Zach Hughes - The Stork Factor

millions died. Airborne fire raids on the southern continent left wide scars of smoking ruin. The intercontinental war lasted a month. It would take

longer for the Brothers to ferret out the last hiding places of the scientific rebels, but the outcome was inevitable. Under the frozen tundra of the northern reaches of the Republic, Colonel Ed Baxley, sickened by the slaughter, seeing the revolt failing, worked frantically to help the underground develop the fire weapon. He shared his knowledge and all the resources of the withering revolution went into the speedy manufacture of big fire cannon, which were deployed down the plains, taking unsuspecting government forces by surprise. But

the battle took its toll of life, both among the combatants and the civilian population. The government, having gained capitulation from the Republic of South American, turned it full fury on the advancing rebel army. Battle lines were drawn on the wide plains of the northwest. The chemical fire of the weapons chewed the earth, burned it, the very soil, slowly, but the feared spontaneous spread of the effects of the weapon were, fortunately, limited. However, the Brothers were slowly getting the upper hand through overwhelming force and superior fire power. After three days of advance and retreat through a heated, smoking devastation, the rebel forces were encircled by a ring of fire and the circle was slowly closing. Colonel Ed Baxley, commanding his second revolution, could see the

end. Around him, in the ever-closing circle, his weapons met fire with fire, barely holding back annihilation. Now and then an overstrained weapon failed with a spectacular explosion and each time a weapon failed the circle closed. Baxley had lived out of a ground car for weeks. He had not shaved for days. He had had three hours' sleep in thirty-six hours. His white uniform was soiled. Around him men walked as if they were already dead, zombies tired to the breaking point. He faced Dr. Zachary Wundt. Wundt, himself, was red-eyed, stubble-faced, weary with fatigue and age. Battle reports were being relayed to Baxley by a former cadet who had joined the cause. They were all bad. When Wundt approached, walking slowly and with great effort, Baxley waved the cadet away. They talked, the two old, tired men. Around them the air was dense with acrid smoke. In the near distance the fire ring pulsated, roared. A weapon blew with an ear-splitting blast. Sadly, they agreed that it was hopeless. They met in a battered city in a building which had been seared by a near miss. Wundt, so weak he had to be helped into the room, sat with his face lowered. Baxley, in a clean uniform, stood stiffly at attention as Brother President Kyle Murrel strode in arrogantly, escorted by helmeted Brothertroops. «Well, colonel—» Murrel said. «We request terms,» Baxley said, eyes straight ahead. «You have them,» Murrel said. «Our terms. All ringleaders will be shot. All surviving scientists will become prisoners of the government. All medicines and equipment, will, of course, become state property.» «I must demand that our troops be treated as prisoners of war,» Baxley said. Murrel smiled coldly, «One hundred million people are dead because of you, colonel. Surely you would not be shocked by the execution of a few thousand more?» «We can continue fighting,» Baxley said. «We can cost you a half million casualties.» Murrel's smile did not change. «Actually, you've done the Republic a service, you know. Overpopulation was a problem. You've reduced that problem slightly. I, personally, would not object to a further reduction.

