A Large Anthology of Science Fiction

by Jerry

  He read relaxed concentration in them—the kind of attitude that’s great, he thought caustically, for a kid trying to work a fairly simple puzzle toy. Here and there he encountered flashes of annoyance, presumably with himself because of his late arrival and the less-than-totally-sane emo-reading they were getting from him.

  Morimet was well aware that he was rattling their sensors with the slam-slamming signal-cry of vengeance—of a mind busy with schemes of mayhem to inflict on an enemy. He had the prestige of his age and his record of service to protect that chronic attitude. Had he been a lesser figure than he was, he would have been pressured long ago into the care of a psych-releaser to get his vengeance-fixation lifted.

  Personally, he considered it a useful attitude to have in the conduct of a war. He wished some of his colleagues on the High Board shared it.

  He sat, and his chair positioned him comfortably at his place along the rim of the Board table. “Please go on from where you were,” he said.

  “We were in the process of reviewing,” said Domler, the chairman. Morimet grunted.

  Domler said, “To sum up, twenty-three years ago the Lontasta Federation apparently discovered a nonhuman, telepathic intelligence, about which we still have only limited information. The telepath is referred to as ‘Monte’, which may be suggestive as to its size. The Lontastans shifted their capital from Nexal to what is presumed to be the world on which the creature was discovered, and which has been named Orrbaune. Again, we have an indication in this that the creature Monte is too massive to travel by warp.

  “We have not,” Domler continued, “been able to obtain direct verification of this information. Our infiltrators have not been able to penetrate to the new capital planet. They are detected by telepathic means as soon as they enter the Orrbaune system.

  “We have learned, however, that the telepath is serving the Lontastan capital as a communication system, on a level far surpassing anything previously achieved. This balanced our previous advantage in personal coordination, obtained when we equipped our people with implanted emo-monitors, and enabled the Lontastans to compete with us on even terms.

  “Then last year the Lontastans finally perfected an implantable emo-monitor of their own. They now have a decisive advantage over us, and we have in prospect nothing of sufficient magnitude to restore the balance.

  “The econo-war, ladies and gentlemen, is in grave jeopardy.”

  This was not news to any of the members. The emotional atmosphere in the chamber darkened slightly toward depression, however, at Domler’s reminder. Morimet’s vengeance pattern slam-slammed even harder.

  “Comments on my summary?” queried Domler.

  Several members eyed Morimet expectantly. He frowned. “Not from me,” he growled. “If somebody will come forward with something new to discuss, all of us might have comments to make. We’ve already hashed and rehashed the status of the war to the point of no return. The question is: What are we going to do about it?”

  He glared around fiercely.

  “Every possibility is being explored,” replied Grayme, a touch of tartness in her tone and a flicker of anger flashing at Morimet. “For example, our exploratory teams are now examining an average of thirty-nine stars per standard day on the mere chance that the Monte-type lifeform may have evolved on more than one planet, and we can find a Monte of our own.”

  Farsit, adjutant of Armed Resort, said slowly, “Also, this Board might seriously consider, in this crisis, the use of overt force. Assuming Monte is a massive living creature, we could produce a high-megaton missile with a prime-field guidance system we are confident could home on this creature. I’m aware that such action would violate the traditions of centuries, but if no other course presents itself—”

  “Well, we do have promising preliminary findings for more conventional approaches,” Domler broke in hurriedly. “It is theoretically possible, for instance, to jam telepathic communications. Effective hardware is still decades away, but—”

  Morimet was glowering. “I said something new!” he snapped. “We’re going down the drain today, not twenty years from now, or not in whatever century we happen to stumble across a Monte of our own! As for bombing that telepath, if it worked at all it would put the econo-war on an unsustainable primitive level. Such absurd crudities as that was what put organized rivalry in such bad odor back in Earth-Only times. We fight Lontastan commerce, not Lontastan landscapes and populations! Besides, they could play the missile game, too, if they were pushed into it.”

  “Your desire for a new solution to our problem,” replied Domler, showing an exasperation-read, “is one all of us share. Unfortunately, none of us has such a solution to offer . . . that is, Radge Morimet, unless you have something in mind.”

  Morimet stared down at the table. “What we need, at a minimum, is a counter to the speed with which the Lontastan Council of Commerce, aided by telepathic communication, can reach command decisions. Presumably, of course, Monte also improves communication at lower government levels, and perhaps in corporation offices as well. But it is the CofC that makes the important econo-war decisions for the Federation, just as this High Board does for the Commonality of Primgran. With telepathic communion, their CofC doesn’t spend years, or even hours, verbally comparing information and opinions among the members, or quibbling over semantics. They communicate, perhaps not instantly, but a hell of a lot faster than we do.

  “And we,” Morimet paused, sweeping the chamber with a disdain-read, “we have us. With our emo-monitors, we’re not as bad as an ancient stockholders’ meeting or national congress, in that we can’t practice concealment and deceit on each other. But we can consume endless amounts of time, as we’re doing right now, while the Lontastans are moving!

  “In short, good colleagues, our problem is in this chamber. What do we do about it?”

