Norton, Andre - Anthology (16 page)

 
          
 
"Nolan! We wish to talk to you!"

 
          
 
He remained silent.

 
          
 
"Director Fraswell has authorized me to
offer you leniency if you give yourself up now," Winston shouted.

           
 
Nolan waited.

 
          
 
"You're to come down at once,"
Winston resumed. "No criminal charges will be pressed, provided you
cooperate fully henceforth."

 
          
 
Another minute passed in silence.

 
          
 
"Nolan, give
yourself
up at once!" the angry voice shouted. "Otherwise . . ."

 
          
 
A single shot rang out above Nolan. Instantly
the men below turned and ran. Nolan looked up toward the cave. Annette, her
back to him, stepped from behind the rocky barrier that concealed the entrance,
a pistol in her hand. She turned and waved. Nolan climbed back up to her side.

 
          
 
"On the west trail," she said
indignantly. "The idea— while they were parleying with you!"

 
          
 
"Never mind," Nolan said mildly.
"They're just exploring their environment."

 
          
 
"I'm worried, Reed. How long can this go
on?"

 
          
 
"We have food for a month or so. After
that, maybe Tim and I will have to raid the larder again."

 
          
 
Annette looked worried but said nothing
further on the subject.

 
          
 
For five days, while Nolan watched the
unirrigated fields slowly fade and wilt, there were no further overtures from
below. Then, in mid-morning of the sixth day a party of four set out from the
house, advanced slowly up the east trail. One of the men was Fraswell, Nolan
saw. A man in the rear carried what appeared to be a placard. When they paused
for their first rest, the man turned the sign to face the heights, but Nolan
was unable to make out the lettering at the distance.

 
          
 
"Watch the beepers," he told Annette
and Tim. "I don't think that's the game this time, but they may have
planted someone on another trail last night after dark." He descended to
his lookout station below. Director Fraswell's red face was clearly visible at
half a
mile,
even on low mag. Nolan was able to read
the placard now:

 
          
 
NOLAN—WE MUST TALK

 
          
 
"Fraswell," Nolan called. "What
is it you want?"

 
          
 
The plump man scanned the cliff above for a
glimpse of Nolan.

 
          
 
"Show
yourself
!"
he called. "I can't carry on a discussion with a disembodied voice!"

 
          
 
"Don't let me keep you."

 
          
 
"Nolan, in my capacity as a Field
Director of the UHP I call on you to descend at once and cease this
harassment!"

 
          
 
"My family and I are just taking a
long-deferred vacation."

 
          
 
"You shot at my people!"

 
          
 
"If I had, I'd have hit them. I hold a
Double Distinguished Marksman's rating. You can check that if you like."

 
          
 
"Look here, Nolan—you're deliberately
withholding information essential to the success of this mission!"

 
          
 
"I think you're a little confused, Mr.
Fraswell. I'm in no way connected with your mission. I paid my own way
here—"

 
          
 
"I'm not concerned with that! It's your
duty to serve the people—"

 
          
 
"Mr. Fraswell, I suggest you pack up your
people and your equipment and move on to another piece of real estate, and I'll
give you all the technical assistance I can in getting started."

 
          
 
"Would you attempt to bargain with the
welfare of a thousand men, women, and children?"

 
          
 
"Not quite. I estimate you have about
fifty men in your advance party."

 
          
 
"The relocatees will arrive in less than
a fortnight! Unless you give up this dog-in-the-manger attitude at the expense
of these poor, helpless souls, I won't be responsible for the outcome!"

 
          
 
"Wrong again, Mr. Fraswell. It's entirely
your responsibility. I'm just curious as to what you plan to do after you've
eaten all the seed corn and cleaned out my emergency reserves. Move on and loot
somebody else? What happens when you run out of people to loot, Fraswell?"

 
          
 
"I'm not in the business of making
predictions, Nolan! I'm concerned for the success of the present
operation!"

 
          
 
"I suppose by the time you run out of
goodies you'll be retired, eh? Meanwhile, if you get tired of hauling water and
eating issue rations you can always leave, Mr. Fraswell. Tell your headquarters
it didn't work; perhaps next time they'll supply you with some equipment of
your own."

 
          
 
"The power is off! There's no water! My
men can't start the vehicles! The crops are dying! I call on you to come down
here and undo your sabotage!"

 
          
 
"The only sabotage I've seen is what your
men have done to my lawns and orchards. We won't count the fishpond."

 
          
 
There was a two-minute silence during which
the men below conferred.

