Sense of Obligation
Page 2
II
Ihjel gave the doctors exactly one day before he went to the hospital.Brion wasn't dead, though there had been some doubt about that the nightbefore. Now, a full day later, he was on the mend and that was all Ihjelwanted to know. He bullied and strong-armed his way to the new Winner'sroom, meeting his first stiff resistance at the door.
"You're out of order, Winner Ihjel," the doctor said. "And if you keepon forcing yourself in here, where you are not wanted, rank or no rank Ishall be obliged to break your head."
Ihjel had just begun to tell him, in some detail, just how slim hischances were of accomplishing that, when Brion interrupted them both. Herecognized the newcomer's voice from the final night in the barracks.
"Let him in, Dr. Caulry," he said. "I want to meet a man who thinksthere is something more important than the Twenties."
While the doctor stood undecided, Ihjel moved quickly around him andclosed the door in his flushed face. He looked down at the Winner in thebed. There was a drip plugged into each one of Brion's arms. His eyespeered from sooty hollows; the eyeballs were a network of red veins. Thesilent battle he fought against death had left its mark. His square,jutting jaw now seemed all bone, as did his long nose and highcheekbones. They were prominent landmarks rising from the limp graynessof his skin. Only the erect bristle of his close-cropped hair wasunchanged. He had the appearance of having suffered a long and wastingillness.
"You look like sin," Ihjel said. "But congratulations on your victory."
"You don't look so very good yourself--for a Winner," Brion snappedback. His exhaustion and sudden peevish anger at this man let theinsulting words slip out. Ihjel ignored them.
But it was true, Winner Ihjel looked very little like a Winner, or evenan Anvharian. He had the height and the frame all right, but it wasdraped in billows of fat. Rounded, soft tissue that hung loosely fromhis limbs and made little limp rolls on his neck and under his eyes.There were no fat men on Anvhar and it was incredible that a man sogross could ever have been a Winner. If there was muscle under the fat,it couldn't be seen. Only his eyes appeared to still hold the strengththat had once bested every man on the planet to win the annual games.Brion turned away from their burning stare, sorry now he had insultedthe man without good reason. He was too sick though to bother aboutapologizing.
Ihjel didn't care either. Brion looked at him again and felt theimpression of things so important that himself, his insults, even theTwenties were of no more interest than dust motes in the air. It wasonly a fantasy of sick mind, Brion knew, and he tried to shake thefeeling off. The two men stared at each other, sharing a common emotion.
The door opened soundlessly behind Ihjel and he wheeled about, moving asonly an athlete of Anvhar can move. Dr. Caulry was halfway through thedoor, off balance. Two more men in uniform came close behind him.Ihjel's body pushed against them, his speed and the mountainous mass ofhis flesh sending them back in a tangle of arms and legs. He slammed thedoor and locked it in their faces.
* * * * *
"I have to talk to you," he said, turning back to Brion. "Privately," headded, bending over and ripping out the communicator with a sweep of onehand.
"Get out," Brion told him. "If I were able--"
"Well you're not, so you're just going to have to lie there and listen.I imagine we have about five minutes before they decide to break thedoor down, and I don't want to waste any more of that. Will you comewith me offworld? There's a job that must be done, it's my job but I'mgoing to need help. You're the only one who can give me that help.
"Now refuse," he added as Brion started to answer.
"Of course I refuse," Brion said, feeling a little foolish and slightlyangry, as if the other man had put the words into his mouth. "Anvhar ismy planet--why should I leave? My life is here and so is my work. I alsomight add that I have just won the Twenties, I have a responsibility toremain."
"Nonsense. I'm a Winner and I left. What you really mean is you wouldlike to enjoy a little of the ego-inflation you have worked so hard toget. Off Anvhar no one even knows what a Winner is--much less respectsone. You have to face a big universe out there and I don't blame you forbeing a little frightened."
Someone was hammering loudly on the door.
"I haven't the strength to get angry," Brion said hoarsely. "And I can'tbring myself to admire your ideas when they permit you to insult a mantoo ill to defend himself."
"I apologize," Ihjel said, with no hint of apology or sympathy in hisvoice. "But there are more desperate issues involved other than yourhurt feelings. We don't have much time now, so I want to impress youwith an idea."
"An idea that will convince me to go offplanet with you? That'sexpecting a lot."
"No, this idea won't convince you--but thinking about it will. If youreally _consider_ it you will find a lot of your illusions shattered.Like everyone else on Anvhar you're a Scientific Humanist with yourfaith firmly planted in the Twenties. You accept both of those nobleinstitutions without an instant's thought. All of you haven't a singlethought for the past, for the untold billions who led the bad life asmankind slowly built up the good life for you to lead. Do you ever thinkof all the people who suffered and died in misery and superstition whilecivilization was clicking forward one more slow notch?"
"Of course I don't think about them," Brion snapped back. "Why should I?I can't change the past."
"But you can change the future!" Ihjel said. "You owe something to thesuffering ancestors who got you where you are today. If ScientificHumanism means anything more than plain words to you, you must possess asense of responsibility. Don't you want to try and pay off a bit of thisdebt by helping others who are just as backward and disease ridden todayas great-grandfather Troglodyte ever was?"
The hammering on the door was louder, this and the drug-induced buzzingin Brion's ears made thinking difficult. "Abstractedly I, of course,agree with you," he said haltingly. "But you know there is nothing I cando personally without being emotionally involved. A logical decision isvalueless for action without personal meaning."
"Then we have reached the crux of the matter," Ihjel said gently. Hisback was braced against the door, absorbing the thudding blows of someheavy object on the outside. "They're knocking, so I must be goingsoon. I have no time for details, but I can assure you, upon my word ofhonor as a Winner, that there is something you can do. Only you. If youhelp me, we might save seven million human lives. That is a fact...."
The lock burst and the door started to open. Ihjel shouldered it backinto the frame for a final instant.
"... Here is the idea I want you to consider: Why is it that the peopleof Anvhar in a galaxy filled with warring, hate-filled, backwardplanets, should be the only ones who base their entire existence on acomplicated series of games?"