“Very good for the first try!” exclaimed Robin Morel as Palmer finally looked up from the table.
“Really?” he said, with genuine pleasure.
Robin smiled warmly at him. “Really, Jay,” she said. “Lots of people can’t even move a single particle the first time. Maybe we’ve got a latent telepath among us.”
Palmer laughed almost boyishly. These people really did seem genuinely interested in him, in a completely wholehearted and unaffected manner. Maybe….
“Maybe we’ve been misjudging the Confederation all these years,” said Ortega. “Maybe the Confederation planets are just loaded with Talents.” He said it in a completely light-hearted manner, but somehow the words completely punctured Palmer’s bubble of elation. These people were, after all, Solarians, and they were on what could prove to be a deadly mission to the Human Confederation. They had deprived him of his weapons, and they were just not to be trusted. It would be madness, possibly treason, to let himself become a part of this group, no matter how attractive the prospect was made.
“Something wrong, Jay?” asked Robin.
“Ah…no…. I think I’ll…uh…go read a book.”
He left the Solarians and went over to the bookcase. As he puttered aimlessly among the books, he felt their eyes upon him, even as they continued their psi games. It was horribly uncomfortable. The covert glances made him feel more an outsider than ever, and worse, they made him feel that it was entirely his fault.
But worst of all was what was expressed in those fleeting glances. For it was not annoyance, but pity.
It was impossible to sleep. He sat tensely on the edge of his bunk, confused and undecided.
Palmer could sensethe Solarians were offering him something, but it was a something he did not really understand. Yet most of him wanted it very badly. He had grown to manhood in a civilization that had been at war for three centuries. He was a soldier, and, he knew unselfconsciously, a good one. He never remembered wanting anything else. It seemed though, that there was something missing from his life, something whose absence he had not even suspected until he had met six people who had it…even if he still didn’t know what it was….
But then there was the mission, perhaps the most important mission in the history of the Confederation. What were the Solarians really up to? Was their goal really the same as the Confederation—to win The War—or were they somehow out merely to save Fortress Sol at the expense of the rest of the human race?
Under other circumstances, he might’ve felt free to simply become a part of their group, but could he afford to trust them that far, not knowing the real nature of their mission?
On the other hand, perhaps becoming part of the group was the only real way of learning anything. After all, if he showed them that he trusted them, might not they begin to trust him?
Unless they did have something to hide.
It was just all too much for….
There was a knock on the door.
“Come on in,” Palmer said, rather reluctantly.
It was Robin Morel. She opened the door, stepped inside, and sat down beside him on the bunk. She studied his face for a long moment.
“Something’s bothering you, Jay,” she said.
“This isn’t exactly a pleasure-jaunt,” he snapped, far more sharply than he had intended. He was becoming uncomfortably aware that this was one attractive woman.
“I mean something else,” she said softly. “There’s this hostility between you and the rest of us. We can feel it, and I’m sure you feel it too. The mission would go a lot more smoothly if it weren’t there.”
“You expect me to trust you? Did you trust met You took away all my weapons, didn’t you? Do you call that trust?”
“A man who’s armed to the teeth isn’t exactly acting friendly either,” Robin said with a little smile.
“Touché,” Palmer replied, in a somewhat better humor. “So let’s agree that we don’t trust each other.”
“It doesn’t have to be that way.”
“I don’t see how it can be any other way,” Palmer said. ̴I’m a Confederal officer, and you’re Solarians. We’ve been cut off from each other for three centuries, and not by our choice.”
“But we’re both fighting the same enemy, aren’t we?”
“Are we?” snapped Palmer. “We’ve been holding off the Duglaari with our ships and lives for three centuries. What’ve you been doing?”
“Fighting the same battle in a different way,” Robin said evenly. “Of course you won’t really understand until you let yourself become a part of our Group. Why not give it a try?”
“Give what a try?” Palmer said defensively.
“Give us a try. We’re human beings, not monsters. We want to be your friends. In a way that you can’t understand yet, we want to be more than your friends.”
“Just how do you mean that?” he said, with an exaggeratedly blank expression on his face.
Robin laughed. “Perhaps not quite the way you think I mean it,” she said. “Although there is no reason for you to sleep alone unless you want to.”
“I thought you and Lingo…?”
“Sure,” she said, “but we don’t belong to each other. A human being isn’t a piece of property, Jay.”
“You mean he wouldn’t be jealous? There wouldn’t be any bad blood between us?”
“Why should there be? Would you be taking something from him? Would there somehow be less of me for him? It’s not as if I were in love with you, the way I am with Dirk. He knows that. Besides, it would all be within the Group.”
“You say that as if it meant ‘all within the family’.”
“In a way it does,” she said. “A Group is like…well, if you’ve never been a part of one, there’s no way to really tell you. It’s a little like a family, but there’s no head of the household. It’s a relationship of complete equals. And people only become a part of a Group because they want to. They’re free to form whatever outside relationships they like, and there are other relationships within the Group, like Dirk and me, or like Linda and Max who are even closer. Yet it’s all part of one harmonious…Jay, there’s just no way to describe it to an outsider. You’ve got to feel it.”
