XVII.
In the lanee's apartments, Guy sat down to think. It was morning, breakfast was over, and Guy had enjoyed a full night of deep and honest sleep. He had analyzed things to his satisfaction right up to the next move, and that troubled him.
There was no doubting Thomakein's statements concerning the need for masquerade, though Guy wondered whether it wasn't slightly off color. But Thomakein was of Ertene, and should know the temper of the Ertinians better than any Terran. Certainly there was no doubting Thomakein's ideals. And as for his friendship—that was well established.
But Thomakein was a little glib in expecting a rank outsider to come in and masquerade as a Public figure. It would be hard enough to act as a mere citizen with no popularity, let alone a rising, popular, and well-balanced governor of a planet.
He fingered the book of Elanane's friends and their descriptions and habits, and despaired of ever being able to call them by name, much less knowing them well enough to discuss their favorite subjects with them. It was a heavy volume, and Guy knew that Elanane was very much loved by his people.
Habit set in at this point, and Guy opened his little kit to shave before he recalled the depilatory that Thomakein gave him. Shaving, for Guy Maynard, was over forever since his trial of the rather tingling unguent that morning.
But—beside his razor was the partly-assembled thought-beam instrument. Guy laughed aloud.
This would put him in the possession of anything that was needed. And Guy grinned again. This was his secret. Let Thomakein think that he was really brilliant. He'd use the thought-beam gadget for himself, and use it for the best. Besides, letting knowledge of the thought-beam instrument out would be as dangerous for Guy on Ertene as it would have been on Terra. No one alive, save Guy, knew of the instrument. Its inventors were dead and gone and every instrument of its kind a smoking mass of burned components. For his own protection, he would keep this one secret.
He snorted in derision. Would he never finish having secrets to keep? Was his life to continue with one important phase hidden from the world? Would he never be free?
Or, came the comforting thought, do all men have something hidden from their fellows?
Finishing the instrument was impossible at the present time. That would take some work. But if Guy by-passed some of the finer circuits, he could at least gain a crude idea of a man's surface thoughts, especially if they were directed at him. Guy started to hook the partially-completed instrument together, and considered the effectiveness of the instrument.
It was small, luckily. It fitted one pouch of the pocket-belt to perfection, and Guy closed the flap over the instrument and snapped the little catch with confidence.
Guy nodded. Then he rang for his valet.
"You rang." It was an introductory statement rather than a redundant question, and it held none of the abruptness that a query as to the wants of the lanee might have held.
Guy faced the Ertinian and read in the man's mind that his name was Willadoran. "Willadoran, when is Leilanane expected to arrive?"
In the man's mind Guy could see admiration for his lanee, enhanced since the busy governor had time to think of his younger sister no matter how busy he was.
"Sometime today," answered Willadoran.
"I wonder if I'll have time to see Charalas first."
An annoying thought crossed Willadoran's mind—had Elanane forgotten that Charalas never awakened at this time?
"I mean after Charalas arises," amended Guy.
Elanane must be reading my mind, came the amused thought. "I'll see," came the reply, "that he is informed of your desire as soon as he awakens."
"Good," said Guy. He reminded himself never to take an expressed thought for speech. He smiled inwardly at Willadoran's amusement and wondered what the valet would do if the truth were known. Willadoran was highly amused at the idea that Elanane was a mind-reader, and considered the act utterly impossible.
A deep-seated impulse to shock the valet crossed Guy's mind, and it was only with trouble that he stifled the impulse.
Guy tried to discern Willadoran's thought concerning Charalas again, but it was a blank. Thomakein was blank, as was Leilanane, and Guy decided that his instrument was not sensitive enough to dig these deep-seated thoughts out of the below-threshold level. Only the surface thoughts were available—which, thought Guy, were sufficient.
Guy spent an hour speculating, and roaming the apartment to investigate its mysteries. Then Charalas came.
The neuro-surgeon smiled affably, looked around, and asked: "Well, where is it?"
Guy started, and then smiled. "You're slightly earlier than I expected." He went to the cupboard indicated in Charalas' mind and returned with the toran set. He was about to ask: white or black? when he perceived that Charalas expected the black men since he had been victorious on their last game. Reading the positions from Charalas' mind, Guy set up the various men upon their proper squares, and offered Charalas the first move, which was proper.
Guy's knowledge of chess was fair, and toran was an Ertinian version of the ancient Terran game. He had no idea as to the moves, but—Charalas thought: Elanane always counters my first move by counter-attacking with his vassal.
Guy moved the minor piece up to confront the other.
Charalas covered his pawn with a major piece and Guy countered with exactly the one thought that Charalas hoped against.
Charalas set up a complicated trap, and sat back thinking: Let's see you outguess that one, Elanane.
Guy wondered about the move of the castle piece, and touched it briefly. Four moves in any direction, came Charalas' thought. Guy moved the castle, and Charalas thought: Now why did he do that?
Guy worried. Elanane might not have made that move.
If I move my protector, he should fall into the trap by capturing it. He always does.
