Asimov’s Future History Volume 14

by Isaac Asimov

  He found it, and avoided touching it. His long immersion in it had not increased his fondness for the clinging of its diseased wretchedness.

  Schwartz muttered, “He’s on another floor. He’s talking to someone.”

  “To whom?”

  “No one whose mind I’ve even Touched before. Wait–let me listen. Maybe the Secretary will–Yes, he calls him Colonel.”

  Shekt and Pola looked quickly at one another.

  “It can’t be treason, can it?” whispered Pola. “I mean, surely an officer of the Empire wouldn’t deal with an Earthman against the Emperor, would he?”

  “I don’t know,” said Shekt miserably. “I am ready to believe anything.”

  Lieutenant Claudy was smiling. He was behind a desk, with a blaster at his finger tips and the four soldiers behind him. He spoke with the authority that such a situation would lend one.

  “I don’t like Earthies,” he said. “I never liked them. They’re the scum of the Galaxy. They’re diseased, superstitious, and lazy. They’re degenerate and stupid. But, by the Stars, most of them know their place.

  “In a way, I can understand them. That’s the way they were born, and they can’t help it. Of course I wouldn’t endure what the Emperor endures from them–I mean their blasted customs and traditions–if 1 were the Emperor. But that’s all right. Someday we’ll learn–”

  Arvardan exploded. “Now look here. I didn’t come to listen–”

  “You’ll listen, because I’m not finished. I was about to say that what I can’t understand is the workings of the mind of an Earthie-lover. When a man–a real man, supposedly–can get so low in filth as to crawl in among them and go nosing after their womenfolk, I have no respect for him. He’s worse than they are–”

  “Then to Space with you and your poor filthy excuse of a mind!” fiercely. “Do you know that there’s treason against the Empire afoot? Do you know just how dangerous the situation is? Every minute you delay endangers everyone of the quadrillions in the Galaxy–”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Dr. Arvardan. It is Dr., isn’t it? I mustn’t forget your honors. You see, I’ve got a theory of my own. You’re one of them. Maybe you were born in Sirius, but you’ve got a black Earthman’s heart, and you’re using your Galactic citizenship to advance their cause. You’ve kidnaped this official of theirs, this Ancient. (A good thing, by the way, in itself, and I wouldn’t mind rattling his throat for him.) But the Earthmen are looking for him already. They’ve sent a message to the fort.”

  “They have? Already? Then why are we talking here? I must see the colonel if I have to–”

  “You expect a riot, trouble of any sort? Perhaps you even planned one as the first step in an arranged revolt, eh?”

  “Are you mad? Why would I want to do that?”

  “Well, then, you wouldn’t mind if we released the Ancient?”

  “You cannot.” Arvardan rose to his feet, and for a moment it looked as though he might hurl himself across the desk at the other.

  But the blaster was in Lieutenant Claudy’s hand. “Oh, can’t we? Look here, now. I’ve gotten a little of my own back. I’ve slapped you and made you crawl before your Earthie pals. I’ve made you sit here while I told you to your face what a low worm you are. And now I would love an excuse to blast your arm off in exchange for what you did to mine. Now make another move.”

  Arvardan froze.

  Lieutenant Claudy laughed and put his blaster away. “It’s too bad I have to save you for the colonel He’s to see you at five-fifteen.”

  “You knew that–you knew that all the time.” Frustration tore his throat into hoarse sandpaper.

  “Certainly.”

  “If the time we have lost, Lieutenant Claudy, means that the issue is lost, then neither of us will have much time to live.” He spoke with an iciness that distorted his voice into something horrible. “But you will die first, because I shall spend my last minutes smashing your face into splintered bone and mashed brain.”

  “I’ll be waiting for you, Earthie-lover. Any time!”

