by Issac Asimov
“Why do you suppose it seemed so important to me to save Aratap’s ship when Gillbret shorted the motors? It wasn’t for myself. I didn’t, at the time, think Aratap would free me, no matter what. It wasn’t even so much for you, Arta. It was to save the Director. He was the important man among us. Poor Gillbret didn’t understand that.”
Rizzett shook his head. “I’m sorry. I just can’t make myself believe all that.”
It was a new voice that spoke. “You may as well. It is true.” The Director was standing just outside the door, tall and somber-eyed. It was his voice and yet not quite his voice. It was crisp and sure of itself.
Artemisia ran to him. “Father! Biron says—”
“I hear what Biron said.” He was stroking her hair with long, gentle motions of the hand. “And it is true. I would even have let your marriage take place.”
She stepped back from him, almost in embarrassment. “You sound so different. You sound almost as if—”
“As if I weren’t your father.” He said it sadly. “It will not be for long, Arta. When we are back on Rhodia, I will be as you knew me, and you must accept me so.”
Rizzett stared at him, his usually ruddy complexion as gray as his hair. Biron was holding his breath.
Hinrik said, “Come here, Biron.”
He placed a hand on Biron’s shoulder. “There was a time, young man, when I was ready to sacrifice your life. The time may come again in the future. Until a certain day I can protect neither of you. I can be nothing but what I have always seemed. Do you understand that?”
Each nodded.
“Unfortunately,” said Hinrik, “damage has been done. Twenty years ago I was not as hardened to my role as I am today. I should have ordered Gillbret killed, but I could not. Because I did not, it is now known that there is a rebellion world and that I am its leader.”
“Only we know that,” said Biron.
Hinrik smiled bitterly. “You think that because you are young. Do you think Aratap is less intelligent than yourself? The reasoning by which you determined the location and leadership of the rebellion world is based on facts known to him, and he can reason as well as you. It is merely that he is older, more cautious, that he has grave responsibilities. He must be certain.
“Do you think he released you out of sentiment? I believe that you have been freed now for the same reason you were freed once before—simply that you might lead him farther along the path that leads to me.”
Biron was pale. “Then I must leave Rhodia?”
“No. That would be fatal. There would seem no reason for you to leave, save the true one. Stay with me and they will remain uncertain. My plans are nearly completed. One more year, perhaps, or less.”
“But, Director, there are factors you may not be aware of. There is the matter of the document—”
“For which your father was searching?”
“Yes.”
“Your father, my boy, did not know all there was to know. It is not safe to have anyone in possession of all the facts. The old Rancher discovered the existence of the document independently in the references to it in my library. Ill give him credit He recognized its significance. But if he had consulted me, I would have told him it was no longer on Earth.”
“That’s exactly it, sir. I am certain the Tyranni have it.”
“But of course not. I have it. I’ve had it for twenty years. It was what started the rebellion world, for it was only when I had it that I knew we could hold our winnings once we had won.”
“It is a weapon, then?”
“It is the strongest weapon in the universe. It will destroy the Tyranni and us alike, but will save the Nebular Kingdoms. Without it, we could perhaps defeat the Tyranni, but we would only have exchanged one feudal despotism for another, and as the Tyranni are plotted against, we would be plotted against. We and they must both be delivered into the ashcan of outmoded political systems. The time for maturity has come as it once came on the planet Earth, and there will be a new kind of government, a kind that has never yet been tried in the Galaxy. There will be no Khans, no Autarchs, Directors, or Ranchers.”
“In the name of Space,” roared Rizzett suddenly, “what will there be?”
“People.”
“People? How can they govern? There must be some one person to make decisions.”
“There is a way. The blueprint I have dealt with a small section of one planet, but it can be adapted to all the Galaxy.”
The Director smiled. “Come, children, I may as well marry you. It can do little more harm now.”
Biron’s hand tightly enclosed Artemisia’s and she was smiling at him. They felt the queer inward twinge as the Remorseless made its single pre-calculated Jump.
Biron said, “Before you start, sir, will you tell me something about the blueprint you mention, so that my curiosity will be satisfied and I can keep my mind on Arta?”
Artemisia laughed and said, “You had better do it, Father. I couldn’t bear an abstracted groom.”
Hinrik smiled. “I know the document by heart. Listen.” And with Rhodia’s sun bright on the visiplate, Hinrik began with those words that were older—far older—than any of the planets in the Galaxy save one:
“‘We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect Union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America,…’”
