Complete Fiction (Jerry eBooks)

by Everett B. Cole

  “I don’t think we can let you do that,” he said.

  Meinora looked at him incredulously. “Now, wait a minute,” he said indignantly. “You can’t do this to me. I’m in this up to here. And I mean to see it through.”

  Sanathor shook his head. “Sorry. No can do. Regulations, remember?”

  “Oh, now look. I—”

  “No, I mean it.” Sanathor pointed a long finger. “You’re a private citizen of one of the systems in the Federation, you know. Of course I realize you’ve been a guardsman, but that has nothing to do with the case. Your present status is purely unofficial.” He shook his head.

  “You’ve made an excellent report on a very nasty situation, and we’re grateful. But you know the Guard’s attitude on junior, system attached citizens who involve themselves in official business.” He spread his hands.

  “It just isn’t done. You’ll have to stay away from Huilon till we get this misbegotten mess cleaned up.”

  Meinora frowned. “But there must be some way. I know that some citizens have—”

  “Only in very special cases. And this isn’t one of those. For one thing, those were particularly difficult cases, calling for highly specialized and developed ability and experience. There was some pretty high-power operation involved and some of the necessary actions were drastic, to put it mildly. And the citizens involved were specifically asked for help by the Guard. For another thing, those were senior galactic citizens. You haven’t achieved that status, yet.”

  Meinora grimaced in annoyance. “I know that,” he snapped. “And I also know I won’t be eligible for senior citizenship for a lot of periods to come. But I do have certain specialized ability, you know. And I’m not precisely a planet-bound citizen, either, despite my status. I’ll just bet it could be approved if you weren’t too lazy to check a few regulations.”

  Sanathor hunched one shoulder up, inclining his head.

  “In a way, you’re right. There is one way you can get into this operation. And you can see it through to a conclusion, too.”

  Meinora relaxed. “Well, why all the fuss, then? Let’s get at it.”

  “Hold up your right hand.”

  “What?”

  “Just what I said. Hold up your hand. As a Sector Department Head, I can swear you back into the Guard. And, due to your prior service and rank, I can offer you an augmented team and assign you to this operation. Of course, it’ll be a temporary appointment, but I’m pretty sure you’ll be confirmed as a permanent, senior team chief when this is all over.”

  “But I’ve no intention of going back into the Guard. And how about my appointment with the University? That’s no answer.”

  “Forget it.” Sanathor waved a hand. “You’ve already ducked away from the University. You told me that yourself. And I know better than to think you’ll go back. Look over the evidence, and you’ll have to concede that point.” He drummed on the desk lightly.

  “You were getting dissatisfied with kicking around aimlessly, just waiting for some student to contact you. So, you automatically headed for a trouble spot. Not only that, but you instinctively acted like the trained investigator you are, soon’s you got the first tiny sniff of something wrong.” He laid both hands on the desk and stared at his friend intensely.

  “You’re one of us, Klion, whether you like it or not. And you always will be. You’ve been a little uneasy ever since you left the Guard. You’ve proved that to me. Now, why don’t you admit it to yourself?

  “Come on. Get that hand up.”

  He got out of his chair and went to a small closet, from which he took his tunic with its brilliant insignia of rank.

  Meinora sighed.

  “Yeah, sure. Oh, well, I suppose you’re right. I just hated to admit it. Go ahead and call your clerk in.”

  He looked down at his right hand, then slowly put it in the air.

  Mardon Dudarik leaned back in the cushions of the ground car, looking around the landscape with approval. They rolled past a wooded valley and he nodded to himself complacently. That, he thought, would make a nice site for his hunting lodge.

  As the road grew steeper, he glanced aside at the car’s driver. Leuris, he told himself, was a useful man. He could be well employed later as an overseer. Dudarik glanced down at his own plain apparel, then spoke.

  “What do you think of this man, Meinora?”

