“Why are the regulations so severe, Captain?” Dougal asked. “It is our understanding that the Empire intends only peace and friendship for its member worlds.”
“Damn right. And sudden technical changes destroy both. I’ve seen worlds where some smart guy used a little technology and a lot of guts to set himself up as a planetary king. Half the population out of work, the other half in turmoil. Took the better part of a fleet and a division of Marines to keep order on the place. Mister, it’s not going to happen in my sector.”
“The regulations are severe for a purpose,” Renaldi added. “There is no telling what the effects of even the most innocent technical revelations can be. Even something as inherently benign as medicines can change the whole pattern of life. There is a famous case, from the early days of the New Empire. The Church went in and with the best of motives taught practical medicine to primitives. The missionaries were particularly concerned with saving children from infant diseases. They intended to give them some new agricultural and industrial techniques, but the people were not ready for them. They rejected the agriculture and industry, but they adopted the medicine. Within fifty standard years, there was famine all over the world. The results were horrible.”
Greenaugh nodded. “Still were when I was young Landry’s age. I served a hitch on an escort vessel convoying a provisions fleet. Silliest thing you ever saw. You ever think of how futile it is to try to ship food to a whole world that’s starving? If you took every ship in the Navy and merchant service and put them on it, even if the food was free and waiting in the same star system, it wouldn’t do any good. But the Emperor’s sister got interested in the place and they had to have a try at ‘helping’. Did no good at all. Population’s thinned out a bit now on Placentia, but the planet’ll never be the same.”
“So you see,” Soliman said softly, “it is important not to interfere. No matter what the reason. You can always say that things would have been worse if you did not interfere, but you can’t know.” He sipped his wine. “Besides, people will have adjusted to the evils they are accustomed to. Your attempts to help may introduce evils they don’t know, which are always worse to bear and will probably retard their natural development.”
“Thank you,” MacKinnie said. “We will be very careful. What else must I know?”
“Still determined,” Greenaugh said. “Thought you would be. Well, if I can’t persuade you to give it up, I can’t. Bring your crew here tomorrow for inspection. Midshipman Landry will tell you the rest of the details.” He strode to the door, then paused and turned back. “Just remember, MacKinnie, you were warned. The hell with it.” He went briskly out, followed by his midshipman.
* * *
MacKinnie started to speak to Dougal once they were in the cab and drawing away from Empire House, but Dougal motioned him to silence. They returned to the Royal Guest House, where Dougal invited MacKinnie to shower, insisting that he do so in a manner that told MacKinnie it was an order. When he finished, he found fresh clothing, the elaborate Trader’s kilt and doublet gone. Dougal joined him as he finished dressing, and MacKinnie noted that the policeman had changed as well.
“Sorry, Trader,” Dougal said, “but we have found by bitter experience that the Imperials have devices, so small you would hardly notice them, which in some manner allow them to hear over long distances. Our engineers did not believe it at first, but I tested the hypothesis by feeding them false information when we had reason to suspect. I proved it, and now my people have found one of the things. Not as big as the end of your thumb.”
MacKinnie whistled. “Was there one attached to our clothing?” he asked.
“No, not this time. But the cab stood outside Empire House while we were there. They had ample time to do as they liked.”
“Any idea of the range of those things?” MacKinnie asked.
“None. And as we do not know how they work, there is no guess. Some of our best physicists insist they have a theory how one might be built, now that they know it is possible, but they say any such device would have to be very large and use much power. Still, it is a start.” Deprived of a place to sit, the policeman locked his hands behind his back and paced the room nervously.
“By the way,” MacKinnie asked, “what will our churches really do if their New Roman Church decides to take over here? I notice King David’s bishops are thick as flies in Orleans.”
“Better ours than the outlanders’,” Dougal snapped. “And all the more reason for the success of your mission, MacKinnie. Perhaps they are not as severe on the Classified worlds.”
“Yeah.” Nathan stood against one wall, patiently watching Dougal stride back and forth. “But after that interview I don’t know any more about how to get those books — but they aren’t books, are they? That Navy kid, the night he babbled about it all, said they were spools, whatever that might be. That they could be made to print books, if we knew how to do it. Only we don’t know how, do we? We don’t really know much of anything.”
“Giving up?” Dougal asked.
“No, by God!” MacKinnie grinned. “And the sooner we start, the better chance we’ll have. It’s still a fool’s errand, but at least I can feel useful again, win or lose!”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE BURDEN OF EMPIRE
Lieutenant Alphonse Pavlovnicek Jefferson was in love. It had happened very suddenly, but he had no doubts about it; he had all the signs he’d been led to expect from romantic novels. His previous affairs seemed laughable or disgusting in recollection; he had no desire at all to go tavern-crawling with his classmates; he wanted only to get back to Elaine. It had to be love.
He’d met her on the street when he’d lost his way and asked for directions. Of course he’d been glad for an opportunity to speak to a local girl; getting acquainted on Prince Samual’s World wasn’t as easy as it was on more civilized worlds. Since he was more lost than he’d thought, she had to draw a map, and it seemed natural to offer to buy her a coffee at a sidewalk restaurant that seemed so conveniently located that it made Jefferson believe the fates approved of his meeting Elaine. She said later she’d accepted because she had never talked with an Imperial before. Her parents didn’t encourage that.
