"Can fighting find it?" asked Guy doubtfully.
"It is the only way. Consider an hypothetical planet containing two continents of equal size, on opposite hemispheres. One continent is absolute anarchy, the other complete tyranny." Charalas grinned boyishly for all of his years. "Obviously they have been living in complete ignorance of one another up to now, for otherwise they couldn't have arrived at those extremes.
"Well, it is hypothetical, anyway, and there are your constants. This goes on, and then one day one of two things happen. Either is possible and I am not plumping for either side—but the two possibilities are: One, the tyrant decides to gather the anarchs under his rule, or; two: the anarchs decide to free their fellows from the tyrant rule. This, Elanane, means war, to quote an ancient cry.
"Immediately the tyrant finds that he cannot run the whole show by himself, so he relegates power to able men. The anarchs decide that they are impotent, and elect leaders to run certain phases of the campaign. So we have less of a tyranny on one side and less anarchy on the other. In either case, power relegated is seldom regained, and as the years bear on, war after war is fought and either side approaches a norm."
Guy smiled. "Supposing one side wins."
"That is a sign that the winning side is closer to the best form of social co-operation."
"And when they reach that norm, then what?"
"They never reach," said Charalas. "Their struggles cause each of them to rise above the norm, and then they swing like the pendulum below the norm. It is a long, damped cycle."
"A damped cycle must eventually cease."
"Not when you constantly change the norm," said Charalas. "The norm of prehistoric times is vastly different from the present. Our norm is different than the future norm. Men advance in knowledge and in responsibility, and they resent, bitterly, being judged on laws and rules set up to control their forefathers. City Indilee was the object of ridicule some hundred kilodays ago because some jurist tried to invoke a rule against flying less than five thousand noads above the city."
"I've read about that," smiled Guy, reading it from Charalas' mind. "At the time, we'd been landing on the building stages for thirty kilodays."
"Right. Another thing, Elanane. Some day anarchy will be the government of man. But not until man has learned to control himself as an individual, to respect the rights of others, and to follow the common wish. Until then we will have government."
"Which brings us back to the original question. You said Ertene is stale."
"I mean it. Elanane—are we capable of running ourselves?"
"Obviously."
"Then we shouldn't fear a test of fire."
"Our ability to keep out of the fight should be answer enough."
"Any coward can keep from fighting by hiding. Perhaps these Terrans are right."
"Right? Is it right to destroy the people of Pluto with their way of living in comfort?"
"Yes. We do not mind killing cattle for food, do we?"
"Yes, but—"
"No, Elanane, it is no different."
"Then how about the ones used by the Terrans for medical experiments?"
"Justified. Up to a certain point a race may experiment to good advantage on the lower primates. Eventually, there is little to be known, since the more delicate investigations must be carried out on higher levels of intelligence."
"These denizens of the outer moon of one of their planets were not of high intelligence."
"Wrong," said Charalas. "They are of a high order of intelligence. It is their knowledge that is low. They have the capability. Yet, Elanane, we have the fundamental law of the survival of the fittest. In warring upon Mars, weapons and sciences are unloosed which out-strip the advances made in medicine. Nothing is said against Terra for fighting against Mars. They are traditional enemies.
"To return to the denizens of Titan. These semi-intelligent natives are like swine wearing diamonds. They evolved in a society in which they had no native enemy. They were not forced to become intelligent in order to live—if they had but one single enemy, they would have evolved into first-rate civilization ages ago. There has been no forward step on Titan for ten thousand Terran years. They will never make an advance. Even if offered the sciences of the inner system, they would shrug them off and revert back to their semi-savagery."
"I've been told that three generations of schooling would make them suitable allies for Terra," objected Guy.
Charalas shook his head. "Wrong. Mankind on Terra rose because he was ambitious—he still is. Titan is not ambitious and never will be. They have no reason to work, and will not. Terrans—and early Ertinians—fought their way upward because they had to in order to live. Therefore, Elanane, the Titanians fall under the classification of those whose lives are only to support intelligence."
"Um," said Guy. "Then Terra is not the black race they've been painted?"
"Not by a jugful. Nothing was said of downtrodden races of the past—why balk at downtrodden races of the present?"
"But they should help—"
"Helping anyone is possible only when they want to be helped. The Titanians are not even grateful for the comforts given to them by Terra."
"Comforts?" sneered Guy. "The comfort of being vivisected?"
"Terra is not a vampire race," smiled Charalas. "Terra tried to raise their level and failed because of their lassitude. They didn't give a hoot. Terra tried to conduct their experiments on a gentle basis; small experiments such as testing vaccines and antibodies—all, mind, on Titanians who were ill. They had no chance of danger, and a good chance of living. Titan had nothing to lose; either the vaccines would work and save the victim, or would not work and the victim would receive the best care possible anyway. Terra offered to pay royally. Titan didn't even care for that. They didn't care for payment; didn't care for comfort; didn't care that some of their members died.
"And," added Charalas pointedly, "they do not care now, when Terra uses a few of them for medical purposes."
"How many?"
"There are one hundred million Titanians. Terra takes perhaps one thousand per year. And a goodly portion of these are ill already. Terra developed their limb-grafting method out of them, and that alone is worth their trouble."
"That puts a new face on it," said Guy.
"As for their new find—Mephisto. Mephisto might have received good friendship. The Mephistans were absolutely alien to Terrans. Mephisto has nothing that Terra really needs, that Terra couldn't exchange for. Terra has items that Mephisto could have had, too, thus completing the cycle. Mephisto's atmosphere is unsuited for Terrans and vice versa. Their body chemistry would have been poisonous to each other. Here, then, we have a condition whereby two alien races could have lived in peace together. Yet Mephisto, not knowing the entire story, thought Terra a rapacious, vampire race. They, the utter fools, sought Martian assistance."
"That's what I'd have done."
"Not smart," smiled Charalas. "Never, never get between traditional enemies, Elanane. You become an innocent bystander that goes down before the steam roller of a spite battle. That, plus the traditional system of both planets."
"What's that?"
