"What if one, or more, of the top Others' leaders rebelled?" he said to Toni one night, right after Favored of God had come out of a phase-shift, returning to Association from his latest inspection trip.
Over time, technology and pharmacology had combined to make the experience of a phase-shift no longer the sickening, frightening, paralyzing thing it had been as recently as in Donal Graeme's time. But however little travelers might be physically affected by the experience, few of them could approach a shift without recalling the small, but very real, chance that their component particles, once scattered throughout the universe, might never be reassembled.
Contemplation of that reality was known to cause people to think a second time about their futures. Bleys sometimes wondered how professional spacecrew handled that particular vision. It might be that crew developed the happy-go-lucky personalities they were known for in self-defense—or perhaps the spacegoing life rapidly sorted out and drove away those who lacked an optimistic outlook.
Toni initially had nothing to say in response to Bleys' question. She had, now he thought of it, an attitude toward life that was completely different from that of the stereotypical spacecrew he had just been contemplating; and yet he was very sure she, too, could handle the prospect of a lifetime of phase-shifts without being affected in any way.
So could he, he thought. But that was because of his mission, which was so important it dwarfed all dangers; he realized now that if some accident, such as the proverbial shift to nothingness that had once taken Donal Graeme, should kill him, it would also kill his mission, and with it hope for the human race—because there was no one else with the strength and vision to carry it on.
"Hal Mayne could," he told himself. "But he wouldn't. He's blind ..."
"What?" Toni asked; and Bleys realized he had uttered his last thought out loud.
"Just thinking," he said.
Toni was something else entirely. More than almost anyone he had ever known, she was a whole person, complete within herself. At her core lay a confident certainty, a sureness about herself, that made her imperturbable—it was, he suspected, the essence of her family's heritage of training in the martial arts, distilled through generations.
He wondered if she might not be more Dorsai, in attitude at least, than she herself realized.
Did other members of her family have a similar core? He had never met any of them, although Toni had mentioned once that a brother had gone through the Others' training program. Bleys did not remember him, so that must have been before he himself had become actively involved with Dahno's organization.
Where was that brother? Toni had never mentioned him again, although she had spoken about her father. Now that he thought of it, Bleys realized that in his frequent examinations of the Others' personnel files and reports, he had never noticed someone who could be that brother.
"Why would any of them rebel?" Toni spoke up, finally, interrupting his train of thought—which, Bleys realized, he had managed to sidetrack. "You've given them all they ever dreamed of, and more, and no one else can offer them anything better—why would they want to replace you?"
"Just because I'm here," he said, pushing himself into a sitting position with his back against the wall at the head of the bed. Still lying down, she rolled over so she could tilt her head and look at him.
"Like the mountain," she said after a moment. "Mountain?"
"Some people have to climb them—to conquer them—just because they're there. So far, you're the mountain in their lives. So I suppose it's possible."
"More than possible," he said. "Over the long run, it's certain, because that's the way people are."
"Can't you use your persuasive abilities to keep them loyal?"
"That's what I've been doing," he said. "Every time I meet with some of them, I do everything I can to persuade them everything they want lies with me. So far it's worked: they seem to go away enthusiastic for the vision I create in their minds."
He sighed.
"But it never lasts," he said. "While I can persuade people—many people, not all—to believe what I tell them, it doesn't last. If they have any solid core to their personalities, their unconscious minds seem to return them to their old selves. Many of our Others—and most of the top ones—have the same persuasive ability themselves; and I suspect what success I've had with them stems largely from the fact that what I tell them agrees with what they want, anyway. But that won't be the case forever."
"Which is why we have to keep making the rounds of the leadership," she said. "You have to keep refreshing their convictions." She sat up.
"I knew you were doing that," she said. "But I hadn't thought it out enough to realize the implications. You're killing yourself, trying to keep ahead of them, and the more Others are recruited, the more you have to do."
"Well, I don't have to work on all of our people," Bleys said. "Those of our Others who have the persuasive power exert it to keep their own followers in line—which is fine as long as the top people support me. But it's all a gigantic pyramid scheme."
"You're letting yourself become depressed," she said. "Stop it! Remember how far you've already come."
Both of them were silent for some moments.
"It's sad," she said finally. "It's like having to be suspicious of your own family."
He sensed, somehow, that her feelings ran deeper than her simple words indicated.
Two days after they got back to Association, word came that Ana Wasserlied, the top Other on New Earth, had been assassinated.
CHAPTER 29
By the time Bleys got to New Earth, Ana Wasserlied's deputies had already publicly placed blame for her murder on unidentified off-worlders; but there was a quiet war of succession going on, and Bleys discovered, as he had expected, that he was looked to as the kingmaker.
