by Isaac Asimov
“Yes?”
“Get back as soon as you can. He’s still the Autarch, and the crew may need talking to. It’s hard to break a lifetime habit of obedience.... She’s behind that rock. Get to her before she freezes to death, will you? She won’t leave.”
Her face was almost buried in the hood that covered her head, and her body was formless in the thick, enveloping folds of the space-suit lining, but his steps quickened as he approached her.
He said, “How are you?”
She said, “Better, thank you. I am sorry if I caused any trouble.”
They stood looking at each other, and the conversation seemed to have burned itself out in two lines.
Then Biron said, “I know we can’t turn time backward, undo things that have been done, unsay things that have been said. But I do want you to understand.”
“Why this stress on understanding?” Her eyes flashed. “I have done nothing but understand for weeks now. Will you ten me again about my father?”
“No. I knew your father was innocent. I suspected the Autarch almost from the start, but I had to find out definitely. I could only prove it, Arta, by forcing him to confess. I thought I could get him to confess by trapping him into attempting to kill me, and there was only one way of doing that.”
He felt wretched. He went on, “It was a bad thing to do. As bad, almost, as what he did to my father. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
She said, “I don’t follow you.” He said, “I knew he wanted you, Arta. Politically, you would be a perfect matrimonial object. The name of Hinriad would be more useful for his purposes than that of Widemos. So once he had you, he would need me no longer. I deliberately forced you on him, Arta. I acted as I did, hoping you would turn to him. When you did, he thought he was ready to rid himself of me, and Rizzett and I laid our trap.”
“And you loved me an the time?”
Biron said, “Can’t you bring yourself to believe that, Arta?”
“And of course you were ready to sacrifice your love to the memory of your father and the honor of your family. How does the old doggerel go? You could not love me half so much, loved you not honor more!”
Biron said, miserably, “Please, Arta! I am not proud of myself but I could think of no other way.”
“You might have told me your plan, made me your confederate rather than your tool.”
“It was not your fight. If I had failed–and I might have–you would have remained out of it. If the Autarch had killed me and you were no longer on my side, you would be less hurt. You might even have married him, even been happy.”
“Since you have won, it might be that I would be hurt at his loss.”
“But you aren’t.”
“How do you know?”
Biron said desperately, “At least try to see my motives. Granted that I was foolish–criminally foolish–can’t you understand? Can’t you try not to hate me?”
She said softly, “I have tried not to love you and, as you see, I have failed.”
“Then you forgive me.”
“Why? Because I understand? No! If it were a matter of simply understanding, of seeing your motives, I would not forgive you your actions for anything I might have in life. If it were only that and nothing more! But I will forgive you, Biron, because I couldn’t bear not to. How could I ask you to come back to me unless I forgave you?”
And she was in his arms, her weather-cold lips turning up to his. They were held apart by a double layer of thick garments. His gloved hands could not feel the body they embraced, but his lips were aware of her white, smooth face.
At last he said in concern, “The sun is getting lower. It’s going to get colder.”
But she said softly, “It’s strange, then, that I seem to be getting warmer.”
Together they walked back to the ship.
Biron faced them now with an appearance of easy confidence which he did not feel. The Linganian ship was large, and there were fifty in the crew. They sat now facing him. Fifty faces! Fifty Linganian faces bred from birth to unquestioning obedience to their Autarch.
Some had been convinced by Rizzett; others had been convinced by the arranged eavesdropping on the Autarch’s statements to Biron earlier that day. But how many others were still uncertain or even definitely hostile?
So far Biron’s talking had done little good. He leaned forward, let his voice grow confidential. “And what are you fighting for, men? What are you risking your lives for? A free Galaxy, I think. A Galaxy in which each world can decide what is best in its own way, produce its own wealth for its own good, be slave to none and master of none. Am I right?”
There was a low murmur of what might have been agreement, but it lacked enthusiasm.
Biron went on, “And what is the Autarch fighting for? For himself. He is the Autarch of Lingane. If he won, he would be Autarch of the Nebular Kingdoms. You would replace a Khan by an Autarch. Where would be the benefit of that? Is that worth dying for?”
One in the audience cried out, “He would be one of us, not a filthy Tyranni.”
Another shouted. “The Autarch was looking for the rebellion world to offer his services. Was that ambition?”
“Ambition should be made of sterner stuff, eh?” Biron shouted back, ironically. “But he would come to the rebellion world with an organization at his back. He could offer them all of Lingane; he could offer them, he thought, the prestige of an alliance with the Hinriads. In the end, he was pretty sure, the rebellion world would be his to do with what he pleased. Yes, this was ambition.
“And when the safety of the movement ran counter to his own plans, did he hesitate to risk your lives for the sake of his ambition? My father was a danger to him. My father was honest and a friend of liberty. But he was too popular, 80 he was betrayed. In that betrayal, the Autarch might have brought to ruins the entire cause and all of you with it. Which one of you is safe under a man who will deal with the Tyranni whenever it suits his purpose? Who can be safe serving a cowardly traitor?”
“Better,” whispered Rizzett. “Stick to that. Give it to them.”
Again the same voice called from the back rows. “The Autarch knows where the rebellion world is. Do you know?”