However, I will agree to execute only the leaders and all those in your army above the third rank.» «But— « «What does it matter?» Zachary Wundt asked. «What does it matter if we die now or next week or next month?» «Why, doctor,» Murrel said, «can't you heal yourself? A man with your ability should be able to cope with a few bullet holes.» «Couldn't you pardon the members of the rank and file?» Baxley asked. «Wouldn't you be satisfied with just the officers?» Murrel spread his hands. «It is beyond my control. The people demand revenge.» «The people—» Wundt said. «The people…» «You will command your forces to cease firing,» Murrel said. «You will march them, in orderly fashion, into areas which will be prepared for them. They will carry no weapons. If there is any resistance, we will open fire.» Ed Baxley turned away to hide the tears which came to his eyes. It was late evening before the word could be passed. Isolated groups refused the surrender orders and continued fighting. They were overwhelmed and burned out of existence. The bulk of the tattered rebel army marched listlessly toward the designated areas. The firing squads were already at work. Officers and noncommissioned officers were marched directly to execution areas. High-ranking personnel were imprisoned, awaiting public execution. The army disarmed, beaten, was crowded into three areas encircled by government troops and fire cannon. The early morning saw a renewal of the firing squad activity. Colonel Baxley and Zachary Wundt were roused from their exhausted sleep and escorted to a small hill overlooking the valley in which the mass of the troops were concentrated. Kyle Murrel was there along with members of the government high command. «I must report that my recommendation for mercy for the rebel army has been overruled,» Murrel said. «It has been decided that there will be no reward for treachery.» He turned to a uniformed Brother. «Brother General, you may proceed.» The general raised his hand. Below, in the valley, crews looked to their fire weapons, the muzzles trained on the massed rebel troops. Shocked beyond horror, Colonel Ed Baxley prayed. He prayed aloud. «God in heaven, don't let this happen.» They came out of the north. They came soundlessly, floating high, moving in formation. They numbered in the hundred, the thousands, huge, spheroid things glintingly metallic in the morning sun. A low murmur spread over the plains. Murrel, face gone white, stood with his eyes turned toward the heavens. A shape detached itself from one of the large spheres, lowered silently. It hovered over the hill on which stood the President of the Second Republic and his military staff, shocked into momentary inactivity. A great voice came thundering down to them. «I have the means to destroy you. I will not hesitate to do so. All Brother troops will lay down their arms and withdraw.» «The guns,» Murrel said. «The guns!» Orders were given. Fire cannon raised their muzzles to the sky. «Fire!» Murrel said. Lances of force shot skyward. The massed fire of the government cannon concentrated on the stationary spheres and there was a roar of power as weapons discharged massive beams. Visible, deadly, the fire streams shot upward and flared and were absorbed. The spheres were untouched. The small vehicle which had lowered toward the hill shot high, attached itself to a large sphere. The large sphere moved slowly, settling, making a slow movement above the circle of discharging cannon. The earth rocked and shook. Dust swirled as tremendous force was brought into play. It took five minutes for the sphere to make the circuit and when it rose there was, where the massed cannon had encircled the rebel army, a trench fifty feel deep and hundreds of yards wide. The smaller sphere

detached itself once again, hovered over the now silent group on the hill. A small port opened. A boiling, vibrating blast of dust appeared only yards to the front of the Presidential group, Murrel bolted. The generals held their ground for a moment. One aimed a hand fire-gun at the sphere. The beam was absorbed. There was a sound much like the clapping of hands and the general who had fired was gone. In his place there was a smoking hole in the earth. Then it was over. Stunned, not yet believing the sudden reversal, Baxley and Wundt stood nervously watching the sphere above them as a port opened and a man stepped out into open air and descended. He reached ground directly in front of them. He was dressed in a metallic garment. He was strikingly handsome, well muscled. He was smiling. He walked toward them. He paused. «Who are you?» Wundt asked in an awed voice. «Where are you from?» «I'm from East City,» Luke said. «You know that Dr Wundt.» CHAPTER SEVENTEEN The computer had been right. Not all of the Earth's people had the capacity to make the change. Zachary Wundt and Colonel Ed Baxley were, as the first people whom Luke met and tested after his return, a source of great concern. When Luke first faced them, he looked into them and saw—nothing. He could use his power to make repairs in their aging bodies, but the potential for using their own life force was frighteningly absent. The vast, unused portions of their brains were fallow, incapable of being altered, having no connective passages to be opened. Luke envisioned disaster. He had seen the planet from space and new devastation had been added to the still unhealed scars of the old atomic war between the giant Communist powers. Now a good portion of the two remaining usable land areas was a fire-gun-scorched wasteland. He had counted on being able to alter those with whom he came into contact, make them capable of the feats which came so easily to him. He had envisioned a spreading wave of change, one person helping his brother to reach the capabilities of repairing his own physical imperfections, passing that ability to others, and the others passing it in a progression which would, in a short time, affect the population of the entire world. Then he saw blank, fallow hopelessness in the brains of the two leaders and his hopes were, momentarily dashed. Desperately, ignoring the excited questions of Wundt and Baxley, he turned to others. He found that the capacity to change was present in a large percentage of those who had lived in the overcrowded cities. He wondered then, for a moment, remembering the old, old adage which said that God moves in mysterious ways. It was hard to accept the supposition that God had made millions suffer in order to prepare the race for a great leap outward, but the fact remained that it was the poor and downtrodden who were able to accept Luke's penetration of the dark, closed ball in that large, unused area of