The Florians

by Brian Stableford

  While he spoke he continued to haul on the oars with a steady rhythm. He seemed quite tireless. His voice remained perfectly level and composed. He breathed easily.

  “You arrive,” he continued, “at an awkward time. It is not so long ago—perhaps only a generation—that the rebellion you have touched off could not have happened. For six generations, the measure of a man on Floria was the measure of what he could make with his hands. Everything that a man had in the world was made directly by his own hands, or bought with the produce of his own hands. But over the years this has become gradually less true. What one generation has built, the next has inherited. Needs have, over the years, been supplied...and the means to supply them have been sophisticated to the point at which it is no longer necessary for every man to spend his life making things in order to supply the needs of the people. As we have made our wealth, so we have allowed control of that wealth to pass gradually from the men who make it to the men who distribute it. The power of that wealth can be acquired, concentrated...and the measure of a man changes from what he has made and can make to what he has bought and can buy. And because of this the absolute command enjoyed by the Planners has steadily declined. We are no longer directly responsible for sustaining the life of the colony. The people can live their own lives, supply their own needs. Do you see what I mean?”

  “I see what you’re getting at,” I told him. “At first, life was hard. You came out of your tin cans with nothing but the clothes you stood up in and a few domestic animals. Ever since then you’ve been battling to survive. But now, you’re surviving. You’ve built what you set out to build. Your plans go much further into the future, but people like Vulgan now have the latitude to make their own plans...The devil finds work for idle hands.”

  “Not the devil, Mr. Alexander,” he said gently. “It’s not evil we have to face, but opportunism. What’s happening is quite natural.”

  “Then what makes you think you can stop it?” said Karen. “They never managed it back on Earth. Not in three thousand years.”

  “We began life here with little more than our bare hands,” said Rondo. “But we did not begin as savages. We began as intelligent men and women—the product of a civilization which had equipped our minds, if not our bodies. The first colonists were in a position to learn and recognize not only the value, but the necessity, of cooperation and coordination.”

  “Never mind that crap,” said Karen, lacking in subtlety but cutting to the heart of the matter. “Just tell us how, without the use of force, you intend to put down this rebellion.”

  “We don’t,” he said. “Not in the sense that you mean.”

  “What other sense is there?” she demanded.

  “There’s no reason at all why we should try to stop Ellerich and Vulgan claiming new titles and setting up new structures of government,” said Rondo. “We’re not interested in that kind of exercise. What is going on at the moment is that all the men we have educated on the island—and perhaps half a dozen that we have not—are sorting themselves out into those who are prepared to join Ellerich’s challenge and those who are not. I presume that those who are not will be placed under arrest. In order to be successful Ellerich needs to win the greater number to his own side—but the more he wins the more dilute his cause becomes. The more support he tries to win, the more compromises he will have to make. And he is working, you must remember, with men that we have trained, men that we have tried to infect with our ideas. No matter how many ideas of their own they have acquired, they remain, at heart, our men, accepting our aims if not our methods.

  “The more success Ellerich’s rebellion wins in recruiting supporters, the less powerful will be the force of his own self-seeking determination. We can’t stop this rebellion...but we have been working to subvert it for more than a hundred years. We will allow Ellerich to prepare his demands, and we will give in to some of them from the very start. Then we will begin to talk about the rest. And we will keep talking, preserving and acting within a slowly changing balance of power...for a hundred years, and a thousand. We don’t need totalitarian control in order to direct the course of history. All we need is to preserve something of the monopoly we have on knowledge. That monopoly will be eroded, but very slowly. By the time it has gone completely, it will no longer be necessary.”

  “You’re assuming,” I said, “that the rebels will talk—will permit themselves to become enmeshed in a process of slow change, bogged down in endless argument. Suppose they simply elect to storm your citadel and take control of all the microfilms and whatever that were brought from Earth?”

  “Perhaps they will,” said the Planner. “Perhaps they’ll raze the library to the ground and burn everything—Planners, Plans, and all. Perhaps they’ll restore the innocent and forceful rule of barbarism. But we have to believe that they won’t...that they didn’t come here as barbarians, and that we have achieved something in all these years in predisposing them to talk rather than to burn. Ellerich needs support, you see, and the more support he recruits the more our influence will show in his followers. I don’t think they’ll want to use force.”

  “All the assumptions are very fine,” I said. “But the presence of one committed, desperate man could make a lot of difference. Just one man who is, despite everything you’ve done here, a savage man, determined that his way, and his way alone, is the way the colony has to go. One man could take your carefully balanced situation apart.”

  “Only if he could persuade others to act with him and for him,” insisted Rondo.

  “You have no idea,” I told him, “how easy persuasion can be when you have a gun.”

  “Has Jason got a gun?” interrupted Karen.

  “Has he?” I said, to Rondo.

  “I don’t know,” said the youngest of the Planners. “But you could be right. That’s why we’re going to the mainland. To stop Arne Jason. But not by force. If we can’t win him, then we must win his supporters. He is, as you say, the main danger...one committed man...but he cannot stand alone, armed or not.”

