Men Against the Stars - [Adventures in Science Fiction 01]

by Edited By Martin Grrenburg

  This damned dim room, he thought shakily. He tried to picture it as it must have been when the Skal things were a young and vibrantly alive race and—

  And couldn’t! There was only himself here in this hell hole. He said aloud, grimly:

  “You seem to have me, gentlemen. But I would say that you should think twice before you kill me. When I get into traps like this, I am usually prepared to make almost any kind of deal.”

  “The rat’s beginning to squeal,” somebody sneered from the dimness.

  Blord shrugged. In such circumstances insults did not begin to touch him.

  “When I eat humble pie, I eat all of it,” he said coolly. “Now, as I understand it, the two main complaints against me are that I have endangered research investments and that I have made you all the subject of ridicule. It seems to me that if everyone’s investment is guaranteed and the ridicule is turned on me, you gain—”

  Somebody exploded, “Is this a man talking or a louse?”

  There was a general murmur of disgust; and Blord felt the tensity of contempt that was suddenly out there. In spite of himself he flushed. He knew the codes that governed these far-flung frontiers of space; and he could suddenly visualize how his words, as he was uttering them, would later be broadcast to shame him. The dark picture put sharpness into his tone, as he snapped:

  “Hear my proposition at least. It’s to your advantage.”

  “Oh, sure,” said a scathing voice. “Let’s hear his proposition. Our stomachs are turned now. The worst shock is over.”

  Blord felt a quaver of irritation, intense irritation. They were all crazy, these men who used sex-dope on innocent women, seven-day poison, murder and straight robbery as instruments of their will, to feel so strongly about an apparent show of cowardice. With an effort he fought down his anger. The code was there. It existed. He hadn’t figured it into his plan, but the very starkness of their feelings on the subject made everything easier.

  “My ship,” he began, “will win the race. It has attained a speed just under eighty-one percent of a Galactic liner. If anyone can equal that, just let him speak now, and I’ll go quietly to the slaughterhouse. Well?”

  After a moment, he went on more sardonically, “I am prepared to make the following offer, to be drawn up immediately, signed and sealed:

  “That a joint stock company be formed with an issue of two hundred shares. Of these, fifty shall belong to me. One share each shall be assigned to each of ninety-three of the ninety-four companies, on the condition that they sign over all their patent rights to the new firm.

  “The other fifty-seven shares shall be turned over to Selden Delaney, who will operate the company under the Kallear Regulations.

  “I must be released immediately after the signing.

  “Evana Travis shall be given the antidote and turned over to me unharmed immediately.

  “Anyone or group may launch all the ridiculing propaganda they care to against me.

  “The whole agreement is nullified unless I am alive at the time of the contest, and it goes into effect only if my ship does in fact win the prize.”

  A man shouted, “This will ruin you, Blord. The lowest riffraff will despise you after we get through publicizing how much dirt you’ve eaten.”

  It was several hours later that his spaceship flashed down to pick Blord up. And it was then, as he was stepping out of one of the dim tunnels of the Castle into the bright interior of the machine, that he felt the unwholesome touching against his mind that was the thought of the Skal thing:

  “Well done, Artur Blord. How they will howl when their ridicule recoils upon them. Your ingenuity has given an unexpected titillation to my old bones. To show my appreciation for such an intellectual delicacy, you may call upon me at any time for one favor. Good luck.”

  The slimy mind withdrew into its night.

  ~ * ~

  “But what is your plan?” Evana asked blankly later, as the ship hurtled through space. “You said you had one. But all I can see is that you’re going to lose your reputation, and you’ve signed away seventy-five percent of your rights to the winning space drive. If that’s your idea of victory— And why did you give that terrible Delaney the lion’s share?”

  She looked genuinely bewildered. Blord stared at her thoughtfully, said finally:

  “Don’t forget that I didn’t have a space drive three weeks ago. And don’t forget, either, that I’m a twenty-five percent man, generally speaking. I can’t be bothered with the details of an operation. What mainly interests me was that there should be a fast transport system.

  “Of course”—he grinned—”once I thought of it, the idea was too lovely to let go by default.”

  He broke off: “As for Delaney, obviously the man who actually runs a great interstellar line has to have a big incentive. And it had to be Delaney because he had you and the antidote. I had no choice; and don’t think he didn’t know it, either.”

  “But what was your idea?”

  “It’s really very simple. To begin with, I was absolutely certain that there would be merging of discoveries after the race that would greatly increase the speed involved. I anticipated. It cost me the fantastic sum of seven hundred million stellors in bribes, but sure enough a few simple combinations of several companies’ different developments of the original atomic reaction and—

  “You see,” he finished blandly, “when they discover that they’ve signed away the patent rights on which my drive is based, that in fact they provided the drive, I don’t think they’ll feel like laughing any more.”

  There was a long silence. At last Evana tossed her head, said almost defiantly, “What about me?”

