"Attack. Hit them on my left."
He put the mike down. Crawford Bell was reciting a string of figures into the mike.
"Sound," the psych technician said. "Tell Sabo to keep his pipes quiet."
The helicopter still marked them with its spotlight. Its loudspeaker pleaded with the scientists. By straining his ears, he could hear some of what it said. The pleas made him a little uncomfortable.
What had he said to Doctor Umbana? "It's starship time, Doctor. We've abolished international violence. We've conquered poverty and disease. We've explored the Solar System out to Saturn and if we haven't gone further, it's because nobody thinks it's worth the effort. Where do we go now? We can't stand still. We've developed psychological techniques that turn men into brainless slaves and the pressures of international competition are forcing us to use them. To stay free, the human race has to expand. It's star ship time and we need you."
That was still true. Doctor Warren's team belonged on a starship project, and it might as well be the United States project. But even having them on the Common Market or the Soviet Republic starship would be better than letting them stay in Belderkan. Or would it? They were doing important research here. They were the foundation of Belderkan's prosperity.
There was no way to reason out which was better. Settle it on the battle field and hope the right side won. If that helicopter's propaganda was bothering him, what was it doing to the scientists?
"Sabo, muffle the pipes."
The convoy slowed down. The crowd had stopped running and started walking. Their togas, mostly emerald green and pearl white, were made from a hard fabric that gleamed in the light from the helicopter. Through his binoculars he tried to estimate the percentage of men and the percentage of young people. The section right in front of him looked young and predominantly male. By now many of the women and the older men had fallen behind. That was something to be glad about.