The Wing Alak Stories

by Poul Anderson

  “Yet—such order was a necessity of survival.

  “One way, the ‘safest’ in a short-term sense, would have been for a powerful system, say Sol, to conquer just as many stars as it needed for an empire to defend itself against all corners, without conquering too many to administer. Such a procedure would have involved the permanent establishment of totalitarian militarism, the murder or reduction to peonage of all other races within the imperial bounds, and the ultimate decadence and disintegration which statism inevitably produces.

  “But a saner way was found. The Galactic League was formed, to arbitrate and co-ordinate the activities of the different systems as far as possible. Slowly, over some four centuries, all planets were brought in as members, until today a newly discovered system automatically joins. The League carries on many projects, but its major function is the maintenance of interstellar order. And to do that job, as well as to carry out any League mandates, the Patrol exists.”

  With a flash of defiance, Voal challenged: “Yes, and how does the Patrol do it? With thievery, bribery, lies, blackmail, meddlesome interference—Why don’t you stand up openly for the right and fight for it honestly?”

  “With what?” asked Alak wearily. “Oh, I suppose we could maintain a huge battle fleet and crush any disobedient systems. But how trustful would that leave the others? How long before we had to wipe out another aggrieved world? Don’t forget—when you fight on a planetary scale, you fight women and children and innocent males who had nothing whatsoever to do with the trouble. You kill a billion civilians to get at a few leaders. How long before the injustice of it raised an alliance against us which we couldn’t beat? Who would stay in a tyrannical League when he could destroy it?

  “As it is, the Galaxy is at peace. Eighty or ninety percent of all planets know the League is their friend and have nothing but praise for the Patrol that protects them. When trouble arises, we quietly settle it, and the Galaxy goes on its unknowing way. Those something times ten to the fifteenth beings are free to live their lives out without fear of racial extinction.”

  “Peace can be bought too dearly at times. Peace without honor—”

  “Honor!” Alak sprang from his chair. His red hair blazed about the suddenly angry face. He paced before Voal with a cold and bitter glare.

  “Honor!” he sneered. “Another catchword. I get so sick of those unctuous phrases—Don’t you realize that deliberate scoundrels do little harm, but that the evil wrought by sincere fools is incalculable?

  “Murder breeds its like. For psychological reasons, it is better to prohibit Patrolmen completely from killing than to set up legalistic limits. But if we can’t use force, we have to use any other means that comes in handy. And I, for one, would rather break any number of arbitrary laws and moral rules, and wreck a handful of lives of idiots who think with a blaster, than see a planet go up in flames or ... or see one baby killed in a war it never even heard about!”

  * * *

  He calmed down. For a while he continued pacing, then he sat down and said conversationally:

  “Let me give you a few examples from recent cases of Patrol methods. Needless to say, this is strictly confidential. All the Galaxy knows is that there is peace—but we had to use every form of perfidy and betrayal to maintain it.”

  He thought a moment, then began: “Sirius and Alpha Centauri fought a war just before the founding of the League which nearly ruined both. They’ve managed to reconstruct since, but there is an undying hatred between them. League or no League, they mean to be at each other’s throats the first chance they get.

  “Well, no matter what methods we use to hold the Centaurians in check. But on Sirius the government has become so hopelessly corrupt, the military force so graft-ridden and inefficient, that action is out of the question.

  “Now a vigorous young reformer rose, honest, capable, popular, all set to win an election which would sweep the rascally incumbents out and bring good government to Sirius for the first time in three centuries. And—the Patrol bribed him to throw the election. He wouldn’t take the money, but he did as we said, because otherwise, as he knew, we’d make it the dirtiest election in even Sirian history, ruin his business and reputation and family life, and defeat him.

  “Why? Because, of course, the first thing he’d have done if elected would have been to get the military in trim. Which would have meant the murder of several hundred million Centaurians —unless they struck first. Sure, we don’t like crooked government either—but it costs a lot less in lives, suffering, natural resources, and even money than war.