Palmer felt the attraction of what she was describing, not because he understood what she was saying—for he but dimly grasped the concept—but because of how she said it. Letting himself go, becoming a part of this Group thing, he somehow felt would be like coming home. Although he had never really ha a home….
And yet, might not this be exactly what they wanted him to feel? Might not the whole thing be a trap? Certainly the bait was attractive enough….
“What do you say, Jay?”
“I’ll sleep on it,” he replied.
“Alone?” she asked with a little smile.
“Alone.”
Chapter V
AFTER Robin had left his cabin, Palmer sat tensely on the edge of his bunk, unable and unwilling to go to sleep.
How long have I been on this ship? he asked himself. It seems like years….
Palmer grimaced. Now that he thought about it, most of his life had gone by like hours—fight, retreat, liberty, fight. In a war that lasted for centuries, the life of an officer was year after year of endless repetition. There had been more novelty in the past two days than in the last two years. It was just too much to digest in one piece….
There was Robin…and the Solarians…and the mission. Most of all, certainly most important of all, was the mission. But what was the mission? Kurowski’s orders were to play along with the Solarians unless they appeared to be pulling a fast one. Then, thought Palmer, I’m suppose to take over the ship, or destroy it as a last resort.
But how do I do that, when I’ve lost all my weapons, and when I’m dealing with people who can read my mind and control my body?
Wearily but restlessly, Palmer got up and began to pace the floor of the cabin. It all boiled down to whether or not the Solarians could be trusted. T
hey seemed like the friendliest people in the Galaxy, there was a warmth about them, an ease, an openness that Palmer had never experienced before. There was a complete lack of jealousy, and an apparent willingness to share…just about anything. Ordinarily, he would’ve been more than happy to call such people friends…or something more than friends.
But these were the same people who had invaded the privacy of his very mind, who had dragooned him into a supposed mission whose outcome seemed a certain and meaningless death. Whatever they might be as human beings, they were still Solarians. And Fortress Sol was synonymous with secrecy and the unknown. In what unguessable ways might the people of Sol have changed in three centuries of isolation?
In their personal lives, the Solarians were alien and incomprehensible in so many ways…Wasn’t it reasonable to assume that their political motivations might be equally alien?
Palmer sat down on the bed again, and began t undress. One thing, at least, was clear—he had to find out more. He had to learn the truth about Fortress Sol and the Solarians’ mission before he could even hope to act.
Perhaps, he thought, perhaps the easiest way would be to let myself go, to become a part of their Group?
He grinned wryly to himself. Letting himself go with Robin might not exactly qualify him for hardship pay either.
Raul Ortega was alone in the common room, leaning on the bar and sipping a tall drink as Palmer entered.
Ortega nodded, and poured another tall red drink from a frosted pitcher that rested on the bartop. “Have one, Jay,” he said.
Palmer walked over to the bar and picked up the drink. He eyed it suspiciously and twirled the glass slowly in his hand.
Ortega laughed. “It’s just plain old red wine this time, “he said. “Nice and cold.”
Palmer took a tentative sip. “Wine all right,” he said. “And pretty good wine at that.”
“Nothing but the best,” drawled Ortega. Then, with sharp suddenness, “Why don’t you trust us, Jay?”
“Why should I?” Palmer snapped. “You read my mind against my will. You confiscate my weapons. You dragoon me into a suicide mission. And to top it off, you’re Solarians, and no one’s been permitted in the Sol system for three centuries. What reason can you give for my trusting you?”
“You’re still alive,” Ortega said quietly.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Think it over,” Ortega said. “You’ve been disarmed. Max and Linda can read your mind and control your body any time they want to. There’s not a thing you can do to harm us, while we can do just about anything we want to with you. There’s your reason to trust us.”
“That’s a reason to trust you?” Palmer exclaimed.
“Best reason there is,” Ortega said, taking a long sip of wine. “You’ve got absolutely nothing to gain by not trusting us. You can’t do anything to harm us, and you might as well face the fact that we can do just about anything we want to you. So what can you gain by not trusting us?”
“That’s pretty fine reasoning,” Palmer said. “What it boils down to is that my only choice is whether I’m going to be a prisoner or a willing guest.”
“Right on the button,” Ortega said. “We’re offering you friendship, real friendship, Jay. Accept us for what we are and this will m going uch pleasanter trip. Don’t fight it, Jay. All you stand to gain is insomnia. Give us a try.”
Palmer shrugged and took a long drink of wine. “You know, Raul,” he said, “you may have a point.” Maybe not the point you think you have, though, he thought.
Palmer smiled with careful boyishness at Robin Morel across the dinner coffee. He had made up his mind. He would not remain aloof from the Solarians; he would go along with whatever the Solarians liked, up to a point. At least until he knew enough to decide what the Solarians were really up to, and whether or not they could really be trusted. It was clearly his duty to infiltrate the Group.
And besides, it might not be such unpleasant duty at that.
