"In what way?" said Hal.
Amid turned from the table and went toward the door of the room. Hal went with him.
"We'd be more inclined to trust you—and therefore to help you—with whatever you've got in mind," said the small man. "As I keep pointing out; there's something of a division of opinion among those of us who're responsible for making a decision on you. If you seem to be someone on whom we actually can pin our hopes of the future, that could be tremendously useful to you. On the other hand, if—as some of us think—the correct reading on you shows you as at best only a wildly random factor in the present historic pattern, then our two worlds are going to be very reluctant to put ourselves at dependence on your possible actions."
He led the way through the doorway into the hall; and paused.
"Think about it," he said, and turned once more toward the door to the balcony. "The others are probably there by now. Come along."
Hal followed him. They went out of the room they had been in, crossed the hall and stepped onto the balcony, which now had two men and two women seated on it, in a semi-circle facing the entrance. One of the men, wearing a sky-blue robe, was obviously very old; the other was a reserved-looking, thin man in a gray robe; and, of the two women, one was small and black-haired, wearing green, the other was taller and ageless, with bronze skin, curly brown hair, and an umber-colored robe. Two floats had been left vacant with their backs to the door, completing the circle; and it was to these that Amid led Hal.
"Let me introduce you," said Amid, as they sat down. "From left to right, you're meeting Nonne, Recordist for Mara—"
Nonne was the small, black-haired woman in green. She looked to be about in her mid-thirties, her face a little sharpboned, and her eyes very steady on him.
"Honored," said Hal to her. She nodded.
"Alhonan of Kultis. Alhonan, Hal, is a specialist in cultural interfacing."
"Honored."
"Very glad to meet you, Hal," said Alhonan, a narrow man, with a voice as dry and reserved as his appearance.
"Padma, the Inbond."
"Honored," said Hal. He had not appreciated at first glance how old indeed the one called Padma was. The Exotic face he looked at now was still relatively unwrinkled, the hands holding the ends of the armrests of his float were not extravagantly shrunken of skin or swollen of vein; but the utter stillness of the body, the unchanging eyes, and other signals too subtle to be consciously catalogued, radiated an impression of almost unnatural age. Here now, indeed, was a man to rival Tam Olyn in antiquity. And the title he bore was a puzzle. Hal had never heard of an Inbond among the Exotics. Any one of them might be Outbond—assigned, that was—to some specific place or duty. But Inbond… and to what?
"Welcome," said Padma; and his voice, neither unusually hoarse nor deep nor faint, seemed somehow to come from a little distance off.
"And Chavis, whose speciality is a little hard to describe to you," Amid was saying at his shoulder. "Call her a specialist in historical crises."
Hal had to tear his eyes away from the gaze of Padma to look at the woman in the umber robe with black markings of random shapes.
"Honored," he said to Chavis.
"I take that as a compliment," she said, and smiled. Her age could be anything between late twenties and early sixties; but her voice was young. "Time may show that it's you who're honoring us."
"Sit down," said Amid.
"That'd take some doing," Hal answered Chavis, as he took his seat. "I don't think I'm likely to find four Exotics like yourselves brought together on my account, except under very unusual conditions."
"But it's unusual conditions we've met to talk about here, isn't it?" said the voice of Amid from the float to Hal's left. The two of them sat facing the half-circle of the others. Still, the feeling was plain in the atmosphere of the balcony that Amid was not with Hal, but with those who confronted him.
It was a feeling that triggered another touch of sadness in Hal. With the memory of Walter InTeacher still strong within him, of all the three cultures with which he had grown up believing he had a strong kinship, the Exotics had been those from whom he had expected the most in the way of sensitivity and understanding. But he sat now, intellectually almost at swords-points with those before him. He could feel their concern, first for the survival of their own way of life; and only secondarily with his own interest in the race as a whole. The thought came instinctively to him that it was a rarefied sort of selfishness they were displaying—a selfishness, not for their personal sakes, but for the sake of the principle to which they and their culture had always dedicated their people. It was a selfishness he would have to bring them to see beyond, if there was to be any hope of racial survival.
Looking at the faces around him, Hal's innate confidence in his cause sagged. It might be true, as Amid had said, that tests had shown him to have unusual qualities of maturity. But at the present moment he sat facing a total of several centuries of living and training in those facing him. To deal with all that, all he had to show were twenty years of life-experience, and perhaps sixty hours of intense thought under conditions of exhaustion and high fever.
"How much do you know about the history of the crossbreeds in general?" Nonne's voice roused him from his emotions. Her voice was a very clear contralto. "I'm speaking specifically, of course, of crossbreeds from the Dorsai, Friendly and Exotic cultures."
He turned to face her.
"I know they started to be noticed as appearing more frequently about sixty to seventy years ago—" he answered. "I know very little attention was paid to them as a group until about fifteen or twenty years ago, when they began to call themselves the Other People, show this charismatic skill of theirs, and put together their organization."
"Actually," said Nonne, "their organization began as a mutual-help agreement between two who were both Dorsai-Exotic crosses—a man named Daniel Spence and a woman named merely Deborah, after our own Exotic fashion—who were living together on Ceta, forty-two standard years ago."