  “Then there was the matter of an obscure barbarian system whose people are carnivorous and have a psychological need of combat. Imagine them loose in the Galaxy! We have to hold them in check for several generations until sublimation can be achieved. Fortunately, they are under an absolute monarch. A native woman whom we had educated managed to become his mistress and completely dominate him. And when the great nobles showed signs of revolt, she seduced one of them to act as her agent provocateur and smoke out the rebellious ones.

  “Immoral? Sure. But two or three centuries hence, even the natives will thank us for it. Meanwhile, the Galaxy is safe from them.

  “A somewhat similar case was a race by nature so fanatically religious that they were all set to go crusading among the stars with all the weapons of modern science. We wrecked that scheme by introducing a phony religion with esoteric scientific ‘miracles’ and priests who were Patrolmen trained in psychotechnology—a religion that preaches peace and tolerance. A dirty trick to play on a trusting people, but it saved their neighbors—and also themselves, since otherwise their extinction might have been necessary.

  “We really hit a moral bottom in the matter of another primitive and backward system. Its people are divided into clans whose hereditary chiefs have absolute authority. When one of the crown princes took a tour through the Galaxy, our agents managed to guide him into one of the pleasure houses we maintain here and there. And we got records. Recently this being succeeded to the chiefship of the most influential clan. We were pretty sure, from study of his psychographs, that before long he would want to throw off the League ‘yoke’ and go off on a spree of conquest—it’s a race of warriors with a contempt for all outsiders. So—the Patrol used those old records to blackmail him into refusing the job in favor of a safely conservative brother.

  “Finally we came to your present case. Marhal was ready to fight for the rich prize of Lhing, and the League arbitrator, underestimating the determination of Luan, awarded the whole planet to them. That was enough to swing an election so that a pro-League government came into power there. I was sent here to check on your reactions, and soon saw a serious mistake had been made. War seemed inevitable. I tried the scoundrelly procedure of fomenting sabotage and revolution. After all, that damage would have been negligible compared to the cost of even a short war.”

  “The cost to Marhal,” said Voal grimly.

  “Maybe. But after all, I had to think of the whole Galaxy, not Luan. Sometimes someone must suffer a little lest someone else suffer a lot more. At any rate, my scheme failed. I resorted to alliance with a dope smuggler—he ruins a very few lives, while war takes them by the millions—and to kidnaping. I threatened and bluffed until you had backed up so far that mediation was possible.

  "Well, that’s all, then. The League commission is on its way. They’ll have some other fat plum to give Luan in place of Lhing—which I suppose will make trouble elsewhere for the Patrol to settle. Your government will have to go out of power after such an about-face—you’re rejoining the League, of course—but I daresay it’ll soon get back in. And you have been entrusted with a secret which could split the Galaxy wide open.”

  “I’ll keep it,” said Voal. He smiled faintly. “From what I know of your methods—I’d better!” For a moment he hesitated, then: “And thanks. I was a fool. All Luan was populated by hysterical fools.” He grimaced. “Only I still wonder if that isn’t bette
r than being a rogue.”

  “Take your choice,” shrugged Wing Alak. “As long as the Galaxy keeps going I don’t care. That’s my job.”

  Enough Rope

  Hurulta, Arkazhik of Unzuvan, fitted his own personality. A magnificent specimen of Ulugani malehood, two and a half meters tall, so broad that he seemed shorter, he dwarfed the thin red-haired human before him. His robes were a barbaric shout of color, as if he were draped in fire and rainbows, and the volume of his speaking made the fine crystal ornaments in the audience chamber tremble and sing, ever so faintly. But the words were hard and steady and utterly cold.

  "Our will in this matter is unshakable," he said curtly. "If the League wants to go to war over it, that will be the League's misfortune."