  I only hoped he was right. But if he was so damned certain, why were we here? Why didn’t we just sit on the island and wait for it all to come up roses?

  It seemed that even the Planners—one of them, at least—recognized the power of the unpredictable.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  We made for a point to the south of Leander. Had we gone to the north we’d have had to cope with the outflow of the river as well as the salt marsh. Rondo’s intention was to be as unobtrusive as was practical, coming into the town on foot from the south rather than pulling into the harbor and attracting immediate attention. In the town, we could get horses and ride over the country to the ship. There, we hoped, we might find Jason...and if we failed to find Jason we could at least find out what was happening throughout the colony.

  The young giant was still showing no sign of undue exertion, as he hauled us in to the shore. I took up the lighted candle from the floor of the boat and stepped out, holding it up so that we could see where we were. Rondo moored the boat.

  The shore consisted of moss-covered rocks interspersed with tussocks of coarse grass. There were a few bushes close to the shore, and an extensive wood about a hundred yards inland. We began to walk northward along the shore, making our way carefully over the rough ground.

  We were so careful, in fact, that we walked right into their arms. There were five of them, waiting in line while we came to them. They were carrying no light, but as we reached them one of them lit a small lantern similar to our own.

  “Well, Mr. Alexander,” said Carl Vulgan. “We’ve been expecting you. But I don’t know your friend from the island. And I was never properly introduced to the young lady.”

  I didn’t feel like making introductions. “We should have blown out the damned candle,” I murmured, wondering what Vulgan was doing deploying half Leander’s police force to pick us up. Obviously, Rondo wasn’t the only one who’d remembered our boat.

  “It w
ouldn’t have made any difference,” Vulgan assured us. “We have men up in the tall trees. It’s remarkable how easy it is to see a boat cutting through the sea-shimmer, provided that you know what you’re looking for.”

  “And Jason told you what to look for?”

  “Oh, yes.” Vulgan seemed extremely self-satisfied. He figured that he held all the cards. Maybe he did.

  “So what now?” I asked.

  But he didn’t answer. He was eyeing Rondo speculatively. “My name’s Ewan Rondo,” said the Planner.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Vulgan. “We’ll have to place you under arrest. Anyone, you see, coming from the island is likely to cause us trouble. Unless, of course, you want to join us?”

  “No,” said Rondo, perhaps unwisely.

  “You’re making a mistake,” I told Vulgan.

  “I don’t think so,” he replied.

  “Jason’s trying to use you in exactly the same way that you tried to use me. He hasn’t joined you, he’s trying to take you over.”

  “We all want the same thing,” said Vulgan calmly.

  “Where’s Jason now?” I asked. “In Leander?”

  “He’s negotiating with the people aboard your ship.”

  “And what does ‘negotiating’ mean? Threatening to kill Mariel if the ship doesn’t either open up or get out? He doesn’t realize what’s he’s doing. You need the ship, desperately. You can’t just arrest us and put us out of the way while Jason plays his stupid games. Rolving won’t surrender, but if Jason tries anything silly, like putting dynamite under her, then he might take her up...and she can’t stay in orbit long. You’ve got to let us sort this thing out.”

  “I’ve no intention of placing you under arrest, Mr. Alexander,” said Vulgan. “What would be the point? You came here to deal with the government...and now we are the government. From today, the Planners are effectively powerless. You are completely free to go where you wish...and we will be pleased to provide you with transport. That applies to yourself and Miss Karelia, but not, I’m afraid, to you.”

  Rondo appeared to take this with the utmost serenity. “Suppose I want to go back to the island?” I asked.

  Vulgan shrugged. “If you wish,” he said. “But what would be the point? Unless, of course, you wish to collect the remaining member of your party.”

  I contemplated that, knowing that Nathan would never forgive me if he found out I’d had a chance to go back, and then shook my head.

  “I want to go to the ship,” I said. “I want to make sure Jason doesn’t do anything stupid. And I want to make sure Mariel’s all right—and stays all right.”

  “There’s a train tomorrow morning,” said the police chief. “Damn the train,” I said. “Isn’t there a faster way?”

  “If you can ride a horse. But it’s not a good road to ride at night.”

  “I can ride,” I said. “And I’ll risk it.”

  “So will I,” said Karen.

  Vulgan looked at her, then at me. He seemed amused. He turned to one of the waiting policemen and told him to bring three of the horses. “It seems that the rest of us will be walking home,” he commented, with heavy irony. “But it’s not far. I presume that you have no objection to my allowing one of my officers to guide you? It would be so easy for you to lose your way.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but Rondo cut in quickly and smoothly. “He’s right, Mr. Alexander. Let the officer guide you. I’ll try to sort out matters here. I’ll explain the situation as you explained it to us. Talk to Jason. Come to terms with him. Remember what I said to you in the boat.”

