Against such a society, a planet like Kandar was helpless. Mekin could not be placated nor satisfied with less than the subjugation and the ruin of its neighbors. For a time, Kandar had tried to arm for its own defense. It had a space-fleet which in quality was probably equal to Mekin’s, but in quantity was hopelessly less. Also it had a defensive policy. It did not dream of any but a defensive war. And no war was ever won by mere defense. There could be no defense against the building-up of tensions, the contriving of incidents, the invention of insults. It had been proved often enough. Eventually there was an ultimatum, and there was surrender, and then the installation of a puppet government and the ruthless bleeding of another captured planet for the benefit of the rulers of Mekin.
The process was implacable. There was nothing to be done but submit, flee or die. Various parts of Kandar’s population chose one or another course. Four great liners would carry away those who could be helped to flee. The mass of the people must submit, the fighting forces savagely made ready to die.
But in the cabinet meeting after the destruction of the hidden enemy cruiser, the tone was set by highly practical men. Bors was present at the meeting. He’d destroyed the cruiser. He was to be questioned about it. He had Morgan standing by to explain the part of Talents, Incorporated if required.
King Humphrey said heavily, “This is probably the last cabinet meeting before the coming of the Mekinese. I do not think oratory is called for. I put the situation as it stands. A fleet will come from Mekin for our answer to their ultimatum. Our space-fleet will not surrender. Our air force is openly mutinous at the idea of submission. It has been said that if we fight, our planet will be bombed from space until all its air is poison, so that every living creature here will die. If this is true, I do not think that even we who plan to fight have the right to bring such a bombing about. But I doubt if that is true. There has been one incident. Whether one likes it or not, it has happened. Captain Bors has reason to hope that the space-fleet, by fighting to the death, can actually benefit the rest of our people.”
Bors spoke, excitement coloring his words.
“It’s perfectly simple. There are only two kinds of people, slaves and free men. Slaves can be tortured and killed without concern. With free men a bargain has always to be struck. If there is no resistance to the Mekinese, they will despise us. We will be worse off than if we fight. Because if we fight, at least our people will be respected. They may be oppressed because they are conquered, but they won’t be treated with the contempt and doubled oppression given to slaves.”
A bearded man said querulously, “That’s theory. It’s psychology. It even smacks of idealism! Let us be realistic! As a practical man, I am concerned with getting the best possible terms for our population. After all, the dictator of Mekin must be a reasonable man! He must be a practical man! I believe that we should negotiate until the very last instant.”
Bors said indignantly, “Negotiate? You haven’t anything to negotiate with! I am not a citizen of Kandar, though I serve in its fleet. I am still a national of Tralee. But I have talked to the officers of the fleet. They won’t surrender. You can’t negotiate for them to do so. You can’t negotiate for them to go quietly away and pretend that nothing has happened and that there never was a fleet. When the Mekinese arrive, the fleet will fight. It doesn’t hope to win; it doesn’t expect anything—except getting killed honorably when its enemy would like to have it grovel. But it’s going to fight!”
King Humphrey said doggedly, “My influence does not extend to the disgrace of our fighting forces. The fleet will fight. I believe it unwise. But since it will fight I shall be in the flagship and it will not surrender.”
There was a pause. The bearded man said peevishly, “But it should fight on its own! It should not compromise Kandar!”
There was a murmur. King Humphrey looked about him from under lowered brows.
“That can be arranged,” he said heavily. “I will constitute a caretaker government by royal proclamation. I will appoint you,” he looked steadily at the bearded man, “to be head of it and make such terms as you can. If you like, when the Mekinese come you can warn them that the fleet has mutinied under me, its king, and may offer battle, but that you are ready to lead the people of Kandar in—”
“In licking the boots of all Mekinese,” said Bors in an icy tone.
There was a small rumble of protest. Bors stood up.
“I’d better leave,” he said coldly. “I’m not entitled to speak. If you want me, I can be reached.”