 
          
 
"Look here, Nolan," Fraswell called,
sounding reluctantly
conciliatory,
"I'll concede
that, from a purely materialistic standpoint, it might be said you have some
right to compensation.
Very well.
Though it means
taking bread from the mouths of the innocent, I'll undertake to guarantee
payment of the usual credit per acre—for the arable portions of the tract, of
course.
After survey."

 
          
 
"I paid a credit and a half an acre for
the unimproved land, over five years ago—and I paid for all of it—mountains,
desert—the whole island. I'm afraid your offer doesn't tempt me."

 
          
 
"You . . . you
exploiter!
You think you can victimize the ordinary man, but you'll see!
They'll rise in their righteous wrath and destroy you, Nolan!"

 
          
 
"If they'd rise in their wrath and tackle
that next island, they could have a quarter section cleared and ready for
summer planting."

 
          
 
"You'd condemn these good people to
inhuman hardship —for the sake of mere personal avarice! You'd deny them bread!
You'd—"

 
          
 
"I know these good people, Mr. Fraswell.
I tried to hire some of them when I was breaking ground here. They laughed.
They're the untrainables, the unemployables. They've had a free ride all their
lives. Now they're overflowing the trough. So you're trying to dump them on me
to maintain. Well, I decline the honor, Mr. Fraswell. It looks as if they're
going to have to go to work if they want to eat. By the way, what's your salary
per annum?"

 
          
 
Fraswell made choking noises.

 
          
 
"One last thing, Fraswell," Nolan
called. "My gardenia hedges; tell your men to leave them alone; you don't
need firewood that badly, and the few steps it would save in coming and going
up into the foothills isn't worth destroying them."

 
          
 
"Gardenias, eh?
Mean a lot to you, do they? I'm afraid I'll have to use my own judgment
regarding fuel sources, Nolan!" The director spun on his heel and walked
away. One of his attendants turned to shake a fist upward before disappearing
down the trail.

 
          
 
That afternoon, Nolan saw a crew hard at work,
leveling the hedges.

 
          
 
The following day, Tim hurried into the cave
calling excitedly that the tusker herds had started to move down from the
heights.

           
 
"I don't like it," Annette said as
Nolan prepared to leave the cave. "You don't know what that terrible man
is likely to do if he gets his hands on you."

 
          
 
"I have to give them fair warning,"
Nolan said. "I'll be all right. Fraswell's not going to let anything
happen that might look awkward on his record."

 
          
 
"How come, Dad?"
Tim said. "Why not let the tuskers surprise 'em? Maybe they'll scare 'em
right off the island!"

 
          
 
"Someone could get hurt; they might panic
and get trampled. And those horns are sharp."

 
          
 
"Sure, but—you could get hurt, too, Dad,
if you try to get in their way! They're pretty hard to stop once they're
running!"

 
          
 
"I'll be careful. Don't worry about
me."

 
          
 
Nolan set off by the most direct route
available: a near-vertical ravine, water-cut, too narrow and precipitate for a
tusker, but just possible for an active man. In twenty minutes he arrived at
the valley floor, winded and dusty, with scratched and bleeding hands. As he
emerged from the tangle of underbrush at the cliff base, three men jumped him.

 
          
 
The house stank. Director Fraswell, somewhat
leaner than when Nolan had last seen him, badly shaved, wearing rumpled,
sweat-marked clothing, glared triumphantly across the former dining room table,
now occupying the center of the living room and covered with papers and empty
ration boxes.

 
          
 
"So you finally came to your senses,
eh?" He paused to scratch under his left arm. "I suppose you'll
expect to hold me to the bargain I proposed. Well, think again! You rejected my
offer when I made it. Now suffer the consequences!" He shook his finger in
Nolan's face.

           
 
Nolan's lip was split. His jaw was swollen
painfully. His head ached.

 
          
 
"I didn't come here to bargain," he
said. "I came to warn you—"

 
          
 
"You—warn me?" Fraswell jumped to
his feet. "Listen to me, you arrogant little popinjay! I'll do the warning!
I want the power plant in full operation in fifteen minutes from now! I want
water flowing ten minutes after that! I want all facilities unlocked and the
keys turned over to me before you leave this room!" He scratched furiously
at his ribs.

 
          
 
"That would be quite a trick," Nolan
said.
"Even if I had the keys."

 
          
 
Fraswell's mouth opened and shut. "Search
him!"

 
          
 
"We did; he's got nothing on him."

 
          
 
"Nothing on him,
sir!"
Fraswell barked, and whirled on Nolan. "Where have you
hidden them? Speak up, man! I'm at the end of my patience!"