05-A Gift From Earth by Larry Niven Read Free Book Online Page A

too long they had lived the lives of a divinely ordained ruling class. If they couldn't adapt —
    Even his own, descendants ... they didn't talk politics often, and when they did, Millard Parlette noticed that they talked in terms not of power but of rights. And the Parlettes were not typical. By now Millard Parlette could claim a veritable army of children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and so forth; yet he made every effort to see them all as often as possible. Those who had succumbed to the prevalent crewish tastes — eldritch styles of dress, elegantly worded slander, and all the other games the crew used to cloak their humdrum reality — had done so in spite of Millard Parlette. The average crew was utterly dependent on the fact that he was a crew.
    And if the power balance should shift?
    They'd be lost. For a time they'd be living in a false universe, under wrong assumptions; and in that time they would be destroyed.
    What chance ... What chance that they would listen to an old man from a dead generation?
    No. He was just tired. Millard Parlette dropped the speech on his desk, stood up, and left the study; At least he would force them to listen. By order of the Council, at two o'clock Sunday every pure-blooded crew on the planet would be in front of his teedee set. If he could put it across ... he must.
    They had to understand the mixed blessing of Ramrobot #143.

    Rain filled the coral house with an incessant drumming. Only Implementation police moved within and without. The last unconscious colonist was on his way out the door on a stretcher as Major Jansen entered.
    He found Jesus Pietro lounging in an easy chair in the living room. He put the handful of photos beside him.
    "What's this supposed to be?"
    "These are the ones we haven't caught yet, sir."
    Jesus Pietro pulled himself erect, conscious once again of his soaked uniform. "How did they get past you?"
    "I can't imagine, sir. Nobody escaped after he was spotted."
    "No secret tunnels. The echo sounders would have found them. Mpf." Jesus Pietro shuffled rapidly through the photos. Most had names beneath the faces, names Jesus Pietro had remembered and jotted down earlier that night. "This is the core," he said. "We'll wipe out this branch of the Sons of Earth if we can find these. Where are they?"
    The aide was silent. He knew the question was rhetorical. The Head was leaning back with his eyes on the ceiling.
    Where were they?
    There were no tunnels out. They had not left underground.
    They hadn't run away. They would have been stopped, or if not stopped, seen. Unless there were traitors in Implementation. But there weren't. Period.
    Could they have reached the void edge? No, that was better guarded than the rest of the grounds. Rebels had a deplorable tendency to go off the edge when cornered.
    An aircar? Colonists wouldn't have an aircar, not legally, and none had been reported stolen recently. But Jesus Pietro had always been convinced that at least one crew was involved in the Sons of Earth. He had no proof, no suspect; but his studies of history showed that a revolution always moves down from the top of a society's structure.
    A crew might have supplied them with an escape car. They'd have been seen but not stopped. No Implementation officer would halt a car . . . . "Jansen, find out if any cars were sighted during the raid. If there were, let me know when, how many, and descriptions."
    Major Jansen left without showing his surprise at the peculiar order.
    An officer had found the housecleaner nest, a niche in the south wall, near the floor. The man reached in and. carefully removed two unconscious adult housecleaners' and four pups, put them on the floor, reached in to remove the nest and the food dish. The niche would have to be searched.
    Jesus Pietro's clothes dried slowly, in wrinkles. He sat with his eyes closed and his hands folded on his belly. Presently he opened his eyes, sighed, and frowned slightly.
    Jesus Pietro, this is a very strange