An Island Called Moreau by Brian W. Aldiss Page B

seeking out survivors from the Leda over an ever widening area of ocean.”
    Dart said, “That was all ten days ago, in the middle of a war. They’ll have packed in the search by now. You can’t kid me.”
    â€œThey never give up,” I said.
    Bella came and set a misty glass of lime by my side.
    â€œHow is it,” Dart asked, “that, if this search you speak of took place, we’ve seen no aircraft over the island for more than a week?”
    â€œThat reinforces my point. They have not yet combed this sector. They’ll be around at any time.”
    I could see he did not believe me. My discomfort was added to by private knowledge I had. Ordinarily, survey satellites high above the stratosphere recorded all land and ocean activity; one of them would have relayed the sinking of the Leda back to base; but I knew that the vital satellite had been disintegrated by the enemy only two days previously—the report had come through while I was in conference on the Moon.
    Dart began wheeling himself about the room. Bella followed, until he gestured her savagely to get out of the way.
    â€œYou have no proof of your identity—” he began, when the siren started to blow. He glanced at his watch and said, “We have a punctual computer, you see. That’s time to get back to work. End of siesta. End also of our talk.”
    I put my foot on the footrest of his chair and halted him. “Dart, I demand, as Undersecretary of State, that you or I radio at once to ASASC. Those are my instructions to you, and I must warn you that under the Emergency Powers Act I have the right to commandeer your equipment. If you resist, you can be tried by an emergency court, whose powers include pronouncement of the death sentence. What do you say, Yes or No?”
    His face seemed to change shape as he hunched up his shoulders in sudden rage. His hands clasped the arms of his chair.
    â€œThe radio transmitter is out of action today,” he said at last.
    â€œYou’re, lying!”
    â€œI will not be dictated to on my own island.”
    â€œStay where you are,” said a voice from behind.
    Turning, I saw the slim man in the white lab coat. He had a withered, dull face, screwed at this moment into an expression of determined nastiness. He held a strange weapon, something like a long air pistol, which he pointed at me.
    â€œDa Silva,” I said, “under wartime regulations, you, like your boss, are committing an offense which carries the death penalty. Put that weapon down.”
    â€œOkay, Roberts, or whatever your name is, no more bluff.”
    Dart also had a weapon aimed at me. I recognized it as a Browning automatic. It took little deductive power to realize that he would have a signal device on his chair to summon help when needed.
    As I stood there, hands half raised, wondering whether to throw myself on Dart, the other protagonists in the scene were on the move. Bella slunk away, vanishing furtively out of the door like an image of betrayal—though why I expected anything from her I cannot say. By contrast, Heather came closer, rising from her chair and approaching almost as noiselessly as Bella had retreated. At least she was unarmed, but the look on her face was not attractive. A mute signal passed between her and Dart.
    â€œYou are recovering your strength and getting dangerous,” he said. “We shall have to lock you up. It will give you a chance to think things over.”
    â€œYou have me at a disadvantage, Dart. That’s just temporary as you’ll realize if you consider your actions within the context of the war being waged over Pacific waters. You have been informed of my role in affairs. Cooperate, or face the consequences.”
    Dart kept the weapon leveled at me, smiling thinly. “Warfare … the perfect human excuse to exercise power, personal power as well as national. That’s your sort of caper, not mine, Mr. Roberts. You