Jaeger ran a finger over his lips. “He’d be easy to locate,” he mused. “And he’d have a hard time evading an enemy.”
“Precisely.” Kweiros nodded. “And he’d never be able to approach his prey. In short, he’d fail to survive. Complete telepathic blankness would have a high survival value. But an ability to detect mental radiation would still be a big help.” He waved a hand.
“So, a race like this one could evolve. And the author of this tape extrapolated from there. A normal telepathic reception will be accompanied, by a slight feedback. A completely black body, however, will neither radiate nor feed back. It merely absorbs energy and, unless it’s super-imposed on a reflective background, it leaves no trace. Since nothing in nature other than a telepathic mind can reflect telepathy, no background would survive for long.” He frowned a little.
“Of course, no mind we are familiar with could act as a telepathically black body, but this author hypothesized a race that could do just that—plus. There’s a further hypothesis of an ability to detect and localize radiations as such, without bothering to resolve them.”
“Sounds like just what we have here,” Jaeger admitted.
“It does, doesn’t it?” Kweiros nodded. “And there’s a further extrapolation. Some of the members or the elder races have speculated on a sort of second-order telepathy, undetectable to the normal telepath, but capable of noting normal radiation. And some of the speculations seem to make sense—though they’re a little confusing. If you don’t have a specific sense, it’s difficult to visualize it, or even to speculate on its presence.” He drew a deep breath.
“That leads us into a real problem. Our people roamed around this planet for several cycles this time. And there may have been others before us, who didn’t record their visits, other than in the minds and legends of the natives. And there may be other legends from that other, older culture.” He shrugged.
“We picked up what we could on the culture, but we didn’t get the full story on them. And we’ve probably left a thousand legends behind us, including that beautiful mess at your station.” He grinned.
“Right now, their folklore is loaded with sorcerers, warlocks, wizards, and what not. After all, whatever their past is, they’re primitive now. So those stories are going to grow and continue. Eventually, long before they really develop a stabilized ethic, someone’s going to collate that whole mess. And do you know what he’ll come up with?”
“Us?”
“Us, yes. Us, in a distorted form.” Kweiros nodded emphatically. “They will come to a full realization that there are advanced entities running around the cosmos, entities that have all kinds of mysterious powers. And they’ll invent still more powers and characteristics—mostly bad.” He spread his hands, then laid them on the desk in front of him.
“That way, they could develop a hopeless, planet-wide trauma—a sort of super inferiority complex—and they could contract on themselves, devote their time to an intensive study of demonology, and very possibly come apart at the seams.
“Or, they could do something else. I was watching Elwar while I was checking that tape. Did you notice anything peculiar?”
“He seemed disturbed.”
“As though he were sensing my thoughts?”
“Something like that. But—”
Kweiros nodded. “But I had a shield up. You could detect no trace of mental action. Right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s what I thought.” Kweiros shook his head and looked closely at Jaeger.
“Can you imagine,” he added, “a primitive race with the power to detect a galactic by his thoughts? And can you imagine that power developing until that detection is possible at interstellar ranges, with members of that race being able to pick up faint impressions from received thoughts—distorted impressions? And can you imagine that same race, ignorant of the humanic equations, devoid of a stable ethic, superstitious, distrustful and fearful of advanced entities? They would be undetectable by normal telepathic means, you know. And suppose they were disposed to destroy what they could not understand.” He frowned.
Jaeger looked back at him, his eyes becoming wide. Suddenly, his gaze defocused and he looked aside, to stare unseeingly at the floor.
“Something’s got to be done, sir,” he said reluctantly.
Kweiros nodded. “Something’s got to be done,” he agreed. “Of course, there’s another side to the picture. If this race develops and learns, they’ll be just as valuable to the galaxy as they would otherwise be dangerous.” He looked toward the door.
“And our boy out there is one of the few who can help in this situation. He’s going to have to work out counter stories—amusing stories—about all those magical creatures his people tell about. He’s going to have to hint at the possibilities of close co-ordination and co-operation between members of his own species. And he’s going to have to suggest the possibility of friendly co-operation between his species and others.” He drew a deep breath.
“And he’s going to have to do all this without taking any risk of exposing the existence of other, more advanced species in the galaxy.” He brushed a hand across his head, then pressed the back of his neck, kneading the skin.
“These stories of his, he’ll have to publish. He’ll have to get them circulated all over his planet, if he can. Possibly we can give him some indirect help, but he’s going to have to carry a good share of the load.
“He knows his own people as we could never hope to. And he’ll have to be thoroughly educated, so he can say what he wants to. And he’ll have to be fully aware of the humanic equations and all their connotations. If he’s to have any direct help, he’ll have to choose his helpers from among his own people, and he’ll have to choose carefully.” Kweiros thrust at his temple with the heel of a hand, then shook his head violently.
“Somehow, he’s going to have to accentuate any legends he may be able to find which present a favorable light on co-ordination and co-operation, and he’ll have to invent more. And all those other legends—the ones which treat of superstition and destructive force—will have to be reduced to the realm of the storybook, submerged under a layer of amused condemnation, and kept there. All these things, that youngster is going to have to do.
