Voyagers III - Star Brothers Read Free

said. His voice was soft, almost a whisper, yet there was implacable iron in it.
    “You don’t understand how difficult that would be.”
    Stoner smiled slightly. “Yes I do. Would I be here otherwise? Would I have taken you to that jungle if a simple request would have been sufficient?”
    “The military…”
    “The military will take over your government unless you stop them now. Their plans include not merely annexing Venezuela. They want their chief of staff to sit in your chair.”
    De Sagres’s heart constricted with fear. He realized that he had known it all along, but had never found the courage to admit it, even to himself.
    “What can I do?” he whimpered.
    “Stop them now,” said Stoner. “The people of Brazil will support you. The Peace Enforcers and World Court will support you.”
    “But the army is too powerful.”
    “Only if you are too weak.” Stoner leaned forward in his chair, stretching a hand over the desk to grasp de Sagres’s wrist. It was like being held in an inhumanly powerful vise.
    “You can become a ‘Great Soul,’” Stoner said urgently. “You can save your people untold grief and pain. And the people of Venezuela, too. If you don’t, the military will take over your government and you will be lost and forgotten.”
    De Sagres wanted to run away and hide. But Stoner had him pinned down like a helpless insect. His arm began to tingle.
    “You have the power to do it,” Stoner insisted. “Do you have the strength?”
    The president wanted to admit that he did not, but he heard himself saying, “I can try.”
    Stoner’s smile beamed at him. “Good! That’s all that anyone can do.”
    “If I fail…”
    “You won’t be any worse off than you are now. The army won’t kill you; they’ll keep you as a figurehead for their puppet government.”
    “A figurehead? Me? Never!”
    Stoner considered the Brazilian president for a long, silent, solemn moment. De Sagres felt as if his soul was being stripped bare and examined, atom by atom.
    “Will you do me a favor?” Stoner asked at last.
    De Sagres arched his brows. It always comes down to a favor, he told himself.
    But Stoner extracted a small straight pin from the breast pocket of his khaki jacket and pricked the tip of his thumb. A drop of blood welled up.
    “This is as primitive as those ‘Great Souls,’” he said, “but I’d like to make a blood bond with you, to seal the understanding between us.”
    Unwilling, but unable to resist, de Sagres held out his trembling hand and allowed Stoner to grasp it in his own warm, firm grip. The touch of the pin was painless, and then they were pressing their thumbs together like little boys sharing a solemn, sacred oath.
    “You have the strength to stop your military adventurers,” Stoner said. “You have greatness in you. One day you may even win the Nobel Prize for Peace.”
    The president of Brazil sank back in his chair as his unannounced visitor strode purposefully to the door and disappeared from his sight.

CHAPTER 3
    THE island of Cyprus, once torn by bloody conflict between Greeks and Turks, basked in the Mediterranean sunshine and the money spent by ten thousand members of the International Peacekeeping Force who made the island their Middle East headquarters. Clerks, computer specialists, missile technicians, sensor analysts, bureaucrats, warriors by remote control, each of the ten thousand men and women who wore the sky-blue uniform of the Peace Enforcers was paid well and regularly.
    They had brought peace to strife-weary Cyprus, as Greeks, Turks, and even the descendants of displaced Palestinians found more to be gained by earning Peace Enforcers’ money than by shooting at one another. Prosperity did not end hatred and long historical grudges; it merely put them to one side while everyone put their best energies into the scramble for steady money.
    Banda Singh Bahadur, commandant, IPF Cyprus, was a huge Sikh, still strong and fierce-looking despite his