  Leuris took his eyes off the road for an instant. “Very well read man,” he commented. “I should think he would make an excellent brother for the Order.” There was a slight hint of longing in his voice.

  “No,” Dudarik disagreed, “I think he will be better as a Friend of the Brotherhood. Like you, I believe he will take Well to training in spreading the Brotherhood’s word.” He looked at the trees beside the road.

  “I believe, Friend Leuris,” he added, “that we may entrust you with more important work than that you’ve been doing. You may join with Friend Kedrin, I think, and the two of you should be able to work well together in the field.”

  Leuris looked surprised. “You mean, Counselor, that we may work independently?”

  Dudarik nodded judicially. “I believe so,” he said. “You seem to have absorbed instruction in a most exemplary manner. In fact, your knowledge of the principles of the Brotherhood might be termed as superior.” He examined his assistant critically. “We will examine further into the matter and give you full instruction at your home tomorrow. You may invite Friend Kedrin to join us there, just after midday.”

  He resumed his inspection of the countryside.

  It would be nice, he thought, when the difficult phase of the work here on Huilon was complete. Then, he would be able to relax from the rather difficult role he was playing. He would be able to assume his proper station and start organizing his manorial establishment. He smiled.

  As a member of a branch of the Quinbar family itself and, other than the prince, the only possessor of the Imperial blood in this expedition, he would be entitled to second choice of estates when the land was apportioned. And the prince had already indicated his choice. Dudarik shook his head as he thought of that choice. Certainly, if he had his preference, that industrial area would be the last place he would look at.

  But, he realized, the prince had his father’s injunction to follow. He would, of course, be emperor when the planet was at last secured. And the emperor had certain obligations and duties. Dudarik shrugged. He was not so restricted.

  It would be some years yet, of course, but the ships from Jorik would be sent for eventually. And they would come, loaded with the young nobles who would be assigned estates subsidiary to those of the more enterprising pioneers who had colonized the planet.

  The “Brothers” from the retreats would then resume their normal status and they could commence rebuilding the planet along proper, Jorikan lines. Many of the devices and inventions in common use here were unknown on Jorik and could be well used on the home planet. Trade would be excellent. Again, he glanced aside at Leuris, smiling inwardly.

  The man seemed to want the status of Brother in the Order.

  Dudarik wondered what his reaction would be when he found out the true nature of that status. And he would learn. The Jorikan’s amusement grew. Some day, Leuris, along with many others, would be invested with full knowledge of the “Brotherhood of Light,” and would actually attain his wish. By that time, he might not be so eager, but he would become a “Brother.”

  But long before that time the reorganization of Huilon would be complete. It would be a properly run colony of Jorik, with technical knowledge and manufacturing limited to the royal family. And another generation would be ready to move on to another planet, to establish their own colony. Possibly Leuris would be assigned to accompany some other counselor as assistant—that is, if he could be trained in the necessary mental techniques.

  Dudarik’s brows drew together in a slight frown. It was peculiar, he thought, that the natives of this planet had managed to build such a high degr
ee of civilization with no noble class to guide them. He had met no one who could exert any strong mental influence, not even on a fellow native.

  And yet, the planet was highly developed. They had even perfected a version of the Lift of Alerom, so they had ships of the void. Ships, he was forced to admit, which were superior to those of the Emperor of Jorik, though such an admission bordered on sacrilege. Worse, they had other advanced devices and tools, the like of which no Jorikan had ever seen.

  He shrugged contemptuously. Despite their knowledge and equipment, they were a planet of serfs. Why, he thought, even some few of his own serfs had greater powers of mental persuasion than these. And their vast technology appeared to be used only for comfort and easy living. Apparently, they had no thought of going out to govern. He looked about him at the luxurious appointments of the ground car. Yes, they were a soft people, who lived soft lives.

  But that simply made things easier for him, he realized. It had meant that he and his companions—and even some of the more trusted commoners in his crew—had found it simple to sow the seeds of indecision and mistrust. The offer of guidance had been accepted without interference. And soft people, used to soft lives, could be easily dominated. Then, they would become used to less soft lives.

