Before I left this moon, I instructed my Space Traveller to fly all over the sunlit side. The Shammat mining operations were evident everywhere. Their settlements were mostly underground, but in places were to be seen their observatories and laboratories. In the craters, some of them many R-miles across, their machinery laboured. It was ingenious, but none was unknown to me. Shammat the thief did not initiate; it sent spies into the territories of others, and copied what it saw.
A vast machine like a segmented worm whose segments could be fitted together in various ways was the kind they used most. One of these could be a mile or more long. Inside it were workplaces; temporary living places of labourers and technicians; and the extremities of a segment could be fitted with excavating devices. Some sucked in earth and sprayed it out again. One I hovered low over looked for all the world like the dragon of the Rohandan mythologies, with its spray of dirt emitted from its “mouth.” Others looked like starfish sprawling. They were a most ingenious type of machine. Flexible, so they could climb and clamber and balance; of any desired size, according to the number of segments fitted; very long, traversing difficult terrain and becoming bridges or tunnels as necessary; easily kept in repair, since an individual segment was so quickly replaced—these “crawlers” had been evolved us for use on inhospitable planets that were rich in minerals. But so adaptable and multifunctional had they proved that they were employed for purposes beyond mining.
As I sped away, I was escorted by a dozen of the wasplike Shammatan fighter craft. This was an act of impudence that in fact I welcomed. It would strengthen my hand in the efforts I was now about to make at home: I had to persuade our Colonial Service that our active presence on Rohanda was necessary to us.
THE FIVE
As one will, I formulated in my mind all kinds of approaches to the problem, but soon understood that none was suitable: again and again, bringing to a situation or a person the framework of ideas, already formulated in my mind, these as it were fell apart, dissipated like a mist when the sun falls on it. I saw, then, that there was something wrong in my assessment of the situation. I even wondered if my mind had been affected by my excursions into the Rohandan reality; I half believed I had become more Canopean than Sirian. All kinds of doubts and weaknesses assailed me.
Meanwhile, my colleagues were referring to my “leave” on the Rohandan moon in a careful nonjudgemental way. I knew it was not possible for them to have any inkling as to what I had really been doing; and could not decide what it was they suspected that made them treat me like a—well, yes: I had to accept it: I was being handled in the way we use for those about to be summoned to a formal court of enquiry, or even arrested. Meanwhile discussions went forward for, again, my long interrupted work on our borders. I concluded at last that something was at work in the situation that I was severely misinterpreting.
Time was passing. I not raised the subject of Rohanda. Tempted to let the subject slide from me again, I made myself remember undertakings to Klorathy. At last, not knowing what else to do, I summoned a meeting of the Five.
The Five, of whom I am one, run the Colonial Service. This fact everybody in the Empire knows. That we implement policy made by our Legislature is known. That this policy is influenced by us is known. What is not understood is the extent to which we influence policy. I shall simply state here, without softening it, and as a fact, something that contradicts the Sirian view of itself; our view of ourselves. We Five run the Empire, govern everything, except for the details of the lives of our elite class. That does not concern us in the slightest! This elite of ours does as it pleases. Within limits. Our limits. I have already said that there has to be an elite: legislation will not prevent one coming into being, or do away with one when it has. And as little as we, the rulers of Sirius, are interested in the affairs of these darlings and charmers, so are they interested in what we do. There is a law that no formal framework of an organisation, or a society, can affect. Or not for long. It is that those who do the work are the real rulers of it, no matter how they are described.
We Five embody the governance of our Empire. That is what we are. And have been since the end of the war between ourselves and Canopus.
I took risk in summoning only the Five, and not the extended council of the planetary representatives. Whatever decisions the Five came to, would stand. If it were to be a meeting of the thirty, I would have right of appeal to the twenty-five who sit listening to the case we present, without taking part in the discussion, and who are available for precisely this purpose: to set aside our decisions for varying periods, according to their importance and severity, while we Five are instructed to re-consider.
The meeting took place as usual. Since the appearance of each one of us Five is familiar to every Sirian citizen from infancy, I shall say no more, beyond remarking that the extraordinary nature of the circumstances did make me conscious of the dramatic aspect; I found myself, as we took our seats, looking into the faces of these colleagues of mine, with whom I was, and am, so close, with whom I have worked through the millennia, who make up, with me, a whole, an organism, almost an organ of the Sirian body. And, feeling my closeness to them, I was at the same time anguished, being so distanced from them, so alien in part of myself, because of Canopus. I sat looking at one face after another, all so different since we come—by policy—from different planets, and wondering how it was possible that we could be so close, so one—and yet I could at the same time feel set apart from them.
The meetings of those who know each other as well as we do have no need of rules and order. Often enough we have sat silent together until agreement has been reached, and separated without a word being said.
I wondered, to begin with. if this was to be such an occasion. At last I addressed them: “You know that I want us to agree on a reversal of our policy towards Rohanda.”
Four faces said that they had expected me to take up the argument in a more developed way.
