The Randall Garrett Megapack

by Randall Garrett

  He was sitting on a chair next to the bed, holding a smoldering cigarette in one hand. He looked strange, somehow, and it took Houston a moment to realize that there was a smile on that broad, normally expressionless face.

  Houston focused his eyes on the man’s face. “I want an explanation, Reinhardt,” he said aloud. “And it better be a damned good one.”

  “I give you free access to my mind,” Reinhardt said. “See for yourself if my method wasn’t the best one.”

  * * * *

  Houston probed. The explanation, if not the best, was better than any Houston could have thought of.

  When the hatred of the normal-minded people of Earth had been turned against the Controllers because of the actions of a few megalomaniacs, it had become obvious that legal steps had to be taken to prevent mob violence.

  It had been Reinhardt himself who had suggested the Penal method to the UN government. At first, he had simply thought of it as a method to keep the Controllers alive until he could think of something better. But when he had discovered, by accident, what a small group of Controllers, alone in space, could do, he had set up the present machinery.

  As soon as a Controller was spotted, a careful frame-up was arranged. Then, when several had been found, they were arrested in quick succession and sent to the asteroids.

  Always and invariably, they had done what Houston’s group had done—the sane or potentially sane ones had improved themselves tremendously, while the megalomaniacs had lapsed into catatonia.

  “Why couldn’t it be done on Earth?” Houston asked.

  “We tried it,” Reinhardt said. “It didn’t work. Safe, on Earth, surrounded by Normals, a Controller still feels the hatred around him. He can’t open his mind completely. Only the certain knowledge of impending death and a complete freedom from the hatred of Normals can free the mind.

  “And that’s why you couldn’t be told beforehand; if you knew you were going to be rescued, you wouldn’t open up.”

  Houston nodded. It made sense. “Where are we now?” he asked.

  “Antarctica,” said Reinhardt. “We’ve built an outpost here—almost self-sufficient. When you’re in better shape physically, I’ll show you around.”

  “Do you mean that everyone who’s been arrested is here, in Antarctica?”

  Reinhardt laughed. “No, not by a long shot. Most of us are back out in civilization, searching for new, undiscovered Controllers, so that we can frame them. And, of course, some of us—the insane ones—have died. They will themselves to die when the going gets too tough.”

  “Searching for recruits? Then the Group that Dorrine was working for was—”

  Reinhardt shook his head. “No. They were going about it the wrong way, just as you thought. We picked up the whole lot of them last week; they’re occupying the asteroids now.”

  “What do you do with the insane catatonics?”

  “Put them under hibernene and keep them alive. We hope, someday, to figure out a method of restoring their sanity. Until then, let them sleep.”

  Houston narrowed his eyes. “How long have you known I was a Controller, Reinhardt?”

  The Prussian smiled. “Ever since you first tried to probe me. Fortunately, my training enabled me to put up a shield that you couldn’t penetrate; I seemed like a Normal to you.

  “I kept you on because I knew you’d be useful in cracking Lasser and his gang when the time came. No one else could have done what you did that night.”

  “Thanks,” Houston said sincerely. “What’s going to happen now? After I get well, I mean.”

  “You’ll do what the others have done. A little plastic surgery to change your face a trifle, a little record-juggling to give you a new identity, and you’ll be ready to go back to work for the PD Police.

  “If anyone recognizes you, it’s easy to take over their minds just long enough to make them forget. We allow that much Controlling.”

  “And then what?” Houston wanted to know. “What happens in the long run?”

  “In a way,” said Reinhardt, “your friend Sager was right. The Controllers will eventually become the rulers of Earth. But not by force or trickery. We must just bide our time. More and more of us are being born all the time; the Normals are becoming fewer and fewer. Within a century, we will outnumber them—we will be the Normals, not they.

  “But they’ll never know what’s going on. The last Normal will die without ever knowing that he is in a world of telepaths.