“It’s your job to help teach him.”
Forell watched his friend closely as the critic laid aside the last page.
Andorra sat for a moment, his head cocked in thought. Then, he picked up the last page and looked at it again. Finally, he laid the sheet aside. He looked at his friend with a wry smile, then picked up his wineglass, looking at it quizzically.
“Do you always give your own name to one of your characters?”
Forell’s grip tightened on the small object in his hand.
“Oh, sure,” he said. “Gives me a better identification. If I can get into the story, it’s easier to draw the reader in.” He forced a casual smile. “I’ll change that name later, of course.”
“I see what you mean.” Andorra sipped from his glass.
“You know,” he added, “a couple of hours ago, I was almost ready to get excited about the idea of a cosmos full of super beings. And I even might have dreamed up something like this myself—and more than half believed it.” He shook his head.
“But when a fantasist like yourself comes up with it, and makes it look so nicely possible, the idea almost looks foolish. After all, Elwar, if you actually were the guy in that little sketch of yours, you’d hardly be asking me to read it, now would you?” He looked down at the papers, then raised his head again, frowning.
“ ‘He’ll have to choose his helpers from among his own people,’ ” he quoted. “ ‘All these things, that youngster is going to have to do.’ ” He sipped again from his glass, keeping a searching gaze on his friend.
“And on the other hand, if your story here should be true, you just might be asking me to read it, for one reason or another.” He raised his glass, examining the bright liquid within it.
Elwar tensed, his hand coming part way out of his pocket.
Suddenly, Andorra set the glass down and leaned forward, hands gripping his knees.
“Tell me, Elwar,” he begged, “this isn’t a hoax, is it? Surely, no one could be so warped as to present a friend with something like this and then to laugh it off?”
Forell drew a deep breath and examined his companion closely. At last, his left hand relaxed a little.
“It’s no hoax,” he admitted.
Andorra sighed and leaned back.
“And you can use help? You’re asking me?”
He paused, waiting as Forell nodded, then spread his hands.
“You know,” he said, “it shouldn’t take me too long to fix it so I would not be missed too much for a few years.” He looked at the wall.
“It must be quite a training course.”
THE END
“All right. Primate, straighten up. Try to walk like a guardsman, at least.” The voice conveyed impatience and assured authority.
Klion Meinora stiffened for an instant. Then he stopped in midstride and wheeled about.
A few inches before him, a large face twisted into amused laughter.
“Got you that time. And good.” A long finger wagged in Meinora’s face. “You should take time out and analyze that reaction. Pure fury. It should be good for a long sequence in one of your tapes. But you want to be careful, Friend of Mine. You could hurt someone that way.”
Meinora stared. “Sanathor!” He shot an arm out, placing his hand on the other’s shoulder. It required a long reach.
“Didn’t suspect you’d be in this sector, Classmate. Thought you’d be on the other side of the galaxy somewhere.”
Boreel Sanathor placed one of his huge hands on Meinora’s shoulder and squeezed gently.
“They just transferred me,” he said. “Seems there are a few difficult cultures scattered around in this sector. They needed a nasty tempered joker to deal with ’em, so they looked around a little. And they caught me. Gave me a pretty good job, too.” He dusted his hands together complacently, then looked sharply at Meinora. “You come in to sign up again? We can use you.”
Meinora shook his head. “Nope,” he denied. “Not this citizen. You can have your good jobs. I like my release. Decided to try teaching for a while, and I like it. I’m my own group commander.” He grinned.
“Finished my courses at Kleira and got on as a field counselor. Some day, I’ll apply for senior citizenship, I suppose, but meantime, I’ve been counseling and running off entertainment sequences whenever the students leave me any spare time.” His grin widened. “Field counselors have lots of spare time, believe me.”
“Your stuff being well received?” Sanathor glanced at the case in Meinora’s hand.
Meinora frowned. “Has been, yes. But I’ve been in trouble lately. Can’t seem to get anything going right.” He shrugged. “Got my so-called brain in irons a while back. Finished with a student and went back to work. But I found myself in direct field opposition with full drive. Couldn’t get out of the same old sequence, so I decided to get out of space for a while and try working planetside.” He laughed. “It was a lousy sequence.”
Sanathor spread his hands and grinned. “You never seemed to have that kind of trouble when you were in the Guard. Why not sign up again for a few cycles? You might get some of the academic cobwebs out and get an idea or two in their place. You’re in the right building, and you can’t do it any sooner.”
“No, no.” Meinnora laughed. “I told you, I like my release. Just got tired of being a spacer. Called in to the University. Told ’em I was going to be planetbound for two or three cycles, and drifted over to Dorana. Landed on Huilon—you know, the seventh planet—and—”
“Hold it.” Sanathor held up a hand. “I wouldn’t know a ’Dorana’ if it walked up and grabbed me. Is it a star or something?”
“Literal character,” growled Meinora. “Sure it’s a star. Look it up sometime, when you’re tired of goofing off in corridors.” He paused. “And you with your tunic off, too. Couldn’t get away with that when I was in the Guard. Guess discipline’s getting lax these days.” He shook his head in mock regret.
