But even as his fingers reached around Lingo’s neck, he felt himself losing control over his own body; he felt the tendrils of Bergstrom’s mind enfold his own, and against his will, his fingers let loose their grip, his arms drifted to his side, and he found that he could no longer move.
“That will be quite enough,” Lingo said, with exasperating arrogance. “Either behave yourself, or Max will have to dispose of you immediately.”
Palmer realized it was no use—there was no way to fight a telepath. And quite suddenly, it didn’t seem to matter any more. The world had collapsed about him. The Solarians had accepted him as a brother—more than a brother—he had felt something within the Solarian Group that he had never felt before, something fine, and proud and loving…. And it had all been a foul lie! A cheap, cowardly trick, in perfect harmony with everything else the Solarians had done. The Solarians were the perfect traitors—false on every level of their beings, false bravery, false Promise, false love….
The fight was all gone out of him. What was the use? He was alone, more alone than any human being had ever been. Caught between Man’s mortal enemy, and the most abominable traitors in all history. What hope was there?
And as soon as he felt this defeated resignation, he felt Bergstrom leave his mind, and return control of his body to him. Why not? Palmer thought bitterly. He knows what I’m thinking. He knows that I’m beaten….
“As I was saying before this annoying interruption,” Lingo continued, with infinitely smooth arrogance, “we will hand over the Human Confederation to the Duglaari Empire, to do with as you see fit. Sol demands but two token conditions in return.”
Lingo ticked off his words on his fingers as he spoke, and his voice changed to that of a dry pedant, to match his gestures.
“One: the Duglaari Empire must sign a treaty of eternal fealty to Fortress Sol. Two: once the Duglaari Empire has occupied the Confederation, you must hand over four thousand of your ships to Fortress Sol as a token of your good faith.”
Before his words could stop echoing in the vast chamber, Lingo spoke again, and now there was nothing at all of the pedant in his voice.
“Should you be so stupid as to refuse these over-generous terms,” he hissed, sneering threateningly at the Kor, “the Duglaari Empire will have but ten years left to exist. At the end of that time, Sol will be more than ready, and the forces of Fortress Sol will fall upon the Duglaari Empire and annihilate it down to the last living creature. The choice is, of course, up to you.”
The Kor sat stupefied for a full minute, only his ears moving in a dance of rage.
“Vermin, do you dare to offer such an ultimatum to the Duglaari Empire?” he finally said. “Do you dare to insult the Kor, the Council of Wisdom and the will of all Duglaar with such proposals?”
Lingo smiled wanly, and gave a diffident little shru“The terms are far more generous than you deserve,” he said. “Do not try my patience.”
“Vermin, you are either a fool or completely insane. The Council of Wisdom has calculated that it will be possible to complete the destruction of the Human Confederation within seventy-eight years. At the end of that period, Fortress Sol will have to face the entire might of the Duglaari Empire alone.”
“Long before the end of that period,” Lingo said, in a perfect and savage imitation of the Kor’s drone, “the Duglaari Empire will have ceased to exist. In ten years, Sol alone will be able to crush you to atoms. Let the Council of Wisdom digest this data: at present, at present, mind you, it would take eight thousand Duglaari warships, more than total existing force, to destroy Fortress Sol. I don’t need a computer to tell me the significance of that. And that is only now. By the end of this decade, Sol will have completed development of weapons that your Council of Wisdom can only dream of.”
Lingo rattled off the list like some black litany: “Impenetrable screens of force. Explosives based on the total conversion of matter to energy. A means of detecting and locating ships while they are still in Stasis-Space. A ray that can nova suns from light-years away, without having to come anywhere near them, as you must to produce a nova with a Stasis-Field generator. These are only a few of the more mundane examples. If you do not meet my terms, and meet them now, the Duglaari Empire will have vanished in ten years. Let the Council of Wisdom calculate its way out of that!” He finished with a peal of staccato laughter that reverberated off the high ceiling like gunshots.
