A Wizard In Mind
The First Chronicle of Magnus D'Armand
Rogue Wizard
By Christopher Stasheff
ISBN: 0-812-53648-7
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
PROLOGUE
A spy can't quit and stay healthy-everybody knows that. In fact, a spy can't quit and stay alive-but Magnus d'Armand was still living, even though he had resigned from the Society for the Conversion of Extraterrestrial Nascent Totalitarianisms more than six months before-still alive, and not really terribly worried about it.
Of course, SCENT wasn't a secret service with missions of mayhem-it was (officially) a private organization dedicated to subverting dictatorships before they started, by converting planets to democracy before they developed out of their Middle Ages. So Magnus wasn't really a spy, though he was a secret agent. He was also a secret wizard. That helped, sometimes. A lot.
At the moment, he was sitting in the control room of his spaceship, talking with its robot brain. "Well, Herkimer, which planet shall we subvert next?"
"There is a wide choice." Herkimer supplied the sound of index cards flipping behind his rather theatrical sigh. "I do not suppose I could persuade you to consider a planet for which democracy is obviously the ideal form of government?"
"You could persuade me to try the planet, but not the democracy-at least, not without a massive amount of proof. After all, that's why I quit SCENT-because I wasn't willing to impose democracy on a society it wasn't right for."
"And because you disapproved of some of SCENT's methods-yes, I know." Herkimer didn't mention the other reason for Magnus's reluctance to "impose" democracy-the young man's father, Rod Gallowglass, who was one of SCENT's most famous agents (though Rod himself didn't know about it), and had spend most of his life laying the foundations of democratic government on Magnus's home planet, Gramarye. The young man's need to separate himself from his father, and to establish his own reputation, no doubt had a great deal to do with both his quitting SCENT and his reluctance to establish democracies.
"I can't accept sacrificing good people just to give an edge to your favorite form of government," Magnus told him. "Societies come in a great number of different forms, Herkimer, so it only makes sense that they need different forms of government. If I find a planet that requires a dictatorship, I'll work to establish a dictatorship!"
"Certainly, Magnus-if you do find such a society." Herkimer had already scanned his complete SCENT database, along with the d'Armand family archives that he had down-loaded from Fess, the family robot. With that knowledge in his data banks, Herkimer could easily see that although dictatorship might be good for a society, it wasn't good for the people, unless there were some way of guaranteeing their civil rights-in which case, it wasn't a complete dictatorship anymore, but was on the way to becoming something else. "The planet Kanark might be the sort you are considering." He put a picture on the screen.
Magnus frowned, studying the peasants in their felt caps and faded blue tunics as they waded through a yellow field with scythes, singing in time to the sweep and lift of the blades. "The planet is eight percent greater in diameter than Terra," Herkimer informed him, "but with ninety-eight percent of Terra's gravity, presumably indicating fewer heavy metals in the planetary core. Its rotation is twenty-two hours, forty minutes, Terran standard. The axial tilt is nine degrees; distance from the sun is one-point-oh-five AU."
"So it's slightly colder that Terra?"
"Yes, and the ice caps are greater, as is the landmass. Still, there is no shortage of free water, and maize, millet, barley, and wheat grow well."
"Presumably brought in by the early colonists."
"The records of the pioneers indicate that, yes," Herkimer confirmed. "The economy is still agricultural, though with an increasing industrial base."
"So the majority of people are farmers?"
"Yes-yeomen. Eighty percent of them own their own hectare or two. The remaining twenty percent are approximately evenly split between merchants and agricultural laborers employed by the largest landowners."
"Who are, of course, the government."
"Yes. The government is pyramidal, with small landowners governed by larger. The wealthiest dozen men in each sovereign state constitute the highest authority. They agree on legislation, but each acts as both judiciary and executive over his own estates. Land ownership and rank are hereditary."
"An aristocracy, and a rather authoritarian one." Magnus frowned. "Let's see how these noblemen live."
The picture of the field workers was replaced by an interior picture of a large, circular room, paneled in wood but with the roof beams showing. Tapestries adorned the walls, large windows let in sunlight, and a fire burned in a huge fireplace. Half a dozen people were moving about. Magnus frowned. "They're all dressed decently, but not richly. Where are the rulers?"
"The duke stands near the hearth. The others are his family."
Magnus stared. "I would scarcely say they were dressed sumptuously-and the room is certainly not richly furnished! In fact, I'd call it rather Spartan. Let me see a yeoman's house."
The picture dissolved into a view of a similar dwelling, except that the roof was only a foot or two above the heads of the eight people. Three were obviously teenagers, two middle-aged, and the other three, children. The windows were smaller than in the duke's house, and the walls were decorated with arrangements of evergreen branches instead of tapestries.
Magnus frowned. "It would seem that wealth is fairly evenly distributed. Is there evidence of oppression?"
"Only in the punishment of criminals-which includes political dissenters. It is not a wealthy planet."
