Warren Casey said, “You have no need for fear, Professor, if you abandon your current research.”
Leonard LaVaux said, “And I have a week to decide? Very well, in a week’s time I shall issue notice to the press either that I have given up my research, or that I have been threatened by the Pacifists and demand protection.”
Casey began to stand, but the professor raised a hand. “Wait a moment,” he said. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
The pacifist looked at the other warily.
LaVaux said, “You’re the first member of your organization to whom I’ve ever spoken.”
“I doubt it,” Casey said.
“Ah? Very secret, eh? Members are everywhere, but undetected. Then how do you recruit new membership? Being as illegal as you are, of course, the initial approach must be delicate indeed.”
“That’s right,” Casey nodded. “We take every precaution. A prospect isn’t approached until it is obvious he is actually seeking an answer to the problem of outlawing war. Many persons, Professor, come to our point of’ view on their own. They begin discussing the subject, seeking answers, seeking fellows who think along the same line.”
The professor was fascinated. “But even then, of course, mistakes must be made and some of your membership unmasked to the authorities.”
“A hazard always faced by an underground.”
“And then,” the professor said triumphantly, “your whole organization crumbles. One betrays the next, under police coercion.”
Casey laughed sourly. “No. That’s not it. We profit by those who have gone before. The history of underground organizations is a long one, Professor. Each unit of five pacifists know only those belonging to their own unit, and one coordinator. The coordinators, in turn, know only four other coordinators with whom they work, plus a section leader, who knows only four other section leaders with whom he works, and so forth right to the top officials of the organization.”
“I see,” the professor murmured. “So an ordinary member can at most betray four others, of course. But when the police capture a coordinator?”
“Then twenty-five persons are endangered,” Casey admitted. “And occasionally it happens. But we have tens of thousands of members, Professor, and new ones coming in daily. We grow slightly faster than they seem able to catch us.”
The professor switched subjects. “Well, no one would accuse you of being a patriot, certainly.”
Casey contradicted him. “It’s a different type of patriotism. I don’t identify myself with this Hemisphere.”
The other’s eyebrows went up. “I see. Then you are a Polarian?”
Casey shook his head. “Nor do I identify myself with them. Our patriotism is to the human race, Professor. This is no longer a matter of nation, religion, or hemisphere. It is a matter of species survival. We are not interested in politics, socio-economic systems or ideology, other than when they begin to lead to armed conflict between nations.”
The professor considered him for a long silent period. Finally, he said, “Do you really think it will work?”
“How’s that?” Warren Casey said. For some reason, this earnest, fascinated, prying scientist appealed to him. He felt relaxed during the conversation, a relaxation, he realized, that had been denied him for long months now.
“Trying to keep the world at peace by threatening, frightening, even assassinating those whom you decide are trending toward war. Do you think it will work?”
All the wariness was back, suddenly. The months-long tiredness, and doubt, and the growing nausea brought on by violence, violence, violence. If only he could never hear the word kill again.
He said, “When I first joined the Pacifists, I was positive they had the only answer. Now I’ve taken my stand, but perhaps I am not so sure. Why do you think it won’t?”
The scientist pointed a finger at him. “You make a basic mistake in thinking this a matter of individuals. To use an example, in effect what you are saying is kill the dictator and democracy will return to the country. Nonsense. You put the cart before the horse. That dictator didn’t get into power because he was so fabulously capable that he was able to thwart a whole nation’s desire for liberty. He, himself, is the product of a situation. Change the situation and he will disappear, but simply assassinate him and all you’ll get is another dictator.”
The other’s words bothered Warren Casey. Not because they were new to him; subconsciously they’d been with him almost from the beginning. He looked at the scientist, waiting for him to go on.
LaVaux touched himself on the chest with his right forefinger. “Take me. I am doing work in a field that can be adapted to military use, although that is not my interest. Actually, I am contemptuous of the military. But you threaten my life if I continue. Very well. Suppose you coerce me and I drop my research. Do you think that will stop investigation by a hundred, a thousand other capable men? Of course not. My branch of science is on the verge of various breakthroughs. If I don’t make them, someone else will. You don’t stop an avalanche by arresting the roll of one rock.”
A tic began in the cheek of Casey’s usually emotionless face. “So you think...” he prompted.
LaVaux’ eyes brightened behind the bifocals. He was a man of enthusiastic opinions. He said, “Individuals in the modern world do not start wars. It’s more basic than that. If the world is going to achieve the ending of warfare, it’s going to have to find the causes of international conflict and eliminate them.” He chuckled. “Which, of course, opens up a whole new line of investigation.”
Warren Casey stood up. He said, “Meanwhile, Professor, I represent an organization that, while possibly wrong, doesn’t agree with you. The ultimatum has been served. You have one week.”
Professor LaVaux saw him to the door.
“I’d like to discuss the subject further, some day,” he said. “But, of course, I suppose I won’t be seeing you again.”
“That’s right,” Casey said. He twisted his mouth wryly. “If we have to deal with you further, Professor, and I hope we don’t, somebody else will handle it.” He looked at the other and considered momentarily rendering the stereotyped-looking scientist unconscious before he left. But he shook his head. Lord, he was tired of violence.
As he walked down the garden path to the gate, Professor LaVaux called, “By the way, your disguise. You’ll find there are several excellent oral drugs which will darken your complexion even more effectively than your present method.”
Almost, Warren Casey had to laugh.
* * * *
He was between assignments, which was a relief. He knew he was physically as well as mentally worn. He was going to have to take the board up on that offer of a prolonged vacation.
Taking the usual precautions in the way of avoiding possible pursuit, he returned to his own apartment. It had been a week, what with one assignment and another, and it was a pleasure to look forward to at least a matter of a few hours of complete relaxation.
He shed his clothing, showered, and then dressed in comfortably old clothing. He went to the tiny kitchen and prepared a drink, finding no ice since he had unplugged the refrigerator before leaving.
Casey dropped into his reading chair and took up the paperback he’d been reading when summoned a week ago to duty. He had forgotten the subject. Ah, yes, a swashbuckling historical novel. He snorted inwardly. It was all so simple. All the hero had to do was kill the evil duke in a duel and everything would resolve itself.
He caught himself up, Professor LaVaux’ conversation coming back to him. Essentially, that was what he—what the Pacifists