“We will discuss that later. Meanwhile, consider instead that under the Autarch we were all headed for complete ruin; that there is still time to save ourselves by turning from his guidance to a better and nobler way; that it is still possible from the jaws of defeat to snatch–”
“–only defeat, my dear young man,” came a soft interrupting voice, and Biron turned in horror.
The fifty crewmen came babbling to their feet, and for a moment it seemed as though they might surge forward, but they had come to council unarmed; Rizzett had seen to that. And now a squad of Tyrannian guardsmen were filing through the various doors, weapons ready.
And Simok Aratap himself, a blaster in each hand, stood behind Biron and Rizzett.
Twenty: Where?
SIMOK ARATAP WEIGHED carefully the personalities of each of the four who faced him and felt the stirring of a certain excitement within him. This would be the big gamble. The threads of the pattern were weaving toward a close. He was thankful that Major Andros was no longer with him; that the Tyrannian cruisers had gone as well.
He was left with his flagship, his crew and himself. They would be sufficient. He hated unwieldiness.
He spoke mildly, “Let me bring you up to date, my lady and gentlemen. The Autarch’s ship has been boarded by a prize crew and is now being escorted back to Tyrann by Major Andros. The Autarch’s men will be tried according to law and if convicted will receive the punishment for treason. They are routine conspirators and will be treated routinely. But what shall I do with you?”
Hinrik of Rhodia sat beside him, his face crumpled in utter misery. He said, “Consider that my daughter is a young girl. She was led into this unwillingly. Artemisia, tell them that you were”
“Your daughter,” interposed Aratap, “will probably be released. She is,
I believe, the matrimonial object of a highly placed Tyrannian nobleman. Obviously, that will be kept in mind.”
Artemisia said, “I’ll marry him, if you’ll let the rest go.”
Biron half rose, but Aratap waved him down. The Tyrannian Commissioner smiled and said, “My lady, please! I can strike bargains, I admit. However, I am not the Khan, but merely one of his servants. Therefore, any bargain I do make will have to be justified thoroughly at home. So what is it exactly that you offer?”
“My agreement to the marriage.”
“That is not yours to offer. Your father has already agreed and that is sufficient. Do you have anything else?”
Aratap was waiting for the slow erosion of their wills to resist. The fact that he did not enjoy his role did not prevent him from filling it efficiently. The girl, for instance, might at this moment burst into tears and that would have a salutary effect on the young man. They had obviously been lovers. He wondered if old Pohang would want her under the circumstances, and decided that he probably would. The bargain would still be all in the ancient’s favor. For the moment he thought distantly that the girl was very attractive.
And she was maintaining equilibrium. She was not breaking down. Very good, thought Aratap. She was strong willed as well. Pohang would not have joy of his bargain after an.
He said to Hinrik, “Do you wish to plead for your cousin too?”
Hinrik’s lips moved soundlessly.
Gillbret cried, “No one pleads for me. I don’t want anything of any Tyranni. Go ahead. Order me shot.”
“You are hysterical,” said Aratap. “You know that I cannot order you shot without trial.”
“He is my cousin,” whispered Hinrik.
“That will be considered too. You noblemen will some. day have to learn that you cannot presume too far on your usefulness to us. I wonder if your cousin has learned that lesson yet.”
He was satisfied with Gillbret’s reactions. That fellow, at least, sincerely wanted death. The frustration of life was too much for him. Keep him alive, then, and that alone would break him.
He paused thoughtfully before Rizzett. This was one of the Autarch’s men. At the thought he felt a faint embarrassment. At the start of the chase, he had dismissed the Autarch as a factor on the basis of what seemed iron logic. Well, it was healthy to miss occasionally. It kept self-confidence balanced at a point safely short of arrogance.
He said, “You’re the fool who served a traitor. You would have been better off with us.”
Rizzett flushed.
Aratap went on, “If you ever had any military reputation, I am afraid this would destroy it. You are not a nobleman and considerations of state will play no part in your case. Your trial will be public and it will become known that you were a tool of a tool. Too bad.”
Rizzett said, “But you are about to suggest a bargain, I suppose?”
“A bargain?”
“Khan’s evidence, for instance? You have only a shipload. Wouldn’t you want to know the rest of the machinery of revolt?”
Aratap shook his head slightly. “No. We have the Autarch. He will do as a source of information. Even without it, we need only make war on Lingane. There would be little left of revolt thereafter, I’m sure. There will be no bargain of that sort.”
And this brought him to the young man. Aratap had left him for last because he was the cleverest of the lot. But he was young, and young people were often not dangerous. They lacked patience.
Biron spoke first, saying, “How did you follow us? Was he working with you?”
“The Autarch? Not in this case. I believe the poor fellow was trying to play both sides of the game, with the usual success of the unskillful.”
Hinrik interrupted, with an incongruously childish eagerness, “The Tyranni have an invention that follows ships through hyperspace.”
Aratap turned sharply. “If Your Excellency will refrain from interrupting, I would be obliged,” and Hinrik cringed.
It really didn’t matter. None of these four would be dangerous hereafter, but he had no desire to decrease by even one any of the uncertainties in the young man’s mind.
