The Eleventh Golden Age of Science Fiction Megapack

by F. L. Wallace

  He nodded and accompanied her. Whatever it was she relied on, it was in her cabin, and he had failed to find it. Her talk about the mental effects on Kransians was pure camouflage. There was something she had to get to, without letting him know what it was.

  At the entrance she paused. “You have a perfect right to come in,” she said huskily. He knew what he should do, but restrained himself; he managed a smile and it gave her ideas.

  She talked while she changed to the skin. Her voice was low and consciously pleasant, and she kept the intellectual plane as high as the physical side was obvious. Philosophy and strip-tease. A discourse on the obligations of Restap toward less fortunate people, coupled with an exhibitionistic display, and her body was good enough—normally it would have been distracting.

  Time was running out. Carlos had been near her end when he last looked at her, but Airsta couldn’t afford to let her die, not while he had the weapon.

  He took it out of his jacket and adjusted it, making sure she saw the setting. The gelatin pellet would be calibrated as it left the muzzle, and when it struck it would spread, something like the effect of a giant fist. One would stun, and a dozen would break every bone in a man’s body. There were other settings, but they were merciful and would kill outright.

  Airsta didn’t mind, apparently. She put on the last of her clothing and stood up. “Let’s look at your darling,” she said airily.

  There was something false in the performance, and lie couldn’t place it. She hadn’t expected results from her display, merely intended it as a distraction. It had failed because he had watched every move she made. She hadn’t touched anything but her own clothing. And the outer garment was the same one she had been taking off when Carlos had surprised her. He could tell because the com-unit that looked like a flower was still fastened to the shoulder.

  And yet, had she failed? His own irritabilities were not so high; he could tell because he was watching for it. She might have used the strip-tease to gain his visual attention while she concentrated on the mental level. He refused to think about it.

  He walked behind her to the room in which Carlos lay. “She’s better already,” said Airsta.

  He couldn’t deny it. Her breathing was natural and her muscles were not cramped and twisted. She was still unconscious and her face was splotched and sulphurous, but she was coming out of it.

  “I’ll take the gun,” said Airsta. “As long as you’re near, she’s not safe unless I’m also alive, and willing to help her out. But you might get other ideas.” She brushed her shoulder.

  The impact was almost physical. He wanted to believe Airsta. It would be so peaceful if he could. But the gesture toward her shoulder ruined it.

  She was out in space and from here the com-unit wouldn’t reach any Restapan station. She had no business wearing it—for that purpose. She was using it for something else—against Carlos.

  He extended the gelgun with his left hand and watched her come close to take it. He remembered another face like Carlos’, as tormented, as deathly. It had been the face of his Merhavian grandfather as he, Jason, lay that night in a darkened room.

  That, too, she had against her. Airsta reached out for the weapon—and he hit her with his fist. It took only once.

  * * * *

  Carlos opened her eyes. She was in bed and the sun was shining through the window. It wasn’t a ship, she knew that. “Where am I?” she asked delightedly.

  “It isn’t Earth, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Jason.

  “Tell me,” she insisted, her eyes shining. “Merhaven.”

  She lay very still while her mind worked on that information. “Kiss me, quick,” she said. “They’ll kill us.”

  “Will they now?” he said. He went to the door and called out. A tall rawboned man came back with him. “This is my cousin—father’s side. Tell us, Burons, what are your intentions?”

  “Every young man has them,” said Burons admiringly. “Is she married?”

  “Spoken for,” said Jason firmly. “But what else?”

  “I foresee a vurra fine relationship with Kransi,” he said. He looked at Jason, winked at Carlos, and left.

  “What do you think of him?”

  Her eyes were wide. “I like him,” she said finally. “Were you afraid?”

  “I’ve never been afraid of anything.”

  That was very nearly true. “It’s all settled,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

  “I’ve been asleep,” she said indignantly. “You’ve got to tell me what happened.”

  He sighed; there was a lot to tell, but he did the best he could. In the middle of the narration she looked up and saw the com-unit on the wall.”

  “That?” she said, indicating it with her eyes.

  He nodded. “It doesn’t look like much. Even when I opened it, it seemed like an ordinary com-unit. But a very close examination showed that there were really two transmitters inside, one very different from the other. And the output frequencies of the unconventional transmitter don’t register on standard equipment, or even a special kind.”

