"Mack Reynolds - Pacifist" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

“Cowards,” Senator McGivern muttered in distaste.


Casey shook his head and chuckled. “Never, Senator. Don’t look for cowards among pacifists and
conscientious objectors. It takes courage to buck the current of public opinion. A coward is often better off in
the ranks and usually safer. In modem war, at least -until the advent of nuclear conflict, only a fraction of the
soldiers ever see combat. The rest are in logistics, in a thousand branches of behind the lines work. One man
in twenty ever glimpses the enemy.”


McGivern snapped, “I’m not interested in your philosophy, criminal. Get to the point. I want my son back.”


That is the point. Senator. Today we Pacifists have become realists. We are willing to fight, to kill and to die,
in order to prevent war. We are not interested in the survival of individuals, we are of the opinion that another
war will destroy the race, and to preserve humanity we will do literally anything.”


McGivern thumped a heavy fist on his chair arm. “You fool! The Northern Hemisphere seeks domination of
the whole world. We must defend ourselves!”


The Pacifist was shaking his bead again. “We don’t care who is right or wrong—if either side is. It finally gets
to the point where that is meaningless. Our colleagues are working among the Polarians, just as we are
working here in the Southern Hemisphere. Persons such as yourself, on the other side, are courting death
just as you are by taking steps that will lead to war.”


Warren Casey stood. “You have one week in which to resign your office, Senator. If you fail to, you will never
see your son Fredric again. And then, one by one, you will hear of the deaths of your relatives and friends.”


The Pacifist agent came quickly around the desk and the older man, in an effort to escape, pushed his chair
backward and tried to come to his feet. He was too clumsy in his bulk. Warren Casey loomed over Mm,
slipped a syrette into the other’s neck.


Senator Phil McGivern, swearing, fell to his knees and then tried to come erect. He never made it. His eyes
first stared, then glazed, and he dropped back to the floor, unconscious.


Warren Casey bent momentarily over Walters, the secretary, but decided that he was safe for a time. He
shot a quick look about the room. What had he touched? Had he left anything?


He strode quickly from the room, retracing the path by which the butler had brought him fifteen minutes
earlier, and let himself out the front door.


“His cab pulled up before the aged, but well-preserved, mansion, and he dropped coins into the vehicle’s toll