  Wing Alak of Sol III and the Galactic League Patrol looked up into the hairless blue face and ventured an urbane smile. The Ulugani were humanoid to several degrees of classification—six fingers to a hand, clawed feet, pointed ears, and the rest meant little when you dealt with the fantastic variety of intelligent life making up Alak's compatriots. This race looked primitive—small head, beetling eyebrow ridges, flat nose and prognathous jaw—but inside, they were as bright as any other known species.

  Too bright!

  "It would be straining the obvious, your excellency," said Alak, "to point out that the Unzuvan Empire comprises just one planetary system of which only Ulugan is habitable, whereas the Galactic League embraces a good million stars. It cannot have been omitted from all calculation. But I must say that, under these circumstances, I am puzzled; perhaps your excellency would condescend to enlighten me with regard to your attitude on this disparity."

  Hurulta snorted, showing a formidable mouthful of teeth. During the years in which Alak, as chief representative of the League and its Patrol, had been visiting Ulugan—off and on—and particularly during the past several months of mounting crisis during which Alak had been here continuously, he had learned to regard the Solarian as a weak, wordy, and pedantic bumbler. Now one huge blue fist crashed into the palm of the other hand and he grinned contemptuously.

  "Let us not bandy words," he said. "The nearest border of the League is almost a thousand light-years away, which would make your lines of communication ridiculously long if you tried to attack. Also, in spite of this distance, we have had our own agents in your territory for years. We know that the temper of the League population is . . . well, let us not say decadent, let us be kindly and say pacific. It would not react favorably to a war which could only mean expense and grief for it. Moreover, the Patrol is a minimal force, designed merely to keep order within the bounds of the League itself. Policemen! We have built up a war machine."

  He shrugged massively. "Why go on?" he rumbled. "It is only our intention to claim the natural rights of Ulugan. You go your way, we will go ours; we do not wish to fight you, but neither do we feel bound to respect the morals of an altogether different civilization. You can, at best, only be a nuisance if you try to stop us; and if the nuisance becomes too great, we are not afraid of fighting a thousand-year war to exterminate it. We are a warrior race and you are not: there is the essential difference, and mere statistics will not change it."

  He sat down behind his desk and fiddled absently with a jeweled dagger. His voice was remote, uninterested. "You may inform your government that Ulugan is already commencing the occupation of Tukatan and the other planets in its system. That is all. You may go."

  To dismiss an ambassador thus was like a slap. Alak had to fight himself for an instant before self-control came. Then his gaunt sharp face smoothed itself out, and his tone was unctuous.

  "As your excellency wishes, so be it. Good day."

  He bowed and backed out of the magnificent room.

  * * *

  Scene: An upper office in the League Patrol Intelligence—Sol Sector—building, Britn, Terra. A sparsely furnished room, a few relaxers, a desk, the control-studded board of a robo-file. One wall is transparent, opening on a serene landscape of rolling, wooded hills, a few private dwelling-units, the distant bulk of a food factory. Overhead, the sky is full of white clouds and sunshine, now and then the metal gleam of an airboat. It all seems incredibly remote from the troubled world of Galactic politics.

  Characters: Myrn Kaltro, sector chief, a big gray-haired man in the iridescent undress uniform of a human Patrol officer. Jorel Meinz, sociotechnic director of the Solar System, small, dark, intense, conservatively dressed in gold and crimson. Wing Alak, unattached field agent, enough of a dandy to wear the latest fashion in civilian clothes—plain gray and blue. But then, he has been away from home for a good many years.

  Background: In a civilization embracing nearly a million separate intelligent races, most of them with independent governments of their own, a civilization which is growing almost daily, it is impossible for even a well-informed administrator to keep track of all significant events. Jorel Meinz has hardly heard the name "Ulugan" before today; now he is being asked to authorize an action which may change Galactic history.

  He fumbled out a cigar and inhaled it into lighting. His words were quick, jerky, harsh. "What has Sol to do with this? It's a matter for the entire League Council."

  "Which won't meet for another two years," said Kaltro. "As our friend Hurulta well knows. It would take six months just to get a quorum together for an emergency session. Oh, they timed it well, those Ulugani."

