The Mack Reynolds Megapack

by Mack Reynolds

  Amschel Mayer reacted as might have been predicted. “Look here, Plekhanov, we have our own history to go by. Man made his greatest strides under a freely competitive system.”

  “Well now …” Chessman began.

  “Prove that!” Plekhanov insisted loudly. “Your so-called free economy countries such as England, France and the United States began their industrial revolution in the early part of the nineteenth century. It took them a hundred years to accomplish what the Soviets did in fifty, in the next century.”

  “Just a moment, now,” Mayer simmered. “That’s fine, but the Soviets were able to profit by the pioneering the free countries did. The scientific developments, the industrial techniques, were handed to her on a platter.”

  Specialist Martin Gunther, thus far silent, put in his calm opinion. “Actually, it seems to me the fastest industrialization comes under a paternal guidance from a more advanced culture. Take Japan. In 1854 she was opened to trade by Commodore Perry. In 1871 she abolished feudalism and encouraged by her own government and utilizing the most advanced techniques of a sympathetic West, she began to industrialize.” Gunther smiled wryly, “Soon to the dismay of the very countries that originally sponsored bringing her into the modern world. By 1894 she was able to wage a successful war against China and by 1904 she took on and trounced Czarist Russia. In a period of thirty-five years she had advanced from feudalism to a world power.”

  Joe Chessman took his turn. He said obdurately, “Your paternalistic guidance, given an uncontrolled competitive system, doesn’t always work out. Take India after she gained independence from England. She tried to industrialize and had the support of the free nations. But what happened?”

  Plekhanov leaned forward to take the ball. “Yes! There’s your classic example. Compare India and China. China had a planned industrial development. None of this free competition nonsense. In ten years time they had startled the world with their advances. In twenty years—”

  “Yes,” Stevens said softly, “but at what price?”

  Plekhanov turned on him. “At any price!” he roared. “In one generation they left behind the China of famine, flood, illiteracy, war lords and all the misery that had been China’s throughout history.”

  Stevens said mildly, “Whether in their admitted advances they left behind all the misery that had been China’s is debatable, sir.”

  Plekhanov began to bellow an angry retort but Amschel Mayer popped suddenly to his feet and lifted a hand to quiet the others. “Our solution has just come to me!”

  Plekhanov glowered at him.

  Mayer said excitedly, “Remember what the Co-ordinator told us? This expedition of ours is the first of its type. Even though we fail, the very mistakes we make will be invaluable. Our task is to learn how to bring backward peoples into an industrialized culture in roughly half a century.”

  The messroom’s occupants scowled at him. Thus far he’d said nothing new.

  Mayer went on enthusiastically. “Thus far in our debates we’ve had two basic suggestions on procedure. I have advocated a system of free competition; my learned colleague has been of the opinion that a strong state and a planned, not to say totalitarian, economy would be the quicker.” He paused dramatically. “Very well, I am in favor of trying them both.”

  They regarded him blankly.

  He said with impatience, “There are two planets, at different ethnic periods it is true, but not so far apart as all that. Fine, eight of us will take Genoa and eight Texcoco.”

  Plekhanov rumbled, “Fine, indeed. But which group will have the use of the Pedagogue with its library, its laboratories, its shops, its weapons?”

  For a moment, Mayer was stopped but Joe Chessman growled, “That’s no problem. Leave her in orbit around Rigel. We’ve got two small boats with which to ferry back and forth. Each group could have the use of her facilities any time they wished.”

  “I suppose we could have periodic conferences,” Plekhanov said. “Say once every decade to compare notes and make further plans, if necessary.”

  Natt Roberts was worried. “We had no such instructions from the Co-ordinator. Dividing our forces like that.”

  Mayer cut him short. “My dear Roberts, we were given carte blanche. It is up to us to decide procedure. Actually, this system realizes twice the information such expeditions as ours might ordinarily offer.”

