The Collected Stories

by Earl

  Knight turned to his eldest son.

  “As we’ve decided, Stuart, you’ll stay here in Europe, perhaps for the five months. The tribal-states of America will ratify the Magna Charta without question. But many of the outlying states here in Europe are uncertain, suspicious. Circulate among then, explaining. At the same time”—he grinned briefly—“you’ll be campaigning for yourself as president.”

  Stuart nodded seriously.

  Knight faced his second son.

  “Perry, you and Aran Deen will stay here and continue work on the radio. Also have your staff of technicians begin turning out rails for the railroad across Eurasia.”

  There was a vivid picture in Knight’s mind of a day two years before. Gleaming rails from the east and west meeting, spanning the American continent once again. Union Pacific played for the 50th century. A rattly, clanking little train crossing in record time—at least for the second Stone Age.

  Perry nodded.

  Knight turned again to Lar Tane and Elda.

  “I’m returning to New York, to prepare for inauguration of the World-State. At any time you wish, visit me by plane—if you feel lonesome.”

  It was more than an amenity on Knight’s part. He had felt lonesome in the new world for months, after his awakening, till events had swept him up.

  Elda smiled.

  “Perhaps we shall be lonesome. Will you visit us at times, Stuart?” She flashed her eyes on him questingly.

  “As often as I have time,” Stuart’s voice was low.

  “You also, Perry,” Elda said, with a code of courtesy of her time that made exception to no one. She glanced at him, smiling, “Or does science command complete devotion?”

  “Too much so,” old Aran Deen spoke up. “I have known him to work three days and nights running. He is a young fool.” Shaking his head, the venerable seer subsided into a mumble.

  Knight waved.

  “When we all gather again in New York, it will be at the dawn of the World-State!”

  A moment later, three planes rocketed into the air and soared off into the distance. One to America, one to ancient Vienna, and the last toward inner tribal regions along the Mediterranean.

  Perry watched them vanish.

  “What are you thinking of?” queried Aran Deen slyly. “Green eyes?”

  Perry started, and turned away wordlessly.

  The old seer glanced up in the sky.

  “Young fools,” he mumbled.

  IT TOOK the droning rocket plane no more than two hours to take Stuart a distance of 1000 miles. Three Narticans were with him, as pilot and mechanics. He was visiting a tribal-state in what had once been Italy.

  The pilot arrowed down over the main village. A collection of wooden and brick huts centered around a more imposing structure of rough-cut marble, graced with a crude steeple. The plane landed in the square before the chief’s dwelling, its underjets cushioning it down lightly.

  A crowd gathered swiftly, staring with curious eyes at the great metal bird. They had seen planes before, but only at rare intervals. Before his father’s advent, the Nartican feudal lords had come at times for food and slaves.

  Stuart and his men stepped out.

  The crowd stared in a mixture of awe and wonder. Second Stone Age people they were, hardened by outdoor labors, clothed in rough, baggy woolens. Yet here and there gleamed a metal belt-clasp, or a steel hunting knife, or a chain of iron-filigree around a girl’s throat. Twenty-five years ago, Knight had smelted iron from the oxide-heaps of city ruins. The secret had gone around.

  Pathetic bits of metal, but they marked the dawn of a metal age.

  From the steepled building came the chief and his chieftains. They wore silken sashes around their middles. There had been some trade with Nartica. The dawn, too, of world commerce.

  Stopping before the visitors, they inclined their heads deferentially.

  “Welcome, Lord Stuart, first son of Lord Stirnye!”

  Stuart had never been here before. By word of mouth alone, the “royal” family was known with almost the clarity of television, all over the world. And always the Tribers were respectful. They feared the man who had come from the mighty past.

  Respect they had. But did they understand anything of the new civilization planned? The World-State?

  Stuart nodded gravely, in turn.

  “Chief Ral Harn, of Venz,” he said.

  He had records of all tribes and chiefs. It pleased them to know their names.

  “My table and food are yours,” invited the chief.

