Ben Bova - The Watchmen

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THE WATCHMEN

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events

portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance

to real people or incidents is purely coincidental-

book or portions thereof in any form,

A Baen Book

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, N.Y. 10471

ISBN: 0-671-87598-1

Cover art by Darrell K. Sweet

First Baen printing, April 1994

Distributed by

Paramount Publishing

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, N-Y. 10020

Printed in the United States of America

Author's Introduction

They say you can't go home again, and as usual, they're

wrong.

In re-reading these two tales of the Star Watch some

thirty years after I wrote them, all of the passions and

motivations that went into the two novels came flooding

back into my mind. I was pleasantly surprised to see how

well the stories hold up, but struck by a deep sense of

sadness to realize that the underlying human problems

that form the focus of the novels are not only still with

us, but are worse today than they were three decades

ago-

Star Watchman was my second novel, and I wrote it

at a time when France was deeply enmeshed in colonial

wars in Algeria and a place that was then known as Indo-

China. French Indo-China, at that. Today we call that

region Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam.

The problems of colonial wars, and wars by proxy—

where major powers fight "minor" wars in some Third

World country—were uppermost in my mind as I wrote

Star Watchman. Shortly after the novel was first published.

2 Ben Bova

in 1964, President Lyndon B. Johnson started the

immense American military build-up in Vietnam. Six

years later President Richard M. Nixon enlarged the war

into Laos and Cambodia. Some fifty thousand young

Americans were killed in the fighting.

All through the Vietnam years I kept wondering if I

was crazy or if the people running our government were.

Before undertaking Star Watchman I did a fair amount

of research into the history of colonial wars in general

(including our own Revolution) and of Algeria and south-

east Asia in particular. I began to ask myself, as the Viet-

nam fighting dragged on year after year: Even if we win,

even if Ho Chin Minh surrenders abjectly, what would

we gain? I mean, if I could understand that this war was

fruitless, why couldn't the men in the White House?

Those of us who love science fiction can't help feeling

that, if the-politicians and other leaders of society would

read SF, maybe we wouldn't stumble into the quagmires

that we seem to find with depressing regularity. I don't

think that if LBJ or Nixon had read Star Watchman

either one of them would have changed his policies. But

maybe it would have made them at least mink a little

about what they were doing and where they were

heading.

Incidentally, I have not touched a word of either novel.

By today's standards, they are not politically correct.

Women are called girls, as they were in the Sixties. It's

certainly a male chauvinist society out there on the space

frontier. If anyone's sensibilities are offended by the

implicit attitudes in these novels, they can always go back

and re-read Jane Austen.

The Dueling Machine stemmed from an entirely differ-

ent source. I was working at a high-powered research

laboratory in the Boston area in the early Sixties. In those

days I was a pretty good fencer; even won the New

England saber championship one year (novice class). I

helped to organize a fencing club at the lab. On summer

THE WATCHMEN 3

evenings we practiced outdoors, on the parking lot. Often

our practice was interrupted by the screech of automo-

bile wheels, as drivers passing our lot stared at a bunch

of people merrily trying to stab one another, and forgot

to watch where they were driving.

Myron Lewis was one of the lab's physicists, and

became a good saber fencer. One day, as we were com-

plaining about lawyers (yes, lawyers were not held in high

repute even then), I grumbled that Massachusetts had

made a mistake when it outlawed dueling. Myron quickly

suggested that it would be great if somebody could invent

a dueling machine: a device in which two people could

fight each other to the death, without being physically

harmed,

We had invented Virtual Reality, although neither of

us had the sense to pursue the idea except in fiction,

and the term would not be coined for another twenty-

some years-

1 had earlier written a short story, "The Next Logical

Step," that John Campbell published in Analog, in May

1962. It dealt with a computer system for playing war

games, in which the player experienced—with all his

senses—the battle being fought. Myron and I com-

bined that idea with his to create the dueling machine.

We plotted out a novelet, which I wrote. It was the

cover story in Analog's May 1963 issue, with a superb

cover illustration. That was during the brief era when

Analog was published in large format, rather than

dijgfcst-size.

That novelet became the first third of the novel. The

Dueling Machine, under the sub-tide " The Perfect

Warrior."

The theme of The Dueling Machine is once again

about war, and how to avoid or prevent it- It is a thinly-

disguised speculation on what would have happened in

the late 1930s if doughty Winston Churchill had been

Prime Minister of Britain rather than the pacifistic Neville

4 Ben Bow

Chamberlain. Was World War II inevitable? I do not

believe any event in human history was inevitable.

