Yorick nodded. "All that prevents it is the system Shack-lar's worked out for resolving disputes."
"Yeah—we kind of had a taste of that earlier today." Rod exchanged glances with Gwen. "It does seem kind of fragile, though."
"Definitely. Shacklar still has a long way to go before both sides are safe from each other. He's got to weld them together into a single political entity, fully equal, and respecting each other."
"Doth he mean that Wolmen and soldiers both, must have common courts of justice?"
"Well, having them join together in a single judiciary would certainly help." Rod pursed his lips. "But he'd also need some way of making them join in a single legislative body."
Gwen frowned. "What mean these words, milord?"
"That's right, you're a loyal subject of Their Majesties… Well, dear, it's possible for people to make their own laws."
"Thou dost not say it!"
"Oh, but I do. Of course, you have to be sure ahead of time that everybody will agree to those laws, or they'll be awfully hard to enforce."
'"No prince may govern without the consent of the governed,'" Yorick quoted.
Rod threw him a glance of irritation. "Thank you, Nick Machiavelli."
"He wasn't so bad a guy. Just trying to be realistic, that's all."
"Oh? When was the last time you talked to him?"
Yorick opened his mouth to answer.
"NO! I don't want to know!" Rod held up a palm. "Well, dear, the best way to make sure the people won't object to any new laws is to have them choose their own lawmakers."
Gwen just stared at him.
"It's possible," Yorick murmured. "I know it sounds farfetched, but it's possible."
Gwen turned to him. "Didst thou, then, have to become thus accustomed to such strangeness?"
"Who, me?" The Neanderthal spread his hands. "My people didn't even have laws. Everybody just sort of agreed on everything…"
"So, then." Gwen turned back to Rod. "This planet hath no king."
Rod shook his head. "Just General Shacklar, on the colonists' side. I assume the Wolmen have some kind of a leader, too—but I don't think they've decided to get royal about it yet."
"Yet they do govern themselves?"
"Well, that's what Shacklar's working on. But it's been done in other places—quite a few of them. Basically, they choose their own king—but all he gets to do is carry out the lawmakers' decisions. He doesn't even get to judge people charged of crimes, or resolve disputes. There's a system of courts and judges for that."
"So, then." Gwen gazed off into space, and Rod could hear her thoughts—a train of logic tripping over bit by bit in a long chain. "Before it could lead to revolution," she said gently.
"Yes, dear. That's what I'm trying to bring about on Gramarye."
She stared, and he saw understanding come into her eyes. "Thou dost take long enow in the doing of it!"
"Have to." Rod shook his head. "There's no shortcut. It has to develop out of the people themselves, or it won't last. There're a thousand different ways of doing it, one for each society that has developed self-government—because it has to grow, like a tree. It can't be grafted onto a people."
"The grafts never take," Yorick murmured.
"Or they take graft, but that happens in every system when it starts to die. In fact, that's part of what kills it."
"But we're in at the beginning." Yorick grinned. "It can't be corrupted yet, because it hasn't quite begun."
"Amazing how much Shacklar has done, though." Rod turned to the Neanderthal. "How's he going to wield them into one complete political unit?"
"How'd he do this much?" Yorick shrugged. "Sorry, Major—I didn't have time for a full briefing; I had to just grab what few facts I could, before I jumped into the time machine. But he will manage it, say our boys from up the time-line, if we can fight off the SPITE and VETO agents who're trying to do him in, and his system with him."
Rod stared. The Society for the Prevention of Integration of Telepathic Entities was the Anarchists' time-travel department, as the Vigilant Exterminators of Telepathic Organisms was the Totalitarians'. The two of them were the banes of his existence on Gramarye. "They're after him, too?"
"Sure. Your world isn't the only one that's crucial to the future of democracy, milord."
"But why is Wolmar so important?"
"Mostly because it's one of the few pockets of democracy that's going to keep going all through the PEST centuries; at least it'll keep the idea alive. But also because it's going to be the headquarters for the educational effort."
Rod stared. Then he closed his eyes, gave his head a quick shake, and looked again.