  He smiled as he thought of the ease with which the mental broadcast had been spread over the planet. There had been no opposition or resistance. Each of them had only to stay in a settlement for a short time and broadcast his message.

  “Trust no one, unless he be a Counselor or Friend of the Light. Them, you must follow in complete trust and obedience.”

  And, after assuring himself that all had heard and accepted, he could move on. And the feeling had lasted—even grown. Soon, it was accepted principle throughout Huilon that even close friends must be cautiously watched and strangers must be shunned. Unless, that is, they came as emissaries or Friends of the Light.

  Dudarik shrugged and looked at Leuris again.

  When the time came, possibly men like him could be used in colonization, just as were the lower serfs of Jorik. They could become servitors—Brothers of the Torch.

  The car rounded a sharp bend in the road and glided to a stop before the gates of a large stone and wood building. A Brother of the Torch approached to open the car door, and Dudarik turned toward the owner of the car.

  “We are grateful to you, Friend Leuris,” he said. “If it were not for you and for other Friends of the Brotherhood, who give so freely of their time and substance, the lot of those of us who are humble laborers in the field would be hard indeed.”

  He stepped from the car and walked toward the building entrance, the Brother of the Torch following him at a respectful distance. It would be nice, he thought, to get to his comfortable apartment. There, he could change to more suitable garments. He could lay aside the mask for a time, and relax in comfort.

  As he stepped inside the door, the servant approached him and he turned toward the man. He examined him uncertainly.

  “I don’t recognize you, Fellow,” he said. “Whose retinue—”

  The man smiled coldly at him and leveled a small instrument. For an instant, Dudarik knew agony in every nerve. Then his world became a dark fantasy.

  He awoke in a small, bare room. For a few seconds, he lay, looking at the featureless ceiling. Then, he sprang out of the low cot and strode about, examining his surroundings. There was nothing here. Nothing, that is, except the cot, with its mattress and sheet, the blank walls, and the ceiling.

  There were no sanitary facilities. There was nothing to sit on, other than the cot. There were not even lighting fixtures. The walls seemed to glow with a soft, restful radiance which furnished a shadowless light over the entire room. And there was no door.

  Dudarik strode from one side of the room to the other, then stopped in the center.

  What had happened? He could remember the smile on that strange servant’s face. And he could remember the instant of unbearable pain. Beyond that, there was nothing. Nothing, that is, excepting a vague memory of discomfort and fear. The fear returned, to approach terror.

  Where was he? What was going to happen? What had happened?

  One of the walls slid away and a man in close-fitting, black clothing faced him. He beckoned.

  “Come along,” he ordered.

  With an effort, Dudarik threw off the feeling of terror. He remained where he was.

  “Who are you?” he demanded angrily. “Where am I? What—”

  The man interrupted curtly. “You will find out pretty soon. Come on. The chief wants to see you.”

  “I refuse to move,” Dudarik snapped, “until all this is explained. No one treats a noble of Jorik in this manner.”

  The man shook his head wearily. “You’ll come,” he prophesied. “Now, do you want to walk, or will I have to furnish you transportation?” From his belt, he produced a small instrument.

  Dudarik shuddered. The formless teirors of the dark fantasy started to return and he eyed the instrument fearfully as he moved reluctantly forward.

  “I’ll walk,” he conceded.

  His guide stepped aside. “Straight ahead,” he ordered. “I’ll tell you when to turn.”

  They proceeded along a corridor, turned, and stepped into a shaft. Somehow, Dudarik found himself lifted to another corridor. At his guide’s command, he stepped out of the shaft and walked along the hallway. Finally, he was ushered into an office.

  As the wall slid into place behind him, he stopped, to stare at the man who sat behind the table which was in the center of the otherwise bare room.

