Mayer beat with the heavy knocker on the door and a slot opened for a quick check of his identity. The door opened wide and Technician Martin Gunther let them in.
"The others are here already?" Mayer asked him.
Gunther nodded. "Since breakfast. Baron Leonar, in particular, is impatient."
Mayer said over his shoulder, "All right, Jerry, this is where we put it to them."
They entered the long conference room. A full score of men sat about the heavy wooden table. Most of them were as richly garbed as their host. Most of them in their middle years. All of them alert of eye. All of them confidently at ease.
Amschel Mayer took his place at the table's end and Jerome Kennedy sank into the chair next to him. Mayer took the time to speak to each of his guests individually, then he leaned back and took in the gathering as a whole. He said, "You probably realize that this group consists of the twenty most powerful merchants on the continent."
Olderman nodded. "We have been discussing your purpose in bringing us together, Honorable Mayer. All of us are not friends." He twisted his face in amusement. "In fact, very few of us are friends."
"There is no need for you to be," Mayer said snappishly, "but all are going to realize the need for co-operation. Honorables, I've just come from the city of Ronda. Although I'd paid heavily in advance to the three barons whose lands I crossed. I had to bribe myself through a dozen road-blocks, had to pay exorbitant rates to cross three ferries, and once had to fight off supposed bandits."
One of his guests grumbled, "Who were actually probably soldiers of the local baron who had decided that although you had paid him transit fee, it still might be profitable to go through your goods."
Mayer nodded. "Exactly, my dear Honorable, and that is why we've gathered."
Olderman had evidently assumed spokesmanship for the others. Now he said warily, "I don't understand."
"Genoa, if you'll pardon the use of this name to signify the planet upon which we reside, will never advance until trade has been freed from these bandits who call themselves lords and barons."
Eyebrows reached for hairlines.
Olderman's eyes darted about the room, went to the doors. "Please," he said, "the servants."
"My servants are safe," Mayer said.
One of his guests was smiling without humor. "You seem to forget, Honorable Mayer, that I carry the title of baron."
Mayer shook his head. "No, Baron Leonar. But neither do you disagree with what I say. The businessman, the merchant, the manufacturer on Genoa today, is only tolerated. Were it not for the fact that the barons have no desire to eliminate such a profitable source of income, they would milk us dry overnight."
Someone shrugged. "That is the way of things. We are lucky to have wrested, bribed and begged as many favors from the lords as we have. Our twenty cities all have charters that protect us from complete despoilation."
Mayer twisted excitedly in his chair. "As of today, things begin to change. Jerry, that platen press."
Jerry Kennedy left the room momentarily and returned with Martin Gunther and two of the servants. While the assembled merchants looked on, in puzzled silence, Mayer's assistants set up the press and a stand holding two fonts of fourteen-point type. Jerry took up a printer's stick and gave running instructions as he demonstrated. Gunther handed around pieces of the type until all had examined it, while his colleague set up several lines. Kennedy transposed the lines to a chase, locked it up and placed the form to one side while he demonstrated inking the small press, which was operated by a foot pedal. He mounted the form in the press, took a score of sheets of paper and rapidly fed them, one by one. When they were all printed, he stopped pumping and Gunther handed the still wet finished product around to the audience.
Olderman stared down at the printed lines, scowled in concentration, wet his lips in sudden comprehension.
But it was merchant Russ who blurted, "This will revolutionize the inscribing of books. Why, it can well take it out of the hands of the Temple! With such a machine I could make a hundred books—"
Mayer was beaming. "Not a hundred, Honorable, but a hundred thousand!"
The others stared at him as though he was demented. "A hundred thousand," one said. "There are not that many literate persons on the continent."
"There will be," Mayer crowed. "This is but one of our levers to pry power from the barons. And here is another." He turned to Russ. "Honorable Russ, your city is noted for the fine quality of its steel, of the swords and armor you produce."
Russ nodded. He was a small man fantastically rich in his attire. "This is true, Honorable Mayer."
Mayer said, tossing a small booklet to the other, "I have here the plans for a new method of making steel from pig iron. The Bessemer method, we'll call it. The principle involved is the oxidation of the impurities in the iron by blowing air through the molten metal."
Amschel Mayer turned to still another. "And your town is particularly noted for its fine textiles." He looked to his assistants. "Jerry, you and Gunther bring in those models of the power loom and the spinning jenny."
While they were gone, he said, "My intention is to assist you to speed up production. With this in mind, you'll appreciate the automatic flying shuttle that we'll now demonstrate."
Kennedy and Gunther re-entered accompanied by four servants and a mass of equipment. Kennedy muttered to Amschel Mayer, "I feel like the instructor of a handicrafts class."
Half an hour later, Kennedy and Gunther wound up passing out pamphlets to the awed merchant guests. Kennedy said, "This booklet will give details on construction of the equipment and its operation."
Mayer pursed his lips. "Your people will be able to assimilate only so fast, so we won't push them. Later, you'll be interested in introducing the mule spinning frame, among other items."
