Manir Kal looked angrily over at the sergeant, started to speak, then looked at his feet.
“Well,” prompted A-Riman.
“He had a body shield, too,” stated Kal.
A-Riman looked at the sergeant, who grinned. “Naturally, sir. Mine wasn’t neutralized, either, but the subject found that out after it got pinked, fainted, and came to on the scout ship. It couldn’t direct his blade close enough to me to find my shield during the little tussle.” He examined his knuckles reflectively. “It leads with its nose, too,” he added.
Manir Kal was stung. “I’m a Galactic Citizen,” he stated angrily. “I object to being referred to as an ‘it’ !”
Dalhos A-Riman looked at him sternly. “You gave up your citizenship when you made planetfall on a primitive world,” he commented coldly. “Now, you’re simply a subject for rehabilitation. You are regarded as being of insufficient competence to speak for yourself.” He waved a hand at Bale. “This one?”
The sergeant made a grimace of disgust. “It runs after females,” he growled. He looked down the line of prisoners. “This one eats,” he added, pointing. “This one, with the aid of a calculator, can solve elementary permutations and possibilities. It fancies itself as a gambler.” The sergeant paused, then pointed again. “Here is the talented one. It can actually land a pleasure cruiser without having a wreck.”
Malon looked at him sneeringly. “I managed to evade you,” he pointed out.
The sergeant was unperturbed. “The subject ship headed in for planetfall after giving a false course plan,” he said. “We could have blasted, but we were ordered not to destroy unless necessary. We have had all five of these subjects under close observation ever since their landing.”
A-Riman nodded. “These are typical Drones?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Some of them engage in other forms of amusement, some show a little more imagination, but these five are typical.”
“I see.” A-Riman stood up. “Take these things out, tag them, and ship them to Rehabilitation. In the future, simply pick up any criminal Drones, ship them to Aldebaran Base with suitable tags, and make out a report. I’ve seen enough of them.” He started for the door. “I’m going to lunch now, sergeant,” he added. “Be ready to report to me with your section when I return.”
The sector chief was half way through his lunch when A-Riman walked into the dining room. With a quick, “By your leave, sir,” the group commander slid into a chair and consulted the menu. As he dialed his choice, Dal-Kun cleared his throat.
“Hate to spoil your appetite, commander,” he said, “but what’s being done about those five Drones?” A-Riman glanced at his watch. “They should be about ready for shipment to Aldebaran by now, sir,” he reported. “The reports are being prepared for submission to your office.” Dal-Kun speared a morsel of food. “Very good, commander,” he started. “I’m—” Then, he looked up. “You picked ’em up in less than one day?” he roared. “What’s been happening for the last half cycle?”
A-Riman shook his head. “I reported the situation to you, sir. The scouts were forbidden to make planetfall until yesterday afternoon. They had their subjects under extremely close observation and were able to bring them immediately they were granted permission to act.”
“I suppose they made a mess on the planet. How long will it take you to clean up and prevent a stir for the planetary historians to pick over?”
“The pickup created very little disturbance,” A-Riman frowned thoughtfully, “but I’m not sure yet about the effects of the Drones’ slay. It may take as much as two tenths of a cycle for complete cover-up.”
Bolsein and Knolu looked up as the sector chief planted both hands on the table.
“Commander,” he demanded, “are you giving me a story?” He looked at his subordinate sharply. “Commander Redendale always insisted that it frequently took cycles to cover up a planetary landing by Guard Units.”
A-Riman nodded his head. “Sometimes it does,” he admitted. “I’d rather not comment on the commander, sir. I inherited some very good people from him.” He touched the side of his face. “So good,” he added, “that they went into this planet without more than ten people seeing them. They staged a minor barroom brawl, picked up their subjects, and were gone without any contact with the planetary authorities.
“I have ordered the sergeant in charge of the section to report to me this afternoon,” he added. “I believe he and his entire section are clue for a commendation on the operation. When I get through congratulating them, I’m going to order them back to clear up the rather unsavory mess our subjects left for them.”
