Federation World

by James White

  “It is to avoid this millennia-long night of barbarism,” the First went on, “that I must bring the others into my Family without delay. The Estate is not yet large enough to withstand concerted hostile action against it, but it is large enough for the others to feel threatened by our size and strength. By whatever means becomes available, whether it is force, trade and economic agreements, or psychological pressure exerted with the help of you Galactics, these dissidents must be shown that my long-term plan for Keida is infinitely more important than any short-lived, petty advantages that might be gained through breaking up and dividing my Estate among them.

  “Many times I have tried to explain my plan,” the Keidi went on, his horn swinging rapidly between Martin and Beth, “by traveling to the estates of other leaders to offer personal security, food, and comfort for the remainder of their days, but they deliberately misunderstood me. I cannot make them realize that we all have major obligations to the unborn of the centuries to come, obligations which must be discharged now.

  “They are old, fearful, selfish, and stupid,” the First ended harshly. “Why will they not trust me?”

  The reason is that they, like you, are Undesirables, Martin thought. He was beginning to feel a degree of sympathy for this aging predator who had apparently changed his spots. Perhaps the status of Undesirable was a temporary condition, after all, and the First was beginning to display the level of responsibility and unselfishness required of a Citizen. He said carefully, “As yet you have not explained your plan in detail, but from what little we’ve heard it shows great wisdom, vision, and unselfishness on your part, and it fully deserves any help that we can provide.”

  Martin paused for a moment to let that sink in, then went on smoothly, “You are faced with a problem common to many intelligent species. It is that the majority of the older minds are no longer capable of accepting new ideas, however worthy, much less of conceiving them. Have you appealed to the younger people, with offspring, whose stake in the future is much greater?”

  “For an off-worlder you understand me well,” the First said in a voice which suggested that he was not immune to a well-turned compliment. “Many of the second and third generation Keidi see the wisdom of my plan and give it total support. Many others join my Family but tire of the hard work that is necessary. Or they object to working under my direction, or ignore my teachings and try to leave me, their First Father, for what they believe will be an easier life. “They are a great disappointment to me.” So interested had Martin become in what the other was saying that he had almost forgotten the continuing pain in his head. He said, “I can understand that labor with no immediate reward is unpleasant, doubly so if there is disbelief in ultimate purpose of the work. Considering the advantages your Estate offers, particularly to those with young families, I don’t understand why they leave.”

  “It shames me to admit it to a stranger, but there is dissatisfaction even among the young people of my own Estate, and strong measures are necessary to check its spread. My population is already dangerously small, and any further reduction would jeopardize the Great Plan, so these malcontents must be prevented from spreading their unsettling ideas or of leaving the Family.”

  “Leaving it for where?” Martin asked quickly. If there was another Keidi leader offering his people better conditions, he wanted to know about it. The answer came as a total surprise.

  “For your accursed white houses!” The First said angrily. “In spite of all warnings that the houses are no longer linked to the Galactics’ transportation system, that in all likelihood they will transmit all who enter them to the airiessness of space, or appeals to their pride in their race and constant reminders that we who remain on Keida are the chosen people who will one day surpass the Galactics who have tried to diminish us, our young people still try to enter those white houses. Some cannot pass the outer entrance. Others enter and are never seen again, and the dissidents who remain insist that they have gone, not to instant destruction, but to a better place.”

  Martin’s hand stopped motionless on its way to his head. Beside him Beth had become white-faced and still. Neither of them spoke.

  “We cannot afford to lose any more of our young people,” the Keidi went on more quietly, “and we consider it a most grievous offense to attempt an escape whether it is to death or some supposedly easier way of life. Those who try are restrained and forced to discharge their criminal obligation by working for the Plan. Now that guards have been posted at every white house on the Estate, the successful escapes are few. Malcontents are easily captured, fortunately, because they insist on trying to take their children and blood relations with them.”

  Allowing his hand to fall slowly onto his lap, Martin said, “What kind of work do they do?”

  “No Keidi will deliberately inflict serious injury or death on another,” the First said. “The lives of these criminals must be made as productive as possible, but the work that they must do is not of the kind which I would assign to a favorite offspring.”

  Martin put both hands to his head as the thudding pain reached a crescendo, making it nearly impossible to think. He felt nauseous as well, although the words of the First could have been responsible for that.

  He had thought for a while that the other had reformed, become a more responsible, farseeing, and altruistic person. But now it was all too plain that this particular Keidi predator had camouflaged, not changed, its spots. Martin was staring into the dry, fissured mouth of the other’s speaking horn, but he was seeing the hundreds of grave markers of the so-called dissidents who had been forced to work, quite possibly with no radiation protection, in the old missile arsenal.