  The members stirred uncomfortably.

  “We can throw your criticism in your face, Radge,” replied Grayme. “What’s new about that? We know the limitations that apply to this or any human governing body. As for the absence of concealment and deceit, I wonder if the absence is total here. That yammering vengeance-pattern of yours could conceal a multitude of unrecognizable intents.”

  Morimet grinned wolfishly. “Maybe it does. For example, my intent in bringing up the shortcomings of this High Board was not to enjoy the sound of my own voice. It was to propose that we do something about us.”

  “Do what?” asked Domler.

  “Grayme just mentioned the ‘limitations that apply to this or any human governing body’,” Morimet responded. “She was in error. There is one purely human governing body to which the limitations wouldn’t apply. I refer, of course, to an individual man or woman.”

  Everyone tried to reply at once. Morimet’s emo-monitor hit him with a confusing flood of anger, disgust, and alarm. Then Farsit made himself heard.

  “You object to bombing as a primitivism,” he barked, “and then propose one-man rule!”

  Morimet did not reply.

  Gazing at him coolly, Grayme said, “Let’s keep in mind the purposes of our econo-war. Man as an individual requires a demanding challenge at the group-activity level in order to maintain a cohesive, well-culled social structure that is motivated toward progress. Our war provides that, both for ourselves and for the Lontastans.

  “A key requirement is group activity at all levels . . . that is, teamwork. What would the individual citizen ask himself when he learned the Commonality was being led not by a team . . . by this Board . . . but by an individual? Would he not be tempted to conclude that, if one person was better than a group for governing the Commonality, then he could govern himself on the basis of his strictly personal desires and goals without giving priority to the goals of his society?

  “Don’t forget, Radge, that man is by nature selfish, that self-interest is his strongest drive. That’s a necessity for individual survival. Concern for the well-being of the society of which he is a member is also
present, but it is less urgent and often must be aroused by the blandishments of others. His morale, as a team member, must be encouraged by reasoned explanation and pep talks.

  “Certainly that morale would be dampened,” she concluded, “if he saw the highest echelon of his team giving way to what the ancients called a ‘personality cult’. It would be an invitation to him to pamper his own personality. Thus, we cannot allow the slightest taint of such a cult to enter this chamber.”

  Morimet glanced around to see if anyone else wanted to get some licks in before he replied.

  Then he said, “Such a taint is already present here. I refer, of course, to myself. Any average citizen with an eccentricity such as mine would have been dragged to a psych-releaser long ago, but I, it seems, am a specially respected person. However, that’s a rather quibbling point.

  “I don’t propose that this Board abdicate, but merely streamline itself. I say that decisions which require speed in the making—mainly those involving strategic and tactical matters—be left entirely to one person.”

  “Meaning practically every issue of importance that comes before this Board,” growled Domler. “You’re proposing more than a mere manager.”

  Morimet continued, “The Board would constantly review the actions of this top man, the one we can call the Executive, but would have no authority to interfere with those actions. The Board’s chief authority would be the power to dismiss the Executive when, and if, it found him unsatisfactory. Thus, the Board would remain supreme, essentially, and the Executive would be its tool.”

  The chamber was silent for a moment after he finished. Farsit fidgeted and said, “The concept of delegation of authority is an old one—”

  “I don’t claim originality in this,” said Morimet. “It is an old idea, and a workable one.”

  “For the sake of discussion,” said Farsit, “how would this Executive be selected?”

  “From our own membership,” replied Morimet. “It would be a simple matter to ask the secretary to review the deliberations of this Board over the past five years and identify the member whose stands have proven correct more often than any other member’s. That would be our man, or our woman as the case may be.”

  Another silence followed.

  Suddenly Grayme snapped, “We’re getting way off base here! The whole idea is unacceptable in principle! What good can be served by going into its details?”

  Morimet looked at her. “I’m inclined to agree, concerning the principle,” he said, “but more than a principle is at stake here. The war itself is threatened! That’s a matter of urgent practical concern. We have to act!”

  “Very well, on a practical level,” retorted Grayme, “the conduct of the war requires continuity. It has lasted for over four centuries, and may be needed at least that long in the future. But your suggestion would produce a break in continuity at the end of an Executive’s life. That’s another weakness of the ‘personality cult’. When the personality is gone, collapse tends to follow. At best, this would be sporadic, cyclical leadership . . .

  “I grant that,” Morimet replied testily. “Maintaining continuity will be a problem for future Boards. But the immediate need is to maintain the war in our time. Without it each citizen would, as you remarked yourself, make a cult out of his own personality. The deadly somnolence we’ve witnessed in the warless Halstayne Independency would overtake us all. What do you want for your grandchildren, Grayme, a slightly compromised econo-war, as I propose, or no war at all?”

  She blinked, registering shock. Farsit spoke up. “Chairman, I ask that the secretary be queried as Morimet suggested, with the understanding that this request won’t commit me to his proposal.”

  Domler nodded and pressed a button to put the computer secretary in the Board table into action. A moment later slips of paper were fed out of slots in front of each member’s seat.