He motioned for the servants to remove the printing press and textile machinery. "We now come to probably the most important of the devices I have to introduce to you today. Because of size and weight, I've had constructed only a model. Jerry!"
Jerry Kennedy brought to the heavy table a small steam engine, clever in its simplicity. He had half a dozen attachments for it. Within moments he had the others around him, as enthusiastic as a group of youngsters with a new toy.
"By the Supreme," Baron Leonar blurted, "do you realize this device could be used instead of waterpower to operate a mill to power the loom demonstrated an hour ago?"
Honorable Russ was rubbing the side of his face thoughtfully. "It might even be adapted to propel a coach. A coach without horses. Unbelievable!"
Mayer chuckled in excitement and clapped his hands. A servant entered with a toy wagon which had been slightly altered. Martin Gunther lifted the small engine, placed it in position atop the wagon, connected it quickly and threw a lever. The wagon moved smoothly forward, the first engine-propelled vehicle of Genoa's industrial revolution.
Martin Gunther smiled widely at Russ. "You mean like this, Honorable?"
Half an hour later they were re-seated, before each of them a small pile of pamphlets, instructions, plans, blueprints.
Mayer said, "I have just one more device to bring to your attention at this time. I wish it were unnecessary but I am afraid otherwise."
He held up for their inspection, a forty-five-caliber bullet. Jerry Kennedy handed around samples to the merchants. They fingered them in puzzlement.
"Honorables," Mayer said, "the barons have the use of gunpowder. Muskets and muzzleloading cannon are available to them both for their wars against each other and their occasional attacks upon our supposedly independent cities. However, this is an advancement on their weapons. This unit includes not only the bullet's lead, but the powder and the cap which will explode it."
They lacked understanding, and showed it.
Mayer said, "Jerry, if you'll demonstrate."
Jerry Kennedy said, "The bullet can be adapted to various weapons, however, this is one of the simplest." He pressed, one after another, a full twenty rounds into the gun's clip.
"Now, if you'll note the silhouette of a man I've drawn on the wooden frame at the end of the room." He pressed the trigger, sent a single shot into the figure.
Olderman nodded. "An improvement in firearms. But—"
Kennedy said, "However, if you are confronted with more than one of the bad guys." He grinned and flicked the gun to full automatic and in a Götterdämmerung of sound in the confines of the room, emptied the clip into his target sending splinters and chips flying and all but demolishing the wooden backdrop.
His audience sat back in stunned horror at the demonstration.
Mayer said now, "The weapon is simple to construct, any competent gunsmith can do it. It is manifest, Honorables, that with your people so equipped your cities will be safe from attack and so will trading caravans and ships."
Russ said shakily, "Your intention is good, Honorable Mayer, however it will be but a matter of time before the barons have solved the secrets of your weapon. Such cannot be held indefinitely. Then we would again be at their mercy."
"Believe me, Honorable," Mayer said dryly, "by that time I will have new weapons to introduce, if necessary. Weapons that make this one a very toy in comparison."
Olderman resumed his office as spokesman. "This demonstration has astounded us, Honorable Mayer, but although we admire your abilities it need hardly be pointed out that it seems unlikely all this could be the product of one brain."
"They are not mine," Mayer admitted. "They are the products of many minds."
"But where—?"
The Earthman shook his head. "I don't believe I will tell you now."
"I see." The Genoese eyed him emotionlessly. "Then the question becomes,why?"
Mayer said, "It may be difficult for you to see, but the introduction of each of these will be a nail in feudalism's coffin. Each will increase either production or trade and such increase will lead to the overthrow of feudal society."
Baron Leonar, who had remained largely silent throughout the afternoon, now spoke up. "As you said earlier, although I am a lord myself, my interests are your own. I am a merchant first. However, I am not sure I want the changes these devices will bring. Frankly, Honorable Mayer, I am satisfied with my world as I find it today."
Amschel Mayer smiled wryly at him. "I am afraid youmustadapt to these new developments."
The baron said coldly, "Why? I do not like to be told I must do something."
"Because, my dear baron, there are three continents on the planet of Genoa. At present there is little trade due to inadequate shipping. But the steam engine I introduce today will soon propel larger craft than you have ever built before."
Russ said, "What has this to do with our being forced to use these devices?"
"Because I have colleagues on the other continents busily introducing them. If you don't adapt, in time competitors will invade your markets, capture your trade, drive you out of business."
Mayer wrapped it up. "Honorables, modernize or go under. It's each man for himself and the devil take the hindmost, if you'll allow a saying from another era."
They remained silent for a long period. Finally Olderman stated bluntly, "The barons are not going to like this."
Jerry Kennedy grinned. "Obviously, that's why we've introduced you to the tommy gun. It's not going to make any difference if they like it or not."
Russ said musingly, "Pressure will be put to prevent the introduction of this equipment."
"We'll meet it," Mayer said, shifting happily in his seat.
Russ added, "The Temple is ever on the side of the barons. The monks will fight against innovations that threaten to disturb the present way."
Mayer said, "Monks usually do. How much property is in the hands of the Temple?"
