this generous provision came about because the enemy considered the san francisco compound something of a showplace, an experimental laboratory for improving relations with the conquered. a steady stream of tourists, sociologists, politicians and religious leaders poured into the san francisco skyport from the mechanized home world of the almost-men. they came to satisfy their curiosity, to purchase tourist relics, to examine and sometimes criticize the occupation policy.
frequently, when lanny was hunting in the forest, he saw almost-men who were recent arrivals in the skyport. usually they floated above the trees in their individual, degravitized, force-field capsules, watching the hunt and eagerly recording the activity with their expensive cameras. sometimes they whipped up enough courage to descend to the forest trails and talk to their captives.
several times lanny was interviewed by the enemy, and slowly he began to flesh out a more realistic definition of the almost-men. they were no longer a clear-cut symbol for something he hated, but suddenly more human and more understandable. they were physically weak, just like the older survivors in the treaty settlements. they were timid and unsure of themselves. they were hopelessly caught in a mire of pretty words, which they seemed to believe themselves. and without their machines they were helpless.
after lanny and his brother had been in the san francisco area for nearly two weeks, they were invited to a formal session of the local resistance council, where they were accepted as new citizens of the community. the delegates met at night in the rubble of the old city. a narrow passage tunneled through the ruins to an underground room which had once been the vault of a bank and had, therefore, survived the bombing and the slashing fire of the energy guns.
gill did not stay with his brother in the rear of the vault. instead he joined the young hotheads who formed the war party in the local council. at home gill had dominated the same element.
the men in every treaty area were split between two points of view. one group wanted to organize an immediate attack upon the invader, in spite of the inequality in arms. the others counciled caution, until they had the strength to strike a real blow to free the earth.
since men had no weapons and no metals from which to make them, the obvious basis for any successful attack had to be a scheme for seizing arms from the enemy. "we can only destroy the almost-men if we use their own machines." again and again the san francisco war party repeated that fact; it seemed an argument so self-evident that it was beyond any rational challenge. "the machines have no intelligence, no sense of values; they will obey us just as readily as they obey the enemy."
"more so." gill spoke clear and loud, in crisp self-confidence. "i do not believe the enemy knows how to feel the structure of matter."
this statement created a minor sensation. the heads of the delegates turned slowly toward gill. gill was smiling, his mane of blond hair shimmering like gold in the flickering light. lanny felt, as always, a tremendous admiration for his brother. gill was so sure of himself, so certain that he was right. gill's mind would never have been plagued by shadowy fears he couldn't understand.
"i have seen an enemy bleed," gill went on. "they do not know how to heal a wound."
"that might be true of some," one of delegates answered. "some of our old ones have forgotten, too. but you spoke as if the individual community of cells could be extended to include integration with all external matter."
"by touch; i have done it myself."
"you mean the extension into the energy units of your hunting club." the delegate smiled depreciatingly. "we all understand that. but a wooden club was once a living thing. community control over other forms of matter is entirely different."
"no, the machines respond the same way. i made a motor turn over, when it had been idle and without fuel for twenty years. it frightened me when it happened. the energy in the metal was something new, and i couldn't understand the structure at first. but i've thought about it since, and i'm sure—"
"we'll look into the possibilities—after we capture the enemy machines. our problems at the moment is to get the machines."
the delegates returned to their discussion. they had agreed, long ago, that the only way to attack the skyport was from inside the protective, force-field dome. for years the almost-men had tried to encourage trade between the skyport and the treaty area, and the resistance council had turned that to their advantage.
gradually they had increased the number of young men who went to the city with necklaces of animal teeth and meaningless gee-gaws for the tourist trade. the almost-men had grown used to seeing a mob of men milling on the bridge and in the lower tiers of the city. the council had regularly altered the trading parties, so that every man in the san francisco colony had been under the dome half a dozen times. they knew their way around in the skyport; they knew the location of the power station and the city arsenal. when the attack came, fifty men in the city would seize the power plant and the rest would attempt to take the arsenal.
one of the hotheads arose from his place beside gill. "we have discussed this and argued it for almost as long as i can remember," he said. "there is nothing more to be said, for it or against it. hasn't the time come to take a vote?"
a moderate protested mildly, "but have we weighed all the risks? if we make a mistake now—"
"can you suggest a better way to get weapons?"
and the moderate admitted, "true, we can't defeat the enemy unless we have weapons comparable to theirs."
it was the last gasp of an old argument. everything that could be said had already been said; every delegate knew both sides to the debate, and every delegate was driven by the same instinct to make a fight to reclaim his lost world. when the vote was counted, a majority of the council favored war. a committee was appointed to make the final disposition of forces and to set the time for the attack. lanny was not surprised when gill was named a member of the committee.
on the afternoon following the meeting, lanny was assigned to a group of traders so he might learn the geography of the skyport before the attack. as the enemy capital on earth and a tourist attraction, the san francisco skyport was a miniature replica of an enemy city. under the dome were tiers of streets and walkways, interwoven in complex patterns, and the battlement spires of luxury hotels, theatres, cabarets, public buildings. the streets overflowed with a flood of jangling traffic, and the air was filled with the well-to-do riding their de-grav cars in the enviable security of their private capsules.
