"How do I know why they're interested?" Lesho said. "I just deliver the messages. It isn't your business to worry about reasons, either. I'm just telling you that the word is, the people upstairs want to know what kind of drift is coming in from Thurien to the Ganymeans in PAC. They're especially interested in anything that comes in from JPC."
Baumer spread his hands in exasperation. "Look, you don't seem to understand. That kind of information isn't left lying around for anyone who walks by to pick up. It's stored in the data system, and with the controls that Cullen is setting up, anyone can't get at it."
"You got the stuff from the egg-hat who fell off the bridge," Lesho said, unimpressed.
"That was different. It was hand-delivered as a hardcopy. Things like that don't happen every day."
"Well, that's your problem."
"Look, would you mind not putting your feet there? You're crumpling up those pages."
Lesho raised a hand and leveled a warning finger. "That's not a good attitude to have. Let me remind you of something. You're not the only Terran inside PAC. It also happens that time in couplers is getting harder to get these days, and one day you might find you've run out of friends who can supply. So just let's remember who's doing who the favors, huh?"
Baumer drew a long breath and nodded curtly. "Very well. I'll do whatever I can. But you must try and make them understand that I can't promise."
A tone sounded from a panel by Baumer's desk. "What is it?" he inquired, turning his head.
The house-system's synthetic voice replied. "The writer who wanted to talk to you is outside: Gina Marin."
"Oh, she is? Just one moment." Baumer looked back at the Jevlenese. "As you can see, I do have other things to attend to. Was there anything else?"
Lesho swung his legs down from the desk and stood up. "Just don't forget that other Terrans in PAC might like their trips, too. And there's more of them arriving."
The Jevlenese in the brown suit straightened up and opened the door just as Gina appeared on the other side of it. Lesho stopped to peer down at Baumer's desk. "Is that the one I messed up?" he inquired, pointing at a sheet of paper with a heelmark on it. It was on the top of a thin wad of printout.
"Yes. I'd just run it off," Baumer said testily as he rose to his feet.
Lesho screwed it up and tossed it into the bin. "Well, looks like you needed to do another copy anyhow." He turned away, nodded toward the door, and sauntered out behind his companion.
Baumer came around to usher Gina inside, and then closed the door. He indicated the seat that Lesho had used and returned to his own side of the desk.
"I apologize for that," he said stiffly. "As a sociologist one must be prepared for all types of people."
"I suppose so." Gina sat down. "Thanks for fitting me in at short notice. You seem busy." Her phrasing was the code to switch on the miniature voice recorder, supplied by Del Cullen, that was concealed inside the fold of her collar.
"It's a busy time. There's a lot to do here." Baumer's manner reverted to cool. He didn't know what this was about, and he wasn't prepared at this stage to commit to a lot of time.
"I've only seen a little, but I think I know what you mean."
"You've just come to Jevlen, I think you said?"
"That's right—with the Vishnu. It's all a bit mind-blowing. I guess I haven't gotten used to Ganymeans yet. How long have you been here yourself?"
"Almost five months, now."
"Time enough to find your way around?"
"It depends what you want to find . . . You said you're some kind of writer?"
Gina nodded. "Books on subjects of topical interest. Right now, I'm planning one on historical figures who were Jevlenese agents—known or possible. I don't know if you've kept in touch with the popular stuff that's been coming out on Earth, but the amount of nonsense is unbelievable. I wanted to get the record straight, and this seemed to be the place to start. So here I am."
"Jevlenese intervention in history. Famous figures who might have been agents . . ." Baumer repeated. His English was clearly articulated, with the barest hint of an accent. He had pale, delicate features, which were accentuated by thin lips, a narrow, tapering chin, and heavy, horn-rimmed spectacles, giving him a youthful look for his years. An untidy mop of light brown hair and the mottled gray sweater that he was wearing enhanced the studentlike image. But the eyes regarding Gina through the lenses were cool and remote, and the hard set of his mouth infused his expression with a hint of disdain. It was the kind of look he might have used to dismiss a saleslady who had been given her chance.
He stared down at the desk; a loose wave of hair flopped down over his forehead, and he brushed it aside with a hand. "I'm not sure I can help," he said. "The kind of history that I think you mean isn't my line."
"I hadn't assumed it was," Gina answered. "But I was hoping that you might have some suggestions on how I should go about it—some thoughts on possible contacts, maybe. You've had a lot longer to find your way around."
Clearly Baumer was preoccupied with other things and did not want to get involved. But Gina had her objectives, too. She had been scanning the office with her eyes ever since she sat down. It was bare and dusty, with little in the way of immediate evidence as to the kind of thing he did there. She got the impression that this was not where he spent most of his time away from PAC.
