The Far Side of Evil

by Sylvia Engdahl

  She did it beautifully. She’s got far more acting talent than I have. Since they did not monitor her heartbeat or other physiological reactions, being less interested in her condition than in mine, neither Commander Feric nor Randil had any suspicion that she was faking.

  And it was good for her. It’s a funny thing, but if you try to act scared, any real fear you start out with stops bothering you; it becomes part of the game. It’s like trying to cry; you just don’t want to anymore, somehow. Kari actually was scared at the beginning, despite her conviction that she would be protected from pain. But when she threw her energy into acting more frightened than she felt, the fright faded away, simply because she was no longer afraid of being afraid.

  We were not allowed to hold hands, but we communicated silently, and I knew what she was feeling. She didn’t suffer; she didn’t even come close to the edge, for between her trust in the “drug” and my continued telepathic help she was completely free of panic. It was a strange new experience for Kari: She felt in control of the situation. She could analyze her sensations, describe them to me, and yet keep an inward calm that she had never dreamed was possible.

  The pain was intense; Commander Feric pulled no punches this time. He gave her the entire range. How he could listen to those realistic-sounding screams and remain impassive, I don’t know; he had been, I suppose, desensitized through long experience. I picked up no emotional overtones, for to him it was all in the day’s work. He got no enjoyment from tormenting people; in fact he rather looked down on the guards, one of whom was a brute and a sadist who obviously did, and whose emotions I took care to shut out after my first telepathic taste of them. The Commander no doubt considered this man an efficient tool, just as he considered all people tools of the State. He had his mind so well compartmentalized that he saw no conflict between such callousness and his sincere though erroneous social ideals.

  For Randil it was excruciating. At Kari’s first scream he froze, and for a moment I thought my shock treatment might prove too drastic. I shall never forget the look he gave me when he finally perceived that I wasn’t going to yield. Though there was violent rage in him, he was powerless to make any move, for he remained aware that his sole chance of helping her depended on keeping the Commander’s trust. But since his arguments had failed, he didn’t know where to turn.

  There’s a course open to you, Randil, if you’ll take an honest look at what’s happening, I ventured, in an attempt to steer him onto the right track. I dared not communicate with him further, both because I was afraid I would succumb to compassion and give away the truth, and because I knew I must devote my whole mind to supporting Kari. They themselves had no telepathic contact; neither guessed that the other would be able to converse, and they were unconsciously avoiding emotional exchanges through their pretense not to know each other.

  Seeing the anguish Randil was undergoing, Kari cried miserably to me, Oh, Elana, if only there were some way to tell him!

  It took all my courage to remain merciless. It’s awful for him, I admitted, but he’s got to bear it. You understand, don’t you? He would save you if it were merely a matter of taking it on himself, but if he were to drop his role now, the Bomb could be used tomorrow.

  I know. But it’s so useless for him to think I’m being hurt.

  Not entirely useless, I trust. Randil didn’t deserve what he went through; it was an unjustly harsh though necessary education. He mastered himself and took it in stride. I’m not sure what was going on in his mind; I can only hope. There is just the one hope left to us now.

  For the time came when the Commander realized that I wasn’t ready to crack. “I must compliment you,” he said to me at last, switching off the machine. “I really didn’t think you had it in you.”

  That was a dubious compliment, I thought, but in his eyes an honest one. Commander Feric went on, “You leave me no choice. We’ve come to understand each other fairly well, Elana, and I believe you’re aware that I have no liking for the step I must take next. I’ve done everything in my power to avoid it. What comes now rests on your head, and yours alone.”

  He stood up, motioning the guards to release Kari. “Yesterday,” he told me, “you assured your friend that although she would suffer she would not be injured. And that, apparently, is the answer to your surprising composure. This machine, advantageous as it may be in the case of a prisoner for whom we have further use, is unsuited to a situation of this kind, and in our next session we shall therefore have to revert to cruder and more old-fashioned techniques.”