  She was aware of his dark eyes studying her thoughtfully. He said at last, “I’m taking you to your sister on Doridora III.”

  “Oh!” said Evana. She wondered dimly why she felt miserable. The answer struck her two days later as she watched the silver-shining ship recede into the bluest sky she had ever seen. She whirled on her sister.

  “Do you know what’s the matter with the Ridge Stars?” she said savagely. “There’s too damned many chivalrous people.”

  <>

  ~ * ~

  Isaac Asimov

  BRIDLE AND SADDLE

  In an interstellar community, could peace prevail without an effective military check against ambitious planets?

  ~ * ~

  A

  deputation!

  That Salvor Hardin had seen it coming made it none the more pleasant. On the contrary, he found anticipation distinctly annoying.

  Yohan Lee advocated extreme measures. “I don’t see, Hardin,” he said, “that we need waste any time. They can’t do anything till next election – legally, anyway – and that gives us a year. Give them the brush-off.”

  Hardin pursed his lips. “Lee, you’ll never learn. In the forty years I’ve known you, you’ve never once learned the gentle art of sneaking up from behind.”

  “It’s not my way of fighting,” grumbled Lee.

  “Yes, I know that. I suppose that’s why you’re the one man I trust.” He paused and reached for a cigar. “We’ve come a long way, Lee, since we engineered our coup against the Encyclopedists way back. I’m getting old. Sixty-two. Do you ever think how fast those thirty years went?”

  Lee snorted. “I don’t feel old, and I’m sixty-six.”

  “Yes, but I haven’t your digestion.” Hardin sucked lazily at his cigar. He had long since stopped wishing for the mild Vegan tobacco of his youth. Those days when the planet, Terminus, had trafficked with every part of the Galactic Empire belonged in the limbo to which all Good Old Days go. Toward the same limbo where the Galactic Empire was heading. He wondered who the new emperor was – or if there was a new emperor at all – or any Empire. Space! For thirty years now, since the breakup of communications here at the edge of the Galaxy, the whole universe of Terminus had consisted of itself and the four surrounding kingdoms.

  How the mighty had fallen!
Kingdoms! They were prefects in the old days, all part of the same province, which in turn had been part of a sector, which in turn had been part of a quadrant, which in turn had been part of the allembracing Galactic Empire. And now that the Empire had lost control over the farther reaches of the Galaxy, these little splinter groups of planets became kingdoms – with comic-opera kings and nobles, and petty, meaningless wars, and a life that went on pathetically among the ruins.

  A civilization falling. Nuclear power forgotten. Science fading to mythology – until the Foundation had stepped in. The Foundation that Hari Seldon had established for just that purpose here on Terminus.

  Lee was at the window and his voice broke in on Hardin’s reverie. “They’ve come,” he said, “in a late-model ground car, the young pups.” He took a few uncertain steps toward the door and then looked at Hardin.

  Hardin smiled, and waved him back. “I’ve given orders to have them brought up here.”

  “Here! What for? You’re making them too important.”

  “Why go through all the ceremonies of an official mayor’s audience? I’m getting too old for red tape. Besides which, flattery is useful when dealing with youngsters – particularly when it doesn’t commit you to anything.” He winked. “Sit down, Lee, and give me your moral backing. I’ll need it with this young Sermak.”

  “That fellow, Sermak,” said Lee, heavily, “is dangerous. He’s got a following, Hardin, so don’t underestimate him.”

  “Have I ever underestimated anybody?”

  “Well, then, arrest him. You can accuse him of something or other afterward.”

  Hardin ignored that last bit of advice. “There they are, Lee.” In response to the signal, he stepped on the pedal beneath his desk, and the door slid aside.

  They filed in, the four that composed the deputation, and Hardin waved them gently to the armchairs that faced his desk in a semicircle. They bowed and waited for the mayor to speak first.

  Hardin flicked open the curiously carved silver lid of the cigar box that had once belonged to Jord Fara of the old Board of Trustees in the long-dead days of the Encyclopedists. It was a genuine Empire product from Santanni, though the cigars it now contained were home-grown. One by one, with grave solemnity, the four of the deputation accepted cigars and lit up in ritualistic fashion.

  Sef Sermak was second from the right, the youngest of the young group – and the most interesting with his bristly yellow mustache trimmed precisely, and his sunken eyes of uncertain color. The other three Hardin dismissed almost immediately; they were rank and file on the face of them. It was on Sermak that he concentrated, the Sermak who had already, in his first term in the City Council, turned that sedate body topsy-turvy more than once, and it was to Sermak that he said:

  “I’ve been particularly anxious to see you, Councilman, ever since your very excellent speech last month. Your attack on the foreign policy of this government was a most capable one.”

  Sermak’s eyes smoldered. “Your interest honors me. The attack may or may not have been capable, but it was certainly justified.”

  “Perhaps! Your opinions are yours, of course. Still you are rather young.”

