by Mike Resnick
His cell was eight feet by six feet, with a small bucket in the corner. There was a single barred window, from which he could look out over the main square of the city. There were no beds or cots, but he was given a pair of blankets so that he wouldn't have to sleep on the damp stone floor.
He spent three days alone in the cell. Each evening he was given a single plate of food that he could not identify and a cup of water, each morning the plate and cup were removed and a fresh bucket placed in the corner. Whenever a guard passed by he asked if his lawyer had been informed that he had been imprisoned, but he received no answer.
On the morning of the fourth day, the door was opened, the plate and cup picked up, the bucket replaced, and then a badly-beaten jason was tossed roughly onto the floor of the cell. Before Cartright could ask any questions, the door was locked once again.
Cartright examined the jason, whose golden fleece was streaked with dried blood, and tried his best to make the his new cellmate comfortable. There was no water with which to wash out the wounds, no bed on which to lay him, but he wrapped him in both blankets and, taking off his shirt, rolled it into a ball and used it as a pillow beneath the jason's head.
"Thank you," whispered the jason through bruised and bloodied lips. "You are Arthur Cartright, are you not?"
Cartright nodded. "Don't talk now. Just rest and try to regain some of your strength."
"For what purpose?" asked the jason. "We are doomed, you and I."
Cartright stared at the jason. "Don't I know you?" he said at last.
"We have met before," answered the jason. "I am the Reverend James Oglipsi."
"My God!" muttered Cartright. "If there was one jason I thought they'd be afraid to touch, it was you!"
"Why?" asked Oglipsi. "Because I am a Christian?"
"Because you've been standing up to Labu since the day he took office," said Cartright.
"Evidently I stood up to him once too often."
"He'll never get away with it!" said Cartright. "You've got tens of thousands of followers."
"He has already gotten away with it, Arthur Cartright. I am here, am I not?"
"But you've got all those devoted followers . . ." said Cartright.
"Who have been taught to turn the other cheek," answered Oglipsi wryly. "If I have done my job properly, then they will not try to free me or stand up to Labu. And if I have not, then I have failed and I might just as well die here as anywhere else."
"How did this happen?" asked Cartright. "You have been publicly denouncing him for half a year. Why did he arrest you now?"
"Two men from a nearby village were digging a well, when they came upon a dead body. The jasons do not bury their dead in unmarked graves, so the men dug further and discovered that they had unearthed a mass grave for more than two hundred corpses. The bodies had deteriorated beyond our ability to identify them individually, but we found several tokens of the Enkoti." The jason paused to catch his breath. "That was three . . . no, four . . . days ago. Yesterday morning I left my church and took my parishioners to the grave to pray for the souls of the poor butchered corpses. Colonel Witherspoon showed up with perhaps one hundred armed men, accused me of killing those people for supporting Gama Labu, and arrested me."
"And no one spoke up for you?" asked Cartright.
"The first forty to protest on my behalf were also arrested. The next handful were shot. After that, nobody said anything."
"But they know you're here!"
"These are farmers and peasants that I have converted to a religion of gentleness," said Oglipsi, shifting his position and trying unsuccessfully to get comfortable. "Surely you do not expect them to storm the jail and free me?"
"No," admitted Cartright. "No, I suppose not."
"Might I ask why you are here?" continued Oglipsi. "President Labu has usually gone out of his way not to offend the Republic."
"I'm not the Republic. I'm just a citizen of Faligor."
"But you are a Man, and the Republic protects Men wherever they may be."
"Not this time, Reverend," said Cartright. "First, they don't know I've been incarcerated. And second, even if they knew it, they wouldn't lift a finger to save me."
"Why not?" asked Oglipsi. "They have intervened everywhere else."
"Faligor is my experiment. When I was given charge of its development, I told the Republic I wanted no interference—so now they won't interfere even if I ask for help. This is their way of teaching a lesson to anyone who might emulate me." He paused. "Besides, Faligor has no ties to the Republic; legally they can't interfere in its internal affairs."
"But even if they cannot threaten military action, they can institute economic reprisals," suggested Oglipsi.
"Only if they know what's going on," said Cartright.
"How can they not know?"
"Who's going to tell them? I don't know of anyone, Man or jason, who's gotten an exit visa in the past two months. And it doesn't take much to jam subspace transmissions."
"Surely some word of what has transpired here must have reached the Republic," said Oglipsi.
"Oh, probably there have been scattered reports, a few letters—though I wouldn't bet on that—and maybe even a radio transmission or two. But I don't think you have any idea just how big the Republic is, or how many departments there are. It's almost impossible for them to put together enough data unless it's all been sent to one agency, and I'm sure it hasn't."
"Don't the agencies speak to one another?"
Cartright smiled. "The only thing worse than no one speaking is the sound of seventeen billion voices speaking at the same time, each with its own agenda."
"I don't understand," said Oglipsi.
