Joe Haldeman - Forever Peace

That was an odd way of characterizing it. We used the metaphor "pressing the button," but of course for the Jupiter Project to proceed to its final cataclysmic stage, you needed a team of scientists, doing a sequence of complicated actions in the proper order.

The process could be automated, in theory, after the first careful walk-through. But then once you'd done it, there would be no one left to automate it.

So someone on the Astrophysical Journal jury was linked to the military establishment-no surprise. But then was the jury's rejection because of pressure from above, or had they actually found an error in our work?

One part of me wanted to think, well, if they actually had disproved our theory, there would be no reason to go after Amelia, and presumably Peter. But maybe Intelligence thought it would be prudent to get rid of them anyhow. There's a war on, they keep saying.

There were four of us in the plain conference room, besides the jacked couple: Amelia and me, Mendez, and Megan Orr, the doctor who checked out Ingram and administered the antitrank. It was three in the morning, but we were pretty wide awake.

Marty unjacked himself and then pulled the plug out of Ingram's head. "Well?" he said.

"It's a lot to assimilate," Ingram said, and looked down at his bound arms. "I could think better if you untied me."

"Is he safe?" I asked Marty.

"You're still armed?"

I held up the trank pistol. "More or less."

"We could untie him. Under some circumstances he might make trouble, but not in a locked room, observed, under armed guard."

"I don't know," Amelia said. "Maybe you ought to wait until he's had the sweetness-and-light treatment. He seems like a dangerous character."

"We can deal with him," Mendez said.

"It's important to talk with him while he's just had interrogational contact," Marty said. "He knows the facts of the matter, but he hasn't been engaged at a deep emotional level."

"I suppose," Amelia said. Marty untied him and sat back.

"Thank you," Ingram said, rubbing his forearms.

"What I'd like to know first is – "

What happened next was so quick that I couldn't have described it until after I saw the record from the overhead camera.

Ingram shifted his chair slightly, as if half-turning toward Marty as he spoke. Actually, he was just getting leverage and clearance.

In a sudden move worthy of an Olympic gymnast, he twisted out of the chair and up, clipping Marty on the chin with his toe, and then making a complete spin halfway down the table to where I was sitting, the pistol in my hand but not aimed. I got off one wild shot and then he slammed into my chest with both feet, breaking two ribs. He snatched the gun out of midair and shoulder-rolled off the table, landing feet-first with a balletic spin that ended with his foot catching me in the throat as I fell. It was probably intended to kick my brains out, but nobody's perfect.

I couldn't see much from my vantage point on the floor, but I heard Marty say "Won't work," and then I passed out.

I woke up back in my chair, with Megan Orr withdrawing a hypodermic gun from my bare forearm. A man I recognized but couldn't name was doing the same to Amelia-Lobell, Marc Lobell, the only one of the Twenty I hadn't jacked with.

It was as if we'd gone back a few minutes in time and had been given a chance to start over. Everybody was back in their original positions; Ingram safely tied up again. But my chest hurt with every breath and I wasn't sure I could talk.

"Meg," I croaked. "Dr. Orr?" She turned around. "Can I see you when this is over? I think he broke a rib or two."

"You want to come with me now?"

I shook my head, which hurt my throat. "Want to hear what the bastard has to say."

Marc was standing at the open door. "Give me half a minute to get situated."

"Okay." Megan went over to Ingram, the only one not awake now, and waited.

"Observation room next door," Mendez said. "Marc watches what's going on and can flood the room with knockout gas in seconds. It's a necessary precaution, dealing with outsiders."

"You really can't do violence, then," Amelia said.

"I can," I said. "Mind if I kick him a few times before you revive him?"

"We can defend ourselves, actually. I can't imagine initiating violence." Mendez gestured at me. "But Julian presents a familiar paradox-if he were to attack this man, there's not much I could do."

"What if he attacked one of the Twenty?" Marty asked.

"You know the answer to that. It would be self-defense, then. He'd be attacking me."

"Should I go ahead?" Megan asked. Mendez nodded and she gave Ingram his shot.

He came to, instinctively pulling at his bonds, jerking twice, and then he settled back. "Quick anesthetic, whatever it was." He looked at me. "I could have killed you, you know."

"Bullshit. You did your best."

"You better hope you never find out what my best is."

"Gentlemen," Mendez said, "we'll agree that you two are the most dangerous people in this room – "

"Not by a long shot," Ingram said. "The rest of you are the most dangerous people under one roof in the whole world. Maybe in all of history."

"We've considered that viewpoint," Marty said.

"Well, consider it some more. You're going to make the human race extinct in a couple of generations. You're monsters. Like creatures from another planet, bent on our destruction."

Marty smiled broadly. "That's a metaphor I hadn't thought of. But all we're really bent on destroying is the race's capability for self-destruction."

"Even if that could work, and I'm not convinced it could, what good is it if we wind up being something other than men?"

"Half of us aren't men to begin with," Megan said quietly.

"You know what I mean."

"I think you meant just what you said."

"How much does he know," I asked, "about why this is urgent?"

"No details," Marty said.