"Never fight your battles on the home ground—it spoils it badly. Fight your battles all over some poor innocent's land and leave the homeland unscarred. Also dirty, Elanane, but Nature is a dirty fighter."
"So you think Terra is all right fundamentally?"
"Obviously. Nature will not permit any unsuitable system to obtain. Given a few hundred years and Terra will see eye to eye with Mars against some other system."
"Perhaps against Ertene—?"
"I hope not," said Charalas fervently. "Yet they have some attributes we need."
"Have they anything we need?"
"They have the verve, the ambition, and unbeatability of youth. We, Elanane, are stodgy and slow and old."
"That doesn't please me too much."
"That's too bad. It's true. Look, Elanane, how long is our history compared to theirs?"
"Several hundred times as long, I believe."
"Not quite several hundred, Elanane. But long enough—far long enough to prove my statement. How does their scientific culture compare?"
"Somewhat less—"
"Equal! Or better perhaps!"
"Oh no."
"Oh yes. The two are divergent to the nth power, but their development is as high as ours is. Now, Elanane, they've come up alone, driven only by Mars and other exigencies. Mars came with them. We, Elanane, came up by slyly taking bits of culture from this system and that system as we came along.
"Be that as it may," added Charalas. "The question I ponder is this:How do we know we're so right?"
XVIII.
Guy didn't answer. And Charalas smiled. "I've said my piece," he told Maynard. "Take it as from an old, old, bothersome man who may be bitter because of his age."
"Charalas, you are Ertene's foremost neuro-surgeon, and also one of the most popular philosophers. I'll accept your arguments. But I am still convinced that Ertene will suffer if any alliance is formed between Terra and Ertene."
"A little suffering might wake us from our lethargy, but it is also human nature to let the other guy suffer. We'll go on and on until we get caught. Some day," promised Charalas, "Ertene will suffer. It's just a matter of time before we get caught."
"Not if I can help it," said Maynard stoutly.
The door opened to admit Thomakein. He bore a sheaf of papers. He looked surprised at Charalas and then greeted the neuro-surgeon. "Been here long?"
"Couple of hours," answered Charalas. "Elanane and I have been discussing the state of Ertene."
Thomakein's forehead wrinkled, and he cast a worried look at Guy, who smiled cheerfully. "Have you come to a conclusion?" he asked with forced cheer.
"We've decided that Ertene may be in for trouble some day," said Charalas. "And also that we'll forestall it as best we can."
"That's what I came for," said Thomakein. "We're setting up vortex projectors on strategic places. We need your signature, Elanane, on the orders which procure the land."
"Upon what basis?"
"Purchase, of course."
"I'll sign—and pray that they are never used."
"So will we all," smiled Thomakein. "But to need them and not have them would be terrible."
Guy signed the papers, and Thomakein left with Charalas. Maynard smiled inwardly as they left. Thomakein's anxiety was so obvious; he wanted to question Charalas to see what, if anything, was said that might lead to trouble. He shrugged as the phone rang once and a girlish voice told him that she was home and could she come up to see him. The voice clicked a chord in Guy's mind, and he answered: "Come on up, Leilanane."
He wondered whether it was customary for the lanee to kiss his sister on every possible occasion; his thought-beam instrument gave him enough information to make his heart beat faster.
The days passed swiftly for Guy Maynard. Had he been the real Elanane, they would have passed slowly, for nothing of any real interest transpired. It was a humdrum life, he found. The affairs of state were few and far between, and more and more Guy came to believe that Ertene's system was as good or better than the turmoil that prevailed on Terra. The only activity that went on was the construction of the vortex machines, and that was the job of a few, specially-trained technicians. Guy found his time passing swiftly because of the constant necessity of keeping his guard up.
The thought-beam instrument kept him out of trouble, and gradually he completed it, making the special parts in a tiny workshop that the real Elanane had furnished. He thanked the dead lanee for having that kind of a hobby, and used it to the best advantage.
Leilanane helped. The affairs of state were the small part of being lanee, but the social functions were nightly. And since Lanee Elanane had no mate, nor cared to speak with intent, he appeared at the state functions with his sister. He was gently criticized for this; not as lanee, but for the fact that he prevented his sister from the company of young men of her own set. In shorter, blunter words, Guy was "spoiling her chances!"
But Leilanane did not seem to care. She was happy. Guy pondered this, and wondered whether she would have been as happy with her real brother, or whether the facts, though unknown to her mind, were not unknown to the chemistry that attracted men and women mutually.
Wondering, Guy opened the gain of his instrument one evening and looked into her mind. He wanted to know, truly, whether she preferred him, or whether her preference was but a desire to serve him. To Guy's way of thinking, there was a difference in love between love of the man and love of doing things for him.
So Guy looked and retreated blushing. For in Leilanane's mind there was confusion and frustration; she was bitter against the laws that forbade mating between blood relatives. That one experience told Guy how huge a weapon the thought-beam instrument really was, and he swore never to do that again.
It also gave him confusion. He was in no position to ponder the unanswerable question he put to himself. It evolved into a merry-go-round that left him dizzy. In telling Leilanane the truth, he could establish a right to openly court her. But it would at once remove any possibility of remaining close to her. On the other hand not telling her kept them together—with the most formidable barrier between them.
It gave Maynard sleepless nights, and in order to keep from thinking himself into a bottomless pit, Guy started to build a thought-beam instrument of monster proportions. What he hoped to do with the instrument he did not know, but at one time he considered using it to condition Ertene into believing that it would be proper to mate him with his sister. When he analyzed the latter consideration, he scorned himself for thinking of it. He'd be throwing Ertene to the dogs for his own personal desire for a woman. And then he knew that no matter how he felt, he could not use the instrument in that manner.
It was excellent, he found, for gaining information without the giver's knowledge. But trying to coerce the individual in the slightest thing was impossible without letting the one know that mental tricks were being played.
He was forced to do some fast talking on the day he found that out, and only managed to talk himself out of trouble by calling to mind and attention the fact that he had known the man for many kilodays.
