"They invented the faster-than-light drive about two centuries ago and started exploring and exploiting, quite ruthlessly the nearer stars. They still had nations then, and quarreling over the spoils led to a slam-bang interstellar war. One nation, Unzuvan, finally conquered all the others and absorbed them into a racial empire. That was about thirty years back. It was shortly thereafter that a long-range exploration party from the League, off to study the starclouds near Galactic center, chanced on them. Naturally, even though they are remote from our integrated territory, they were invited to join us. All races of suitably high civilization are, and so far none had refused. They did. Quite rudely, too. Said they were perfectly capable of gaining everything we offered for themselves, and be damned if they'd give up any of their sovereignty."
"Urn-m-m. Paranoid culture, then," said Meinz.
"Obviously. Well, the League . . . or rather, its agent the Patrol . . did what it could. Sent embassies, cultural missions, and so on, in the hope of gradually converting them. I've been more or less in charge for the past fifteen years, though of course I could only get out there once in a while. Too much else to do. We had no luck, anyway, except—" Briefly, Alak grinned. "Well, we do have an efficient intelligence service."
"Spies, you mean?" asked Meinz impatiently.
"No, never! What, never? Hardly —ever!" Alak's classical quotation was lost on Kaltro, who merely grunted, but Meinz smiled. "We weren't too interested in the military-political details of Ulugan," went on the field agent cryptically. "Mostly, we studied the neighboring stars. No one could object to scientific study of primitive planets, could they?
"I'll see that you get our complete dossier on Ulugani sociodynamics, but briefly, the set-up is simple. There's a hereditary emperor and a military aristocracy ruling a subservient class of peasants and workers. The aristocracy is hand in glove with the big commercial interests—it's a sort of monopoly capitalism, partly controlled by the state and partly controlling the state. No, that's a poor way to phrase it. Let's say that the industrial trusts and the military caste together are the state. The supreme power is, for all practical purposes, lodged in the Arkazhik, a kind of combined premier and war minister. Right now he's one Hurulta, an able, aggressive, ambitious being with some colorful dreams of glory.
"Very well. Ulugan, under Hurulta, wants to start conquering itself an empire. Specifically, they intend to annex Tukatan, a fertile planet with a backward population. In fact, by now, in the time it's taken me to get here, they have begun doing so. But you know they aren't going to stop there."
"No," said Meinz after a pause. "No, I suppose not." Then, briskly: "But after all, what does it concern us? A thousand light-years away—"
"That thousand light-years is shrinking," said Kaltro. "The League territory is expanding, through exploration, colonization, the joining of new systems. The Ulugani empire will also expand, toward us. Our analysts estimate that in a mere two hundred years, there will be contact. You know that an interstellar civilization can't be big merely in space; it has to be big in time, too. We have to think ahead."
"Um-m-m-" Meinz rubbed his chin.
"My guess is that if we don't stop Ulugan now, we won't even have those two centuries," said Alak "They're spoiling for trouble. A real war would unite their still new empire like nothing else."
Meinz nodded. "A good point. But can you stop them? To try and then fail would be—catastrophic."
"We can only try," said Kaltro gravely. "I won't hide from you that the situation is, well, precarious. But I don't see how we can afford not to try."
"Still . . . war—" Meinz twisted his mouth, as if it held a sour taste.
"The ruination of planets. The killing of a billion innocent civilians to get at a few guilty leaders. The legacy of hatred. The corrosive effects of victory on the so-called victors. The Patrol has always existed to prevent war. If it instigated one—"
"Our intention," said Kaltro, "is to stop Ulugan without starting a war."
"How?"
"I can't tell you that. We have to have our secrets."
"And if you do provoke them into declaring one—?"
Alak shrugged. "That," he said, "is the chance we have to take."
"I warn you," said Meinz, "if you get us into real trouble, the Council will have your personal hides."
To that, neither of the Patrolmen replied.
* * *
Presently the administrator left. He took with him a bulky file of reports and sociodynamic calculations, and he gave no definite promises. But Kaltro nodded gravely at his agent. He'll agree," he said.