Yorick nodded. "That's why we have to have an agent stationed here—to make sure the SPITE and VETO boys don't get to sabotage Shacklar's system."
"You bet you have to!"
"Yet an there be one of thy folk here," said Gwen, "wherefore can he not care for us?"
"Who said it was a he?"
"Why…" Gwen looked at Rod. "I would ha' thought…"
Yorick shook his head. "All we ask is that an agent be capable."
"Then thine agent here is female?"
"Now, I didn't say that." Yorick held up a palm. "And I'm not about to, either. The whole point is that our agent has managed to establish a very good cover, and we don't want to blow it. Stop and think about it—can you figure out who it is?"
Rod stared at the ape-man for a moment, then shook his head. "You're right—I can't."
Gwen turned to gaze about them, her eyes losing focus.
"Uh-uh, milady!" Yorick wagged a forefinger at her. "No fair reading minds. It's better for us all if you don't know who it is! After all, what you don't know, you can't let slip."
"So they sent in a special agent," Rod said, "you. After all, if your cover's blown, it won't be any major tragedy."
"I wasn't planning to use it again, anyway." Yorick nodded.
"Thus thou'rt come in aiding us to return to our home!"
Yorick kept nodding. "Going to try, anyway. I've got a time-beacon with me. All I have to do is push the button, and it'll send a teeny ripple going through the time-stream. When that ripple hits the receiver in Doc Angus' headquarters, he'll know exactly when and where we are, so he'll be able to shoot us all the spare parts for making a time machine. And I'll put them together, press the button— and voila! You'll be home!"
Rod frowned. "But why can't he just press a button and pick us up? I mean, he shot you here without a time machine to receive you, didn't he?"
"Yeah, but it doesn't work both ways." Yorick shrugged. "Don't ask me why—I'm just the bullet. I don't understand the gun, milord."
"Uh, can the 'milord' business." Rod darted nervous glances around the room. "I don't think they'd understand it here."
"Suits." Yorick shrugged again. "What do you want me to call you?"
"How about, uh—'major?' They'd recognize that, and it's legit; I'm just not in the same army, that's all."
"Any way you want it, Major."
"Thanks." Rod hunched forward, frowning. "Now, about time-travel. Why does it only work one way?"
"I said not to ask me that!" Yorick winced. "What do I
know? I'm just a dumb caveman. But I think it's sorta like— well, you can throw a spear, but you can't make it fly back to you. Understand?"
"You can tie a rope to it." Rod remembered reading every other chapter of Moby Dick.
"A rope five hundred years long? Gets a little weak in the middle, Major. And five hundred is a short haul, where I come from."
Rod felt an attack of stubbornness coming on. "It should be possible, though."
"Okay, so maybe it is, but Doc Angus just hasn't figured out how to do it yet. And I get the impression that no one ever will."
"Watch out for the absolutes." Rod raised a cautioning finger. "The boys up the time-line might just not have told you yet."
"Possible," Yorick admitted, "but not probable. We're both f
ighting the same enemies—and if SPITE saw a chance to get the jump on VETO, you can bet they'd leap at it— especially a jump like that! And if the VETO boys thought they could get an edge on SPITE, they'd grab it, too."
"And they would both rejoice to gain advantage over thy GRIPE," Gwen added.
"Oh, you betcha, lady!" *
"Well, I guess we all have to take McAran's word for it." Rod pushed back his chair and stood up. "Might as well get moving on it, eh? It's going to be kind of hard, trying to find a place in this colony where we can be alone for a couple of hours."
"Well, more like sixteen, really." Yorick stood up, too. "It takes a little time, getting the components through. Not to mention putting them together." He turned to Gwen. "If you'll excuse us, milady…"
"Nay, I will not." Gwen was already coming around the table. "Whither mine husband goeth, I go."
"Oh. Don't think I can take care of myself yet, eh?" Rod grinned. "Or don't you trust me out of your sight?"
"Somewhat of both, mayhap." Gwen tucked her arm through his. "Yet whate'er the cause, thou shalt not leave me. Lead on. Master Yorick."
"Any way you want it, milady." The ape-man laid some IDE bills on the table and turned to the door.