If the small one were that ticklish a proposition, the larger one would be more brutal in its operation. Yet he continued to work on the thing as a means of keeping his mind and hands busy. So night after night he worked in the little workshop, and then as he grew drowsy at his bench, Guy would stand under the stars upon the spiderweb of a foot-bridge that connected the governmental offices with the governmental apartments. He would look Solward and wonder how and why such a mess had been made of his life, and whether happiness would always be out of grasp.
He counted on his fingers. He'd been kidnaped, and he'd spent a year on Ertene. That was one. There was a year or so developing the barrier-screen—that made two. There were five years of advancing from senior executive to marshal's rank, and that made seven. It was a year since his being discharged from the Terran Space Patrol, and that made eight years.
Eight long years since he hadn't had a care on his mind. And in spite of his successes, there was that constant gnawing knowledge that he was not true to himself or his fellows. Yet, his conscience was clear. The knowledge had not been bad for his morale; it was merely disconcerting to know that the things they gave him credit for were not his own.
Maynard did not consider for one moment that Ertene hadn't given him everything. It took inventive genius to fit the barrier to spacecraft, and the other developments were all Maynard's own. But he scorned them all and debased himself.
It was eight long, lonely years ago—
He mentally kicked himself. He wondered whether Joan Forbes would have made a difference in his life. She might have been the outlet to pent-up feelings that he needed so badly. Joan would have given him rest without asking suspicious questions. It might have been better—
But Joan was dead, and though Thomakein claimed that she would have been there anyway, it did little to cheer him up. Thomakein's reasoning did not include the possibility that Joan might have been making a home for him, or that even the tiniest mite of family would have immobilized her against following a planet invasion.
Joan Forbes, thought Maynard, might have been the answer—but at the present time she was another blind alley of thought.Might have beenis the cry of the second-guesser; the Monday Morning Quarterback.
The sense of thermal balance that was high in Maynard warned him first. Then that sense that tells of another sentient being close by, its warning, and Guy turned to see a small figure beside him on the bridge.
"Elanane," she said.
"Don't say it," he warned softly. "I can watch the stars, too."
"They're so silent and quiet and big."
"And peaceful," agreed Guy.
"I've been lonesome," said Leilanane plaintively. It was with effort that Maynard resisted the impulse to put his hand on her shoulder.
"Are you now?" he asked softly.
She shook her head. "Elanane, I want to talk."
"Go right ahead," smiled Guy. "I like to hear you."
"No—this is important, and it is hard for me to begin."
"Serious?"
She nodded. "No ... Elanane, please don't take my shoulders like that ... it makes it more difficult."
Guy turned her around, pointed her head at the sky. "Up there, somewhere," he said quietly, "is the answer to everything. We'll find it some day. Now, Leilanane, tell me what you are worrying about."
"Thomakein asked me to marry him."
Guy's reason beat his reflex to the muscles in his forearms and prevented him from closing his hands tight on Leilanane's shoulders. Thomakein perceived the emotional tangle that was becoming more and more imminent, and by marrying Leilanane he would eliminate it. Guy knew that Thomakein thought everything of Leilanane—possibly loved the girl in a passive manner. Guy smiled briefly, obviously Thomakein could have had little opportunity to make real love to her, but a man of Thomakein's personality could carry off such a proposal by his own sheer persuasiveness. Also, Thomakein wanted power himself. Marrying the lanee's sister would put him in the eyes of the public, and doing it with the approval of the lanee himself would give him the official recognition that he needed to become lanee after Elanane. Well, Guy would resign as soon as Thomakein wanted him to, that was reasonable and desirable. It also solved the problem that bothered both Guy and Leilanane.
"Why not?" he asked softly.
"I don't know. Something—keeps me from it."
"Me?" asked Guy in a voice that was almost a whisper.
Leilanane turned and buried her face in Guy's shoulder. "Am I bad?" she cried. "Is it so terrible to love my brother?"
"It is unfortunate, Leil," said Guy softly. "It cannot be. I, too, am torn. We must face this thing as it is. Brothers and sisters normally do not care for one another. Perhaps our being apart so much has removed the usual reason. Yes, Leil, I love you too. Do you love Thomakein at all?"
"Thomakein attracts me," admitted Leilanane. "There is something dynamic in him; dynamic and powerful and all-sweeping. I could learn to love him truly."
"Then do so. Leil, no matter what we do, you and I, if we permit this outlandish thing to go on, it will mean unhappiness for both of us."
"No. Couldn't we go ... to Sol ... and live there?"
Guy shook his head. "You'd learn to hate me, Leil. In our hearts we'd always know that what we were doing was dead wrong."
Leilanane nodded pitifully. "There are times, though," she said earnestly, "when you do not seem like my brother."
"Forget it," said Guy. "There is nothing more certain in the world." Guy's sense of humor told him that he was right, all things considered.
"I suppose I will forget it soon enough. What will you do?"
"What I should have done years ago—go out and find me a mate."
"I'll hate her."
Guy laughed, and if it sounded forced, Leilanane did not notice. He turned her around to face him and shook her gently. "You're a silly little lovely," he told her. "Nothing is less like the intelligent girl I know you are. It's been my fault all along. Now you'll marry Thomakein and you'll love it."
"Think so?"
"Do you think of him at all?"
Leilanane thought for a moment. "I think so," she said slowly. "Perhaps I might learn to love him—I've never had much chance."
"Again my fault. Come on, I think he's up. We'll settle this right now."
They found Thomakein reading. Guy opened abruptly with: "Thomakein, Leil says you have been talking deep."
Thomakein smiled solemnly. "I have—and what's your answer?"
"There can be one answer. When?"
"As soon as possible."
Guy searched the other man's mind for any ulterior motive and found none. He feared to increase the sensitivity of his instrument because of the necessity of fiddling with the tuning and gain controls before their eyes. He nodded, smiled and gave Leilanane a little hug. "You're it," he said. "Now go away."
Leilanane left, and Guy sat quiet for a moment, thinking. Thomakein had solved his problem again. No matter how he felt, Guy knew that what had been growing was not to be. He asked: "Are you on the level?"
"I am. I've loved her a long time."
"Good. I think rather well of my sister."
"I know."
"Look, Tom, you're not doing this just to break this up?"
