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national ... soul, for lack of a better word, of the individual nations that those decisions affect," saidEl Libertador. "The
individual nations must have a stronger voice in the decision-making process."
Boweto hunched forward in his chair. ' 'Restructuring the World Legislature put that on the agenda."
The secretary sitting behind Boweto's shoulder tapped the computer keyboard sitting on his knee. The aides flanking
him sat in stony silence.
"Taxes are important," Boweto said. His grin returned. "In fact, taxes are the main business of governments."
BEN BOVA " 426
El Libertadornodded. "Agreed."
"What about the PRU?" asked the one woman inEl Libertador 's retinue, a tall, haughty-looking aristocrat with the
chiseled features of Spanish nobility. Her regal bearing was wildly out of place with the baggy khaki uniform she wore.
"Yes," saidEl Libertador. "The violence must be stopped. There must be no further killing. That should be the
foremost item on our agenda."
"Very good," said Boweto.
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"And trade relations," a World Government aide suggested in a timid voice, "especially those between ..."
"Not now," Boweto snapped. "But we should discuss the return of Argentina, Chile, and South Africa to the World
Government."
El Libertadornodded. "I am not empowered to speak for the governments of those individual nations, of course, but
we could work out the conditions under which they would consider rejoining..."
The jnain door to the conference room opened. Al-Hashimi, sitting closest to the door, turned angrily in his chair.
"We gave orders that no disturbances ..."
The ashen-faced Island One security guard simply stood there in the doorway, his mouth hanging open, the holster at
his side open and empty.
Behind him stepped Hamoud, the guard's heavy automatic pistol in his hand. And behind Hamoud were two more
raggedly dressed guerrillas carrying gleaming new assault rifles at their hips, almost carelessly.
"Hamoud!" al-Hashimi gasped. "How did you ..."
"Gentlemen! And ladies!" Hamoud said, his smile an arrogant badge of insolence. "You are the prisoners of the
Peoples' Revolutionary Underground. No ... do not move! Stay in your seats. Don't make my men start shooting. We
have captured the entire space colony. You will remain in this room until you are ordered to move. Obey all orders
instantly. If you do not, however trivial the order is, you will be shot."
* * *
COLONY " 427
Leo sat heavily on the engineer's little plastic swivel chair. Its back bowed out, its spraddled legs creaked under his
weight.
Taking the power plant had been easy. There were no guards; nobody even had a weapon. His dozen PRU troops had
just walked in and all the engineers and technicians froze in their places.
"Just relax and keep workin'," Leo had told them. "We ain't gonna hurt nobody, long's you do what you're told."
He had expected massive rumbling machinery and the winking lights of computers flashing everywhere in the power
plant building. The computer consoles were there, all right: row after row of them twinkling quietly to themselves. But
the long, high-ceilinged, brightly lit room was quiet and cool. No huge turbines shaking the air, no hissing steam or
maze of pipes carrying strange coolants and fluids. Just an efficient, clean room with shadowless light panels for a
ceiling. No noise except the soft hum of the computers and the padding of men and women in comfortable slippers and
spotless white coveralls.
Then why'm I sweatin'?Leo asked himself.
His legs ached and his stomach was twisted into tight knots.Nerves, he told himself.Nothing but nerves.
He had been all right during the action. Not a qualm, even though he thought he might have to pull the trigger of the
assault rifle they had given him. He carried the weapon easily, in one massive hand, handling it like an elongated
pistol.
Okay, you didn 't have to shoot anybody. It all went down smooth as a virgin's tit. Why the shakes?
He knew. He didn't want to believe it, but he knew. It was starting. His heart was thumping wildly inside him.If I don't
get my stuff soon, my whole body's gonna fall apart.
William Palmquist raced to the phone and banged the on button before its first buzz could end. Ruth's normally
cheerful round face looked worried.
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"You're all right?" they asked simultaneously.
Ordinarily they would have laughed, but he merely nod-
BEN BOVA " 428
ded as she said, "They recalled us from the lab pod. We thought it was a solar flare or something."
"Worse," he said. "Terrorists have taken over the colony."
"I know." Ruth glanced back over her shoulder. "They have armed PRU guards here at the landing docks."
"You're okay? They haven't bothered you?"
"No. They said they're going to let us all go home, and we should stay in our quarters until they give us further
orders."
His head bobbing, "That's what they told us when they made us shut down all the equipment and come in from the
farm."
"I'll be home as soon as I can get a train. There's a big mob of people here. Everybody in the pods was recalled at
once."
"I'm just glad they didn't make you stay out there. I was going crazy worrying."
"I'm fine, Bill," she said, smiling for him. "We'll be all right, you'll see."
"Sure," he lied, knowing that she was covering up her fears, too.
"You must try to negotiate with them!"
Cesar Villanova smiled bleakly. "I doubt that they would treat me any differently from the rest of you. After all, I have
never been one of them."
Boweto got up from his chair and paced the length of the long table. The others around the table were whispering in
small, frightened knots of groups or staring off blankly into nothingness, like al-Hashimi.
When Boweto reached the end of the table he turned and said, "You should at leasttry to speak with them. They look
up to you.El Libertador has been their hero all around the world."
"Until I agree to negotiate with you," Villanova said.
Boweto scowled. "You think they've turned against you?"
"Certainly."
"Nonsense! They wouldn't..."
COLONY " 429
The door swung open and all talk stopped. One of the armed guerrillas, a gangling, pale-skinned teenager who carried
his assault rifle as if he'd been born with it in his arms, called, "Sheikh Jamil al-Hashimi!"
Al-Hashimi got to his feet. "I am he."
The lad brusquely motioned with the rifle for the sheikh to follow him.
Casting aWho knows? glance at the others, al-Hashimi went after the boy. Two PRU guards stood just outside the
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door to the conference room, one of them a girl. Both carried automatic rifles. They closed the door as the teenager
strode down the corridor without a backward look. Al-Hashimi followed him.
They walked out into the open and crossed a carefully tended lawn, heading for another small, low building of
white-painted cement. The village lanes and streets were empty; the normal late-afternoon pedestrian traffic had
disappeared.
Inside the smaller building, the boy went directly to an unmarked door and rapped on it. A muffled voice sounded
from within and the boy opened the door, then motioned brusquely for al-Hashimi to step through.
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