"I'd be interested," Hamilton stated truthfully but incompletely. "By the way, where do we get our breeding stock?"
"That's an impertinent and irrelevant question, Hamilton, but I'll answer you. You are a leader type-you'll need to know eventually. The male plasm we supply ourselves. The females were captured among the barbarians-usually."
"Doesn't that mean rather inferior stock?"
"Yes, surely. These are simple experiments. None of them will be retained. After the Change, it will be another story. We'll have superior stock to start with-you, for example."
"Yes, of course." He did not care to pursue that line. "No one has ever told me just what our plans are for the barbarians."
"No need for juniors to discuss it. We'll save some of them for experimentation. In time, the rest will be liquidated."
A neat but sweeping plan, Hamilton had thought. The scattered tribes of Eurasia and Africa, fighting their way back up to civilization after the disasters of the Second War, consigned without their consent or knowledge to the oblivion of the laboratory or death. He decided to cut off McFee's ears a bit at a time.
"This is possibly the most stimulating exhibit," McFee had continued, moving on. Hamilton had looked where he was directed. The exhibit appeared to be a hydrocephalic idiot, but Hamilton had never seen one. His eyes saw an obviously sick child with a head much too big for it. "A tetroid type," McFee stated. "Ninety-six chromosomes. We once thought that was the secret of the hyperbrain, but we were mistaken. The staff geneticists are now on the right track."
"Why don't you kill it?"
"We will, presently. There is still something to be learned from it."
There were other things-things that Hamilton preferred not to think about. He felt now that, if he managed to get through that test without displaying his true feelings, he had been damned lucky!
The proposed extermination of the barbarians reminded him of another matter. Most curiously, the strange advent of John Darlington Smith had had an indirect effect on the plans of the Survivors Club. The compelling logic of the plans for the New Order called automatically for the deaths of the inefficient and sickly control naturals, as well as the deaths of synthesists, recalcitrant geneticists, counterrevolutionaries in general.
The plans for the latter aroused no opposition to speak of, but many of the club members had a sentimental fondness for control naturals. They regarded them with the kindly paternal contempt that members of a ruling class frequently feel for subject "inferior" races. Just what to do about this psychological problem had delayed the zero hour of the Change.
The Adirondack stasis gave a means. McFee had announced the tactical change the evening of the very day that Smith had called on Hamilton. Control naturals were to be placed in stasis for an indefinite period. It was an entirely humane procedure; the prisoners would be unhurt by their stay and would emerge in the distant future. McFee had asked Hamilton what he thought of the scheme, after the meeting.
"It should be popular," Hamilton had admitted. "But what happens after they are let out?"
McFee had looked surprised, then laughed. "We are practical men, you and I," he had said in a low voice.
"You mean ..."
"Surely. But keep your mouth shut." Phyllis decided that it was time to interrupt his morose preoccupation. "What's eating you, Filthy?" she inquired. "You haven't said two words since we sat down."
He returned to his surroundings with a start. "Nothing important," he lied-wishing that he could unburden himself to her. "You haven't been chatty yourself. Anything on your mind?"
"Yes," she admitted, "I've just selected the name for our son."
"Great jumping balls of fire! Aren't you being just a little premature? You know damned well we aren't ever going to have children."
"That remains to be seen."
"Hummph! What name have you picked for this hypothetical offspring?"
"Theobald-'Bold for the People,'" she answered dreamily-
"'Bold for the-' better make it Jabez."
"Jabez? What does it mean?"
"'He will bring sorrow.'"
"'He will bring sorrow!' Filthy, you're filthy!"
"I know it. Why don't you forget all this business, give that noisy nursery a miss, and team up with me?"
"Say that slowly."
"I'm suggesting matrimony."
She appeared to consider it. "Just what do you have in mind?"
"You write the ticket. Ortho-spouse, registered companion, legal mate-any contract you want."
"To what," she said slowly, "am I to attribute this sudden change of mind?"
"It isn't sudden. I've been thinking about it ever since ... ever since you tried to shoot me."
"Something's wrong here. Two minutes ago you were declaring that Theobald was impossibly hypothetical."
"Wait a minute," he said hastily. "I didn't say a word about children. That's another subject. I was talking about us."
"So? Well, understand this, Master Hamilton. When I get married, it will not be to a man who regards it as sort of a super-recreation." She turned her attention back to her dinner.
A thick silence followed for several minutes. He broke it.
"Sore at me?"
"No. Filthy, you're such a rat."
"Yeah, I know that, top. Finished?"
"Yes. Coming home with me?"
"I'd like to, but I can't tonight."
After he left her he went straight to the Hall of the Wolf. A full round-up had been ordered for that evening, no reason given but no excuses accepted. It happened also to be his first meeting since he had been promoted to the minor dignity of section leader.
The door of the clubroom stood open. A few members assembled inside were being moderately noisy and convivial, in accordance with doctrine. It was even possible that a stranger, or two, was present. Such presence was desired when nothing was going on. Later, they would be gently dismissed.
Hamilton wandered in, said hello to a couple of people, drew himself a stein of beer, and settled down to watch a dart game taking place in one end of the lounge.
Some time later, McFee bustled in, checked over the company by sight, picked up two section leaders by eye, and signalled them with a jerk of his head to get rid of the one remaining outsider. The stranger had been well lubricated; he was reluctant to leave, but presented no real problem. When he was gone and the doorway had relaxed, he said, "To business, brothers." To Hamilton he added, "You attend conference tonight, you know."
Hamilton started to acknowledge the order, when he felt a touch on his shoulder and a voice behind him. "Felix. Oh, Felix!"
He turned around, half recognizing the voice. Nevertheless, it was only his animal quickness which enabled him to cover up in time. It was Monroe-Alpha.
"I knew you were one of us," his friend said happily. "I have been wondering when-"
"Get to your section room," McFee said sternly.
"Yes, sir! See you later, Felix."
"Sure thing, Cliff," Hamilton responded heartily. He followed McFee into the council room, glad of the brief chance to get his raging thoughts in order. Cliff! Great Egg-Cliff! What in the Name of Life was he doing in this nest of vermin? Why hadn't he seen him? He knew why, of course-a member of one section was extremely unlikely to meet a member of another. Different instruction nights and so on. He cursed the whole system. But why Cliff? Cliff was the gentlest, kindest man who ever packed a gun. Why would he fall for this rot?
He considered the idea that Monroe-Alpha might be an agent provocateur, like himself-and amazed to find him there. Or perhaps not amazed-he might know Hamilton's status even though Hamilton did not know his. No, that did not make sense. Cliff didn't have the talent for the deception required. His emotions showed on his sleeve. He was as pellucid as air. He couldn't act worth a damn.