by James White
Martin smiled at the thought of these seventeen sword-carrying absolute rulers of Teldi trying to punish the Federation for negligence in his training. But the smile faded when he thought of the Federation’s reaction to the news that Teldi held it culpable for his present misbehavior.
At times like these, he thought wryly, there was a lot to be said for the life of a happy and obedient slave.
Skorta was concluding its report. It said, “On being told of my instructions to report to the Hall of the Masters as quickly as possible, the stranger offered to bring me here in its ship. On the way we visited the larger vessel, which had been responsible for shielding the entire city from the Scourge while it was freeing the trapped students. There I spoke to the stranger’s life-mate and looked down on Teldi, on all of Teldi, and at the stars.”
“That experience,” the interrogator said quietly, “we envy you. Do you feel friendship for this stranger?”
“I believe that we feel friendship for each other, Master,” Skorta replied.
“Is this the reason why it accompanied you,” the Master asked, “when you must have explained to it that the safer course would have been to leave this world and its Masters, whom it so grievously insulted?”
“It is,” Skorta said. “This stranger also wanted to deliver a message to you from its Master and would not be dissuaded.”
The interrogator made an untranslatable sound and said, “A staunch friend, perhaps, but undeniably a most presumptuous slave. Why is its Master not present?”
Quickly the teaching slave explained that the stranger’s Master was of a different species which breathed an atmosphere noxious to Teldins, and could not speak face to face with any person not of its own species. Skorta ended, “This was the reason why the stranger was instructed to land on Teldi as an intermediary.”
The interrogator recoiled, as if it had just heard a very dirty word, then went on, “Intermediaries are not to be trusted, ever. Their words are hearsay, untrustworthy, irresponsible, and cause misunderstanding and distress. Only a Master can be believed without doubt or question. That is the Prime Law.”
Martin could remain silent no longer. “There were good reasons for the mistrust of hearsay, one thousand one hundred and seventeen of your years ago. But now the Prime Law has become a ritual and a means for enforcing…”
“You stupid, irresponsible slave!” Skorta broke in, shaking with what could only be anger. “Stranger, you insult the Masters as your own Master has already done by thrusting hearsay upon them. Be warned. You may not speak to a Master, but if you must speak to clarify some portion of my report you will do so only to me and with the Master’s permission.”
“No insult was intended,” Martin said.
“An insult can be given without intent,” the teacher replied more calmly, “because a slave, being a slave, does not properly consider all the results of its words or actions.”
Martin let his breath out slowly and said, “There are mechanisms on the larger ship which are capable of measuring die individual movements of the pieces of rock and dust which make up the Scourge. I do not know the original reason for your Scourge, but these mechanisms tell me how and when it began, and from this information I have deduced…”
“Silence,” the Master said quietly. It did not look at Martin as it went on, “We have no wish to listen to a slave’s deductions from hearsay evidence. But I have in mind to discuss with you, teacher, matters which will instruct this stranger with complete accuracy…” It paused and, grasping the hilt of its sword, looked all around the table. “.. regarding the Scourge. Since this will involve discussion of the Ultimate Hearsay you, as a slave, may refuse.”
The teacher replied slowly, as if performing a spoken ritual. It said, “No slave may know the Ultimate Hearsay. No slave, be it Tel din or other, may instruct a Master. The strange slave may not speak except to me, therefore I shall remain. I do this willingly, and henceforth I accept full responsibility for the results of my words and actions before the other Masters.”
Martin almost lost the last few words, because suddenly everyone in the Hall was standing up and reaching for their swords, he wondered sickly whether his short, Earth-human legs could get him to the entrance before the longer Teldin limbs-including the ones swinging swords-could head him off. His own weapon was still in the backpack, and pitifully inadequate anyway. But the interrogator had swung round and was holding up all four hands palms outward.
“Hold!” it said. “This matter will be dealt with in proper form when its symbol has been brought to us. First must come the judgment and the ruling on this off-world slave.”
“What’s going on?” Beth said anxiously. “You said you knew what you were doing and now… I’m coming down.”
“Wait,” Martin said, switching out the translator. “The Masters can talk and listen to me through Skorta, and they will tell it things for nay benefit which slaves are forbidden to know, because it is just as curious about me as they are. The punishment for learning this forbidden knowledge must be severe, yet Skorta seems unafraid. There’s something very odd going on here, and I’m beginning to wonder if…”
Martin broke off because the interrogator was talking again. In calm, emotionless tones it was fleshing out, adding depth and a human, or at least Teldin, dimension to the catastrophe which had smashed their technologically advanced culture flat and returned its people to their equivalent of the dark ages.
Up until one thousand one hundred and seventeen years ago, Teldi had had a satellite, an airless body rich in the mineral resources which had become so depleted on the mother world. The moon had been colonized many centuries earlier and, because it had been given the best that the mother world could provide in the form of its keenest young minds and technical resources, the colony became much more technologically advanced than its parent. Its people remade their lifeless world, scattering its surface with domed cities and farms, and burrowing deeply toward the still-hot core. They became self-sufficient, justifiably proud and independent, and, finally, an armed threat.