He strode from the council-chamber. As the door closed behind him, he ground his teeth. The stout man, Morgan, of the space-yacht Sylva, paced up and down the room where he waited to be called. His daughter sat tranquilly in a chair. She smiled pleasantly at Bors when he came in. Morgan turned to face him.
“Here’s some Talents, Incorporated information,” he said zestfully. “The cabinet is scared. A few are willing to fight, but most are already trying to think how they can make terms with the Mekinese.”
Bors opened his mouth to swear, then checked himself.
“Gwenlyn,” said Morgan, “will pardon an expression of honest indignation. It’s a dirty shame, eh?”
“If I were a native of Kandar,” said Bors bitterly, “I’d be even more ashamed than I am as a native of Tralee. The people of Tralee surrendered, but they didn’t realize what they were getting into. These men do!”
The girl Gwenlyn said quietly, “I’m sorry for King Humphrey.”
“He’s miscast,” said Morgan briskly. “He should be king of a calm and peaceful world in calm and peaceful times. You’re going to have trouble with him, Captain Bors!” Then he said; “Perhaps we can work out a plan or two, eh? While you’re waiting for the cabinet to call you back?”
“I’ve no authority,” said Bors. “My uncle’s the Pretender of Tralee, and I was originally commissioned in the fleet as a sort of courtesy to him. I can’t speak for anybody but myself.”
“You can speak for common sense,” said Gwenlyn. “After all, you know what the people really want. You could try to arrange things so that the fleet can fight well.”
“It’ll fight well,” said Bors curtly. “It’ll give a good account of itself! But that won’t do any good!”
Morgan struck an attitude, beaming.
“Ah! But you’ve got Talents, Incorporated on your side! You don’t realize yet, Captain, what a difference that can make! While there’s life and Talents, Incorporated, there’s hope!”
Bors shrugged. Suddenly he found that he, too, drearily accepted defeat. There was no more hope of accomplishment. There was nothing to be achieved. He would serve no purpose by straining against the impossible.
He said tiredly, “I’ll agree that Talents, Incorporated cost the Mekinese one cruiser.”
“A trifle,” said Morgan, waving his hand, “mere soupçon of accomplishment. We’re prepared to do vastly more.”
It occurred to Bors to be curious.
“Why? You’re risking your life and your daughter’s by staying here. If Mekin ever finds out about its cruiser on the sea bottom and your share in that affair, you’ll be in a fix! And certainly you can’t expect to make a profit here? We couldn’t even pay you for what you’ve already done!”
“I’m right now,” said Morgan placidly, “quite as rich as I want to be. I’ve another ambition—but let’s not go into that. I want to show you what Talents, Incorporated can do in the four days—” he looked at his watch—”three hours and some odd minutes that remain before the Mekinese fleet turns up. You’ve checked up on Talents, Incorporated?”
“My uncle says,” Bors told him, “that you kept Phillip of Norden from being assassinated by a fission-bomb at a cornerstone laying. He also says you wouldn’t accept a reward, only a medal.”
“I collect them,” said Morgan modestly. “You’d be surprised how many orders and decorations a man can acquire by industry and organization—and Talents, Incorporated.”
> Gwenlyn said, “Four days, three hours and some odd minutes—”
“True,” said Morgan. “Let’s get at it. Captain Bors, have you ever heard of a lightning calculator—a person who can do complicated sums in his head as fast as he can hear or read the numbers involved?”
“Yes,” said Bors. “It’s quite phenomenal, I believe.”
“It’s a form of genius,” said Morgan. “Only I call it a talent because it tends to make itself useless. Have you ever heard of a dowser?”
“If you mean a man who finds places for wells, and locates mines by means of a hazel twig—”
“The hazel twig is immaterial,” Morgan told him. “The point is that you’ve heard of them, and you know that they can actually do such things. Right?”