  Kari blanched, Randil almost broke the arm of the wooden chair he was gripping, and I was too busy communicating with first one and then the other to give much thought to my own sick horror.

  Elana, what does he mean? Kari pleaded.

  Don’t worry. Take one step at a time. Whatever happens, you will not suffer any pain.

  Randil didn’t have to ask what was meant; he was naïve, but not quite that naïve. These Torisians are perverted! he exclaimed vehemently. Maybe that’s the answer we came to find. Elana, Younglings who can do such things are wiped out because they’re not worth saving!

  Nobody ever jumps from naïveté to realism; there’s a cynical stage in between. That’s true of worlds, and I guess it’s true of people, too. Isn’t she worth saving? I asked, with a glance at Kari, who, not having grasped the full significance of the interrogator’s threat, was beginning to show the effects of her inner triumph. And aren’t there others like her?

  Of course—but oh, Elana, then there are no rational answers at all.

  You’re thinking just like Kari does! The Torisians are not perverted, they’re simply Younglings! There are people capable of evil among all Younglings, but you’ve got to make allowances for them because they don’t really know what they’re doing.

  Make allowances, when it’s the innocent people who pay the price?

  The price is always paid by the innocent. It always has been. It will be now, if our ship is used as the dictator intends.

  He still couldn’t let himself accept such an intent. What sort of universe would it be, he protested, where a few evildoers could destroy all that’s good in a world?

  Don’t blame the universe! It was us, Randil. We gave them the power. There was a balance; the chances were against their risking this war, until we gave them power they could misuse.

  We exchanged no more thoughts for a long time. Then, as the Commander moved to dismiss us, Randil entreated, Elana, you can’t hold out forever! If you’re right about their plans, they’ll bomb the Libertarians anyway once they guess your game. So save Kari at least; don’t let her die this way, when in the end it won’t solve anything.

  No, Randil. Only you can save her.

  How?

  By destroying the ship, so that they no longer have any need to break me. Commander Feric means what he says. He doesn’t want to do this, and he won’t do it merely for revenge.

  How do you know he won’t?

  Because we’ve come to understand each other, as he said, and I’ve learned that he is evil only insofar as he’s committed to an evil goal for humanity. Believe it or not, he has a conscience. I’ll be his first failure, and his faith in force will come crashing down on him, yet he’ll accept that rather than carry through something he can’t justify to himself.

  Justify? Randil exploded. How could he possibly—

  The same way I justify the deaths involved in blowing up the ship, Randil: by subordinating the means to the end. That’s the only way anybody can judge anything, and when such a judgment is immoral it’s because the end itself is worth less than what must be destroyed to achieve it. Evil lies not in a given act but in a person’s sense of values.

  Slowly, reluctantly, Randil admitted, I can’t argue with you there. If I thought that killing innocent people was the only means of preventing something worse, truly worse—

  You’d do it. So I ask you again to take a good honest look at what’s happening here and dec
ide what sort of values these men have and what’s likely to happen when they judge the potential of our ship by those values.

  He didn’t reply. Finally, I continued, As Senior, I order you to get rid of that ship. Whether you obey is up to you. If you decide not to, though, you must come back tomorrow when—when I’m questioned.

  No!

  You owe it to Kari, Randil. I—I’m going to teach her to understand telepathic communication; I’ll give her what comfort I can. But you can give her something more. She loves you, and you’ve got to stick with her.

  Commander Feric ushered us to the door. “The next time we meet,” he informed me, “it will not be here; this office is hardly an appropriate setting for what will occur. I am going to be very rough with you, Elana. We both know that there are limits as to how far I can go—limits that do not apply to Kari—but you will both benefit, I think, from a short demonstration carried out on you. I would not want either of you to have any question about what you’re letting your friend in for.”

