The High Ones and Other Stories

by Poul Anderson

  I caught a glimpse of the island lifting before us, and then the plane was jouncing to a halt on the hastily enlarged airfield. Beyond its shacks I could see the little tile-roofed town, and a steep rise of land toward a sallow sky. There are only a few thousand people on Flores.

  Our guards got out ahead of us, the soldiers forming a wary ring about the door while the Secret Service men conferred with the Portuguese officials.

  Langford chuckled. "Stupid sort of thing," he declared. "If Taruz wished to wipe us out, those boys wouldn't make any more difference than putting two extra flies under a descending swatter."

  "There are the Russians," answered Samuels wearily. "They might try, even though this is neutral ground." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I wouldn't trust anyone in this place where you can buy power over all the earth. I'm not even sure that I could be trusted."

  We came out into a cool salt wind and the flustered presence of a small Portuguese colonel. I looked around the field. Several other big planes were sitting at one end. I noticed British and French insignia and the Red Star, and moved a furtive hand to the comforting drag of the gun beneath my armpit. Even as we stood there, receiving voluble greetings in a highly individual English, another speck grew in the sky, circled, and rolled to a landing. Egyptian!

  The eagles gather, I thought.

  "Eef you hentlemen weel to brreak your fast weeth me, please," said the colonel. "Deescussions are not to be for a many hours yet."

  We followed him off the field. A rickety official car took us to a house which may have been commandeered for the occasion, where a very decent breakfast was served—none of the usual Continental café complait this time.

  I didn't have much appetite, but stowed away a sizeable amount, not knowing when the energy might be needed. There was little talk, and it shied clear of the reason we were here. Langford alone came close to the truth when he asked: "How many nations will be represented?"

  "Twenty-three," said the colonel. "A beeg congress, eh, what?"

  "Of course," said Langford, "bidders will be working together—"

  "Hentlemen, please!" The colonel looked distressed. "Eet ees altogether far from my province."

  That was a joke, but I suppose he had his orders. In offering Taruz the island site, Portugal had gone to extreme lengths to emphasize her neutrality. She would not be in the bidding—where would the money have come from?—and she would not permit conferences between delegates outside of Taruz' stronghold.

  I went into the garden afterward with Samuels and Langford. The envoy was nervously chewing on a dead stogie, and the scientist was littering the ground with cigarette stubs; his own hands were yellow from nicotine. Being that rare animal, a non-smoker, I concentrated on keeping an eye out for assassins, but I couldn't avoid hearing their conversation.

  "Are you sure the British won't throw in with us?" asked Langford.

  "Not at first, anyway," said Samuels. "Sir Wilfred represents the entire Commonwealth, you know; that's no small financial backing, what with the Canadian dollar being worth more than ours and all. It'd be quite a feather in his cap, and an answer to all the people yelling about American domination if he got Taruz' services exclusively for Her Majesty."

  Samuels shrugged. "Frankly, I'd just as soon he did. We have nothing to fear from the British, and it'd be a huge saving to us if they paid Taruz. But of course, you know what our own nationalists would scream." He added soberly: "The important thing is to keep Russia from getting those units."

  "I don't like it," said Langford. "Read your history and see what happened to all the world powers once they started hiring mercenaries."

  "What choice have we?" shrugged Samuels. "It so happens that these mercenaries can lick any army on Earth."

  "I still wish they'd stayed away," said Langford.

  "I don't know. All right, so we pay them an enormous sum; but then we're safe forever—for many years, at least. We can relax the militarization which is ruining our whole tradition; we won't have to fear our cities being destroyed, we won't have to listen to those who'd strangle the Bill of Rights in a paranoid spy hunt—no, if Taruz can be trusted, and I think he can, this may be the greatest thing that ever happened to humanity."

  "It's conventional to say that a certain Jewish carpenter was more important than any soldier before or since," answered Langford tartly. "I'm not a religious man, but there's truth in conventions."

  After that, the talk declined. There was nothing they could say, after all. And Samuels was right, I thought; what choice did we have?

  I went over the incredible background of the last three months. The giant ships soaring majestically around the world, hovering above every capital, swamping local radios with a broadcast in seven major languages.

  "We are the free companions of Thashtivar, General Taruz commanding, and we seek employment—" The arrogant invitation to us to do our worst, and the explosion of everything from BB guns to hydrogen bombs leaving those shining metal forms untouched, the failure of poison gas and radioactive dust and airborne virus.

  I was thinking too of the three demonstrations, spotted around the world and open to all who cared to see. In one a good-sized uninhabited island had vanished in flame while all Earth's seismographs trembled, in another our guns and engines had simply quit operating, and in a third men and animals had fallen unconscious before some invisible force in a radius of miles and lain so for hours.

  It was a science as far beyond ours as ours is beyond the bow and arrow, a science which crossed the space between the stars, and it was at the disposal of the highest bidder for any defensive or offensive use he had in mind.