Which is one reason why we read science fiction, I

think. By looking forward into the possible futures that

we may face, we can begin to make decisions about

which of those futures we would like to live in, and per-

haps even take steps to help that future to come about.

The future is no more inevitable than the past. It is

created by what we do in the present—and what we fail

to do.

So, here are two tales of the future from thirty years

ago. I think they stil! have things to say to today's readers,

and I fondly hope that they are as entertaining now as

they were when they were first written.

Ben Bova

Naples, Florida

PARTI

Star

Watchman

To Mrs. Jaffe, wherever you are

Shinar

The Tel-ran Empire stretched over half the Milky Way

galaxy, from the lonely fringes of the immense spiral of

stars to its richly-packed center. Earth was the capital of

this vast Empire, but the planet Mars was headquarters

for the Star Watch. The Empire's military arm, the Star

Watch had bases on many planets, in all the farthest

reaches of the immense Terran domain. But Mars—

covered from pole to pole with mighty buildings housing

the men and machinery that ran the Star Watch—was

headquarters.

In a small office in one of those buildings, a noncom

was startled out of his usual routine. His desk communi-

cator lit up, and the dour features of the Chief-of-StafT

took form on the screen.

"I want the complete file on Oran VI immediately."

'Tes sir." Before the chiefs image had completely

faded from" the screen, the noncom's fingers were tap-

ping out a message on his desktop keyboard to the mam-

moth computer that held the Star Watch's master files.

8 Ben Bova

He decided to check and make certain that he had

requested the correct information from the computer.

(The possibility of the computer making an error was

unthinkable.) He punched a button on the desk and the

communicator screen lit up again.

The screen showed a map of the Milky Way galaxy,

with the position of the star Oran marked out. It was on

the edge of the Terran Empire, out in one of the farther

spiral arms of the galaxy, near the territory of the Komani

nation. The map faded, and a block of written data filled

tTip scrGCii"

ORAN; galactic coordinates ZJJ 27458330194126-3232.

Eight planets, one terrestrial (Oran VI).

ORAN vi; radius 1.04, density 0.91, gravity 1.025.

Atmosphere Earth-normal (0.004 deviation). Three major

continents, surface 80% sea-covered. Native human pop-

ulation, 3.4 billion (estimated). Economy: rural agricul-

tural; underdeveloped industrial base. Subject to

Imperial Development Plan 400R, priority 3C. Former

colony of Masters, incorporated into Empire immediately

following Galactic War of last century. Native name for

planet: Shinar.

"SHI-NARl"

The square was thronged with people. Shouting, jump-

ing, dancing people. It was hard to see how so many

people could jam into the city square, but still more were

pouring in from every avenue. They waved banners and

held aloft placards. Several groundcars were overturned

and swarmed over. A bonfire glowed near a statue at one

end of the square. The people shouted one word, which

rose and fell like the endless waves of the sea:

"SHI-NARl SHEE-^AR!"

The Terran governor stood frowning on the balcony

of his official residence, at the head of the jam-packed

square. He turned to the garrison commander standing

beside him. "This has got to be stopped!" The governor

THE WATCHMEN 9

had to shout to be heard over the roars of the crowd.

"There'll be another riot down there in a few minutes.

The native police can't handle that mob."

The commander arched his eyebrows. "Sir, if I send

my troops into the square, there may be bloodshed."

'That can't be helped now," the governor said. "Send

in the troops,

Star Watch Junior Officer Emil Vorgens sat in his tiny

compartment aboard the starship and reread his orders

for the tenth time. He found it hard to believe that he

was finally a full-fledged officer of the Star Watch. School

was finished, his commission was safely tucked away in

his travel kit, and here—on plastic film—were the orders

for his first official mission.

He slid the tiny film into his pocket viewer again and

projected the words onto the bare compartment wall:

"You will proceed to Oran VI and assist the Imperial

Governor there in dealing with certain dissident elements

of the native population."

Like most Star Watch orders, there was a good deal

of meaning in the words that were not there. The Star

Watch was the Terran Empire's interstellar miBtary arm.

In fact, the Star Watch pre-dated the Empire, and

existed even back in the old days of the Confederation,

more than a century ago.

It had been the Star Watch that fought the successful

war against the Masters, the war that had made the Ter-

ran Confederation—almost against its own will—the new

masters of most of the galaxy. The problems of ruling

such a vast territory had been solved only by the creation

of the Empire. Now the Star Watch served to control

the interstellar space routes. A subsidiary branch, the

Imperial Marines, handled any planet-home fighting that

had to be done.

