I said to him softly, ‘Shammat, it might surprise you to know that you understand more about us than any planet in the Galaxy; as much as the Five of Sirius who languish in their exile, waiting for their collapsing Empire to understand them. There are many ways to the path of the Purpose. When are you going to understand what it is you could be doing?’
‘This animal,’ moaned Incent, ‘these horrible Shammats, oh, no, Klorathy, you can’t possibly …
And, indeed, Krolgul was dancing there in horrible triumph, looking like an ape or a spider, all limbs and eyes, and he was chanting: ‘Better than … better than … we’re better than …
‘I didn’t say that, or anything near it,’ I said. ‘“Better” I didn’t say.’
But Krolgul, in a frenzy of self-congratulation, rushed off and away, yelping and squealing. ‘Better … best …
Incent was silent for a while. ‘Klorathy, tell me, what good could that have done him – done them?’
‘He’ll remember it,’ I said. ‘He’ll think about it when he’s by himself.’
Incent, as he walked quietly there beside me towards Ormarin, was far from the cocky, delighted person who had stood waiting for my spacecraft to land. He looked sober, even tired.
‘I wish I didn’t know that,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to bear, having to think of Shammat like that. Bad enough to learn to be on one’s guard every minute of the day and night, let alone having to remember that animal is … that animal is … that animal is …
‘That animal is?’
A silence, a long one. We were in sight of Ormarin’s house before Incent said, ‘I’ve been his prey. What does that make me?’
You will see that Incent is what I had hoped he would become; his lessons here, on and through Volyen, have achieved what we planned when we discussed his future. Frail, he is – very; vulnerable, unstable, far from being immune to what Krolgul will try to trick him into. But he will never again writhe around in ecstasies of enjoyable suffering, never again be the eager victim of words. And I can report that all our agents have come through this ordeal well, strengthened and tempered, and can take on greater responsibilities.
But I have yet to report on Volyendesta itself.
Sirius, when it was functioning as an Empire, had different plans for each of the Volyen’s parts. PE 70 and 71 were destined to supply armies for the invasion of Volyenadna, and afterwards for the invasion of further parts of the Galaxy. These planets will certainly follow paths of conquest, but on their own account. Volyenadna’s fate had been planned for it to remain as an occupied planet indefinitely, to ensure the supply of minerals. Sirius did not expect Volyen to put up much resistance, either to invasion or to occupation, because of the number of Sirian agents, and because of the degree to which the general population was softened by admiration for the Sirian Virtue. Besides, Sirius thought little of the Volyen people, believed them to be weakened beyond redemption by easy living.
Volyendesta was where their greatest efforts were concentrated. They had planned to establish an HQ here, to govern the planets that were once ‘Volyen’ and to undertake further Empire-building.
All over this planet they built roads, bases, whole towns that would be Sirian. Everywhere are camps and settlements where suffer the slaves who have built the roads, the bases, the towns. They come from many different planets and are at different levels of evolution, but during this period of their shared suffering they have developed networks that ignore their differences and which are used to plan their deliverance, plan uprisings and revolutions – against Sirius. But Sirius is not yet here.
Volyendesta is from end to end in a condition of waiting, for the Sirian invasion. It is also full of refugees from Volyen, who are occupying the towns and bases planned for the Sirians.
In other words, unlike PE 70 and 71 (Maken and Slovin), unlike Volyenadna, like Volyen – but much more than Volyen – this planet is full, crammed, with differing races, kinds, types, nations, classes, sorts, genders, breeds, strains, tribes, clans, sects, castes, varieties, grades, even species; all of them united by waiting.