  "Well, the high command of the Patrol can exercise broad discretion," Meinz grimaced. "Too broad. I don't mind saying I haven't liked all reports of your activities which have come to me. However, in this case —"

  "The high command is prepared to act," said Kaltro. "I've contacted all members. Nevertheless, the situation is unprecedented. The Patrol was created to enforce peace within the League. Nothing was said about dealing with a power outside it. If we act against Ulugan, we'll be on legally shaky ground, and there may be a day of reckoning which would do a lot of harm. Many local politicians are spoiling to take a crack at the Patrol, push through constitutional amendments limiting its scope—if they can persuade enough beings that the Patrol has become an irresponsible machine capable of starting wars on its own initiative, they may succeed."

  "I see. But what can I do?"

  "Your influence can swing the Solar Parliament into authorizing the Patrol to act against Ulugan. In effect, Sol will say: 'As far as we're concerned, the Patrol can have emergency powers, and use them immediately.' Thereafter, we'll proceed."

  "But one system can't do that. The Patrol belongs to the whole League!"

  "Please." Kaltro lifted shaggy gray brows and smiled, creasing his face as if it were a stiff brown fabric. "You're a practical political engineer. You know as well as I do that Sol is still the leading system in the League. If it'll back us, enough other planets will follow that lead to put us in the clear when the business is brought up at the next Council. Technically, it'll be a post facto O.K. on what we'll already have done, but that'll suffice. It'll have to!"

  "Well—" Meinz rolled his cigar between bony fingers, scowling at it. "Well, all right, I see your point. But you still haven't seen mine. Why should I help you take action against Ulugan?"

  He held up a hand. "No, wait, let me finish. As I understand it, Ulugan is a one-system empire lying nearly a thousand light-years outside or territorial bounds. It wants to incorporate one other system into itself. The natives of that system object, to be sure, and ask us for help—but the hard-boiled League Patrol is, I am certain, the last organization in the universe to get interested in noble crusades. The operation of crushing Ulugan would be enormously expensive. The logistic difficulties alone would make it a project of many years—even if it could succeed, which is by no means certain. The Ulugani could, and certainly would, retaliate with raids on our territory, perhaps they could penetrate, to Sol itself. After all, interstellar space is so huge that any kind of blockade or defense line is utterly impossible. And you know what horror and destruction even a raid can bri
ng, what with the power of modern weapons.

  "The League is not a nation, empire, or alliance. It was formed to arbitrate interstellar disputes and prevent future wars. Such other services as it performs are relatively minor; and its systems are, politically and commercially, so loosely knit that it could never evolve into a true federal government. In short, it is totally unable to put forth the united effort of a war. If Ulugan is as determined as Agent Alak says, it may be able to bring the League to terms even if it is one planet against a million. The League may not feel the game is worth the candle, you see. And the resentment at having been involved in a war of which ninety per cent of its citizens would never have heard before death rained on them from the sky—that resentment could destroy the League itself!"

  He put the cigar back to his mouth and blew a huge cloud of smoke. "In short, gentlemen," he finished, "if you want my support for this project of yours, you're going to have to give me a pretty good reason."

  * * *

  Kaltro cocked an eye at Wing Alak The field agent nodded slightly and took out a cigarette for himself. He waited till he had it going before he spoke:

  "Let me recapitulate a little, director. Ulugan is a dense, metallic planet of a red dwarf sun. Terrestroid, which means a human can live there but not very comfortably—one-point-five Terran gravity, high air pressure, cold and stormy. The natives are a gifted species, but turbulent, not very polite or moral, all too ready to follow a leader blindly. Those are cultural rather than genetic traits, of course, but they've been pretty well drilled in by now. The history of Ulugan is one of mounting international wars, which pushed the technological development ahead fast but exhausted the natural resources of the planet. In short, a history not unlike ours prior to the Unification; but they never developed a true psychological technology, so their society still contains many archaisms.