  *

  Randil had been totally unprepared for Kari’s arrest and torture. It was a very great shock. He was so jolted that it took a long time for him to regain his capacity for logical thought; as he slowly came to himself, alone in his suite, the first thing to strike him was wonder that he had managed to get through the day without losing his grip. How could he possibly have taken leave of Commander Feric calmly, exacting a promise that he would be called the next time Elana was interrogated? How could he have coolly telephoned one after another of the men he had worked with in his role as a “Jutan,” urgently but dispassionately insisting that the ship could not have been harmed by sabotage and appealing for their aid in calling a halt to the SSP’s investigation? It did not seem right that he had observed such horror with composure. Why, he hadn’t even felt Kari’s pain, not in a physical sense; and that was incredible, for considering their closeness he ought to have experienced it telepathically. Perhaps, he thought, the whole thing had been nothing more than a nightmare.

  Yet he knew it was no nightmare, and as the initial numbness wore off, the agony of his thoughts was intensified. He had been warned often enough, back at the Academy, that the evils of Youngling worlds were real and that his first personal confrontation with them would be painful. Just how painful, his instructors could not have guessed; they hadn’t foreseen that he would be facing an evil resulting from something he himself had done. But fortunately, they had conditioned him to retain his self-control under stress, and that conditioning alone had upheld him, for he had been in no state to control himself consciously.

  Throwing himself across the bed, Randil at last gave way to feelings that he could no longer push from his mind. His attempts to secure the release of Kari and Elana had met with no success; he had come up against a blank wall. The phone calls had achieved nothing, and the guards at the door of his suite had politely but firmly declined to let him contact anybody in person. What Elana had told him was true: The only way to keep Commander Feric’s threat from being carried out was to destroy the ship. So there was no choice! He had brought unspeakable pain to Kari, whom he loved, and at all costs he must save her from the still worse torment—and perhaps death—that was in store for her.

  Weak with delayed reaction, he wondered if, having once lost his artificial self-possession, he would be able to muster enough poise to take the necessary steps. The recollection of the morning’s ordeal was fast overpowering him. Kari … those harrowing screams … and in between, what must she have been thinking? She had not looked at him with hatred; but then, she would have had no suspicion that any act of his was responsible for her arrest. Elana would surely have told her that his apparent friendship with the authorities, as well as his claim to be Jutan, was a ruse. No, the only hatred in that room had been in him. He had hated the Commander during those excruciating hours; he had even hated Elana for her stubborn silence and her all-too-successful endeavor to blackmail him into obeying her orders. Randil had never experienced hate before. He had not thought himself capable of sinking to that level, and the discovery revolted him.

  Nor had he believed himself capable of succumbing to an impulse to go against his conscience. He was unfit to be an agent, he thought despairingly, unfit not because his action had harmed Kari but because he couldn’t bear that fact. There was no choice about vaporizing the ship, he had just told himself! He, who had been so sure of his own moral strength, was ready to commit murder in order to save her; he was willing to abandon his effort to help Toris simply because he was incapable of watching her die! If that wasn’t breaking the Oath, what was? To go back on his decision to give the Torisians that landing craft would certainly be to place a personal consideration ahead of the planet’s welfare.

  He had never questioned his ability to live up to the Oath. He had violated the letter but not the spirit of it; in all his sober reflections on its demands, not once had it occurred to him that he could be put to a test that he would fail.

  Elana, he knew, had not failed. She had really thought she was serving Toris’s best interests, and she too had suffered with Kari; the interrogator’s analysis of her had been all too perceptive. He had hit upon the one way in which she could be deeply hurt. Though Randil had raged against her in his heart, even at the time he had realized that his anger was unfair. Elana hadn’t been blackmailing him. If she could have spared Kari, she would have done so; only her belief that the ship would be used for bombing had kept her from it.