Bors frowned. “It’s not proven,” he said. “At least I think it isn’t considered proven because it isn’t understood. But I believe it’s conceded that such things are done. I believe, in fact, that dowsing has been done on photographs and maps, in an office, and not on the spot at all. I admit that that seems impossible. But I’m told it happens.”
Morgan nodded rapidly, very well pleased.
“One more. Have you heard of precognition?”
Bors nodded. Then he shrugged.
“I have a Talent,” said Morgan. “I have a man in my employ with a talent for precognizing when ships are going to arrive. His gift is strictly limited. He used to work in a spaceport office. He always knew when a ship was coming in. He didn’t know how he knew. He doesn’t know now. But he always knows when a ship will arrive at the planet where he is.”
“Interesting,” said Bors, only half listening.
“He was discharged,” Morgan went on, “because he allowed a maintenance crew to disassemble, for repair, a vital relay in a landing-grid on the very day when three space-ships were scheduled for arrival. There was pandemonium, of course, because nothing could have landed there. So when my Talent let the relay be dismantled, with three ships expected.… But one ship was one day late, another two days, and the third, four. He knew it. He didn’t know how, but he knew! He was discharged anyway.”
Bors did not answer. The cabinet meeting in the other room went on.
“He told me,” said Morgan, matter-of-factly, “that four ships would arrive on Kandar, and when. One of them has arrived. The others will come as predicted. He knows that a fleet will get here two days after the last of the four. One can guess it will be the Mekinese fleet.”
Bors frowned. He was interested now.
“I’ve another Talent,” pursued Morgan. “He ought to be a paranoiac. He has all the tendencies to suspicion that a paranoid personality has. But his suspicions happen to be true. He’ll read an item in a newspaper or walk past, oh, say a bank. Darkly and suspiciously, he guesses that the newspaper item will suggest a crime to someone. Or that someone will attempt to rob the bank in this fashion or that, at such-and-such a time. And someone does!”
“He’d be an uncomfortable companion,” Bors observed wryly.
“I found him in jail,” said Morgan cheerfully. “He’d been warning the police of crimes to come. They happened. So the police jailed him and demanded that he name his accomplices so they could break up the criminal gang whose feats he knew in advance. I got him out of jail and hired him as a Talent in Talents, Incorporated.”
Bors blinked.
“Before we landed here,” said Morgan, “I’d told him about the political situation, the events you expect. He immediately suspected that the Mekinese would have a ship down somewhere, to blast the fleet of Kandar if it should dare to resist. In fact, he said positively that such a cruiser was waiting word to fire fusion-bombs.”
Bors blinked again.
“And I spread out maps,” said Morgan, “and my dowser went over them—not with a hazel twig, but something equally unscientific—his instinct—and he assured me that the cruiser was under water five miles north-north-east magnetic from Cape Farnell. The map said the depth there was fifty fathoms. Then my paranoid Talent observed that there’d be spies on shore with means to signal to the submerged cruiser. My dowser then found a small shack on the map where a communicator to the ship would be. With the information about the arrival of the liners, and the facts about the cruiser—and I had other information too—I went to the Ministry for Diplomatic Affairs and told you. As you know, the information I gave you was accurate.”
Bors felt as if he’d been hit over the head. This was ridiculous! He’d hunted for the space-cruiser under the sea because the prediction of the liner’s arrival was so uncannily correct. He’d helped plan and carry out the destruction of that warship because its existence and location were verified by a magnetometer. But if he’d known how the information was obtained, if he’d known it was guessed at by a discharged spaceport employee, and a paranoid personality, and a man who used a hazel twig or something similar.… If he’d known that, he’d never have dreamed of accepting it. He’d have flatly dismissed the ship-arrival prediction!
But, if he hadn’t trusted the information enough to check on it, why, the small space-fleet of Kandar would vanish in atomic flame when it tried to take off to fight. With it would vanish Bors, and his uncle, and the king and many resolute haters of Mekin.