On the Mother Planet of Sirius the factions wage war by every means. They fight one another in the streets, they argue interminably in council chambers and parliaments and hidden rooms, they intrigue, change sides, promise eternal brotherhood, kill one another. The Questioners are indisputably on top, looked at from a formal, legal point of view, but the possessors of the ‘Virtue’ simply issue orders and commands, according to how things strike the leaders and commanders at any given moment. The Sirian Empire disintegrates. An outlying planet of the Empire is instructed to invade another, which is rebelling, but before it can invade, a different order is issued. Planets simply announce their secession, their independence. Within each planet rages war, actual or verbal, as the former administrations that took orders from Sirius fight the new rulers, who despise them as stooges and cowards. Planets announce independence under one government, which can be overthrown the next day, and continue independent but with different aims, such as that they plan, or do not plan, to invade a richer neighbour or to invite co-operation. There are as many new alliances between planets only just released from Sirian bondage as there are invasions, as many treaties as there are ultimatums – Sirius is dead, submit to us! – while they struggle and fight and make war. Change is the rule of the moment: everything shifts and changes as you look. And everywhere is Shammat, is Puttiora, at work by every means, stirring up disagreement, strife, war, feeding off the effluvia of disintegration.
It is known that the invasion of Volyendesta has been imminent several times, but by different planets.
Ormarin has come into his own. All his manifold qualities are being put into use … ‘at last,’ as he himself quietly exults. For one thing, the contradiction he has never been able to resolve, which has always tormented him: events have healed it. He speaks now for the millions of the slaves, is invited to their secret meetings, unites the Volyen refugees in plans to withstand and survive invasion, is everywhere … and was away when Incent and I arrived at his headquarters.
We decided to go to the Hospital for Rhetorical Diseases to visit Grice, who is a patient in Rhetorical Logic. I confess I was nervous about Incent, and told him so. He was full of confidence, and even insisted on being taken at once to Basic Rhetoric, where we watched through the observation glass some sufferers in the grip of the same symptoms that had afflicted him such a short time ago. Mostly refugees from Volyen, about twenty or so young males and females, in a variety of clothing that looked like attempts at uniforms, sat in a huddle on the floor, swaying back and forth and from side to side chanting a lament, or dirge, of the most dispiriting sort, that had the words:
We shall overcome
We shall overcome
We shall overcome one day
Deep in our hearts
We do believe
We shall overcome one day.
The tune of this dirge originated V-millenniums ago on Volyen during its time as a Volyenadnan colony, to express the hopelessness of slaves.
‘A strange thing,’ I said to Incent, ‘that words of an energetic kind should be thought to outweigh such a dismal chant.’
He was silent, his whole person expressing certain only-too-familiar emotions.
The poor sufferers, still re-enacting that moment when their amateur defences were smashed by the invading Motzans, were intoning:
We shall not be moved
They shall not pass!
We shall not be moved
They shall not pass!
Incent was weeping. ‘Oh, have you ever seen anything so moving?’ he demanded.
‘Incent, stop it at once. Do you want to have to go through that whole course of treatment again?’
‘No, no, of course not. I’m sorry.’ And he pulled himself together.
‘Do you think I can trust you in Logic?’ I inquired.
‘Yes, yes, of course you can.’
‘And it is hardly
so moving as Basic … Well, let’s see.’
Before the Motzans invaded Volyen, we had offered a lift to anyone who would leave. Grice was hanging around the courts, a lean, green, cadaverous figure with rapt eyes, who muttered incessantly phrases like: ‘If a equals b, then c must equal d. If you take a pound of pickled peppers then it follows as the night the day that … Let A stand for Truth, and B for Lies, then C is …
We took him, Incent and I, by the arms so that he would be conscious of our being there, and said, ‘Grice, you are ill. Come with us.’
‘Ill? I’m Governor Grice, and I’m suing Volyen for … Who’s that? Oh, it’s you, Incent. Did the Trial go against us? It’s you, Klorathy? But I’m in the right, aren’t I? Just look at me, Klorathy; look, Incent. What a mess! It’s all their fault. If just once in my life I’d been taken in hand and made to face up to anything …
‘We’ll take you in hand, Grice, don’t worry,’ said Incent, nearly succumbing to his emotions because of Grice’s state.
‘After all, there’s nothing wrong with my genetic codes! I had them checked! So why does everything I touch go wrong?’
