To The Stars

Jan drained the last of the sherry and put the glass down, waving away the offer of more. The rapid passage of events had left him dazed; his mind was almost as tired as his body, his thoughts turning around and around. What crippled lives people were forced to lead. The proles in Britain were at least fed and protected like cattle — as long as they accepted this cattle-like role. While the people here in the black ghettos of America had no such comforts, they did at least know who they were and what they were. But along with this knowledge was the fact that they were forced to live in a state of constant rebellion.

“I really don’t know which system is the worse to live under,” Jan said. “Yours or mine.

“No system of oppression should be condoned. And there are far worse ones in the world. The great socialist experiment in the Soviet Union was always hampered by the Czarist heritage with its obscene bits of madness like internal passports and labor camps. Whether the state there would have withered away in the end as Marx predicted we will never know. By the time of the Retrocession they still had not industrialized their basically peasant economy. It was an easy slide back to an almost feudal culture. Many died, but many have always died in Russia. The commissars and upper echelon party leaders took the p lace of the nobility. The titles might be different today, an of the Czars transported ahead in time would feel right at home there now.

“The rebellion must spread to Earth,” Jan said.

“I agree completely. We must work for that day…

The door was suddenly flung open and Willy stood there, gasping for breath, a gun in each hand.

“Trouble,” he said. “Bad trouble. Worst I ever seen.

Nine

“What happining?” Montour asked, shifting his speech quickly into the demotic.

“Dey’s all around. More of the bolly dogs I never seen. Right around New Watts, shooting at anything moves. Wid big heat guns to burn dere way in…”

His words were interrupted by the distant roar of fusion cannon, overlaid with the sharp crackling of gunfire. It was loud, close by. A hard knot of fear formed in Jan’s middle and he looked up and saw both men were looking at him.

“It’s me they want,” he said. Reverend Montour nodded.

“Very possibly. I can’t remember the last time they raided in strength like this.”

“There’s no point in running any longer. Those fusion guns will burn these old buildings flat. I’m going to give myself up.”

Montour shook his head. “We have places where you can hide. They put the fires out as they advance. They just use the guns to burn their way in.”

“I’m sorry. No. I’ve seen too many people killed recently. I can’t be responsible for any more deaths. I’m going out to them. I will not change my mind.”

Montour stood for a moment, then nodded. “You are a brave man. I wish we could have done more for you.” He turned to WiIly. “Leave dem guns here and show this gen mum where the bolly dogs at.”

The two pistols thudded to the floor. Jan took the scholar’s hand. “I’ll not forget you,” he said.

“Nor I, you.” Montour took a spotless white handkerchief from his breast pocket. “Better take this. They tend to fire first.”

Willy led the way, muttering angrily to himself, through passageways and connecting buildings. They had to move aside as two gunmen ran by, dragging a third man whose clothes were soaked with blood. No end, Jan thought, no end ever.

“Fuckin’ bolly dogs jes out dere,” Willy said, pointing to a door, then turned and hurried back the way they had come.

Jan shook out the folds of the handkerchief and stood to one side of the door as he eased it open. A burst of rocket slugs tore through it, screaming away down the hallway behind him.

“Stop shooting!” he called out, waving the white cloth through the gap. “I’m coming out.”

A shrill whistle blew and the sound of firing began to die away. An amplified voice called out. “Open the door slowly. Come out, one at a time. Hands on your head. If your hands aren’t there, if I see more than one man, I’m going to fire. All right — now.”

Jan laced his fingers together on top of his head and eased the door open with his toe, then walked slowly forward to face the ranked police officers. They were impersonal as robots behind their riot masks and shields; every weapon was pointed at him.

“I’m all alone,” he said.

“That’s him!” somebody called out.

“Silence,” the sergeant commanded. He holstered his weapon and waved Jan to him. “Nice and easy, that’s the way. Everson, get the car up here.”

He seized Jan’s right arm with a practiced motion, pulling it down behind his back to lock the handcuffs to his wrist. Then the cuffs on his other wrist. His fingers dug deep into Jan’s arm as he pulled him forward.

The blackened ground was still warm as they walked through the gap in the wire to the waiting patrol car. The sergeant held Jan’s head down as he pushed him into the back, then climbed in after him. There was the scream of rubber as the driver gunned the vehicle forward.