Other

by Gordon R. Dickson

  “Look down the long pages of past history at the intellectual giants, men and women alike, who’ve moved civilization forward while struggling to survive in the midst of lesser people who innately feared and distrusted them. Giants, crouching daily to keep their differences from showing and arousing the irrational fears of the small ones around them. From the beginning of time, to be human—but different—has been dangerous; and it’s been a choice between the many who could carry one lightly on their combined shoulders and the one who must carry the many all alone, with his or her much greater strength, but staggering under the proportionately greater effort; and which of those two choices is fairer?”

  Hal’s eyes had focused with his last words. Something like an intuition came to Bleys. Perhaps the mental image of a giant crouching had gotten through. Hal’s words, coming a second later, seemed to back up this feeling.

  “Why crouch?” he said.

  “Why crouch?” Bleys smiled, tolerantly, but secretly also with a touch of hidden relief. “Ask yourself that. How old are you now?”

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty—and you still ask that question? As you’ve gotten older, haven’t you begun to feel an isolation, a separation from all those around you? Haven’t you found yourself forced, more and more often lately, to take charge of matters—to make decisions not merely for yourself, but for those with you who aren’t capable of making them for themselves? Quietly but inevitably taking charge, doing what only you realize has to be done, for the good of all?”

  He waited. When there was no word from Hal, after a moment, he went on.

  “I think you know what I’m talking about. At first, you only try to tell them what should be done; because you can’t believe—you don’t want to believe—that they can be so helpless. But, little by little, you come to face the fact that while they may do things right under your continual coaching, they’ll never understand enough to do what’s necessary on their own, each time the need arises; and so, finally, worn out, you simply take over. Without their even realizing it you set things in the path they should go; and all these little people follow it, thinking it’s the natural course of events.”

  Bleys paused; hoping, as always, for a response from Hal. Speaking as he was doing was like walking along the edge of a precipice. It would be very easy to trigger whatever notion of responsibility to the rest of the race Hal had absorbed, particularly from the tutor who was Walter InTeacher, the Exotic.

  It would be easy for Hal to misjudge what Bleys was trying to tell him, taking it only as an arrogant display of wanting to dominate all other people. But—so far he had trusted to Hal’s perception to understand that this was not what he was driving at. Perhaps he could simply tell him so, although not in direct words.

  “Yes,” Bleys said strongly, “you know what I’m talking about. You’ve already known it and started to feel the width and depth of this gulf that separates you from the rest of the race. Believe me when I tell you that what you now feel will steadily grow deeper and stronger as time goes on. The experience your more capable mind acquires, at a rate much faster than they can imagine, will continue to widen and widen the gap that separates you from them.

  “In the end, there’ll be little more kinship between you and them, than between you and any lesser creature—a dog or a cat—of which you’ve become fond. And you’ll regret that lack of real kinship bitterly, but there’ll be nothing you can do about it, no way to give them what they’ll never be able to hold—any more than you could give an appreciation of great art to monkeys. So, finally, to save yourself the pain that they don’t even know you feel, you cut the last emotional tie you have with them; and choose instead the silence, the emptiness and the peace, of being what you are: unique and alone, forever.”

  “No,” said Hal. It may have been the drug the medician had revived him with, but he spoke like someone considering a problem at a great distance from it. “That’s not a way I can go.”

  “Then you’ll die.” Bleys tried to keep his voice cool and rational. “In the end, like those who were like us in past centuries, you’ll let them kill you, merely by ceasing to make the continual effort necessary to protect yourself among them. And it’ll be wasted—what you were and what you could’ve been.”

  “Then it’ll have to be wasted,” said Hal. “I can’t be what you say.”

  “Perhaps,” said Bleys. There must be some doubt in the boy; it was simply not surfacing in his voice. He rose to his feet, pushing the float back with his legs. “But wait a bit yet and see. The urge to live is stronger than you think.” He looked down at Hal.

