XXI.
Vorgan scowled at Lindoo. "Dead, you say?"
"Starvation."
"Come now," said Vorgan derisively. "Sezare would hardly die of starvation. Assassination, yes. Overindulgence, without a doubt. Even sheer boredom I will admit. But starvation? Never."
"Deny your own medical corps, then."
"I admit it," snapped Vorgan. "But I am perplexed."
"There were no drugs."
"That I know. But look, Lindoo, Sezare was a fool, a stinking voluptuary if ever a Loard-vogh was. As sector overseer his palace rivaled mine. He carried on with a high hand. I recall my last visit. Frankly, I was slightly abashed. If Sezare had not been profitable, I'd have dropped him. He produced, therefore the lush palace and life he led were none of my business. I am not chicken-hearted, Lindoo, but to select the favorites of the home race as personal servitors to his own idea of sensuality seemed too self-indulgent. Select his choice, certainly. I can understand that." Vorgan's hard eyes softened at the memory. "But the concept that any that served him were then exalted, and must not be touched by a member of the slave race again—that was feudal."
"How did he enforce that?"
"There was seldom a need. Sezare was a voluptuary, almost a sadist. No servitor he ever had lived in health after the year he demanded. Broken in mind and in spirit and in body, they were disposed of as merciful terminations. His final act of vanity was to peacefully end the victim's life, giving the first rest in a year. Starvation, you say?"
"Yes."
"Sezare's palace ran red with wine, and the pillars groaned with the richest food that the sector bore. Overindulgence I will understand. Gout, autointoxication, acute alcoholism, drugs, or anything that comes of living in the lush manner. But starvation—how?"
"He was in complete starvation. He had dropped from three hundred and seven pounds to a scant sixty-three. He had locked himself in his suite and was constantly under the influence of a machine devised by ... by—"
"Oho!" exploded Vorgan. "A machine! Devised by—?"
"A Terran."
"A Terran! Is he here?"
"Yes—he and his machine. Partially destroyed."
"Why?"
"Terror."
"Bring in the Terran. I'll see him. And if he cannot explain to perfection, I'll see him burn!"
The prisoner entered. No glass separated them, for the Terran was sterile. He was forced to his knees, but if terror wracked the man, it was not evident.
"Your name?" thundered Vorgan.
"Edward Lincoln."
"Your trade?"
"Technician. Research co-ordinator for His Exalted Highness, Sezare."
"Sezare died of starvation."
"I know—it was deplorable. I fear that I was his unwitting murderer."
"You admit it?"
"I must. It is true. Had I but known—"
"Explain. Your life depends upon it."
"Sezare the Exalted directed me to devise for him a means of gaining greater sensual stimuli. Apparently the law of diminishing returns—you permit my personal opinions and observations?"
"Proceed. As you will."
Lindoo nodded and whispered: "His observations are a measure of his attitude. It is his attitude that will save or kill him, not his words."
The technician continued. "Sezare had indulged himself in every sensual manner. He was constantly on the search for something new, something more searing, something more thrilling. He directed me to devise some means of satisfying his demand for greater pleasure. That was most difficult, Lord of All, for Sezare had the entire resources of a galactic sector to provide his voluptuous demands.
"I succeeded in devising a machine that would give him dreams as he slept. Then, you see, when asleep he could indulge in his sensuous pleasures. That removed the necessity of stopping his round of pleasure to gain needed sleep; his round of lush living could go on continuously. I requisitioned the finest of artists, writers, and weavers of song to record the pleasures of life from the most fertile imaginations of the sector. Sezare, Lord of All, was imaginative, but not originally so. Soft living had made him lazy in thought, as well, and he preferred that any pleasurable thoughts be provided for him. So in having the most imaginative writers weave his dreams for him, I gave him a sensual pleasure far greater than the flesh was capable of enjoying. The power of the mind is greater than the flesh, Lord of All, and in my ambition to please Sezare, I overdid it."
"Overdid it? How?"
"I overlooked the fact that Sezare might find more pleasure in sleeping and dreaming than he would in waking and doing. He closeted himself with the machine. I ... was nearly destroyed because I breached his chamber and tried to turn the machine off."
"True?" asked Vorgan.
"True," nodded Lindoo.
"He spent all of his time under the influence of the dream machine," said Lincoln plaintively. "He scorned the best efforts of his cooking staff, and he scourged the collectors of his—women. None of them could provide for his pleasure like the machine. He retired to it, and in his strange acceptance of its pleasures, came to feel that sleep, under the machine, was real, whereas life, with its disappointments, must be sleep with bad dreams. Since the dream machine could provide only dream food, Sezare starved—his body starved, but his mind was content."
"Continue."