Biron said, “Now, look, let’s have facts, or nothing. You don’t have us here because you love us. Why aren’t we on the way back to Tyrann with the others? It’s that you don’t know how to go about killing us. Two of us are Hinriads. I am a Widemos. Rizzett is a well-known officer of the Linganian fleet. And that fifth one you have, your own pet coward and traitor, is still Autarch of Lingane. You can’t kill any of us without stinking up the Kingdoms from Tyrann to the edge of the Nebula itself. You’ve got to try to make some sort of bargain with us, because there’s nothing else you can do.”
Aratap said, “You are not altogether wrong. Let me weave a pattern for you. We followed you, no matter how. You may disregard, I think, the Director’s overactive imagination. You paused near three stars without landing on any planet. You came to a fourth and found a planet to land on. There we landed with you, watched, waited. We thought there might be something to wait for and we were right. You quarreled with the Autarch and both of you broadcast without limitation. That had been arranged by you for your own purposes, I know, but it suited our purpose as well. We overheard.
“The Autarch said that only one last intra-nebular planet remained to be visited and that it must be the rebellion world. This is interesting, you see. A rebellion world. You know, my curiosity is aroused. Where would that fifth and last planet be located?”
He let the silence last. He took a seat and watched them dispassionately–first one, then another.
Biron said, “There is no rebellion world.”
“You were looking for nothing, then?”
“We were looking for nothing.”
“You are being ridiculous.”
Biron shrugged wearily. “You are yourself ridiculous if you expect more of an answer.”
Aratap said, “Observe that this rebellion world must be the center of the octopus. To find it is my only purpose in keeping you alive. You each have something to gain. My lady, I might free you of your marriage. My Lord Gillbret, we might establish a laboratory for you, let you work undisturbed. Yes, we know more of you than you think.” (Aratap turned away hastily. The man’s face was working. He might weep and that would be unpleasant.) “Colonel Rizzett, you will be saved the humiliation of court-martial and the certainty of conviction and the ridicule and loss of reputation that would go with it. You, Biron Farrill, would be Rancher of Widemos again. In your case, we might even reverse the conviction of your father.”
“And bring him back to life?”
“And restore his honor.”
“His honor,” said Biron, “rests in the very actions that led to his conviction and death. It is beyond your power to add to or detract from it.”
Aratap said, “One of you four will tell me where to find this world you seek. One of you will be sensible. He will gain, whichever one it is, what I have promised. The rest of you will be married, imprisoned, executed–whatever will be worst for you. I warn you, I can be sadistic if I must be.”
He waited a moment. “Which one will it be? If you don’t speak, the one next to you will. You will have lost everything and I will still have the information I want.”
Biron said, “It’s no use. You’re setting this up so carefully, and yet it won’t help you. There is no rebellion world.”
“The Autarch says there is.”
“Then ask the Autarch your question.”
Aratap frowned. The young man was carrying the bluff forward past the point of reason.
He said, “My own inclination is to deal with one of you.”
“Yet you have dealt with the Autarch in the past. Do so again. There is nothing you can sell to us that we are willing to buy from you.” Biron looked about him. “Right?”
Artemisia crept closer to him and her hand folded slowly about his elbow. Rizzett nodded curtly and Gillbret muttered, “Right!” in a breathless man
ner.
“You have decided,” said Aratap, and put his finger on the correct knob.
The Autarch’s right wrist was immobilized in a light metal sheath, which was held magnetically tight to the metal band about his abdomen. The left side of his face was swollen and blue with bruise except for a ragged, force-healed scar that seamed it redly. He stood before them without moving after that first wrench which had freed his good arm from the grip of the armed guard at his side.
“What do you want?”
“I will tell you in a moment,” said Aratap. “First, I want you to consider your audience. See whom we have here. There is the young man, for instance, whom you planned death for, yet who lived long enough to cripple you and destroy your plans, although you were an Autarch and he was an exile.”
It was difficult to tell whether a flush had entered the Autarch’s mangled face. There was no single muscle motion upon it.
Aratap did not look for one. He went on quietly, almost indifferently, “This is Gillbret oth Hinriad, who saved the young man’s life and brought him to you. This is the Lady Artemisia, whom, I am told, you courted in your most charming manner and who betrayed you, nevertheless, for love of the youngster. This is Colonel Rizzett, your most trusted military aide, who also ended by betraying you. What do you owe these people, Autarch?”
The Autarch said again, “What do you want?”
“Information. Give it to me and you will be Autarch again. Your earlier dealings with us would be held in your favor at the Khan’s court. Otherwise–”
“Otherwise?”
“Otherwise I will get it from these, you see. They will be saved and you will be executed. That is why I ask whether you owe them anything, that you should give them the opportunity of saving their lives by yourself being mistakenly stubborn.”
The Autarch’s face twisted painfully into a smile. “They cannot save their lives at my expense. They do not know the location of the world you seek. I do.”
“I have not said what the information I want is, Autarch.”
“There is only one thing you can want.” His voice was hoarse–all but unrecognizable. “If my decision is to speak, then my Autarchy will be as before, you say.”