Having had time to think the situation over, he had already made his choice of a successor. However, he avoided announcing that choice for some days, using the time to watch the candidates in action.
As if unaware that the top Others on the planet were in an agonized limbo, Bleys spent an afternoon with Marshal Cuslow Damar, commander of the Friendly troops who enforced the Bleys-created truce that had averted a Bleys-induced civil war on New Earth— thus effectively giving Bleys control of the planet. Marshal Damar, Bleys knew, was no fool, and might have some useful ideas.
Much of what the Marshal had to say was confirmed when, on Bleys' fifth day on the planet, he kept a quiet rendezvous, once again using an automated taxi as a mobile meeting room. He had not, this time, been able to get away from his hotel totally unnoticed, but he was sure he had not been pursued closely enough for anyone to see and understand what he was doing.
"I can't prove it," Deborah said, "but I'm sure the assassination is connected to someone inside your Others' organization. My people here haven't had enough time to get high in the local organization, but we've had a lot of experience in learning things from subordinate positions—and your Others are generally pretty negligent in their security."
"Just here on New Earth?" Bleys asked. Deborah smiled.
"No," she said. "They're pretty bad on most of the other Younger Worlds, too—except for Newton and Cassida."
"That might be a legacy of the era when the organizations on those worlds were forced to operate underground," Bleys mused. "But in any case, I don't want them to be too good at protecting themselves—not just yet."
"Because it would make it a lot harder for you to keep an eye on them, through my people," Deborah said. She smiled again.
"Don't you worry about trusting me?" she asked.
"A little," Bleys said. "You're the most calculated risk I've ever taken."
"But calculated is the operative word here, isn't it?" she replied. "I've always liked the analytical way you approach problems. And I think you've recognized that my people wouldn't gain much if we betrayed you."
"That's one way to put it," Bleys said. "You might gain a little wealth by t
rading me for another employer, but I think that's nothing that's likely to motivate your people, or yourself."
"You're right—at least so long as you pay us well enough to satisfy our needs."
"Are you having any problems in that area?"
"No," she said. "You've been generous enough—again, you're smart enough to see it never pays to try to shortchange people you depend on. Besides, we know if we betrayed you, we could never manage to take over your empire and run it for ourselves."
"But I'd still be wise to avoid antagonizing you."
"That goes without saying." For a moment they were both silent.
"So what else do you have for me?" Bleys asked at last.
"I don't know what it means, but there's been some unusual traffic between Freiland, Cassida and New Earth over the last six months. I don't know if it's associated with the assassination. And I can't tell you if there's been any involvement of the Newton organization."
"What kind of traffic?"
"Just as one example, three Others from the Cassida organization— one a key deputy to Johann Wilter—have made five round trips to
New Earth in the last six months, traveling under false identifications on commercial transport, and while here they made no attempt to contact the New Earth organization." "What did they do here?"
"I don't know," she said. "We here never knew they were coming, on any of the trips, until we got the word from our people on Cassida that they had already left there—because of the Cassidan organization's security, our people there weren't in a position to know about the trips ahead of time—but our people on the staff here would have known if the Cassidans made any contact with the New Earth offices."
"All right," Bleys said. He paused to think for a moment.
"Is there any asset I could get you that might have enabled you to learn more about this?"
"Not really," she said. "The problem is that our information about such a trip can't reach here before the Cassidans themselves get here—interstellar communications are still limited to the speed of a ship. If we had higher positions in the Cassidan organization it's possible we might learn something well enough in advance to send word on an earlier ship—but that seems unlikely.
"The only other possibility would be to have an organization that can check on every person who comes through a spaceport," she went on, "but that makes for other problems that I don't think are really in my line."
"You're right," he said. "But if you think of something else, let me know. Anything else?"
"Other unusual traffic," she said. "Not involving New Earth. Jo-hann Wilter has made two trips to Freiland, and Hammer Martin has made two trips to Cassida, all of them kept—not secret, but at least low-profile. We can't say what we may have missed."
"I see," Bleys said. "It makes for an interesting pattern."
"There's more," she said. "We think there have been several quiet trips between Freiland and Old Earth, too—but since there isn't an Others organization on Old Earth, we can't say much more than that they left Freiland—"
"'They'?"
"In the trips we know of, five different Others from the Freiland organization," she said. "Usually only two or three on a trip, always including one or two of Hammer Martin's top deputies." She shrugged. "That's it."
"All right," he said. "Have you gotten anywhere on Old Earth itself?"