Dal-Kun grunted. “You didn’t inherit anything from Redendale but trouble,” he announced. “Those people of yours either just came in from other sectors or were trained by previous commanders.” The admiral glanced down at his plates distastefully, then punched a button for their removal.
“Redendale was here for less than a cycle,” he continued. “I had him transferred because I wasn’t sure he was the man for the job. Now, I’m almost sorry I didn’t hold him for a Board.” He leaned back, folding his arms.
“I believe, commander, that you said something about some experiments you wanted to make. As long as you can keep up with your routine like this, and you don’t break any regulations, go ahead. Do you need any clearances?”
“Yes, sir,” A-Riman told him. “I need planetfall clearance and at least a three-cycle occupation clearance for personnel on a primitive planet.”
“For what reason?”
“General rehabilitation, sir. The civilization I have in mind is still in its infancy. Observer reports say that it is not a particularly desirable civilization, and I’d like to try a rehabilitation program.
“I feel that this civilization will either destroy itself in the near future, or force us to destroy it within five periods. I feel that, with proper supervision, it can be rebuilt into a useful, law-abiding culture, and one which will be a valuable addition to the Federation.” He placed his hand on the table. “I feel we can do this without changing the basic characteristics of the civilization in question, and I feel that it is our Ethical duty to do so.”
Dal-Kun looked at him thoughtfully. “I’ve read your ‘Fighting Philosophy’,” he admitted, “but this is something new, isn’t it?” He drummed on the table, then looked down the table. “Where are you going to get the personnel?”
“I can use existing CAC personnel for the first few cycles, sir, and possibly borrow a few men from the Fleets. After that, if the experiment shows promise, I will request additional agents.”
“Do you think Operations will hold still for a further personnel requisition? You’re a little fat right now.”
“I know that, sir, but I hope to be able to show the desirability of my experiment before the ten-cycle survey. I should be able to establish a trend in eight cycles at the most.”
“It’ll be intensive work.” The sector chief shook his head slowly, “About four thousand days to make noticeable changes in a planetary civilization which is at least that many cycles old.” He looked at A-Riman searchingly. “Wonder if your people can swing it.” Slowly, he nodded his head, then brought a hand down on the table. “Go ahead, commander. Try it. If you can show me convincing trends within six cycles, I’ll keep the survey people off your back for another ten and let you build a case.” He looked at the three officers for a moment, then abruptly got up and left the room.
Yeldon Bolsein exhaled explosively. “Brother,” he said, “what a bill of goods.” He looked at A-Riman, smiling crookedly. “You better make good, Old Philosopher. If you muff this one, your name’s not even ‘Space Dust’.”
Knolu grinned. “The man’s right,” he announced! “Slip up, and the Old Man’ll feed you to the matter converter in tiny chunks, then he’ll resynthesize you to make a new pair of shoes.”
A-Riman nodded. “I know,” he told them. “I came here to try this, though, and I’m going to do it.”
He eyed the other two seriously for a moment. “If I mess this up,” he added, “the Old Man’ll have to do some delicate filtering to find enough of me to feed the converter with.” He started for the door.
“See you,” he called back. “I’ve got me a job of work to do.”
Quel-tze, high priest of Gundar, Lord of the Sky, stood at the altar atop the temple of Dolezin. He looked skyward, estimating the time needed for Gundar to mount to his zenith, for it was nearly time for the sacrifice. The bright sun shone out of a cloudless sky on the spectacle. The large altar of white, polished stone reflected the light dazzingly, causing the underpriest to avert their eyes from its surface. The shadow of the ring atop the pinnacle of the temple slowly approached the altar.
Quel-tze glanced about him at his priests, making a last minute check to see that all was in order. The five were at their proper stations, their regalia in proper order, reflecting the light of Gundar with the proper glory. One of them held the large golden bowl, another, the long sacrificial knife. The others were properly placed to strap the sacrifice into position with a minimum of lost motion. The high priest looked out over the city, where a sea of upturned faces greeted him. Good enough—all the populace were present.