  “With concerted opposition from without and malcontents burrowing from within,” the First went on, “the Great Plan will not long survive my death. There are actions I can take which should quell the opposition, extend and stabilize the Estate to the degree that my children and my children’s children may be able to steer my plan to its completion, but the future is still uncertain. It could well be that with your assistance these uncertainties can be removed. Complex negotiations will be necessary, however, and mutual safeguards devised, perhaps a voluntary and alternating hostage system worked out whereby one of you would remain here while the other operates the ship…”

  He was hearing the Keidi’s words clearly but they had become meaningless to him. His head was pounding and he had a terrible need to get out of this place, to get away from the constant yammering of this utterly callous and hypocritical petty tyrant, to find the peace and quiet that would let him think straight. He leaned forward suddenly, elbows on his knees and placed his head between his hands. The untranslatable noise he made was expressive of mental anguish and frustration as much a physical pain.

  “What’s wrong?” Beth said, looking really concerned. “Is there physical discomfort?” the First asked quickly. “Earlier you asked for the doctor. The request was denied because it seemed at the time that your distress was feigned. But now, as a small and nondischargable obligation between new friends, I am willing to allow the doctor to attend you.”

  “I don’t want him,” Martin said without looking up. “He knows nothing of the physiology or treatment of an off-planet patient. I would be in greater danger from the doctor than the disorder. I need the diagnostic and treatment facilities of the mother ship.”

  “Impossible!” the First said. “Until our negotiations have been completed to my satisfaction, you will remain here.”

  Beth put a hand on Martin’s shoulder and glared at the First. “No,” she said fiercely. “He is unwell. Disregard what he says. He does not want the doctor, he needs the doctor!”

  The Keidi turned toward her, remaining silent.

  “It shames me to say this,” she went on, “because we are a proud race who dislike showing weakness before others. But there are nonphysical aspects to my life-mate’s condition which are becoming more serious than the injury itself. Through pride he wishes these concealed
from you. He also knows that during these negotiations, any sign of weakness will be exploited by you, no matter what kind of verbal misdirection you use to suggest the contrary. But I must be practical and forget our pride. There are things which a healer can be told, and forms of nonphysical help which even an other-species doctor can give. Do you understand me?”

  Still the First remained silent.

  “Speak, damn you!” Beth said. If she was feigning anger, then Martin could not tell it from the real thing. “I know that by making this admission, by revealing my strong personal concern in this matter, I have given you a powerful lever to use against us. But know also that if my life-mate does not receive all the help possible, there will be no advantage to you, no support from the hyper-ship for your Great Plan, nothing. There is no other lever that you can use, no chastisement up to and including ultimate force that you can exert, that will gain my cooperation. Do you understand that?

  The First raised a hand and for a moment Martin thought he would strike her, but he used it only to gesture to the guard in the doorway.

  One of the Keidi brought in a small, square cage and set it on the bed. Inside the narrowly spaced bars they could see a smaller cage suspended loosely at its center, and inside that one of their wrist units twisted and turned on a narrow cord. There was no way that they could reach it with their fingers, or quickly introduce a narrow instrument, if one had been available, to hold it steady while they made the change from translation to communication mode.

  “My plans were made long before you came,” said the First quietly. “They will succeed with or without your help. The doctor is already here.”

  He left, and the doctor entered quickly. Martin stifled a groan and said worriedly, “You weren’t exactly respectful toward the most powerful Keidi on the planet.”

  “I didn’t feel respectful…” Beth began angrily.

  “Let me look at your injury, off-worlder,” the doctor said, bending over him. “And rest assured, I shall not poke or pry into an area where my ignorance is total. There is a small abrasion, centered on a large, raised area of bone which looks inflamed. Please begin by describing how the injury was sustained, and its past and present symptoms. Have there been any periods of mental confusion, lapses of memory, dullness of intellect, real or apparent impairment of the senses associated with your episodes of pain?”

  The alien features and the bell-mouthed, wrinkled obscenity of a speaking horn which was puffing Keidi breath odors into his face were in all respects identical with those of the First but, strangely, these seemed to radiate sympathy and reassurance rather than barely concealed hostility. Martin began to feel ashamed of himself for exaggerating some of his symptoms and deliberately falsifying others. In spite of the twin gulfs of species and culture which yawned between them, he felt that he was guilty of abusing the trust of a friend. The feeling was so strong that there were times when he told the doctor more than he intended, and had to remind himself to concentrate, to make his sluggish and paindulled brain form the words which had to be spoken if they were to stand any chance of escaping from this place. Then suddenly it was over and the First, who had been watching and listening from the doorway, returned to hear the doctor’s report.

  “There is localized surface damage to the brain casing,” the doctor said with the clinical objectivity which seemed to characterize medics, regardless of species. “The effect on the brain itself is uncertain because the Keidi skull is thicker and more complexly structured than that of the patient. There is evidence, however, that the injury has affected the brain function, with intermittent and increasing periods of pain and mental confusion, and partial loss of consciousness which will gradually become total. There is an added, and perhaps more serious, psychological problem which requires immediate attention if the patient’s mental capabilities are to be of use to you.”

  The focusing muscles on the First’s speaking horn twitched, but he remained silent as the doctor went on. “You will realize that the patient is not a Keidi, nor does he possess the physical and mental stamina of our species. He is of a more advanced culture, possesses a more sophisticated and delicate sensory network, and is accustomed to a much more comfortable standard of living in which his bodily needs are constantly filled by machines which synthesize his food, fabricate his furniture and clothing, and maintain him in optimum physical health.

