Direct Descent

by Frank Herbert

  The PN moved to the left. Hepzebah darted to intercept him. The PN moved to the right. Again, Hepzebah blocked his way.

  “I will drop this fool down the deepest shaft of the Library,” the PN said. “Who can stop me? The Library is mine … mine … mine … mine.…”

  Sil-Chan awoke to find his body encased tightly in the blankets which he had twisted around himself. His shoulder ached. Slowly, Sil-Chan freed himself from the blankets and sat up on the edge of his cot. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet. There was moonglow through a tiny skylight. Shadows from the limbs of giant trees painted images on the floor.

  Tomorrow, he and Hepzebah would have a day to themselves. The PN would arrive on the following day.

  What can I tell him?

  Sil-Chan felt that he had been enchanted, caught in a magic web. I know it and I don’t care. What matter the Dornbaker Account? Nothing mattered except the enchantment.

  But I can’t abandon the Library. Tchung depends on me.

  Why did Tchung depend on him? The question had not occurred to Sil-Chan in quite that form. Why? Well … Tchung would not move without the advice of Records. That was certain. What could Records tell the Director about one Sooma Sil-Chan?

  Sil-Chan looked inward at his own past life—a dedicated Library slave, little better than one of the robots. Self-programming, of course. Too single-minded for most people. Few friends. No women friends, although several had indicated more than a casual interest in him. This interest had vanished quickly when they found he was on anti-S.

  Well, I’m off it now. They’ve probably never even heard of it on the Free Island.

  He thought of Hepzebah then, conjured her face into his mind. Ahhh, with her, all things were possible.

  With a sigh, Sil-Chan once more wrapped himself in the blankets and composed himself for sleep. This time, he invited another nightmare: His body was transformed by a witch (who looked remarkably like Hepzebah) and he became a throbbing eye which moved inward, ever deeper inward down a shaft of the Library Planet. The drop seemed endless and when it finally stopped, the eye/himself peered upward as all of the Library’s contents came cascading down the shaft toward him.

  “It’ll blind me!” he screamed.

  And he awoke to find the pale glow of morning coming through the skylight and mists drifting across the tree branches out there.

  A knock sounded on his door. David’s voice: “You awake?”

  “Yes.”

  “The PN is here.”

  Sil-Chan sat upright, stared at the closed door. “But he wasn’t supposed to …”

  “He’s here and he wants to see you immediately. You and Hepzebah.”

  O O O

  The Paternomer Dornbaker was not as tall as his nightmare counterpart, but he towered over Sil-Chan nonetheless. The PN stood more than two meters and his shock of grey hair added another ten centimeters. The PN was also a heavy man, muscular and swift in his movements. The early morning light penetrated the east windows to bathe the room in sharp contrasts. The PN stood out like an ancient figurehead, an older David—skin like cured leather, fan wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and mouth, a square chin, sea-blue eyes and a wide mouth with dark lips.

  Sil-Chan stood facing him in front of the fireplace. Hepzebah sat on the divan with David standing behind her.

  The PN glared at Sil-Chan. “Why do you deliberately disrupt things of which you have no knowledge?”

  Sil-Chan glanced at Hepzebah, but she was staring at the floor.

  “I did not come to disrupt,” Sil-Chan aid.

  “I judge a man by what he does,” the PN said. “How long have you been seeing my niece?”

  “I met her for the first time, yesterday.”

  “A likely story.”

  “Are you calling me a liar, sir?” Sil-Chan kept his voice low and steady. It was a tone that surprised even him. The pre-Dornbaker Sil-Chan would never have used it.

  The PN favored him with a peculiar, weighted stare, then: “No-o-o, I am not. But you will admit this is disruptively surprising.”

  “Surprising, yes.”

  “Why did you come here, then?”

  “The Library needs your help.”

  “This is how you enlist my help?” He waved at Hepzebah.

  She stood and moved to Sil-Chan’s side, put her hand in his. “You almost killed him, Uncle, and you’ve not apologized.”

  “You stay out of this.”

