The Mack Reynolds Megapack

by Mack Reynolds

  Lucky was the Earthling able to find service in interplanetary affairs, in any of the thousands of tasks that involved journey between member planets of UP. Possibly one hundredth of the population at one time or another, and for varying lengths of time, managed it.

  Ronny Bronston was lucky and knew it. The thing now was to pull off this assignment and cinch the appointment for good.

  He packed in a swirl of confusion. He phoned a relative who lived in the part of town once known as Richmond, explained the situation and asked that the other store his things and dispose of the apartment he’d been occupying.

  Luckily, the roof of his apartment building was a copter-cab pickup point and he was able to hustle over to the shuttleport in a matter of a few minutes.

  He banged into the reservations office, hurried up to one of the windows and said into the screen, “I’ve got to get to Neuve Albuquerque immediately.”

  The expressionless voice said, “The next rocket leaves at sixteen hours.”

  “Sixteen hours! I’ve got to be at the spaceport by that time!”

  The voice said dispassionately, “We are sorry.”

  The bottom fell out of everything. Ronny said, desperately, “Look, if I miss my ship in Neuve Albuquerque, what is the next spaceliner leaving from there for New Delos?”

  “A moment, citizen.” There was an agonized wait, and then the voice said, “There is a liner leaving for New Delos on the 14th of next month. It arrives in New Delos on the 31st, Basic Earth calendar.”

  The 31st! Tommy Paine could be halfway across the galaxy by that time.

  A gentle voice next to him said, “Could I help, Ronny?”

  He looked around at her. “Evidently, nobody can,” he said disgustedly. “There’s no way of getting to Neuve Albuquerque in time to get that cruiser to New Delos.”

  Tog Lee Chang Chu fished in her bag and came up with a wallet similar to the one in which Ronny carried his Section G badge. She held it up to the screen. “Bureau of Investigation, Section G,” she said calmly. “It will be necessary that Agent Bronston and myself be in Neuve Albuquerque within the hour.”

  The metallic voice said, “Of course. Proceed to your right and through Corridor K to Exit Four. Your rocket will be there. Identify yourself to Lieutenant Economou who will be at the desk at Exit Four.”

  Tog turned to Ronny Bronston. “Shall we go?” she said demurely.

  He cleared his throat, feeling foolish. “Thanks, Tog,” he said.

  “Not at all, Ronny. Why, this is my job.”

  Was there the faintest of sarcasm in her voice? It hadn’t been more than a couple of hours ago that he had been hinting rather heavily to Sid Jakes that he needed no assistance.

  She even knew the layout of the West Greater Washington shuttleport. Her small body swiveled through the hurrying passengers, her small feet a-twinkle, as she led him to and down Corridor K and then to the desk at Exit Four.

  Ronny anticipated her here. He flashed his own badge at the chair-borne Space Forces lieutenant there.

  “Lieutenant Economou?” he said. “Ronald Bronston, of the Bureau of Investigation, Section G. We’ve got to get to Neuve Albuquerque soonest.”

  The lieutenant, only mildly impressed, said, “We can have you in the air in ten minutes, citizen. Just a moment and I’ll guide you myself.”

  * * * *

  In the rocket, Ronny had time to appraise her at greater length. She was a delicately pretty thing, although her expression was inclined to the over-serious. There was only a touch of the Mongolian fold at the corner of her eyes. On her it looked unusually good. Her complexion was that which only the blend of Chinese and Caucasian can give. Her figure, thanks to her European blood, was fuller than Eastern Asia usually boasts; tiny, but full.

  Let’s admit it, he decided. My assistant is the cutest trick this side of a Tri-Di movie queen, and we’re going to be thrown in the closest of juxtaposition for an indefinite time. This comes under the head of work?

  He said, “Look here, Tog, you were with Sid Jakes longer than I was. What’s the full story?”

  She folded her slim hands in her lap, looking like a schoolgirl about to recite. “Do you know anything about the socio-economic system on New Delos?”

  “Well, no,” he admitted.