The Kor was silent. Palmer could sense that he was deeply disturbed from the way his ears seemed to wilt. The ancient Doog shrilled orders in Duglaari to the technicians on the network of catwalks covering the great face of the computer behind him. They scurried furiously to their tasks, setting up the new problems for the computer.
The great chamber was utterly silent, save for the padding feet of the technicians, and the muted noises of the great computer in operation, as the Kor sat immobile on his throne, his eyes intent on the data boards in front of him, waiting for a determination from the Council of Wisdom that was both his slave and master.
After silent minutes that dragged on like centuries, the Kor’s eyes came to life. The computer’s answers were appearing on his data screens.
As the Kor scanned the screens, the cartilage supporting his drooping ears slowly began to stiffen, until the great ears were once again stiff and erect. He lifted his face and stared intently at Lingo, his glaring red eyes meeting the cold green of Lingo’s in what seemed a clash of equal demons.
“The Council of Wisdom has completed, its calculations, vermin,” he droned. “As I suspected, it is you who have calculated incorrectly. The will of Duglaar will prevail.” Somehow, devoid of all gloating, all emotion, the dead, flat voice seemed utterly deadly and final.
“The Council of Wisdm has determined,” the Kor continued, “that the weapons of which you have spoken are within the range of possible scientific development. Of course, it is not possible to determine whether or not you can actually produce such weapons within ten years. The Council of Wisdom has calculated that if you do produce such weapons within ten years, you will, as you boast, be able to defeat the Duglaari Empire.”
Palmer held his breath. Was it really possible that in spite of everything, Sol would be able to save itself at the expense of the Confederation? Would they really be able to callously trade the lives of hundreds of billions of people for the ten years’ time needed to develop the superweapons that could save Sol?
If we die, he thought savagely, then let Sol die with us!
Lingo returned the Kor’s stare without displaying any more emotion than a Doog.
“However,” the Kor said, after a long and ominous pause, “the Council of Wisdom has calculated that at the present, despite your foolish boasting, it is a mathematical impossibility for any single solar system, including Fortress Sol, to be able to withstand the attack of four thousand warships. Vermin, let me remind you that the Duglaari Empire possesses seven thousand warships. The Council of Wisdom has calculated that three thousand ships will be sufficient to maintain our defensive lines against the Human Confederation, with acceptable losses, during the time necessary for our remaining four thousand warships to proceed in one great Fleet to Fortress Sol and annihilate it completely. Your superweapons of the next ten years will never come into being, vermin. Sol will last not another ten weeks. The Council of Wisdom has already given the orders to marshal the necessary four thousand ships. Within months, all Solarians will be dead.”
The Kor leaned forward and eyed the five Solarians one by one. His ears twitched in what might’ve been amusement.
“It will be a source of considerable satisfaction,” he droned, “to commence the extermination process immediately, with the five Solarians now present, as well as their tame ambassador from the Human Confederation. You are to be killed at once.”
Chapter IX
DIRK LINGO smiled back blandly at the Kor. “I’m afraid not,” he said. “Not unless you want to die with us. You and the Council of Wisdom its
elf.”
“What are you talking about, vermin? The Council of Wisdom covers many square miles. It would take a large thermonuclear device to destroy it.”
“Exactly,” said Lingo. “And of course, we knew that long before we came to Duglaar. Max!” He gestured to Bergstrom, who stepped to the foot of the throne.
Bergstrom stared evenly and blankly at the face of the ancient Doog. Mechanically, he began a screeching drone of incomprehensi syllables in a reasonable human approximation of the Duglaari language.
The Kor’s ears began to flap crazily. “How can you know that, vermin?” he droned. “You would have to be reading my mind!”
Lingo nodded to Max, who averted his gaze from the Kor and stopped his ear-jarring recital.
“You’re a lot smarter than you look,” Lingo cracked at the Kor. “Max is a telepath. He was reading your mind. Since you were thinking in Duglaari, and since Max doesn’t understand the language, all he got was meaningless sounds. But of course, with someone who speaks English, with, for instance, another telepath, he could maintain two-way communication over quite a distance.”