Russ admitted sourly, "The monks are the greatest landlords of all. I would say at least one third of the land and the serfs belong to the Temple."
"Ah," Mayer said. "We must investigate the possibilities of a Reformation. But that can come later. Now I wish to expand on my reason for gathering you.
"Honorables, Genoa is to change rapidly. To survive, you will have to move fast. I have not introduced these revolutionary changes without self-interest. Each of you are free to use them to his profit, however, I expect a thirty per cent interest."
There was a universal gasp.
Olderman said, "Honorable Mayer, you have already demonstrated your devices. What is there to prevent us from playing you false?"
Mayer laughed. "My dear Olderman, I have other inventions to reveal as rapidly as you develop the technicians, the workers, capable of building and operating them. If you cheat me now, you will be passed by next time."
Russ muttered, "Thirty per cent! Your wealth will be unbelievable."
"As fast as it accumulates, Honorables, it shall be invested. For instance, I have great interest in expanding our inadequate universities. The advances I expect will only be possible if we educate the people. Field serfs are not capable of running even that simple steam engine Jerry demonstrated."
Baron Leonar said, "What you contemplate is mind-shaking. Do I understand that you wish a confederation of all our cities? A joining together to combat the strength of the present lords?"
Mayer was shaking his head. "No, no. As the barons lose power, each of your cities will strengthen and possibly expand to become nations. Perhaps some will unite. But largely you will compete against each other and against the nations of the other continents. In such competition you'll have to show your mettle, or go under. Man develops at his fastest when pushed by such circumstance."
The Earthling looked off, unseeing, into a far corner of the room. "At least, so is my contention. Far away from here a colleague is trying to prove me wrong. We shall see."
Leonid Plekhanov returned to thePedagoguewith a certain ceremony. He was accompanied by Joe Chessman, Natt Roberts and Barry Watson of his original group, but four young, hard-eyed, hard-faced and armed Tulans were also in the party. Their space lighter swooped in, nestled to thePedagogue'shull in the original bed it had occupied on the trip from Terra City, and her port opened to the corridors of the mother ship.
Plekhanov, flanked by Chessman and Watson, strode heavily toward the ship's lounge. Natt Roberts and two of the Tulans remained with the small boat. Two of the other natives followed, their eyes darting here, there, in amazement, in spite of their efforts to appear grim and untouched by it all.
Amschel Mayer was already seated at the officer's dining table. His face displayed his irritation at the other's method of presenting himself. "Good Heavens, Plekhanov, what is this, an invasion?"
The other registered surprise.
Mayer indicated the Texcocans. "Do you think it necessary to bring armed men aboard thePedagogue? Frankly, I have not even revealed to a single Genoese the existence of the ship."
Jerry Kennedy was seated to one side, the only member of Mayer's team who had accompanied him for this meeting. Kennedy winked at Watson and Chessman. Watson grinned back but held his peace.
Plekhanov sank into a chair, rumbling, "We hold no secrets from the Texcocans. The sooner they advance to where they can use our libraries and laboratories, the better. And the fact these boys are armed has no significance. My Tulans are currently embarked on a campaign to unite the planet. Arms are sometimes necessary, and Tula, my capital, is somewhat of an armed camp. All able-bodied men—"
Mayer broke in heatedly, "And is this the method you use to bring civilization to Texcoco? Is this what you consider the purpose of the Office of Galactic Colonization? An armed camp! How many persons have you slaughtered thus far?"
"Easy," Joe Chessman growled.
Amschel Mayer spun on him. "I need no instruction from you, Chessman. Please remember I'm senior in charge of this expedition and as such rank you."
Plekhanov thudded a heavy hand on the table. "I'll call my assistants to order, Mayer, if I feel it necessary. Admittedly, when this expedition left Terra City you were the ranking officer. Now, however, we've divided—at your suggestion, please remember. Now there are two independent groups and you no longer have jurisdiction over mine."
"Indeed!" Mayer barked. "And suppose I decide to withhold the use of thePedagogue'slibraries and laboratories to you? I tell you, Plekhanov—"
Leonid Plekhanov interrupted him coldly. "I would not suggest you attempt any such step, Mayer."
Mayer glared but suddenly reversed himself. "Let's settle down and become more sensible. This is the first conference of the five we have scheduled. Ten years have elapsed. Actually, of course, we've had some idea of each other's progress since team members occasionally meet on trips back here to thePedagogueto consult the library. I am afraid, my dear Leonid, that your theories on industrialization are rapidly being proven inaccurate."
"Nonsense!"
Mayer said smoothly, "In the decade past, my team's efforts have more than tripled the Genoese industrial potential. Last week one of our steamships crossed the second ocean. We've located petroleum and the first wells are going down. We've introduced a dozen crops that had disappeared through misadventure to the original colonists. And, oh yes, our first railroad is scheduled to begin running between Bari and Ronda next spring. There are six new universities and in the next decade I expect fifty more."
"Very good, indeed," Plekhanov grumbled.
