Chapter 7
Waldron Perriweather III watched the news on television, heard the commentators talk about the good work of IHAEO and its fight to prevent famine; heard what was billed as the final battle against the evil Ung beetle.
He stormed into the laboratory on his estate and promptly passed out from the DDT. When he recovered he asked just how much DDT his entomologist was using now and when he was told, he commented that surely everything must be ready by now.
"Not yet, Mr. Perriweather, but soon," the scientist said.
"Just let me know when everything will be ready," said Perriweather.
He had his lawyers find out certain things about the demonstration IHAEO was going to mount to show the world how it was fighting against famine.
When he learned the demonstration would be outside, in the fields of central Africa, he muttered a small "damn" under his breath. "Still," he mumbled, "sometimes it can work outside. We'll see."
Nathan and Gloria Muswasser did not want to see millions of man's fellow creatures poisoned painfully to death. They could not bear to wait around for another injustice before the inalienable rights of all creatures ware, protected under the law.
They would strike now. They loaded the barrels of TNT onto the rented truck and drove it to the front gate of the IHAEO laboratories in Washington, D.C.
"Order by two of your new members. Part of their great new breaththrough," Nathan called out to the guard. They delivered the TNT to the crates being loaded for the Ung-beetle demonstration in central Africa.
They did not stay to see the barrels loaded but turned the truck around quickly and drove away. They drove for twenty minutes and then Gloria said to Nathan:
"Do you make the phone call or do I?"
"I don't know. This is my first time. I feel so relevant," said Nathan Muswasser.
"The hottest place in hell," said Gloria Muswasser, "is reserved for those who in a time of crisis do nothing. Or something like that."
"I'll make the call. You're too nervous," said Nathan. He went into a telephone booth near a diner and dialed a local television station.
The paper he held trembled in his hands. Finally he was doing something for the world.
As soon as he heard the newsman's voice, he read the statement on the paper:
"We, the Species Liberation Alliance, take full and total credit for the revolutionary act this day at the murderous center of oppression, the IHAEO laboratories in Washington, D.C. We, the core cadres of the SLA, call upon all people to join us in our just and legitimate struggle against the oppressors of all creatures. Other liberating acts will follow."
"What are you talking about?" the newsman asked.
"I am talking, man, about the explosion at the IHAEO labs. We must have killed at least two hundred people, man." Nathan Muswasser liked calling people "man"; it made him feel relevant.
"No explosion at the labs, buddy," the newsman said.
"You're lying. We did it. We're claiming credit. It's our revolutionary act and we have a right to get credit."
"There wasn't any explosion," the reporter insisted.
"Listen, man," Nathan said. "We bought the dynamite. We planted the dynamite. We set the fuse and we want credit. It's our act."
"Can't give you credit; you haven't killed anyone," the reporter answered.
"What's going on here? Let me talk to the station manager," Nathan said.
Gloria, seeing Nathan turn red and hearing his voice rise, leaned out of the cab of the truck and yelled, "What's the matter?"
Nathan covered the speaker with his hand. "They won't give us credit, honey."
"What?" screamed Gloria.
"The guys says we can't get credit."
"Dammit," snarled Gloria. "Let me speak to him." She climbed out of the cab of the truck. Nathan handed her the telephone.
"I told him we planted the dynamite."
"TNT, dummy," she snapped. Into the telephone, she said, "Okay, what's the matter?"
"Nothing's the matter," the reporter said. "This station is not giving credit without deaths. If you want credit without deaths, try some wire service. We are just not giving credit for bombings or any kind of killing anymore without some real killing going on. New policy."
"We had to have five hundred pounds of TNT," she said. "Do you know how much that is? We had the best fuse and I checked it myself. If my husband had checked it, I might say all right, but I checked it, and I get things right. Now that thing went off at the height of the work hours. We set it for when there'd be the maxium number of people there."
"Lady, it's not up to me," the reporter said. "Just two months ago we got a call from a liberation group that wanted credit for blowing up a day school. They say they killed 350 kids. We sent a reporter out and you know what he found?"
Gloria didn't answer; she was still fuming.
"Do you know what he found?"
"What?"
"There were no 350 dead preschoolers. There wasn't even a nosebleed. The flowers were growing in the schoolyard. The sun was shining and the mothers were picking up their children. Now where would we be if we went ahead and gave credit for that?"
"Who was it?" Gloria asked. "Which liberation group? Maybe I know them."
"I don't know. One of them. It was valid. It had a lot of support. Church groups. Professors."
"Oh, that kind," Gloria said in dismissal. "Anybody can get professors. But that's not us: We're the SLA. We have a tradition. You know we're good for those deaths. We've been good before," said Gloria. "What about the pilot? Those farmers? The oil drillers? That entomologist? They're all ours, you know. The people who did those are dead but the struggle continues."
"I'm sorry. We just can't give credit anymore without the bodies."
"What's he saying?" Nathan asked.
"Shh," said Gloria. "Look, we planted the damn thing. I'm sure it went off."
"Sorry. Station policy," the newsman said.
"You know, it's people like you who make this a crud world," Gloria said as she slammed down the telephone.
"No credit?" asked Nathan.
"Not for even a bruise."
"What went wrong?"
"Nothing went wrong," Gloria said. "Just a bunch of fascists at that damned station. Little men running big things."
"Maybe we should have heard the explosion," Nathan said. "Even this far away."
"I don't know. Come on. Let's get out of here. Sometimes these stations sicken me, you know?"
"Yeah," said Nathan. "What the hell. We still have the thing that'll do the real damage."
"You didn't forget that, did you?" Gloria asked.
"Are you kidding?"
"Maybe it won't work out-of-doors, did you ever think of that?" Gloria said.
"No," said Nathan.
"Then again, it might work better outdoors," she said. "We might get some real good numbers without walls to prevent it from spreading."
"We'll get credit then," Nathan said.
"Who knows? You go out of your way. You buy the best materials, you buy the best fuses, you triple-check them and nothing. Not even a bruise."
"You don't think it went off then?" Nathan asked.
"No, it didn't go off," snarled Gloria. Sometimes Nathan was enough to send her up a wall.
"Should we go back and check?"
"No, dummy. They would probably have people waiting for us."
At the lab, Dara Worthington threw the defective detonator in a separate trashcan and had the barrels of TNT carefully carted away from the area by police. The would-be terrorists forgetting to erase the TNT markings from the sides of the barrels and being spotted by a cautious workman, had been her second lucky break.
But the biggest break of the day had been the announcement by Director General Ndo that IHAEO was going to mount a major effort, immediately, against the Ung beetle. They were calling the world in to watch. Everyone was going to be there. Even the IHAEO delegates.