“What’s the grin for, Jay?” asked Lingo conversationally. “You and Robin…?”
“Certainly not!”
“Not yet, anyway, Dirk,” Robin said.
Palmer flushed, and everyone laughed. After a moment, he forced himself to laugh with them.
“I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh,” Lingo said. “It suits you well. There’s been too much tension on this mission. We all….”
“Robin spoke to him about all that last night,” Max Berg-strom said.
“How did you….?” Palmer blurted in astonishment.
Bergstrom grinned and tapped his right temple with a fore-finger. “And you,” he said, “have decided to give us a try. Welcome to the Group.”
“Doesn’t anyone have any privacy with you telepaths around?” asked Palmer, forcing his voice into a tone of geniality that he did not really feel.
“All the privacy you want,” said Linda Dortin, “and not a drop more or less.”
“What does that mean?”
“If you’ll think about it,” said Lingo, “the existence of a telepathic minority implies some very delicate social problems. As does the existence of other Talents. If it weren’t for the Organic Group, well….”
“Organic Group?”
“That’s what the six of us are, Jay,” Lingo said. “An Organic Group. The human race has always had individuals with unusual talents, it’s always encompassed great differences among its members. There’s far greater variation within the human race than among the Doogs. But until very recently, this has worked largely against mankind, becausthan amotendency was always for similar human types to cluster together in mutual hostility against the other human types. The basic unit, for instance, has always been the family. And of course, a ‘family’ could be defined as a group of people with very similar genetic makeup. Likes always tended to group together, in small groups and in larger ones—the smallest being the family, and the largest the nation-state, of which planetary governments are merely the most recent form.”
“I never looked at it that way,” mused Palmer. “You mean that nation-states are just extensions of the family?”
“What else? The larger units of a social structure are always determined by the nature of the basic unit.”
“And ‘race’ is just an extension of the idea of a clan!” exclaimed Palmer. “Sure…. it’s so obvious, that….”
“That’s why the human race has never been united,” Lingo said. “Even the Confederation is just a collection of sovereign solar systems. If the Doogs didn’t exist, neither would the Confederation. It would fall apart, because the basic social unit is the family.”
“What does all this have to do with telepaths?” asked Palmer.
“Imagine,” said Max Bergstrom, “if all telepaths—and there axe millions of us in the Sol system—considered ourselves a race, a clan, and considered everyone else….”
“Enough!” shuddered Palmer. “I get the point!”
“You get part of the point,” said Lingo. “Telepathy isn’t the only Talent. Take the six of us: two telepaths, Max and Linda. Raul is a Gamemaster….”
“Gamemaster? I’ve heard that word before. At the General Staff meeting. It means strategist, doesn’t it?”
Ortega laughed. “The same way that ‘soldier’ means ‘hired killer,’ ” he said.
“You see, Jay,” said Lingo, “being a Gamemaster is not something you can just learn. It’s a genuine Talent, an instinctive, at least partly hereditary genius. Like telepathy. Raul has the instinctive ability to conceive of military and geopolitical struggles, like the war with the Doogs, as if they were but a game of cards or chess.”
“You mean he’s a human Strategy Computer, the way you’re a human ship’s computer?”
Lingo laughed. “You’ll find this hard to take, Jay, but a Gamemaster is far superior to any strategy computer, even the Computation Center on Olympia IV. For in addition to dealing with objective data, he takes into account subje
ctive factors, such as the psychology of the opponent, the idea of bluff, a thousand subtle factors that computers will always be blind to. hat can build computers that can play a good game of chess—since chess is a game of logic—but no computer will ever be able to compete with a good human gambler at cards.”
“And there are millons of us, too,” said Ortega. “What if we considered ourselves a race apart?”
“And Fran is an Edetic,” Lingo said. “She has total recall; she’s a walking almanac, encyclopedia, memory bank. Robin is something far more subtle—a specializing non-specialist. For want of a better term, we call that Talent being a ‘Glue.’ “
“So the entire Sol system is inhabited by people with all these greatly different Talents?” said Palmer.
“You’re getting the point,” said Lingo. “As the human race evolves, the differences among its individual members become greater, not less. Specialization becomes more and more pronounced. And if the race continued to be organized on the basis of nations, clans, families of like clustering together….”
“The human race would explode!”
“Exactly,” said Lingo. “The Organic Group is a new basic unit, based not on the similarity of its members, but on their differences. It’s not merely a good idea—it’s an evolutionary necessity. People with very different Talents and natures come together in the basic unit. And of course, with the basic unit built upon this kind of functional cooperation, the whole civilization is stable and unified.”
“But how can you come to any decisions with such a set-up?” asked Palmer. “What, after all, can hold such dissimilar types together?”
“This will be the hardest thing of all for you to swallow, Jay,” said Ortega. “But the fact is that Leadership is also a Talent, like telepathy or Gamemastership. Dirk is our Leader. Just as he wouldn’t think of trying to function as a telepath or an Edetic, none of us would think of trying to be Leader.”
The Solarians Page 7