Vorgens sat back in his webbed chair and studied his

orders, a worried frown on his face. It was a youthful

10 Ben Bova

face, with a high forehead. His skin was a golden brown,

his closely cropped hair copperish red, his eyes tawny.

Although born into the Terran Empire, and fully human,

Vorgens was not an Earth-man, but a native of the Plei-

ades star cluster.

His orders troubled him. To send a Star Watchman to

Oran VI meant that the Empire was considering military

action there. "Dissident elements of the native popula-

tion." That could mean almost anything. It sounded

serious.

Just how serious. Vorgens learned a few days later. A

coded message from Star Watch headquarters was

beamed to the ship for him. When he decoded it, the

order stated:

"The Imperial Governor of Oran VI has been mur-

dered. You will assist Brigadier Aikens, 305th Imperial

Marines, in restoring order to the planet."

The starship hurtled on toward its destination as Vor-

gens spent his days fretfully trying to get more informa-

tion on the situation on Oran VI. Very little could be

learned. The Imperial Marines had landed there and the

planet was in turmoil. Evidently a band of Komani raid-

ers, sensing a chance for battle and looting, had also

landed on Oran VI, A few days before reaching the

planet, Vorgens received a final change in orders;

"You will seek out the Komani leader and warn him

of the consequences of fighting against the Empire. The

Komani raiders are to be offered safe conduct back to

their homeworld in return for immediately quitting Oran

VI. The Komani leader is to be reminded that all Komani

clans have sworn allegiance to the Empire, and he can

expect no assistance from the rest of the Komani nation."

Almost before Vorgens had a chance to digest the news

that these orders implied, the starship broke out of sub-

space and entered an orbit around Oran VI. A planetary

shuttle brought him down to the major spaceport, heavily

guarded by Marines.

THE WATCHMEN 11

The major in charge outlined the situation to him

quickly;

"Things are pretty confused here. Watchman. We con-

trol the four major cities on the planet, and this space-

port. The Komani raiders have been shooting up the

countryside. There are bands of native rebels with them-

Brigadier Aikens has the Mobile Force out hunting down

the raiders."

Without more ado, the major bundled Vorgens into an

aircar and sent the Watchman off. with a Marine pilot

and gunner, to find Brigadier Aikens and the Mobile

Force.

The Valley

Sergeant Mclntyre had come a long way in the heat

of the afternoon, scrabbling over the broken rocks, half

tumbling down the steep slope of the valley, while the

big yellow sun of Oran blazed hotter and brighter every

minute.

Finally he saw the first outpost of the Mobile Force—a

scout car, its turret hatches open, and a few men sitting

lazily in the scant slice of shade the car offered.

As he approached, one of the troopers got up slowly.

adjusted his glare visor, picked up his weapon and hailed

him;

"Who goes?"

"Sergeant Mclntyre, K Company, returning from

patrol."

Mclntyre stopped a few paces before the younger

man. He could feel the sweat trickling down his flanks.

"Returning from patrol?" the trooper echoed.

"Where's the patrol, Sarge?"

THE WATCHMEN 13

"You're looldn* at it, Idd," Mclntyre answered. "Are

we gonna stand here all day? I'm hot, tired, thirsty and

I've gotta make a report to my company commander."

The soldier swallowed his amazement, "Yeah, sure,

Sarge. Come on over to the car." He turned and bawled

out, "Lieutenant!"

Mclntyre trudged over to the shade and squatted

down on the bare, dusty ground, leaning his back against

the dark, cool metal of the scout car. He took off his

helmet, squinted painfully into the shimmering afternoon

haze as he mopped his head with a tattered sleeve, then

replaced the helmet and slid the glare visor over his eyes

again.

One of the men offered him a canteen.

A lean, spotless lieutenant climbed down from the tur-

ret and confronted Mclntyre.

"Sergeant, are you the man who led this morning's

patrol through here and out to the southern edge of the

valley?"

"Yes sir," Mclntyre said, getting slowly to his feet.

"Where's the rest of your patrol? You had twenty men,

didn't you?"

"Yes sir. The others were all lolled or captured, sir."

"What? Impossible!"

Mclntyre shook his head. "I wish it was impossible,

sir. I only wish it was."

Sergeant Mclntyre made his report by tri-di beam

from the scout car to the communications center of the

Mobile Force's main body, camped down in the heart of

the valley.

"Sorry we don't have a vehicle for you," the lieutenant

said a little stiffly, to hide his embarrassment. "We've

been ordered to remain here at the perimeter."

'That's okay, sir," Mclntyre answered. Then he added,

with just a hint of malice, "I don't mind walldn' back.