  Dryly. “It is a fault that most people are guilty of at some period of their life. You became mayor of the city when you were two years younger than I am now.”

  Hardin smiled to himself. The yearling was a cool customer. He said, “I take it now that you have come to see me concerning this same foreign policy that annoys you so greatly in the Council Chamber. Are you speaking for your three colleagues, or must I listen to each of you separately?” There were quick mutual glances among the four young men, a slight flickering of eyelids.

  Sermak said grimly, “I speak for the people of Terminus – a people who are not now truly represented in the rubberstamp body they call the Council.”

  “I see. Go ahead, then!”

  “It comes to this, Mr. Mayor. We are dissatisfied–”

  “By ‘we’ you mean ‘the people,’ don’t you?”

  Sermak stared hostilely, sensing a trap, and replied coldly, “I believe that my views reflect those of the majority of the voters of Terminus. Does that suit you?”

  “Well, a statement like that is all the better for proof, but go on, anyway. You are dissatisfied.”

  “Yes, dissatisfied with the policy which for thirty years had been stripping Terminus defenseless against the inevitable attack from outside.”

  “I see. And therefore? Go on, go on.”

  “It’s nice of you to anticipate. And therefore we are forming a new political party; one that will stand for the immediate needs of Terminus and not for a mystic ‘manifest destiny’ of future Empire. We are going to throw you and your lick-spittle clique of appeasers out of City Hall-and that soon.”

  “Unless? There’s always an ‘unless,’ you know.”

  “Not much of one in this case: Unless you resign now. I’m not asking you to change your policies – I wouldn’t trust you that far. Your promises are worth nothing. An outright resignation is all we’ll take.”

  “I see.” Hardin crossed his legs and teetered his chair back on two legs. “That’s your ultimatum. Nice of you to give me warning. But, you see, I rather think I’ll ignore it.”

  “Don’t think it was a warning, Mr. Mayor. It was an announcement of principles and of action. The new party has already been formed, and it will begin its official activities tomorrow. There is neither room nor desire for compromise, and, frankly, it was only our recognition of your services to the City that induced us to offer the easy way out. I didn’t think you’d take it, but my conscience is clear.

  The next election will be a more forcible and quite irresistible reminder that resignation is necessary.”

  He rose and motioned the rest up.

  Hardin lifted his arm. “Hold on! Sit down!”

  Sef Sermak seated himself once more with just a shade too much alacrity and Hardin smiled behind a straight face. In spite of his words, he was waiting for an offer.

  Hardin said, “In exactly what way do you want our foreign policy changed? Do you want us to attack the Four Kingdoms, now, at once, and all four simultaneously?”

  “I make no such suggestion, Mr. Mayor. It is our simple proposition that all appeasement cease immediately. Throughout your administration, you have carried out a policy of scientific aid to the Kingdoms. You have given them nuclear power. You have helped rebuild power plants on their territories. You have established medical clinics, chemical laboratories and factories.”

  “Well? And your objection?”

  “You have done this in order to keep them from attacking us. With these as bribes, you have been playing the fool in a colossal game of blackmail, in which you have allowed Terminus to be sucked dry – with the result that now we are at the mercy of these barbarians.”

  “In what way?”

  “Because you have given them power, given them weapons, actually serviced the ships of their navies, they are infinitely stronger than they were three decades ago. Their demands are increasing, and with their new weapons, they will eventually satisfy all their demands at once by violent annexation of Terminus. Isn’t that the way blackmail usually ends?”

  “And your remedy?”

  “Stop the bribes immediately and while you can. Spend your effort in strengthening Terminus itself – and attack first!”

  Hardin watched the young fellow’s little blond mustache with an almost morbid interest. Sermak felt sure of himself or he wouldn’t talk so much. There was no doubt that his remarks were the reflection of a pretty huge segment of the population, pretty huge.

  His voice did not betray the slightly perturbed current of his thoughts. If was almost negligent. “Are you finished?”

  “For the moment.”

  “Well, then, do you notice the framed statement I have on the wall behind me? Read it, if you will!”

  Sermak’s lips twitched. “It says: ‘Violence is the last refuge of the incompete
nt.’ That’s an old man’s doctrine, Mr. Mayor.”

  “I applied it as a young man, Mr. Councilman – and successfully. You were busily being born when it happened, but perhaps you may have read something of it in school.”

  He eyed Sermak closely and continued in measured tones, “When Hari Seldon established the Foundation here, it was for the ostensible purpose of producing a great Encyclopedia, and for fifty years we followed that will-of-the-wisp, before discovering what he was really after. By that time, it was almost too late. When communications with the central regions of the old Empire broke down, we found ourselves a world of scientists concentrated in a single city, possessing no industries, and surrounded by newly created kingdoms, hostile and largely barbarous. We were a tiny island of nuclear power in this ocean of barbarism, and an infinitely valuable prize.