  The commanding officer of Fort Dibburn had grown stiff in the service of the Empire. In the profound peace of the last generations there was little in the way of “glory” that any army officer could earn, and the colonel, in common with others, earned none. But in the long, slow rise from military cadet he had seen service in every part of the Galaxy–so that even a garrison on the neurotic world of Earth was to him but an additional chore. He wanted only the peaceful routine of normal occupation. He asked nothing beyond this, and for it was willing to humble himself–even, when it was necessary, to apologize to an Earthgirl.

  He seemed tired when Arvardan entered. His shirt collar was open and his tunic, with its blazing yellow “Spaceship and Sun” of Empire, hung loosely over the back of his chair. He cracked the knuckles of his right hand with an abstracted air as he stared solemnly at Arvardan.

  “A very confusing story, all this,” he said, “very. I recall you well, young man. You are Bel Arvardan of Baronn, and the principal of a previous moment of considerable embarrassment. Can’t you keep out of trouble?”

  “It is not only myself that is in trouble, Colonel, but all the rest of the Galaxy as well.”

  “Yes, I know,” somewhat impatiently. “Or at least I know that that is what you claim. I am told that you no longer have papers of identification.”

  “They were taken from me, but I am known at Everest. The Procurator himself can identify me, and will, I hope, before evening falls.”

  “We’ll see about that.” The colonel crossed his arms and teetered backward on his chair. “Suppose you give me your side of the story.”

  “I have been made aware of a dangerous conspiracy on the part of a small group of Earthmen to overthrow the Imperial Government by force, which, if not made known at once to the proper authorities, may well succeed in destroying both the Government and much of the Empire itself.”

  “You go too far, young man, in this very rash and farfetched statement. That the men of Earth could stage annoying riots, lay siege to this fort, do considerable damage, I am quite prepared to admit–but I do not for a moment conceive them capable of as much as driving the Imperial forces from this planet, let alone destroying the Imperial Government. Yet I will listen to the details of this–uh–plot.”

  “Unfortunately, the seriousness of the matter is such that I feel it vital that the details be told to the Procurator himself in person. I request, therefore, to be put into communication with him now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Umm.... Let us not act too hurriedly. Are you aware that the man you have brought in is Secretary to the High Minister of Earth, one of their Ancients and a very important man to them?”

  “Perfectly!”

  “And yet you say that he is a prime mover in this conspiracy you mention.”

  “He is.”

  “Your evidence?”

  “You will understand me, I am sure, when I say that I cannot discuss that with anyone but the Procurator.”

  The colonel frowned and regarded his fingernails. “Do you doubt my competency in the case?”

  “Not at all, sir. It is simply that only the Procurator has the authority to take the decisive action required in this case.”

  “What decisive action do you refer to?”

  “A certain building on Earth must be bombed and totally destroyed within thirty hours, or the lives of most, or all, of the inhabitants of the Empire will be lost.”

  “What building?” asked the colonel wearily. Arvardan snapped back. “May I be connected with the Procurator, please?”

  There was a pause of deadlock. The colonel said stiffly, “You realize that in forcibly kidnaping an Earthman you have rendered yourself liable to trial and punishment by the Terrestrial authorities? Ordinarily the government will protect its citizens as a matter of principle and insist upon a Galactic trial. However, affairs on Earth are delicate and I have strict instructions to risk no avoidable clash. Theref
ore. unless you answer my questions fully, I will be forced to turn you and your companions over to the local police.”

  “But that would be a death sentence. For yourself tool... Colonel, I am a citizen of the Empire, and I demand an audience with the Pro–”

  A buzzer on the colonel’s desk interrupted him. The colonel turned to it, closing a contact. “Yes?”

  “Sir,” came the clear voice, “a body of natives have encircled the fort. It is believed they are armed.”

  “Has there been any violence?”

  “No, sir.”

  There was no sign of emotion on the colonel’s face. This, at least, was what he was trained for. “Artillery and aircraft are to be made ready–all men to battle stations. Withhold all fire except in self-defense. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. An Earthman under flag of truce wishes audience.”

  “Send him in. Also send the High Minister’s Secretary here again.”

