The Rival Rigelians

by Mack Reynolds

  Buchwald said dryly, “If our agents are correct, Texcoco steel production is something like a quarter of our own. I assume that your other basic products are at about the same stage of development.”

  Watson flushed. “The thing to remember is that our economy continues to grow each year. Yours spurts and stops, jerks ahead a few steps, then grinds to a halt or even retreats. Everything comes to a pause if you few on the top stop making a profit; all that counts in your economy is making money for you stutes in the saddle. Which reminds me. How in the world did you ever get out of that planet-wide depression you were in three years ago?”

  Peter MacDonald grunted his disgust. “Planet-wide depression, indeed. A small recession. A temporary readjustment due to over-extension in certain economic and financial fields. It was more a matter of the economy moving sideways for a time. We have built-in guards against any such thing as a depression in the old sense.”

  From the other side of the table, Dick Hawkins laughed at him. “Where’d you pick up that line of gobbledegook, Peter? You sound as though you’ve been prowling the Pedagogue’s library, looking up the old apologists.”

  Peter MacDonald came to his feet in indignation. “I don’t have to put up with this sort of impudence,” he snapped. “What do you know about economics? That ridiculous collectivized society you’ve jerrybuilt over on Texcoco is proof enough that you’re incompetent to have intelligent opinions.”

  Watson lurched to his own feet. “Nor do we have to listen to your snide cracks about the real progress Texcoco is making, MacDonald. We know what’s being accomplished there and we’re the ones doing it.”

  He glared around at his associates. “We don’t seem to be making any progress around here,” he snapped. “Hawkins, Taller, Roberts! Let’s go. Ten years from now, we’ll be back and there’ll be another story to tell. Even a blind man will be able to see the difference by then.”

  They marched down the Pedagogue’s corridor toward their space lighter, their military boots clanging loud on the bare metal of the floors.

  Kennedy called after them: “Ten years from now every family on Genoa’ll have a car. Wait’ll you see. Television, too. We’re introducing TV next year. An’ civil aviation. Be all over the place in two, three years....”

  The Texcocans slammed the spaceport after them.

  Kennedy sloshed some more drink into his glass. “Slobs can’t stand the truth,” he explained to the others. “Bunch of cloddies.”

  CHAPTER XI

  WITH THE EXCEPTION of a few additional delegates of high ranking Texcocan and Genoese political and scientific heads, the line-up at the end of forty years was the same as ten years earlier—except for the absence of Jerry Kennedy.

  Extra tables had been set up and chairs to accommodate the added numbers. To one side were the Genoese: Martin Gunther, Fredric Buchwald, Peter MacDonald with such repeat delegates as Baron Leonar and the Honorables Modrin and Russ and half a dozen newcomers. On the other were Barry Watson, Dick Hawkins and Natt Roberts, Taller and such Texcocans as the scientists Wiss and Foken, army heads, Security Police officials and other notables. All of the Texcocan delegation were in uniform, even the scientists.

  Notepads had been placed before each of them and both Barry Watson and Martin Gunther were equipped with gavels.

  While chairs were still being shuffled, Barry Watson said over the table to Gunther, “Jerry?”

  Martin Gunther shrugged. “Jerry Kennedy is, ah, indisposed.” He hesitated, then added, “As a matter of fact, he’s at one of the mountain sanitariums, taking a cure. He’ll be all right.”

  Dick Hawkins said grudgingly, “Good. We’ve lost too many.”

  Watson pounded with his gavel. “Let’s come to order. Gunther, do you have anything to say in the way of preliminaries?”

  The other shook his head. “Not especially. I believe we all know where we stand, including the newcomers from Genoa and Texcoco. In brief, this is the fourth meeting of the Earth teams that were sent to these two planets to bring backward colonists to an industrialized culture. It would seem that we are both succeeding—possibly at different rates. Forty years have passed. Ten remain to us.”

  For a moment there was silence as those present thought back over the years.