  “I told you I’m part-Exotic. Do you think I didn’t fight against the knowledge of what I was when I first began to be aware of it? Do you think I didn’t reject what I saw myself committed to being, only because of what I am? Do you suppose I didn’t at first tell myself that I’d choose a hermit’s existence, an anchorite’s life, rather than make what then I thought of as an immoral use of my abilities?”

  He paused, possibly for the last time, but now not waiting for an answer; but wanting his final words to sink into Hal’s mind and work there.

  “Like you,” he said slowly and expressively, “I was ready to pay any price to save myself from the contamination of playing God to those around me. The idea was as repellent to me then as it is to you now. But what I came to learn was that it wasn’t harm, it was good that I could do the race as one of its leaders and masters; and so will you learn—in the end.”

  He turned and stepped to the door of the cell.

  “Open up here!”

  “It makes no difference,” Bleys said, turning again while footsteps sounded in the corridor, “what you think you choose now. Inevitably, a day’ll come when you’ll see the foolishness of what you did now by insisting on staying here, in a cell like this, under the guard of those who, compared to you, are little more than civilized animals. None of what you’re inflicting on yourself at this moment is really necessary.”

  He paused.

  “But it’s your choice. Do what you feel like doing until you can see more clearly. But when that time comes, all you’ll have to do is say one word. Tell your guards that you’ll consider what I’ve said; and they’ll bring you to me, out of here to a place of comfort and freedom and daylight, where you can have time to set your mind straight in decency. Your need to undergo this private self-torture is all in your own mind. Still, as I say, I’ll leave you with it until you see more clearly.”

  Barbage and the enlisted man unlocked the door and swung it open. Bleys looked one last time into Hal’s eyes, as he lay unmoving on the bed. Then he turned away and walked off, into and down the corridor, without looking back. He could hear his own footsteps, and then those of Barbage and the enlisted man, as they re-locked the door and followed after him. It seemed he could hear the pocket of silence that remained behind in the cell.

  Chapter 42

  “Favored of God was still here and not tied up in any way,” said Toni when Bleys returned to his suite in the hotel in Citadel. “She can lift in eight hours. With no passengers and a cargo type of run, she can make it to New Earth in three ship’s days. She can lift with all of us aboard with six hours’ notice and make the trip in four to five days without any danger of shift-sickness among our people; unless some of them are unusually sensitive to phase-shifting. But none of them showed any signs of that on our earlier trips to New Earth, Cassida and Newton, so they don’t think there’ll be any problem.”

  Bleys nodded.

  “Dahno and Henry could leave right now, if it’s necessary; and we’ve located all but five of Henry’s present Soldiers of God—oh, and Burning Bush was just about to lift. Its master took both your messages, in sealed envelopes. He’ll hand-carry them himself; one directly to the Commandant at Friendly military headquarters there—your First Elder seal on the envelope should get him to the military commander. The other one, to the People of the Shoe, will go to our New Earth Other Headquarte
rs, for Ana Wasserlied’s attention only. Again, since it’s plainly from you, I don’t think that’ll be opened by anyone else.”

  “Fine!” Bleys said. “Outside of the unexpected, then, we’re as good as on New Earth already.”

  The unexpected did not happen. When Favored settled in its place on the parking pad of the New Earth City spaceport, the Friendly expedition’s Honor Guard was already drawn up ready to receive them as they stepped out of its exit port.

  Certainly, Bleys thought as he watched them through an observation transparency in the disembarking lounge of the Favored of God, the Friendly soldiers were going magnificently through the motions of being an Honor Guard; although there were also certainly far too many of them to really hide the fact that they were something more.