"Only a beginning. The breath of competition, of unharnessed enterprise is sweeping Genoa. Feudalism crumbles. Customs, mores and traditions that have held up progress for a century or more are now on their way out."
Joe Chessman growled, "Some of the boys tell me you've had a few difficulties with this crumbling feudalism thing. In fact, didn't Buchwald barely escape with his life when the barons on your western continent united to suppress all chartered cities?"
Mayer's thin face darkened. "Never fear, my dear Joseph, those barons responsible for shedding the blood of western hemisphere elements of progress will shortly pay for their crimes."
"You've got military problems too, then?" Barry Watson asked.
Mayer's eyes went to him in irritation. "Some of the free cities of Genoa are planning measures to regain their property and rights on the western hemisphere. This has nothing to do with my team, except, of course, in so far as they might sell them supplies or equipment."
The lanky Watson laughed lowly, "You mean like selling them a few quick-firing breech-loaders and trench mortars?"
Plekhanov muttered, "That'll be enough, Barry."
But Mayer's eyes had widened. "How did you know?" He whirled on Plekhanov. "You're spying on my efforts, trying to negate my work!"
Plekhanov rumbled, "Don't be a fool, Mayer. My team has neither the time nor interest to spy on you."
"Then how did you know—"
Barry Watson said mildly, "I was doing some investigation in the ship's library. I ran into evidence that you people had already used the blueprints for breech-loaders and mortars."
Jerry Kennedy came to his feet and rambled over to the messroom's bar. "This seems to be all out spat, rather than a conference to compare progress," he said. "Anybody for a drink? Frankly, that's the next thing I'm going to introduce to Genoa, some halfway decent likker. Do you know what those benighted heathens drink now?"
Watson grinned. "Make mine whisky, Jerry. You've no complaints. Our benighted heathens have a national beverage fermented from a plant similar to cactus. Ought to be drummed out of the human race."
He spoke idly, forgetful of the Tulan guards stationed at the doorway.
Kennedy passed drinks around for everyone save Mayer, who shook his head in distaste. If only for a brief spell, some of the tenseness left the air while the men from Earth sipped their beverages.
Jerry Kennedy said, "Well, you've heard our report. How go things on Texcoco?"
"According to plan," Plekhanov rumbled.
Mayer snorted.
Plekhanov said ungraciously, "Our prime effort is now the uniting of the total population into one strong whole, a super-state capable of accomplishing the goals set us by the Co-ordinator."
Mayer sneered, "Undoubtedly, this goal of yours, this super-state, is being established by force."
"Not always," Joe Chessman said. "Quite a few of the tribes join up on their own. Why not? The State has a lot to offer."
"Such as what?" Kennedy said mildly.
Chessman looked at him in irritation. "Such as advanced medicine, security from famine, military protection from more powerful nations. The opportunity for youth to get an education and find advancement in the State's government—if they've got it on the ball."
"And what happens if they don'thave it on the ball?"
Chessman growled, "What happens to such under any society? They get the dirty-end-of-the-stick jobs." His eyes went from Kennedy to Mayer. "Are you suggesting you offer anything better?"
Mayer said, "Already on most of Genoa it is a matter of free competition. The person with ability is able to profit from it."
Joe Chessman grunted sour amusement. "Of course, it doesn't help to be the son of a wealthy merchant or a big politician."
Plekhanov took over. "Inanysociety the natural leaders come to the top in much the same manner as the big ones come to the top in a bin of potatoes, they just work their way up."
Jerry Kennedy finished his drink and said easily, "At least, those at the top can claim they're the biggest potatoes. Remember back in the twentieth century when Hitler and his gang announced they were the big potatoes in Germany and men of Einstein's stature fled the country—being small potatoes, I suppose."
Amschel Mayer said, "We're getting away from the point. Pray go on, my dear Leonid. You say you are forcibly uniting all Texcoco."
"We are uniting all Texcoco," Plekhanov corrected with a scowl. "Not always by force. And that is by no means our only effort. We are ferreting out the most intelligent of the assimilated peoples and educating them as rapidly as possible. We've introduced iron ..."
"And use it chiefly for weapons," Kennedy murmured.
"... Antibiotics and other medicines, a field agriculture, are rapidly building roads ..."
"Military roads," Kennedy mused.
"... To all sections of the State, have made a beginning in naval science, and, of course, haven't ignored the arts."
"On the face of it," Mayer nodded, "hardly approaching Genoa."
Plekhanov rumbled indignantly, "We started two ethnic periods behind you. Even the Tulans were still using bronze, but the Genoese had iron and even gunpowder. Our advance is a bit slow to get moving, Mayer, but when it begins to roll—"
Mayer gave his characteristic snort. "A free people need never worry about being passed by a subjected one."
Barry Watson made himself another drink and while doing so looked over his shoulder at Amschel Mayer. "It's interesting the way you throw about that termfree. Just what type of government do you sponsor?"
Mayer snapped, "Our team does not interfere in governmental forms, Watson. The various nations are free to adapt to whatever local conditions obtain. They range from some under feudalistic domination to countries with varying degrees of republican democracy. Our base of operations in the southern hemisphere is probably the most advanced of all the chartered cities, Barry. It amounts to a city-state somewhat similar to Florence during the Renaissance."