  She said severely, “I’d think that they would have given you more background before an assignment of this type.”

  Ronny said impatiently, “In the past three months I’ve been filled in on the economic systems, the religious beliefs, the political forms, of a thousand planets. I just happened to miss New Delos.”

  Her mouth expressed disapproval by rucking down on the sides, which was all very attractive but also irritating. She said, “There are two thousand, four hundred and thirty-six member planets in the UP, I’d think an agent of Section G would be up on the basic situation on each.”

  He had her there. He said snidely, “Hate to contradict you, Tog, but the number is two thousand, four hundred and thirty-four.”

  “Then,” she nodded agreeably, “membership has changed since this morning when Menalaus and Aldebaran Three were admitted. Have two planets dropped out?”

  “Look,” he said, “let’s stop bickering. What’s the word on New Delos?”

  “Did you ever read Frazer’s ‘Golden Bough’?” she said.

  “No.”

  “You should. At any rate, New Delos is a theocracy. A priesthood elite rules it. A God-King, who is immortal, holds absolute authority. The strongest of superstition plus an efficient inquisition, keeps the people under control.”

  “Sounds terrible,” Ronny growled.

  “Why? Possibly the government is extremely efficient and under it the planet progressing at a rate in advance of UP averages.”

  He stared at her in surprise.

  She said, “Would you rather be ruled by the personal, arbitrary whims of supremely wise men, or by laws formulated by a mob?”

  It stopped him momentarily. In all his adult years, he couldn’t remember ever meeting an intelligent, educated person who had been opposed to the democratic theory.

  “Wait a minute, now,” he said. “Who decides that they’re supremely wise men who are doing this arbitrary ruling? Let any group come to power, by whatever means, and they’ll soon tell you they’re an elite. But let’s get back to New Delos, from what you’ve said so far, the people are held in a condition of slavery.”

  “What’s wrong with slavery?” Tog said mildly.

  He all but glared at her. “Are you kidding?”

  “I seldom jest,” Tog said primly. “Under the proper conditions, slavery can be the most suitable system for a people.”

  “Under what conditions!”

  “Have you forgotten your Earth history to the point where Egypt, Greece and Rome mean nothing to you? Man made some of his outstanding progress under slavery. And do you contend that man’s lot is necessarily miserable given slavery? As far back as Aesop we know of slaves who have reached the heights in their society. Slaves sometimes could and did become the virtual rulers in ancient countries.” She shrugged prettily. “The prejudices which you hold today, on Earth, do not necessarily apply to all time, nor to all places.”

  He said, impatiently, “Look, Tog, we can go into this further, later. Let’s get back to New Delos. What happened?”

  Tog said, “The very foundation of their theocracy is the belief on the part of the populace that the God-King is immortal. No man conspires against his Deity. Supervisor Jakes informed me that it is understood by UP Intelligence, that about once every twenty years the priesthood secretly puts in a new God-King. Plastic surgery would guarantee facial resemblance, and, of course, the rank and file citizen would probably never be allowed close enough to discover that their God-King seemed different every couple of decades. At any rate, it’s been working for some time.”

  “And there’s been no revolt against this religious aristocracy?”

  She shook her head. “Eviden
tly not. It takes a brave man to revolt against both his king and his God at the same time.”

  “But what happened now?” Ronny pursued.

  “Evidently, right in the midst of a particularly important religious ceremony, with practically the whole planet watching on TV, the God-King was killed with a bomb. No doubt about it, definitely killed. There are going to be a lot of people on New Delos wondering how it can be that an immortal God-King can die.”

  “And Sid thinks it’s Tommy Paine’s work?”

  She shifted dainty shoulders in a shrug. “It’s the sort of thing he does. I suppose we’ll learn when we get there.”

  * * * *

  Even on the fast Space Forces cruiser, the trip was going to take a week, and there was precious little Ronny Bronston could do until arrival. He spent most of his time reading up on New Delos and the several other planets in the UP organization which had fairly similar regimes. More than a few theocracies had come and gone during the history of man’s development into the stars.