"Not entirely. Forgive me if I ramble a moment, but I want you to understand. You are never out of danger, Guy. You never will be as long as you are lanee. Once you retire, you can accept the alternative of utter retirement, or you may be more inclined to a less public life. People will revere you always, but your importance will wane, and your words will be less quoted and less watched until you are safe from chance slips of the tongue.
"Now I want to be lanee—permit me that. As I have said, I've been too far from Ertene too long. People know me, but not well enough. You sponsor this marriage, and it will be practically an endorsement from you. Then in a kiloday you may announce your retirement and I'll announce my candidacy. The family tie-up will run me in on a wave of popularity. As for Leilanane, I'll be as good and as loving a husband as I can. I know that she'll be a good wife."
"I haven't heard the word 'love' used yet."
Thomakein smiled wryly. "Honest, Guy, it always struck me slightly silly to hear two grown, mature, intelligent, strong, capable men discussing love. Forgive me. I feel that some things should be kept between the man and the woman alone. I do love Leilanane, that I promise."
"O.K.," laughed Guy. "Go ahead and commit matrimony. But look, Tom, once you get settled and running, see if you can find a friend for me."
Forty days later, Guy led Leilanane down the long aisle with a golden cord. The choral voice of the great organ rolled sonorously, exultantly, and then faded to a musical whisper as the couple reached the altar bar. The ceremony started, and its origin was lost in antiquity but returned in symbol. Guy removed the golden halo from Leilanane's head, and burned it on the flame-blackened pedestal. Thomakein accepted the protection of the woman as Guy's protection was removed and destroyed by the all-consuming fire.
Guy returned up the long aisle alone where he stood to watch the final phases of the ceremony.
The bridal couple clasped hands, and then as the music rolled out again, they left the altar bar hand in hand. They stopped before Guy, who smiled and said: "Life, love, and happiness."
Then he shook his head. The official ceremony was over, and Guy grinned hugely. He pried them apart and took an arm of each, leaving the chapel with them. He handed them into their flier, and motioned them away with a jerking movement of his thumb. "Beat it," he said, "and don't return until you're better acquainted."
Guy returned to his offices and called for Charalas.
XIX.
The period that follows defies description. It is simple to take a protracted length of time and describe the events that transpire, but when little or nothing of interest takes place, there is nothing to record. It is similar to the engineering report of negative answer; it is inconclusive and unsatisfying.
This is an historical record of the events that took place during a certain period, and during that period there are times such as this in which nothing happened.
Literally nothing.
It is this lack of action that made the outcome. Guy Maynard was a Terran. Terrans have been accustomed for centuries to action. From the time of the caveman to the present, Terrans have lived in a cultural system that was ever accelerating. They progressed from the animal-powered vehicle to the machine-powered vehicle in a matter of years, and they went from land-travel to air-travel in the scant matter of years. Life on Terra has been a constantly-increasing tempo to the present, when Terrans traverse space in velocities measured in thousands of miles per second.
It is improbable that Terrans will slow down. Like the Ertinians, once a race is geared to high-velocity, slowing down is impossible.
The Ertinians, geared to a nomad life, could not conceive of a stable system and like the proverbial tramp, continued to think in terms of travel.
The Terran—Guy Maynard—found the peaceful life on Ertene suitable for a long time. He expected that action would take place once Thomakein and Leilanane were mated, but things fell into their grooves again, and time went on interminably.
Guy tried to push the physicists that were working on his pet projects and found a placitude that maddened him. The necessities of sudden and decisive action were not there. Ertinians didn't think as Terrans do. Eons had passed since anything of real velocity was needed, and their thinking habits had been trained along these lines.
The idea of accepting an idea and developing it immediately into a practical thing was unheard of. There had been no need. Certainly there must be no need now.
Guy was a dynamo of action in a world geared to ten miles per hour.
He found that their scientific developments were slow and cumbersome. Their science was not their own, but that of the worlds of their passage, and with years between such contacts, scientific ambition was low, indeed. With no competitive force driving them forward, Ertene had assumed the role of a lazy man, content to live in indolence.
Had any danger come to Terra, it would have been answered immediately and more than likely Terra would have gone out to meet the threat on the threat's home ground. But after the first flurry of worry over the disclosure of Ertene to Terra by the man Gomanar, Ertene's concern subsided. Half-heartedly Ertene put up vortex projectors about their cities, and then returned to their homes.
At first, Guy worried about these weapons. It was not fair to his peace of mind to see on every hand the evidence of Ertene's dislike of Terra. His own feelings were mixed; Terra hadn't played fair with him, true, but the idea of ruling a planet that would kill thousand upon thousand of his people stuck in Guy's throat. He worried about this, and because he could tell no one about it—not even Thomakein for fear that his motives be mis-read—he worried alone.
His worry gave him something to do, at least.
But then as the days added into kilodays, and Ertene continued on and on and on in its course through the heavens, and no Terran forces came to contest or to seek, Guy became used to the idea that Ertene's barrier was far more obscure than the proverbial needle in the haystack. A magnet, well plied, will show the fallacy of that platitude, but trying to see nothing against a field of black—impossible.
Guy knew that his no-radiation detectors were being used. He suspected deeper developments, and fumed and fretted because he could not know what they were. His imagination cooked up many ideas, possible and impossible, for the finding of such a minute bubble in space. And it all reduced to one thing.
Mephisto had been unfound for hundreds of years of space travel and exploration. Men suspected the possibility of inner- and outer-planets and went on the search for them. They failed until the Ertinian science provided Guy with an instrument to locate such bodies.
Ertene's chances were excellent.
And the mathematicians of Ertene spent kilodays in deep theory and high abstractions and decided that the law of probabilities prohibited the finding of Ertene.
And instead of feeling concern at the idea of fighting his own people, Guy looked upon the vortex projectors in the same light as a fire department in a city of pure metal.
Guy's life changed as a result of this. Like the man on vacation, he began to seek something to do. The job of lanee was unexciting and drab after the life of activity he knew on Terra.
