Victory

by Lester Del Rey

  V

  Duke O'Neill found a corner of the lounge where no Earthman was nearand dropped down with the magazine and papers, trying to catch up onthe currents of the universe as they affected the six hundred connectedworlds. Most of the articles related to Earth alone, and he skippedthem. He found one on the set-up of the Outer Federation finally. Thehumanoid planets there were in a pocket of alien worlds, and union hadbeen almost automatic. It was still loose, but it seemed to have soundenough a basis.

  If Earth had been willing to come out of its shell and risk some of itsfat trading profits, there could have been an even stronger union thatwould have driven war-like thoughts out of the minds of all the aliens.

  Instead, she seemed to be equally interested in building up herpotential enemies and ruining her friends. Duke had watched a showingof new films on the work being done on Throm the night before, and hewas still sick from it. Throm had lost the war, but by a militarydefeat, not by thirty-one unprotected raids on all her surface. Shestill had landing fields equipped for Earth ships, and the bigfreighters were dropping down regularly, spewing out foods, equipmentand even heavy machinery for her rebuilding. Throm was already on theroad back. Meloa had to wait until she could pull herself up enough tobuild fields.

  Duke turned his eyes to the port. The ship had stopped at Clovis on theway back to Earth. From where he sat, he could see almost Earth-likeskyscrapers stretching up in a great city. The landing field was huge,and there were rows on rows of factories building more of thefreighters that stubbed the field.

  It seemed impossible, when he remembered that only forty years hadpassed since Djamboula's suicide raid had finally defeated the fungoidcreatures of the planet and since the survivors' vows to repay allEarthmen for their defeat. They were a prolific race, of course--butwithout help from Earth, the factories would be shacks and the rocketsand high-drive ships would be only memories.

  He wondered how many were cursing their ancestors for making themistake of attacking a neighboring humanoid planet instead of Earth,only two days away on high drive. By now, they knew that Earth wasdefenseless. And yet, they seemed content to go on with their vowsforgotten. Duke couldn't believe it. Down underground, beyond Earthinspection, they could have vast stockpiles of weapons, ready toinstall in their ships within days.

  How could Earth risk it, unless she had her own stock of hidden shipsand weapons? Yet if she did, he was sure that it would have beenimpossible not to use them in defense of the colony of Cathay.

  He stared out, watching the crewmen mixing with the repulsive aliennatives, laughing as they worked side by side. There must be somefactor he didn't understand, but he'd never found it--nor did he knowanyone who had guessed it.

  He stirred, uncomfortable with his own thoughts. But it wasn't fear forEarth that bothered him. It was simply that sooner or later some alienrace would risk whatever unknown power the others feared. If the alienswon, the vast potential power of Earth would then be turned against allthe humanoid races of the universe. Humanity could be driven from thegalaxy.

  He turned the pages, idly glancing at the headlines. It was hard torealize that the paper wasn't right off the presses of Earth; it musthave been brought out to Clovis on the latest ship. He checked thedate, and frowned in surprise. According to the rough calendar he'dkept, it was the current date. Somewhere he must have lost track of twodays. How much else had he lost sight of during the long years of war?

  A diagram caught his attention almost at once as he turned to anothermagazine. It was of a behemoth ship, bigger than any he had ever seen,and built like the dream of a battleship, though it was listed as afreighter. He scanned it, mentally converting it. With a few like that,Meloa could have won during the first year.

  Then he swore as he saw it was part of an article on the progress ofsome alien world known as Sugfarth--by the article, a world of formerwarriors, once dedicated to the complete elimination of humanoids!

  * * * * *

  He saw Flannery coming along the deck at that moment, and he picked upthe magazine, heading for his cabin. He'd ignored previous summons onthe thin excuse of not feeling well. He had no desire to talk withEarthmen. It was bad enough to take their charity back to Earth and tohave to stay on the planet until he could sign on with the OuterFederation. His memories were ugly enough, without having themrefreshed.

  But Flannery caught him as he was opening the door to his cabin. Thedirector was huge, with heavy, strong features and a body that lookedtoo robust for the white hair and the age that showed around his eyes.His voice was tired, however, showing his years more plainly than hislooks.

  "Captain O'Neill," he said quickly. "Stop jousting with windmills. It'stime you grew up. Besides, I've got a job for you."

  "Does my charity passage demand an interview, director?" Duke asked.

  The other showed no offense, unfortunately. He smiled wryly. "If Ichoose, it does. I'm in command of this ship, as well as head of theForeign Office. May I come in?"

  "I can't keep you out," Duke admitted. He dropped onto the couch,sprawling out, while the other found the single chair.

  Flannery picked up the magazine and glanced through it. "So you'reinterested in the Outer Federation?" he asked. "Don't be. It doesn'thave a chance. In a week or so, you'll see it shot. And I don't meanwe'll wreck it. They've picked their own doom, against all the advicewe could give them. Care to have a drink sent down while we talk?"

  Duke shook his head. "I'd rather cut it short."