  “Texcoco for me,” Plekhanov grumbled, accepting the plan in its whole. “The more backward of the two, but under my guidance in half a century it will be the more advanced, mark me.”

  “Look here,” Martin Gunther said. “Do we have two of each of the basic specialists, so that we can divide the party in such a way that neither planet will miss out in any one field?”

  Amschel Mayer was beaming at the reception of his scheme. “The point is well taken, my dear Martin, however you’ll recall that our training was deliberately made such that each man spreads over several fields. This in case, during our half century without contact, one or more of us meets with accident. Besides, the Pedagogue’s library is such that any literate can soon become effective in any field to the extent needed on the Rigel planets.”

  III.

  Joe Chessman was at the controls of the space lighter. At his side sat Leonid Plekhanov and behind them the other six members of their team. They had circled Texcoco twice at great altitude, four times at a lesser one. Now they were low enough to spot man-made works.

  “Nomadic,” Plekhanov muttered. “Nomadic and village cultures.”

  “A few dozen urbanized cultures,” Chessman said. “Whoever compared the most advanced nation to the Aztecs was accurate, except for the fact that they base themselves along a river rather than on a mountain plateau.”

  Plekhanov said, “Similarities to the Egyptians and Sumerians.” He looked over his beefy shoulder at the technician who was photographing the areas over which they passed. “How does our geographer progress, Roberts?”

  Natt Roberts brought his eyes up from his camera viewer. “I’ve got most of what we’ll need for a while, sir.”

  Plekhanov turned back to Chessman. “We might as well head for their principal city, the one with the pyramids. We’ll make initial contact there. I like the suggestion of surplus labor available.”

  “Surplus labor?” Chessman said, setting the controls. “How do you know?”

  “Pyramids,” Plekhanov rumbled. “I’ve always been of the opinion that such projects as pyramids, whether they be in Yucatan or Egypt, are make-work affairs. A priesthood, or other ruling clique, keeping its people busy and hence out of mischief.”

  Chessman adjusted a speed lever and settled back. “I can see their point.”

  “But I don’t agree with it,” Plekhanov said ponderously. “A society that builds pyramids is a static one. For that matter any society that resorts to make-work projects to busy its citizenry has something basically wrong.”

  Joe Chessman said sourly, “I wasn’t supporting the idea, just understanding the view of the priesthoods. They’d made a nice thing for themselves and didn’t want to see anything happen to it. It’s not the only time a group in the saddle has held up progress for the sake of remaining there. Priests, slave-owners, feudalistic barons, or bureaucrats of a twentieth-century police state, a ruling clique will never give up power without pressure.”

  Barry Watson leaned forward and pointed down and to the right. “There’s the river,” he said. “And there’s their capital city.”

  The small spacecraft settled at decreasing speed.

  Chessman said, “The central square? It seems to be their market, by the number of people.”

  “I suppose so,” Plekhanov grunted. “Right there before the largest pyramid. We’ll remain inside the craft for the rest of today and tonight.”

  Natt Roberts, who had put away his camera, said, “But why? It’s crowded in here.”

  “Because I said so,” Plekhanov rumbled. “This first impression is important. Our flying machine is und
oubtedly the first they’ve seen. We’ve got to give them time to assimilate the idea and then get together a welcoming committee. We’ll want the top men, right from the beginning.”

  “The equivalent of the Emperor Montezuma meeting Cortez, eh?” Barry Watson said. “A real red carpet welcome.”

  The Pedagogue’s space lighter settled to the plaza gently, some fifty yards from the ornately decorated pyramid which stretched up several hundred feet and was topped by a small templelike building.

  Chessman stretched and stood up from the controls. “Your anthropology ought to be better than that, Barry,” he said. “There was no Emperor Montezuma and no Aztec Empire, except in the minds of the Spanish.” He peered out one of the heavy ports. “And by the looks of this town we’ll find an almost duplicate of Aztec society. I don’t believe they’ve even got the wheel.”