  The Friendly Commander must have assigned something close to a full regiment to meet them. Limousines were just outside the exit port of the Favored of God as she landed; and once Bleys’s party were in them, they drove slowly down a long avenue between two double rows of Friendly Soldiers, who brought their weapons to the salute as Bleys’ limousine passed. At the end of the double rows, an orderly arrangement of military vehicles was waiting; and these moved out—preceding, following and flanking the limousines as they made their way into the city, to the same hotel that Bleys had been in before.

  Clearly, Bleys decided, the Expedition Commander had detailed his best troops for this duty. He made a mental note to talk with that officer as soon as possible. He could possibly see him or her the following morning—he checked himself. Since he was First Elder now, the Commander should come to him, rather than vice versa. He would have Toni send a message setting a time.

  “Toni’s told me that neither the CEOs nor the Guilds have tried to reach me so far,” Bleys said to Henry and Dahno, mid-morning of the next day, as she and they sat with him in one of the lounges of his suite. “That’s as I expected. Neither one would want to seem anxious. On the other hand, the longer I stay here doing nothing, the more they’re going to worry I’m getting something done out of their sight. Meanwhile I’ve asked the Commander of the Friendly troops if he’ll be good enough to call on me—”

  A tiny chime sounded from Toni’s wrist control pad. She touched a stud on the control pad, so that the message came to her by bone conduction from her wrist directly to her inner ear, rather than from the auditory device that would have sounded the message into all their ears. Bleys, however, stopped speaking until the message was over and he could have her attention again.

  Toni smiled, listening. Her lips moved briefly, inaudibly, as she answered the message sub-vocally; and—still with a smile—she looked at Bleys. It almost never happened in real life that anything happened at the exact dramatic moment which would be ideal from the standpoint of stage management. Bleys had in fact stage-managed a few such happenings for his own purposes in the past; but this time it had happened of its own accord.

  “He just got here,” said Toni. “He’s waiting for you, next lounge.”

  “Right on time!” Bleys glanced at the chronometer on his own wristpad. Dahno laughed.

  "That’s the military mind for you,” he said, still chuckling. “It would never happen in politics.”

  “I’ll leave you temporarily and talk to him,” said Bleys. “We’ll finish off this conference after he’s gone; I won’t be long. Why don’t the rest of you listen to our talk over the intercom? Toni—would you have somebody send in something in the way of refreshments for us?”

  Toni nodded, lifting her wristpad to her lips again. Meanwhile, Bleys had gotten to his feet. He stepped over to the door, which slid back before him, and passed through. A middle-aged man in a black uniform, only slightly different from that of a Militia officer but with the twin-worlds insignia of a general officer, rose from one of the padded floats in the room as the door closed behind Bleys.

  “First Elder—or should I address you as Great Teacher?” he said.

  “Either one,” said Bleys, waving him back into his float and taking one himself. “It makes no difference.”

  “In that case, First Elder,” the officer said, “I’m honored by your invitation to visit you. I’m Marshal Cuslow Damar, by God’s favor and appointment of the War Departments of Association and Harmony, in command of our troops contracted here to New Earth.”

  It was a thoroughly formal self-introduction, but there was nothing stiff or even formal about the man. He was somewhat under average height, slightly thick-waisted, but if overweight, not by much; and he moved easily as if he was still in good physical shape. His hair was straight and brownish-gray, combed back and relatively short. His face was round, calm, pleasant and unremarkable. About the only thing about him that would have made him stand out in any crowd were his eyes. They were a pale blue—not the ordinary pale blue of eyes, nor yet the blue of any precious stone, but the smooth, water-polished flat blue of matched pebbles picked up from the streambed of a shallow, swift-running creek.

  Those eyes were neither friendly nor unfriendly, neither commanding nor yielding; and the man seemed completely at ease, completely in control of himself and not at all bothered to be talking with a titular superior such as a First Elder.

  “I’m pleased to meet you, Marshal Cuslow Damar,” said Bleys. “We ought to be getting something to drink and nibble at in just a moment or two. I wanted to thank you for the Guard of Honor. I was glad to see it—and impressed by the men and officers. They looked an unusually fit and ready body of soldiers.”