The shadow started to mount the altar and Quel-tze made a sign behind his back, reaching for the knife with his other hand. A sonorous chant started from the level below and before the altar. The walls of this level, curved into a reflector, projected the chant out over the waiting people, and prevented more than a low murmur to reach the priests of the altar. The hymn to the Sun flooded the city of Dolezin to the exclusion of other sounds.
From the shadowed doorway behind the altar, two powerfully built priests came, holding the arms of a feebly protesting girl. Two more priests followed them. As she looked at the waiting altar, the girl’s eyes widened, and her mouth opened.
“Silence, my child,” instructed Quel-tze. “You are being honored beyond all other women of the city.”
“I don’t want to be honored,” sobbed the girl. “I want to go home.”
The high priest smiled thinly. “That cannot be, my daughter,” he said.
He nodded to two priests bell and the girl, who quickly removed the ceremonial kilt and the heavy breastplates and collar which she wore. They laid these aside and, grasping her ankles, they assisted the two who held her arms as they laid her quickly on the altar. The priests waiting at the altar quickly adjusted the straps to wrists and ankles so that the girl lay helpless on the altar, facing the sky and Gundar. She closed her eyes against the glare and screamed.
Below, the chanting voices harmonized with the scream, the basses weaving a slow, rhythmic pattern with the high, terrorized ululations.
The shadow of the great ring crept slowly along the girl’s body, the brilliant disk of light within it approaching the breast.
Quel-tze raised both hands and gazed upward in a gesture of supplication. Below, the chorus chanted, “Grant, O Great Gundar, that our crops be fertile, that our ventures be successful.”
The disk of light crept to the breasts. Quel-tze brought the knife down in a swift arc, ending at the center of the disk. Then, he made a rapid incision, the blade making a tearing noise as it progressed. The body of the girl twitched, then lay quietly. Now, the chant softened, and was still.
Reaching down, Quel-tze grasped the still feebly pulsing heart of the Harvest Maiden, cut it free with a few skillful slashes of the knife, and held it aloft for a moment before he handed it to one of the attendant priests. He held his hands up once more.
“The Harvest Maiden has gone to the realm of the Lord of the Sky,” he declaimed. “Her pure spirit will assure us of plenty in the year to come.”
A sigh arose from the onlookers below. Slowly, they started to disperse to their homes. On the outskirts of the crowd, an elderly man slowly led his obviously heartbroken wife away.
Quel-tze turned and made his way down the stairs to his apartment. As usual, he felt tired—emotionally spent—after the exhilaration of the sacrificial moment. This girl had been of striking beauty, he realized, but there were plenty of these.
He made a gesture of dismissal to his attendant priests and entered his rooms. He closed the door and took a few steps toward his sleeping room.
“Well,” commented a voice, “our boy’s come to us, all in one piece.” Quel-tze turned to the door, but a man stood before it. He was a large man, dressed in unrelieved black, from which blazed small insignia. In his hand, he held a small instrument. Somehow, the manner in which he held this unfamiliar object made Quel-tze realize that here was a weapon which could easily prevent any effort of his to approach its holder. He turned again.
Now, where before there had been merely a vacant space, stood another man. This one was dressed in the ceremonial robes of the high priest of Gundar—Quel-tze’s robes. He also, held one of the small objects.
“They can’t talk to you here,” this man explained, “so I’m going to stand in for you while you become educated and instructed in your duties.”
It seemed to Quel-tze that the object in the pseudo high priest’s hand glowed for an instant. Then, all became dark.
Slowly, consciousness returned to Quel-tze. First, he was aware of the sounds of conversation about him, then of light, then of the straps which held him in his chair. Angrily, he strained at these bonds.
“You’ll suffer for this,” he threatened. “When I am missed—”
He was interrupted. A man in black uniform came into his field of vision. “Afraid you’re wrong, baby,” he said. “First, you won’t, be missed. Second, your world is far behind us.” He stepped aside, waving to a screen, which lit up, showing small points of light in a black void. “That little one over there,” he explained, pointing, “is your ‘Lord of the Sky.’ ”
He turned again, smiling at Quel-tze. “Third,” he added, “your reeducation is about to begin.” Again, he gestured to the screen.
