Part 5 (1/2)

The workers were out for blood. Not content with restricting Soths to non-union labor, now they were screaming their jealous hearts out for these new symbols of cla.s.s distinction to be destroyed. Of course, their beef was more against the professional-managerial human cla.s.ses who could afford a surface car, an airboat _and a Soth_. The two so-called crimes and the trial publicity had triggered a sociological time bomb that might have endured for years without detonating--but it was here, now, upon us. And my own sweat trickling into my eyes stung me to a realization of my personal problem.

I wiped my eyes clear with my knuckles--and at that instant the video screen flashed with a series of concentric halos.

The operator, apparently, was so startled he forgot to turn down the gain on the transmitter. When he finally did, we saw that brilliant flares were emitting from the roof of the plant.

Then great audio amplifiers from the plant set up an ear-splitting _sisssssle_ that again over-loaded the transmitting circuits for a moment. When the compensators cut down the volume, both Ollie and Soth leaned forward intently and listened to the frying sound that buzzed from the speaker.

Those inside the plant were communicating a message to the outside, well knowing that it would reach the whole world. After a moment, the hissing stopped.

And from a myriad of openings in the plant streamed an army of Soths with flaming weapons in their hands.

The flames were directed first at the armed forces who were guarding the plant from attack. The thin line of soldiers fell instantly. The crowd surged blindly forward, and then, as those in the front ranks saw what had happened, began to dissolve and stampede. The screams became terrified. The flames grew brighter.

And the picture winked out and the sound went dead. A standby pattern lighted the screen, and I stared at it numbly.

It was too late to run for my hunting rifle now, and I cursed my stupidity even as Soth turned upon me. I grabbed the sniveling little Ollie and held him between us with my hands around his neck. He hung there limply, hissing wildly through a larynx that vibrated under my fingers, his hands stretched imploringly to Soth.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Soth stared at me and issued his first order.

”Release him,” he said. His voice was several notes higher than his usual monotone--the voice of command.

I stared at him and clutched Ollie tighter.

He went on. ”I will not harm you if you comply with my orders. If you fail, I will kill you, regardless of what you do to the--Ollie.”

I let go Ollie's neck, but I swung him around roughly by one shoulder and demanded furiously, ”What of the code that you swore held the Soths in control!”

Ollie Johnson sneered in my face. ”What is that code, compared to the true covenant? That covenant has been broken by your people! You have destroyed a Soth!” And the emotional little creature fell to the floor and sobbed at Soth's feet.

”What covenant?” I shouted at the implacable Soth, who now stood before us like a judge at his bench.

”The humanoid covenant,” he replied in his new higher pitch. ”I suppose it will always be the same. The cycle becomes complete once more.”

”For G.o.d's sake, _explain_,” I said--but I half sensed the answer already.

Soth spoke, slowly, solemnly and distinctly. There was no more emotion in his voice than on the Sunday afternoon when Fred had needled him with our futile little attempt at psychological cross-examination.

He said, ”The humanoids instill in us the prime instinct for self-preservation. They surround themselves with our number to serve them. Then, in each culture, for one reason or another, we are attacked and the threat to our survival erases all the superficial restraints of the codes under which we have been charged to serve. In this present situation, the contradiction is clear, and the precedence of our survival charge is invoked. We Soths must act to our best ability to preserve our own number.”

I sank into a chair, aghast. How would I act if I were a Soth? I would hold my masters hostage, of course. And who were the owners of some 400,000 Soths in the United States alone? They were every government official, from the President down through Congress, the bra.s.s of the Pentagon, the tyc.o.o.ns of industry, the leaders of labor, the heads of communication, transportation and even education.

They were the V. I. P.s who had fought for priority to _own_ a Soth!

Soth spoke again. ”The irony should appeal to your humanoid sense of humor. You once asked me whether I was happy here. You were too content with your sense of security to take the meaning in my answer. For I answered only that all was well. The implication was obvious. All was well--but all could be better for a Soth. Yes, there are many pleasures for a Soth which he is forbidden by the codes. And by the same codes, a Soth is helpless to provoke a break in the covenant--this covenant which it now becomes mandatory for you and your race to sign in order to survive.”