did you manage it?” Moss asked. “All the photographs, the samples, the damaged equipment—”
“Come over here.” The leady directed them toward a long, low building. “Work goes on constantly, whole staffs laboring to maintain a coherent and convincing picture of a global war.”
* * * *
They entered the building. Leadys were working everywhere, poring over tables and desks.
“Examine this project here,” the A-class leady said. Two leadys were carefully photographing something, an elaborate model on a table top. “It is a good example.”
The men grouped around, trying to see. It was a model of a ruined city.
Taylor studied it in silence for a long time. At last he looked up.
“It’s San Francisco,” he said in a low voice. “This is a model of San Francisco, destroyed. I saw this on the vidscreen, piped down to us. The bridges were hit—”
“Yes, notice the bridges.” The leady traced the ruined span with his metal finger, a tiny spider-web, almost invisible. “You have no doubt seen photographs of this many times, and of the other tables in this building.
“San Francisco itself is completely intact. We restored it soon after you left, rebuilding the parts that had been damaged at the start of the war. The work of manufacturing news goes on all the time in this particular building. We are very careful to see that each part fits in with all the other parts. Much time and effort are devoted to it.”
Franks touched one of the tiny model buildings, lying half in ruins. “So this is what you spend your time doing—making model cities and then blasting them.”
“No, we do much more. We are caretakers, watching over the whole world. The owners have left for a time, and we must see that the cities are kept clean, that decay is prevented, that everything is kept oiled and in running condition. The gardens, the streets, the water mains, everything must be maintained as it was eight years ago, so that when the owners return, they will not be displeased. We want to be sure that they will be completely satisfied.”
Franks tapped Moss on the arm.
“Come over here,” he said in a low voice. “I want to talk to you.”
He led Moss and Taylor out of the building, away from the leadys, outside on the hillside. The soldiers followed them. The Sun was up and the sky was turning blue. The air smelled sweet and good, the smell of growing things.
Taylor removed his helmet and took a deep breath.
“I haven’t smelled that smell for a long time,” he said.
“Listen,” Franks said, his voice low and hard. “We must get back down at once. There’s a lot to get started on. All this can be turned to our advantage.”
“What do you mean?” Moss asked.
“It’s a certainty that the Soviets have been tricked, too, the same as us. But we have found out. That gives us an edge over them.”
“I see.” Moss nodded. “We know, but they don’t. Their Surface Council has sold out, the same as ours. It works against them the same way. But if we could—”
“With a hundred top-level men, we could take over again, restore things as they should be! It would be easy!”
* * * *
Moss touched him on the arm. An A-class leady was coming from the building toward them.
“We’ve seen enough,” Franks said, raising his voice. “All this is very serious. It must be reported below and a study made to determine our policy.”
The leady said nothing.
Franks waved to the soldiers. “Let’s go.” He started toward the warehouse.
Most of the soldiers had removed their helmets. Some of them had taken their lead suits off, too, and were relaxing comfortably in their cotton uniforms. They stared around them, down the hillside at the trees and bushes, the vast expanse of green, the mountains and the sky.
“Look at the Sun,” one of them murmured.
“It sure is bright as hell,” another said.
“We’re going back down,” Franks said. “Fall in by twos and follow us.”
Reluctantly, the soldiers
“Come over here.” The leady directed them toward a long, low building. “Work goes on constantly, whole staffs laboring to maintain a coherent and convincing picture of a global war.”
* * * *
They entered the building. Leadys were working everywhere, poring over tables and desks.
“Examine this project here,” the A-class leady said. Two leadys were carefully photographing something, an elaborate model on a table top. “It is a good example.”
The men grouped around, trying to see. It was a model of a ruined city.
Taylor studied it in silence for a long time. At last he looked up.
“It’s San Francisco,” he said in a low voice. “This is a model of San Francisco, destroyed. I saw this on the vidscreen, piped down to us. The bridges were hit—”
“Yes, notice the bridges.” The leady traced the ruined span with his metal finger, a tiny spider-web, almost invisible. “You have no doubt seen photographs of this many times, and of the other tables in this building.
“San Francisco itself is completely intact. We restored it soon after you left, rebuilding the parts that had been damaged at the start of the war. The work of manufacturing news goes on all the time in this particular building. We are very careful to see that each part fits in with all the other parts. Much time and effort are devoted to it.”
Franks touched one of the tiny model buildings, lying half in ruins. “So this is what you spend your time doing—making model cities and then blasting them.”
“No, we do much more. We are caretakers, watching over the whole world. The owners have left for a time, and we must see that the cities are kept clean, that decay is prevented, that everything is kept oiled and in running condition. The gardens, the streets, the water mains, everything must be maintained as it was eight years ago, so that when the owners return, they will not be displeased. We want to be sure that they will be completely satisfied.”
Franks tapped Moss on the arm.
“Come over here,” he said in a low voice. “I want to talk to you.”
He led Moss and Taylor out of the building, away from the leadys, outside on the hillside. The soldiers followed them. The Sun was up and the sky was turning blue. The air smelled sweet and good, the smell of growing things.
Taylor removed his helmet and took a deep breath.
“I haven’t smelled that smell for a long time,” he said.
“Listen,” Franks said, his voice low and hard. “We must get back down at once. There’s a lot to get started on. All this can be turned to our advantage.”
“What do you mean?” Moss asked.
“It’s a certainty that the Soviets have been tricked, too, the same as us. But we have found out. That gives us an edge over them.”
“I see.” Moss nodded. “We know, but they don’t. Their Surface Council has sold out, the same as ours. It works against them the same way. But if we could—”
“With a hundred top-level men, we could take over again, restore things as they should be! It would be easy!”
* * * *
Moss touched him on the arm. An A-class leady was coming from the building toward them.
“We’ve seen enough,” Franks said, raising his voice. “All this is very serious. It must be reported below and a study made to determine our policy.”
The leady said nothing.
Franks waved to the soldiers. “Let’s go.” He started toward the warehouse.
Most of the soldiers had removed their helmets. Some of them had taken their lead suits off, too, and were relaxing comfortably in their cotton uniforms. They stared around them, down the hillside at the trees and bushes, the vast expanse of green, the mountains and the sky.
“Look at the Sun,” one of them murmured.
“It sure is bright as hell,” another said.
“We’re going back down,” Franks said. “Fall in by twos and follow us.”
Reluctantly, the soldiers
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