"Although we claim Earth as our capitol, for all practical purposes Deluros VIII is the capitol planet of the race of Man. Now, not only is it half a galaxy away from Faligor, but it employs eleven billion bureaucrats, each charged with keeping some infinitesimal portion of the galaxy working. Not only that, but Deluros VI was broken up into some twenty-six terraformed planetoids, each housing a government agency: the Department of Alien Affairs completely covers one planetoid, the Bureau of Taxation covers another, and so on; the military has four of the planetoids and is already cramped for space. Add to this the fact that some of the departments, like Cartography, are tens of thousands of light years away, and it becomes increasingly difficult for the right information to get into the right hands in time to do any good."
"So we can expect no help from the Republic."
"Not until we can let the right members know what's going on here," replied Cartright. "And even then, their response would be limited by the fact that Faligor is neither a protectorate nor a member world." He sighed. "There's simply not a lot they can do, short of landing an army, and they're not going to do that."
"Do you think Labu has figured that out?" asked Oglipsi, wincing in pain as he gingerly shifted his position again.
"I doubt it. He's never struck me as being exceptionally intelligent."
"Let us hope you are right," said Oglipsi. "If he can do what he has done while acknowledging the possibility of reprisal, I fear to even think of what he might do once he knows there are no restrictions whatsoever on him."
"Amen," said Cartright softly.
10.
It was during their third week of incarceration that Cartright and Oglipsi noticed a sudden increase of activity outside their window.
"What the devil is going on?" muttered Cartright, staring down as a team of jason laborers began uprooting the gardens in front of a governmental building.
"I do not know," replied Oglipsi, peeking out the window when Cartright stepped away. "Surely he is not planning on burying his victims right in the city center!"
"It beats me," said Cartright.
By late afternoon they had determined that a statue was being moved to the location.
"Doubtless of himself," said Cartright.
"Are you surprised?" asked Oglipsi.
"N
o, I suppose not," replied the human. "But it does seem a bit egomaniacal."
"His ego is the least of our worries."
The statue was delivered during the night, completely covered with tarps. For three days it remained so, some twenty feet high, an object of curiosity to all passersby. During the third day a grandstand was hastily erected in the street opposite the statue and all traffic was diverted along other routes.
"It looks," said Cartright, as the sun rose the next morning, "as if we're going to be treated to a speech by Labu himself."
"Why should you think so?" asked Oglipsi, without bothering to get to his feet and approach the window.
"Because a couple of hundred soldiers with weapons just showed up. I don't know anyone else who needs that kind of security, do you?"
The soldiers quickly secured the area, rousting moles from their shops and sending them home, searching any pedestrians in the area. Finally a holovision team from the only operating station showed up and positioned their camera and sound equipment, and then a pair of buses arrived, disgorging their passengers in front of the grandstand.
"Nothing but Men," observed Cartright. "Not a jason or a mole in the bunch." He paused. "You don't think he's going to make them all swear fealty to him, do you?"
"What has that got to do with a statue?" asked Oglipsi.
Cartright shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out in good time," he replied.
He continued watching. Most of the men and women were obviously there against their wills, and were forced, at gunpoint, to take seats in the grandstand. They sat in the heat and humidity for the better part of an hour, until the sound of a siren could be heard in the distance. It got louder as it approached, and at last an armored vehicle pulled up and Gama Labu, now dressed in his general's uniform, got out and walked over to the statue.
"Look at him," muttered Cartright. "He must have three hundred goddamned medals on his uniform. I'll bet my pension he can't even count that high."
Labu looked at the holo crew, who nodded, and then he climbed a small dais that had been built that morning and faced the grandstand. The men and women stared at him in sullen silence until one of the soldiers said something that Cartright couldn't hear, and then a ripple of unenthusiastic applause spread through them.
"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you very much," said Labu in Terran.
"I see he's learned three new words," said Cartright caustically.
"Thank you, thank you," repeated Labu, finally raising his hands to signal an end to the applause.
"I know," he continued in the Maringo dialect, "what some of you think of me." Again he held up a hand, against an anticipated protest. "No, no, it is all right. This is Faligor, where you are free to think as you please. We do not need a constitution to guarantee you that right."
He paused and smiled a very alien smile, his golden fur rippling in the hot breeze that whipped across the city center.
"Many of you think that Gama Labu has no love for your race, that he does not hear your protests, that he wants to rid his planet of you. I assure you, my good friends, that this is not true. There is much about the race of Man to admire. You are not like the moles, who seek only to get rich off the sweat of other races. You have a glorious history, with many great men and women in it. You have conquered half a galaxy, and while you have not conquered Faligor, that does not make your achievement any the less admirable."
"What the hell is he getting at?" said Cartright.
"I know that some of you think me ignorant, because I do not speak or read Terran, but I am not ignorant. I know your history well. My close associate, Colonel George Witherspoon, has told me your history, and has translated many of your books for me."
"Aloud, no doubt," muttered Cartright.
"There is no reason why we should not be friends. I know that many of your people have left Faligor, but that is because they did not make an attempt to understand me or my people. In my greatness, in my open-mindedness, I do not choose only jasons for my heroes. In fact, I spit on the memories of Disanko and Robert Tantram. I have chosen for my hero a member not of my race but of your own, and I have ordered a statue of him to stand guard over the city of Romulus. Surely this will cement the ties between Man and jason, and prove to you that I harbor no ill will toward your people."