‘Not everything, Gricey,’ said Incent, stroking and patting him. ‘You may think that was a bit of a farce in there, but –’
‘A farce, you say? It was the only constructive thing I’ve ever done in my life.’
‘Yes, yes, and one of these V-years, but that will be long after we both are dead –’
‘And the sooner the soil of Volyen is rid of my useless weight …
‘Yes, yes, yes,’ said Incent. ‘But I was going to say that all that nonsense in there, it will one day lead to those Peers of yours’ establishing a new way of –’
‘Nonsense, yes, that’s it. I’m the stuff that nonsense is made of.’
I arranged for his transportation to Volyendesta and had him taken to the Hospital for Rhetorical Diseases.
In a large white room, with a plain black floor, and no furnishings but some simple chairs, and of course our Logics, we found Grice sitting all by himself. Clearly he was already much improved, and absorbed in his therapy:
PATTERNS OF SOCIO-LOGIC
I If a certain ruler is by definition in the right, because he incarnates the forward thrust of History, then a failure in an assignment set by him, or his ministers, by definition is an act of hostility to History itself. Using socio-rhetorical measurements, calculate what punishments are appropriate.
1) Death. 2) Severe torture. 3) Imprisonment.
II Since none of us know the results of our actions, calculate the penalties appropriate for doing anything at all.
1) Death. (Obviously there can be only one answer to this question.)
III In the Shikastan Northwest fringes, there was a period when females were deemed to be wicked according to criteria (verbal formulae) arbitrarily established by a male religious ruling class, tortured to make them confess, and then burned to death. Their families, if any, or what possessions they might have had, were made to pay for, or sold to pay for, the cost of the firewood used to burn them with, as well as the time and efforts of the interrogators and the executioners.
This beautiful, matchless example of Logic only gives up its treasures to an effort of real contemplation. Contemplate it and then discuss.
IV Read The Thoughts of President Mots. Then, extending Sirian ‘Virtue’ in its various dimensions, assess the degree of Subjective and Objective Guilt in the following story:
A devoted supporter of the Party of Virtue makes an error of judgment that causes several million people to die from starvation, his or her stated objective and intention being to establish a Rule of Virtue designed to better the lot of these same millions.
V Calculate how many moves on the Logistic Spiral it needs to get from ‘This person is an embodiment of the finest flower of the class of Virtue’ to ‘Look at what has just crawled out of the woodwork!’
VI Calculate on the Logistic Spiral the parameters of: ‘He who is not with us is against us.’ Discuss.
VII Draw, paint, sculpt, or in some other way portray your conception of the Logic of History.
VIII Thesis: Sirian Virtue by definition must improve whichever parts of the Galaxy it reaches.
Antithesis: But in fact it spreads tyranny, misery, enslavement and deprivation.
Synthesis: ?
Grice looked very much better. He was sallow and hollow-faced still, but knew at once who we were, and greeted us cheerfully.
‘This planet is about to be invaded,’ I said.
‘Wouldn’t you know it,’ he moaned, relapsing. ‘Of course, as soon as I get here, where I can feel it’s doing me good, then naturally Sirius is going to invade. What else could you expect?’
‘I’m afraid you are far from cured,’ I said. ‘But it isn’t going to be Sirius. So cheer up.’
‘Oh, you mean about my being a spy!’ he said, sulking. ‘Well, I’ve been thinking quite a bit about it. If a spy is one who betrays his country’s interests, and if it turns out that actually, by some quirk or other of history – sorry, I mean dynamic of history – or by the logic of events, the said country is in the long run benefited by his actions …
‘You could feed the question into your Rhetorical Computers,’ I said.
But he will be all right.
The planet Motz, demoralized, confused, unable to prescribe remedies for itself, remembers Grice, who sat in the stolen library reading, Grice talking of socio-economic laws, Grice, who they thought was a madman.
They want to invite him back as an adviser on Comparative Planetology. I shall advise him to accept.
