Dahno nodded.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “So—it’s done. The Guild and the CEOs have started drawing together for mutual support. I’ve got some of the evidence with me—or, rather, the evidence insisted on being taken to you. Both parts of that uneasy alliance between Guild and CEOs are still hoping they can solve this problem while using it to get the upper hand over their partner. So what you’re going to hear is something agreed on by both groups, but which the Guild hopes might also give them an edge, over the CEOs after you’ve been useful to both of them. The person I brought is an old friend of yours. Injected with sleepy-juice of course, so he wouldn’t know where we were taking him.”
“Old friend?” Bleys repeated sharply.
“Edgar Hytry,” said Dahno. “You remember, the Guildmaster who came to see you and arranged the lunch with the Guildmasters in New Earth City.”
Dahno grinned at him again.
“Look cheerful, Brother,” he said. “I’ve given you what you wanted.”
“Perhaps,” said Bleys. “Let’s see what comes of it before we count our winnings.”
“Well, Guildmaster,” he said, some few minutes later when Hytry, now out from under his sedation, had been brought, had had his blackout hood taken off, and been left alone with Bleys. “It’s pleasant to see you again. How are you feeling?”
“Barbarous—” Hytry muttered, blinking at him from the chair into which he had dropped his heavy body without invitation, looking like an angry, just-awakened baby incongruously encased in a middle-aged body. “Chemicals! The word of a Guildmaster is all that’s ever needed—never gave me a chance…”
He licked his lips, sorted his expression back into something like agreeableness, and tried to work up a smile.
“I’m all right—physically—” he said to Bleys, who sat in one of his oversized chairs, opposite. “It’s just the principle… but that’s all right. All right. I just needed to talk to you, and here I am.”
He stopped, as if further explanation was unnecessary.
“Yes?” said Bleys, after a few seconds. Hytry breathed deeply.
“Bleys Ahrens,” he said, in a stronger, more normal voice, “the Guilds are concerned for you.”
“The Guildmasters, you mean?” Bleys asked.
“No, no—” For a moment, Hytry’s face almost lost what progress it had made toward an expression of friendliness. “The Guildmasters are the Guilds, and vice versa.”
“I see,” said Bleys.
“As a result,” Hytry went on, “we’re generally in favor of the speeches and the things you’re doing, and we regret the fact that you were harried by the CEO Clubs to the point where you had to go into hiding.”
“Yes,” Bleys murmured, “I don’t suppose your Guilds have reasoned with them about that. Or are they simply too powerful for you to buck?”
“Certainly not—if we need to. But, in any case, it isn’t exactly a matter of relative power,” Hytry said. “I’ll be truthful with you. There are certain things that are more practical than others—in essentially a political sense, if you understand. They and we share the responsibility for our New Earth. The Guild, therefore, can hardly be expected to put our whole strength on the line for a visiting preacher—”
Hytry interrupted himself swiftly.
“Philosopher,” he said, “—of course, I meant philosopher, Bleys Ahrens. We have a high regard for you in the Guild. We honor and celebrate your point of view, which we feel is like the one we have fought for down the years.”
“I’m gratified,” said Bleys.
“Gratification was not what I was after,” Hytry said earnestly. “What I said was merely a statement of fact. We’d like to be helpful to you; but, as matters are, the situation stands in the way of direct aid from us. Still, we know you need some kind of protection against the CEOs.”
“I’m glad to hear all of this,” said Bleys, “but how does it connect to whatever you came to talk to me about?”
“Well, Bleys Ahrens!” Hytry sat upright in the chair and slapped his knee emphatically. “I’m here to tell you that we’ve been searching for some way to be helpful to you; and finally, I think we’ve found it. It means stretching a point in our structure—in our very First Charter, when the first Guild organization was formed in a little town named Apin, over a hundred years ago. But we’re determined to do it. We’re willing to extend to you the rank and title of Guildmaster.”
He stopped, upright and beaming at Bleys.