  He also spent considerable time playing Battle Chess or talking with Tog and with the ship’s officers.

  These latter were a dedicated group, high in morale, enthusiastic about their work which evidently involved the combined duties of a Navy, a Coast Guard, and a Coast and Geodetic Survey system, if we use the ocean going services of an earlier age for analogy.

  They all had the dream. The enthusiasm of men participating in a race’s expansion to glory. There was the feeling, even stronger here in space than back on Earth, of man’s destiny being fulfilled, that humanity had finally emerged from its infancy, that the fledgling had finally found its wings and got off the ground.

  After one of his studying binges, Ronny Bronston had spent an hour or so once with the captain of the craft, while that officer stood an easy watch on the ship’s bridge. There was little enough to do in space, practically nothing, but there was always an officer on watch.

  They leaned back in the acceleration chairs before the ship’s controls and Ronny listened to the other’s space lore. Stories of far planets, as yet untouched. Stories of planets that had seemingly been suitable for colonization, but had proved disastrous for man, for this reason or that.

  Ronny said, “And never in all this time have we run into a life form that has proved intelligent?”

  Captain Woiski said, “No. Not that I know of. There was an animal on Shangri-La of about the mental level of the chimpanzee. So far as I know, that’s the nearest to it.”

  “Shangri-La?” Ronny said. “That’s a new one.”

  There was an affectionate gleam in the captain’s eye. “Yes,” he said. “If and when I retire, I think that’d be the planet of my choice, if I could get permission to leave Earth, of course.”

  Ronny scowled in attempted memory. “Now that you mention it, I think I did see it listed the other day among planets with a theocratic government.”

  The captain grunted protest. “If you’re comparing it to this New Delos you’re going to, you’re wrong. There can be theocracy and theocracy, I suppose. Actually, I imagine Shangri-La has the most, well gentle government in the system.”

  Ronny was interested. His recent studies hadn’t led him to much respect for a priesthood in political power. “What’s the particular feature that’s seemed to have gained your regard?”

  “Moderation,” Woiski chuckled. “They carry it almost to the point of immoderation. But not quite. Briefly, it works something like this. They have a limited number of monks—I suppose you’d call them—who spend their time at whatever moves them. At the arts, at scientific research, at religious contemplation—any religion will do—as students of anything and everything, and at the governing of Shangri-La. They make a point of enjoying the luxuries in moderation and aren’t a severe drain on the rank and file citizens of the planet.”

  Ronny said, “I have a growing distrust of hierarchies. Who decides who is to become a monk and who remain a member of the rank and file?”

  The captain said, “A series of the best tests they can devise to determine a person’s intelligence and aptitudes. From earliest youth, the whole populace is checked and rechecked. At the age of thirty, when it is considered that a person has become adult and has finished his basic education, a limited number are offered monkhood. Not all want it.”

  Ronny thought about it. “Why not? What are the shortcomings?”

  The captain shrugged. “Responsibility, I suppose.”

  “The monks aren’t allowed sex, booze, that sort of thing, I imagine.”

  “Good heavens, why not? In moderation, of course.”

  “And they live on a higher scale?”

  “No, no, not at all. Don’t misunderstand. The planet is a prosperous one. Exceedingly prosperous. There is everything needed for comfortable existence for everyone. Shangri-La is one planet where the pursuit of happiness is pursuable by all.” Captain Woiski chuckled again.

  Ronny said, “It sounds good enough, although I’m leery of benevolent dictatorships. The trouble with them is that it’s up to the dictators to decide what’s benevolent. And almost always, nepotism rears its head, favoritism of one sort or another. How long will it be before one of your moderate monks decides he’ll moderately tinker with the tests, or whatever, just to be sure his favorite nephew makes the grade? A high I.Q. is no guarantee of integrity.”