On every hand he saw things that would be hailed as miraculous on Terra. Medical science was far ahead of Terra's in spite of the drive of necessity; Ertene's science had gone forward passively and the diseases were gone completely from the planet. Their accident-surgery could stand a bit of Terran influence just as the Terrans could stand some of Ertinian vaccine and antibody discoveries.
He scorned the speed of the workmen that erected the home for Thomakein and Leilanane—now named Leilakein, of course—because it took them almost a thousand days. The same home, he knew, could have been erected upon the planets Venus, with material shipped cold from Terra, and the couple would have been living in it within sixty days.
But Terran workmen used tiny MacMillans to drill holes instead of the brace and bit of the ancients. Spikes and nails were unused on Terra, instantaneous welding was done on metal, and molecular-bonding, and forming. Wood was worked with portable power-tools, and fastened together with huge wire staples formed as used from spools of wire, and driven with the machine on the premises.
In the sky, traffic moved ponderously and sedately. Even in rush periods Ertinian traffic did not approach the mad scramble that took place on Terra.
Guy drove his flier through the skies with them and came to the conclusion that the hurrying scramble of traffic and its frequent accidents was productive of a bunch of better drivers. The percentages of dented wings to fliers in the sky was higher on Ertene.
He read an editorial in a paper objecting to the lanee's hairbreadth sky-tactics and Guy scorned the words because he hadn't been in the slightest danger. After all, Guy had learned to run a flier over Sahara Base, where a flier sometimes cut between building tops in a vertical bank to keep from hitting wingtips, and where one of the more scatter-brained stunts consisted of racing another driver to the last landing space.
"Sure, they lost fliers that way," grinned Guy aloud. But it made for the quick or the dead and it kept people on their toes.
He accepted Charalas' theories about survival, and admitted that if Terra were rotten and avaricious, so was he. He knew that if it came to a choice, he'd prefer that they experiment on a Titanian than upon him.
His only sore spot was the fact that Terra denied him his right to his secret—and his life. They had been more than unreasonable in that, expecting him to break his oath to them.
And that brought back the old argument. Who was right? Should he have agreed to Ertene's oath and then sold them out?
He shook his head. Had he been that kind, Ertene would not have permitted him to leave.
Guy had spent his life under the idea that when things went too quietly too long grief was brewing. He had theorized upon it, and had formulated the relation that the amount of grief was proportional to the length of quiet time.
His accounting was piling up to a terrible, staggering total. He knew it wouldn't last, couldn't last. He hoped that Thomakein would move, giving him a chance to lose himself. But Thomakein went about his business quietly, testing the vortex projectors and handling the details of defense.
What form the end would take, Guy didn't know.
He'd have welcomed it save for the one fact that if and when it came, Guy would then be out of a place to live. Terra had made it impossible to remain there, to have Ertene denied him would make him a man without a planet.
And so he fought the idea of alliance with Terra because such an alliance would place him right in the hands of the Terrans themselves. There would be no forgiving if they came, and once they came and disclosed Guy's real identity, Guy would have no Ertinian shelter. Ertene would throw him out for violating his promise never to return.
Guy snorted at himself. His was a life of broken promises and cross-purpose oaths.
But there was one oath he intended to keep. He would do all he could to keep Ertene free—his life depended upon it! It occurred to Guy that the way to keep things that way was to remove the source of irritation, and so he began to investigate and to reason.
How lucky it was that Elanane had passed on as he did. How lucky that Guy resembled him. Guy had accepted these coincidences glibly, without question, until it came to him that Thomakein could have done otherwise if he had found it necessary. Charalas had been lanee once, and the neuro-surgeon would have followed Thomakein's urgings, especially after Thomakein's stories of Terran intrigue.
It was too trite.
Would a popular ruler, professing isolation, refuse to arm his planet against invasion? Perhaps. There are men who think that if they mind their business, others will mind theirs. But not Terra. Not when known otherwise, would such a policy work. The idea of passive resistance went out when the airplane came in.
The real Elanane was quite a man. He was loved, admired, and eulogized. He was intelligent, well-balanced mentally, morally, and physically. Elanane was neither crank nor crackpot, and Guy knew that his theories of government were stable and sensible.
Therefore Guy reasoned that Elanane would be certain to take any measures to insure the safety of Ertene.
That would mean absolute co-operation with Thomakein. Elanane had appointed Thomakein to study Terra and to report. A spy, if the word must be used. Elanane would accept the word of his friend and do as that friend suggested.
But Elanane might go so far and no more. There is a vast difference between preparing to stand off a possible invasion and preparing to fight an offensive war. Elanane might believe that the best defense is a quick offense.
Would Thomakein do away with a friend for that?
Hardly. It must be deeper.
Coincidence was too thick. That alcohol and irritation business did not make sense. Ertinian anti-lamine drugs were similar to Terra's, and furthermore Ertinians used alcohol which would mean that the Ertinian drug must have been tested under these conditions. That brought up another thought.
If Thomakein had slipped a neutralizer into Guy's drinks, he could almost be certain that exposure would follow.
Would Thomakein gain by such a deal?
Well, would he?
Guy's hand found the sensitivity control and stepped the power high. His sensitive fingertips tuned for maximum contact with Thomakein.
The answer he sought exploded in his mind with clearness and conciseness. Its sheer audacity staggered Guy. The very gall of the man was appalling, and yet the utter forcefulness of Thomakein might push it through. The plan itself was so daring that Thomakein would stun those who were against him. Not permanently, but they would be amazed long enough for the Ertinian to take his toll.
Once Thomakein unwound his plot, it would defy catching.
Guy headed for Thomakein's office on the run, and caught him present.
"I've just figured it," snapped Guy.
"So? Figured what?"
"That little plot you've been cooking!"
"Plot? You mean my plan for—"
"It's a stinking plot and nothing more."
"You're a little upset, Elanane. Remember that you live only at my bidding."
"What did you do to Elanane?"
"It was unfortunate—"
"The men who permitted his death were dealt with," admitted Guy harshly.
"So?"
"But removing Elanane permanently didn't bother you at all."
"No, not too much. But remember that Elanane was my friend."
"I hope that I never have such a friend."