  “Don’t you take that tone with me,” she said, “or I and my sisters will ban the seed. How will you find a PN then?”

  He glared at her. “I’m the PN here!” He made it sound like “Pen.”

  “And I am the Elected Womb,” she said.

  The PN focused on Sil-Chan. “With him?”

  “With whomever I choose!”

  “The trothers agreeing!”

  “They’ll agree.”

  “I’m thirsty,” the PN said.

  David whirled away and went into the rear of the house while the PN stared into the fire. Presently, David returned with one of the earthen mugs he had brought to Sil-Chan. The PN took the drink without looking at David, quaffed it, wiped his lips and returned the mug with the same casual disregard for its source.

  “My word is law here,” the PN said. “Except when I give a direct order to a chit like that.” He jerked his head at Hepzebah. “You know you’ve interrupted my hunt?”

  “David sent word to you, I know,” she said. “But you could have come back after the hunt.”

  “And found you already with the trothers?” He looked at Sil-Chan. “Why aren’t you sitting? I told you there was no need to stand.” His voice sounded suddenly old and petulant. “I know you were injured.”

  Sil-Chan realized that was as much of an apology as he would ever get. It amused him and strengthened him.

  “You owe him something for the loss of his jetter,” David ventured.

  The PN whirled. “I don’t owe him the woman who could join those lines! Martin’s willing. Why can’t she …”

  “I have sisters,” Hepzebah said. “The lines can still be joined.”

  “But not this year,” the PN grumbled. “It’s an imposition to expect an old man to wait for …”

  Sil-Chan interrupted: “Aren’t you being a little …”

  “Stay out of this!” the PN snapped.

  “I will not stay out of this!”

  “You won’t obey a direct order from the PN?” His voice was ominous.

  Sil-Chan suppressed the churning of his stomach. “Sir, I came here at the direction of Galactic Archives, of the Library. You don’t have any idea what …”

  “We’ll get to your official excuses later,” the PN said. “Right now I’m trying to reason with a pig-headed female who …”

  “Uncle.” The steel had returned to Hepzebah’s voice. “In front of a witness, I asked this man to wed and he accepted.”

  “So David says!”

  “Even you are not above the law,” she said. “You will recall that I was not raised a chore daub to …”

  “Maybe that’s where I made my mistake,” the PN muttered.

  “If it was a mistake, it was not my mistake,” she said. “And I warn you that I do not intend to be bound by your tame band of trothers when …”

  “You’re a pig-headed female!”

  She continued unperturbed, “… when they cast no omens, made no divinations. We both know that they followed your instructions to approve Martin.”

  “What’s the difference? Mumbo jumbo or common sense? Give me common sense every time!” Again, he stared into the fire.

  “Don’t try swaying the trothers,” she said. “I’ll demand the Pleb. You know what’ll happen then.”

  He spoke without turning. “Are you threatening me?”

  She said: “The trothers will face the Stone and be forced to admit your interference. The vote of the Pleb will go for me.”

  “All right!” He whirled. “So you want
this … this …” He gestured with a fist at Sil-Chan. “Ever since you were a wee one you’ve gotten everything you wanted! Now you …”

  “Will all of you shut up for just a minute?” Sil-Chan asked. “I’ve had quite enough of this family bickering.” He caught a sudden grin from David standing behind the PN, took heart from it.

  “Oh, have you now?” the PN asked. His voice was dangerous.

  “I’ll admit to being swept off my feet by your niece,” Sil-Chan said. “Who can blame me? That’s chemistry or … or whatever. It’s wonderful and I wouldn’t change it for all of Free Island. But I came here on another matter, something vital to us all.”

  “Do you know I could have you taken into the wilderness just like that …” the PN snapped his fingers, “… and eliminated, and no one the wiser.”

  The old Sil-Chan would have cringed at the threat. The new Sil-Chan took a step closer to the PN. “You might be able to murder me, but there’d be some the wiser!”

  The PN’s mouth opened, snapped shut. His chin lifted. He looked at Sil-Chan with new interest.