"'The ultimate weapon,' whatever that is. We've been surviving ultimate weapons since 1945."

"Earlier," Mendez said. "The airplane, the tank, nerve gas. But this one's a little more dangerous. A little more ultimate."

"And you're behind it," he said, looking at Amelia with an odd, avid expression. "But all these other people, this 'Twenty,' know about it."

"I don't know how much they know," she said. "I haven't jacked with them."

"But you will, soon enough," Mendez said to him. "Then it will all become clear."

"It's a federal offense to jack someone against his will."

"Really. I don't suppose they'd be amused about our drugging someone and kidnapping him, either. Then tying him up for interrogation."

"You can untie me. I see that physical resistance is futile."

"I think not," Marty said. "You're just a little too fast, too good."

"I won't answer any questions, tied up."

"Oh, I think you will, one way or another. Megan?"

She held up the hypo gun and turned a dial on the side two clicks. "Just give the word, Marty."

"Tazlet F-3," Megan said, smiling.

"Now that's really illegal."

"Oh my. They'll just have to cut our bodies down and hang us again."

"That's not funny." Obvious strain in the man's voice.

"I think he knows about the side effects," Megan said. "They last a long time. Great for weight loss." She stepped toward him and he shrank back.

"All right. I'll talk."

"He'll lie," I said.

"Maybe," Marty said. "But we'll find out the next time we jack. You said we were the most dangerous people in the world. Going to make the human race extinct. Would you care to amplify that statement?"

"That's if you succeed, which I don't think is likely. You'll convert a large fraction of us, from the top down, and then the Ngumi, or whoever, will step in and take over. End of experiment."

"We'll be converting the Ngumi, too."

"Not many and not fast enough. Their leadership is too fragmented. If you converted all the South American goomies, the African ones would step in and eat them up."

Kind of a racist image, I thought, but kept it to my cannibal self.

"But if we do succeed," Mendez said, "you think that would be even worse?"

"Of course! Lose a war, you can rise up and fight again. Lose the ability to fight..."

"But there would be no one to fight," Megan said.

"Nonsense. This thing can't work on everybody. You have one tenth of one percent unaffected, they'll arm themselves and take over. And you'll just give them the key to the city and do whatever they say."

"It's not that simplistic," Mendez said. "We can defend ourselves without killing."

"What, the way you've defended yourself against me? Gas everybody and tie them up?"

"I'm sure we'll work out strategies well ahead of time. After all, we'll have plenty of minds like yours at our disposal."

"You're actually a soldier," he said to me, "and you go along with this foolishness?"

"I didn't ask to be a soldier. And I can't imagine a peace as foolish as this war we're in."

He shook his head. "Well, they've gotten to you. Your opinion doesn't count."

"In fact," Marty said, "he's on our side naturally. He hasn't gone through the process. Neither have I."

"Then the more fools you both are. Get rid of competition and you're just not human anymore."

"There's competition here," Mendez said. "Even physical. Ellie and Megan play vicious handball. Most of us are slowed down by age, but we compete mentally in ways you couldn't even comprehend."

"I'm jacked. I've done that-lightning chess and three-dimensional go. Even you must know it's not the same."

"No, it's not the same. You've been jacked, but not long enough to even understand the rules we play by."

"I'm talking about stakes, not rules! War is terrible and cruel, but so is life. Other games are just games. War is for real."

"You're a throwback, Ingram," I said. "You want to smear yourself with woad and go bash people's brains out."

"What I am is a man. I don't know what the hell you are, other than a coward and a traitor."

I can't pretend he didn't get to me. One part of me sincerely wanted to get him alone and beat him to a pulp. Which is exactly what he wanted; I'm sure he could have stuffed my foot up my ass and pulled it out through my throat.

"Excuse me," Marty said, and tapped his right earring to pick up a message. After a few moments, he shook his head. "His orders come from too high. I can't find out when they expect him back."

"If I'm not back in two – "

"Oh, shut up." He gestured to Megan. "Knock him out. The sooner we get him jacked, the better."

"You don't have to knock me out."

"We have to go to the other side of the building. I'd rather carry you than trust you."

Megan clicked the gun to another setting and popped him. He stared defiantly for a few seconds and then slumped. Marty reached to untie him. "Wait a half minute," Megan said. "He might be bluffing."

"That's not the same stuff as this?" I said, holding up the pistol.

"No, he's had plenty of that in one day. This doesn't work as fast, but it doesn't take as much out of you." She reached over and pinched his earlobe, hard. He didn't react. "Okay."

Marty untied the left arm and it jerked halfway to his throat and fell back limp. The lips twitched, eyes still shut. "Tough guy." He hesitated, then untied the other bonds.

I got up to help him carry, but winced with the pain in my chest. "You sit down," Megan said. "Don't lift a pencil until I get a look at you."

Everybody else hustled out with Ingram, leaving Amelia and me alone.

"Let me look at that," she said, and unbuttoned my shirt. There was a red area at the bottom of my rib cage that was already starting to turn bruise-tan, on its way to purple. She didn't touch it. "He could have killed you."