“Very interesting, vermin. Thank you for providing us with this additional data before your execution. And now….”
“Just a minute!” said Lingo. “You’re missing the best part. If you will check with your Haarar Koris, you will learn that one of us was permitted to remain on the ship. A girl by the name of Linda Dortin—another telepath. She is in direct communication with Max at this moment.”
“What of it, vermin? You think it possible for her to escape? The lasecannon at the landing field would incinerate your ship before it got off the ground, and….”
“Oh, she has no intention of taking off,” Lingo said with a little smile. “Far from it, she’ll wait for us to return unharmed to the ship, before we take leave of your hospitality.” He laughed sharply, and sneered self-confidently at the Kor. “And you will let us go, you know,” he said. “You see, our ship contains quite a large thermonuclear bomb, easily large enough to destroy the entire Council of Wisdom. If Max relays my order, or if we should be killed….” Lingo ran his right forefinger across his throat.
The Kor leaned back, unperturbed. “So you take me for a fool, vermin,” he said. “Did you really suppose that we would permit your ship to come anywhere near Duglaar without going over it most thoroughly with radiation detectors? I know very well that there cannot be so much as an ounce of radioactive matter on your ship.”
“Perhaps,” said Lingo blandly. “Nevertheless, if I were you, I’d do the safe thing and run another check.”
“You will do anything to prolong your miserable existence another few moments, won’t you, vermin? Very well, to be absolutely sure, we will do another check. But it won’t give you very much more time, since the vehicles surrounding the ship are equipped with radiation detectors.”
The Kor screeched a few words in Duglaari into his microphone, and then concentrated his attention on the data screens before him.
Suddenly, his ears collapsed and his red eyes rolled.
“The detectors show a large concentration of radioactives on your ship,” he droned. “How were you able to get it past the detectors? It is impossible.”
“Impossible for you, perhaps,” Lingo said, with a nasty little laugh, “but then, you are merely a Doog. Now then, my hairy friend, the situation is quite clear. Let us go, and you live and the Council of Wisdom survives. Kill us, and you die too, and the surrounding hundred square miles are vaporized in the bargain. The choice is yours.”
The Kor shrilled orders to the technicians on the catwalk who busied themselves at the face of the computer.
“I have submitted your proposal to the Council of Wisdom,” the Kor said. “We will await its calculations,”
After a few minutes, the Kor looked up from his data screens, and his ears were stiffly erect.
“Very well,” he droned. “The Council of Wisdom has completed its determination. You are free to go.”
“That’s very wise of you,” drawled Lingo, eying the Kor narrowly. “But I’d keep being smart, if I were you. For instance, I wouldn’t be so simple-minded as to let us leave the surface of Duglaar and then blast us as soon as we’re far out enough in space for the bomb to be harmless. Because at the first hint of a hostile move, once we leave this planet, we’ll just turn on our Stasis-Fiqld generator, and Dugl will go nova.”
The Kor’s ears flapped with thwarted rage. “So you think yourself clever, vermin? So you have guessed the outcome of the Council of Wisdom’s calculations. But you have been too clever, for you have pointed out the essential flaw in your plan. What is to prevent you from turning on your Stasis-Field generator as soon as you leave Duglaar, whether you are attacked or not, thus destroying this entire solar system?”
“It would result in our deaths too,” said Lingo. “We don’t want to die.”
“And why should we believe that?” said the Kor. “While it is true that duplicates of the Council of Wisdom are scattered throughout the Empire, in reserve, they are of course all dormant and unprogrammed, and it would take many months to set up a new one, thus setting back the date of Fortress Sol’s destruction by a good many months. How can I know that you would not consider the sacrifice of your lives for this delay a reasonable exchange?”
Lingo smiled. “You can’t,” he said. “You have to take my word for it.”