  “We have mutual problems,” Sil-Chan said. “We …”

  “You have a talent for creating problems, no doubt of that,” the PN said, but Sil-Chan sensed an underlying banter in the tone.

  “You may force me to return to the mainland without Hepzebah,” Sil-Chan said. “But I have a mission here and I am an official of Galactic Archives.”

  Hepzebah squeezed Sil-Chan’s hand. “If you go, I go.”

  The PN blinked, looked at his niece, then at Sil-Chan. “All right! What’s bothering you pack rats? I want the full story.”

  Sil-Chan winced. Tchung’s warning filled his mind. These Dornbakers could tip over the whole cart, but they might not know their legal position. So the Computer reported. Sil-Chan returned the PN’s demanding stare. This was a rough man, this PN, but also a man of essential integrity … a man with his own code, a wilderness honor which might not be too different from the Library’s Code. A lie would be the surest way to alienate such a man.

  It occurred to Sil-Chan then that a sum which could bankrupt the government was owed to these Dornbakers. In one sense, this PN was the government, and the Library’s Code required obedience to the government.

  The PN has just ordered me to tell him the full story.

  Sil-Chan did not feel that this was a line of reasoning which would stand much reconsideration, but it swayed the balance in his own mind. He began explaining about the Myrmid Enclave’s jackals, the war monitor, the downward projection of Dornbaker property, the drain on Archive funds, the monstrous sum owed to the Dornbakers … he left out nothing.

  “Why should any government acknowledge that debt?” the PN asked, when Sil-Chan had finished.

  “The Enclave’s jurisdiction over the planet is based on accepted responsibility. Government subsidy keeps us running, fuels the collection ships, everything. If they are not responsible for us, they have no jurisdiction here.”

  “In their shoes, I’d opt for a simple invasion,” the PN said.

  David nodded agreement. Hepzebah looked thoughtful, but did not remove her hand from Sil-Chan’s.

  “But the Enclave holds power through a fistful of mutual aid and defense agreements. We’re not very important to that agreement—especially in a time of cost-cutting politics.”

  “I sympathize,” the PN said, “but seems to me we could accommodate any government. We’re a simple people. Don’t cost much.”

  “You weren’t listening very well,” Sil-Chan said. “You are the biggest single cost on this planet. Weather control adjustments alone take more than our robot repair budget. That’s the first cost I’d cut.”

  “Stop our glaciers and our morning mists?” the PN asked.

  “Certainly! Let you take the weather the rest of us get.”

  “You stop the mists and our big trees die! If they die, that sets off a chain of …”

  “If the Enclave has its way, all services will stop … except perhaps the counterbalance. That’d wreck the planet.”

  “Do I understand you correctly?” David asked. “Free Island extends downward almost to the planet’s core?”

  “And upward to the edge of the atmosphere,” Sil-Chan said.

  “All that dirt,” the PN said.

  “It isn’t all dirt in the strictest sense,” Sil-Chan said. “Below the former magma line it’s …”

  “What’s its value?” the PN asked.

  “I couldn’t began to tell you,” Sil-Chan said.

  “Seems to me,” the PN mused, “our mutual problem is to make us important to that agreement which holds the government together.”

  “Too bad that Enclave doesn’t have the Pleb,” Hepzebah said. “If they could vote on …” She broke off as Sil-Chan squeezed her hand hard. He stared at her, an audacious idea taking shape in his mind.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  Sil-Chan stared at the PN. “Would you permit our technicians to install certain equipment here?”

  “What equipment?”

  “Technically, sir, you own this planet. But the Library is a government bureau. I doubt that you can collect, but if you demand payment that will force the convening of a new Galactic Assembly. The Enclave will have to submit to a vote.”

  “What equipment, I say?”

  “Broadcast equipment.”

  A speculative look spread over the PN’s face. “That’s pretty big trouble you’d be stirring up there, son.”

  “You would be stirring up, sir.”

  “How come you’re calling me sir all of a sudden?”

  “We’re going to be related.”

  The PN grinned. “You might be getting more than you bargained for.” He looked at Hepzebah. “You determined?”