“Guildmaster…” said Bleys, with a smiling thoughtfulness.
“Yes!” said Hytry. “It has to be a purely honorary title, of course. You represent no Guild and you have no conception of the duties and responsibilities of a Guildmaster—and we don’t expect you to show them, in any way. You’ll have only the name. But the name, Bleys Ahrens! The name is alone enough to protect you. The CEOs would never dare move against a legitimate Guildmaster.”
He sat back in his chair at last, with the contented look of someone who has labored and done well.
“I see,” said Bleys, nodding. “Of course, to be a Guildmaster would be a great honor. I appreciate your offering it. But perhaps you could tell me what kind of restrictions it would put me under.”
Hytry stared at him. “Restrictions?”
“Why yes,” said Bleys. “I could hardly bear the name without also bearing the obligations, could I? I’d guess a Guildmaster is never just an ordinary person. There would be certain social standards and other things that I’d have to live up to?”
“Well… yes.” Hytry’s face suddenly became solemn. “Over more than a century, that name has earned a great deal of respect, and all of us who bear it are conscious of that respect and act with proper decorum. You would, naturally, have to show the same kind of decorum.”
“Decorum, in what sense?” Bleys asked. “I assume you’re talking about how I handle myself before the public?”
“Well—well, yes!” said Hytry. “But it would involve nothing I’m sure that you aren’t capable of doing. You would want to show yourself as upright, honest, forthright and—ah—fully conscious of the quality and necessity of the Guild. You would appear, I mean to say, as one who is conscious of being a part of the Guild and… well, you know.”
“Including being committed to the Guild’s specific aims?” Bleys asked.
Hytry laughed cheerfully.
“Well,” he said, “we certainly wouldn’t like you to go around talking against the Guild’s aims. That’s only common sense. And, as a matter of fact—well, yes. We’d regard it as only fair on your part if you—not exactly—endorsed the Guild’s point of view and aims, but made it clear that you were, let us say, proud of being an honorary member of our Guilds’ organizations. At the same time, that would be to your advantage, too, of course, since it would make even more clear that you were under our protection.”
Bleys shook his head, smiling.
“Guildmaster, Guildmaster,” he said gently. “Don’t you remember what I said to you at our lunch in New Earth City—that I had to give you people the same answer I’d given the CEOs? I can’t continue to be a philosopher and speak to people out of my own convictions and my own view of the present historic moment, on this world and elsewhere, unless I stay entirely independent. To identify myself with any cause or institution would completely destroy the impartiality of any message that I could give. In other words, much as I appreciate your kind offer, I can’t accept.”
Hytry stared at him for a long moment, with a face showing astonishment giving way to disbelief, exhibited almost to the point of melodrama.
“I can’t believe this,” he said at last. “I can’t believe you’d refuse a chance like this, Bleys Ahrens. Think about it, at least for a while. I don’t like to say this to you; but while I, myself, and certainly a large majority of our other Guild members are strongly in favor of everything you say and do, there are some among us who doubt your good intentions and flunk maybe you’re s
ecretly letting yourself be used by the CEOs to discredit the Guildmastership in the eyes of the jobholders. Also, have you stopped to think how it would improve your political standing on your own world of Association, if it was known that you’d been given an honorary Guildmastership here on New Earth? Our world and yours do a fair amount of trading together, you know. You both buy our manufactured prototypes and hire our engineers.”
“And I hope we’ll do a great deal more of it in the future.” Bleys stood up. “However, I’m afraid that taking time to think about it wouldn’t make any difference in how I feel, Guildmaster Hytry. With all due thanks, I’m afraid, I can’t accept your offer.”
He reached over and touched a stud on the phone unit of the desk behind him.
“Anjo?” he said. “Or, if whoever is in the communications center knows where Anjo is, will you send him to me? I believe Guildmaster Hytry is ready to leave.”
Hytry rose slowly, and with Bleys pacing beside him, walked to and through the door of the office lean-to. They had barely stepped onto the steps outside when Anjo came around the curve of the structure and met them.