Since Ormarin is still away, I am taking the opportunity to ‘dry out.’ It is no good pretending that I have been unaffected by the plu-super-emotionality of recent events. Incent too feels in need of a respite. We shall become voluntary patients in Basic Rhetoric, Withdrawal-of-All-Stimuli Department. The tall, dim, silent, isolated room in the hotel on Volyen is inspired by it.
ORMARIN TO KLORATHY.
My information is that you are on Volyendesta. I received this news with considerable lightening of my spirits. It is no use disguising from you that I am deeply perturbed by certain rumours of which I am sure you must have cognizance. I refer, of course, to those concerning a possible invasion of this planet. I acknowledge freely that you have been warning me of this eventuality, and I and my colleagues have been taking every step within our power to make our defences viable. But recently our agents have been sending in reports of advance formations of skyborne troops which have been seen more than once over the Inland Desert Area. That is to say, formations of individual soldiers who, if the reports can be credited, arrive by sky-freighter and subsequently are released to become airborne under their own power. I would very much value your galactic advice. I was under the impression I knew all the different species under the Sirian hegemony – which I understand in any case is not what it was? – yet neither I nor any of my colleagues have heard of a species with wings.
KLORATHY TO JOHOR, ENCLOSING THE ABOVE.
This letter showed me that, no matter how much Ormarin had changed while becoming – in fact, if not in name – ruler of the planet, he had not become any less of an official.
It showed me too that I have been careless, have not taken the trouble to reflect on how the PE 70 (Maken) armies must be experienced here. In what is for us such a short time, for them such a long one, PE 70 have made a change in their functioning which amounts to a social, if not a genetic, leap forward in evolution. A species of flying creature, hardy and adaptable, and widespread all over PE 70, have been taken by them into a partnership or social osmosis. PE 70 is poor in transport and working animals. They lack a species that can be deliberately evolved in this direction. The flying Pipisaurus supplies this lack, carrying loads over long distances, supplying them with skins, which they use for clothing and for a variety of domestic products, and with a glandular secretion that has extended the not-very-prolific foods of the plane
t, so that you may find in some areas that they eat and drink nothing but this secretion, prepared in various ways. So close and so harmonious is the partnership between the two species that an infant of the superior species is given his or her own pipisaur at birth, and the two grow up together, sharing sleeping and living space, though not often food. The Pipisaurus is by nature a bird- and insect-eater, and therefore these animals cannot be allowed to breed unchecked: there was a time when Maken had almost no birds or insects left, because of the great flocks of pipisaurs. The practice of supplying each infant with an infant pipisaur, but allowing no more, serves as a check on numbers. You will easily imagine the closeness of the bond, and, if one or the other of the partner dies, how great is the loss; often the survivor will languish and die, or kill itself.
Under Volyen, Maken was regarded mainly as a supplier of pipisaurian products for the dites of the Volyen ‘Empire.’ It was also a favourite holiday place, bring regarded as backward and primitive: the effete ruling classes of Volyen enjoyed visiting planets whose inhabitants could be seen in close relation to primary physical mechanisms, and stories and pictures of the ‘barbarians’ and their flocks were of great sentimental interest.
Under Volyen, the planet was not allowed an army. The truth is, Volyen was afraid of soldiers who can operate on land and in the air with equal ease. Secretly, however, an army was trained. The practice that each pipisaur had its place beside its mistress or master, living in the same dwelling, meant that the training and the arming of guerrilla troops was almost invisible to the Volyen overlords.
It was Maken that first overthrew Volyen, and did it easily, because of the effectiveness of its armies. Maken assisted Slovin to expel Volyen, and then, you will not be surprised to hear, stayed on Slovin to ‘assist’: in other words, Maken is now the effective ruler of Slovin. Maken is at the beginning of its career as an Empire, an Empire that will conquer the near planets, now in a state of chaos and civil war, that were so recently subjects of Sirius. But Maken does not know this, has no such plans. Maken sees itself as virtuous, as indeed an embodiment of Virtue, the heir of Sirian Virtue.
The Sentimental Agents in the Volyen Empire Page 20