Hours went by. He couldn’t remember anything significant they’d said. It was just talk, at the coffee house and then walking in the park and along the waterfront, a pleasant stroll on a pleasant afternoon, with nothing important said, but there it was: he wanted nothing more than to see her again, and she’d agreed. Of course he would have to call for her at her home, and meet her father, and ask his permission to see her. He’d been warned that local customs were very strict, and Captain Greenaugh had made it clear that any officer causing problems would be handed his head.
Jeff wasn’t exactly looking forward to the interview with Elaine’s father, but surely all would be well. Fate couldn’t play him such a trick as to let him find Elaine and then be forbidden to see her. Her father was a Haven civil servant, and the Empire was allied with Haven. He couldn’t openly dislike Imperial officers, and he might even welcome the opportunity to get to know one. Jeff told himself that several times.
For the moment, though, he had another appointment. High Commissioner Sir Alexei Dmitrivitch Ackoff was holding his weekly seminar on colonial government, and it was strongly suggested that all junior officers attend. Presumably there was a difference between a strong suggestion and an order; if Elaine hadn’t already been late getting home for dinner, this might have been the day Lieutenant Jefferson found out. However, she had insisted on going home, and even in his euphoric mood Jeff knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to test Ackoff’s patience.
He was very nearly late. The others had already gone into Ackoff’s spartan conference room. Jeff hurried inside and as he did the opposite door leading into the Commissioner’s office opened and the others stood respectfully.
Sir Alexei nodded and waved them to their seats around the big conference table as he took his place at its head
. He was not a tall man, nor was he large; from his looks no one would have guessed that he was the most powerful man on Prince Samual’s World, the only man there who could give orders to the Navy and make them stick. He did have an air of importance, of speaking in a tone that indicated he expected to be obeyed, but even that wasn’t permanent; he was, after all, a diplomat, skilled in persuasion. This was his first assignment as top authority on a planet, but he’d been deputy commissioner twice before, and was said to be highly competent.
Jeff’s father knew Ackoff slightly, and in his last letter to Jeff had mentioned the Commissioner as an excellent example of the best — and worst — of the Imperial Civil
Service. “Give him a policy, and he’ll enforce it. Even have sense enough to grant exceptions. But you have to give him a policy. He’s not likely to come up with one on his own.” The dry voice went on to suggest that Jeff erase that portion of the letter, lest Sir Alexei find it. “Your brother will inherit the family title, my lad,” his father’s image had said with a wink. “And you’ll need friends like Sir Alexei if you intend to found your own branch of the family. You might even think about staying on Prince Samual’s World. Not a bad place from what I hear, and they’ll want colonists. Shouldn’t be surprised if you managed a barony out of it. So it’s worth keeping Sir Alexei happy. Besides, he’s not a bad sort if you deal with him on his own terms.”
“Gentlemen,” Ackoff began. “I find myself falling further behind in necessary work, so we will have to cut this short today.”
Midshipman Landry was seated across the table from Jeff. Landry looked relieved. Jeff hoped that his own face wasn’t quite as obvious, but it probably was, because Ackoff looked directly at him.
“You are amused, Mr. Jefferson?”
“No, sir.”
“You shouldn’t be. As of tomorrow you will be assisting the survey team. So will most of the rest of you. And you needn’t groan, gentlemen. The work is important.”
I suppose it is, Jeff thought. But … “Sir?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“I — do you know where I will be assigned?”
“Near Haven for the moment,” Ackoff said. “At the University.” His lips curled slightly, perhaps in a smile, perhaps something else. “We must fully understand the capabilities of the industrial base here. Get a total picture of their energy budget. Assess their ability to maintain complex technologies. Without that information we can’t know what to license for import.”
Midshipman Landry raised his hand.
“Yes?” Ackoff said.
“Trader Soliman says he already knows what he wants to import, and if he’s wrong the market place will show him up soon enough.”
“Yes. He would say that,” Ackoff said. “I don’t suppose he gave you the benefit of his thoughts on what he would import?”
“No, sir.”
“You may be certain that Mr. Soliman’s ideas will be considerably different from mine,” Ackoff said. “Luxury and convenience items, no doubt. And imbecile acts like this expedition to Makassar. It’s quite natural that Mr. Soliman wants profits for Imperial Autonetics, and it doesn’t take genius to imagine ways to accomplish that. Our task is to bring this planet smoothly into the Empire, and that may be a bit more difficult. Consider our situation, how very few we are, how expensive it will be to bring anything here. We cannot afford mistakes. The market may show up Trader Soliman, but the worst disaster he faces merely costs money. Our mistakes will cost lives — and do not deceive yourselves, we will make mistakes.”
The officers around the table looked at each other significantly. This was Ackoff’s favorite lecture, and once started it was unlikely that he’d change the subject. More importantly, he wasn’t likely to ask many questions. You could safely relax and daydream when Ackoff took that tone and spoke of the burdens of Imperial office …
“For example,” Ackoff said, “any fool knows that energy systems are the key to industrialization. Make energy cheap and plentiful, and people will figure ways to use it. But what energy systems? Satellites? This planet hasn’t the industrial base for that, and we haven’t the personnel to build either the orbital or the ground components. We’re unlikely to get enough skilled people. Scratch power satellites for a generation or more.