  I hesitated. There was no note of appeal in his voice, nor any attempt to command me. He was leaving it in my hands. He had an awful lot of faith for a man who’d been suggesting not ten hours ago that I was a powerful subversive influence, a threat to the whole Florian dream. Maybe what he was doing would have horrified most of the Planners. Maybe he was a fool. But as he stood there and spoke so evenly, I couldn’t help feeling that we were under obligation to him. For a whole host of reasons, most of which I felt rather than thought.

  “I’ll talk to him,” I promised. “I’ll do what I can. No crowbars.”

  “Thank you,” he said. He might, I thought, have to withdraw that at a later date.

  We waited, while one of the policemen led three horses from the trees. Vulgan told him where the ship was, and suggested a route. His parting words were along the lines of, “See that you deliver them safely.” Then he, with the rest of his men, escorted Rondo back along the shore toward Leander.

  With some trepidation, I approached the gargantuan mount. I couldn’t even get on top of it without help from the policeman. I knew that whatever else came of this lunatic jaunt I was going to be extremely saddle-sore.

  Once the uniformed giant had managed to get us both into the saddle he led us slowly through the trees to the dirt road which cut through the western corner of the wood and extended directly to the south. Once there, the pace picked up to a trot.

  One of the privileges of being a UN biologist is that one is not merely allowed into those areas of Earthly wilderness which are specifically set aside as preservation regions but quite often ordered into them for various reasons. Sometimes it is to investigate by indirect means whether or not their sanctity is being violated, more often it is because they are the only places left on Earth where observational data concerning “natural” processes may be obtained. Everywhere else—including national parks and local conservation areas—the degree of human interference is so great that one can no longer assume that the behavior of species is unaffected by human activity.

  The advantage of having periodically adventured in fully qualified wilderness is quite simply that the only way to travel in such regions—the only way one is permitted to travel—is on horseback. Thus, when faced with the prospect of a long ride through the night along dirt roads, I was not at a loss. The horse was large, but it was good-tempered and was used to being sat upon by a variety of riders. I had no idea what previous experience with horses Karen might have had, but suspected that she was hanging on more by willpower than skill. She gritted her teeth and believed that all would be well, and fate probably lacked the courage to contradict her.

  Our guide did not exactly set a blistering pace, but I was content to take it relatively easy. We had a long way to go, and even if the horses were as tireless as the people they were going to be pushed quite hard enough without being pressed forward at a gallop. In any case, the syndrome which had allowed them to grow large had probably robbed them of any capacity they might have had for real speed. They seemed exceptionally solidly built in the legs.

  The road did not keep a straight course for long but was forced to wind and dip following valleys through the hills where we had earlier sought refuge. It veered right and left, seeking out each tiny outcrop of civilization—villages, and even single farmhouses.

  The night was clear, and the stars shone now in their greatest profusion. Periodically, as we passed through wooded areas, the light would be blocked almost entirely, but even when we could not see our way, the mounts seemed sure-footed and confident. I was shivering with the cold, however, and my hands were numb as they gripped the reins.

  My mind slipped easily back into a mechanical laxity, with my body continuing while my consciousness lapsed into a state of semiawareness. I was like a spring unwinding at a measured rate, controlled by inner tensions. The journey seemed interminable, but never intolerable. Thanks to some of the habits gathered during my lifetime, I knew the value of patience. One can’t be familiar with the needs of scientific observation without learning that things take their own time no matter how much we urge them. It may not always be better to travel hopefully than to arrive, but with practice it is usually easier on the mind.

  In the early part of the journey, our guide (or guard) led the way, but by the time the dawn chorus would have been sounding had there been sufficient Earthly birds imported to the colony, I had tak
en the lead. The policeman had dropped back some way, and only when I stopped because I was doubtful of our direction did he catch up. The reason for this was simply that his horse was carrying twice the load, and was suffering more than mine or Karen’s. I contemplated trying to shake him altogether, and could no doubt have done so, but I saw no point. There was nothing covert about our intentions. In fact, I had a vague suspicion that the bigger the crowd might be when we finally confronted Jason, the better the chance I might have of persuading him that there were no dividends for getting tough.

  We rode into the village from the north just as the sun had climbed above the horizon. We crossed the small bridge over the stream and walked the horses casually past the hall where we had been entertained on our first night down. A number of people were already up and about, and though they stopped to stare at us they didn’t seem particularly surprised. I didn’t see anyone I knew.

  The hall was deserted, but I hadn’t really expected to find Jason or any of his men there. They’d be out at Joe Saccone’s farmhouse, letting the village get on with its everyday business in its everyday way.

  Karen came up abreast while the policeman was still some way back.

  “What now?” she asked.

  “Take it easy,” I said. “I’d like to see Harwin, if he’s around.”

  “Why?” she wanted to know.

  “Moral support.”

  “What makes you think that he’ll morally support you against Jason?”

  I shrugged. “He didn’t like the way Jason took us off his hands. He’s an honest man. I know we’re outsiders, but if Jason intends any dirty tricks, I’d like to have half a dozen honest witnesses around.”

  But Harwin was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t really surprising. He’d probably be getting on with his honest work somewhere out in the fields. I could have located him, but what reason could I give for dragging him away?