  Stuart declined with thanks. Ceremony over, he launched into his mission.

  “Tell me why your tribe, and those hereabouts, objected at first to sending delegates to a convention in America?”

  The chief started a little.

  “It was so far away,” he replied hesitantly.

  “But it was so important,” Stuart pursued. “In the paper called the Magna Charta, my father, Lord Stirnye, gives up rule of Earth. Will your tribe vote for it?”

  STUART watched the man closely. In his reaction might lie important considerations. The chief spoke after an evasive pause.

  “Why is Lord Stirnye giving up his rule? We have never found fault with him.”

  “Because the government of mankind must pass into its own hands.”

  “But who will rule?” the chief asked bluntly. In his Stone Age psychology, there had to be single fountainhead of authority.

  “You and all other chiefs,” Stuart put it as simply as he could. “All the delegates from all the tribes will make laws together, by vote. If I am wanted and elected, I will be the president. Or chief.”

  Ral Harn nodded.

  “That is good.” Then he looked down at the ground. “But all the laws will come from America?”

  That was the rub. Stuart couldn’t blame him. Absentee government, from across an ocean, would instinctively be mistrusted. Nartica had held sway from a distance. Rome too, in the dim past. Stuart made a mental note to think over a yearly change of the government’s seat. Perhaps there could be a dozen Capitols over Earth, each the meeting place of the Congress in turn.

  “No,” Stuart said. “They will come from the hearts of the men whom you tribal chiefs send to law-making.”

  Sheer rhetoric, but it pleased the chief. But still he gave no promise to vote for the new regime. Stuart opened his mouth, then thought better of it. Another form of persuasion remained. He signaled his men.

  From the cabin of the plane they lugged several batteries, and two phones. Stuart handed one to the chief, with instructions how to hold it. A Nartican took the other instrument and walked a hundred feet away, uncoiling the connecting wire.

  “Listen,” Stuart told the chief, waving a signal to the Nartican to talk.

  Ral Harn listened in utter amazement.

  “It talks!” he gasped.

  The crowd around murmured in awe.

  “And you can talk to him,” Stuart said. “Tell him to step to the right.”

  “Step to the right!” the chief bellowed, loud enough to be heard without the phone. Stuart got him to speak in lower tones. In obedience to his commands, the Nartican beyond took three steps forward, waved his right arm, and stood on one leg.

  “Magic!” whispered the chief.

  “Not magic,” Stuart said. “Science. There are many more things—”

  The demonstrations went on. An electric-light bulb was lighted, dazzling even in the daylight. A small electric fan threw cooling gusts of air in the chief’s face. Finally a scratchy phonograph record was played, one of those from Knight’s crypt. The majestic tones of a 20th century symphony rolled over the crowd’s head.

  As his men packed the instruments back, Stuart faced the chief.

  “These are the things of science. There are many more. They will be spread throughout the world. But first there must be the World-State. Will you vote for it now?”

  Glimpse into another world. Had it impressed the chief? His eyes
were shining.

  But his reply was canny.

  “My chieftains and I will give it deep thought. But I cannot understand why Lord Stirnye is giving up his rule!”

  Stuart bit his lip. Back where he started from!

  AT THE next tribal-state, his reception was less cordial. Chief Kor Lugi of Thoom was a loud-voiced ruffian with a defiant air. He came right to the point.

  “No!” My tribe will not vote for the World-State.” His voice was a bellow. “I would no longer be chief, then.”

  “But you would,” Stuart returned patiently. “Your council of chieftains and yourself would still make your own tribal laws. Only certain edicts for the benefit of all Earth will come from the Congress. Like the edict, already proclaimed by Lord Stirnye, forbidding border war.”

  Stuart had touched a sore spot.

  “No border wars!” roared the chief. “That is our business. The crafty Venz people graze their cattle in our fields, thus taking over some of our land. I should have the right to drive them off.”

  “Those things will be straightened out by the World Congress.” Honesty forced Stuart to add, “In time.”