"They were the first to call themselves 'Others,' " put in Alhonan.
Nonne glanced at him briefly. "Like most close partnerships among the crossbreeds," she went on, "the physical association didn't last; but the agreement did, and it grew rapidly over the next five years until there were over three thousand individuals involved—an estimated seventy-nine per cent of all crossbreeds from the three major Splinter Cultures who were in existence at that time. Both Spence and Deborah are now dead; and the current top leader of the organization for the past twelve years has been a man named Danno, who led the meeting of Other leaders at your home, the time your tutors were killed."
"I saw him then, through a window," said Hal. "A big, heavy-bodied man—not fat, but heavy-bodied—with black, curly hair."
"That's Danno," said Alhonan, in a precise, remote voice.
"He was the son of Daniel Spence and Deborah," said Nonne. "Those two also later took in a boy of about eleven, some six years younger than Danno; and the best evidence we can gather indicates that he was a nephew from some other world like Harmony, who had originally been left with some of Spence's relatives there to raise. There may be more to it than that. Bleys insists the former version is what happened. But it's doubtful if even he knows certainly whether it's true or not. In any case, he's a powerful leader; clearly more brilliant than Danno, although he seems to prefer that Danno wear the mantle of supreme leadership. You've met Bleys."
"Yes," said Hal. "Three times, now; and I talked to him this last time, when I was in that prison cell on Harmony. Danno, I saw only once, that first time; but my own feeling is that you're right. Bleys is more capable, and more intelligent—both."
"Yes," said Chavis, softly. "In fact, we've wondered exactly why he seemed content with second place. My own guess has been that he simply doesn't have any great desire to lead."
"Perhaps," said Hal. "Or he could be biding his time." Like the dark shadow of a cloud, sweeping briefly over his mind, the
feverish memory returned of Bleys, seeming to tower enormously above him as he had lain on the cot in the Militia prison. "But if he's better than Danno, he'll have to lead, in the end. He won't have any choice."
There was a moment of silence from those around him that stretched out noticeably before Nonne broke it.
"So, you think," she said, "that it'll be Bleys we'll be dealing with in the long run?"
"Yes," said Hal. A wing of the dark cloud still shadowed his mind. "Even if he has to remove Danno himself."
"Well," said Nonne. There was a dry briskness in her voice; and he roused himself to give her his full attention, putting the shadow from him. "In any case, we've ended up facing something we're not equipped to handle. There was a time when to any of us here the thought of any sociological development arising that we couldn't control would have been unthinkable. We know better now. If we'd moved to control the crossbreeds even two decades ago, we might have succeeded. But some of us were blinded by the attractive hope that they might be the first wave of that evolutionary development of the race we've looked and worked for so hard, during the past four centuries."
She gazed at Hal grimly.
"I was one of the blind," she said.
"We all were," the distant voice of Padma broke in.
Again, there was a silence that lasted a fraction of a second longer than Hal felt was normal.
"However, the end result's been the emergence of a historical force, in the shape of the Others, for which our current interstellar civilization's got no counter and no control," Nonne went on. "Organized interplanetary crime was always something that the sheer physical difficulties and expense of interplanetary travel made impractical. It'd still be impractical for the Others, except for the fact that some of them have developed this charismatic skill—"
"If only some can manage it, it needs to be called an ability rather than a skill, doesn't it?" Hal asked, suddenly remembering once more Bleys looming over him in the cell…
"Perhaps," said Nonne. "However—skill or ability, it's what makes the organization of the Others effective. With it, even the relative handful of them can manipulate key figures in governments and planets. This gives them political power and financial reserves we can't match. It isn't even necessary for more than a large minority of those in their organization to have this charismatic ability, although they seem to be able to teach it to each other, and even to some of their followers—which, come to think of it, answers your question about why we call it a skill rather than an ability—"
"I take it, then, that you haven't been able to duplicate it among your own people here on Mara and Kultis?" Hal interrupted.
Nonne stared at him, her lips closed in a straight line.
"The apparent techniques involved are all Exotic ones," she answered. "It's simply that the Others seem to be able to use them with increased effectiveness."
"The point I'm making—" said Hal, "is that they can do something that you here on the Exotics can't seem to duplicate. Doesn't that sound like something based on a particular ability?"
"Perhaps." Nonne's stare was immovable.
"I say that because I think I may be able to tell you why they can," Hal said. "I'm beginning to believe that behind their use of those techniques you mention there's a force in operation that's been cultivated only in the Friendly Culture—the drive to preach, to proselyte. Take a look at those followers you mention who've been able to pick up and use some of what you see a minority of Others using. I'll bet you don't find one of them who wasn't either a product of the Friendly Culture to begin with, or the child of at least one parent who was."
There was another fractionally too long silence.
"An interesting point," said Nonne. "We'll look into it. However—"
"If I could get a native of Harmony or Association to come to you for training," persisted Hal, "would you be willing to see if you could develop that person into a charismatic of the Other level?"