"But most of the people are content." Magnus shook his head. "There isn't much I can do there to make them richer, and they seem happy enough in any case; I might make their lives worse. Let me see people who toil under a more oppressive regime."
The screen cleared, and Herkimer put up the sound of cards flipping again, to indicate that he was searching his data banks. Magnus waited, feeling oddly troubled. The aristocrats were no doubt acting in their own interest first and foremost-but they seemed to be aware that their own prosperity depended on that of their people, and that their power was based on the yeomen's contentment with life. Magnus really had no reason to interfere. He didn't doubt that government of the people should be for the people-he just wasn't all that sure who should be doing the governing. In this case, the aristocrats seemed to be doing well enough for everybodywhich seemed wrong.
"Andoria," Herkimer said, and the screen lit with a picture of a row of people wearing only loincloths, bent over to cut grain with sickles.
"Spare me the geophysical data." Magnus leaned forward, feeling his heart lift. This looked like a more promising setting for oppression-though now that he looked more closely, he could see that each of the peasants was well fed. They, too, sang as they worked, and the song was cheerful. "Begin with the government!" Magnus was already feeling impatient.
"The government is an absolute monarchy," Herkimer said, "with overtones of theocracy, for the monarch is a god-king."
"God-king?" Magnus frowned. "Is this Neolithic?"
"Bronze Age, but with some surprisingly sophisticated notions, no doubt supplied by original colonists whose Terran-style culture fell a
part without a high technology to preserve the infrastructure. All land is the king's, and is administered by his stewards, each of whom supervises a hundred or so bailiffs."
"How are they chosen?"
"Candidates are selected by examination, but the final selection is the king's."
"A civil service!"
"Yes, but one that is largely hereditary. The king tends to appoint the sons of the same families, generation after generation, century after century. New blood enters the civil service only when one of the families fails to produce a male heir, or the scion of the line chooses another profession-for example, the priesthood, or the army."
"There's a standing army, then?"
"Yes, but it's the king's, and only the king's. The officers tend to come from the old families, but may be promoted from the ranks. In both civil service and army, new appointees constitute approximately twelve percent of the personnel."
"So there's some vertical mobility." Magnus pursed his lips. "I gather, from the fact that the king feels it necessary to maintain an army, that his civil service's main purpose is to assure abundant income for himself and his household."
"No, though that purpose certainly seems to be well served." Herkimer replaced the picture of the field with the interior of a stone palace, lush with decoration, a marble floor polished mirror-smooth, and a double file of bare-chested soldiers with spears leading to a golden throne on a high dais, on which sat a tall man wearing a robe richly ornamented with golden beadwork interspersed with gems. "The godking charges his stewards with seeing to the welfare of his people. They gather every bit of surplus grain into royal granaries, yes-but the people are fed from those granaries, and clothed from the cotton and linen produced by the corps of king's weavers."
"So every facet of life is governed and everything is taken from the people, but everything is given to them, too-at least, everything they need," Magnus mused.
"It is. In sum, only fifteen percent of the wealth goes to support the luxury of the king and his administrators."
"Scarcely excessive," Magnus said in exasperation. "I can hardly call that oppressive. Don't you have anything more promising?"
"Searching," Herkimer told him, and the card ruffle sounded again as the screen filled with dancing points of light. Magnus sat back, feeling nervous and edgy, then wondered why he should be so dismayed to find two societies that didn't need his help.
But he didn't have any other purpose in life-his family could take care of themselves and their home planet, Gramarye, quite nicely without him-and he had already given up on falling in love and devoting his life to a wife and children. He was only twentyone, but had already had some bad experiences with women and romance-some very bad, and none very good. What else was a rich young man supposed to do with his time? Well, not rich, exactly-but he had a spaceship (a guilt offering from the really rich relatives) and could make as much money as he needed whenever he needed-make it literally, being a wizard. Well, not a real wizard, of course-he couldn't work real magic-but he was tremendously gifted in telepathy, telekinesis, and other powers of extrasensory perception. Of course, he could have devoted his life to building up as great a fortune as his relatives had-but that seemed pointless, somehow, without anyone else to spend it on, and a rather unfair use of his gifts. His brief experience with SCENT, and his rebellion against it, had given him a solid feeling of satisfaction at helping an oppressed serf class who really needed liberating. He had been looking forward to that feeling of elation again-perhaps even looking forward to the strife and suffering that produced it. He wondered if, somewhere deep, he secretly believed he deserved punishing.
"This would be considerably easier," said Herkimer, "if you would also allow me to investigate planets that currently have SCENT projects under way."
Magnus shook his head. "Why waste time and effort when someone else is already working to free them?" Besides, he found himself unwilling to oppose his father's organization. On the last planet, when he had seen for himself that what the SCENT agents were doing was wrong-or rather, that they were doing wrong things in order to accomplish something right it had been another matter; he had felt the need to step forward and take a stand to protect good people whom the SCENT agents were willing to abandon. But deliberately landing on a SCENT planet with the intent to upset what they were doing was another matter entirely. "No, there is no need to duplicate effort."