Rod eyed the money with appreciation. "You do come prepared, don't you?"
"Huh?" Yorick turned back and saw where Rod was looking. "Oh! Just the basic survival kit, Major. We have one ready for every time and clime."
Rod turned away to the door with him. "Y' know, it's kind of funny that this outlying planet would still use IDE paper money, even after the government that printed it has died."
"Why? It's not really paper, y' know, it's a very tough plastic. It'll last forever—or a couple of centuries, at least."
"Well, yeah, but it doesn't have any value in itself. It's only as good as the government that printed it."
"Yeah, but it still works just fine, if everybody believes in it—and they do. Helps that it's based on energy—their basic monetary unit was the BTU. So many BTUs equal a kwaher—a kilowatt-hour—and so many kwahers equal a therm. So the money supply only gets increased when there's more energy available within the interplanetary system as a whole."
"Yeah, if the government doesn't rev up the printers!"
"Ah, but the government doesn't exist anymore." Yorick held up a finger. "It can't inflate the currency now."
"Nice bit of irony." Rod smiled. "The IDE's currency is more sound now that the government that made it has disappeared, than it was while that government was alive and kicking."
"Mostly kicking, at least toward the end. I mean, they were even doing everything they could to bump off Cholly, over there, just because he came up with some wild theories."
"Cholly?" Rod turned to stare at the barkeeper. "Mr. Nice
Guy himself? Why would the IDE want to kill him off?"
"Well, not the IDE, really—just the LORDS, the majority party that engineered the big coup d'etat, and set up the Proletarian Eclectic State of Terra."
"Before they even came to power?"
Yorick nodded. "And SPITE and VETO are still trying to finish the job. That's one of our agent's main jobs— protecting Cholly and his establishment."
"What's so important about a tavern?"
"Oh, the tavern's just a front. His real establishment is just an idea and a method, with a set of tried-and-true techniques. People who need a reason for living take his method and go out and do the same kind of work, all on their own." Yorick grinned. "Drives PEST crazy. They keep trying to find out how his organization works—who gives the orders, and how they're transmitted—but there isn't any organization! Just ideas…"
"Sounds fabulous. What's his real work?"
"Mass education—without the masses realizing they're being educated. Cholly is Charles T. Barman, Major."
Rod froze, staring at the cheery tavernkeeper. "That!?! That is the man who created the educational system that gave birth to the Decentralized Democratic Tribunal?"
"Yeah, but he's only just now doing the creating, so the DDT's very vulnerable right at this time-locus, five centuries before it'll be born. If anything happens to Cholly, the DDT "revolution' might never happen. You see why we don't want to compromise our agent here. Don't stare, Major— it makes you conspicuous. Shall we go?"
"Uh—yeah." Rod turned away, feeling numb. "Yeah, sure. Let's go."
"Nar, let's not," rumbled the sergeant.
He wasn't all that big himself, but the troops behind him filled the doorway. Rod stared, shocked—it was the slob from the Wall that morning, Thaler's buddy. But he'd gone through a complete metamorphosis, and maybe even a shower. His uniform was neat and crisp, his cheeks were shaven, and his hair was combed. "Amazing," he murmured.
Behind the bar, Cholly looked up and saw. "Here, now!" he cried, and the whole tavern fell silent. "We'll have no violence in this house!"
"That's up to him," the former slob growled. "Come along to the General nice and peaceablelike, and there won't be no trouble."
Rod frowned. "The General?"
"Aye. You're under arrest."
Rod stood very still. The sergeant grinned.
"Not quite what I had in mind," Yorick muttered.
"Wherefore are we arrested?" Gwen asked.
The sergeant shrugged. "That's for the general to say. Are you coming peaceably, or not?" The glint in his eye said he hoped "not."
Rod sighed and capitulated. "Sure. I always cooperate with the authorities."
"Well, almost always," Yorick muttered.
"Converse with the General was enjoyable," Gwen agreed.
Behind her, most of the soldiers' faces broke into slow, sly grins.
"A woman can't say anything around here without being suspect," Rod sighed. "Of course, they didn't stop to think what kind of a woman would find a masochistic general to be pleasant company."