Nonne and the others traded glances.
"Of course," said Padma. "Of course."
"We'd be glad to," said Nonne. "You mustn't think that we're indifferent to what you may be able to suggest to us, Hal. It's simply that time's a factor. We're under strong pressure from Bleys to give you up; and we're either going to have to do that or get you off the Exotics very shortly. In that short time we've got things to talk to you about; and it's to all our advantages if we stick to the point."
"I think what I've been trying to get at is at least involved in the point," answered Hal. "But go on."
"What I'm trying to do here," Nonne said, "is lay out the situation and its history. That, and make sure you understand what our basis for concern is, and what we'd like to do about the situation."
"Go on," said Hal.
"Thank you. Wherever the charismatic skill or ability comes from, the fact remains, it's the key to the Others' success. They can't use it, of course, to control us—or the Dorsai people, or at least some of the Friendlies. In addition, a certain percentage of people everywhere seem to be resistant; particularly most of those on Old Earth, for reasons we haven't identified. But if they can use it to control a majority of the race, that's all they need to do. As I started out by saying, our present civilization on the fourteen worlds hasn't any counter to that ability. The result is, the Others have grown in power and wealth to the point where they can win, economically, even against us. They've simply got too many chips to play with. Our two worlds alone can't match their resources in the interplanetary marketplace. As a result, Mara and Kultis are slowly becoming economic captives of theirs, even though they've made no direct move to dominate us—yet."
Nonne paused. Hal nodded.
"Yes," he said. "Go on."
"The point I keep making is," Nonne said, "we can't do anything to stop them. The worlds they already control obviously aren't going to stop them. Old Earth's people have never all gotten together on anything in their history; and, since they're largely immune to the charismatic influence, themselves, they'll probably simply continue to ignore the Others until they wake up one day to find themselves surrounded by thirteen other worlds, all under crossbreed control, and with no choice but submission. The Friendlies are already half-conquered; and it's only a matter of time until the natives the Others control on Harmony and Association dominate those two worlds completely. That leaves the Dorsai."
Once more Nonne paused.
"As you say," said Hal, soberly, "it leaves the Dorsai, which is slowly being starved to death for lack of off-planet work opportunities for its people."
"Yes," said Alhonan, "but—forgive me, Nonne, but this is my department—such starvation takes time; and that's one world the Others aren't at any time going to try to take over by force. They might be able to do it in the long run, but the cost wouldn't be worth it. In fact, if the Dorsai would be willing to settle temporarily for being a backward planet, lacking the technological and other advantages that dealing with the other settled worlds would give them, they could settle down to a meager but independent existence for a century or more, living on what the oceans and the small land surfaces of their world could provide them. And they're just stubborn enough to do that."
"In other words," said Nonne, swiftly, "for the Dorsai there's still time to act, and that's important; because of all the Splinter Cultures, they alone still have the capability to stop the Others. In fact, they've got the ability to remove the threat of the Others, completely."
She stopped speaking. Hal stared at her; and the longest of any pause that had occurred so far held the balcony.
"What you're suggesting," he said at last, "is unbelievable."
Nonne looked back at him without answering. Glancing around the circle, Hal saw the others all similarly sitting, waiting. "What you're suggesting is a Dorsai campaign of assassination," Hal said. "That's what you mean, isn't it? That the Dorsai eliminate the Others by sending individuals out to murder them? They'd never do that. They're warriors, not assassins."
Chavis, after a long moment, was the one who spoke.
"We're prepared," she said, softly, "to do anything in our power—to give them anything they need or want that we have to give, without reservation, including our lives. If we'll do that much to stop the Others, surely they can put principle aside this once, for this great need?"
Hal looked at her. Slowly, he shook his head.
"You don't understand," he said. "It's the one thing they'd never do, just as you'd never give up your faith in human evolution."
"They might," it was the voice of Padma, speaking across the great reach of years to him, "if you convinced them to do it."
"I convince them—?" Hal looked at them all.
"Can you think of any other way to stop the Others?" Nonne asked.
"No! But there has to be another!" Hal said to her, violently. "And what makes you think I could convince them to do anything like that?"
"You're unique," she said. "Because of your upbringing. In effect, you can speak the emotional languages of all three of our largest Splinter Cultures—"
Hal shook his head.
"Yes," said Nonne. "You can. You proved that on Harmony, when you fitted in with one of the resistance groups there. Do you really think the native Friendlies in Rukh Tamani's Command would have taken you in, or kept you for more than a day or two, unless they felt, instinctively, that at least part of you was capable of thinking and feeling as they did?"
"I wasn't that accepted by them," said Hal.
"Are you so sure?" put in Amid beside him. "When I talked to you aboard the ship going to Harmony, you could have convinced me you were a Friendly, for all that you knew less about their history and society than I did. There's a particular feel to Friendlies, just as people of other cultures tell us there is to Exotics, and as everyone knows there is to Dorsai. Recognition of that Friendly feel is something I've spent a lifetime acquiring, and I don't make mistakes now. You felt to me like a Friendly."
The Final Encyclopedia Page 51