"He'd better," said Alak. "I tell you, the situation is worse than I can describe. You have to be on such a planet and feel the hate and tension building up. Like . . well . . . it feels sticky. You want to go wash yourself."
"Can you handle the operation?" asked Kaltro. "I'll have to stay behind to fend off outraged citizens."
"I can try," said Alak. There was a bleakness on his lips.
"And look, Wing," said Kaltro, "this is an unprecedented situation, I know. We're acting outside the League, and you might feel free, in real emergency, to violate the Prime Directive. Don't."
"I know," said Alak. "Any Patrolman who does—mnemonic erasure and cashiering from the service. No reasons or excuses accepted. It will be observed in this operation, too. Even if it costs us the war."
He left after a while, to begin on the mountain of paper work which is the essence of a large-scale mission. Not bureaucratic red tape, but necessary organizational detail, and nothing glamorous about it. Nothing of jack-booted heroes, roaring warships, and flaming guns.
But then, the League Patrol had little to do with such matters anyway. They who would end war cannot resort to it themselves, or the injustice, butchery, and waste of it will provoke a hatred that must finally destroy them. The Patrol cultivated a wholly fictitious reputation as a terrible enemy, it cooked news releases about its battles and it maintained a number of impressive fighting ships. When sweet reasonableness failed to enforce the arbitration of the League, the Patrol used bluff; when that failed, it used bribery, blackmail, fomented revolution, any means that came to hand. But always and forever it held by the Prime Directive which was its own most closely watched secret.
Under no circumstances whatsoever may the Patrol or any unit thereof kill an intelligent being.
* * *
A thousand warships lanced through an interstellar night. In their van were the scouts, flanking them were the cruisers, riding magnificently at their center were the monstrous dreadnoughts each of which could annihilate all life on an ordinary-sized planet. They convoyed another thousand noncombatant vessels—transports, supply craft, flying workshops. Behind them lay the stars of the League, lost in a cold glory of constellations; before them were the swelling suns of the loose cluster holding Ulugan.
The task force found the particular star it was looking for, a yellow dwarf some ten light-years from Tumu—which is simply the Unzuvani word for "sun" —and took up an orbit around the clouded second planet. Scouts dropping down through the atmosphere used infrared scopes to see through the mists and the hot, spilling rains; geosonic probes tested a thousand kilometers of swamp and jungle and sullen tideless ocean before reporting a stable surface. Then the big workships began landing.
Wing Alak stood in the phosphorescent twilight of the sixth day, looking at the labor that went on around him. Blasters had driven back the jungle, exposing a raw red scar. Now, under the white glare of floodlights, robotracs moved ponderously back and forth, laying the foundations of a landing field. He could not see through the dimness and the acrid mists to the prefab barracks which housed his workers.
The planet was humanly habitable —just barely. Alak's clothes hung wetly around him and he cursed in a tired voice and wished it weren't too humid for him to sweat. The ceaseless thin buzz of the sanitator about his neck, destroying air-borne molds and bacteria that would otherwise soon have destroyed him, was
in a fair way to driving him crazy. And to think, he reflected in one corner of his soggy brain, I could have been a food factory technician at home.
The scaly, tentacled Sarrushian Patrolmen who made up most of his gang sloshed happily through the muck. This hellhole was almost like their own planet. Not quite—there were some dangerous animals around, you could hear them stamping and roaring out in the fever-mists. And a weird sort of tree that shot poisoned thorns had killed two of his men already.
Won't those stupid Ulugani ever catch on?
It was no coincidence that the message should have come just then, for Alak had had few other thoughts since he first landed. The lean, beak-faced Karkarian who was his chief aide came from the communications shack and saluted, awkward in the space armor which was necessary for him here. His voder spoke tonelessly: "Subspace call, sir. From Tumu."