"And your team finds itself in the position of the Medici, I imagine."
"You might use that analogy. The Medici might have been, well, tyrants of Florence, dominating her finances and trade as well as her political government, but they were benevolent tyrants."
"Yeah," Watson grinned. "The thing about a benevolent tyranny, though, is that it's up to the tyrants to decide what's benevolent. I'm not so sure there's a great basic difference between your governing of Genoa and ours of Texcoco."
"Don't be an ass," Mayer snapped. "We are granting the Genoese political freedoms as fast as they can assimilate them."
Joe Chessman growled, "But I imagine it's surprising to find just how slowly they can assimilate. A moment ago you said they were free to form any government they wished. Now you say you feed them what you call freedom, only so fast as they can assimilate it."
"Obviously we encourage them along whatever path we think will most quickly develop their economies," Mayer argued. "That's what we've been sent here to do. We stimulate competition, encourage all progress, political as well as economic."
Plekhanov lumbered to his feet. "Amschel, obviously nothing new has been added to our respective positions by this conference. I propose we adjourn to meet again at the end of the second decade."
Mayer said, "I suppose it would be futile to suggest you give up this impossible totalitarian scheme of yours and reunite the expedition."
Plekhanov merely grunted his disgust.
Jerry Kennedy said, "One thing. What stand have you taken on giving your planet immortality?"
"Immortality?" Watson said. "We haven't it to give."
"You know what I mean. It wouldn't take long to extend the life span double or triple the present."
Amschel Mayer said, "At this stage progress is faster with the generations closer together. A man is pressed when he knows he has only twenty or thirty years of peak efficiency. We on Earth are inclined to settle back and take life as it comes; you younger men are all past the century mark, but none have bothered to get married as yet."
"Plenty of time for that," Watson grinned.
"That's what I mean. But a Texcocan or Genoese feels pressed to wed in his twenties, or earlier, to get his family under way."
"There's another element," Plekhanov muttered. "The more the natives progress the more nearly they'll equal our abilities. I wouldn't want anything to happen to our overall plans. As it is now, their abilities taper off at sixty and they reach senility at seventy or eighty. I think until the end we should keep it this way."
"A cold-blooded view," Kennedy said. "If we extended their life expectancy, their best men would live to be of additional use to planet development."
"But they would not have our dream," Plekhanov rumbled. "Such men might try to subvert us, and, just possibly, might succeed."
"I think Leonid is right," Mayer admitted with reluctance.
Later, in the space lighter heading back for Genoa, Mayer said speculatively, "Did you notice anything about Leonid Plekhanov?"
Kennedy was piloting. "He seems the same irascible old curmudgeon he's always been."
"It seems to me he's become a touch power mad. Could the pressures he's under cause his mind to slip? Obviously, all isn't peaches and cream in that attempt of his to achieve world government on Texcoco."
"Well," Kennedy muttered, "all isn't peaches and cream with us, either. The barons are far from licked, especially in the west." He changed the subject. "By the way, that banking deal went through in Pola. I was able to get control."
"Fine," Mayer chuckled. "You must be quite the richest man in the city. There is a certain stimulation in this financial game, Jerry, isn't there?"
"Uh huh," Jerry told him. "Of course, it doesn't hurt to have a marked deck."
"Marked deck?" the other frowned.
"It's handy that gold is the medium of exchange on Genoa," Jerry Kennedy said. "Especially in view of the fact that we have a machine on the ship capable of transmuting metals."
Leonid Plekhanov, Joseph Chessman, Barry Watson, Khan Reif and several of the Tulan army staff stood on a small knoll overlooking a valley of several square miles. A valley dominated on all sides but the sea by mountain ranges.
Reif and the three Earthlings were bent over a military map depicting the area. Barry Watson traced with his finger.
"There are only two major passes into this valley. We have this one, they dominate that."
Plekhanov was scowling, out of his element and knowing it. "How many men has Mynor been able to get together?"
Watson avoided looking into the older man's face. "Approximately half a million according to Hawkins' estimate. He flew over them this morning."
"Half a million!"
"Including the nomads, of course," Joe Chessman said. "The nomads fight more like a mob than an army."
Plekhanov was shaking his massive head. "Most of them will melt away if we continue to avoid battle. They can't feed that many men on the countryside. The nomads in particular will return home if they don't get a fight soon."
Watson hid his impatience. "That's the point, sir. If we don't break their power now, in a decisive defeat, we'll have them to fight again, later. And already they've got iron swords, the crossbow and even a few muskets. Given time and they'll all be so armed. Then the fat'll be in the fire."
"He's right," Joe Chessman said sourly.
Reif nodded his head. "We must finish them now, if we can. The task will be twice as great next year."
Plekhanov grumbled in irritation. "Half a million of them and something like forty thousand of our Tulans."
Reif corrected him. "Some thirty thousand Tulans, all infantrymen." He added, "And eight thousand allied cavalry only some of whom can be trusted." Reif's ten-year-old son came up next to him and peered down at the map.