  Grayme read hers and laughed dryly. “Were you counting on this, Radge?”

  Morimet wadded his slip angrily and threw it on the table. “I decline to accept the position,” he said flatly.

  Domler remarked, “Maybe we should drag you to a psych-releaser! This was your proposal, yet when you are chosen by criteria you yourself specified—”

  “It’s my age, damn it!” Morimet bawled in annoyance that for an instant broke through his vengeance pattern. “When I said maintain the war in our time, I meant more than the next ten or fifteen years! We need a younger person for the Executive!”

  Farsit nodded slowly. He glanced at his slip of paper again. “The numerical scores of the rest of us are closely clustered, well below your own, Morimet. I’m in second place, but by too slight a margin to mean much. If your age rules you out, and I agree that it should, then our choice of a candidate is not obvious to me.”

  “Well, I don’t insist that the Executive be one of us,” said Morimet. “I’m willing to go along with whatever modifications of my proposal you consider realistic.” He hesitated, then added, “In fact, I know of a young man, a recent infiltration casualty, who might make an excellent candidate, although his motivation is rather shot at this moment.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “His name is Glan Combrit.”

  “Oh, yes,” nodded Farsit, “Combrit. A brilliant record. He was one of your junior execs when you were an active corporate raider, wasn’t he?”

  “He was more than that,” said Morimet. “He wound up running the whole Exchange end of my operation. Since then he’s had a varied and highly successful career, most recently as an industrial espionage agent on several Lontastan planets. And it wasn’t a slip on his part that has him out of action now. Even after the Lontastans got wise to him, it’s to his credit that he managed to elude their goon squads and get home with a reasonably whole skin. He knows the econo-war, and he’s a gifted strategist who can play it by the book or come up with creative solutions of his own. He’s in recuperation on Earth right now. I visited him there a couple of weeks ago.”

  “I protest this discussion, Chairman!” Grayme complained loudly. “It is premature! Nothing has been decided!”

  “Sustained,” said Domler. “The discussion unjustifiably presumes a favorable decision on Morimet’s proposal.”

  Morimet rose from his chair, his vengeance pattern slam-slamming harder than usual. “You have my proposal,” he snorted, “and my arguments in its favor. I’m going home, and let you haggle over it as long-windedly as you like. Maybe you can do that better without my emo present to distract you!”

  He whirled and stalked from the chamber. Once alone, he permitted himself a small grin.

  Outside the building, Morimet glanced up with an old man’s caution for obstacles in his path. The sky was blue and empty. He activated his transport implants and soared upward, on semi-inert mode and propelled by repulsor field.

  His home, on the other side of the planet, could have been reached most quickly by lifting totally out of the atmosphere, making three right-angle minimal warps, and then descending. But he was in no hurry. He had nothing to do at home but await word of the Board’s decision, and he suspected the decision was hours away.

  Besides, he was skittish about warping in the vicinity of a planet. There was too much gas, even ten thousand miles above the atmosphere proper, for warping to be totally safe. That was how he had got stuck in his vengeance fixation. Warp did not take a man out of prime-field space, only out of matter-energy-time space. And every particle of gas carried its share of prime-field—and a man’s mind was itself a patterned, durable prime-field matrix. A man who warped through a too dense wisp of gas could have his mind knocked right out of his body . . . knocked out at a velocity several times the speed of light.

  The trauma of such an experience wasn’t mild. The disassociation of mind and body was not bad in itself; in fact, that was a rather useless trick most any sane adult could do at will for amusement. And whether knocked out in warp or wittingly sent wandering, the mind matrix snapped back into place, as if
from the end of a taut rubber band, as soon as it was permitted to do so.

  The damaging factor about warp knock-out was the sheer speed with which it happened, the sudden recognition by both mind and body of the presence of relative motion of a magnitude both found innately “abnormal”. And worse, this superlight motion was separating them.

  In more respects than one, the experience was more traumatic than death itself. It was, in fact, one of the few types of trauma that a sane adult could not break without the help of a psych-releaser.

  Thus it had happened several years ago that Radge Morimet, indulging himself in a moment of vengeful anger after a minor econo-war setback, had warped toward his headquarters planet . . . and had cut it too close. He had come out of warp in the stratosphere—that is, his body had—while his mind matrix had been knocked away by the outermost fringes of the ionosphere. The ionosphere was no mere wisp of gas; its prime-field was solid. It had stopped his mind matrix cold.

  Reassociation took place in far less than a second, but not before the mind matrix was fixed by shock in the vengeance pattern it was holding at the instant of knock-out.

  But, as Morimet had quickly realized, a touch of unsanity had its usefulness, to a man in a position to get away with it. It wasn’t pleasant or comfortable, either to himself or to others, but for purposes of fighting a war his particular fixation had advantages over sweet reasonableness. It kept his mind on his job, for one thing. Probably it accounted in large part for his “rightness” score being higher than those of the other Board members.

  He took his time going home, riding his repulsor field through the upper stratosphere. It was nearly an hour later before he dropped down on his estate. The local time was about 4:00 a.m., and his house, lawns, gardens and forest were dark and dewy damp.