  The eight of them clustered about the craft’s portholes, taking in the primitive city that surrounded them. The square had emptied at their approach, and now the several thousand citizens that had filled it were peering fearfully from street entrances and alleyways.

  Cogswell, a fiery little technician, said, “Look at them! It’ll take hours before they drum up enough courage to come any closer. You were right, doctor. If we left the boat now, we’d make fools of ourselves trying to coax them near enough to talk.”

  Watson said to Joe Chessman “What do you mean, no Emperor Montezuma?”

  Chessman said absently, as he watched, “When the Spanish got to Mexico they didn’t understand what they saw, being musclemen rather than scholars. And before competent witnesses came on the scene, Aztec society was destroyed. The conquistadors, who did attempt to describe Tenochtitlán, misinterpreted it. They were from a feudalistic world and tried to portray the Aztecs in such terms. For instance, the large Indian community houses they thought were palaces. Actually, Montezuma was a democratically elected war chief of a confederation of three tribes which militarily dominated most of the Mexican valley. There was no empire because Indian society, being based on the clan, had no method of assimilating newcomers. The Aztec armies could loot and they could capture prisoners for their sacrifices, but they had no system of bringing their conquered enemies into the nation. They hadn’t reached that far in the evolution of society. The Incas could have taught them a few lessons.”

  Plekhanov nodded. “Besides, the Spanish were fabulous liars. In Cortez’s attempt to impress Spain’s king, he built himself up far beyond reality. To read his reports you’d think the pueblo of Mexico had a population pushing a million. Actually, if it had thirty thousand it was doing well. Without a field agriculture and with their primitive transport, they must have been hard put to feed even that large a town.”

  A tall, militarily erect native strode from one of the streets that debouched into the plaza and approached to within twenty feet of the space boat. He stared at it for at least ten full minutes then spun on his heel and strode off again in the direction of one of the stolidly built stone buildings that lined the square on each side except that which the pyramid dominated.

  Cogswell chirped, “Now that he’s broken the ice, in a couple of hours kids will be scratching their names on our hull.”

  * * * *

  In the morning, two or three hours after dawn, they made their preparations to disembark. Of them all, only Leonid Plekhanov was unarmed. Joe Chessman had a heavy handgun holstered at his waist. The rest of the men carried submachine guns. More destructive weapons were hardly called for, nor available for that matter; once world government had been established on Earth the age-old race for improved arms had fallen away.

  Chessman assumed command of the men, growled brief instructions. “If there’s any difficulty, remember we’re civilizing a planet of nearly a billion population. The life or death of a few individuals is meaningless. Look at our position scientifically, dispassionately. If it becomes necessary to use force—we have the right and the might to back it up. MacBride, you stay with the ship. Keep the hatch closed and station yourself at the fifty-caliber gun.”

  The natives seemed to know intuitively that the occupants of the craft from the sky would present themselves at this time. Several thousands of them crowded the plaza. Warriors, armed with spears and bronze headed war clubs, kept the more adventurous from crowding too near.

  The hatch opened, the steel landing stair snaked out, and the hefty Plekhanov stepped down, closely followed by Chessman. The others brought up the rear, Watson, Roberts, Stevens, Hawkins and Cogswell. They had hardly formed a compact group at the foot of the spacecraft than the ranks of the natives parted and what was obviously a delegation of officials approached them. In the fore was a giant of a man in his late middle years, and at his side a cold-visaged duplicate of him, obviously a son.

  Behind these were variously dressed others, military, priesthood, local officials, by their appearance.

  Ten feet from the newcomers they stopped. The leader said in quite understandable Amer-English, “I am Taller, Khan of all the People. Our legends tell of you. You must be from First Earth.” He added with a simple dignity, a quiet gesture, “Welcome to the World. How may we serve you?”

  Plekhanov said flatly, “The name of this planet is Texcoco and the inhabitants shall henceforth be called Texcocans. You are correct, we have come from Earth. Our instructions are to civilize you, to bring you the benefits of the latest technology, to prepare you to enter the community of planets.” Phlegmatically he let his eyes go to the pyramids, to the temples, the large community dwelling quarters. “We’ll call this city Tula and its citizens Tulans.”