"Oh, good!" Alak felt too miserable to do more than nod, but he followed the tall metallic shape with a tinge of energy. It began to rain, and he was soaked before he reached the shack. Not a very dignified spectacle for the eyes of the Ulugani in the screen.
He sat down and ran a hand through his fiery hair. That face—yes, by the First Cause, it was General Sevulan of Hurulta's personal staff; he'd met him a few times. Mustering all his cheerfulness, he said: "Hello." That was an insult in itself.
"Are you in charge of this expedition?" snapped Sevulan.
"More or less," said Alak.
"I demand an immediate and official explanation," said the Ulugani. "A scout ship noticed radiations and investigated. You fired on it, though it got away—"
"Too bad," said Alak, though the fire had missed by his orders.
"That is an act of war in itself," rapped Sevulan.
"Not at all," said Alak. "This is a military reservation. Your scout probed in despite radioed orders to stop."
"But you are building a military base—on Garvish II!"
"That is correct. What of it?"
"Garvish is—"
"Unclaimed territory," said Alak coldly. "If Ulugan can take over Tukatan against the natives' will, the League can surely annex an uninhabited planet."
"You are within ten light-years of Tumu. My governnent must regard this as an unfriendly act."
"Well," said Alak, "your government hasn't been exactly friendly toward us, you know. We're just taking precautions."
"This is an ultimatum," said Sevulan. "If the subspace radio would reach so far, we would call the League secretariat directly, to give it. As it is, I am delivering it to you. If you do not evacuate Garvish at once, Ulugan will consider your aggression a cause for war."
"Now look—" began Alak.
"A task force is on its way to force your evacuation, if you will not go peacefully," said Sevulan. "Take your choice."
Weakness flitted across Alak's well-trained features. "I . . . I am really not given such responsibility," he said slowly. "You must allow me time to communicate with my government—"
"No!"
" Well— "
"You have my message," said Sevulan. The screen blanked.
Alak stood up, hugged his aide, and danced around the shack.
* * *
Hurulta the Arkazhik leaned over his desk as if he meant to attack Sevulan. Then, slowly, his great fists unclenched and he sat back.
"They were gone, you say?" he repeated.
"Yes, lord," said the general. "When our task force landed, the planet—the whole system—was abandoned. Obviously they took fright when they realized our determination."
"But where did they go?"
Sevulan permitted himself a shrug. "A light-year is too big to imagine," he said. "They could be anywhere, lord. My best guess is, though, that they are running home with their tails between their legs."
"Still—to abandon a base which must have cost an enormous effort and sum to start—"
"Yes, lord, it was astonishingly far advanced. They must have employed some life-form adapted to Garvish II conditions as workers. They do have that advantage: among their citizens, they can always find a species which is at home on any possible world." Sevulan smiled. "I suggest, lord, that we complete the base ourselves and use it, since they were obliging enough to do all the real labor."
Hurulta stroked his massive chin. "We have no choice," he said thinly. "If we don't hold that system, they may come back any time—and it is dangerously close to our home, and as you say their men can function better there than ours." He muttered an oath. "It's a nuisance. We need most of our forces to complete the conquest of Tukatan in a swift and orderly manner. But there's no help for it."
"We were going to take Garvish eventually, lord," said Sevulan respectfully.
"Yes, yes, of course. Take this whole cluster—and after that, who knows how much more? Still—" Being a realist, Hurulta dismissed his own annoyance. "As you say, this will save us time and money in the long run."
"I—"
Sevulan was interrupted by the buzzing of the official telescreen. Hurulta switched it on. "Yes?" he growled.
"General Ulanho of Central Intelligence reporting, lord."
"I know who you are. What is it?"
"Scout just came in, lord. The Patrol is on Shang V. Apparently they're building another base."
"Shang V—"
"Twelve-point-three light-years from here, lord."
"I know that! Stand by." Hurulta switched off again. There was something of a giant dynamo about him as he swung on Sevulan.
What sort of planet is this Shang V?" he snarled.