  “By the time that comes about, we’ll no longer need the Penal Cluster, since Controllers will be born into a world where there is no fear of non-telepaths.”

  “I wonder,” Houston mused, “I wonder how this ability came about. Why is the human race acquiring telepathy so suddenly?”

  Reinhardt shrugged. “I can give you many explanations—atomic radiation, cosmic rays, natural evolution. But none of them really explains it. They just make it easier to live with.

  “I think something similar must have happened a few hundred thousand years ago, when Cro-Magnon man, our own ancestors, first developed true intelligence instead of the pseudo-intelligence, the highly developed instincts, of the Neanderthals and other para-men.

  “Within a relatively short time, the para-men had died out, leaving the Cro-Magnon, with his true intelligence, to rule Earth.”

  Reinhardt stood up. “Why is it happening? We don’t know. Maybe we never will know, any more than we know why Man developed intelligence.” He shrugged. “Perhaps the only explanation we’ll ever have is to call it the Will of God and let it go at that.”

  “Maybe that’s the best explanation, after all,” Houston said.

  “Perhaps. Who knows?” Reinhardt crushed his cigarette out in a tray. “I’ll go now, and let you get some rest. And don’t worry; I’ll have you notified as soon as Dorrine starts to come out of it.”

  “Thanks—Chief,” Houston said as Reinhardt left the room.

  David Houston lay back in his bed and closed his eyes.

  For the first time in his life, he felt completely at peace—with himself, and with the Universe.

  DESPOILERS OF THE GOLDEN EMPIRE (1959)

  I

  In the seven centuries that had elapsed since the Second Empire had been founded on the shattered remnants of the First, the nobles of the Imperium had come slowly to realize that the empire was not to be judged by the examples of its predecessor. The First Empire had conquered most of the known universe by political intrigue and sheer military strength; it had fallen because that same propensity for political intrigue had gained over every other strength of the Empire, and the various branches and sectors of the First Empire had begun to use it against one another.

  The Second Empire was politically unlike the First; it tried to balance a centralized government against the autonomic governments of the various sectors, and had almost succeeded in doing so.

  But, no matter how governed, there are certain essentials which are needed by any governmental organization.

  Without power, neither Civilization nor the Empire could hold itself together, and His Universal Majesty, the Emperor Carl, well knew it. And power was linked solidly to one element, one metal, without which Civilization would collapse as surely as if it had been blasted out of existence. Without the power metal, no ship could move or even be built; without it, industry would come to a standstill.

  In ancient times, even as far back as the early Greek and Roman civilizations, the metal had been known, but it had been used, for the most part, as decoration and in the manufacture of jewelry. Later, it had been coined as money.

  It had always been relatively rare, but now, weight for weight, atom for atom, it was the most valuable element on Earth. Indeed, the most valuable in the known universe.

  The metal was Element Number Seventy-nine—gold.

  To the collective mind of the Empire, gold was the prime object in any kind of mining exploration. The idea of drilling for petroleum, even if it had been readily availa
ble, or of mining coal or uranium would have been dismissed as impracticable and even worse than useless.

  Throughout the Empire, research laboratories worked tirelessly at the problem of transmuting commoner elements into Gold-197, but thus far none of the processes was commercially feasible. There was still, after thousands of years, only one way to get the power metal: extract it from the ground.

  So it was that, across the great gulf between the worlds, ship after ship moved in search of the metal that would hold the far-flung colonies of the Empire together. Every adventurer who could manage to get aboard was glad to be cooped up on a ship during the long months it took to cross the empty expanses, was glad to endure the hardships on alien terrain, on the chance that his efforts might pay off a thousand or ten thousand fold.

  Of these men, a mere handful were successful, and of these one or two stand well above the rest. And for sheer determination, drive, and courage, for the will to push on toward his goal, no matter what the odds, a certain Commander Frank had them all beat.

  II

  Before you can get a picture of the commander—that is, as far as his personality goes—you have to get a picture of the man physically.