lanny's overall impression was a place of intolerable noise and glitter. the almost-men seemed to make a fetish of their machines. they found it necessary to use their clattering vehicles even though their destination might be a building only one tier away. the air under the dome was fetid with the stench of vehicle fuels.
the trading area was confined to a small, metal-surfaced square on the lowest level of the city, close to the narrow, neutralized vent through the force-field dome. tall buildings swarmed above the trading booths, blotting out the sun. lanny felt boxed in, imprisoned by the high walls, choked by the artificial, filtered air.
he sold a satisfactory quota of trade goods to the tourists who had adventured down to the booths. and he dutifully noted the location of the walkway to the power center and the arsenal. but he gave a sigh of relief when his duty was done and he was free to go back across the bridge to the treaty area. he filled his lungs with the crisp, damp air, unsterilized by the fans of the enemy city. how could the almost-men survive, he wondered, how were they capable of clear-headed thinking, in such seething confusion?
in the treaty areas, where men could put their naked feet upon the soil and feel the life-energy of the earth, where men breathed the fresh wind and held sovereignty over their environment—only there were men really free. would he trade that for the city walls that blotted out the sun, and the monotonous throbbing of machines? the victor was the slave; the conquered had found the road to liberty. for the first time in his life lanny understood the paradox. stated in those terms, what did men actually have to fight for?
as he always did when he had a problem, lanny went to juan pendillo. it was late in the afternoon. already the cooking fires were being lighted on the small rectangles of earth in front of the houses where the older survivors lived. but pendillo and dr. endhart were still inside, packing away the models which endhart had used to teach his last class for the day. they usually waited for lanny or gill to make their night fire, since pendillo's sons did the work so effortlessly. tak laleen was with the teachers. she sat on the only chair in the room, playing abstractly with one of endhart's teaching tools—a crude mock-up of the structure of a living energy unit. it was the same sort of learning-toy lanny himself had been given when he was a child.
lanny burst in on them excitedly. he began to talk at once, trying to put in words the conviction that had come to him as he stood on the bridge. suddenly the words were gone. in his own mind it was clear enough, but how was he to explain it? how could he tell them it would be self-destruction to capture the city of the almost-men?
"you wanted to talk to us?" pendillo prompted him.
"it—it's this vote we've taken for war, father." lanny glanced at tak laleen. his father and endhart smiled disarmingly.
"you can talk quite freely," endhart said. "tak laleen knows the vote has been counted. she knows what it means."
"unarmed men are going to attack the city," the missionary said without expression. "you are very courageous people. but you are certain you will win—against our machines and our energy guns." with a frown, she put aside the model she had been holding. her face was drawn and tense; there was doubt and fear in her eyes.
"of course we'll take the skyport," lanny assured her. "that doesn't worry me. it's what happens afterward—what we do when we have your guns and your machines."
endhart and pendillo exchanged glances, in subtle understanding. "the city will belong to us," his father said.
"why do we want it? the city is a prison!"
the eyes of the elders met again. "we need guns to protect ourselves. haven't you always said that, lanny? you've heard all the discussions in the council meetings."
"but do we, father? answer me honestly."
"you can answer that better than i, my son."
tak laleen stood up, wringing her hands. "you will face the force-field and our guns—but you wonder if you need weapons." with an effort she checked the hysterical laughter bubbling in her throat. "my people would say you had gone mad; but who knows the meaning of madness?"
pendillo took the missionary's hand firmly in his. "she's tired, lanny. our ways are still new to her."
"and we've had her cooped up in the house too long," endhart added.
pendillo glanced sharply at his friend. endhart nodded. "it is time," he said cryptically.
pendillo turned toward his son. "a walk outside would do her good, lanny."
"is it safe?"
"she won't try to escape; you and i will go with her."
pendillo led her toward the door. her face glowed with hope. she glanced eagerly down the long street, lit by the evening fires. lanny was sure she was looking for the nearest chapel of the triangle, calculating her chances of escape. she was the enemy. what reason did his father or endhart have to trust her so blindly?
at the door pendillo turned for a moment toward endhart. "you'll make sure gill knows?"
"at the proper time; leave it to me."
"knows what?" lanny demanded.
"that we may be a little late for dinner," his father answered blandly. he nodded toward tak laleen and lanny understood.
lanny walked on one side of tak laleen and slid his arm firmly under hers. she kept running her fingers nervously over his arm. she tripped once, when her foot caught in a shallow hole; her nails tore a deep gash in lanny's flesh as he reached out to keep her from falling. he healed the wound at once, except for a small area where the germ colony needed exposure to the life-energy of the sun. she looked at his arm. her lips were trembling; her face was white.
"so you can do it, lanny."
for a moment he had forgotten her remarkable inability. "you mean the healing? all men do that; we always have. a rational mind controls the structure and energy of organized matter."