Her gaze came back to the companel by the desk. Baumer wasn't equipped with Ganymean communications accessories for interacting with zorac. The man she had heard talking when she arrived had been Jevlenese, and the translations of his and Baumer's voices—into German, she had noted—had come from the panel.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
"What?"
She motioned toward the panel. "Those Jevlenese who were here when I came in—the one who was talking was being translated through there. But I was told that visar doesn't extend out into the city. And jevex isn't supposed to be running. So what was doing it? Do you have stand-alone systems here that can do that kind of thing?"
"You are observant, Ms. Marin," Baumer said, conceding a nod. "No, none of those. The Ganymeans have connected zorac into the regular comnet. You can get a translation facility on channel fifty-six. It's handy—we can talk to the Jevlenese anywhere."
"What's zorac?" Gina asked to keep up her image, at the same time crossing imaginary fingers that zorac wouldn't recognize her and return some wisecrack. But either Baumer had switched the channel off, or only a subset of zorac's capacity was available to the public net, or it was programmed with enough manners to know when to keep quiet—Gina had not learned enough about it, yet, to know which.
"The Ganymean computer aboard the Shapieron," Baumer replied. "It doesn't play straight into your head like the Thurien computers do." He waved a hand. "Oh, I'm not really conversant with these technical matters. It needs microphones, screens, and things. You'll find out about it when you meet some of the people in PAC."
"That's Planetary Administration Center, right?"
"Yes. Perhaps you should try and get to see some of the Ganymeans on Garuth's staff—theoretically he is in charge of every thing."
"Yes, I know."
Baumer frowned down at the desk and shook his head in thinly disguised irritation. "You really should have got more of an agenda arranged before you came . . ." He reached for a pad and picked up a pen. "Anyway, his chief scientist is a woman called Shilohin—"
"A Ganymean, you mean?"
"Yes. She should be of some help. She's involved with a number of Jevlenese and Terrans who are investigating alleged agents on Earth." He scribbled a few lines. "Those are a couple of other names that work under her. And here are a few of the Jevlenese that it might be worth your while approaching. This last one, Reskedrom, was quite high up in the Federation while it lasted, and should be useful—but he's not easy to get to. Your best bet would be to start at COJA: Coordinating Office for Jevlenese Affairs—that's a department inside PAC. They keep lists and chart
s of who's what and where, and everything that's going on." Baumer finished writing, tore off the top sheet of the pad, and pushed it across. "That should help. But otherwise, I don't think I have very much to offer, I'm afraid."
Gina took the slip and put it in a pocket. "Thanks anyway. I did meet a bunch of UNSA people on the ship, but they're really only coming here to look into Ganymean science. They're tied up setting up their labs, anyhow, so I don't have anyone to show me around." She paused to give Baumer time to react if he chose. He didn't. Still reluctant to let it go at that, Gina waited a few seconds longer, and then inquired, "What do you do here that keeps you so busy?"
"I am a sociologist. I have a whole new society to work with."
Baumer's choice of phrasing suggested an approach. Gina had read all of the reports he had written, which Hunt had run off for her from PAC's files. "Control" seemed to be the dominant word in Baumer's vocabulary. In his eyes, Earth had gone too far down the path of degeneracy as represented by the insanity of the free market and the corrosion of liberal morality for there to be any hope left of saving it. But the situation on Jevlen, if only those with the power could be made to see, offered a clean slate on which to begin anew and engineer the model society. And Baumer knew just how it should be done.
"That's interesting," she said. "Which way could Jevlen's society be heading, do you think, after it gets straightened out?"
Baumer sat back in his chair and looked at the far wall. The indifference that had hung in his eyes until then changed to a hint of a gleam. "There's an opportunity here," he replied. "An opportunity to build the society that could have existed on Earth, and now never will—without all the greed and arrogance that doesn't care what it destroys; one based on true equality and values that count."
Gina looked at him as if he had just said something that she didn't hear very often. "I've often thought the same thing myself," she said. Inside, she felt a twinge of disgust at her own hypocrisy; but she had known what the job would entail when she agreed to do it. "Is that why you came here from Earth?" she asked him.
Baumer sighed. "I came here to get away from a world that has been left spiritually devastated by its infatuation with bourgeois trivia and mindless distractions. The banks and the corporations own everybody now, and the qualities that they reward are the ones that suit their needs: loyalty and obedience. And the cattle are content, grazing in the field. Nobody wants to think about what it's doing to them, or where it's all leading. They don't want to think at all. It's gone too far now for anything to change. But here, on Jevlen, there's been a forced stop to the lunacy, a reexamination of everything. With the right people of vision in control, it could turn out different."
"You really think so?" Gina's tone suggested that it all sounded too good to be true.
"Why not? The Jevlenese are human, too, made of the same clay. They can be molded."