I said: “I am having difficulty. The reasons that I think are conclusive—I do not know to put to you.”
Silence again.
Then spoke Stagruk from Planet 2.
“Since it seems recent experiences have distanced you from us, to the extent we do not know how we each think, I shall sum up our thoughts.”
This pained me—and they, too, were suffering.
“First. There is no advantage to Sirius in Rohanda. As an experimental field it is valueless, because of the overrunning of every part of it, and because of the mixture of races and even species…”
“The latter largely as a result of our intervention.”
A pause. I had introduced, and so soon, a note foreign to us.
“We shall have to accept that you see things differently. Shall we continue? Since there is no advantage to us, it must be that there is an advantage to Canopus.” A pause. “Canopus is our old enemy.”
I sat silent, looking at them all in enquiry, because of how this had been said.
Up and down through our Empire, Canopus is talked of in, if I may say so, pretty stereotyped ways. These are the ways used always for the strong, the threatening—the superior. That is, when not implicit, as, almost, a background to our lives. Canopus is mentioned with a laugh of contempt, a sneer, a jibe, or at least with that hardening of the countenance and voice that means a subject is taboo from serious enquiry. Among us, among the Five, this tone was not used, of course; it would be more accurate to describe ours as that due to a senior partner who has won the position by unfair means. But the word “Canopus” had been spoken without any of these undertones, and almost as an enquiry. The word fell between us, lightly, and our eyes met over it.
“Canopus was once our enemy,” I said.
“You have just spent a long—a very long—leave, with Klorathy.”
“On the Rohandan moon.”
“The attractions of which we do not believe responsible for the quite inordinate time you were away.”
I looked at each of them, slowly
one after another, so that they might read, if they could, the truth in my eyes.
It seemed I had failed, for Stagruk said: “for us to re-engage in Rohanda means to re-open the debate about our function as an Empire. About whether we maintain our present minimum performance or whether we expand again. It will mean training technicians to operate in the two Southern Continents. This will be of necessity a difficult and expensive training because of the appalling situation on Rohanda. There will be, almost certainly, loss of life among them. This will again reinforce the questionings among us—it is absolutely essential for us to realise that if do as you say, the least we can expect is an inflammation of the Existential Question—and to a dangerous point. That is our view, Ambien.”
I sat, absorbing the news that this had already been fully discussed among them: they, as four, had discussed one, me, Ambien. My distance and alienation from them, my ancient friends and co-workers, was such that I could have given up then. If I had not been thinking of Klorathy.
I was conscious that my continual reliance on him, in thought, was creating, or continuing, or reminding me of—I did not know which—a feeling that was becoming stronger as I sat there. For through this talk of ours a silent word reverberated: Klorathy, Klorathy, Klorathy.
I said: “It has long been policy that I should cultivate an association with Klorathy.”
At once Stagruk said: “For our benefit.”
This was a threat. And yet—there are threats and threats!
A situation can contain a threat—and then it doesn’t matter what is said: a group of individuals in a room swearing eternal brotherhood are eating the wind, if the situation they are in contains threat to them. And vice versa. Here there was no doubt—on the face of it—that there was a threat. I knew the calm judgemental expressions on the faces of these colleagues of mine very well. They were using this look because they believed the situation demanded it. And yet…
At the back of my mind my thoughts were racing: not yet has Canopus wanted something, when it has not happened! A request became a fact, even if I seem to have done nothing to further it. Everything that has passed between Sirius and Canopus, re Rohanda, between Klorathy and myself as Sirius and as Ambien, is insisting now, in a thousand voices, that what Canopus wants will come to pass. The worst that can happen is that these dear colleagues of mine will punish me in some way, but this will not prevent a Sirian involvement in Rohanda. This is because we are already involved, and in a way that Canopus needs—for the education of Sirius. A decision has already been made. And therefore: the threat that is present here and now is only to me… and, since my fate is of no importance, there is no real threat present.
While I considered all this, we were silent again—and whirling about among the other thoughts was that it was not possible that what I thought did not affect them, with whom I was so close. With whom I made a whole.
Feeling that these words had already been said or thought, or existed somehow, I said: “It is my belief that this association has always been for our benefit. And planned to be so.”
This was, if you like, treason. But it was putting into words what had been implicit among us all for a long time. This is where Ambien II, a member of the Five, had, if you like, “gone wrong.” And long ago.
I felt a great relief, a relaxing all through me and through us all. A climax had been awaited, had been reached—had gone past.
They were all looking at me, and not in hostility. Curiosity, perhaps, but not of an urgent or pressuring kind.
“You have not once mentioned Shammat,” said Stagruk.
“No.”
“Shammat is not a threat in your belief?”
“Shammat apparently controls Rohanda. And her moon. Shammat is prowling and working and busy from one end of Rohanda to the other. And yet this is with the permission or at least the tolerance of Canopus. Who could stop it tomorrow.”
“And you believe we have to take all this on trust?”
“I do.”
