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Hawkins turned to him. "By the looks of things, MacBride's whole unit has gone over to the rebels. Complete with their double-barreled muskets. A full thousand of them." Watson looked frigidly at Leonid Plekhanov. "You insisted on issuing guns to men we weren't sure of." Plekhanov grumbled, "Confound it, don't use that tone of voice with me. We have to arm our men, don't we?"
Plekhanov was saying doggedly, "Any planned economy is more efficient than any unplanned one. What could be more elementary than that? How could anyone in his right mind deny that?" And Mayer snapped, "I deny it. That term planned economy covers a multitude of sins. My dear Leonid, don't be an idiot ..." "I beg your pardon, sir!" "Oh, don't get into one of your huffs, Plekhanov."
An armed camp! How many persons have you slaughtered thus far?" "Easy," Joe Chessman growled. Amschel Mayer spun on him. "I need no instruction from you, Chessman. Please remember I'm senior in charge of this expedition and as such rank you." Plekhanov thudded a heavy hand on the table. "I'll call my assistants to order, Mayer, if I feel it necessary.
To conquer the world! Surely you jest." Plekhanov grunted ungraciously. He looked to Barry Watson, a lanky youth, now leaning negligently against the wall, his submachine gun, however, at the easy ready. "Watson, you're our military expert. Have you any opinions as yet?" "Yes, sir," Watson said easily.
"Because I said so," Plekhanov rumbled. "This first impression is important. Our flying machine is undoubtedly the first they've seen. We've got to give them time to assimilate the idea and then get together a welcoming committee. We'll want the top men, right from the beginning." "The equivalent of the Emperor Montezuma meeting Cortez, eh?" Barry Watson said. "A real red carpet welcome."
We ... Tulans are not poor, we have food aplenty, for we Tulans, but we cannot feed all the thousands of prisoners we take in our wars." Joe Chessman said dryly, "As of today there is a new policy. We put them to work." Plekhanov rumbled at him, "I'll explain our position, Chessman, if you please." Then to the Tulans.
The footsteps had a strangely military ring. Joe Chessman entered, followed immediately by Barry Watson, Dick Hawkins and Natt Roberts. They were all dressed in heavy uniform, complete with decorations. Behind them were four Texcocans, including Reif and his teen-age son Taller. Mayer scowled at them in way of greeting. "Where's Plekhanov?"
Not only were drastic immigration laws passed, but the family shrunk rapidly until by mid-Twentieth Century the usual consisted of two or three children, and even the childless family became increasingly common." Mayer frowned impatiently, "But still, a thousand years. There is always famine, war, disease ..." Plekhanov snorted patronizingly. "Forty to fifty generations, Amschel?
Natt Roberts brought his eyes up from his camera viewer. "I've got most of what we'll need for a while, sir." Plekhanov turned back to Chessman. "We might as well head for their principal city, the one with the pyramids. We'll make initial contact there. I like the suggestion of surplus labor available." "Surplus labor?" Chessman said, setting the controls. "How do you know?"
Hawkins said with deceptive mildness, "I just told you those cavalrymen have muskets. To fly low enough to use gas on them, I'd get within easy range. Point one, this is the only aircraft we've built. Point two, MacBride is probably dead, killed when those cavalrymen mutinied. Point three, I came on this expedition to help modernize the Texcocans, not to die in battle." Plekhanov snarled at him.
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