James White - Federation World

Undesirables included.

That, he was very much afraid, would not be considered a venial offense.

“You understand that the centers will be used only as temporary radiation shelters?” he said to Beth, “The doors will open and the reception areas and matter transmitters continue to function, but, everything else is to be powered down. In the present circumstances there’s no point in allowing the refugees to be tested for citizenship. The ones who qualified might not be allowed to leave by those who didn’t, and if fighting started inside the shelters… Can you shut down the interrogators?”

“Yes,” Beth answered. “Are you having second thoughts again, I hope?”

“No,” he lied.

“In that case,” Beth said in the toneless voice which indicated extreme disapproval, “you can speak to Camp Eleven whenever you like. The doctor has already begun talking to his people. The first audio units are on the way down and your messages will be recorded for later re-broadcasting. Is there anything else?”

“No.”

The Camp’s radio room was an alien bedlam, with too many voices shouting at once for Martin’s translator to separate them. But the Keidi leader was there, and within a few seconds the clamor died so that only his words were heard against a muted background of the other incoming signals.

“Out of this terrible catastrophe,” the First said bitterly, “we thought that some good had been achieved, that we had succeeded in destroying you and your landing vessel. But now it is clear that, having brought about the destruction of my Estate, you have escaped ultimate chastisement.”

“Be glad that we did,” Martin said, controlling his anger, “and that we are still willing to help your people. I will ignore your attempt to make us appear responsible in any way for the nuclear detonations, since the devices and the decision to launch them were yours, and I will assume that your words are for the benefit of those around you who do not as yet know the truth. So stop wasting valuable time and listen to me. We knew about your missile site and the frightful toll of radiation casualties among the dissidents forced to work there. We do not believe…”

“This is sensitive material,” the First broke in angrily. “Only a few of my most trusted family members know of it. Do not speak of it further or I shall break contact.”

“At present I am speaking only to Camp Eleven,” Martin said, “but I can just as easily address every Keidi on the planet. If you don’t want to save your lives, there are others who do. Now listen to me.

“We do not believe,” he went on quickly, “that you intended to loose a multiple warhead weapon over your own territory, but the mistakes of frightened or overzealous subordinates remain your responsibility. The underground detonation in the missile arsenal was undoubtedly an accident, for which you also bear ultimate responsibility for uncovering the facility in the first place. You are old enough to have learned the effects of these air and ground bursts, and know that very soon the radioactive contamination will poison the air and lands of your Estate, and beyond. The criminal obligation you have incurred in this matter is so enormous that it can only be discharged by…”

“Off-worlder,” the Keidi leader broke in, “I will not listen if you speak to me in this manner!”

“You will listen,” Martin said fiercely, “because you are the First Father of your Estate, the one person above all others on this continent with the authority and the organization to move large numbers of Keidi quickly to places of safety…”

Martin quickly outlined his plan, and when he finished speaking there was a long silence from Camp Eleven, but the sound of quiet, urgent conversations in the background indicated that they remained in contact. Martin pointed at the ship status displays and said, “I’m worried. We’re fabricating thousands of soft-landed audio units, sensors, high altitude flares, and three two hundred seat transports. The logistical computations alone… Are you sure the ship can handle all this?”

“My ship,” Beth responded, “hasn’t had so much to do since it got between that Teldi city and a meteor storm during our first assignment, and on that occasion it had had to use its muscles rather than its brains. This time it has to use both and, well, let’s say we have a very busy and happy ship.

“I’m worried, too,” she ended, “but not about that.” “Off-worlder,” the First said before Martin could reply, “I have considered all that you have said, but I will not accept the entire responsibility for what has happened. You know of my plan to unify Keida into one family, and I believe this would have succeeded without your help, or interference, by using those missiles solely as a threat. Your coming here precipitated this disaster…”

“He has a point,” Beth said softly. “… But for the good of my people,” the First went on, “I will accept your offer of assistance. Are you sure the white houses will open to us?”

“They will open,” Martin said dryly, “even to you.” “That,” Beth said, “is what worries me.” Martin wanted to steer her away from that subject. As soon as the First broke contact, he said, “Have you been monitoring the doctor?”

Beth looked angry for a moment, then she said, “Yes, the doctor is doing fine. He didn’t tell us that, as well as being their medic, he is the city’s Negotiator of Obligations, a sort of non-family Father, who is respected all over the continent for his fairness in arbitration. No wonder the people are listening to him. A few of them are still arguing. As soon as he’s finished, bring him to the surveillance module. Very soon we shall be dealing with a large number of simultaneous events, and the screens here are too small to show everything we’ll need to see.”

FROM the observation platform at the center of the surveillance module, the small, equatorial land mass and the sparsely populated coastal strips on the north and south continents lay spread out below them at an apparent distance of one hundred miles. The vast image might have been mistaken for a view from space, until the eye and mind realized that it was strangely distorted, concave, so that the observer had a clear, vertical view of every part of the picture; and the hundreds of multicolored diagrams and figures constantly drawing and erasing themselves across the surface left no doubt regarding its unreality. But its effect on the doctor, who was gripping the guard rail tightly with both hands and pressing his feet hard against the metal platform, seemed to be a total paralysis of body and mind.

“It is only a tool,” Martin said gently. “A tool to extend vision, a tool whose use can be easily learned even though its operating principles are beyond our understanding. There is no reason to be afraid of it.”

The doctor made an untranslatable noise. “Only a tool! There is misdirection here, through kindness, and I thank you for it. But these are the tools of gods.”

“No,” Martin said. “They are the tools of two Earth-humans and 79 Keidi, and we are expected to use them. Are you ready to begin?”

The reference numbers and positions of nearly eighteen hundred centers were shown in white, and the numbers assigned to refugee groups displayed in shades ranging from yellow to red, depending on their current level of risk, together with those of their destination centers. Fortunately, the entire Keidi population numbered just under one million, and every center could easily accommodate up to six hundred refugees-but only if everything went according to plan and everybody did exactly as they were told.

As expected, the people of the Estate were the first to begin a concerted movement toward the centers, which was fortunate because many of them were in areas of high risk. Martin listened to the instructions going out to the First’s people, but, apart from relaying them via the soft-landed audio units to those who otherwise might not have heard them, he did not interfere. The Keidi leader had a large, well-disciplined organization and he was using it much more effectively than Martin could ever have hoped to do. The doctor was becoming less timorous about requesting local information and visual displays, and the desolate, muddy scenes of his own home city were appearing less frequently on his personal screen.