Guy decided that this game was no fun at all, and took the piece. Charalas smiled brightly and removed three of Guy's major pieces with a single move, Guy countered by making the one move that Charalas did not want, and the Ertinian lost the piece that he was hoping to save. The rest was quick, Charalas moved and Guy countered, but Charalas triumphed because Guy didn't know enough to set up his own traps. He could avoid Charalas' traps, but in simple exchanges he lost ground, and finally Charalas removed the last white piece from the board.
The neuro-surgeon smiled tolerantly, "You may be lanee, Elanane, but I am still your master at toran."
"I'll learn some day," promised Guy.
"You seemed preoccupied," said Charalas. "You've been worrying."
"That's possible."
"About Sol, I'd guess."
"Right."
"Why worry about them?" asked Charalas.
"They threaten our integrity."
"You mean since Thomakein informed us that the Terran, Gomanar, was forced to violate his oath?"
Guy blinked. To treat this properly, he would have to absolutely divorce himself from his personality and treat the Terran as another entity. "Yes," he said. "The Terrans, according to Thomakein, are more than capable of setting up a detector that will detect the presence of the light-shield."
"We'll cross that bridge when it comes."
"We should look forward to it—and plan."
"Elanane," said Charalas, "my loyalty has never been questioned. For a moment, I'd like to discuss this as an impartial observer."
"Of course."
"Ertene is stale."
"Stale?" asked Guy in astonishment.
"Ertene has lost the pathway that leads to the apex," said Charalas. "We have become soft and stale."
"I don't understand."
"When mankind came to Ertene, he was a soft, inefficient creature. Nature had tried size, force, quantity, physical adaptability, and a score of other concepts before she tried brains. Mankind was nature's experiment with brains as a means of survival. We are a weakling race, Elanane. Unarmed, we are no match for any of the beasts of the jungle. Dropped into the depths of uncivilization—naked and alone—what happens?"
"We die."
"No we do not. Within fifteen minutes we are armed with a stone bound to a treelimb. Then we are the match for anything that lives. Within a day, we are supreme in our jungleland. Our home is in a tree. Snares are set for food animals, death traps are set for carnivores, and the jungle is cleared for our safety. And, Elanane, from that time on the beasts of the jungle avoid us. We, the weakling creature, are to be feared mortally."
"Granted, but what has that to do with the present?"
"Mankind fought the jungle to supremacy. Mankind fought beasts, the cannibals, and nature herself. He pushed himself upward by walking on the heads of those below him. Then he fought with himself, since there was nothing left that was worthy of his mettle. He fought himself because he could gain no more by fighting lesser things."
"What may we gain by fighting among ourselves?" asked Guy.
"The right way to live," said Charalas thoughtfully. "Consider, Elanane, the extremes of government. No matter what you call them, they are absolute anarchy and absolute tyranny, and between these two lie every other form of government. Obviously complete anarchy is impossible at the present level of human nature. Equally obvious is the impossibility of absolute tyranny in a culture based upon ambition and education. But, Elanane, somewhere between these extremes is the best system."
"Can fighting find it?" asked Guy doubtfully.
"It is the only way. Consider an hypothetical planet containing two continents of equal size, on opposite hemispheres. One continent is absolute anarchy, the other complete tyranny." Charalas grinned boyishly for all of his years. "Obviously they have been living in complete ignorance of one another up to now, for otherwise they couldn't have arrived at those extremes.
"Well, it is hypothetical, anyway, and there are your constants. This goes on, and then one day one of two things happen. Either is possible and I am not plumping for either side—but the two possibilities are: One, the tyrant decides to gather the anarchs under his rule, or; two: the anarchs decide to free their fellows from the tyrant rule. This, Elanane, means war, to quote an ancient cry.
"Immediately the tyrant finds that he cannot run the whole show by himself, so he relegates power to able men. The anarchs decide that they are impotent, and elect leaders to run certain phases of the campaign. So we have less of a tyranny on one side and less anarchy on the other. In either case, power relegated is seldom regained, and as the years bear on, war after war is fought and either side approaches a norm."
Guy smiled. "Supposing one side wins."
"That is a sign that the winning side is closer to the best form of social co-operation."
"And when they reach that norm, then what?"
"They never reach," said Charalas. "Their struggles cause each of them to rise above the norm, and then they swing like the pendulum below the norm. It is a long, damped cycle."
"A damped cycle must eventually cease."
"Not when you constantly change the norm," said Charalas. "The norm of prehistoric times is vastly different from the present. Our norm is different than the future norm. Men advance in knowledge and in responsibility, and they resent, bitterly, being judged on laws and rules set up to control their forefathers. City Indilee was the object of ridicule some hundred kilodays ago because some jurist tried to invoke a rule against flying less than five thousand noads above the city."
"I've read about that," smiled Guy, reading it from Charalas' mind. "At the time, we'd been landing on the building stages for thirty kilodays."
"Right. Another thing, Elanane. Some day anarchy will be the government of man. But not until man has learned to control himself as an individual, to respect the rights of others, and to follow the common wish. Until then we will have government."
"Which brings us back to the original question. You said Ertene is stale."
"I mean it. Elanane—are we capable of running ourselves?"
"Obviously."
"Then we shouldn't fear a test of fire."