  “And I should wait, while my cattle grow thin.” The chief shook his head like an angry bull. “The quicker way is to gather my young men and teach the sneaking Venz a lesson. A few burned villages would make them think.”

  “Well, why don’t you?” Stuart challenged guardedly. And in curiosity.

  “Because I respect Lord Stirnye.” The burly chief’s tone went down a peg. “He freed us from Nartica. And for fear of him, our bitterest enemies, to the north, have left our borders intact.”

  For fear of Lord Stirnye, magician from the mighty past! Stuart’s own respect for his father went up, for silencing a world of quarrels just by the threat of hidden powers. But did they have no regard for the civilization he was bringing?

  Chief Kor Lugi stared cynically as the mechanical gadgets were displayed.

  “I will have nothing to do with them,” he grunted. “Let Lord Stirnye rule, but let him not change our way of living.”

  Stuart fled from the sheer stupidity of it. The next tribal chief had a new and novel angle of objection.

  “It is a plot to put Nartica in control again,” he accused. “Lord Stirnye has surrounded himself with Narticans. He married one. And you, his son, come with Narticans. No, we will not vote for this World-State—or for slavery to Nartica!”

  Stuart groaned and wondered what fantastic suspicion the next tribe would have. Surprisingly, they had none. They were enthusiastically in favor of the World-State. A cheering candle in the gloom of the second Stone Age.

  But subsequent tribes were again intractable, obstinate. Stuart began to feel like a mad preacher. Was it too soon to bring the Tribers, steeped in their tribal traditions, a mode of self-government?

  Was the Magna Charta a worthless scrap of paper?

  CHAPTER VII

  In Olden Days

  A MONTH passed.

  Stuart returned periodically to the Gibraltar base for fuel, and continued his penetration of tribal-states inland. He reported to his father, by radio, when he felt he had something definite to say.

  Perry tapped out the words for him.

  “Visited most of the tribal-states in southern Europe.” Stuart’s voice was weary. “Some refuse outright to ratify, most are suspicious. Strangely, they see no reason why you shouldn’t continue as Lord of Earth. They seem blind to the idea of a World Congress.”

  Knight’s reply was practical.

  “Stone Age psychology. One-man rule is the only form they’ve known. They forget how many times in the past their separate chiefs have been cruel, ruthless, rapacious.”

  Almost, the clicking code seemed to sigh.

  “Perhaps it is still too early, though I’ve waited twenty-five years. But there must be a World-State before there is world science and industry. Two-thirds of the tribal-states are all we need for ratification. With all of America and Nartica, and half of Europe, we’ll have it. You can swing half of Europe, Stuart.”

  Stuart turned away from the radio with set determination.

  “It is not so easy, is it?” cackled old Aran Deen acidly. “I have often told Stirnye it wouldn’t be. I’ve also often told him Perry—”

  He stopped, peering at the two young men with searching eyes, then shrugged.

  “I’d like to help,” Perry said earnestly. “But I’d be no good. Crowds scare me.”

  Stuart smiled.

  “You’re lucky, Perry. You deal with tangible things. I’m working with the imponderables of human nature. But I’ll swing half of Europe!”

  “Sure you will. And look, Stu.” Perry indicated his experimental apparatus. “Soon we’ll have voice transmission across the Atlantic. When you’re president, you’ll speak to the world, after stations have been set up, without dashing around madly like now.”

  Stuart grasped his younger brother’s hand, suddenly.

  “We’re building a whole new world,” he said soberly. “Nothing must ever come between us.”

  “Nothing will,” Perry agreed.

  Stuart’s voice changed.

  “Any news from Lar Tane and Elda?”

  “None.”

  That wasn’t surprising, in a Stone Age without telephone, telegraph or radio, except for experimental types.

  “I’ll visit them,” Stuart decided, striding for his plane.

  “Green eyes,” mumbled old Aran Deen to himself.

  Green eyes greeted Stuart as he stepped from the plane, three hours later.