  And now the colonel glared coldly at the archaeologist. “I trust you are aware of the appalling nature of what you have caused.”

  “I demand to be present at the interview,” cried Arvardan, nearly incoherent with fury, “and I further demand the reason for your allowing me to rot under guard here for hours while you closet yourself with a native traitor. I tell you that I am not ignorant that you interviewed him before speaking with me.”

  “Are you making any accusations, sir?” demanded the colonel, his own voice ascending the scale. “If so, make them plainly.”

  “I make no accusations. But I will remind you that you will be accountable for your actions hereafter, and that you may well be known in the future, if you have a future, as the destroyer, by your stubbornness, of your people.”

  “Silence! I am not accountable to you, at any rate. We will conduct affairs, henceforward, as I choose. Do you understand?”

  Twenty: The Deadline that was Reached

  The Secretary passed through the door held open by a soldier. On his purpling, swollen lips there was a brief, cold smile. He bowed to the colonel and remained completely unaware, to all appearances, of the presence of Arvardan.

  “Sir,” said the colonel to the Earthman, “I have communicated to the High Minister the details of your presence here and the manner in which it came about. Your detention here is, of course, entirely–uh–unorthodox, and it is my purpose to set you free as soon as I can. However, I have here a gentleman who, as you probably know, has lodged against you a very serious accusation; one which, under the circumstances, we must investigate–”

  “I understand, Colonel,” said the Secretary calmly. “However, as I have already explained to you, this man has been on Earth, I believe, only a matter of two months or so, so that his knowledge of our internal politics is nonexistent. This is a flimsy basis, indeed, for any accusation.”

  Arvardan retorted in anger, “I am an archaeologist by profession, and one who has specialized of late on Earth and its customs. My knowledge of its politics is far from nonexistent. And in any case, I am not the only one who makes the accusation.”

  The Secretary did not look at the archaeologist either now or later. He spoke exclusively to the colonel. He said, “One of our local scientists is involved in this; one who, approaching the end of his normal sixty years, is suffering from delusions of persecution. Then, in addition, there is another man, one of unknown antecedents and a history of idiocy. All three could not raise a respectable accusation among them.”

  Arvardan jumped to his feet. “I demand to be heard–”

  “Sit down,” said the colonel coldly and unsympathetically. “You have refused to discuss the matter with me. Let the refusal stand. Bring in the man with the flag of truce.”

  It was another member of the Society of Ancients. Scarcely a flicker of the eyelid betrayed any emotion on his part at the sight of the Secretary. The colonel rose from his chair and said, “Do you speak for the men outside?”

  “I do, sir.”

  “I assume, then, that this riotous and illegal assembly is based upon a demand for the return of your fellow countryman here?”

  “Yes, sir. He must be immediately freed.”

  “Indeed! Nevertheless, the interest of law and order and the respect due His Imperial Majesty’s representatives on this world require that the matter cannot possibly be discussed while men are gathered in armed rebellion against us. You must have your men disperse.”

  The Secretary spoke up pleasantly. “The colonel is perfectly correct, Brother Cori. Please calm the situation. I am perfectly safe here, and there is no danger–for anybody. Do you understand? For anybody. It is my word as an Ancient.”

  “Very well, Brother. I am thankful you are safe.”

  He was ushered out.

  The colonel said curtly, “We will see that you leave here safely as soon as matters in the city have returned to normal. Thank you for your co-operation in this matter just concluded.”

  Arvardan was again on his feet. “I forbid it. You will let loose this would-be murderer of the human race while forbidding me an interview with the Procurator when that would be simply in accord with my rights as a Galactic citizen.” Then, in a paroxysm of frustration, “Will you show more consideration to an Barthman dog than you will to me?”

  The Secretary’s voice sounded over that last near-incoherent rage. “Colonel, I will gladly remain until such time as my case is heard by the Procurator, if that is what this man wants. An accusation of treason is serious, and the suspicion of it–however farfetched–may be sufficient to ruin my usefulness to my people. I would really appreciate the opportunity to prove to the Procurator that none is more loyal to the Empire than myself.”

