He needed to know more, to understand just exactly what Bechtel-Rand was. Would he have to go to Earth to destroy the corporation, or to drive it permanently off Godsworld? If so, he would probably need to accept the job offer-there was no power on Godsworld that could transport him off the planet other than Bechtel-Rand itself.

He certainly could not stay and fight as he had been fighting. He had no doubt that Dawes meant exactly what she said about destroying the camp, and he had been almost resigned to abandoning it for the winter in any case. Going underground in the towns would be difficult, all the more so now that he was being watched, and he was not sure he cared to attempt it. He had been offered a choice of death or surrender, and as he had always told himself he would, he chose surrender.

He was not, however, willing to give up completely. He would abandon his little band of guerrillas, but not the fight against the corrupting influence of the Earthers. He remembered how he had thought men who refused to acknowledge defeat to be fools, but thrust the thought aside; he had lost a battle, but not the war. He could still fight-if he knew what he was fighting, and how to attack it.

Right now, he had no idea how to find out what he had to know, other than accepting the job. He hesitated at that thought; the prospect of actually going to Earth was simultaneously exciting and terrifying. Earth, hotbed of sin and corruption, heart of temporal evil-but the birthplace of mankind, the world where Jesus had walked! A world where the false god Progress had not been denied, where machines usurped the rights of men-and a world where a thousand green plants grew, instead of the handful on Godsworld.

Only green plants, no red ones-what did they use for nearwood? Was that why the Heaveners paid so much for it?

His two escorts seemed willing to talk; he asked, “What's Earth like?"

The guards smiled at each other. “How am I supposed to answer that?” said the one who had explained about the light. “It's an entire world! And a much more complicated one than yours, I'd say. There are nine billion people, cities, starports, mountains, oceans-what can I say?"

John skipped over the absurd population given as ordinary exaggeration. “I just meant generally-is the sky blue? The soil gray?"

“The sky is blue, but lighter than yours, and the soil comes in different colors. It's a brighter world than yours-more color, as well as the brighter sun. The air is thicker, and there's much more wind; the gravity is a little stronger, so everything's heavier. There are trees-big plants, taller than people."

“I know what trees are-they're in the Bible!"

The guard shrugged. “I've spoken to Godsworlders who didn't know, despite what your holy book says. I don't understand why Godsworld hasn't got any trees, myself. Your ancestors should have brought some."

“They tried, the legends say, but they wouldn't grow here."

“Oh.” The guard nodded. “Could be."

They stepped out on the roof and boarded the airship. When they were seated, John asked, “The people you work for, the corporation-what are they like?"

The talkative guard shrugged again. “Oh, like any other big corporation, I guess-good people and bad ones. I do my job and they pay me."

There were other corporations, then. “Is the New Bechtel-Rand Corporation one of the big ones?"

He nodded. “It sure is."

“The biggest?"

“Oh, I don't think so-not even the biggest developer. ITD's bigger, I think."

“Ahtadi?"

“ITD-stands for Interstellar Trade and Development Corporation."

“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “How big is Bechtel-Rand?"

“Last I heard, they had about a million and a half employees and were earning half a trillion credits a year."

John balked at the numbers. “A million? Do you mean a thousand, ten times a hundred?"

“No, a million-a thousand times a thousand. A one and six zeroes."

“And a trillion?"

“A one and twelve zeroes-a million million."

Resentfully, John said, “If you don't want to tell me, just say so; you don't need to make stupid jokes."

“I'm not joking!” the guard insisted, obviously offended.

“A million and a half people? There aren't that many people on all of Godsworld!"

“Oh, I'm not sure of that; Cheng, what was our census count?"

“I don't remember,” the other guard replied, “Ask Sparky."

“Sparky? What's the population of Godsworld?” the guard said, addressing the ceiling.

“No exact count is available, sir, but the current estimate is four million, one hundred thousand,” said the neuter voice of a machine.

“There, you see?” The guard was triumphant.

John subsided without further protest and sat silently for the rest of the brief flight. He had trouble imagining any reason for the Earthers to lie about such details; they could not have known in advance that he would ask the questions he had asked. Therefore, he had to assume that the numbers were reasonably accurate. That meant that if he roused the entire population of Godsworld, including every man, woman and child, he would have the healthy, heavily-armed adults of the complete Bechtel-Rand outnumbered by less than three to one, and would not have enough people to even think of challenging Earth itself. The five hundred Earthers on Godsworld were nothing, merely a figurehead. In any battle, as he was well aware, knowing the enemy's reserves and countering them was as important as defeating the front line troops.

He needed allies; he had to turn the Earthers against each other. He had done it often enough as Armed Guardian, in dealing with small tribes-tempt one into attacking another, then move in and pick up the pieces without any real resistance. The Chosen had probably intended to do the same with the war between the Heaveners and the True Worders, but had never had a chance, since the massacre had been so fast and so complete. Godsworld would never be able to destroy Earth, but, John thought, the corporations might be kept so busy fighting one another that they would have no chance to do Godsworld further damage.

Why had only one corporation come to Godsworld in the first place?

There was still too much he didn't know, and the airship was settling to the ground at the head of the gully. The first dim red light was on the eastern hills, he noticed as he emerged from the craft, and he had to get his men and as much material as possible out of the camp before noon; long-term plans would have to wait.

Before the door of the airship had closed behind him he was running down into camp, shouting the alert, rousing his men.

Chapter Sixteen

“A good name is better than precious ointment; and the day of death than the day of one's birth."-Ecclesiastes 7:1

Once they were all out of the gully there was no reason to hurry; John slowed his horse to a walk and turned for a final look at the camouflaged oilcloth. A minor pang ran through him; he was going to miss the place, miserable as most of his stay there had been. It had been his, the first place that ever truly was. Always before, when he was in charge of a place, he had been working for someone else-his father, his uncle, the Elders-someone. They had all betrayed the truth and surrendered to the enemy, though.

He had not; he would carry on fighting even now. He glanced up at the sky, wondering whether the same airship that had picked him up would be the one to destroy the camp. He doubted that the Heaveners had more than a handful of airships. He had wanted to pack up and carry as much as possible, so that it was now just about noon, and the attack was due.

He never even saw what it was that did hit the camp; he glimpsed a quick flicker in the air, gone before he could turn to look at it, and a moment later the gully erupted in flame.