"What's that child doing here?" Plekhanov snapped.
Reif looked into the other's face. "This is Taller Second, my son. You from First Earth have never bothered to study our customs. One of them is that a Khan's son participates in all battles his father does. It is his training."
Watson was pointing out features on the map again. "It will take three days for their full army to get in here." He added with emphasis, "In retreat, it would take them the same time to get out."
Plekhanov scowled heavily. "We can't risk it. If we were defeated, we have no reserve army. We'd have lost everything." He looked at Joe Chessman and Watson significantly. "We'd have to flee back to thePedagogue."
Reif's face was expressionless.
Barry Watson looked at him. "We won't desert you, Reif, forget about that aspect of it."
Reif said, "I believe you, Barry Watson. You are a ... soldier."
Dick Hawkins' small biplane zoomed in, landed expertly at the knoll's foot. The occupant vaulted out and approached them at a half run.
Hawkins called as soon as he was within shouting distance. "They're moving in. Their advance cavalry units are already in the pass."
When he was with them, Plekhanov rubbed his hand nervously over heavy lips. He rumbled, "The cavalry, eh? Listen, Hawkins, get back there and dust them. Use the gas."
The pilot said slowly, "I have four bullet holes in my wings."
"Bullet holes!" Joe Chessman snapped.
Hawkins turned to him. "By the looks of things, MacBride's whole unit has gone over to the rebels. Complete with their double-barreled muskets. A full thousand of them."
Watson looked frigidly at Leonid Plekhanov. "You insisted on issuing guns to men we weren't sure of."
Plekhanov grumbled, "Confound it, don't use that tone of voice with me. We have to arm our men, don't we?"
Watson said, "Yes, but our still comparatively few advanced weapons shouldn't go into the hands of anybody but trusted citizens of the State, certainly not to a bunch of mercenaries. The only ones we canreallytrust even among the Tulans, are those that were kids when we first took over. The one's we've had time to indoctrinate."
"The mistake's made. It's too late now," Plekhanov said. "Hawkins go back and dust those cavalrymen as they come through the pass."
Reif said, "It was a mistake, too, to allow them the secret of the crossbow."
Plekhanov roared, "I didn'tallowthem anything. Once the crossbow was introduced it was just a matter of time before its method of construction got to the enemy."
"Then it shouldn't have been introduced," Reif said, his eyes unflinching from the Earthman's.
Plekhanov ignored him. He said, "Hawkins, get going on that dusting. Watson, pull what units we already have in this valley back through the pass we control. We'll avoid battle until more of their army has fallen away."
Hawkins said with deceptive mildness, "I just told you those cavalrymen have muskets. To fly low enough to use gas on them, I'd get within easy range. Point one, this is the only aircraft we've built. Point two, MacBride is probably dead, killed when those cavalrymen mutinied. Point three, I came on this expedition to help modernize the Texcocans, not to die in battle."
Plekhanov snarled at him. "Coward, eh?" He turned churlishly to Watson and Reif. "Start pulling back our units."
Barry Watson looked at Chessman. "Joe?"
Joe Chessman shook his head slowly. He said to Reif, "Khan, start bringing your infantry through the pass. Barry, we'll follow your plan of battle. We'll anchor one flank on the sea and concentrate what cavalry we can trust on the hills on the right. That's the bad spot, that right flank has to hold."
Plekhanov's thick lips trembled. He said in fury, "Is this insubordination?"
Reif turned on his heel and followed by young Taller and his staff hurried down the knoll to where their horses were tethered.
Chessman said to Hawkins, "If you've got the fuel, Dick, maybe it'd be a good idea to keep them under observation. Fly high enough, of course, to avoid gunfire."
Hawkins darted a look at Plekhanov, turned and hurried back to his plane.
Joe Chessman, his voice sullen, said to Plekhanov, "We can't afford any more mistakes, Leonid. We've had too many already." He said to Watson, "Be sure and let their cavalry units scout us out. Allow them to see that we're entering the valley too. They'll think they've got us trapped."
"They will have!" Plekhanov roared. "I countermand that order, Watson! We're withdrawing."
Barry Watson raised his eyebrows at Joe Chessman.
"Put him under arrest," Joe growled sourly. "We'll decide what to do about it later."
By the third day, Mynor's rebel and nomad army had filed through the pass and was forming itself into battle array. Rank upon rank upon rank.
The Tulan infantry had taken less than half a day to enter. They had camped and rested during the interval, the only action being on the part of the rival cavalry forces.
Now the thirty thousand Tulans went into their phalanx and began their march across the valley.
Joe Chessman, Hawkins, Roberts, Stevens and Khan Reif and several of his men again occupied the knoll which commanded a full view of the terrain. With binoculars and wrist radios from thePedagoguethey kept in contact with the battle.
Below, Barry Watson walked behind the advancing infantry. There were six divisions of five thousand men each, twenty-four footsarissasstretched before their sixteen man deep line. Only the first few lines were able to extend their weapons; the rest gave weight and supplied replacements for the advanced lines' casualties. Behind them all the Tulan drums beat out the slow, inexorable march.
