Read Online I Speak for Earth by John Brunner - Free Book Online
Authors: John Brunner
Tags: Science-Fiction
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Claws for on an island like this?”
Schneider gave a blank-seeming shake of the head. “Tiger’s Claws?” he echoed.
“Please, doc. You’re not fooling anyone. I’ve been around rockets, missiles and space work for long enough to know better. Tiger’s Claws are a cluster of short-range search-and-destroy missiles riding on an antigrav unit driven to ultimate power output; the unit burns up in about fifteen seconds from launching. The range is about a hundred and ten miles straight up at Mach Fourteen, and the search globe of the parasite missiles is about thirty miles in radius. Down there you can see the tracks in the sand leading to their emplacements; at a guess, they were only installed yesterday and haven’t yet been camouflaged. Satisfied that you’re not imparting any classified information to me?”
There was the strange sensation of floating as the plane aligned itself over the airfield and began to drop straight down on its jets. Schneider said after a pause, “Joe, I don’t imagine you followed Earthside news very closely, did you, while you were up at
Old Stormalong?”
“I don’t know what you mean by “closely,” I used to hear what came up on the beams.”
“What I talk about now mostly did not get on the beams. It was small columns in newspapers until lately. It seems that our people have waited impatiently for us to produce the godlike superman who will pass the Federationers’ examination. Now that eight months have gone by, and we have not yet shown him to them, people become impatient.”
Joe frowned. “That’s right. I saw a slogan painted up on the wall of the superway yesterday evening, advertising for some preacher or other to go. Also, the driver who brought me down to the airport said his wife and some spiritualist group were trying to get a Tibetan yogi selected for the job—”
He broke off. “You mean someone is liable to try and sabotage the selection project?”
Schneider spread his hands. “We keep a finger on the public pulse,” he murmured, as though quoting from someone else. “I did not know about these Tiger’s Claws. But it would not surprise me to find that someone does very much want to be chosen. Someone with enough power and money behind him to need missiles to keep him down.”
The plane hit with a gentle bounce and was on firm ground. At once the cabin door was flung open, and men in coveralls were running up with a gangway trolley and driving small lift trucks up to fetch cargo.
“But—
who?”
demanded Joe, getting up from his seat to follow Schneider to the exit.
Schneider glanced back over his shoulder, waiting for the other personnel on board to clear the doorway. He said, “Joe, even if we succeed in convincing the Federationers we’re good enough to join them, let’s not forget that we’re blind if we try and convince ourselves as well.”
He walked beside Schneider and another man—a tall man in sweat shirt and shorts, whose knees were incredibly knobby—thinking hard about what Schneider had just said. It made sense. There could all too easily be people in the world who thought of the notoriety and glory which could come to them if they were selected, whether or not they got through. They would be insane, of course. But some of them might be at large and capable of doing damage.
Schneider was talking technicalities—something about the measurement of minuscule electric currents—with his companion. Joe thought he remembered the companion from the project building in New York, but he couldn’t be certain. When Joe burst out with his next remark, it was a few seconds before Schneider managed to haul himself back to the previous subject.
Joe said, “But isn’t the location of this place secret?”
Schneider broke off, blinked, hesitated, and remembered that he had failed to introduce the knobby-kneed man to Joe. Belatedly he said, “Joe, this is Dr. Lagenfeld of the Cybernetics Institute in Sydney—Joe Morea, Sam.”
If
Schneider gave a blank-seeming shake of the head. “Tiger’s Claws?” he echoed.
“Please, doc. You’re not fooling anyone. I’ve been around rockets, missiles and space work for long enough to know better. Tiger’s Claws are a cluster of short-range search-and-destroy missiles riding on an antigrav unit driven to ultimate power output; the unit burns up in about fifteen seconds from launching. The range is about a hundred and ten miles straight up at Mach Fourteen, and the search globe of the parasite missiles is about thirty miles in radius. Down there you can see the tracks in the sand leading to their emplacements; at a guess, they were only installed yesterday and haven’t yet been camouflaged. Satisfied that you’re not imparting any classified information to me?”
There was the strange sensation of floating as the plane aligned itself over the airfield and began to drop straight down on its jets. Schneider said after a pause, “Joe, I don’t imagine you followed Earthside news very closely, did you, while you were up at
Old Stormalong?”
“I don’t know what you mean by “closely,” I used to hear what came up on the beams.”
“What I talk about now mostly did not get on the beams. It was small columns in newspapers until lately. It seems that our people have waited impatiently for us to produce the godlike superman who will pass the Federationers’ examination. Now that eight months have gone by, and we have not yet shown him to them, people become impatient.”
Joe frowned. “That’s right. I saw a slogan painted up on the wall of the superway yesterday evening, advertising for some preacher or other to go. Also, the driver who brought me down to the airport said his wife and some spiritualist group were trying to get a Tibetan yogi selected for the job—”
He broke off. “You mean someone is liable to try and sabotage the selection project?”
Schneider spread his hands. “We keep a finger on the public pulse,” he murmured, as though quoting from someone else. “I did not know about these Tiger’s Claws. But it would not surprise me to find that someone does very much want to be chosen. Someone with enough power and money behind him to need missiles to keep him down.”
The plane hit with a gentle bounce and was on firm ground. At once the cabin door was flung open, and men in coveralls were running up with a gangway trolley and driving small lift trucks up to fetch cargo.
“But—
who?”
demanded Joe, getting up from his seat to follow Schneider to the exit.
Schneider glanced back over his shoulder, waiting for the other personnel on board to clear the doorway. He said, “Joe, even if we succeed in convincing the Federationers we’re good enough to join them, let’s not forget that we’re blind if we try and convince ourselves as well.”
He walked beside Schneider and another man—a tall man in sweat shirt and shorts, whose knees were incredibly knobby—thinking hard about what Schneider had just said. It made sense. There could all too easily be people in the world who thought of the notoriety and glory which could come to them if they were selected, whether or not they got through. They would be insane, of course. But some of them might be at large and capable of doing damage.
Schneider was talking technicalities—something about the measurement of minuscule electric currents—with his companion. Joe thought he remembered the companion from the project building in New York, but he couldn’t be certain. When Joe burst out with his next remark, it was a few seconds before Schneider managed to haul himself back to the previous subject.
Joe said, “But isn’t the location of this place secret?”
Schneider broke off, blinked, hesitated, and remembered that he had failed to introduce the knobby-kneed man to Joe. Belatedly he said, “Joe, this is Dr. Lagenfeld of the Cybernetics Institute in Sydney—Joe Morea, Sam.”
If
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