"You have," smiled Thomakein in a superior manner.
"You? God forbid!"
"Look, hothead, cool down. If you get tossed off of Ertene, then what?"
"I made an oath to protect Ertene."
"You made an oath never to return."
"I also made an oath never to tell. Also one previous to tell Terra of anything I discover."
"Do you suppose that Ertene will believe anything you tell them once the truth of your broken oaths are known?"
"They needn't know. I—am Elanane."
"We can put a stop to that," snapped Thomakein.
"I think that I can stop you first."
"No doubt," said Thomakein easily. "The Terran methods of hand-to-hand fighting are devastating. But you'll never conceal your victory."
"You stinker," snarled Guy. "How about Leil?"
Thomakein's face fell. "I will be blamed for Elanane's death," he said solemnly. "I am more than sorry about that."
"Being sorry is not enough."
"What do you intend to do about it?"
"Thomakein"—Guy opened the phonoscope key, dialed government headquarters, and continued—"I arrest you, Thomakein, for treason against the integrity of Ertene!"
The faces on the plate registered horror, and then action. The plate continued to register as headquarters kept the circuit open. Guy dropped his hold on the audio key to cut the sounds of men in full cry.
"Now we'll see."
"You idiot," laughed Thomakein. "You'll see how Ertinians stick together!"
"We'll see."
"You might have come in," said Thomakein. "Together we could have ruled the entire System."
"You planned to rule it alone," sneered Guy.
"I shall—now."
"You're the kind of man to share such power with me."
"Certainly."
"Rot."
"Have it your way."
"I'll have it my way," said Guy. "It's not your way."
"Nor yours. I don't particularly care," said Thomakein easily. "My plans are about set anyway. A day or so means little."
"Days—even hours can ruin anything."
"Not when the plan includes the possibility of something slipping."
"Nice trick you played on me."
"Thank you, Guy. That's just an idea. If I can play puppets with a ruler of Ertene, an ambitious young man from Terra, and the fate of worlds and make everything come out even—I can run the show."
"You controlled the election of Elanane because he resembled me."
"Naturally. That was part of it."
"Why?"
"Because I knew that no Ertinian would permit me to arm Ertene for power and invasion. It took an energetic man, with will, force, and fear of discovery to push it through. Guy, you'd have been safe if I'd been permitted to run this freely. Terra couldn't touch you. But you choose to pit your futile will against mine. Mine—and Ertene's!"
"I am going to keep Ertene free!" shouted Guy, hammering on the desk with his fist.
"You mean, 'Gomanar is going to save his skin!' don't you?" sneered Thomakein.
"I'll shoot the works, Thomakein, if it's necessary."
"Poor lad. You had promise."
The door flung open, and police entered. They begged Thomakein's forgiveness, and then marched him from the office to the great hall wherein the Council met.
The great Hall of History brought back the memory of his first visit, and Guy smiled. Then as the Council entered and seated itself, Guy faced them. In the balcony above, faces peered over at the governmental representatives. The wall below the balcony's edge came alive with the hundred and eighty phonoscopes that would take this proceeding to all Ertene.
"A grave charge has been made," said the leader of the group. "Who brings this charge."
"I, Lanee Elanane, charge that this man, Thomakein, has plotted against the Will of Ertene."
"The charge is treason, then?"
"Yes."
"Explain the reason for these charges. Remember, Lanee Elanane, this is no trial, but a pretrial to arrive at the decision as to the graveness of the crime. Evidence for such a crime must be collected, and if the charge is allowed, you will be permitted to gather such evidence during a period of time decided by this Council."
"I have reason to believe that Thomakein is plotting to take Ertene into the Solar System," said Guy.
The Council exploded. The austere meeting broke into a riot of talk until Guy shouted: "Quiet!"
"Proceed, Elanane."
"In addition, Thomakein has ambition to become the supreme ruler over the allied Solar System and Ertene."
Harabond, the head of the Council, arose. "Assuming that Thomakein were successful in his mechanical intrigue—he might be elected to rule. The accomplishment of such a feat would prove his ability."
"Ertene can be swung, can't it?" asked Guy.
"Yes—but only if it is universally agreed on Ertene."
Guy leaned forward and his voice was dry and hard. "Harabond, on Terra it is reported that many times a brilliant but dishonest leader of minorities has succeeded in making a shambles of the world before he was subdued. It is fear of this that has made Terrans distrustful of everyone who is not openly for them. And do you think that a man capable of running this intrigue to its present state of completion would stop at elections? He'll grab!"
"Thomakein, will you offer defense?"
Thomakein stood forward with a cryptic smile upon his lips. "Harabond, how long have you been Leader of the Council?"
"Proceed, Thomakein. Leave the personalities out of this."
"You do not know the man before you," said Thomakein. "Those of you who were here when we first met a denizen of Sol—do you remember Gomanar? This is he!"
"Impossible."
"Not at all. I remembered how he resembled the lanee-assistant. Elanane became lanee later, remember. This man before you, Members of the Council, is the man who promised never to tell of Ertene. He was willing to violate his initial oath to Terra and keep us from exposure. This is the man who spoke openly on Terra, violating his oath to us. This is the man who is now violating his oath to us by being here—he promised never to return."
"Get Charalas," said Harabond. A courier left silently, scowling that his absence would deprive him of some interesting scenes.
"Now," said Harabond, "if this is whom you say, prove it here and now!"
"Have I no time to gather evidence?" asked Thomakein cynically.
"His charge against you was first. This matter of counter-charges complexes the proceedings. Must we hold our lanee in trial to prove his right to charge another with treason?"
"I need no time," said Thomakein. "I can prove that he is not Elanane."
"Perhaps I can disprove you," smiled Guy.
"He thinks to baffle us all," laughed Thomakein. "Harabond, so great is his deceit that he thinks to fool us all."
"You may answer his charge," said Harabond to Guy.