Gwenlyn said, “You’re perfectly right, Captain.”
“What’s that?” asked Bors, numbly.
“It is stark-raving lunacy,” said Gwenlyn pleasantly. “Just like it would have seemed stark-raving lunacy, once upon a time, to think of people talking to each other when they were a thousand miles apart. Like it seemed insane to talk about flying machines. And again when they said there could be a space-drive in which the reaction would be at a right angle to the action, and especially when somebody said that a way would be found to drive ships faster than light. It’s lunacy, just like those things!”
“Y-yes,” agreed Bors, his thoughts crowding one another. “It’s all of that!”
Morgan nodded his head rapidly.
“I felt that way about it,” he observed, “when I first got the idea of finding and organizing Talents for practical purposes. But I said to myself, ‘Lots of great fortunes have been made by people assuming that other people are idiots.’ In some ways they are, you know. And then I said to myself, ‘Possibly a fortune can be made by somebody assuming that he is an idiot.’ So I assumed it was idiotic to doubt something that visibly happened, merely because I couldn’t understand it. And Talents, Incorporated was born. It’s done quite well.”
Bors shook his head as if to clear it.
“It seems to have worked,” he admitted. “But if I’d known—” He spread out his hands. “I’ll play along! What more can you do for us?”
“I’ve no idea,” said Morgan placidly. “Such things have to work themselves out, with a little prodding, of course. But one of my Talents says the lightning-calculator Talent is the one who’ll do you the most good soonest. I’d suggest—”
There was a murmur of voices from the cabinet room. The door opened and King Humphrey came out. He looked baffled, which was not unusual. But he looked enraged, which was.
“Bors!” he said thickly. “I’ve always thought I was a practical man! But if being practical means what some members of my cabinet think, I would rather be a poet! Bors, do something before my cabinet dethrones me and tricks the fleet into disbanding!”
He stumbled across the room, not noticing Morgan or Gwenlyn. Bors came to attention.
“Majesty,” he said, not knowing whether he spoke in irony or bewilderment, “I take that as an order.”
The king did not answer. When the door on the other side of the room closed behind his unregal figure, Bors turned to Morgan.
“I think I’ve been given authority,” he said in a sort of baffled calm. “Suppose we go, Mr. Morgan, and find out what your lightning calculator can do in the way of mental arithmetic, to change the situation of the kingdom?”
“Fine!” said Morgan cheerfully. “D’you know, Capta
in Bors, he can solve a three-body problem in his head? He hasn’t the least idea how he does it, but the answer always comes out right!” Then he said exuberantly, “He’ll tell you something useful, though! That’s Talents, Incorporated information!”
Chapter 3
There was a fleet on the way to Kandar. It could not be said to be traveling in space, of course. If there had been an observer somewhere, he could not conceivably have detected the ships. There would be no occultations of stars; no blotting out of any of the hundreds and thousands of millions of bright specks which filled all the firmament. There would be no drive-radiation which even the most sensitive of instruments could pick up. The fleet might be at one place to an observer’s right—where it was imperceptible—and then it might be at a place to the observer’s left—where it was undetectable—and nobody could have told the difference.
Actually, each ship of the Mekinese fleet was in overdrive, which meant that each had stressed the space immediately around it so that it was like a cocoon of other-space; as if it were out of this cosmos altogether and in another. In sober fact, of course, nothing of the sort had happened. An overdrive field changed the physical constants of space. The capacity of a condenser in an overdrive field was different from that of a condenser out of it. The self-induction of a coil in an overdrive field was not the same as in normal space. Magnetic and gravitational fields also did not follow the same laws in stressed space as in unstressed extension. The speed of light was different. Inertia was different. In short, a ship could drive at many hundreds of times the velocity of light and the laws of Einstein did not apply, because his laws referred to space that men had not tampered with.
The Murray Leinster Megapack Page 214