“I’ll take over from here, Great Teacher, if you like,” he said to Bleys.
“I’d appreciate that,” said Bleys. “Good-bye, Guildmaster, and thank you again.”
“Some things are trite but also true,” said Hytry, looking at him with a remarkably level gaze. “Believe me—you’ll regret this.”
“That’s always possible,” Bleys said.
Hytry turned away, and Anjo led him across to the first-aid building and through its entrance out of sight.
Bleys was about to turn back into his office when he saw Dahno emerge from the communications building and start toward him. Accordingly, he stood where he was, waiting for the other to join him.
Watching Dahno’s blocky figure plowing toward him through the thin, dry mountain air, his arms swinging loosely at his sides, Bleys found himself intrigued by the fact that, without some other person near him by which his height could be measured, Dahno looked merely stocky. A little more than average height, perhaps, but not much more. At the same time, there was something of a relentless quality about the way he moved, like an armored military vehicle in action. As Dahno grew closer, however, he began to be measurable in terms of Bleys’s own building and those close to it, and his height became more apparent. It had the odd effect of somehow excusing and obscuring the ponderous relentlessness that Bleys had noticed a moment before.
Bleys continued to watch him, musingly, as he came. Dahno had certainly done something very useful and deserved to be congratulated. At the same time, Bleys found himself surprisingly reluctant to do so. In the few moments in which he stood at the top of the steps, he tracked down and uncovered the fact his reluctance stemmed from an uneasiness that, useful as what Dahno had done was, he had gone ahead and done it without consulting with Bleys first.
There was the future to be thought of. Sometime Dahno might—with the best intentions in the world—operate suddenly and silently on his own, like this, again; and that time he might do something wrong, something that Bleys might have foreseen if he had been told about his half-brother’s plans before Dahno put them into execution.
But now Dahno was at the foot of the steps. Bleys smiled cheerfully at him and, turning, led the way inside. They both dropped into chairs, facing each other.
“Well, now,” said Bleys. “You certainly produced some results.”
Dahno chuckled.
“You liked it, did you?” he said. “It just seemed the right time for it. You were busy at the time I thought of it, and somebody had already pointed out that the sandstorm was on the way. I didn’t have time to talk to you first.”
“Well, you were certainly right to go ahead,” said Bleys. “But maybe you’d better check with me if you ever feel like doing it again, even if time is short or you have to interrupt me. I don’t always get around to telling you all of what’s in my mind.”
“Come on now, Bleys,” said Dahno. “You’ll never want to tell anyone all of what’s in your mind—”
“Great Teacher?” It was Anjo’s voice calling from outside the entrance to the office.
“Come in,” said Bleys. Anjo entered, walked up to them and stood. “Sit down. Sit down.”
“Thank you, Great Teacher.” Anjo took a chair. “I imagine Dahno Ahrens just told you. We heard your talk with the Guildmaster over the connection to the communications building.”
“No, he hadn’t.” Bleys glanced at Dahno and raised his eyebrows a little.
“It’s a circuit that was put in, in case you needed to talk to more people than this one structure could hold conveniently,” Dahno said. “No one mentioned it to you?”
“No,” said Bleys. “How do I shut off the connection from this end?”
Dahno reached out to the phone unit on the table not too far from Bleys’s chair and well within reach of the long arms of both of them.
“These two studs,” said Dahno, tapping them in turn with his thick forefinger.
“I see,” said Bleys. He reached out and pressed both studs. They popped back up when he released them into the universal off position. “So the two of you heard my conversation with Hytry. Did anyone else in the communications building listen at the same time?”
“No,” Dahno said thoughtfully. “As I remember, I sent the one man who was there over to the dining hall for coffee, I think. I didn’t know your conversation with Hytry would end quite that quickly. He was still gone by the time you’d finished.”
“Let me thank you, Great Teacher, on behalf of the People of the Shoe,” said Anjo. “As for us, the only thing we ask from you is that you be yourself in whatever way you wish to be.”