Cogswell, beside Watson with the wrist radio, said excitedly, "Here comes a cavalry charge, Barry. Reif says right behind it the nomad infantry is coming in." Cogswell cleared his throat. "All of them."
Watson held up a hand in signal to his officers. The phalanx ground to a halt, received the charge on the hedge ofsarissas. The enemy cavalry wheeled and attempted to retreat to the flanks but were caught in a bloody confusion by the pressure of their own advancing infantry.
Cogswell, his ear to the radio, said, "Their main body of horse is hitting our right flank." He wet his lips. "We're outnumbered there something like ten to one. At least ten to one."
"They've got to hold," Watson said. "Tell Reif and Chessman that flank has to hold."
The enemy infantrymen in their hundreds of thousands hit the Tulan line in a clash of deafening military thunder. Barry Watson resumed his pacing. He signaled to the drummers who beat out another march. The phalanx moved forward slowly, and slowly went into an echelon formation, each division slightly ahead of the one following. Of necessity, the straight lines of the nomad and rebel front had to break.
The drums wentboom, ah,boom, ah,boom, ah,boom.
The Tulan phalanx moved slowly, obliquely across the valley. The hedge of spears ruthlessly pressed the mass of enemy infantry before them.
The sergeants paced behind, shouting over the din. "Dress it up. You there, you've been hit, fall out to the rear."
"I'm all right," the wounded spearman snarled, battle lust in his voice.
"Fall out, I said," the sergeant roared. "You there, take his place."
The Tulan phalanx ground ahead.
One of the sergeants grinned wanly at Barry Watson as his men moved forward with the preciseness of the famed Rockettes of another era. "It's working," he said proudly.
Barry Watson snorted, "Don't give me credit. It belongs to a man named Philip of Macedon, a long ways away in both space and time."
Cogswell called, "Our right flank cavalry is falling back. Joe wants to know if you can send any support."
Watson's face went expressionless. "No," he said flatly. "It's got to hold. Tell Joe and the Khan it's got to hold. Suggest they throw in those cavalry units they're not sure of. The ones that threatened mutiny last week."
Joe Chessman stood on the knoll flanked by the Khan's ranking officers and the balance of the Earthmen. Natt Roberts was on the radio. He turned to the others and worriedly repeated the message.
Joe Chessman looked out over the valley. The thirty-thousand-man phalanx was pressing back the enemy infantry with the precision of a machine. He looked up the hillside at the point where the enemy cavalry was turning the right flank. Given cavalry behind the Tulan line and the battle was lost.
"O.K., boys," Chessman growled sourly, "we're in the clutch now. Hawkins!"
"Yeah," the pilot said.
"See what you can do. Use what bombs you have including the napalm. Fly as low as you can in the way of scaring their horses." He added sourly, "Avoiding scaring ours, if you can."
"You're the boss," Hawkins said, and scurried off toward his scout plane.
Joe Chessman growled to the others, "When I was taking my degree in primitive society and primitive military tactics, I didn't exactly have this in mind. Come on!"
It was the right thing to say. The other Earthmen laughed and took up their equipment, submachine guns, riot guns, a flame thrower, grenades, and followed him up the hill toward the fray.
Chessman said over his shoulder to Reif, "Khan, you're in the saddle. You can keep in touch with both Watson and us on the radio."
Reif hesitated only a moment. "There is no need for further direction of the battle from this point. A warrior is of more value now than a Khan. Come my son." He caught up a double-barreled musket and followed the Earthmen. The ten years old Taller scurried after with a revolver.
Natt Roberts said, "If we can hold their cavalry for only another half hour, Watson's phalanx will have their infantry pressed up against the pass they entered by. It took them three days to get through it, they're not going to be able to get out in hours."
"That's the idea," Joe Chessman said dourly, "Let's go."
Amschel Mayer was incensed.
"What's got into Buchwald and MacDonald?" he spat.
Jerry Kennedy, attired as was his superior in fur trimmed Genoese robes, signaled one of the servants for a refilling of his glass and shrugged.
"I suppose it's partly our own fault," he said lightly. He sipped the wine, made a mental note to buy up the rest of this vintage for his cellars before young Mannerheim or someone else did so.
"Our fault!" Mayer glared.
The old boy was getting decreasingly tolerant as the years went by, Kennedy decided. He said soothingly, "You sent Peter and Fred over there to speed up local development. Well, that's what they're doing."
"Are you insane!" Mayer squirmed in his chair. "Did you read this radiogram? They've squeezed out all my holdings in rubber, the fastest growing industry on the western continent. Why, millions are involved. Who do they think they are?"
Kennedy put down his glass and chuckled. "See here, Amschel, we're developing this planet by encouraging free competition. Our contention is that under such a socio-economic system the best men are brought to the lead and benefit all society by the advances they make."
"So! What has this got to do with MacDonald and Buchwald betraying my interests?"
