Anderson, Poul - Psychotechnic League 23

by The Pirate (v1. 1)

  Trevelyan closed his mouth. He felt hoarse and tired and wanted a smoke, but didn’t dare reach for his pipe under those guns.

  Murdoch nodded. “You read me good.” He chuckled. “Thanks for the Founding Father title. I hadn’t thought of that. Sounds like what I need.”

  “I can’t allow it, you know,” Trevelyan said.

  “Why not?” Murdoch grew curiously earnest. “What’s here, really? A worldful of bones. I’m sorry it happened, but dead’s dead. And they were, well, one more race among millions. What can we learn from them that matters? Oh, I supose you can hope for a new technique or art form or whatever, that’ll revolutionize civilization. But you prob’ly understand better than me how small that chance is. Meanwhile, yonder we’ve got people who’re alive, and hurting, now.”

  “The planet will be opened for settlement, region by region, in due course.”

  “How long is due course? How many’ll die during it, that could’ve lived happier?”

  ‘‘Emigrants arc always replaced at home by fresh births. In the long run, the exact time of migration makes no difference.”

  “Forget the long run and think about flesh and blood.”

  Trevelyan’s anger broke his control. ‘‘Don’t hand me that guff, Murdoch,” he snapped. “You’re about as altruistic as a blast cannon.”

  “And you,” Faustina spat, “you’re a machine. I look forward to killing you—dismantling you!” “Wait, wait, there," Murdoch said. “Ease off and let’s talk sane.” He regarded the ground for a moment before he straightened, faced Trevelyan squarely, and said: “I’ll tell you how it lies. When we knew we were being dogged, we decided to lead you on, because once the supernova got reported, this sector would be swarmed and somebody else might find our Good Luck.

  “You could’ve skitted for home without landing. If you’d done that, we’d’vc made for the nearest human planets to here. We’d’ve rallied a lot of men, transported ’em free, gotten well dug in before you could raise any action at headquarters. It might’ve been enough to stop you from doing anything.”

  “I assumed that was your plan,” Trevelyan said. “On my way back, I’ll visit every Scorpian world and announce, without specifying location too closely, that this planet is interdicted to preserve cultural values. To come here then, knowingly, will justify and require violence by the Service. We do have to maintain the precedent.”

  “What makes you think you’re going back?” asked Faustina. She grinned with hatred.

  “Ease off,” Murdoch repeated. To Trevelyan: “I did hope you’d land, like you have. Waved a large red flag at you, didn’t I? You see, I knew you must have less beef than my ship. Now I’ve got you.”

  “What will you do with me?” the coordinator replied.

  “Well, uh, I’ll admit some of my mates got a little, uh, vehement,” Murdoch said. “But I don’t see any point in killing you. I sure don’t want to. You’re not a bad osco, Mike, for a Cordy. And they can’t have any idea on Earth which way we headed. I’m not about to return there; I’ve done my credit arranging. If they ask me about you later on, why, I never had any notion you were trying to follow me. You must’ve come to grief somehow, and I’m awful sorry. Maybe I’ll use your boat to fake some clues.”

  His mask of bashfulness fell away. He beamed. “Tell you what, Mike,” he said. “Let’s find you a nice island out in mid-ocean. We’ll leave you tools and supplies and show you what’s safe to eat. You Cordys are supposed to be philosophers. You should be glad of a few years for thinking. If you want, I’ll try to get you a woman. And soon’s I can, I’ll flit you to our spaceport we’ll’ve built. How’s that for a fair proposition?”

  Trevelyan savored the breath he drew, the light he saw, the will rising within him like a physical tide. “Let me be sure I understand you,” he said. “Do you seriously intend to maroon me in order that I won’t report the facts of this case?”

  “Too good for you,” Faustina said. “But if Juan’s that tender- spirited, yes.”

  “Do you realize that this involves grave violations of personal integrity?” Trevelyan asked. “Do you realize that it involves direct interference with an officer of the Union in the performance of his duty?”

  Murdoch flushed. “Your duty!”

  “I demand you let me go back to my spacecraft and depart unmolested,” Trevelyan said.

  Faustina snickered.

  “You will not?” Trevelyan asked. He waited. A breeze whispered.

  “Very well,” he said. “I can now testify under brainphasing that you are guilty of attempted crimes sufficient to justify your arrest. Will you come quietly with me?”

  “Have you lost your orbit?” Murdoch exclaimed.

