cudyk stepped through the open door of the little bear, saw the tables empty and the floor bare. the bartender, piljurovich, jerked his thumb toward the stairs. "you're late," he said in russian. "better hurry."
cudyk climbed the stairs to the huge second-floor dining hall, where the russians and poles held their periodic revels. the room was packed tight with a silent mass of men. at the far end, rack sat on a chair placed on a table. he stopped in mid-sentence, stared coldly at cudyk, and then went on.
"—or against me. from now on, there won't be any more neutrals. i want you to understand this clearly. for one thing, your lives may depend on it."
he paused, glancing around the room. "by now you all know that james harkway was executed last night. his crime was treason against the human race. there are some of you here who have been, or will be, guilty of the same crime. to them i have nothing more to say. to the others, those who have considered themselves neutral, i say this: first, new earth needs all of you and has earned your allegiance. second, those of you who remain on an enemy planet in spite of this warning will not live to regret it if that planet is selected for attack.
"you have two months to make up your minds and to close your affairs. at the end of that time, a new earth transport will call here to take off those who decide to go. it will be the last new earth ship, and i warn you that you had better not count on galactic transportation after that date."
he stood up. "that's all."
the audience was over. rack waited, standing on the table, thumbs hooked into his belt, jacket over his shoulders, like a statue of himself, while the crowd moved slowly out of the room. it was ludicrous, but you could not laugh.
two months. for almost twenty years rack had been a minor disturbance in the quarter, no more important or dangerous or mad than a dozen others; appearing suddenly, at night, staying for a few days, disappearing again for a month, or two, or six. he brought stolen goods to ferguson—furs from drux uta, perhaps, or jewels from thon—and ferguson paid him in galactic currency, reselling the merchandise later, some on palumbar, some on a dozen other worlds, for twenty times the price he paid. rack had a following among the younger men of the quarter; two or three a year joined him. occasionally there were rumors in the quarter of rack's close calls with the galactic guard. it had never been a secret that he was building military installations on some far-off planet. but now, for the first time, cudyk realized that rack was actually going to make war on the universe.
whatever the result, the least it meant was the end of the quarter.
the stairs were choked. cudyk worked his way down, to find the barroom filled with little knots of men, talking in low voices. only a few were drinking.
someone called his name, and then a hand grasped his sleeve. it was speros moulios, the grey little tobacco dealer, whose two sons drank too much. "mr. cudyk, please, what do you think? should we go, like he says?"
the others of the group followed him; in a moment cudyk was surrounded. he felt helpless. "i can't advise you, mr. moulios," he said. "to be truthful, i don't know what i am going to do myself."
nobilio villaneuva, the druggist, said, "i have worked fifteen years, saved all my money. what am i going to do with it if i go to this new earth? and what about my daughter?"
someone came elbowing his way through the crowd. he signaled to cudyk. "laszlo!" it was bald, cheerful mike moskowitz, one of the quarter's two doctors. he said, "some of the fellows want to form a delegation, to go back and ask rack some questions. they asked me to serve, but i've got to get back to the hospital. same thing with seu, he's got six things on his hands already. father exarkos isn't here. will you take over? good. i'll see you later."
cudyk sighed. the men around him were watching him expectantly. he stepped over to the bar, picked up an empty glass and rapped with it on the counter until the room quieted.
"it's been suggested," he said, "that a delegation be formed to ask captain rack for more information. do you all want that?"
there was an affirmative murmur.
"all right," said cudyk. "nominations?"
they ended up with a committee of five: cudyk as spokesman, moulios, chong yin, the painter prokop vekshin, and the town clerk, martin paz. cudyk had slips of paper passed out, and collected a hundred-odd questions, most of them duplicates and some of them incoherent. paz made a neat list of those that remained, and the delegation moved toward the stairs.