  Jason went on with the explanation; when he finished, Carlos was drowsy, if not enlightened. Quietly he left the room. He didn’t go far, he had to stay within range of the transmitter on the wall. But Merhavians were working on similar ones, and within a short time there would be larger units in operation.

  It was simple, when you knew the forces involved. Mankind was evolving toward—what? Maybe it was telepathy, maybe something else. Whatever it was, no race or segment of a race had got there yet. But in a thousand years or so a child would be born—and someone would learn what unique capacities he had.

  Meanwhile there were intermediate steps, and the people of Kransi and Merhaven were part of the way along. One of the consequences of that evolutionary process was the production in each mind of the higher neuronic frequencies. At that level trouble started. Those frequencies were often irritating to other delicately and differently attuned minds. The more sensitive the individual might be, the easier it would be to throw the individual out of self-control. The mind couldn’t adjust to static.

  It could be compared to another kind of irritation—allergy. But this kind of allergy wasn’t physical at all and couldn’t be detected by physical means.

  Jason had a clear picture of his mother and the specialists who attended her. Now he knew facts that he had not known. She had died because of the presence of his Merhavian father, and to a lesser extent, himself. His tortured and guilt-ridden father had killed his mother, but not in the way he thought.

  The people of Kransi and Merhaven reacted to each other—violently—on the neuronic level. They had never suspected why, but they had always known that the other had to be killed as quickly as possible if they themselves were to remain alive. They accepted their fate and thus they fought whenever they met.

  Long ago on Restap someone had been curious, had investigated and found out the cause. Working on this information, Restapans had built a transmitter that could blanket the irritating and lethal frequencies. They had kept the secret of the neuronic transmitter well hidden, and, using it cleverly, had advanced to wealth and economic power. They alone could successfully contact both Kransi and Merhaven, and they had kept these planets under firm, though concealed, control.

  Jason had represented a threat. He was linked to Kransi and Merhaven, and if allowed to go on, sooner or later would have stumbled on their secret.

  There had been an earlier threat—his mother and father. They had met on Restap, and as long as they were near a neuronic transmitter, they were free to fall in love, which they had. Restap had forced them to leave, and they would have died soon, but instinctively they had worked out a solution that had enabled them to survive. It was a simple solution—they met only for brief periods. It was for the same reason that Jason’s father had seldom come to see him.

  At any rate, his mother had lived long enough to give birth to him, and his father had lived longer
and piled up great wealth, which he left to him, offering position and prestige.

  But when he returned to Restap, Jason’s wealth was an obstacle. A penniless person could disappear without a comment, but not someone of his economic status. Above all, Restap couldn’t stand investigation.

  However, they had no objection if he were killed on Merhaven, and so they had allowed him to go there, knowing that Merhavians would react to him as they did to a Kransian. He would have died on that planet, if it were not for his grandfather. All that saved him was the gigantic stubbornness of an old man, who, no matter how much he was goaded, would not dishonor his sense of kinship.

  When he returned, alive, they were close to the danger line, and so they had shoved forward their hatchet woman, Airsta. That was why Secretary Motile of Restap Intrade disappeared. Airsta had staged the picnic, even to bringing his grandfather. At the proper time, in synchronization with the one inside-the-shoulder com-unit, she had turned off all the neuronic transmitters in the city. Merhavians and Kransians did the rest—they couldn’t help it.

  But he had survived, and hadn’t been convinced, as she had intended, that there was no solution to the age-old conflict between Kransi and Merhaven.

  And so they had to take the next step. Airsta had been instructed to entangle him, and she had come close. If Carlos hadn’t intervened, at least she would have tied him up endlessly in lawsuit after lawsuit. He would have been so busy defending himself he would have had no time to turn his attention in a direction that might threaten them.

  But they hadn’t intended to stop with that. At the rest planet he would have been helpless. His mind was neither Kransian nor Merhavian—but a little of both. It was possible that a very strong neuronic field would have effects on him that they would consider desirable. At any rate, there was nothing to stop them from experimenting on him, and they had planned to do so.

  It was not too pleasant a situation to be involved in. He gave an involuntary shudder. Then his thoughts turned to Carlos.