"Harabond, do you recall thrashing me for swimming in your abandoned quarry as a youngster? I was four kilodays old, then. At four point three kilodays, Neilamon, your son and I—we were of an age—skipped school and ran away to become vagrants. They found us and we were again thrashed. It is laughable, gentlemen, but I find that I cannot recall any incidents of good, bright, intelligent youth. Apparently I was a healthy, normal youth that got into trouble as any healthy schoolboy will. And there is Tocamay. He knocked out one of my baby teeth for pulling the hair of the girl that sat in front of me in school. Afterwards, we split an apple stolen from Harabond's orchard, and swore never to trust a woman again—she walked home with the school sissy whom we both hated. The sissy, remember him, Tocamay? He sits beside you, now one of the better philosophers of Ertene and destined to go down in history. Did you marry her, Diamony?"
"No," grinned the philosopher.
"Shall we take a vote?" asked Harabond.
"No impostor can be that well read," said Tocamay.
"To become educated in the present society might be accomplished, but never to recall childhood things from learning. Impossible."
"Then you admit that Elanane is Elanane?"
"We do."
"I wish to add something," smiled Guy. "If I am this Gomanar, I want to know what Thomakein did with Elanane?"
"You answer me that," smiled Thomakein. Guy started. The Ertinian looked as though he were enjoying himself immensely. It worried Guy, and he knew that Thomakein must have a pair of aces up his sleeve.
"Then we proclaim that this man is Elanane," said Harabond, "and Lanee Elanane may proceed with the charges against Thomakein." He thought for a moment. "No, we must—by law—listen to any evidence offered by Thomakein that this man is not Elanane."
"I'll take the chance," said Thomakein brightly. Harabond looked at Thomakein in amazement.
"Yes," nodded Thomakein. "I'll take the initiative now. Members of the Council, a mind-reader could baffle us all. He could recall things of our childhood at will, by reading our minds. This impostor—Gomanar by Ertinian pronunciation—Guy Maynard by his mother on Terra—Elanane by his own selection, has a mental amplifier, which enables him to read thought!"
"Incredible!"
"Impossible!"
"Not at all," said Thomakein. "It is fact. This instrument is not perfect. It reads surface thoughts only—unless the subject is thinking at you. Then the deeper thoughts are clear."
"But if this is true, and he is not Elanane, how can he read deep thoughts directed at Elanane?"
"Misdirection," said Thomakein. "You and I and Ertene thought he was Elanane. We thought at him as Elanane. He used these thoughts for his own purpose."
"Can you prove this?"
"Am I talking for fun?" sneered Thomakein. He stepped to the phonoscope, snapped the key, and said: "Bring it in, Lentanar."
The door opened and the man brought in the huge thought-beam instrument that Guy built in Elanane's workshop. "This is it," said Thomakein.
"What have you to say?" asked Harabond.
"May I show you how it works?" asked Guy. He stepped forward, turned it on, tuned it to Thomakein and himself, and broadcast their thoughts.
"Now," he said, "read and think!"
XX.
An hour passed in silence. Then Harabond held up a hand and Guy turned the instrument off. "So," he said to the Council, "you see that my interest is for Ertene!"
"A man who is capable of developing an instrument such as this," said Harabond, "is more than capable of distorting its output to his own purpose!"
"But thought—" said Guy.
Harabond shook his head. "To think that Thomakein would plot this way against Ertene is unbelievable. Were this charge brought by an Ertinian, we might consider it valid. There is too much at stake to believe a Terran, whose word has proven to be none too good."
"Use this thing for yourself," Guy directed. "Put technicians on it, build several and prove that you cannot distort its output. Then believe me."
"An instrument such as this would deprive all of us of our sacred privacy. I direct that it be destroyed and that no research be permitted along these lines," said Harabond. "As for the incredible story I see—or was directed to witness—at the operation of this machine, I can only shake my head. I reiterate, any man possessing genius enough to build an instrument like this is more than capable of making it perform to his will. Therefore its evidence will not be allowed. And, furthermore, the Terran, Guy Maynard, will be charged with the murder of Elanane!"
"But—!"
"Take him away!"
Guy was marched from the room before the same policemen that he had summoned to bring Thomakein. As they passed the portal, Charalas entered, shook his head in puzzlement and asked Thomakein what was this all about?
"An incredible impersonation," said Thomakein, "plus the loss of a loved leader," Guy heard him explaining as the door closed behind them.
Halfway across the rotunda between the buildings, the whine of sirens climbed up the scale and shook the very ground with their power. It was a frightening sound, and the men clinging to Guy's arms let go to look around in wonder.
Guy might have run, but he was too stunned and bitter to react properly. The very gall of Thomakein! The utter blindness of the Council!
Guy envisioned the end of Guy Maynard's unhappy life at the end of a rope—or according to the Ertinian plan of painless removal. He went limp and beaten. He was licked. He was a poor pawn, and all that he could do to sway the lives of worlds was to push in futility and fall below them when they refused to move. It would have been better—
"Terrans!"
"The Space Patrol!"
"You summoned them!" snarled one captor.
"No—"
"Liar!"
"I swear not."
"We believe not!"
Down out of the clear sky came the Terran Patrol in battle formation. With the precision that spoke volumes, the space pattern flowed from the closed cylinder to a lenticular disk and the massed ships of the task force sped across the city at fifty thousand feet.
"They've come for you!"
"No," swore Guy.
"They'll not get you!"
"We'd best give him," argued the other. "They'll fire!"
"They're firing."
"No, they're not," said Guy. "That's signaling."
"Either signaling or poor marksmanship," said the captor. "Nothing's hit."
"Terra doesn't miss," said Guy.
From the ringed emplacements, the vortex projectors vomited their toroids. Upward went the pattern of vortexes, and the Patrol broke formation in an effort to elude the whirling toroids.
"Did you?" asked Charalas, coming up behind.
"Send for them? No."
"Your story is true?"
"I swear it!"
"Then what of them?"
The pattern of toroidal vortices went up and up, and caught Terran ships, passed on, and left the Terran ships to fall inert. Pressor beams cradled the falling ships and lowered them to ground. The rest of the Terran Patrol drove inward on a slant, with the turreted AutoMacs blazing purple at the snouts and the invisible beams cutting flaring furrows across the city.