  “Stuart!” Elda held out her soft hand. “You have delayed your first visit.”

  Spun-copper hair, ivory skin, eyes that flashed like emeralds—she was outrageously lovely.

  Stuart broke from a spell of staring, pulling his hand away.

  “Not willingly,” he said a little perfunctorily.

  He stiffened in surprise, staring beyond her.

  THERE was bustle and activity beyond the landing runway. A huge squat building at the mouth of the Rhine housed the new powerplant, as on Manhattan. It would feed metals and electricity to northern Europe, eventually. For a year, Nartican machine-parts and technicians had been shuttling from that distant land. But the plant was already in operation! The pumps sucked in sea-water. From within sounded the rumble of machinery. Clouds of steam hissed from vents. Metals and electrical power were being produced.

  “The plant is under production?” Stuart gasped. “A month ahead of schedule?”

  “It started yesterday. My father does not waste time.”

  “But how did he do it?”

  “He’ll tell you.” Elda led the way within a trim brick cottage set off from the workmen’s quarters. It was Lar Tane’s office. With a terse word of greeting, he held up a bar of silvery alloy. One end had been ground to a cutting edge.

  “Our first extraction from the sea,” he said enthusiastically. “Iron is rare in the sea metals. But this alloy of copper, magnesium and aluminum is lighter and stronger than steel.”

  He crunched the cutting edge down on a block of hard wood on his desk. The block split in half.

  “My father’s formula,” Stuart nodded. “He worked it out years ago. But Lar Tane”—he faced the short, stocky man—“how did you get the plant started so soon?”

  “Well, I conscripted more laborers from the surrounding tribal-state. Nelland. I believe it’s called, a curious contraction of the Netherland state of my time. I put them all on a longer shift, finishing the building. The Nartican technicians, too, with their assembling of machine-parts.” His voice was casual. “I believe in getting things done.”

  “I guess you do,” Stuart murmured. He did not quite know how to take it. “But we always found it hard to hustle the average Triber worker.”

  “Simple enough. I promised them metal trinkets. Do you realize that metal is like rare diamonds to these Stone Age people?”

  Stuart knew he was frowning a little
. “We’ve had a certain policy, in drafting the Tribers for our projects. Short hours, no driving, and payment only in useful manufactured goods from Nartica. This Stone Age has no money system—only barter and trade. My father says a money-system must not arise before the World Congress takes control. Those metal trinkets—” Stuart remembered one of his father’s comparisons, of a bygone era. White men trading beads with the Indians, and thereby throwing rocks into the future.

  Lar Tane and Elda had exchanged glances.

  Lar Tane spoke calmly.

  “I’ve heard something of your policy, in the past month, talking with Narticans. I wonder if your methods haven’t been too slow? The telegraph line across Eurasia was once held up for five months, when the Tribers refused to go on with it. You waited patiently till they stopped sulking—too patiently. How can industry be spread at that rate?”

  STUART pondered. It was logic—or was it? Again he remembered one of his father’s impassioned speeches. “I came from a time when all things were forced. A madness lay upon the world. Each nation, or community, or business group madly attempted to outdo the other. Wolflike competition, in all phases of life. That spirit must never rise again. Never!”

  Lar Tane was from a time like that.

  Stuart was suddenly angry.

  “My father will be the judge of that,” he snapped. “Hereafter, you will communicate with him on such matters.”

  Lar Tane stiffened. For a moment a haughty, almost imperious expression came over his features. Elda put a hand on his arm, with a low murmur in the German tongue of their time.

  Lar Tane relaxed.

  “Yes. After all, Stuart Knight is Lord of Earth.” There was a strange undertone in his voice. Then he smiled.

  “Ach! We quarrel over nothing, my young friend. Come, we will leave. You will be my guest for a day or so, at Vinna. I want to hear of your campaigning.”

  “You look tired, Stuart,” Elda said sympathetically, as though attributing his outburst to nerves. “Not physically—mentally. Will you join me in a boar-hunt tomorrow? It’s great sport.”