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Authors: Ryder Stacy
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ceased. For the moment . . . Finally, against our advice, a number of Free Cities have contacted one another through radio transmissions. If the Reds are putting much energy into tracking these signals, they may have just discovered half the hidden cities in America without firing a bullet. But we shall see.” Rath went on, telling them everything he knew, and then sat down.
Then it was the right wing that got to speak first, since it was the majority party at the moment, having won in the last elections. The articulate, mocking, Hans Thayers told the other reps why they had to vote not to send Rockson or any peace delegation to D.C. He said they should recommend increased attack on the Reds, since this peace proposal only proved the fact that they were hurting, weakening—that the time was right for all-out war.
Then the minority spokesman gave his version of the truth. Bertel was a mellower type, with a country lawyer kind of style about him, pausing for long sips of water, pulling on his suspenders, addressing the other reps with jokes and gossip as if he were addressing a jury. Bertel spoke of the need to respond to the olive branch—whatever the outcome. “The reality is,” he concluded after nearly half an hour of speaking, “that we have nothing to lose. Things are already terrible, half the country’s a wasteland, we’ve been fighting the Reds for a century. Maybe a breather wouldn’t hurt. Just to see what the hell is going on out there. Just to see. Give peace a chance, I say.”
Then it was Rockson’s turn. He had always favored the Gary Cooper approach. That is, he said his piece, and then they could all decide on just what the hell they wanted to do with that information. Rock wasn’t the type to argue anyone into anything. That wasn’t how he operated. So he just told them very simply how he felt.
“As far as I can see—I say go. As head of combat operations for Century City, I’ve seen the death out there. As have many of you. It’s no glorious fantasy to die, or have your guts strewn out on a serving board of dirt. So as a man who has been responsible for the deaths of many men—and will doubtless be responsible for many more—I say it’s worth a try. Peace with freedom. Even down to your last breath. Peace is what we’re all fighting for. If it’s worth dying for, it’s worth traveling a few miles for.” With that, Rockson sat back down and folded his arms.
Then the proceedings were opened up to the public—as was always the case on any issue strong enough to attract interest. Here, the yelling and arguing, the red faces and swollen tongues went on for nearly three hours, with neither side particularly swaying anyone on the other. At last a vote was called. And it was a near tie. Down to the bone. Twenty-six for, twenty-seven delegates against.
And in these emergency votes, the speaker, Fabres, didn’t have a vote, though he would have voted for sending the delegation.
“Then it looks as if the motion is defeated,” Fabres said with a downcast face, as he believed the Council was making the mistake of its political life. Even the chance for peace might not come again for another hundred years. But it was a democracy—and this was the price, sometimes.
Suddenly Rockson rose again and was at the mike before Fabres even realized the Doomsday Warrior had slid by him. “I know this is going to cause me a lot of trouble,” Rock said, looking out coolly over the representatives. “But as military commander of field operations, it’s my prerogative to undertake all missions that I feel are necessary to the security of Century City. I take it upon myself to state that this mission is such. And I hereby appoint myself, and my combat quick-strike team, to go to D.C. I will report my findings to you all,” he paused dramatically, “when I return!” And with that, he walked forward, jumped off the edge of the wooden stage some five feet to the floor, and strode quickly up the
Then it was the right wing that got to speak first, since it was the majority party at the moment, having won in the last elections. The articulate, mocking, Hans Thayers told the other reps why they had to vote not to send Rockson or any peace delegation to D.C. He said they should recommend increased attack on the Reds, since this peace proposal only proved the fact that they were hurting, weakening—that the time was right for all-out war.
Then the minority spokesman gave his version of the truth. Bertel was a mellower type, with a country lawyer kind of style about him, pausing for long sips of water, pulling on his suspenders, addressing the other reps with jokes and gossip as if he were addressing a jury. Bertel spoke of the need to respond to the olive branch—whatever the outcome. “The reality is,” he concluded after nearly half an hour of speaking, “that we have nothing to lose. Things are already terrible, half the country’s a wasteland, we’ve been fighting the Reds for a century. Maybe a breather wouldn’t hurt. Just to see what the hell is going on out there. Just to see. Give peace a chance, I say.”
Then it was Rockson’s turn. He had always favored the Gary Cooper approach. That is, he said his piece, and then they could all decide on just what the hell they wanted to do with that information. Rock wasn’t the type to argue anyone into anything. That wasn’t how he operated. So he just told them very simply how he felt.
“As far as I can see—I say go. As head of combat operations for Century City, I’ve seen the death out there. As have many of you. It’s no glorious fantasy to die, or have your guts strewn out on a serving board of dirt. So as a man who has been responsible for the deaths of many men—and will doubtless be responsible for many more—I say it’s worth a try. Peace with freedom. Even down to your last breath. Peace is what we’re all fighting for. If it’s worth dying for, it’s worth traveling a few miles for.” With that, Rockson sat back down and folded his arms.
Then the proceedings were opened up to the public—as was always the case on any issue strong enough to attract interest. Here, the yelling and arguing, the red faces and swollen tongues went on for nearly three hours, with neither side particularly swaying anyone on the other. At last a vote was called. And it was a near tie. Down to the bone. Twenty-six for, twenty-seven delegates against.
And in these emergency votes, the speaker, Fabres, didn’t have a vote, though he would have voted for sending the delegation.
“Then it looks as if the motion is defeated,” Fabres said with a downcast face, as he believed the Council was making the mistake of its political life. Even the chance for peace might not come again for another hundred years. But it was a democracy—and this was the price, sometimes.
Suddenly Rockson rose again and was at the mike before Fabres even realized the Doomsday Warrior had slid by him. “I know this is going to cause me a lot of trouble,” Rock said, looking out coolly over the representatives. “But as military commander of field operations, it’s my prerogative to undertake all missions that I feel are necessary to the security of Century City. I take it upon myself to state that this mission is such. And I hereby appoint myself, and my combat quick-strike team, to go to D.C. I will report my findings to you all,” he paused dramatically, “when I return!” And with that, he walked forward, jumped off the edge of the wooden stage some five feet to the floor, and strode quickly up the
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