  “I have also learned,” the doctor continued, “that the patient’s normal environment is on the planetary surface, in an abode that is warm, spacious, well-lit, and surrounded by open air and distant vegetation. His duty obligations involve extended periods of traveling the awful immensities between the stars. Being confined in this small, comfortless, underground room among what he considers to be hostile beings, and with a tiny supply of food which is unlikely to be replaced is, in combination with the continuing discomfort of his injury, threatening to bring about irreversible psychological damage.”

  The report, Martin thought, was far more than he could have hoped for. His relief was so intense that it felt like another pain. Beth’s fingers tightened on his shoulder as the First made an untranslatable sound, then spoke.

  “I agree, Doctor,” he said. “His misfortunes are many, and the worst among them is that he came to Keida uninvited. Can you suggest a treatment?”

  “None that will guarantee a cure,” the doctor replied. “I would not risk a surgical investigation even if he was a Keidi and not the physiological and clinical puzzle that he is, because my specialty is concerned with the other end of the anatomy, and the female anatomy at that. The only treatment I can suggest is pallative; a cold, wet pad might help reduce the local discomfort. Regarding the psychological condition, more positive treatment is possible but a cure is not guaranteed.”

  “If you were guaranteeing results, Doctor,” the First said, “I would be concerned about your own psychological condition. Go on, what can be done for him?”

  “In my opinion,” the doctor resumed, “the condition will be alleviated by withdrawing the patient, for the longest periods allowable to a prisoner, from the present stressful environment and surrounding him as much as is possible in the present circumstances, with familiar, reassuring objects, and allowing personal contact which is sympathetic rather than that of the hostile Estate people.

  “The patient trusts me,” he went on. “If I am not his friend, he senses that at least I am not an enemy. He should be allowed to speak to me and I to reassure him, in privacy, without the presence of hostile listeners. His original clothing should be returned to him, he should be given the opportunity to exercise in the open, under my supervision, naturally, and be allowed to see his ship. He should also be allowed…”

  “To escape?” the First finished for him in a sarcastic voice. “You ask too much!”

  “I ask nothing,” the doctor said quietly. “It is you who ask how the patient may be rendered more cooperative and mentally coherent, so that your negotiations can proceed. Naturally, I would expect you to post guards, at a distance but close enough to prevent an escape to the ship if, as is doubtful, he is physically and mentally capable of attempting it. But this is an unimportant detail. The important thing to understand is that the patient has had a severe physical and emotional shock, that there is evidence of increasing mental dysfunction. Being able to wear his own clothing and see his ship, even at a distance which you consider safe, should renew and reinforce his knowledge of who and what he is, and perhaps enable him to adapt to the pressures of imprisonment on an alien planet.

  “If no action is taken,” the doctor added, “there is a serious risk of the patient’s knowledge and capabilities and, I suspect, those of the life-mate and their vessel, being lost to you.”

  The First’s focusing muscles were bunching like clumps of yellow seaweed around his horn. “No!” he said. “Your prescription is too risky for us. We confined these Galactics, an unprecedented action to take during the preliminaries of an important negotiation, because we cannot trust
them…”

  It was the strangest argument that Martin had ever experienced, and if he had been feeling better he would have enjoyed it, because the First talked angrily and continuously while the doctor retained a clinical impassivity and total silence, and won.

  “Very well,” the First said finally, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. “You may exercise and talk with the patient outside. But you will be guarded at a distance, a short distance, and you will hold the translation device in clear sight at all times. If the off-worlder tries to free it from its cage to call for help, or even looks as if he might be doing so, or dies physically to escape, whether or not the attempt is successful, his life-mate will be severely chastised. Do you both understand that?”

  Without waiting for a reply, the Keidi leader added, “Your clothing will be returned to you,” and stamped out of the cell.

  Although he remembered every step of the journey, the return to the ground-level entrance seemed three times longer, and the stairs much steeper, than they had been on the way in. Outside the building they began walking slowly and silently along the road leading toward the landing area, while Keidi guards kept their distance ahead, behind, and on both flanks.

  The rain had stopped some time ago and the ground was drying out. The rising, or perhaps setting, sun illuminated the low buildings and the distant hull of the lander with the warm, orange tones of a theater spotlight. When Martin finally broke the silence, he knew that he was taking an incredibly stupid risk.

  “I am deeply obligated to you for arranging this temporary freedom,” he said, “but it shames me to admit that I was not completely honest with you, and you should know that the description of some of my symptoms was, well, exaggerated.”

  The doctor made an untranslatable sound and said, “I have been long enough in the profession to know when a patient, regardless of his species, is lying to me. And you should know, off-worlder, that in spite of the dramatization of your symptoms, your condition is worse than you yourself realize. That is why I argued for you to be allowed out here, so that you would at least have the opportunity of escaping, if your condition eventually allows it. You and your life-mate must try to protract the negotiations with the First until you are feeling better. Also, I consider myself partly responsible for your involvement with this fanatical and untrustworthy being. This and my other personal obligations to you must be discharged.”