But it was not a nuclear preemptive strike which destroyed Teldi’s moon, the Master insisted. It had been a catastrophe deep inside the moon itself, associated with experiments on a new power source, which had detonated the satellite like a gigantic bomb.
On Teldi they watched their moon fly slowly apart, and they knew that if one of those larger pieces were to crash into the mother planet it would tear through the crust into the underlying core, and in the resulting planetary upheaval all life on Teldi would be wiped out. However, they had maintained in a state of instant readiness a tremendous arsenal of nuclear weapons capable of reaching their newly disintegrated moon, and the majority of these were hastily reprogrammed to intercept the larger masses of lunar material heading toward them and blast them into smaller and much less devastating pieces.
Many of these relatively small pieces fell on Teldi, and in the resulting devastation, more than a quarter of the planetary population lost their lives. But the threat had been neutralized, for the time being.
Computations made on the paths of the remaining large pieces of the satellite clearly indicated that the mother world was still in danger. There was a very high probability that world-wrecking collisions would take place on an average of three times every century. The planet’s long-term survival depended on the Teldins reducing the size of these future world-wreckers in the same way as they had dealt with the first ones.
In spite of the highest priority that was given to missile production and the development of more effective warheads, and the manned missions which visited the larger bodies to planet charges designed to blow them virtually to dust, progress was desperately slow. Large meteors continued to fall: all too often they demolished key missile production or launching installations.
For this reason it required close on fifty years for the project to reach completion, completion in that there were no longer any bodies in Teldi’s path capable of destroying the plane
t, and no missiles left to send against them if there had been. The moon had been reduced and scattered into a nearly homogenous cloud of meteorite material, most of which circled the planet and fell steadily onto its surface.
The Scourge had come.
No fabrication or person could live on or above the surface of Teldi for more than a few dozen revolutions without the certainty of damage, injury, or death. The remnants of the technology which had survived long enough to save them were eroded away or hammered flat by the Scourge. Their once-great civilization was reduced to ruins, its population decimated and driven slowly back toward the level of their savage, cave dwelling prehistory-but not all the way back.
They had been able to survive in their caves, deep valleys, mines, and underground missile installations and extend them into subsurface cities. They had farmed because the Scourge could not kill every plant and tree, and they had built protected road systems and kept as much as was useful of the old knowledge alive and stored the rest. But the chief reason for their continued survival as a culture had been that increasing numbers of the frightened and despairing population placed themselves under the protection and orders of the senior military officers.
It was the nature of things that saviors became Masters, and it had been all too easy for the system to perpetuate itself when the Masters had the respect as well as the obedience of their slaves, as well as a large measure of control over their thinking-including the habit of distrust which was instilled from birth.
For the/e had been a few minutes warning of the destruction of their satellite, time enough for the mother world to be told that it was about to be obliterated because some technician had been too stupidly trusting- someone had accepted as fact something which should have been doubted and rechecked. For this error Teldi had been lashed by the Scourge for more than a thousand years. The reason for their fanatical distrust, Martin thought as the Master ended its grim history lesson, was now all too obvious.
If only the Masters had not enslaved the population while they were saving it, and made knowledge available only to a favored, high-ranking few…
“In every society there must be persons with authority and responsibility in charge,” Skorta said suddenly, making Martin realize that he had been so affected by the Master’s history lesson that he had been thinking aloud. “No mechanism should be overloaded by a responsible owner. But you have been to my school, Martin, and you know that in practice every person is given a little more knowledge than it needs, in the hope that it will evince a desire for even more. Naturally, it is not given more until it has shown that it is capable of responsibly using the knowledge it already possesses.”
“I begin to understand,” Martin said. “The instructions of my Master were that I…”
“Please inform this slave,” the interrogator broke in, “that the instructions of its absent Master mean nothing to us. There are three instances of recorded hearsay describing the landing on Teldi of mechanisms which spoke our language and tried to show us great wonders projected into the empty air around them before they were destroyed. Our reply was that we would accept no communication unless it was delivered to us in person by a responsible Master. This slave is not a responsible person, its presence before us is an insult, and I cannot understand its Master’s purpose in sending it here when that Master is fully aware of the situation on Teldi.
“We are not yet decided on what to do with this slave,” the Master went on. “Should it be punished physically as is a child for persistent disobedience, or merely returned to its Master who will not act like a Master?”
Martin swallowed, thinking that a spanking from one of the overlarge Teldins would not be a pleasant experience either physically or mentally. He was also thinking about his tutor on Fomalhaut Three, who was most certainly aware of the problem, which Martin had been given full responsibility for solving. He could run away or try to solve this problem, the decision was his alone. Martin swore under his breath. He was beginning to view his tutor, the Teldin Masters, and even himself, in a new light.