“Dorana, for your information, is a nice, fat, A type, with a swell, strength nine field. And it has planets. Several of them. One of ’em’s called Huilon.” He looked at his friend scornfully.
“Anyway, I landed on this planet, Huilon. They’ve just recently become allied to the Federation. Haven’t really joined us yet—no member accredited to the council, and no formal request for membership, but they welcome galactics as traders or tourists . . . it says.” He frowned thoughtfully.
“Went there once, just after I got out of the Guard,” he added, “and had a wonderful time. It was a little different this trip.” He broke off.
“Hey, look. I’ve got an appointment. Came in to talk this over with the boss man of the Philosophical detachment. That’s what these tapes are for.” He looked down at the carrying case in his hand. “Thought I might’ve stumbled over something in his line. Know where the head culture mechanic hangs out?”
Sanathor looked at him with mock hauteur. “I assume you are referring to the Sector Philosophical Officer?” He tapped himself on the chest.
“I don’t ‘hang out.’ I direct the operations of my personnel from an office.”
“I’m not talking about—Oh, now wait a minute. Don’t tell me they promoted you that fast.”
Meinora’s companion reached out and opened a door.
“You’ve been out in space for a lot of cycles, Friend of my youth.” He waved.
“Right in here. We find lost spacers. We straighten out culturally mangled planets. And we cause unemployment in the combat arm.” He waited for Meinora to enter, then strode across the room, to sit down behind a desk.
“Seriously, though,” he added, “what’s the difficulty? Your transmission was pretty vague, you know.”
Meinora nodded. “Deliberately so,” he said. “I didn’t want the wrong people to pick it up and get ideas.”
“So?” Sanathor flipped a switch on his desk. “What have you found?”
“Conquest, or at least attempted conquest, by infiltration.”
“Involving a Federation world?” Sanathor’s eyebrows peaked a little.
“Huilon isn’t really a Federation world,” Meinora told him. “Not yet, anyway. But they are allied to us.”
“Makes very little difference in a case like this.” Sanathor shook his head. “Might as well be full members. You said infiltration. Any aggression involved?”
“None. Not in the normal sense of the word.”
Sanathor leaned back. “How,” he inquired, “do you conquer by infiltration or any other means without some sort of aggression? And especially how do you accomplish this at interstellar distances?”
“You use missionaries.” Meinora leaned forward. “And distances don’t make much difference, so long as the physical structure of the two peoples involved are similar and conditions are right. It’s not too different in procedure from one of your own rehabilitation operations. It’s just the results that are different. The same general system can be used either way. You should know that.” He got up and strode toward the desk.
“Mind if I use your star catalogue? I can show you the areas involved.”
“Go ahead.” Sanathor slid his chair aside. “Control panel’s right here.”
“Thanks.” Meinora leaned over the desk, touching buttons. Beside the desk, a large viewsphere clouded, then became black. Tiny points of light appeared in the blackness. At one side, a red circle formed around one of these points.
“Sector Headquarters,” explained Meinora. He examined the chart on the console for a moment, then set up a combination on the controls and hit the actuator bar. A thin, red line sprang out from the encircled point, extended nearly across the sphere, and stopped close to another point. A blue circle formed around this second point.
“That’s Dorana.” Meinora pointed at the blue circle and turned to face Sanathor for an instant. “Now, I’ll set up a dual vector.”
Sanathor had been watching the sphere. “Good enough,” he said. “Pretty close to Sector Boundary, isn’t it?”
Meinora nodded. “So’s the other planet we’re concerned with. But it’s in another division.” He punched buttons again and a blue line sprang from Dorana. At the same time, a white line started from Sector Headquarters. The two lines converged and met near the bottom of the sphere. They met in a dark area, and Meinora looked around again.
“Unexplored area,” he remarked. “At least, it’s written off that way on my catalogue. Of course, I might be a few light-years out of line on this one. And there might have been some exploration since my catalogue was revised.”
He punched a button and a slight haze built up around the intersection of the lines.
“My information was a little vague and I couldn’t get a definite name for either the sun or the planet. They just came to me as ‘The Sun’ and ‘The Home World.’ People involved don’t use the same references we do, hence the peculiar orientation. And I got something about a curtain or barrier. But there’s no doubt about one thing: There’s a young empire right around the vicinity of that intersection. And in their own sneaky way, they’re an aggressive bunch.”
“Leave the sphere set up,” Sanathor told him. “Got any evidence on all this?”
Meinora shook his head. “Unsupported word of a junior galactic citizen,” he admitted wryly. “Of course, I’ve got a good story.”
“Glad you’re not some casual stranger. Saves a lot of checking. Let’s hear it.”
Meinora walked away from the desk and sat down.
“Huilon isn’t really a primitive world,” he began. “Of course, it’s not as far advanced as a lot of the Federation worlds. For example, they’re unfamiliar with the matter converter. Still depend on chemical synthesis, and stick to it. They have a pure cost economy, too. And telepathy, either natural or induced, is unknown.” He rubbed his chin.
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