  Finally, Natt Roberts said, “Possibly you have already discovered this, through your agents, but we have released the information on prolonging of life.”

  Peter MacDonald, heavier than ever, wheezed, “We too were pressured into such a step.”

  Baron Leonar said, “And why not?”

  Taller, across the table from the Genoa merchant, nodded his stern face in agreement.

  Martin Gunther tapped twice on the table with his gavel. “The basic reason for our meeting is to report progress and to reconsider the possibilities of new elements having entered into the situation which might cause us to re-examine our policies. I think we already have a fairly good idea of each other’s development.” His voice went wry. “At least our agents do a fairly good job of reporting yours.”

  “And ours, yours,” Barry Watson rapped.

  “However,” MacDonald said, “now that we are drawing near the end of our half century, I think it becomes obvious that Amschel Mayer’s original contention—that a freely competitive economy grows faster than one restricted by totalitarian bounds—has been proven.”

  Barry Watson snorted amusement. “Do you?” he said. “To the contrary, MacDonald. The proof is otherwise. On Genoa you still have comparative confusion. True enough, several of your nations, particularly those on your eastern continent, are greatly advanced and with a high living and cultural standard—when times are good. But at the same time you have other whole peoples who are little, if any, better off than when you arrived. On the southern continent, you even have a few feudalistic regimes that are probably worse off, largely as a result of the wars you’ve crippled them with.”

  Natt Roberts took it up, his voice musing. “But even that isn’t the important thing. The Co-ordinator sent us here to find a method of bringing backward cultures to industrialization. Have you got a blueprint to show him when you return? Can you trace out the history of Genoa for this past half century and say, this war was necessary for progress—but that war should have been avoided? Or is this whole free competition program of yours actually nothing but chaos which sometimes works out wonderfully well for some nations but actually destroys others? You have scorned our methods, our collectivized society—but when we return, we’ll have a blueprint of how we arrived where we are.”

  Gunther banged the table with his gavel. “Just a moment. Is there any particular reason why we have to listen to these accusations when...”

  Watson held up a hand curtly. “Let us finish. If you have something to say, we’ll gladly listen when we’re through.”

  Gunther was flushed but he snapped, “Go ahead then, but don’t think any of us Genoese are being taken in.”

  Barry Watson said, “True enough, it took us a time to unite our people...”

  “Time and blood,” Peter MacDonald muttered under his breath.

  “...but once under way, the Texcocan State has moved on in a progression unknown in any of the Genoese nations. To industrialize a society you must reach a certain taking off point, a point where you have sufficient industry, particularly steel, sufficient power, sufficient scientists, technicians and skilled workers. Once that point has been reached you can move ahead in almost a geometric progression. You build a steel mill and with the steel produced you build two more mills the following year, which in turn gives you the material for four the next year.”

  Fredric Buchwald grunted his disbelief.

  Watson looked up and down the line of Genoese, the Earthmen as well as the natives. “On Texcoco we have now reached that point. We have a trained, eager population of over one billion persons. Our universities are turning out highly trained effectives at the rate of more than twenty millions a year. We have located all the raw mater
ials we will need. We are now under way.” He looked at them in scornful amusement. “By the end of the next decade, we will bury you.”

  Martin Gunther said calmly, “Are you through?”

  “Yes. For the time,” Watson nodded.

  “Very well. Then this is our progress report. In the past forty years, we have eliminated feudalism in all the more advanced countries. Even in the remote areas the pressures of our changing world are bringing them around. The populous of these countries will no longer stand to one side while the standard of living on the rest of Genoa grows so rapidly. On most of our planet, already the average family not only enjoys freedom, but a way of life far in advance of that of Texcoco. Already modern housing and household appliances are everywhere. Already both land cars and aircraft are available to the majority. The nations have formed an Inter-Continental League of governments so that it is unlikely that war will ever touch us again. And this is merely a beginning. In ten years, continuing our freely competitive way of developing, all will be living on a scale that only the wealthy can afford today.”