"We've gotten one person into your brother's underground organization there. The organization seems to be avoiding hiring off-worlders, but because our person is the granddaughter of one of our New People who retired to Old Earth sixteen years ago—taking his family with him—she was apparently accepted as a native of that planet, slipping by your brother's checks. . . . Your brother is much better on organizational security than your Others on the Younger Wbrlds, by the way."
"That doesn't surprise me," Bleys said.
"Unusually so, in fact," Deborah said.
"Oh?"
"Even though we haven't been able to get into your brother's organization, we've tried to watch it from outside—details are on this chip—" She handed him a small envelope. "—and I'm told your brother is keeping more of a low profile than seems necessary."
"Of course," Bleys said, "he can't maintain his own identity there—"
"It's more than that," she said. "It's more like he's hiding. He has no permanent residence, he moves around a lot, and he seems to vanish at odd moments with no warning. He makes no appointments, and conducts most of his business at a distance."
"Do you have any idea what it means?" Bleys asked. "Dahno's said nothing in his reports to reflect anything like that."
"I've got nothing to base this on," Deborah said, "but my people say it looks as if he's on the run."
"From whom? Old Earth authorities?"
"We've seen no indication they know he's there."
"Not even the Final Encyclopedia?"
"It's always possible," Deborah said. "All I can really say is we've never seen anything that even hints at anyone knowing he's there." "Except our people," he said. "Again." " 'Again'?"
"Never mind," he said. "Listen, I'm going to send some of my Soldiers to Old Earth to look into this." He stopped again to think.
"I don't intend for you to be working for them," he went on, "and they won't be working for you. I'm only telling you so your people won't be surprised when my people show up. All right?"
"You know we prefer to be independent," she said, "so that's fine. But I have one more item: two members of the Laboratories Review Council—both of them defeated in the recent elections— have vanished. We don't know what it means, but we thought you should know."
"And you were correct," Bleys said. "As it happens, I already know about that. It's nothing for you to worry about."
It'll be good for our relationship if she realizes I have other resources, he thought.
Of the six Soldiers Bleys sent to Old Earth, two had vanished within two weeks—mysteriously, and with no sign of any involvement by any Old Earth authority.
"I don't think you should go," Toni said.
"It's necessary," Bleys said. "I don't know what's happening, but it's clearly a threat to the organization, and that means it's a threat to my plans."
"You said it yourself, a while ago," she said: "your death would be the end of your plans."
"My plans could die even if I live," he said. "Whether the organization lives on is less important—it's always been just a tool." He smiled.
"In fact," he said, "the organization is likely to live longer than all of us, because it's a creature of the historical forces ... I've told you before that no one individual is important to the movement of those forces, and that includes me."
"So the organization arose only because it was, historically, time?"
"Yes," he said. "If it hadn't been the Others, some other group would have stepped into the place the forces had left open—even without me, and without Dahno. But it's precisely because of those forces that the organization—working through people in it—is pushing at me. The organization is a kind of movement of the historical moment, and it's got a momentum of its own, that I can't stop."
"You can't mean your plans have been doomed from the start!"
"By no means," he said. "Think of it like this: I can't change the forces, but I can ride them. And if in doing so I can change the minds of people, those small changes, aggregated over a long time, will slowly alter the direction of the forces themselves."
"Doesn't it matter where the organization goes?"
"A little," he said. He shrugged. "It doesn't matter to me exactly which road the organization takes; because a lot of roads go in the direction I want... anything that will push the race off the Younger Worlds and back to Old Earth is a step in the right direction."
"You've spoken of war," she said. "Won't it threaten your plans if Old Earth wins that war?"
"I'm no longer so sure of that," he said. "No matter who wins, if there's a war it'll be so large that t
he economies of all the Younger Worlds will be bled white. If the organization wins that war, it'll gravitate naturally to the only place with a viable economy—Old Earth; and if Old Earth wins, it will turn its back on colonization for a long time."
"Can you just sit back, then, and let things play themselves out?"
"No," he said. "To ensure the success of my plans, I have to be able to gather the ablest elements of the Younger Worlds and establish them on Old Earth in positions from which they can begin pushing the race in the direction it needs to go—the direction of inner moral development, that will help it see the futility and danger in acting on the immature whims of random excitable individuals."
"I thought you weren't really important in the scheme of history?"
"I'm not," he said. "Not as an individual. But if I can influence enough people to see things the way I do, the sum of us can become important."
"And that's what you've been doing, in all those years of speeches and recorded talks," she said. "Bringing people around to your point of view."
"I wish it were as easy as you make it sound."
"I must go," Henry MacLean insisted later that day, even though Bleys had already refused to let his uncle investigate the lost Soldiers. "They were my people."
"And they were mine, Uncle Henry," Bleys said, speaking softly but firmly.
Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 Page 30