I knew then that they were going to agree. Canopus, working on me, on my nature, had also worked on them—without knowing it. They had watched me involved with Canopus, had wondered, had speculated—and their innermost selves had been touched. As I understood this I felt close to them in a way I had not before. And I do now.
“It is all good,” I said. “Believe me. It is for our good. For the good of…” I had been going to say, for the good of Sirius, but found myself saying… “the good of the Galaxy.”
“Very well,” said Stagruk. “We will agree. You will take charge of the new policy. You will be responsible for the training of the personnel. And for liaison with Canopus. And you will announce, and then control, the ensuing debates on policy.” And then she added, with a smile, “I suggest that the public reasons you give for this change of policy, on behalf of us all, include the threat of Shammat on Rohanda, and the possible need for us to start mining on the Rohandan moon.”
“You four have decided on mining that moon?”
“We are, after all going to experience considerable difficulty in changing the policy for the entire Empire. Will you mind our pointing out that your new—alignments—at times seem to make you rather remote from our Sirian realities? Some kind of saving form is essential.”
I laughed, of course. And mostly with relief. But we all stayed where we were, looking closely into each other’s faces.
“Why can’t you tell us, Ambien?” said Stagruk, suddenly, in a voice both hard with pride and reproachful. “Surely you must see how we feel?”
And I said, in equal conflict: “How can I? Don’t you see? It has taken—oh, so long! And so much reluctance on my part has had to be overcome. And everything I have learned from them has been bit by bit and slowly, so that I never even knew I had changed so much until I came to sit here with you…” And then I wept. It was a long time since water had spurted from my eyes, like the most primitive of our populations. And they, too, my old companions, showed signs of relapsing into the older ways.
The situation so unusual for us all that we were not as disturbed by our reactions as might otherwise have been.
This is what happened in that council meeting that later was recognised by everyone as a turning point, the beginning of a new orientation, for Sirius. Of course, at the time, that this was so was implicit in everything we said, and what we did not say. But none knew how far-reaching the changes would be. Even now, as I write, the importance of that meeting is still being re-assessed.
I shall now make two statements, without elaboration.
The first is that I have not again met Klorathy.
The second is that a very great of effort went into the change of policy that had to be made before I could actively and openly take my place identified in the eyes of the whole Empire as “Rohandan Ambien.” Ambien I aided me behind the scenes during this campaign.
Meanwhile, I was thinking deeply and privately about what it was Canopus really needed from us. These thoughts could be shared with no one, not even Ambien I.
Again, I shall not overload the narrative detail. The attentive reader will be able, I am sure, to understand my reasons for this or that decision.
I did not make arrangements for large numbers of technicians to establish themselves on Southern Continents I and II. This would have amounted to an armed occupation of these territories. Both continents were already being overrun by the white invaders from the northwest fringes: Klorathy’s prophecies were being proved true. Both vast territories were being conquered by the most savage brutalities, and indigenous peoples and races were being wiped out or enslaved. The rule was everywhere that of force, of compulsion, of tyranny. Shammat or its spirit was absolutely dominant. And there was another thought: to equip our forces on a large enough scale to subjugate. or least to control, these continents would be to undertake more than Canopus was doing in the northern areas. And it would mean teaching our technicians ways of war that we were forgetting—learning to forget as a delib
erate and strict policy. We had our armed forces, yes; but these were small, and kept for special and particular occasions and tasks.
What I did was to have trained a restricted number of carefully selected personnel, from Planet 11, who were of a similar build and height to the average Rohandan, and of a dark colour—that is, similar to the subjugated ones on both continents. Being of the subject races meant they would be more policed and watched; yet even so they would be less visible than if they had been chosen from among our white peoples. These were trained in surveillance, and the arts of exact and accurate assessments of social and political situations. Yet, although so few, they were able to monitor everything that went on in these continents. I am going to make the claim here that there have never been, anywhere, such expert and tactful spies as these.
And such self-sacrificing ones: their dislike of this unpleasant, and often heartbreaking, work was such that none was expected to do more than a tour of duty consisting of ten R-years.
But when they returned, the effect of their experience was very great: what they had seen of the extremes of suffering, cruelty, social disruption, was conveyed in all kinds of ways to our populations; and as a result, the whole subject of how an Empire should, and could—but not necessarily did—behave was debated in a new way. And this effect of our acceding to the Canopean request has by no means been exhausted. I make a point of mentioning this, because it is sometimes forgotten where and why the sudden renewal of self-questioning originated. And it is since that time that there has been a small but persistent—and powerful—undercurrent of interest in Canopus, its ways, its function. Yes, that is a word, on the lips of so many of our young, that dates from then.
To try and dismiss such a strong new way of thought as “treachery” or even slackness of moral fibre, does not, in my view, show enough insight into our deeper social processes, those that will, I am sure, ultimately prevail. I am saying this in the conviction that I am speaking for very many more of our more senior individuals than have—as yet—expressed themselves.
The Sirian Experiments Page 31