  “Since you resist arrest in addition,” Trevelyan said, “the necessity of applying force becomes incontestable.”

  The guards jabbered, swore, and brought their weapons to bear. Faustina hissed. Murdoch’s hand streaked to his own pistol.

  Trevelyan ostentatiously folded his arms and said: “If my Service does not respect your rights, civilization is worthless. But civilization has rights of its own. I admit I led your thoughts away from my partner’’—he heard a gasp and an oath —“but that scarcely constitutes entrapment. He’s under a roof in this city, on an accumulator-powered grav sled, along with several nuclear missiles. Through a miniradio in my pocket, he’s been listening to our conversation. If you don’t surrender yourselves, he’ll destroy you.’’

  He paid scant attention to the uproar of the guards. His focus was entirely on their leaders.

  Murdoch yanked a transceiver from his jacket to speak an order.

  “Give them a demonstration, Smokcsmith,’’ Trevelyan said.

  No one saw the torpedo rise. It went too fast. Momentarily the sky was bedazzled with hell-colored flame. Concussion smote, not unduly hard from that altitude, but it shook men where they stood and bellowed in their ears. The bones before the temple shuddered.

  “A bit close,’’ Trevelyan said. He was aware that his own body quivered and went dry in the mouth. A remote part of him decided this was an unintegratc reaction and he needed more training. Speech and reasoning mind, though, were steel cold. “We may want antirad shots. I think you’ll agree, Juan, the next can drop right here. Afterward my

  Reardonite friend won’t have trouble picking off your watchmen.’’

  “You’ll be dead, too,” Murdoch groaned.

  “I don’t want to be,” Trevelyan said, “but rather more is at stake than what I want.”

  Faustina whipped around behind Murdoch. She snatched his gun from the holster, flung herself forward and rammed the muzzle into Trevelyan’s belly. “Oof!” he choked. / don't exactly cut a heroic figure, do I? flashed through him. But the beings here only had what dignity they could make for themselves, after heaven's meaningless anger fell on them.

  “I’ll kill you myself!” she raved.

  He knew tricks for knocking the weapon aside and taking it from her. But others were trained on him. He met her eyes, from which the tears went flooding, and said: “If you do, why should my partner not destroy you?”

  Murdoch wrenched the gun from her. She raked at his face. He knocked her down. Panting, sweat a-river on his skin, he said: “What do you want?”

  “If you know something about Reardonites,” Trevelyan said, and saw that Murdoch did, “you realize it won’t bother Smokcsmith to annihilate me along with you. But he agrees it’s undesirable. So is the destruction of this beautiful plaza. Let’s compromise.”

  “I asked what do you want, you devil?”

  “Safe conduct back to my vessel. Smokesmith will monitor me by radio. Your ship will stay put. At the first sign of any ill faith whatsoever, he shoots. At worst, you see, he must eliminate both ships and hooe this world gets rediscovered by someone who’ll respect it. Once aloft, I’ll quickly drop down again and pick him up, too quickly for you to rise. At that point you’ll be helpless, but have no fears. With a head start a
nd a faster craft, I’ll be on the frontier planets before you, issuing prohibitions. No one’s going to follow you when he knows it’ll bring warships down on him. I suggest vou find a place and lie low.’’

  Murdoch beat fist into palm, again and again. For a minute he looked old and hollowed out.

  Then his mirth awoke. “You win this ’un too, Mike,’’ he said. “I’ll escort you to your boat personal. Here.” He offered his pistol. Trevelyan accepted it.

  Faustina sat up. A bruise was spreading on her slim jaw where her lover’s fist had smitten. She looked at them both, through tears and

  matted locks, and was no longer anything except a bewildered beaten child.

  “Why?’’ she pleaded. “Why can’t we have a patent—when w-w-we found the supernova for you? You’d do this—wreck everything— for two, three hundred s-s-special-ists ... and their curiosity?”

  Trevelyan hunkered down before her. He took both her hands in one of his. The other pointed around, ending at the temple. “No,’’ he said most gently. “For these. Have they no rights? That someone shall come to know them, and they won’t be lost from us.”

  But she did not understand. We guard the great Pact, which is the heart of civilization, of society, and ultimately of life itself: the unspoken Pact between the living, the dead, and the unborn, that to the best of poor mortal abilities they shall all be kept one in the oneness of time. Without it, nothing would have meaning and it may be that nothing would survive. But the young generations so often do not understand.