"Our ability to keep out of the fight should be answer enough."
"Any coward can keep from fighting by hiding. Perhaps these Terrans are right."
"Right? Is it right to destroy the people of Pluto with their way of living in comfort?"
"Yes. We do not mind killing cattle for food, do we?"
"Yes, but—"
"No, Elanane, it is no different."
"Then how about the ones used by the Terrans for medical experiments?"
"Justified. Up to a certain point a race may experiment to good advantage on the lower primates. Eventually, there is little to be known, since the more delicate investigations must be carried out on higher levels of intelligence."
"These denizens of the outer moon of one of their planets were not of high intelligence."
"Wrong," said Charalas. "They are of a high order of intelligence. It is their knowledge that is low. They have the capability. Yet, Elanane, we have the fundamental law of the survival of the fittest. In warring upon Mars, weapons and sciences are unloosed which out-strip the advances made in medicine. Nothing is said against Terra for fighting against Mars. They are traditional enemies.
"To return to the denizens of Titan. These semi-intelligent natives are like swine wearing diamonds. They evolved in a society in which they had no native enemy. They were not forced to become intelligent in order to live—if they had but one single enemy, they would have evolved into first-rate civilization ages ago. There has been no forward step on Titan for ten thousand Terran years. They will never make an advance. Even if offered the sciences of the inner system, they would shrug them off and revert back to their semi-savagery."
"I've been told that three generations of schooling would make them suitable allies for Terra," objected Guy.
Charalas shook his head. "Wrong. Mankind on Terra rose because he was ambitious—he still is. Titan is not ambitious and never will be. They have no reason to work, and will not. Terrans—and early Ertinians—fought their way upward because they had to in order to live. Therefore, Elanane, the Titanians fall under the classification of those whose lives are only to support intelligence."
"Um," said Guy. "Then Terra is not the black race they've been painted?"
"Not by a jugful. Nothing was said of downtrodden races of the past—why balk at downtrodden races of the present?"
"But they should help—"
"Helping anyone is possible only when they want to be helped. The Titanians are not even grateful for the comforts given to them by Terra."
"Comforts?" sneered Guy. "The comfort of being vivisected?"
"Terra is not a vampire race," smiled Charalas. "Terra tried to raise their level and failed because of their lassitude. They didn't give a hoot. Terra tried to conduct their experiments on a gentle basis; small experiments such as testing vaccines and antibodies—all, mind, on Titanians who were ill. They had no chance of danger, and a good chance of living. Titan had nothing to lose; either the vaccines would work and save the victim, or would not work and the victim would receive the best care possible anyway. Terra offered to pay royally. Titan didn't even care for that. They didn't care for payment; didn't care for comfort; didn't care that some of their members died.
"And," added Charalas pointedly, "they do not care now, when Terra uses a few of them for medical purposes."
"How many?"
"There are one hundred million Titanians. Terra takes perhaps one thousand per year. And a goodly portion of these are ill already. Terra developed their limb-grafting method out of them, and that alone is worth their trouble."
"That puts a new face on it," said Guy.
"As for their new find—Mephisto. Mephisto might have received good friendship. The Mephistans were absolutely alien to Terrans. Mephisto has nothing that Terra really needs, that Terra couldn't exchange for. Terra has items that Mephisto could have had, too, thus completing the cycle. Mephisto's atmosphere is unsuited for Terrans and vice versa. Their body chemistry would have been poisonous to each other. Here, then, we have a condition whereby two alien races could have lived in peace together. Yet Mephisto, not knowing the entire story, thought Terra a rapacious, vampire race. They, the utter fools, sought Martian assistance."
"That's what I'd have done."
"Not smart," smiled Charalas. "Never, never get between traditional enemies, Elanane. You become an innocent bystander that goes down before the steam roller of a spite battle. That, plus the traditional system of both planets."
"What's that?"
"Never fight your battles on the home ground—it spoils it badly. Fight your battles all over some poor innocent's land and leave the homeland unscarred. Also dirty, Elanane, but Nature is a dirty fighter."
"So you think Terra is all right fundamentally?"
"Obviously. Nature will not permit any unsuitable system to obtain. Given a few hundred years and Terra will see eye to eye with Mars against some other system."
"Perhaps against Ertene—?"
"I hope not," said Charalas fervently. "Yet they have some attributes we need."
"Have they anything we need?"
"They have the verve, the ambition, and unbeatability of youth. We, Elanane, are stodgy and slow and old."
"That doesn't please me too much."
"That's too bad. It's true. Look, Elanane, how long is our history compared to theirs?"
"Several hundred times as long, I believe."
"Not quite several hundred, Elanane. But long enough—far long enough to prove my statement. How does their scientific culture compare?"
"Somewhat less—"
"Equal! Or better perhaps!"
"Oh no."
"Oh yes. The two are divergent to the nth power, but their development is as high as ours is. Now, Elanane, they've come up alone, driven only by Mars and other exigencies. Mars came with them. We, Elanane, came up by slyly taking bits of culture from this system and that system as we came along.
"Be that as it may," added Charalas. "The question I ponder is this: How do we know we're so right?”