  Jason wandered by the window and peered in. Carlos was sleeping. His mind produced both frequencies; his body had adapted to them when he was young and infinitely plastic. He could live with either frequency, but Carlos could not.

  She had frightened Airsta while the latter was undressing, and the neuronic transmitter in the corn-unit had accidentally been turned off. Then Airsta had the problem of turning it on again without his knowing it. She had been clever, but she had overestimated the effect it had on him. It wasn’t as great as on the pure strains. It brought a feeling of peace to him, as it did to the others, but he had been able to stand hack and analyze it for a fraction of a second. A fraction of a second was all he had needed.

  He went back into Carlos’ room and sat down.

  “You cheated,” she said, opening her eyes.

  He laughed. “How?”

  “Because you didn’t tell me why you came to Merhaven instead of Kransi.”

  “I’ll trade questions—one for each of us.” She stretched. “Mine first.”

  “Agreed.” He looked at the transmitter on the wall, and it was a deadly thing. Or a life-giving one, depending on who used it. “When I examined it in detail I found that very few parts had been made on Restap. Mostly it had been bought on Merhaven and merely assembled on Restap.

  “So I came here, knowing that I was safe as long as it was running. Merhavians had made it in the first place, though they hadn’t known what they were doing. Once they knew, they could make it better. Your people are not that kind of technicians.”

  She turned away from the wall. “They buy things from us too. I wish we didn’t have to sell to them.”

  “We’ll change that,” said Jason. “I know they buy goop, but what else?”

  “That’s it, mostly. The goop they buy is modified, though; it can’t be used for clothing the way we use it. On Restap they call it a fertilizer. In the form they get, I suppose it is.”

  That was the substance his grandfather had spoken about. It could change Merhaven. The gaunt valleys, lovely though they were now, could produce food as well. The picture was growing dark for Restap.

  “I’ve used up my question,” said Carlos. “But you have to tell me. What did you do with Airsta?”

  “The Merhaven authorities wanted her. I turned her over to them. Two of their citizens died at the picnic.” At worst she was only an instrument of higher forces, but no human being is ever that helpless; it was the bare minimum of justice.

  But the plan he worked out for the ultimate disposal of the neuronic transmitter was more than just. Once the Merhavians had manufactured enough for their own and Kransian needs, he was going to turn it over to Amity.

  They needed a strong president, and he could change his nominal office into a functioning one. There was such a thing as xenophobia, but it was much more rare than people thought. Mostly, it was reaction at a level that no one had looked into. Under his direction the conflicts that everyone had accepted as inevitable were to receive close scrutiny. And he had a powerful instrument to help him. There would still be conflicts, economic and otherwise, but those which had no real basis would cease to exist.

  “What’s your question?” asked Carlos.

  He thought he knew the answer, but he had to ask. “What’s the raw material for making goop?”

  “That’s silly,” said Carlos. “Uranium, of course. We transmute it until no one can recognize it, a long organic compound you wouldn’t guess came out of a single element.” She looked at him meekly and sighed. “It’s not very plentiful in Kransia and no one uses it any more. Our only source is Restap.”

  It was not surprising. The principal victims of Restap had been Merhaven and Kransi. Restap had had to hold them apart, but for the sake of their own needs, had been forced to develop them into an integrated economy. And neither had known.

  There were parallels on earth to match the situation, but it still hurt to see that the brightest dreams of pioneers had come to this.

  There was an interstellar law, but it was useless to prosecute Restap under it. And it wasn’t at all necessary. They had set up their own trap, and now it had fallen shut on them—with a bang. Because Restap didn’t have any uranium either. They got it from Merhaven. They were now doomed to start at the bottom of the economic ladder and work up, if they could. The commodities they had once depended on would bypass them completely. They had neither raw materials nor industrial technique, and they had had lived so long off the efforts of others that they had forgotten how to work. They would have to learn, the hard way.

  Jason looked up to see Carlos scrambling out of bed. In spite of his commands she curled up in his arms and went to sleep.

  He held her and stroked the ridiculous fur that still covered her body. It was not really fur, now that he thought about it. For a long time it had reminded him of something else that he couldn’t quite place. The silken, curly yellow strands caressed his fingers. With certainty he knew what it was: Jason and the golden fleece.