“I appreciate that, Anjo,” said Bleys. “Well, were the two of you pleased with what I told him?”
“Just what I expected,” said Dahno, before Anjo could speak again. “But Anjo may have more to tell you.”
“Do you, Anjo?” Bleys turned his attention on the other man.
“Yes,” said Anjo. “I’m sorry to have to say this, Great Teacher, but I don’t think I can keep the radical element in the Shoe completely quiet, particularly if the word leaks out you’re gone—and it seems to me that’s bound to happen eventually within a week or two after you go. Could you give me any specific date on when you’ll be back?”
“I wish I could,” said Bleys, “but it shouldn’t be more than a couple of months, your local time. We can stay in contact by interstellar mail. I can message you from wherever I am; and you can message me back through Ana Wasserlied. You have to remember one thing. What I said to the CEOs and the Guildmasters applies to your People of the Shoe as well. If I take sides—any side—I lose all value as an outside observer. I repeat, it’s the whole human race that concerns me—not any one particular element, faction, or individual in it. That’s the way it must be.”
“I know—you said that,” said Anjo, “and I appreciate it, Great Teacher. But, you know, even given the fastest ship time, it’s going to take days for a letter from me to reach you and a letter from you to come back.”
“That’s true enough,” said Bleys. “But I don’t know anything we can do but live with that situation. With everything else our researchers have been able to do, they haven’t been able to find a faster way. We’ll just have to put up with the delays. Are there any other particular problems you expect?”
“Wiry, are you leaving right away?” Anjo said almost sharply.
“Not yet,” answered Bleys. “What made you think I might be?”
“Just the fact that you said you might leave at any time,” said Anjo. “Also, right now things are sensitive”—his voice became a little bitter—“but then, they’re going to be sensitive whenever you leave.”
“I can guess that,” said Bleys. “But, again, there’s nothing I can do about it except leave you with as many speeches as possible. Play them at the rate of one a week, and they should have someth
ing of a calming effect—on the mass of your people—anyway. I’ve tried to make them so that they’ll give your People of the Shoe reason to wait and see what develops. I’ve also promised repeatedly in the speeches that I’ll be back. Were you thinking things might explode the minute I’m gone, if I don’t give a return date?”
Anjo sat silent for a moment. “No,” he said slowly, at last, “not right off, anyway.”
“That’s good,” said Bleys. “Because, as I say, I can’t promise any particular date. It depends on too many things. You can tell your people, if you like, that I told you privately I expected to be back in two months. But don’t ask me to confirm it. Why don’t you spread that word, at least among your People of the Shoe?”
Anjo looked at him starkly for a long moment before he spoke.
“I wasn’t going to tell you this just yet,” he said at last, slowly. “But it has been reported to me by our people, both in the Guild and the CEOs, that those two groups already believe that you’ve set in motion the beginnings of a worldwide revolution against them. They’re planning to anticipate that by hiring up to fifty thousand Friendly troops from your Association and Harmony. I didn’t say anything about it yet to you because I didn’t know any of the details and wasn’t able to tell you that it was something that was already not only decided upon but under way. But I think it’s as good as settled. Officially, it will be the CEOs alone who are making the contract—just like a worldwide production contract. Like with Cassida. Anyway, they’re going to start hiring the troops without waiting. And if they bring in even a few thousand of those, this world is absolutely going to be ripe for an uprising, all the jobholders against them both.”
Bleys broke into a laugh—a comparison with his feeling about the sandstorm had come to mind—even Dahno stared at him.
Anjo looked at him with something very like suspicion.
“Did you know that was going to happen?” he asked.
“No. No—it’s just that this troop business must have been behind Hytry’s offer just now,” he said. “Of course, hiring troops like that was inevitable. I expected it sooner or later; and I believe you about the effect it’ll have, once even the first contingent of them gets here. You should have told me this first, Anjo, before sending Hytry in to talk to me.”
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