  He was enough taller than the average man to make him stand out in a crowd, and he had broad shoulders and a narrow waist to match. He wasn’t heavy; his was the hard, tough, wirelike strength of a steel cable. The planes of his tanned face showed that he feared neither exposure to the elements nor exposure to violence; it was seamed with fine wrinkles and the thin white lines that betray scar tissue. His mouth was heavy-lipped, but firm, and the lines around it showed that it was unused to smiling. The commander could laugh, and often did—a sort of roaring explosion that burst forth suddenly whenever something struck him as particularly uproarious. But he seldom just smiled; Commander Frank rarely went halfway in anything.

  His eyes, like his hair, were a deep brown—almost black, and they were set well back beneath heavy brows that tended to frown most of the time.

  Primarily, he was a military man. He had no particular flair for science, and, although he had a firm and deep-seated grasp of the essential philosophy of the Universal Assembly, he had no inclination towards the kind of life necessarily led by those who would become higher officers of the Assembly. It was enough that the Assembly was behind him; it was enough to know that he was a member of the only race in the known universe which had a working knowledge of the essential, basic Truth of the Cosmos. With a weapon like that, even an ordinary soldier had little to fear, and Commander Frank was far from being an ordinary soldier.

  He had spent nearly forty of his sixty years of life as an explorer-soldier for the Emperor, and during that time he’d kept his eyes open for opportunity. Every time his ship had landed, he’d watched and listened and collected data. And now he knew.

  If his data were correct—and he was certain that they were—he had found his strike. All he needed was the men to take it.

  III

  The expedition had been poorly outfitted and undermanned from the beginning. The commander had been short of money at the outset, having spent almost all he could raise on his own, plus nearly everything he could beg or borrow, on his first two probing expeditions, neither of which had shown any real profit.

  But they had shown promise; the alien population of the target which the commander had selected as his personal claim wore gold as ornaments, but didn’t seem to think it was much above copper in value, and hadn’t even progressed to the point of using it as coinage. From the second probing expedition, he had brought back two of the odd-looking aliens and enough gold to show that there must be more where that came from.

  The old, hopeful statement, “There’s gold in them thar hills,” should have brought the commander more backing than he got, considering the Empire’s need of it and the commander’s evidence that it was available; but people are always more ready to bet on a sure thing than to indulge in speculation. Ten years before, a strike had been made in a sector quite distant from the commander’s own find, and most of the richer nobles of the Empire preferred to back an established source of the metal than to sink money into what might turn out to be the pursuit of a wild goose.

  Commander Frank, therefore, could only recruit men who were willing to take a chance, who were willing to risk anything, even their lives, against tremendously long odds.

  And, even if they succeeded, the Imperial Government would take twenty per cent of the gross without so much as a by-your-leave. There was no other market for the metal except back home, so the tax could not be avoided; gold was no good whatsoever in the uncharted wilds of an alien world.

  Because of his lack of funds, the commander’s expedition was not only dangerously undermanned, but illegally so. It was only by means of out-and-out trickery that he managed to evade the official inspection and leave port with too few men and too little equipment.

  There wasn’t a scientist worthy of the name in the whole outfit, unless you call the navigator, Captain Bartholomew, an astronomer, which is certainly begging the question. There was no anthropologist aboard to study the semibarbaric civilization of the natives; there was no biologist to study the alien flora and fauna. The closest thing the commander had to physicists were engineers who could take care of the ship itself—specialist technicians, nothing more.

  There was no need for armament specialists; each and every man was a soldier, and, as far as his own weapons went, an ordnance expert. As far as Commander Frank was concerned, that was enough. It had to be.

  Mining equipment? He took nothing but the simplest testing apparatus. How, then, did he intend to get the metal that the Empire was screaming for?

  The commander had an answer for that, too, and it was as simple as it was economical. The natives would get it for him.