  Randil stood up and paced across the room, driven by a burst of renewed resolution. Was he less courageous than Elana? To destroy the ship would be easy now, and it would be justifiable too, for he would simply be following orders. But he did have a choice, after all. The choice was suffering for Kari, and consequently for himself, balanced against the probable extinction of a whole human race. His course was still clear: Since only space colonization could divert the Torisians from war, they must keep the spaceship he had given them.

  Yet Elana had faced the same choice and had felt her course to be equally clear. She was sure that the ship would not divert the Torisians but would instead precipitate the very war he was trying to prevent. Out of Randil’s new knowledge of his own fallibility emerged a terrifying—though for Kari’s sake, welcome—idea: Was it possible that Elana could be right?

  Over and over, she had told him that Younglings were less enlightened than he thought them to be. She had maintained that although they were not in themselves evil, they could do evil things. He had not believed it—that is, he hadn’t believed that they could do them deliberately, by conscious intent rather than merely by following their primitive but well-established customs.

  But that had been before he had received a demonstration.

  Take an honest look at what’s happening she had advised him. Decide what sort of values these men have. All at once, in a breakthrough of anguished awareness, Randil understood what she had meant. He understood that men who could do what they were doing to Kari were not so peace-loving as he had supposed. Those particular men weren’t, no matter how the rest of their people might feel. If even a few of those in command were capable of torture, mightn’t they also be capable of starting a nuclear war by cold design?

  And he had thought the Service hypocritical for insisting that intervention could do harm!

  If he hadn’t been shown, he would not have accepted the truth, Randil reflected bitterly. If it weren’t for his desire to save Kari, he might never have been able to admit to himself how mistaken he had been. She had not suffered for nothing; at least his eyes had been opened before it was too late.

  He stood by the window, once again looking out across the twinkling lights of the city he had come to think of as home. There was so much, so very much that he hadn’t comprehended. He’d been a child to judge himself wiser than agents who had met grim reality on countless Youngling planets throughout the universe! From all the worlds he might have learned about in the years ahead, would he have come
to understand that reality, to reconcile himself to it? Would he have come to see the Service’s policy of compassionate but nondirective scrutiny as the only possible means of reconciliation?

  He was already thinking of himself in the past tense, Randil noticed, and so underneath he must have known for quite a while what he was going to do.

  Elana wasn’t aware that destruction of the ship would necessarily involve his death; if she were, she would hardly have issued a direct order to carry it through, for by unbroken Service tradition such orders were not given. Randil was glad she didn’t know. He wouldn’t want her to think it a factor in his resistance, for it was not. He would never have hesitated on that account, even before the question of saving Kari had arisen; and in his present frame of mind resigning himself to death was not difficult. Not that he would choose to die if it could be avoided, but unfortunately it couldn’t. He had been rushed when he had disabled the destruct device, since men were approaching the ship; moreover it hadn’t occurred to him that there might ever be a need to activate it again. He had therefore ripped loose the wires heedlessly, and to repair the proper circuits for psychokinetic detonation would be a complex job that he would have neither the time nor the skill to complete. With luck, he could jury-rig a workable connection, but that connection would have to be made by hand.

  The evening was almost gone; there was no time to waste. Once more Randil phoned the officer responsible for liaison with him. “I would like to inspect the ship tonight,” he said determinedly. “If there has been sabotage, I can surely assist you in locating it.”

  That was impossible, he was told, and it was also unnecessary. He must not concern himself. The ship had been repeatedly searched for signs of damage, and by morning there would be new information to go on. When his aid was needed, he would be informed.

  Appalled, Randil called the officer’s superior. He got no further. There was no chance of his being allowed to visit the ship before morning. Or perhaps ever again, he thought wretchedly. As he hung up, he recalled that in recent days there had invariably been excuses to prevent his being taken back to the well-concealed underground cavern that had been constructed some distance from Cerne. He hadn’t paid much attention, not having particularly wanted to go once he had finished explaining the controls; but he had not been allowed near the ship for almost a week. Were they already refitting it for a mission of attack, in the expectation that Elana would crack before Kari was killed?