  He came to an end and stared at the Texcocans.

  Taller said, “There seems to be no agreement between the two delegations.”

  Across from him the ancient Honorable Russ said, “It is difficult to measure this progress which both planets advocate. We seem to count refrigerators, television and privately owned cars and houses. You seem to ignore personal standards and concentrate on steel tonnage and the size of the grain harvest.”

  The Texcocan scientist, Wiss, said easily, “Given the steel mills, and eventually automobiles and refrigerators will run off our assembly lines like water and will be available for everyone, not just for those who can afford to buy them. That is our goal, an abundance for all, and eventually we will reach it.”

  “Hmmm, eventually,” Peter MacDonald laughed nastily.

  The atmosphere was suddenly hostile. Hostile beyond anything that had gone before in earlier conference. There was an absolute burden of hate in the air.

  And then Martin Gunther said without inflection, “I note that you have removed from the Pedagogue’s library all information dealing with nuclear fission.”

  “For the purpose of study,” Dick Hawkins said smoothly.

  “Of course,” Gunther said. “Did you plan to return it in the immediate future?”

  “I am afraid our studies will take some time,” Barry Watson said flatly.

  “I was afraid so,” Gunther said. “Happily, I took the precaution of making microfilms of the material involved more than a year ago.”

  Barry Watson pushed his chair back and came to his feet. “We seem to have accomplished what little was possible by the meeting,” he said. Then, “If anything.” He looked to his right and his left at his cohorts. “Let’s go, gentlemen.”

  They came stiffly erect. Watson turned on his heel and started for the door.

  As they left, Natt Roberts turned for a moment and said to Gunther, “One thing, Martin. During this next ten years you might consider whether or not half a century has been enough to accomplish our task. Should we consider staying on? I would think the Co-ordinator would accept any recommendation along this line that we might make.”

  The Genoese delegation looked after him thoughtfully, long after he had gone.

  Finally, Martin Gunther said, “Baron Leonar, I think it might be a good idea if you put some of your men to work on making steel alloys suitable for spacecraft. The way things are developing, perhaps we’ll need them in the not too distant future.”

  Buchwald and MacDonald looked at him unblinkingly.

  * * * *

  It was fifty years to a day since the Pedagogue had first gone into orbit about Rigel. Five decades had passed. Half a century.

  Of the original crew of the Pedagogue, seven now gathered in the lounge of the spaceship. All of them had changed physically. Some of them softer to the point of flabbiness; some harder both of body and soul. The one representative of the weaker sex had developed a sullen expression as well as an exaggerated sexual one.

  Barry Watson, Natt Roberts, Dick Hawkins, Isobel Sanchez, of the Texcocan team.

  Martin Gunther, Peter MacDonald, Fredric Buchwald of the Genoese.

  The gathering wasn’t so large as the one before. Only Taller and the scientist Wiss attended from Texcoco; only Baron Leonar and the son of Honorable Russ, from Genoa.

  From the beginning they stared with hostility across the conference table. Even the pretense of amiability was gone.

  Barry Watson rapped finally. “I am not going to dwell upon the measures you have been taking that can only be construed as military ones aimed eventually at the Texcocan State.”

  Martin Gunther laughed nastily. “Is your implication that your own people have not taken the same measures, in fact, inaugurated them?”

  Watson said, “As I say, I have no intention of even discussing this. Surely we can arrive at no agreement. There is one point, however, that we should consider on this occasion.”

  The corpulent Peter MacDonald wheezed. “Well, out with it, then!”

  Natt Roberts said, “I mentioned the matter to you at the last meeting.”

  “Ah, yes,” Gunther nodded thoughtfully. “Just as you left. We have considered it. In fact, we held a small meeting just before coming up here.”

  The Texcocans waited for him to go on.

  “If I understand you,” Gunther said slowly, “you think we should reconsider returning to Terra City at this time.”