  They must have studied us for a long time, hovering out in space or descending secretly; the perfection of their knowledge about us showed that the very study methods transcended anything we could imagine. Taruz' announcement had even revealed considerable financial shrewdness. He would only consider payment in dollars, pounds sterling, or Swiss francs, the rate of exchange not to be the official one but that prevailing in Tangier—one of the few really free money markets. He and his men must be allowed to spend their pay in any way they saw fit; no sale would be forced, but the contracting government might not forbid it.

  "Why not the UN?" Langford's question was one which had been asked many times, in anguish, by all men who loved their race. "He could have gone to the UN, offered them—"

  "Offered them what?" asked Samuels. "The UN has no army, and who would vote to pay him to set up one? He's not interested in teaching us his own science—probably a good idea, considering how uncivilized we are. He's a soldier, with his soldiering to sell."

  "I know." Langford's face was grim. "I'm only saying what I wish he had done. But I don't suppose we could expect any other planet to hold a race of saints. They have as much right to be greedy and callous and short-sighted as we."

  "What puzzles me," said Samuels, "is why there are such mercenaries at all between the stars. I should think a culture that far along would have outgrown—"

  "I can only guess," said Langford, "but I think that there is no Galactic Union or Empire or whatever—no reason for one. A whole planet at that level of technology would be self-sufficient, little or no cause to trade; distances are too great, and the various races too alien to each other, to need or want a central government.

  "But disputes may arise—relatively minor things, not worth risking an entire world for; so their petty wars are fought by hired soldiers, safely out in interstellar space. Insofar as comparison is possible, I imagine Taruz' culture is rather like that of the Italian city-states during the Renaissance.

  "And because of temporary peace or something, he's out of work, so he came to this barbaric fringe of the Galaxy for any job he could pick up. With his earnings, he can buy portable wealth to take back home and exchange for his own rind of money."

  The slow hours passed.

  II

  Our little colonel took us up to the hill. It was a jouncy ride o
ver a road that seemed to be one long rut; at the top we could look across a metallic curve of ocean to the edge of the world. But we were more interested in the Thashtivarian camp.

  The six great spaceships towered enormously above us, blinding bright in the sun. They clustered near the center of a circle formed by small, squat structures which I heard humming as we approached: generators for the protective force-field, I imagined. Within, there were two long, featureless buildings like outsize Quonset huts.

  At each generator, a soldier lounged, holding a slim-barreled object that must be a gun. The free companions didn't bother with standing at attention, but there was alertness in their eyes. Overhead hovered a smaller craft, on guard.

  "I think—" Langford rubbed his chin. "I think control of gravity, some means of artificially warping space and creating a gravitational field as desired, would explain both their ships and their defenses. The force screen is a potential barrier. Then they can also damp electrical and chemical reactions, perhaps by use of the same principle— A lot of good that does us! We haven't the faintest idea about gravity control."

  Portuguese soldiers formed a wider ring near the base of the hill, and were escorting the envoys to the camp entrance. They'd enforce neutrality if they had to shoot all of us. Officially, of course, Portugal was in NATO, but that uneasy alliance had virtually collapsed, like everything else.

  Other men were getting out of their cars. I recognized Sir Wilfred Martin of Britain, and Andre Lafarge of France, and Yakov Dmitrovich of the Soviet Union. The rest were strange to me, though I knew that some king-sized wheels were here today. My eyes were more on the Thashtivarians.

  There weren't more than a few thousand of them. That fact had pretty well calmed most fears that they were out to conquer Earth. They could have whipped all our armies in the field, but the sheer task of administration would have been too much for that small number.

  I noticed that they were about half female—natural enough, on the long lonely voyages they made, and a woman could handle one of their weapons as easily as a man. No children, and they all looked young, though probably they had some longevity system. A handsome race, startlingly human-like. The main difference was in the straight deep-blue hair, the pointed chin slanting down from high cheekbones, the oblique light eyes, and the yellow skin—not any of the brownish tints of Mongoloid humans, but a dully glowing gold.

  They wore tight-fitting pants, soft shoes, loose tunics under metal breastplates, ridged helmets, and short cloaks, all in colorful hues. When they spoke, it was in a throaty purring language. All of them looked hard, toughened down to the very guts.

  We were a muttering, unhappy throng as we stood at the invisible gate. A Thashtivarian officer approached us and bowed very slightly.

  "Bon jour, messieurs," he said in excellent French. It had been announced that that language would be used at the parley. My year at the Sorbonne was one reason I was chosen for this trip. "Please come with me."

  He led us into one of the huts. It was a single hall, bare save for long soft benches and a row of guards. There were no windows, but the material itself seemed to give off light and the air stayed fresh. At the farther end, facing the benches, was a dais with a kind of throne on it.

  We were courteously shown our places, the delegates of the great powers at the front. There was a miserable time in which we shuffled portfolios and avoided each other's eyes. Then a door opened itself at the end of the hall and General Taruz came in.