  Taller looked thoughtfully at him, not having missed the tone of arrogant command. One of the group behind the Khan, clad in gray flowing robes, said to Plekhanov, mild reproof in his voice, “My son, we are the most advanced people on…Texcoco. We have thought of ourselves as civilized. However, we—”

  Plekhanov rumbled, “I am not your son, old man, and you are far short of civilization. We can’t stand here forever. Take us to a building where we can talk without these crowds staring at us. There is much to be done.”

  Taller said, “This is Mynor, Chief Priest of the People.”

  The priest bowed his head, then said, “The People are used to ceremony on outstanding occasions. We have arranged for suitable sacrifices to the gods. At their completion, we will proclaim a festival. And then—”

  The warriors had cleared a way through the multitude to the pyramid and now the Earthlings could see a score of chained men and women, nude save for loin cloths and obviously captives.

  Plekhanov made his way toward them, Joe Chessman at his right and a pace to the rear. The prisoners stood straight and, considering their position, with calm.

  Plekhanov glared at Taller. “You were going to kill these?”

  The Khan said reasonably, “They are not of the People. They are prisoners taken in battle.”

  Mynor said, “Their lives please the gods.”

  “There are no gods, as you probably know,” Plekhanov said flatly. “You will no longer sacrifice prisoners.”

  A hush fell on the Texcocans. Joe Chessman let his hand drop to his weapon. The movement was not lost on Taller’s son, whose eyes narrowed.

  The Khan looked at the burly Plekhanov for a long moment. He said slowly, “Our institutions fit our needs. What would you have us do with these people? They are our enemies. If we turn them loose, they will fight us again. If we keep them imprisoned, they will eat our food. We…Tulans are not poor, we have food aplenty, for we Tulans, but we cannot feed all the thousands of prisoners we take in our wars.”

  Joe Chessman said dryly, “As of today there is a new policy. We put them to work.”

  Plekhanov rumbled at him, “I’ll explain our position, Chessman, if you please.” Then to the Tulans. “To develop this planet we’re going to need the labor of every man, woman and child capable of work.”

  Taller said, “Perhaps your suggestion that we retire to a less public pla
ce is desirable. Will you follow?” He spoke a few words to an officer of the warriors, who shouted orders.

  * * * *

  The Khan led the way, Plekhanov and Chessman followed side by side and the other Earthlings, their weapons unostentatiously ready, were immediately behind. Mynor the priest, Taller’s son and the other Tulan officials brought up the rear.

  In what was evidently the reception hall of Taller’s official residence, the newcomers were made as comfortable as fur padded low stools provided. Half a dozen teenaged Tulans brought a cool drink similar to cocoa; it seemed to give a slight lift.

  Taller had not become Khan of the most progressive nation on Texcoco by other than his own abilities. He felt his way carefully now. He had no manner of assessing the powers wielded by these strangers from space. He had no intention of precipitating a situation in which he would discover such powers to his sorrow.

  He said carefully, “You have indicated that you intend major changes in the lives of the People.”

  “Of all Texcocans,” Plekhanov said, “you Tulans are merely the beginning.”

  Mynor, the aged priest, leaned forward. “But why? We do not want these changes—whatever they may be. Already the Khan has allowed you to interfere with our worship of our gods. This will mean—”

  Plekhanov growled, “Be silent, old man, and don’t bother to mention, ever again, your so-called gods. And now, all of you listen. Perhaps some of this will not be new, how much history has come down to you I don’t know.

  “A thousand years ago a colony of one hundred persons was left here on Texcoco. It will one day be of scholarly interest to trace them down through the centuries but at present the task does not interest us. This expedition has been sent to recontact you, now that you have populated Texcoco and made such adaptations as were necessary to survive here. Our basic task is to modernize your society, to bring it to an industrialized culture.”