I'll be going away from the Komani for a change."

By the time he reached the main encampment of the

14 Ben Bow

Mobile Force, the hot, yellow sun had sunk behind the

hills. The sky overhead was still bright, but the valley

itself was now in shadow.

As Mclntyre made his way through the maze of land

cruisers, dreadnaughts, troop carriers, supply vans and

scout cars, it became obvious to him that his own report

had been matched by equally bad reports from the other

patrols of that morning. None of the guard details took

the time to ask his identity. None of the shavetail officers

stopped him for a lecture about his no-longer-regulation

uniform. They knew where most of his equipment had

been left, why he had buckled to his hip an extra sidearm

(taken from a dying corporal), whose blood was on his

ragged shirt.

The petty routine of military life was finished. They

were all too busy with the urgency of self-preservation

to bother. They were digging in, all across the valley.

The Mobile Force of the 305th Imperial Marines, the

military extension of the Terran Empire that ruled most

of the galaxy, was threatened with annihilation.

It was cooler now that the sun had dipped behind the

western hills. That was one thing to be grateful for,

Mclntyre thought as he searched out his company com-

mander in the confusion of men and vehicles. The valley

was in shadow, but the hills, where the enemy was, were

still bright with daylight.

Surrounded, Mclntyre thought to himself. Totally cut

off. I wonder how the Brigadier is taking the news?

"Totally impossible!" snapped Brigadier Aikens.

"I'm afraid not, sir." his executive officer answered

quietly. "Alt the patrols report the same thing—we are

surrounded."

Aikens' pinched face, topped by a balding dome, glow-

ered red as he stared at the stereomap on his desktop

viewscreen. "Are any of the patrols still out?"

"Only two, sir. It doesn't look as though they're going

THE WATCHMEN 15

to make it back. The other patrols were badly mauled.

One of them lost every man except a single sergeant."

Aikens got up from his chair and crossed the tiny com-

partment in three restless strides. Though the dread-

naught was huge for a land-going vehicle, all the

compartments inside had to be as compact as humanly

possible.

"Surrounded," he muttered, "trapped in this valley by

a horde of barbarians."

"They don't fight like barbarians, sir." the exec

murmured.

"What's that?"

The officer flushed. "I only meant, sir, that they have

been using modem weapons—very effectively, sir."

Aikens nodded. "I know, I know." He returned to his

desk and sat down again. "I've led my men into a trap. Now

I've got to lead them out of it." The brigadier stared at the

stereomap for a long moment while his aide stood

motionless, listening to the faint whir of the air-

conditioning system.

The exec was in his prime middle years, tall and dark-

haired. A long stretch of desk duty, as part of the original

garrison of Oran VI, had filled out his midsection and

softened his face somewhat.

Aikens, although older by at least a dozen years, was

straight-backed and flat-stomached- The brigadier had

picked his aide on the strength of the younger man's

first-hand knowledge of the planet.

Finally Aikens looked up. "Well, we'll hold our ground

tonight. Double the guard around our perimeter."

"Yes sir."

"They can maul foot patrols, can they?" the brigadier

muttered. "Tomorrow morning we'll see what they can

do against some solid armor." He looked at the map on

his desk again- "All right, you may go. Make certain you

get a verbal report from all the company commanders

16 Ben Boca

after the guard Is changed, and tell my staff I will meet

them here in two hours."

"Yes sir."

The exec remained at attention before the desk.

"I said you may go," Aikens repeated.

"There's one more item, sir. That Star Watch officer

who joined the Force two days ago. He's still waiting to

see you, sir."

Aikens slammed a heavy hand on the desktop. "The

situation isn't bad enough! Now I have to put up with

shavetails from the Star Watch Academy who want to

peep over my shoulder!"

"Sir, he's been waiting two days, and his orders are

direct from Star Watch Headquarters."

Aikens fumed silently for a few moments, then said,

"All right, get him in here. On the double."

"Very well, sir." The exec saluted, turned, and ducked

through the low doorway of Aikens' cubbyhole officer

After a few minutes of searching through the dread-

naught's command section, the exec found Vorgens

hunched beside a seated technician in the communica-

tions compartment, staring intently at a static-streaked

viewscreen.

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THEWATCHMENThisisaworkoffiction.Allthecharactersandeventsportrayedinthisbookarefictional,andanyresemblancetorealpeopleorincidentsispurelycoincidental-StarWatchmancopyright©1964byBenBova.TheDuelingMachinecopyright©1969byBenBova.Allrightsreserved,includingtherighttoreproducethisbookorportionsthereofin...

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