’s office. He carried a gun in his right hand.

“Where’s Grace?” demanded Movius.

Glass stood up from the couch. He carried the stutter gun loosely in his right hand. “In good time.”

“I see Grace or we don’t bargain,” said Movius.

Glass raised the muzzle of his gun. “I could kill you right where you stand.” The Coor’s eyes looked like two ball bearings, grey steel, glaring from beneath the red-stained bandage around his head.

“I came up here fully expecting that,” said Movius. “My men have orders to attack if I’m not back in a specified time. If they find me dead, they’ll literally tear you limb from limb.”

Glass sneered. “I have a crew repairing a transmitter right now. We’re going to call in outside help. After we’ve put down your stupid revolt, your men, as you call them, will be hunted down one by one and executed. I have unilateral powers to carry out this threat.”

He doesn’t know , thought Movius. He said, “We hold all but eleven of the world’s major cities. The handful of your people remaining in those eleven are in no position to send help.”

“That’s a lie!” The Coor’s face flamed.

In a calm, even tone, Movius said, “By our estimates, you had fourteen million government employees in the world, a fair proportion of whom would remain loyal to you out of fear of the LP’s. We have the rest of the population.”

“I’ve a mind to drop you where you stand,” said Glass.