  “It should be discussed,” Watson nodded. “Whatever the, ah, temporary difficulties between us, the original project of the Pedagogue is still our duty. Nothing is of more importance to all of us.”

  The three of the Genoese team nodded their solemn agreement. “Of course,” Buchwald murmured.

  “And the problem becomes: Have we accomplished completely what we set out to do? And, further, is it necessary, or at least preferable, for us to stay on and continue administration of the progress of the Rigel planets?”

  They thought on it.

  Buchwald said hesitantly, “It has been my own belief that Genoa is not quite ready for us to let loose the, ah, reins. If we left now, I am not sure...”

  Roberts said, “The same applies to Texcoco. The State has made fabulous strides, but I am not sure what would happen if we leaders were to leave. There might be a complete collapse.”

  Isobel Sanchez muttered, “Oh, I couldn’t bear the idea of returning to Terra City. Such a bore, really, life on Terra. So... so uninteresting. So much routine work and so little...”

  Dick Hawkins looked at her testily. “That’s not at all the point. The point is are we, or are we not needed by the people of these planets?”

  Barry Watson said, “We seem to be in basic agreement. Is a suggestion in order that we extend, for another twenty-five years, at least, this expedition’s work?”

  Dick Hawkins said, “The Office of Galactic Colonization...”

  Peter MacDonald broke in on him smoothly. “Will undoubtedly send out a ship to investigate. Very well, we shall simply inform them that things are not as yet propitious to our leaving, that another twenty-five years is in order. Since we are on the scene, undoubtedly our recommendation will be heeded.”

  Watson looked from one Earthling to the next. “Then are we in agreement?”

  Each in turn nodded.

  Peter MacDonald said, “And do you all realize that here we have a unique situation that might be exploited for the benefit of the whole human race?”

  They looked at him, intrigued, but questioningly.

  “The dynamic we find in Genoa, and Texcoco, too, for that matter, though we disagree on so many fundamentals, is beyond that in the Solar System. These are new planets, new ambitions are alive. We have at our fingertips, man’s highest developments, evolved on Earth. But with this new dynamic, this freshness, might we not in time push even beyond old Earth?”

  “You mean...” Natt Roberts said. />
  MacDonald nodded and pursed fat lips. “What particular value is gained by our uniting Genoa and Texcoco with the so-called Galactic Commonwealth? Why not press ahead on our own? With the vigor of these new races, we might well leave Earth far behind.”

  Barry Watson mused, “Carrying your suggestion to the ultimate, who is to say that one day Rigel might not become the new center of the human race, rather than Sol?”

  “A point well taken,” Gunther agreed.

  All the others of Earth nodded their solemn agreement.

  “No,” Taller said softly.

  The seven Earthlings turned hostile eyes to him.

  “This particular matter does not concern you, General,” Watson rapped at him.

  The grim visaged Taller smiled his dour amusement at that and came to his feet, to tower above them.

  “No,” he said. “I am afraid that hard though it might be for you to give up the powers you have held so long, you Earthlings are going to have to return to Terra City, from whence you came.”

  Isobel said languidly, “Oh, Taller, don’t be a flat.”

  Baron Leonar, however, said in gentle agreement with the general, “But obviously, he is correct.”

  “What is this?” Watson rapped. “I’m not at all amused.”

  The Honorable Russ stood also and took his position next to Taller. “There is no longer use of prolonging this. I have heard you Earthlings say, more than once, that man adapts to preserve himself. Very well, we of Genoa and Texcoco are adapting to the present situation. We are of the belief that if you are allowed to remain in power we of the Rigel planets will be destroyed, probably in an atomic holocaust. In self-protection we have found it necessary to unite, we Genoese and Texcocans. We bear you no ill will, far to the contrary, you have brought wonders to us. However, it is necessary that you all return to Earth. You have impressed upon us the aforementioned truism that man adapts but in the Pedagogue’s library I have found another that also applies. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”