"Little known, lord," faltered the officer. "A big world, as I recall. Twice our gravity, mostly hydrogen atmosphere —storms of unparalleled violence, volcanic upheavals, a hell planet! I don't see how they would dare—"
"They must be relying on sheer audacity," snapped Hurulta. "Well, they won't get away with it! No ultimatum this time—no message of any kind. You will organize a task force to go there at once and blow them off it!"
* * *
The Arkazhik was in an ugly mood, and his subordinates tried to make themselves invisible as he stamped past them. But then, the whole planet was foul-tempered and jumpy. The Garvish and Shang operations had been—still were—messy and costly enterprises which completely disrupted the schedule for Tukatan. That the Patrol fleet had been gone when the Ulugani arrived at Shang, saving them a battle, was small consolation, for it meant that the enemy was still at large, he could strike anywhere, any time, bringing death and ruin out of the big spaces. That meant an elaborate warning system around Tumu, tying up hundreds of thousands of trained spacemen; it meant the inconveniences of civilian defense, forcescreens over all cities, transportation slowed, space-raid drills, spy scares, nervousness among the commoners that was not far from exploding into hysteria. It meant that the unrewarding Shang System must also be garrisoned, lest the Patrol sneak back there. It meant irritation, delay, expense, and a turbulent cabinet meeting in which Hurulta had needed all his personality to control the dissatisfied members.
He took a grav-shaft now, dropping through many levels to a corridor hewn out of the rock below the capitol. Along this he stalked, the boots of his guards slamming a hollow rhythm back from the walls, until he came to a certain door. This he entered, to find a colonel of Intelligence seated among his instruments. The colonel bowed low. The little being in the chair merely cowered.
"What planet is this from? " grunted Hurulta. "Nobody told me that."
The small one spoke up in a fluting voice that could not hide his terror. He was a skinny, four-armed, greenish being, with a bulging-eyed head that seemed too big for his body. "Please, lord, I am from—"
"I didn't ask you," barked Hurulta, snapping at him. The oversized head rocked back on the spindling neck, and the prisoner began to cry. "Well?"
"From Aldebaran VIII, lord," said the colonel. "A League planet. His name is Goln, and he is a trader who has operated in this sector for a number of years. We pulled him in, together with all other aliens
, according to your orders, lord, two days ago. No physical duress was necessary—in panic, he submitted to the usual truth-finding procedures. It turned out that he is a Patrol agent."
"That much I have already been told," snorted Hurulta. "What of it? Why should that concern me? He hasn't learned anything of value, has he?"
"No, lord, not about us. He was a trader too, as he claimed. He merely reported to Wing Alak from time to time, telling him whatever he had learned anywhere. Under our questioning, he revealed a distinct impression that Alak is interested in Umung."
"Umung . . hm-m-m- . . . the insectiles, aren't they? About thirty light-years off, on the edge of our cluster."
"Yes, lord. He has traded with them for many years. They are a completely organized race, with little individual personality, but the collective intelligence is high. They are also, perhaps, the most skillful workers in the galaxy."
"Yes. It comes back to me now. Did Alak intend to organize them against us?"
"Not as far as this Goln knows, lord. They are totally unwarlike, have too little initiative to make good soldiers. Goln's impression is that the Patrol would like to deal with them, secretly, trading raw materials difficult to obtain on their world for finished products. That would, obviously, simplify the enemy supply problem."
"So . . . it . . . would." Hurulta stood in thought for a moment. Then, whirling on Goln, he made his voice a roar: "All right, scum, how well do you know Umung?"
The Aldebaranian shrieked in utter panic. When he found his voice again, he gasped: "Well, most excellent lord. I know it w-w-well- "
"You'll obey us and be rewarded, or you'll be pulled apart cell by cell. Which shall it be?"
"I . . . obey, my lord. The ps-s-s-sychomachines w-will show how well I m-mean to obey—"
"Good. I want you to prepare a dossier on Umung. Use the machines to help you remember everything. Correlate it with all information available in Intelligence files. Submit the complete report to me within an eight-day."
The Wing Alak Stories Page 5