"As you wish," Herkimer said, with a tone of resignation that made Magnus long for the good old days when robots were unable to mimic emotions. "Your next possibility is the planet Petrarch." A pastoral scene appeared on the screen, a broad and sunny plain with the walls of a medieval city rising from it. Carts rolled along the road that ran from the bottom of the frame to the city's gates.
Magnus frowned, not seeing anyone being oppressed. "This is a retrograde colony, I assume." Aren't they all?
Not quite, he answered himself. A handful of Terran colonies had been so well planned, and so fortunate, that they had been able to establish industrial bases before Terra cut them off, in the great retrenchment of the Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra. Most, however, had fallen apart as soon as the support of Terran commerce and new Terran equipment was withdrawn, some even reverting to barbarism and Stone Age technology. Most, though, had regressed no further than the Middle Ages and, without electronic communications to hold together continentwide governments, had fallen into feudalism of one sort or another. Petrarch, at least, seemed to have pulled itself together a bit.
"Petrarch orbits a G-type sun at a distance of one and one-third astronomical units," Herkimer began, but Magnus cut in to abort the lecture before it started.
"Once again, spare me the geophysical data until we're sure whether or not there's any political problem worth our interference."
"I assume you mean 'intervention,' " Herkimer said primly.
Magnus had the fleeting thought that perhaps he should change the robot's voice encoder to give it a crisp, maiden-aunt quality. "Is there reason for it?"
"Abundant reason," Herkimer assured him. "When Terra withdrew its support, the culture virtually crashed. The infrastructure could not be maintained without electronic technology, and on every continent, the result was anarchy. People banded together in villages and fought one another for the little food and fuel that remained. As one village conquered its neighbors, warlords arose, and battled one another for sheer power."
Magnus turned pale; he knew what that meant in terms of the sufferings of the individual, ordinary people. "But that was five hundred years ago! Certainly they have progressed past that!"
"Not on two of the five continents," Herkimer said regretfully. "They remain carved up into a dozen or more petty kingdoms, continually warring upon one another."
And when petty kingdoms warred, peasants did the fighting and dying-or were caught between two armies if they weren't quick enough about running and hiding. "What of the other three?"
"There, barbarism is the order of the day. There are hunting and gathering societies, herding societies with primitive agriculture, and nomads who follow the great herds. Here and there, small kingdoms have risen ruled by despots, but there are no empires."
"Let's hope nobody invents them." Fleeting visions of torture chambers, armed tax collectors, and starving peasants flitted through Magnus's mind. "Yes, this sounds as though there might be work worth our doing. Now tell me the history."
"Petrarch was originally colonized during the twenty-third century," Herkimer told him as the screen filled with the towering plasticrete towers of a Terran colony. Women in full-length gowns of brocade and velvet passed before them, with men dressed in doublets and hose. Here and there, one wore a rapier, though it had a rather solid look, as though scabbard and hilt had been cast in one piece.
"Yes," Magnus mused, "that was the century that was famous for the Renaissance revival fad of its last decade, wasn't it? I remember Fess teaching us children that it was a prime example of mass silliness."
"That was indeed the century, the decade, and the fad, though the silliness passed quickly enough everywhere else in the Terran Sphere. On Petrarch, though, it became permanent."
The picture changed, though the dress styles remained. The background, though, was that of the low plasticrete buildings typical of any early Terran colony, with here and there the timber-and-stucco houses of the first phase of building from native materials. Magnus saw the occasional costume with wildly exaggerated shoulders, two-foot-high hats with crown upon crown, or veils that fluttered behind a lady for several yards of fluorescent color. "They seem to have made some very flamboyant developments."
"They did indeed, but only within the Renaissance context. On Talipon, an inland in the center of an inland sea, dress styles fossilized-and so did architecture, painting, and all aspects of its culture."
"An odd occurrence." Magnus frowned. "Was there a cause, or was it merely a mass aberration?"
"The cause was the Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra's coup d'etat. When PEST became the government of the Terran Sphere, it cut off contact and support for the outlying planets, and Petrarch was virtually frozen at its current cultural level."
"It was fortunate that the colony had developed an economy and technology that could sustain that culture." Magnus frowned. "I'm surprised that constant war didn't force them back to the Stone Age, as it did on so much of the rest of the planet."
"They seem to have formed alliances between resource-rich states and manufacturing states," Herkimer explained.
"Alliances, or conquests?"
"Some of the one, some of the other. The more remote districts did regress, some even becoming rather primitive."
"So there are three barbarian continents, two feudal continents, and an island of modern culture?"
"Definitely not modern-perhaps late medieval, even Renaissance."
"How large is this island?"
"Approximately four hundred ninety kilometers by one hundred thirty-five. It contains a group of independent city-states, constantly feuding with one another-but their wars are limited, they share a common language, and there is a constant interchange of people moving from one city to another."
A Wizard In Mind Page 1