  "Hotheads," Flannery told the walls thoughtfully, "make the best menobtainable, once they're tamed. Nothing beats an idealist who can facefacts. And the intelligent ones usually grow up. Captain, I've studiedyour strategy against Throm on that last drive after Dayole was killed.Brilliant! I need a good man, and I can pay for one. If you give me achance, I can also show you why you should take it. Know anything abouthow Earth got started on its present course?"

  "Dumb luck and cowardice, as far as I can see," Duke answered.

  When Earth discovered the first inefficient version of the high drive,she had found herself in a deserted section of the universe, with thenearest inhabited star system months away. The secret of the drivecouldn't be kept, of course, but the races who used it to build warfleets found it easier to fight with each other than with distantEarth. Later, when faster drives were developed, Earth was protected bythe buffer worlds she had rebuilt.

  Flannery grinned. "Luck--and experience. We learned something from ourearly nuclear-technological wars. We learned more from the interstellarwars of others. We decided that any planet ruined by such war wouldn'tfight again--the women and children who lived through that hell wouldsee to it--unless new hatreds grew up during the struggle back. So wepractically pauperized ourselves at first to see that they recoveredtoo quickly for hate and fear. We also began digging into the scienceof how to manipulate relationships--Earth's greatest discovery--to setup a system that would work. It paid off for us in the long run."

  "So what's all that got to do with me?" Duke asked. He'd heard of thegreat science of Earth and her ability to manipulate all kinds ofrelationships before, spoken of in hush-hush terms when he was still incollege. But he'd quit believing in fairy tales even before then. Nowhe was even sicker of Earth's self-justification.

  Flannery frowned, and then shrugged. "It's no secret I need a good manon Throm, and you're the logical candidate, if I can pound some factsinto your head. I've found that sending an Earthman they know as acompetent enemy works wonders. Not at first--there's hostility for awhile--but in the long run it gives them a new slant on us."

  "Then you'd better get an Earthman," Duke snapped. "You're talking to acitizen of Meloa! By choice!"

  "I hadn't finished my explanation," Flannery reminded.

  Duke snorted. "I was brought up on explanations. I heard men spoutingabout taming the aliens when I first learned to talk--as if they werewild animals. I read articles on how the Clovisem and those things fromSugfarth need
ed kindness. It's the same guff I heard about how tohandle lions. But the men doing the talking weren't in the ring; and Inoticed the ringmaster carried a whip and gun. He knew the beasts. Iknow the aliens of Throm."

  "From fighting them? From hating them? Or from being more afraid ofthem than you think Earth is, captain? I've talked to more aliens thanyou've ever seen."

  "And the Roman diplomats laughed at the soldiers who told them theGoths were getting ready to sack Rome."

  Flannery stared at him in sudden amusement. "We aren't in an Empireperiod, O'Neill. But you might look up what the Romans did to conqueredpeople during the Republic, when Rome was still growing. Captain, I'mnot underrating the aliens!"

  "Tame aliens! Or ones faking tameness. You've seen them smiling, maybe.I saw the other side."

  The old man sighed heavily and reached for his shirt. He beganunbuttoning it and pulling it over his head. "You've got a niceprosthetic hand," he said. "Now take a look at some real handiwork!"

  There was a strap affair around his shoulders, with a set ofcomplicated electronic controls slipped into the muscle fibers. Fromthem, both arms hung loose, unattached at the shoulder blades. Furtherdown, another affair of webbing went around his waist.

  "Only one leg is false," he explained, "but the decorations are real.They came from a highly skilled torturer. I've had my experience withaliens. Clovisem, if you're curious. I was the second in command onDjamboula's volunteer raid, forty years ago."

  Duke dropped his eyes from the scars. For a second, he groped for wordsof apology. Then the cold, frozen section of his brain swallowed theemotions. "I've seen a woman with a prosthetic soul," he said bitterly."Only she didn't turn yellow because of what the aliens did!"

  Red spots shot onto Flannery's cheeks and one of the artificial armsjerked back as savagely as a real one. He hesitated, then reached forhis shirt. "O.K., squawman!"

  The word had no meaning for Duke, though he knew it was an insult. Buthe couldn't respond to it. He fumbled through his memories, trying toplace it. Something about Indians--

  Flannery began buttoning his pants over the shirt. "I'm out of bounds,captain," he said more quietly. "I hope you don't know the prejudicesbehind that crack. But you win. If you ever want the rest of theexplanation, look me up."

  He closed the door behind him softly and went striding evenly up thepassage.

  Duke frowned after him. The talk had gotten under his skin. If therewere things he didn't know--

  Then he swore at himself. There was plenty he didn't know. But thecarefully developed indoctrination propaganda of the top Earthpsychologists wasn't the answer he wanted.

  He'd have to make his stay on Earth shorter than he'd planned. If theycould get to a man who had served under Djamboula and convince him thatClovisem were nice house pets, it was little wonder they could wrap therest of Earth around their psychological fingers.

  Too bad their psychology wasn't adjusted to aliens!