  “They were mainly cadre,” said Cuslow. “I thought, since you suspected there might be some disturbance between the ship and your hotel here, it would be best if what met you were experienced troops. Troops that would know what to do—if the unusual occurred.”

  “Yes. I guessed as much; and I appreciate it—” Bleys broke off as Toni brought in a tray, with an assortment of small eatables and two tall wineglasses, with bottles both of fruit juices and New Earth wines on them. She smiled at Cuslow, as she set the tray down on a small table-float and pushed it through the air to within reach of both of them. But she said nothing, turning immediately and going back out of the room.

  “I don’t believe I know the citizen’s name,” said Cuslow, looking at the door that had closed behind her. His blue eyes came back to Bleys. “I’m right, aren’t I? She is from either Harmony or Association?”

  “Association,” said Bleys. “Her name’s Antonia Lu.”

  “Yes.” Cuslow nodded. “I remember that name now, from the information furnished me about your party.”

  “Did you bring along a copy of the agreement under which our troops are here? I wanted to have it with me.”

  “Here you are, First Elder.” Cuslow produced a several-paged document from an inside pocket of his uniform jacket and passed it over to Bleys. Bleys glanced at it, nodded and put it aside on a float-table nearby that had nothing else on it.

  “I’m glad to have that,” he said. “How many soldiers do you actually have on New Earth right now?”

  “I’m ashamed to say I can’t give you the exact number,” said Cuslow. “In excess of thirty-eight thousand. Ships should be landing in the next few days with at least four or five thousand more. Was the exact number important to you, First Elder?”

  “Only in one way. You said you expected several thousand more in the next week. How long before you have the full fifty thousand?”

  “I’m afraid that getting the full complement is going to take some time yet—a matter of three or four months at the very least,” said Cuslow. “You know how the draft works. Both our worlds divide their occupied landmasses into areas, and we draft from each area in turn. It’s set up so that, theoretically, by the time we reach the last area in turn, a new generation of sixteen-to twenty-year-olds will have grown up. So, in theory, we can keep drafting steadily, and there will always be a new generation ready to tap for basic training. However, after those chosen for draft are called for training, it takes roughly three months to
train them before they’re ready to be shipped away on contract. If they aren’t shipped in a reasonable time, they need at least a four weeks’ refresher course. Ordinarily, the system works very well.”

  He paused and looked at Bleys.

  “I can see it does,” Bleys murmured.

  “But in this case,” Cuslow went on, “New Earth’s sudden need for fifty thousand soldiers—not necessarily experienced, but trained—has made for a very large contract. Also one including, on our side, a number of demands that usually only the Dorsai make and can get an employer’s agreement on. We assumed, of course, that New Earth’s need was both urgent and severe. But, a call for so many troops exhausted our pool of trained and quickly refreshable soldiers, as well as those about to finish their training. We’re now at the point where we’re going to have to wait at least a couple of months for further additions to our strength here on New Earth.”

  “I understand,” said Bleys. “But do you think, with the strength you’ve already got here, you could handle most situations that might come up?”

  “No doubt of it,” Cuslow said. “I’d be surprised if they’ve got even three-quarters our number of actual military, spread out over their whole world. It would take them a month or more to get even those all together, and longer than that to train them to work together. The only way they could create any kind of troublesome force in less than a month would be by combining military and paramilitary forces, right down to the local police. And such diverse groups would just get in each other’s way.”

  “Would they?” Bleys asked, “Why?”

  “They’d have no experience in operating as part of a unified force,” said Cuslow. “And, in addition to whatever jealousies or other problems there could be between them, sheer misunderstandings are enough to cripple any joint effort. By the time they got any kind of an effective opposition group set up, we’d have whatever situation there was completely in hand. In short, we’d have put ourselves in a position where it would take a trained force of at least double our strength to reverse the situation.”