“Before this decision is made,” he said to the teacher, “is it permitted that I discuss with you, my friend and equal, my instruction regarding…”
“Martin,” the Teldin said, “I am no longer your equal.”
Chapter 11
HlS first feeling was of betrayal. He wondered if Skorta had been as honest with him as it had seemed. But then he remembered some of the things it had said on the way to the city, at the school, and on the hyper-ship. Skorta had come across as an intelligent, liberal-minded, responsible, and perhaps potentially rebellious slave who did not mind talking a little hearsay or thinking for itself. To him, it had appeared to be a truly civilized and cultured being who was fighting its slavehood and beginning to win.
And now, Martin saw with a sudden flood of understanding, the fight was over.
“Your bio-sensors are going mad!” Beth said, sounding both angry and frightened. “Pulse rate and blood pressure are way up and your… Dammit, are you getting ready to do something stupid?”
There was no need to answer her because she would hear and see everything he was going to do. Martin moistened his lips and for the first time he turned to address the assembled Masters of Teldi directly.
“I have considered this matter fully and the possible consequences of making my decision,” he said, “and I wish to be once again the equal of my friend.”
For several interminable seconds there was neither sound nor motion in the Hall. Then Skorta walked slowly to an empty place at the horseshoe table and turned to face him, leaving Martin alone beside the Table of Interrogation. All sound and motion ceased again, and even Beth seemed to be holding her breath. He thought of asking permission for what he was about to do, then decided against it.
Asking permission was for slaves.
He removed and opened his backpack and spread the Federation flag across the table so that the silver and black emblem hung over the outer edge in plain sight of the Masters. Then he withdrew the weapon, the scaled-down replica of the Master of Education’s sword he had seen at the school, and laid it on top of the flag. The hilt, which also bore the Federation symbol, lay toward him. Then he folded his arms.
The Masters arose and seventeen hands went to the hilts of their swords, but this time the Master of Sea- and Land-borne Communications did not call a halt as it had done in the case of Skorta, the one-time teaching slave, because the interrogator was grasping its sword, too. Martin swallowed as seventeen swords were raised to Teldin shoulder height and held at full extension with their seventeen points directed unswervingly at his face.
“Will the new Master-Elect of Education,” the interrogator said, “please join the off-world would-be Master and guide it in the traditional words and response.”
Now I’m committed, thought Martin, but to what? The interrogator was speaking again.
“Do you accept sole and undivided responsibility for your words and actions, and omissions of words or actions, and the results thereof? Do you accept such responsibility for your property, whether animate or inanimate; its efficient working; its proper maintenance, training, feeding, and conduct toward the property of other Masters? Do you accept as your own responsibility the results of the conduct or misconduct of all such property, and will you reward, correct, or chastise the property committing such acts? Will you strive always to increase the efficiency, well-being, and intelligence of all your animate property in the hope that they will one day become capable of accepting the ultimate responsibility of a Master? As the bearer of ultimate responsibility, do you agree to defend with your life your person, property, and decisions and if, in the judgment of your fellow Masters, your actions and decisions threaten harm in large measure to your own or the property of others, that you will forfeit your life?”
Martin felt perspiration trickling from his armpits and he knew that if his arms had not been folded tightly across his chest, his hands would have been trembling.
/> “Consider carefully, off-world friend,” said the new Master-Elect, who was again standing beside him. “An impulsive decision does not impress them, even though the impulse was of friendship and loyalty. If you withdraw now your punishment will probably be a token one, possibly banishment from Teldi society and removal of Masters’ protection, neither of which will inconvenience you greatly.”
Martin cleared his throat. He said, “The decision was carefully considered and is not based solely on sentiment. I am not stupid, but I have been confused by your Master-slave relationship on Teldi, and by the true nature and function of the Masters. I am confused no longer.”
The swords were still pointed at him, so steadily that he could imagine that the scene was a still photograph, when Skorta spoke again.
“Raise your sword and hold it vertically with the base of the hilt resting on your flag,” it said. “Support the sword in the vertical position by pressing the palm of your hand against the point. You will exert sufficient pressure for the point to draw blood. You will then speak the words ‘I accept the duties and responsibilities of a Master,’ after which you will replace the sword and self-administer the appropriate medication to the wounded hand and await the response of the Masters.”
He nearly fumbled it, because the height of the Table of Interrogation made it necessary for him to stand on tiptoe to press downward against the point of the sword, so that the point slipped and jabbed him in the fleshy pad at the base of his thumb. But he was so relieved that the sword did not go skidding onto the floor that he scarcely felt the pain, even when the blood trickled slowly down the blade.
As steadily as he could, Martin said, “I accept the duties and responsibilities of a Master.”
The swords were still pointing at him while he replaced his on the flag and slapped an adhesive dressing on his hand. Then one of the swords swept upward to point at the ceiling. Another followed suit, then another and another until all were raised, then all seventeen swords were towered and replaced on their Masters’ flags.