  He was tall and broad-shouldered, walking with a litheness that came near insolence. He was very plainly dressed apart from the seven-pointed gold star on his cuirass. His face was long and lean and straight-boned, the eyes pale blue, the lips thin. It was the coldest face I have ever seen.

  He sat down on the throne and crossed his legs, smiling a trifle. The stillness that followed hurt my eardrums.

  "Good day, gentlemen," he said at last. "I trust you have had a pleasant journey. Not to waste any more of your valuable time, let us get down to business at once."

  Taruz made a bridge of his fingers. "I will repeat my terms to make sure they are understood. The Free Company offers its services for ten years to the nation making the highest bid. Payment may be made in not more than three annual installments. At the end of ten years, the contracting nation has the option of renewing for another ten at the same price, subject to adjustments in case its currency has depreciated meanwhile. If it does not take up the option, the rest may bid again. I do not think we will be on Earth for more than twenty years.

  "Our services consist of defending whatever sites you choose and of assisting in any wars you may wage. We will not try to make policy for you; our part is but to serve in these capacities, though I may offer advice to be accepted or rejected as you desire. We will do our best, within the limitations imposed by our numbers and powers; however, I retain command of my forces and all orders to them will go through me.

  "I believe that is the substance of the formal contract we will make. Are there any questions?"

  "Yes!" A Pole stood up. He was clearly frightened, I knew that he was a cat's paw for his Russian bosses, but he spat out what he had to ask. "How do we know you will keep your word?"

  For a moment, I think we all expected annihilation. Then Taruz smiled wider, completely unruffled. "A natural question, sir. I cannot give you references, since the nearest planet of my civilization is a good thousand light-years away, but I assure you that the Thashtivarian Company has always given satisfaction and that we never violate a contract. I am afraid you will just have to take my word. If you are suspicious, you need not bid today."

  The Pole sat down, gulping in a dry throat.

  "Now, gentlemen, what am I offered?" Taruz lounged back, not trying to excite us like a human auctioneer. He knew he had us strung close to breaking already.

  * * * *

  There was another silence. Then Sir Wilfred got slowly up. "On behalf of Her Majesty's government and the British Commonwealth of Nations," he said, "I beg of you, sir, not to set men against each other in this fashion. The United Nations—"

  Taruz frowned. For a wild instant, I thought of drawing my gun and killing him. But it would do no good, no good at all; in fact, he was probably shielded.

  Sir Wilfred saw he was beaten and turned gray. "Very well, sir," he said. "One hundred million pounds."

  Samuels whistled. But actually, I thought, it was a ridiculously low offer. Two hundred eighty million dollars—no, less than that in Tangier—you couldn't fight even a battle for that sum nowadays.

  Andre Lafarge rose, shakily. "One hundred and fifty billion francs!" he cried.

  "In the accepted currencies, please," said Taruz.

  "That is … I will say 500 million dollars … m'sieur." He had to swallow hard to get his pride down.

  "This is a capitalist plot!" exclaimed Dmitrovich. "Your very methods are those of the degraded money-grubbing warmonger."

  "Have you a bid to make, or a lecture?" asked Taruz coldly.

  "Three billion Swiss francs!" At least Dmitrovich wouldn't use that foul word "dollars." I made it about 750 megabucks.

  A dark man in uniform got up. "From Egypt," whispered Samuels to me, "on behalf of the Arab League—"

  I needn't go through the next couple of hours. They were a nightmare, with distorted faces and gibbering voices and the destiny of our world tumbling like a football around the chamber; over the whole mess hovered the chill smile of Taruz, an image of Satan.

  The lesser nations were soon squeezed out. France stayed longer than I had expected; her government must have made the desperate decision to declare all her money freely convertible. Through it all, Samuels didn't say a word. He was a good poker player.

  When Russia, throwing in with the other Iron Curtain countries, offered some four billion dollars, I knew the crisis was on us.

  Samuels got up. "My country," he drawled—odd how calm he was, all of a sudden—"bids four billion, one hundred million dollars!"
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  Wow! The taxpayers weren't going to like that at all. But what price freedom?

  Dmitrovich snarled, and raised us a hundred million dollars.

  Samuels caught the eye of Sir Wilfred, who nodded imperceptibly. His next bid was on behalf of both us and the Commonwealth: five billion.

  Dmitrovich, white and sweating: that much, plus a hundred million more.

  The Italians joined their previous bid to ours.

  Dmitrovich cursed. I didn't blame him. Six billion!

  Langford leaned over to me. "Here's where we separate the men from the boys," he whispered. But his own face was wet.

  Samuels offered six and a half.

  "This is encirclement!" gasped Dmitrovich. "The aggressors are leaguing against the peace-loving peoples of the world!" He turned around and faced us all. "I warn you, the Soviet Union and the people's democratic republics consider this clear proof of aggressive intent."