  “You know I am.”

  “Tell you one thing,” the PN said. “He won’t take our name. Too much fire in him. Guess you saw that. You asked yourself yet how the Pleb will take to a PN with another name?”

  “Our child can take any name he wants,” she said.

  “Mayhap.”

  “Do we have your blessing?”

  The PN frowned. “Is there one of your sisters who’ll join Martin?”

  “I’d try Kate. She’s too young yet, but she’s had her eye on that job for some time.”

  “Not the same as you doing it,” the PN said.

  “Not the same,” she agreed.

  The PN shook his head slowly as a faint smile turned up his lips. “By the Eternal Stone, you are a Dornbaker female!” He nodded. “My blessing to you both, then. David can tell the trothers.”

  Sil-Chan said: “But what about our mutual …”

  “Oh, I’ll make your broadcast,” the PN said. “Always wanted to see that stuff work anyhow. Shake on it.”

  Sil-Chan took the proffered hand. It felt hard and calloused.

  “Don’t scare you very much, do I?” the PN asked.

  “Not very much,” Sil-Chan said.

  “Good. You write out the words you want me to say. Have one of the scriveners put it in big letters for me. My eyes aren’t what they were.”

  “Yes, sir. I will.”

  Abruptly, the PN turned away and strode toward the door to the outside. He jerked it open. “Now where in Stone is my Merlin? Never around when you need him!”

  O O O

  There was a great rodent-scurrying of human activity before David Dornbaker’s fireplace. Furniture had been moved back. A thick cable reached from a metal stand across the floor to a window and trailed away outside to where the dish of a power receiver had been installed. Archives technicians were busy dismantling a temporary stand opposite the fireplace, removing one of the great broadcast adapters from the stand. The thick cable, however, remained, as did a bank of mobile rhomboids along the wall beside the fireplace. The rhomboids remained in standby mode with no realized images dancing in front of them.

  Sil-Chan stood with Hepzebah looking out at the afternoo
n light on the mowed field where he had wrecked the jetter. The wreck had been removed, but there still was a scar in the earth at the edge of the tall grass.

  Hepzebah touched his arm. “It’s done.”

  “No, it’s just beginning.”

  Sil-Chan tipped his head toward an Admiral’s shuttle which had landed at the end of the mowed strip and remained there without any further sign of action. He glanced back into the room. There were at least twenty male Dornbakers in the room, all wearing sidearms. The woods around them, he knew were full of armed Dornbakers.

  The PN had pulled off the broadcast without a change in script, but his manner had ignited worries in Sil-Chan’s mind. Regal … remote … cold. The PN liked power, no doubt of that. Was he thinking about the power he might have as a planetary ruler? There had been a profound change in the PN’s manner since his conference with his Merlin.

  Merlin! Wizened little man with a leather bag of shiny pebbles and a covert look to him which said he had another bag full of shiny tricks.

  “Who’s in that shuttle?” Sil-Chan asked. “Why don’t they come out?”

  “What would you be doing?” she asked.

  “Consulting with my government.” Sil-Chan nodded.

  “They’ve all heard the broadcast by now,” she said. “Sub-space must be burning up with communications.”

  “Tell me something,” Sil-Chan said. “You’re a primitive hunter-gatherer society here, but you know all about things like sub-space. How is that?”

  “We’re just naturally curious about your toys,” she said. “The PN’s the worst of the lot. He’s got to see an example of everything. Some things we like and we use. Other things would change us too much and we reject them. That’s the Pleb’s main function—keep us culturally pure.”

  “Culturally …”

  “That’s why we have such severe limits on interchanging with the mainland. Damned little fraternizing.”

  “But it happens?”

  She hugged him. “Sure it happens.”

  “Something’s happening out there,” he said. She pulled away from him and they moved closer to the window. A hatch had opened on the Admiral’s shuttle and a ramp tongued out to the ground. The PN and a small armed guard emerged from the woods beside the field and strode to a point opposite the ramp. When they stopped, men emerged from the shuttle—blue uniforms of the Galactic Navy and considerable glittering braid.