A small band emerged from the government building and played a discordant jason march on their various instruments, while Labu stood at attention. When they were through, he fumbled around the tarp for a moment, finally found the rope he was looking for, and gave it a sharp yank. The tarp came away to reveal a huge statue of an unimpressive-looking man dressed in a fashion that was almost a millennium out of date. The audience sat still, as if stunned.
"Who is it?" asked Oglipsi, who had walked over to the window. "Some hero from your ancient past?"
Cartright shook his head. "I wish it was. That is a statue of Conrad Bland."
"I am not familiar with the name. Who was Conrad Bland?"
"In the history of my race, we have had our share of genocidal maniacs: Caligula, Adolph Hitler, Joseph Stalin. The worst of them by far, the greatest killer of them all, was Conrad Bland. Before he was finally hunted down on the planet of Walpurgis III, he was responsible for the deaths of more than thirty million human beings." Cartright paused. "And that is Gama Labu's hero."
Down on the street, Labu was waiting for the applause that was not forthcoming. Finally he stepped forward again.
"Conrad Bland, like myself, was a visionary, capable of great things. The only difference between us is that he was hounded to his death, while in this enlightened age I have been elected the president of my planet." Labu grinned again. "I realize that you are moved to silence by this act of brotherhood, but this should be a joyous occasion. The spirit of Conrad Bland lives again."
He nodded to the leader of his soldiers, who barked a command, and this time all but three men and a woman got to their feet and cheered unenthusiastically. The four who remained seated were immediately taken away by the soldiers, and Cartright lost sight of them.
Shortly thereafter, Labu's vehicle carried him away, the soldiers moved the humans back onto their buses, and things slowly went back to normal. The moles began returning to their shops, a few Men went about their business, jasons crowded around the statue and read the inscription at its base.
"He's insane!" said Cartright, sitting back down on the floor. "He's absolutely certifiable."
"No, my friend," answered Oglipsi. "He is not insane, and if you hope to oppose him, you must understand that."
"You think his actions are those of a rational being?" demanded Cartright.
"His actions are those of a barbarian, which indeed he is," answered Oglipsi, "but not a mad barbarian, which he is not. He calculates every move very carefully. Never forget that, friend Arthur."
"Just what kind of calculation goes into erecting a statue of Conrad Bland?" asked Cartright.
"It is obvious that Labu wants all Men to leave the planet. Most of them have already left Faligor, but a few thousand diehards like yourself remain. If he starts slaughtering you, he is afraid that the Republic will come here in force—and while they may not help the jasons, or reappropriate the human property that was stolen, there is every likelihood that a widespread massacre of humans will indeed bring the Navy here." Oglipsi paused. "So what does he do? He unveils a statue of the greatest killer in history and claims that it is his hero. There are twelve thousand humans currently on Faligor. How many do you think will be here next week?"
"I see your point," said Cartright.
"I do not think you see it in its entirety," said Oglipsi.
"What do you mean?"
"I told you: he has a reason for everything he does."
"I know. And the reason he put up the statue was to encourage humans to leave the planet."
"You are missing the point."
"I am?"
"This is a barbarian, brought up to hate not just the Enkoti, but all tr
ibes that are not his own. Why do you think he wants all Men to leave the planet?"
Cartright simply stared at Oglipsi.
"Yes," said the jason. "The worst is yet to come."
11.
Cartright was dreaming that he was a child again, going fishing with his father on a clear blue lake, when he became aware of an insistent prodding. He moaned, tried to roll over, and pulled his blanket over himself, but the prodding became harder, and suddenly he sat up.
"You!" said a uniformed jason who had been poking him with the barrel of a sonic rifle. "Up!"
The jason turned to Oglipsi, who was huddled in a corner of the cell. "You too!"
The two of them, terrified, got to their feet, and were half-marched, half-dragged down a corridor to a staircase. They descended to ground level, and were taken to a small room where Cartright was sure they were to be tortured and killed. Instead, they were met by an overweight jason in a colonel's uniform who sat behind a scarred, battered desk.
"Arthur Cartright, Reverend James Oglipsi, all charges against you have been dropped and you are free to leave," announced the colonel.
For just an instant Cartright thought that Labu had been overthrown, but a glance through the window assured him that the military was still going about its business.
"I thank you," Oglipsi said.
"Do not thank me. If I had my way, you would have been executed the day you arrived. You owe your gratitude to the ruler you have so unfairly slandered."
"President Labu?" said Cartright.
"President-For-Life Labu," the jason corrected him. "In honor of his new position, which was conferred upon him last night, he has ordered that one in every five political prisoners be granted their freedom. Your names were drawn." The jason glared at them. "Now get out of here. I do not wish to be in the company of either of you."
Cartright felt an urge to race out the door before the jason could change his mind, and found that the only reason he walked slowly toward his freedom was that his incarceration had left him too weak to move any faster. He and Oglipsi made their way to the street, where they turned and faced each other.