“Small fusion plants? Who will operate them? Who will maintain them? How many engineers do we bring in, and who will train others here? And how is the power to be distributed on a world where metals are dear and copper so scarce it’s used as jewelry? We’ll have to use organic conductors. That’s a very sophisticated technology, far too complex for a world this primitive, but I suppose we’ll have to do it even so.
“And once we begin, when we’ve made electricity cheap and plentiful — how do we control industrial developments? No matter what we do, we’re going to change the class structure of this planet. Power relationships will shift and flow in unpredictable ways. Mister Jefferson. What is our primary mission?”
“Sir?” Jeff looked up with a start and tried to recall the question. “To keep the peace.”
“Precisely. Which means that when this planet does develop an industrial base, it must be governed — well governed — by people loyal to the Empire. Governors both able and popular, at least popular enough to retain their offices without constant revolt. Yet consider this. If we are to bring them industry, we must bring in the personnel to build and operate the primary systems. How do we induce them to come here? What can we offer highly skilled people so that they will colonize a primitive world?”
“Wealth,” Landry said.
“Precisely,” Ackoff agreed. “Wealth. Opportunity. The chance to found an aristocratic family. Power indeed. But whenever you bring in an alien governing class you will inevitably breed resentment among the population. Breed enough and you can’t govern. You lose control. Whether we like it or not, Prince Samual’s World will within a few generations have the capability of building modern weapons. When that time comes, the planet must be loyalist. The alternative is almost unthinkable. Remember Istvan and Kutuzov’s choice…”
Jeff shuddered. Admiral Kutuzov had bombed an entire planet into the stone age. The alternative was the revolt of a whole sector; the alternative would have been another Secession War, Imperial planets destroyed, all of the horrors of the war years. Kutuzov had made the right choice, but it was one no sane officer wanted to face.
And, he thought, it could happen here, too. To me. Or, the other side of the coin, if I decide to become a colonist. Perhaps not to me. But to my children. Mine and Elaine’s—
The thought startled him. Was he really thinking of marriage? He barely knew her. But he didn’t want to be away from her, not for an hour, and—
It wasn’t unthinkable. She came of a good family. Imperial policy encouraged colonists to marry locals, and send down roots into the world they chose to live on.
“Hard choices, gentlemen,” Ackoff was saying. “And the decisions we make will change the history of the world. For the moment the local government cooperates with us. Even welcomes our help. We have encouraged them to believe that once they have established a planetary government, the local dynasty will remain in control. You ladies and gentlemen will naturally continue that deception as long as possible.”
“What happens when they find out we’ve been lying to them?” a consular officer asked. Her tone made it obvious that she did not approve.
“It is not precisely a lie, Miss Neville,” Ackoff said. “More a diplomatic truth—”
“Whatever we call it, they’ll find us out, and what then?” she asked.
“ ‘Find us out,’ ” Ackoff repeated. “You young people can afford phrases like that. I can’t. What will they find out? That no matter what our intentions, the experts we bring in will be more important than even the most influential locals? That the Traders and technicians and diplomatic personnel and civil servants will have the knowledge and skills to rise high during the inevitable turmoil of change to a modern s
ociety — and their traditional leaders will not? That is the real truth, far more influential than any legalities we may impose. Try as we will — and we do try — there will be no way to avoid a change of ruling elites here. For obvious reasons we mustsee that the new ruling class is loyalist. Sometimes that requires shoring up traditional leaders long after they have lost the ability to govern. Sometimes it requires replacing then. Sometimes—”
“Why can’t we just leave them alone?” Sirica Neville asked.
Ackoff shrugged. “Would that be kindness?” he asked. “Suppose we do as you suggest. Leave them alone, let them develop as they see fit. Quite aside from the fact that the inevitable revolution here could as easily cast up monsters as saints for their leaders, what are we to do if they move away from the Empire, make alliance with outies, become a threat to this sector?”
Kutuzov’s choice again, Jeff thought. There’s got to be a better way than that …
“So I leave you to contemplate our burden,” Ackoff said. “We must not fail.” He glanced at his pocket computer. “And now, as it is getting late, I’ll let you go. Please stand for the pledge of allegiance …”
They all turned to face the portrait of Leonidas IX, Emperor of Humanity.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE VIEW FROM SPACE
Despite Dougal’s frantic desire for haste, getting the cargo inspected and loaded took three more days. Eventually it was accomplished, and MacKinnie met Dougal for the last time before departing.
“We must thank Trader Renaldi for his help,” Dougal said. “Without his assistance we’d still be dealing with Imperial clerks.”
MacKinnie chuckled. “He wants to get back to civilization.”
Dougal snorted contempt. “He would say that—”
“He didn’t say it.”
“No, but it was obvious.” Dougal shrugged. “Well, we can be thankful for his impatience. Also that Imperial bureaucrats are no different from our own.”
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