"How would you make it different, if you could?" Gina asked.
That got him talking.
What Jevlen needed was for the anarchy that was the cause of all its problems to be replaced by centralized direction of the planet's affairs, with tighter control over all aspects of existence. The way to achieve that was through a dizzying system of government programs and agencies. And the chance was there now, because the first step to putting the machinery in place had already been achieved with the setting up of the Ganymean planetary administration.
"But that's not the way Ganymeans seem to think," Gina pointed out.
"And look at the mess they've made. They don't understand human needs. They must be made to understand."
Approved goods and services, along with desirable levels for their consumption, should be determined by regional planning boards, and industry limited to the minimum necessary to provide them—thus eliminating any need for a wasteful competitive business sector. Occupations should be assigned on the basis of society's needs, balanced against aptitude scores accumulated during "social conditioning"—the term that Baumer used for education—although he was prepared to concede that due consideration could be given to individual preference if circumstances permitted. Access to entertainment and leisure activities should be rationed into a reward system to facilitate the achievement of quotas.
However, although she stayed for another forty minutes, it was all pretty much in keeping with the picture that Gina had already formed, and she learned little that was new.
Baumer saw himself as one of those outcasts from the herd, set apart in the company of those such as van Gogh, Nietzsche, Lawrence, and Nijinsky, by the sensitivity of seeing too much and too deep. Everybody was born with the mystical spark dormant within them, but its potential was quenched by the modern world's delusions of objectivity and rationality. Preoccupation with the external, and the false elevation of science as the way to find knowledge and salvation, had diverted humanity from the inner paths that mattered. He particularly detested the general adulation accorded to the "practical." Aristophanes had ridiculed Socrates, and Blake had hated Newton for the same reason.
Nevertheless, despite Gina's hope that she might have made some indent, he sidestepped another attempt by her to extend their relationship socially. She eventually left without obtaining any commitment for them to talk again, or any feeling that she had achieved very much.
Thinking through the discussion on her way back to PAC, she felt grubby at the deception that she had lent herself to. Behind its facade of indignation and righteousness, the line she had forced herself to listen to was, like so many philosophies that she had heard from other misfits and self-styled iconoclasts, really nothing more than a massive exercise in self-justification. Because they didn't fit, the world would have to be changed.
In contrast, there were people—Hunt, for instance—whom she classed as shapers of the world. They didn't pass judgments on it, but found niches that fitted them because they could come to terms with the reality they saw and make the best of the chances it offered. They could look the inevitability of death in the face, accept their own insignificance, and gain satisfaction from finding something useful to do in spite of it. The Baumers of life couldn't, and that was what they resented. Unable to achieve anything meaningful themselves, they gained satisfaction from showing that nothing anyone else achieved could have meaning.
The difference was, however, that the Hunts were happy to get on with their own lives and let the visionaries enjoy their agonizings if that was what they wanted. But the converse wasn't true. If the world didn't want to change, then give the Baumers access to the power and they would make it change—because they saw more, and deeper. And the rack, the stake, the Gulag, and the concentration camp showed what could happen when they succeeded.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hunt eased himself back in the chair at the desk built into a corner of his personal quarters, contemplated the screen showing the notes he had compiled thus far, along with a list of questions that just seemed to keep growing longer.
Why was Baumer, a Terran, spying for aliens that he had known less than six months, against an administration that had shown nothing but goodwill toward Earth? Because the Jevlenese were at least human, and Ganymeans weren't? Hunt doubted it. Nothing that hinted of an anti-Ganymean bias had come across in anything Baumer had written or said, or anything he had told Gina. Surely an ideologue of his nature, who saw Jevlen as the potential Utopia and its population as putty to be molded, would have sought to work as part of the potential government, not against it—unless he had reason to believe that the Ganymeans wouldn't be running things for very much longer. That was a thought.
In that case, who was he helping, that he thought might be taking over? Not anybody who wanted the Ganymeans replaced by an occupation force from Earth; that would only be inviting in all the things that Baumer said he had come to Jevlen to get away from. Eubeleus and the Axis? That would have been Hunt's first guess, but the latest business of wanting to move his whole operation to Uttan, right at the crucial time, flew in the
face of it.
Which left the criminal underworld that Cullen had talked about—a conjecture that certainly gained further strength if Obayin's death had been arranged, as Cullen suspected. But what kind of connection would somebody like Baumer have with a criminal organization? There would hardly be any shared ground in areas of ideology, morality, politics, social goals, or any of the other things that concerned Baumer. The only alternative that Hunt could see was that they had to have some kind of hold over him. It was hard to imagine any grounds for blackmail: Baumer seemed to have kept his nose clean, and he was here in an official capacity, not a fugitive like Murray. His life-style was free of any obvious complications. What, then?
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