  “Meinora! But—”

  “That’s right,” he was told. “Acting Team Chief Klion Meinora, Philosophical Corps, Stellar Guard. I told you I was a teacher of basic philosophy. And I am. You merely made an incorrect assumption as to whom I taught and what methods I used.” Meinora smiled. “You see, we never really lie to primitives. It’s against regulations.”

  Dudarik felt a surge of fury. “Primitives!” he snapped. “I’ll have you know I’m—”

  Meinora waved a hand negligently. “Never mind,” he said. “I didn’t have you picked up and brought aboard for the pleasure of arguing with you. You were brought in because we want information and you have it.” He pressed on the table and a large, clear globe rose from the floor.

  “First, we want the name of your home planet. We want its precise location. And we want navigational data, so we can reach it easily.” The globe darkened and became a star map.

  “Do you actually think I’d give such information to you?” Dudarik sneered.

  Meinora looked at him indifferently. “Certainly. I know you will.” He picked up a thin headband from the table and fitted it on.

  “Mental amplifier,” he explained. “Not really necessary, perhaps, but it’ll make things more convenient—for me.” He slouched a little in his chair, still staring at the prisoner.

  Dudarik found himself forced to move toward the viewsphere. For a few seconds, he struggled against the insupportable pressure on his mind. Then, his defenses shattered and collapsed. He felt sick and dazed, but the information he had been asked for was still clear in his mind.

  He examined the viewsphere. It was unfamiliar, but somehow he found it easy to understand. He gave directions slowly at first, then more surely. As he talked, reference points appeared within the sphere. Lines shot from point to point, shifting as he indicated safe travel lanes.

  Gradually, he came to appreciate the operation of this globe and the extent of the knowledge of those who had made it. A feeling of pride filled him that he could furnish information these beings lacked.

  The star map faded, to be replaced by a global view of Huilon. Carefully, Dudarik pointed out the locations of the various retreats of

  the Jorikan “Brotherhood.” One by one, he described the young noblemen who had come to Huilon as “Counselors” at those retreats. There were a large number of them and he grew tired.

  At last, the ordeal w
as over, and he turned away from the globe. Dully, he allowed himself to be escorted back to his cell. Something, he felt, was horribly wrong. There was something he had done—something discreditable. But he couldn’t seem to remember just what it was.

  His guard explained to him the workings of various devices in the cell. There were, Dudarik found, various points on the walls which could be pressed to produce conveniences and necessities.

  “You won’t have to stay here too long, anyway,” he was told. “We’ll make planetfall at Sector Headquarters pretty soon. They’ll pick you up for treatment there. Then, we’ll take off again.” The guard smiled.

  “Your troubles are over,” he added. “Ours are just beginning. We’ve got a full sized job to do.”

  “Complicated, isn’t it?”

  Master pilot Lor Barskor looked around for an instant, then turned his attention back to the controls. He glanced into the viewsphere, then looked down at his meters. Suddenly, he drew a hissing breath between his teeth and made a quick readjustment of the drive knobs.

  “It’s complicated,” he agreed.

  “Chief, if I’d even thought of something like this when I was a youngster, I’d have paid more attention to my father. He wanted me to learn to play an oboe.”

  A meter needle flickered and Barskor snapped a couple of switches, then readjusted knobs. The ship shuddered and Meinora grabbed one of the safety rails to catch his balance.

  “I must be dreaming,” growled the pilot. “This just isn’t happening. Not to me!”

  Delman walked into the control room, cautiously keeping within reach of the rails.

  “Hey, Barskor,” he said. “Want a relief?”

  “Hang on.” Barskor made another drive correction and both Meinora and Delman grabbed for support. Tire ship remained steady and they looked at each other foolishly.

  “Hah!” Barskor snorted. “First time I’ve made a decent field correction this watch.” He jerked his head to glance at Delman.

  “Take the other console, and ride through with me on the controls,” he ordered. “I don’t dare get up till you’re cut in. Turn this thing loose now and anything could happen.”