  The captain didn’t disagree. “That’s always possible, I suppose. One guard against it, in this case, is the matter of motive. The privilege of being a monk isn’t as great as all that. Materially, you aren’t particularly better off than any one else. You have more leisure, that’s true, but actually most of them are so caught up in their studies or research that they put in more hours of endeavor than does the farmer or industrial worker on Shangri-La.”

  “Well,” Ronny said, “let’s just hope that Tommy Paine never hears of this place.”

  “Who?” the captain said.

  Ronny Bronston reversed his engines. “Oh, nobody important. A guy I know of.”

  Captain Woiski scowled. “Seems to me I’ve heard the name.”

  At first Ronny leaned forward with quick interest. Perhaps the cruiser’s skipper had a lead. But, no, he sank back into his chair. That name was strictly a Section G pseudonym. No one used it outside the department, and he’d already said too much by using the term at all.

  Ronny said idly, “Probably two different people. I think I’ll go on back and see how Tog is doing.”

  * * * *

  Tog was at her communicator when he entered the tiny ship’s lounge. Ronny could see in the brilliant little screen of the compact device, the grinning face of Sid Jakes. Tog looked up at Ronny and smiled, then clicked the device off.

  “What’s new?” Ronny said.

  She moved graceful shoulders. “I just called Supervisor Jakes. Evidently there’s complete confusion on New Delos. Mobs are storming the temples. In the capital the priests tried to present a new God-King and he was laughed out of town.”

  Ronny snorted cynically. “Sounds good to me. The more I read about New Delos and its God-King and his priesthood, the more I think the best thing that ever happened to the planet was this showing them up.”

  Tog looked at him, the sides of her mouth tucking down as usual when she was going to contradict something he said. “It sounds bad to me,” she said. “Tommy Paine’s work is done. He’ll be off to some other place and we won’t get there in time to snare him.”

  Ronny considered that. It was probably true. “I wonder,” he said slowly, “if it’s possible for us to get a list of all ships that have blasted off since the assassination, all ships and their destination from New Delos.”

  The idea grew in him. “Look! It’s possible that a dictatorial government such as theirs would immediately quarantine every spaceport on the planet.”

  Tog said, “There’s only one spaceport on New Delos. The priesthood didn’t encourage trade or even communication with the outside. Didn’t want its pe
ople contaminated.”

  “Holy smokes!” Ronny blurted. “It’s possible that Tommy Paine’s on that planet and can’t get off. Look, Tog, see if you can raise the Section G representative on New Delos and—”

  Tog said demurely, “I already have taken that step, Ronny, knowing that you’d want me to. Agent Mouley Hassan has promised to get the name and destination of every passenger that leaves New Delos.”

  Ronny sat down at a table and dialed himself a mug of stout. “Drink?” he said to Tog. “Possibly we’ve got something to celebrate.”

  She shook her head disapprovingly. “I don’t use depressants.”

  There was nothing more to be discussed about New Delos, they simply would have to wait until their arrival. Ronny switched subjects. “Ever hear of the planet Shangri-La?” he asked her. He took a sip of his brew.

  “Of course,” she said. “A rather small planet, Earth type within four degrees. Noted for its near perfect climate and its scenic beauty.”

  “Captain was talking about it,” Ronny said. “Sounds like a regular paradise.”

  Tog made a negative sound.

  “Well, what’s wrong with Shangri-La?” Ronny said impatiently.

  “Static,” she said briefly.

  He looked at her. “It sounds to me as though it’s developed a near perfect socio-economic system. What do you mean, static?”

  “No push, no drive,” Tog said definitely. “Everyone—what is the old term?—everyone has it made. The place is stagnating. I wouldn’t be surprised to see Tommy Paine show up there sooner or later.”

  Ronny said, “Look, since we’ve known each other, have I ever said anything you agree with?”

  Tog raised her delicate eyebrows. “Why, Ronny. You know perfectly well we both agreed that the eggs for breakfast were quite inedible.”

  Ronny came to his feet again. Considering her size, she certainly was an irritating baggage. “I think I’ll go to my room and see if I can get any inspirations on tracking down our quarry.”

  “Good night, Ronny,” she said demurely.