  The colonel said stiffly, “I admire your feelings, sir, and freely admit that were I in your place my attitude would be quite different. You are a credit to your race, sir. I will attempt contact with the Procurator.”

  Arvardan said nothing more until led back to his cell.

  He avoided the glance of the others. For a long time he sat motionless, with a knuckle pinched between gnawing teeth.

  Until Shekt said, “Well?”

  Arvardan shook his head. “I just about ruined everything.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Lost my temper; offended the colonel; got nowhere–I’m no diplomat, Shekt.”

  He felt riven with the sudden urge for self-defense. “What could I do?” he cried. “Balkis had already been to the colonel, so that I couldn’t trust him. What if he’d been offered his life? What if he’s been in on the plot all along? I know it’s a wild thought, but I couldn’t take the chance. It was too suspicious. I wanted to see Ennius himself.”

  The physicist was on his feet, withered hands clasped behind his back. “Well, then–is Ennius coming?”

  “I suppose so. But it is only at Balkis’s own request, and that I don’t understand.”

  “Balkis’s own request? Then Schwartz must be right.”

  “Yes? What has Schwartz been saying?”

  The plump Earthman was sitting on his cot. He shrugged his shoulders when the eyes turned to him and spread out his hands in a helpless gesture. “I caught the Secretary’s Mind Touch when they took him past our room just now. He’s definitely had a long talk with this officer you talked to.”

  “I know.”

  “But there’s no treason in that officer’s mind.”

  “Well,” miserably, “then I guessed wrong. I’ll eat worms when Ennius comes. What about Balkis?”

  “There’s no worry or fear in his mind; only hate. And now it’s mostly hate for us, for capturing him, for dragging him here. We’ve wounded his vanity horribly, and he intends to square it with us. I saw little daydream pictures in his mind. Of himself, singlehanded, preventing the entire Galaxy from doing anything to stop him even while we, with our knowledge, work against him. He’s giving us the odds, the trumps, and then he’ll smash us anyway and triumph over us.”

  “You mean that he will risk his plans, h
is dreams of Empire, just to vent a little spite at us? That’s mad.”

  “I know,” said Schwartz with finality. “He is mad.”

  “And he thinks he’ll succeed?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Then we must have you, Schwartz. We’ll need your mind. Listen to me–”

  But Shekt was shaking his head. “No, Arvardan, we couldn’t work that. 1 woke Schwartz when you left and we discussed the matter. His mental powers, which he can describe only dimly, are obviously not under perfect control. He can stun a man, or paralyze him, or even kill him. Better than that, he can control the larger voluntary muscles even against the subject’s will, but no more than that. In the case of the Secretary, he couldn’t make the man talk. the small muscles about the vocal cords being beyond him. He couldn’t co-ordinate motion well enough to have the Secretary drive a car; he even balanced him while walking only with difficulty. Obviously, then, we couldn’t control Ennius, for instance, to the point of having him issue an order, or write one. I’ve thought of that, you see...” Shekt shook his head as his voice trailed away.

  Arvardan felt the desolation of futility descend upon him. Then, with a sudden pang of anxiety, “Where’s Pola?”

  “She’s sleeping in the alcove.”

  He would have longed to wake her–longed–Oh, longed a lot of things.

  Arvardan looked at his watch. It was almost midnight, and there were only thirty hours left.

  He slept for a while after that, then woke for a while, as it grew light again. No one approached, and a man’s very soul grew haggard and pale.

  Arvardan looked at his watch. It was almost midnight, and there were only six hours left.

  He looked about him now in a dazed and hopeless way. They were all here now–even the Procurator, at last. Pola was next to him, her warm little fingers on his wrist and that look of fear and exhaustion on her face that more than anything else infuriated him against all the Galaxy.

  Maybe they all deserved to die, the stupid, stupid–stupid–