The grins vanished; the soldiers stared in horror.
Rod nodded, satisfied. "I don't think you'll have any trouble around here, dear. Now we can go."
They might have been the dregs of military society, but they marched very nicely—all the way down the street, into the headquarters building. They came to a halt while the sergeant knocked on Shacklar's door, and the receptionist (human—it was a frontier planet; and male—it was a military prison) officially told him he could enter. Then they marched right into the office, and came to a stamping halt in front of Shacklar's desk.
The General looked up from his paperwork and smiled warmly. "Very good, Sergeant." He saluted. "Dismissed."
The ex-slob stared. "But, General… these people, they're…"
"Very pleasant conversationalists," the General assured him. "I've spoken with them already this morning. I'm sure there won't be any problem—especially with the Chief Chief available." He nodded toward a purple Wolman who stood beside his desk.
The sergeant looked the Wolman up and down, and did not seem assured. "If'n it's all the same to you, sir…"
"But I'm afraid it's not." Shacklar's tone was crisp, but polite. "That will be all, Sergeant. I thank you for your concern."
The sergeant and all his troops eyed the Wolman, Rod, and Yorick warily—and Gwen almost with alarm. But the sergeant barked, "About/ace.' For'ard harch!" dutifully. The squad pivoted with a multiple stamp, and marched out. The sergeant lingered in the doorway for one more glower, but Shacklar met his gaze, and the man turned and disappeared.
On the other hand, he didn't close the door.
Shacklar ignored it. He turned to the Gallowglasses, beaming. "A pleasure to see you again, Master Gallowglass, Mistress Gallowglass." He turned an inquiring glance to Yorick. "I don't believe I've had the pleasure?"
Rod gestured toward the ape-man. "Oh, this is…"
But Yorick cut him off. "AnderThal, General. But I used to be a comic actor with a two-bit rep company, so they call me…"
"… Yorick," Rod finished. He swallowed. "Uh, General—has it occurred to you that you mig
ht be in a rather dangerous position?"
"Outnumbered, you mean? And both of you with weapons?" Shacklar nodded. "I'm aware of it, yes."
"It… doesn't bother you."
"Not particularly. I'm trusting to your honor, old boy."
Rod stared. Then he said, just by way of information, "You're a fool, you know."
"I'm aware of that, too." Shacklar smiled up at him.
Yorick locked glances with Rod, and his thoughts were loud. This man is vital to the future of democracy, Major. If you so much as lay a finger on him… At which point the mental signal deteriorated into some rather gruesome graphics.
Not that Rod needed the urging. He gazed at Shacklar's warm, open countenance, and sighed. "I never kill fools before dinnertime; it's bad for the digestion." Ruefully, he was remembering a few occasions when he'd played the same gambit himself; but it had worked, he had gained trust…
… and it was working again, now.
Shacklar wasn't the only fool in the room, he decided.
A faint smile touched the corners of the General's mouth; he relaxed. "I don't believe you've met this gentleman— Chief Hwun, of the Purple tribe—and acclaimed as Chief of all the Wolman tribes."
"No, I don't believe I've had the pleasure." Rod tried to remember how the salute went—crossed arms, fingers touching the shoulders…
Before he could try it, the big Wolman said, "Them do-um it—this man and woman in-um funny clothes."
Rod stared.
Then he said, "Not much on courtesy, is he?"
"Uh—" Yorick glanced about, then at the General. "I know it's none of my business, but… what does the Chief think M… Mr. Gallowglass did?"
Rod caught the near slip, and gave Yorick points; he'd realized the hazards of having Shacklar think he might be entitled to give Rod orders. "Why, trespassing, of course, on Wolman land." He turned back to Shacklar. "But we cleared that up a couple of hours ago."
"Well, yes—but the Chief's now charging you with an additional transgression."
Rod frowned. "Isn't that 'double jeopardy,' or something?"
"Not at all, since it's a crime you weren't charged with before."
"What crime?"
"Murder."
Rod set a mug of ale down in front of Gwen, then turned back to the bar. "Two of whatever passes for whiskey here. Doubles."
The Warlock Wandering Page 5