Another toroid went up before them, and pilots fought their controls to divert the ships. The slow-moving vortex hovered, and the high-velocity ships arrowed through the vortex in spite of the pilots. More pressor beams caught the inert ships.
Torpedoes started to burst in the city, and with each explosion a building leaped skyward in a mass of flame and dropped in ruin. The sky crisscrossed with flaring beams, and the vortex projectors spewed forth again and again, filling the air with death.
The Patrol drove high, hovered. They fenced with MacMillans on automatic, and then fled precipitately as a super-sized toroid formed and raced upwards.
"Beat 'em off."
Guy nodded.
Then he turned and slugged his nearest captor. He took the man's MacMillan and faced the rest. "I'm leaving," he snarled.
He backed carefully away, keeping his back against the building. A movement caught his eye, and Guy's quick hand dropped an Ertinian from a high window. With the diversion, the other policeman reached for his MacMillan, and Guy blasted the hand as it grabbed, and then drilled the man behind him for trying to reach forward for it.
"I'm not fooling," snarled Guy. "And I'll take hostage. Charalas, come along!"
"Me?" asked the aged man, stalling for time.
"You—and jump!" yelled Guy, sniping a swift shot at his feet. Guy reached the parked police flier, pushed Charalas in, and then took off on a screaming zoom upwards.
A MacMillan flared and missed, a vortex rolled upwards too slow by half, another MacMillan missed, and then Guy was off and far away and free once more. He grinned. They'd left him his personal thought-beam instrument. They'd find it hard to run him down when he could read their minds. He turned the gain a little lower so that they couldn't read his, and he wondered whether the more powerful instrument would really be destroyed now.
An hour later, along near the ocean's edge, Guy dropped the flier. "Charalas," he said, offering a hand, "I'm sorry."
"You're in a real mess," said the neuro-surgeon.
"I know—but what's Ertene going to do now?"
He snapped on the flier-radio and caught Thomakein in the act of speaking: "—obviously came at the call of the impostor. He was a high official in the Patrol, and was working undercover here. People of Ertene, we must reply! We may not hold up our heads until this insult has been repaid. We now have a fine space fleet, thanks to the vortex and the pressors, and the Terrans. Never could we have built such a fleet here on Ertene; but it is now ours."
Guy growled and snapped Thomakein off.
"What are your plans?" asked Charalas.
"I'm going to drop you off here. Then I'm going somewhere."
"Where?"
"That's it. I don't know where. I'm barred from everything but Mars—I might try there."
"You loved Ertene, didn't you?" asked Charalas.
Guy nodded. "Until I found out how blind they are. A fine thing! They give credence to a plotter because his accuser is not of Ertene. And this last—I hate them and him!"
"This last?"
"Thomakein dropped the barrier so that the Terrans would come to investigate. He planned it all—and got his fleet ready-made."
"They came to fight—"
"They wouldn't have come if Thomakein hadn't started it all. Blame whom you will, but Thomakein saw his plan start when he found me alive in theMardinex. My life has been just a pusharound for Thomakein for nine years."
"You think Ertene will win?"
"Thomakein may be highly successful for a long time—but Terra will win," said Guy. "Remember, Charalas, when you strike a rat, the rat bites back. That slaughter of Terrans back there is just nasty enough to make Terra completely mad. It happened before, on Mephisto III, and when we cooled down to the mere screaming point, there wasn't a living thing on Mephisto proper. Berserk, is the word for angry Terrans, Charalas. And I say Beware."
"And you?"
"Me, I'd like to push something around. I'm getting sick of being a pawn. I've reached the last straw, Charalas, and something's going to be crowned. That utter murder of Terrans just about broke me, and if I break completely, I'll take after Ertene single-handed."
"Slaughter?" asked Charalas.
"It was downright murder. If I only had an army."
"That's not murder. Ertene seldom kills."
"Look, Charalas, I'm in no mood for foolishness. I saw those ships come down after the vortex hit them. Terrans do not scare stiff, Charalas, they fight to the last."
"I know, but the vortex does not kill."
"The ... vortex ... does ... not ... kill?" repeated Maynard dully.
"No."
"It doesn't kill?" came the dazed repeat again.
"No. The vortex slows the life processes to almost zero, but not quite. Several, repeated exposures will kill, of course, but two or three aren't too dangerous to healthy people."
"What do they do to recover them?"
"Heat lamps, massage, and a shot of cuperenalin."
"I've got my army then," said Guy quietly. "I've got my army!" His voice repeated the phrase, and his tone crescendoed from stunned quietness to an exultant roar. "I've got my men!"
"I don't understand," said Charalas.
"I don't expect you to," smiled Guy. "Below here, in the ocean, is my spacecraft. I'm leaving Ertene—but I'll be back. Oh, will I be back! Terra needs some Ertinian love of leisure, and Ertene needs some of Terra's ambition. As a team, they should get on fine!"
"What are you going to do?" asked Charalas in alarm.
"Terra pushed me around for trying to protect Ertene. Ertene shoved me out for being Terran. They're both blindly unreasonable. I'm going to play Kilkenny cats, Charalas."
"Play what?"
"The Kilkenny cats were tied by the tails and hung over a line. They clawed each other to death. I'm going to break up this balance of power in Sol, with Mars and Terra always running the main show, by hanging Ertene in an orbit. Then there'll be three to treat with, plus the minority on Venus, and they'll all be standing around with their hands in one another's pockets. Mars will have to come off of her high horse or lose her shirt when Terra and Ertene get together, and Terra will have to listen to Mars if and when Ertene takes a notion to let Mars into confidence. Ertene will have to play baseball with both Terra and Mars or the Solarians will gang up in spite of themselves. And eventually there'll be less isolationism around Sol, and we'll all be better off. I'm going out to get me enough people to do the job—and now I know where to get 'em!"
Guy grinned at Charalas, stepped to the high bluff over the ocean, and dived.
TheLokiemerged from the ocean an hour later. It went high and arrowed into the sky, and it was out of sight in seconds. Charalas wondered if followers would come, certainly the detectors would be running full power and would catch this ship and register it as nonconforming to the licensed ships of Ertene.