"Don't you see? Using your own theory, you have been set back by someone more efficiently competitive. Fred and Peter saw an opening and, in keeping with your instructions, moved in. It's just coincidence that the rubber they took over was your property rather than some Genoese operator's. If you were open to a loss there, then if they hadn't taken over someone else could have. Possibly Baron Leonar or even Russ."
"That reminds me," Mayer snapped, "our Honorable Russ is getting too big for his britches in petroleum. Did you know he's established a laboratory in Amerus? Has a hundred or more chemists working on new products."
"Fine," Kennedy said.
"Fine! What do you mean? Dean is our man in petroleum."
"Look here, if Russ can develop the industry even faster than Mike Dean, let him go ahead. That's all to our advantage."
Mayer leaned forward and tapped his assistant emphatically on the knee. "Look here, yourself, Jerry Kennedy. At this stage we don't want things getting out of our hands. A culture is in the hands of those who control the wealth; the means of production, distribution, communication. Theirs is the real power. I've made a point of spacing our men about the whole planet. Each specializes, though not exclusively. Gunther is our mining man, Dean heads petroleum, MacDonald shipping, Buchwald textiles, Rykov steel, and so forth. As fast as this planet can assimilate we push new inventions, new techniques, often whole new sciences, into use. Meanwhile, you and I sit back and dominate it all through that strongest of power mediums, finance."
Jerry Kennedy nodded. "I wouldn't worry about old man Russ taking over Dean's domination of oil, though. Mike's got the support of all thePedagogue'sresources behind him. Besides, we've got to let these Genoese get into the act. The more the economy expands, the more capable men we need. As it is, I think we're already spread a little too thin."
Amschel Mayer had dropped the subject. He was reading the radiogram again and scowling his anger. "Well, this cooks MacDonald and Buchwald. I'll break them."
His assistant raised his eyebrows. "How do you mean?"
"I'm not going to put up with my subordinates going against my interests."
"In this case, what can you do about it? Business is business."
"You hold quite a bit of their paper, don't you?"
"You know that. Most of our team's finances funnel through my hands."
"We'll close them out. They've become too obsessed with their wealth. They've forgotten why thePedagoguewas sent here. I'll break them, Jerry. They'll come crawling. Perhaps I'll send them back to thePedagogue. Make them stay aboard as crew."
Kennedy shrugged. "Well, Peter MacDonald's going to hate that. He's developed into quite a high liver—gourmet food, women, one of the swankiest estates on the eastern continent."
"Ha!" Mayer snorted. "Let him go back to ship's rations and crew's quarters."
A servant entered the lushly furnished room and announced, "Honorable Gunther calling on the Honorables Mayer and Kennedy."
Martin Gunther hurried into the room, for once his calm ruffled. "On the western continent," he blurted. "Dean and Rosetti. The Temple got them, they've been burned as witches."
Amschel Mayer shot to his feet. "That's the end," he swore shrilly. "Only in the west have the barons held out. I thought we'd slowly wear them down, take over their powers bit by bit. But this does it. This means we fight."
He spun to Kennedy. "Jerry, make a trip out to thePedagogue. You know the extent of Genoa's industrial progress. Seek out the most advanced weapons this technology could produce."
Kennedy came to his own feet, shocked by Gunther's news. "But, Amschel, do you think it's wise to precipitate an intercontinental war? Remember, we've been helping to industrialize the west, too. It's almost as advanced as our continent. Their war potential isn't negligible."
"Nevertheless," Mayer snapped, "we've got to break the backs of the barons and the Temple monks. Get messages off to Baron Leonar and young Mannerheim, to Russ and Olderman. We'll want them to put pressure on their local politicians. What we need is a continental alliance for this war."
Gunther said, "Should I get in touch with Rykov? He's still over there."
Mayer hesitated. "No," he said. "We'll keep Nick informed but he ought to remain where he is. We'll still want our men in the basic positions of power after we've won."
"He might get hurt," Gunther scowled. "They might get him too, and we've only got six team members left now."
"Nonsense, Nick Rykov can take care of himself."
Jerry Kennedy was upset. "Are you sure about this war, chief? Isn't a conflict of this size apt to hold up our overall plans?"
"Of course not," Mayer scoffed. "Man makes his greatest progress under pressure. A major war will unite the nations of both the western continent and this one as nothing else could. Both will push their development to the utmost."
He added thoughtfully, "Which reminds me. It might be a good idea for us to begin accumulating interests in such industries as will be effected by a war economy."
Jerry Kennedy chuckled at him, "Merchant of death."
"What?"
"Nothing," Kennedy said. "Something I read about in a history book."
At the decade's end, once again the representatives of the Genoese team were first in thePedagogue'slounge. Mayer sat at the officer's table, Martin Gunther at his right. Jerry Kennedy leaned against the ship's bar, sipping appreciatively at a highball.
They could hear the impact of the space boat from Texcoco when it slid into its bed.
"Poor piloting," Gunther mused. "Whoever's doing that flying doesn't get enough practice."
They could hear ports opening and then the sound of approaching feet. The footsteps had a strangely military ring.