conflicts are rapidly reachingthe explosion point. A series of all-out atomic wars is just what thatsector needs, to bring their population down to their world's carryingcapacity; in a century or so, the inventors of the atomic bomb will behailed as the saviors of their species."
"But how about my work on the Akor-Neb Sector?" Dalla asked. "It seemsthat my memory-recall technique is more explosive than any fissionbomb. I've laid the train for a century-long reign of anarchy!"
"I doubt that; I think Klarnood will take hold, now that he hascommitted himself to it. You know, in spite of his sanguinaryprofession, he's the nearest thing to a real man of good will I'vefound on that sector. And here's something else you haven'tconsidered. Our own First Level life expectancy is from four to fivehundred years. That's the main reason why we've accomplished as muchas we have. We have, individually, time to accomplish things. On theAkor-Neb Sector, a scientist or artist or scholar or statesman willgrow senile and die before he's as old as either of us. But now, ayoung student of twenty or so can take one of your auto-recalltreatments and immediately have available all the knowledge andexperience gained in four or five previous lives. He can start wherehe left off in his last reincarnation. In other words, you've madethose people time-binders, individually as well as racially. Isn'tthat worth the temporary discarnation of a lot of ward-heelers andplug-uglies, or even a few decent types like Dirzed and Olirzon? If itisn't, I don't know what scales of values you're using."
"Vall!" Dalla's eyes glowed with enthusiasm. "I never thought of that!And you said, 'temporary discarnation.' That's just what it is. Dirzedand Olirzon and the others aren't dead; they're just waiting,discarnate, between physical lives. You know, in the sacred writingsof one of the Fourth Level peoples it is stated: 'Death is the lastenemy.' By proving that death is just a cyclic condition of continuedindividual existence, these people have conquered their last enemy."
"Last enemy but one," Verkan Vall corrected. "They still have oneenemy to go, an enemy within themselves. Call it semantic confusion,or illogic, or incomprehension, or just plain stupidity. LikeKlarnood, stymied by verbal objections to something labeled 'politicalintervention.' He'd never have consented to use the power of hisSociety if he hadn't been shocked out of his inhibitions by thatnuclear bomb. Or the Statisticalists, trying to create a classlessorder of society through a political program which would only resultin universal servitude to an omnipotent government. Or theVolitionalist nobles, trying to preserve their hereditary feudalprivileges, and now they can't even agree on a definition of the term'hereditary.' Might they not recover all the silly prejudices of theirpast lives, along with the knowledge and wisdom?"
"But ... I thought you said--" Dalla was puzzled, a little hurt.
Verkan Vall's arm squeezed around her waist, and he laughedcomfortingly.
"You see? Any sort of result is possible, good or bad. So don't blameyourself in advance for something you can't possibly estimate." Anidea occurred to him, and he straightened in the seat. "Tell you what;if you people at Rhogom Foundation get the problem of discarnateparatime transposition licked by then, let's you and I go back to theAkor-Neb Sector in about a hundred years and see what sort of a messthose people have made of things."
"A hundred years: that would be Year Twenty-Two of the nextmillennium. It's a date, Vall; we'll do it."
They bent to light their cigarettes together at his lighter. Whenthey raised their heads again and got the flame glare out of theireyes, the sky was purple-black, dusted with stars, and dead ahead,spilling up over the horizon, was a golden glow--the lights ofDhergabar and home.
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