“Many thousands of cycles ago,” said a calm voice, “suns shone on their planets much as they do now. The planets were hardly more than cinders, but on scores of them were the faint stirrings of life.”
Quel-tze felt a strong mental compulsion which forced him to look at the screen closely, to become part of it, to take up every bit of the offered information and absorb it into his awareness.
On the screen, the field of view narrowed, to show a single sun, with its planets, then one planet gradually filled the screen, its surface details becoming plain to see.
The lesson continued step by step. Quel-tze saw the beginnings of life. He saw the rising of life forms, then the beginnings of civilization. He was fed. He slept. The lessons continued.
Civilizations rose and flourished. Some declined and fell. The voice pointed out the reasons for their successes and their failures. As Quel-tze watched, a civilization reached peaks of technical and mechanical ability almost beyond his comprehension. The people of the planet traveled into space, reached for the stars, then, turning again to their old, internecine struggles, destroyed the results of centuries of slow development in a few short, blazing weeks. A few dazed survivors sadly picked over the wreckage of their once powerful, luxurious world. Their descendants reverted to savagery, then slowly began the laborious climb to civilization. Quel-tze shuddered—tried to shut the images from his mind—but always at the threshold of his consciousness was the almost inaudible, but powerful command: “Learn, for only by learning will you survive.”
On the screen, the civilization was rebuilding, its development accelerating as it progressed. Again, this planet reached to space—successfully, this time. Other solar systems were reached. Interstellar conquest began, and Quel-tze watched the building of an interstellar empire. He also saw destruction, as civilizations crumbled to ruins, then to complete obliteration before the weapons of implacable conquerors.
The tone of the instruction changed. Before, the emphasis had been on the technologies of the subject civilizations. This se
cond phase of his instruction was focused upon the growth of custom, of ethics, and of law. Again, the civilizations were on the march, their legal, ethical, and religious structures laid bare for observation. Cultures were traced, their oscillations—from high, super morality to definite immorality, to high morality again—becoming obvious under the quiet analysis of the teacher. Some of these systems of life led to decline and fall, others to sudden, blazing extinction. Several of them were successful, and were still extant in the galaxy. The basic framework of the Galactic Federation was exposed, and Quel-tze saw how multitudes of worlds, inhabited by varying peoples of widely varying origins, differing physical shapes, bodily chemistry, and mentalities could live in harmony and complete tolerance.
On one world, he saw a quiet, pastoral people, tending to their own business. Here was civilization which was fully cognizant of the high technology surrounding it, but which preferred to pursue its own quiet ways of life. Quel-tze came to the realization that in the eyes of the rest of the Federation, this technically undeveloped civilization was recognized as an equal. In the council, delegates from this world were received with respect when they voiced their opinions. Further, it was pointed out, the people of this world were by no means all indigenous. Numbers of them were natives of worlds far removed in space, and of totally differing original cultural pattern. Quel-tze also noted that in several cases, the ships flitting about in space actually formed cultures of their own. There were Federation members who rarely set foot upon any planet, and then not for long. Yet, these wanderers, too, were regarded as equals. They had their voice in the council, and contributed to the welfare and development of the Galactic Civilization in their own way.
The screen cleared. Again, dead plants circled a brilliant sun. Life stirred. Life forms grew and developed. One of these became predominant and formed a civilization, which slowly grew, rose, and flourished in its way. Quel-tze stirred uneasily. This was a familiar pattern. He examined the ethical structure, realizing that it was very familiar indeed. A religion came into power, superseding the power of state and of the people. The Sun became the “Lord of all Creation.” Ceremonies were instituted, and the priesthood of the Sun gradually took over the reins of actual power, though none outside the temple realized what was actually happening. Quel-tze shook his head. He had seen similar patterns in previously analyzed civilizations, and the result had been invariable—decline, failure, fall or destruction.
Complete Fiction (Jerry eBooks) Page 16