“Why should I?” replied Kor. “Unless you are willing to take my word. I will permit your ship to leave the system of Dugl, but it will be completely surrounded by a Duglaari Fleet until it is safely beyond the point where it could turn Dugl nova by turning on its Stasis-Field generator. The Fleet will be in a position to crush your ship within its Fleet Resolution ou lead, and of course it will be close enough to do so in the time it takes a Stasis-Field generator to warm up. As you know, it is a simple matter to detect a growing Stasis-Field before it is large enough to do any damage, thus giving our Fleet sufficient time in which to destroy you. But I give you my word that we will not destroy you unless you attempt to turn on your Stasis-Field generator within the Dugl system.”
“And how do I know that you won’t just destroy us without waiting for us to turn on our generator?”
The Kor twitched his ears convulsively. “You can’t. You have to take my word for it,” he said.
Lingo frowned. For the first time, he seemed unsure of the next move. It was obvious that he could not trust the Kor. It was equally obvious that the Kor could not trust him. Yet one would have to trust the other. Palmer grinned to himself. This time, Lingo had outsmarted himself. In fact, he suddenly realized, Lingo had been fouling himself up all along. The Kor hadn’t bought the story about Sol’s impregnability—the Doogs would soon be attacking Sol in overwhelming force as a direct consequence of Lingo’s arrogant boasting. And now, Lingo had painted himself into a corner!
Palmer almost forgot that it was his life Dirk Lingo was bargaining for as well.
“Just a minute, Dirk,” said Raul Ortega. “Let me take over for a minute.”
He turned to the Kor. “The Council of Wisdom is circuited into this?” he asked. “I’ve got some tricky calculations for it to do.”
“It is,” the Kor said.
“Okay,” said Ortega. “Basically, here’s the situation: First of all, we can destroy the Council of Wisdom, provided we are willing to die ourselves, and you can destroy us, if you are willing to see yourself killed and the Council of Wisdom destroyed. But I think it safe to assume that you would rather have the Council survive, just as we would rather survive. You’d be willing to let us get safely away into Stasis-Space as long as you had a guarantee that we would not nova Dugl.”
“Of course,” said Kor. “The death of seven humans is not worth the destruction of the Council of Wisdom, especially since Sol will soon be destroyed in any event.”
“So…” said Ortega licking his lips. “The problem is simply one of trust. Both of us prefer mutual saf
ety to mutual destruction, at least we say we do. The trouble is, you can’t trust us not to go into Stasis-Space prematurely, sacrificing our lives but destroying Dugl, and we can’t trust you not to destroy us with your escorting Fleet as soon as you have the chance. In other words, if the Fleet is close enough to destroy us before we can go into Stasis-Space, we must trust you, and if it isn’t, you must trust us.”
“You have stated the dilemma correctly, vermin#8221;
“Ah!” cried Ortega. “But there is a way out. A way that does not require trust on either side. Let the Council of Wisdom calculate an exact course for our ship, and for your escorting Fleet, so that the relative positions will be such that it would take exactly as long for you to destroy us as it would for us to warm up our Stasis-Field generator and nova Dugl. In other words, should either side make a hostile move, the chances of our ship’s being destroyed before we can go into Stasis-Space would be exactly equal to the chances of our turning Dugl nova before we were destroyed. We’d of course check the computer’s calculations ourselves, so there could be no tricks. This way, it wouldn’t pay for either of us to gamble on a hostile move, since our chances of failure would exactly equal our chances of success.”
Palmer’s head was swimming. Wheels within wheels within wheels…. Yet there seemed to be something Ortega was missing. But it was too much for him, Palmer thought, and from the look of it, too much for the Kor as well. The great ears of the ancient Duglaari were flapping like crazed bats.
But the Kor, unlike Palmer, did not have to rely on his own brain to unravel the implications of Ortega’s proposal. He gestured imperiously with the microphone in his hand, and shrieked a few words in Duglaari.
The technicians tending the Council of Wisdom once again sprang to furious life, setting up the new problem for the great computer.
Silence reigned for long minutes in the cavernous chamber, broken only by the muted clickings and whirrings of the Council of Wisdom at work.
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