  They used gold for ornaments, therefore, they knew where the gold could be found. And, therefore, they would bloody well dig it out for Commander Frank.

  IV

  Due to atmospheric disturbances, the ship’s landing was several hundred miles from the point the commander had originally picked for the debarkation of his troops. That meant a long, forced march along the coast and then inland, but there was no help for it; the ship simply wasn’t built for atmospheric navigation.

  That didn’t deter the commander any. The orders rang through the ship: “All troops and carriers prepare for landing!”

  * * * *

  Half an hour later, they were assembled outside the ship, fully armed and armored, and with full field gear. The sun, a yellow G-O star, hung hotly just above the towering mountains to the east. The alien air smelled odd in the men’s nostrils, and the weird foliage seemed to rustle menacingly. In the distance, the shrieks of alien fauna occasionally echoed through the air.

  A hundred and eighty-odd men and some thirty carriers stood under the tropic blaze for forty-five minutes while the commander checked over their equipment with minute precision. Nothing faulty or sloppy was going into that jungle with him if he could prevent it.

  When his hard eyes had inspected every bit of equipment, when he had either passed or ordered changes in the manner of its carrying or its condition, when he was fully satisfied that every weapon was in order—then, and only then, did he turn his attention to the men themselves.

  He climbed atop a little hillock and surveyed them carefully, letting his penetrating gaze pass over each man in turn. He stood there, his fists on his hips, with the sunlight gleaming from his burnished armor, for nearly a full minute before he spoke.

  Then his powerful voice rang out over the assembled adventurers.

  “My comrades-at-arms! We have before us a world that is ours for the taking! It contains more riches than any man on Earth ever dreamed existed, and those riches, too, are ours for the taking. It isn’t going to be a picnic, and we all knew that when we came. There are dangers on every side—from the natives, from the animals and plants, and from the climate.

  “But there is not one of
these that cannot be overcome by the onslaught of brave, courageous, and determined men!

  “Ahead of us, we will find the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse arrayed against our coming—Famine, Pestilence, War, and Death. Each and all of these we must meet and conquer as brave men should, for at their end we will find wealth and glory!”

  A cheer filled the air, startling the animals in the forest into momentary silence.

  The commander stilled it instantly with a raised hand.

  “Some of you know this country from our previous expeditions together. Most of you will find it utterly strange. And not one of you knows it as well as I do.

  “In order to survive, you must—and will—follow my orders to the letter—and beyond.

  “First, as to your weapons. We don’t have an unlimited supply of charges for them, so there will be no firing of any power weapons unless absolutely necessary. You have your swords and your pikes—use them.”

  Several of the men unconsciously gripped the hafts of the long steel blades at their sides as he spoke the words, but their eyes never left the commanding figure on the hummock.

  “As for food,” he continued, “we’ll live off the land. You’ll find that most of the animals are edible, but stay away from the plants unless I give the O.K.

  “We have a long way to go, but, by Heaven, I’m going to get us there alive! Are you with me?”

  A hearty cheer rang from the throats of the men. They shouted the commander’s name with enthusiasm.

  “All right!” he bellowed. “There is one more thing! Anyone who wants to stay with the ship can do so; anyone who feels too ill to make it should consider it his duty to stay behind, because sick men will simply hold us up and weaken us more than if they’d been left behind. Remember, we’re not going to turn back as a body, and an individual would never make it alone.” He paused.

  “Well?”

  Not a man moved. The commander grinned—not with humor, but with satisfaction. “All right, then: let’s move out.”

  V

  Of them all, only a handful, including the commander, had any real knowledge of what lay ahead of them, and that knowledge only pertained to the periphery of the area the intrepid band of adventurers were entering. They knew that the aliens possessed a rudimentary civilization—they did not, at that time, realize they were entering the outposts of a powerful barbaric empire—an empire almost as well-organized and well-armed as that of First Century Rome, and, if anything, even more savage and ruthless.