"Continue? There is no more. I had been trying to turn off the machine for weeks. I was denied, even threatened. Finally imprisoned so that I could not appeal for help. Sezare died, and I was sent here. In terror that some other of the Loard-vogh might fall victim, I have ruined the machine, and I shall die before I rebuild it. It ... is worse ... than the most entangling of drugs."
"Dismissed," said Vorgan dryly. The technician was led away, not guilty.
"Lindoo, what of Sezare's sector?"
"In charge of Sezare's underling, Narolla. Narolla has full control and he is competent. Narolla is not a voluptuary; he has seen too much of the dissolution of Sezare. And, Vorgan, it may be interesting to note that Narolla's productive output has increased."
"Already?"
"Sezare has been on the trail of starvation for weeks. Narolla took charge as of Sezare's withdrawal into dream-seclusion. Regardless of the Terran's act, or motive, the Loard-vogh benefits by the change."
"I agree. That is why I freed him."
"I am beginning to feel that Terrans can be trusted," said Lindoo.
"It all depends. It will not do to trust them too far in spite of their apparent willingness to help. Until we can be sure, we must be wary. Thompson's success in selling an antisocial culture on the proposition of complete co-operation will go a long way—if he succeeds."
"We could, perhaps, harden his job," observed Lindoo. "Suppose we let Sscantoo know that the integrity of Terra depends upon Sscantoo's acceptance of defeat without resistance?"
Vorgan laughed cheerfully. "Terra would not be liked in Sscantoo. No man can do anything but hate another man who is willing to sacrifice a former ally for his own skin. Under the face of that, if Terra can sell her bill of goods, she would certainly be working for her integrity."
"Well?"
"Relax," laughed Vorgan. "I happen to have one tiny bit of information that you have not. Hotang Lu went to Sscantoo as a last resort. He hopes to stir up trouble for us."
"I think you should erect that statue to the dishonor of Mangare. He should have destroyed Tlembo."
"He should have—and I shall have to. It seems to me that the proper plan of action is to find the present Tlembo and get the little men in line before we take on anything else."
Indan Ko, the ruler of the fourteenth Tlembo since the Loard-vogh conquest blinked in amazement as the aide announced the formal visitor. "Thompson, the Terran?" he asked in surprise. "He who spat upon our future? What can he want with me?"
Billy Thompson entered the reception room uncomfortably. Indan Ko's presidential residence was built on a slightly more heroic mold than the normal housing plan of Tlembo, but still it left much to be desired. Tlembans stood an average of thirty-four inches high, and their lives and edifices were built upon that proportion. A Tlemban ceiling proportional to a comfortable ten-foot six Terran ceiling gave five feet three inches of clearance. That missed Billy Thompson's altitude by exactly ten inches. The formal residence of the ruler of Tlembo was of palatial build, with full seven-foot ceilings. It cleared the top of Billy's head by eleven inches.
An excellent building in which to contract claustrophobia.
And so Billy waited in the reception room uncomfortably. A large room to Tlemban thinking, its dimensions were proportionally small, and the thirty by forty feet—Tlemban—shrunk to fifteen by twenty, Terran.
The formal "court" was of more ample proportions. The proscenium arched forty feet high and the entire room was a full hundred feet in diameter. A vast room to Tlemban standards, but not much larger than a very tiny theater to the hulking Terran that had tripped over a table in one of the minute corridors.
Billy had been equally hard on the ceiling fixtures, and the doors had been somewhat of a pinch, too. But he was now in where he could take a full breath without fracturing the plaster on both sides of the room, and he took one, in relief. He felt very much like making a few pleasantries about his difficulties, but he realized that the little man on the dais before him would not appreciate any inference to size.
So Billy merely saluted formally and waited for the tiny monarch to speak first.
"You are Billy Thompson of Terra."
"I am."
"You are the man who directed the Battle for Sol?"
"I am."
"And the man responsible for the destruction of all hope for civilization."
"That I deny."
"You refused to use your secret weapon."
"It is that factor that I am here about," said Billy. "But first I wish to reach an agreement with you."
"An agreement? What agreement can we possibly reach? Tlembo has devoted her life to the job of stopping the Loard-vogh. Terra, when she had victory within her power, threw it away."
"I have come to tell you that Tlembo has failed in her mission in life. That Tlembo will always fail. That Tlembo will be better off if she recognizes that fact and accepts the inevitable."
"Get out!" snapped Indan Ko. "You dare to force yourself into my presence and insult me!"
"Before you make any rash motions," said Billy calmly, "such as having me shot on sight—yes, I perceive the modine-ports in the walls—I wish to warn you and all of Tlembo that primates are gregarious and resent the destruction of one of their band. Kill me and Terra will descend in all of her power. We, who you claim could have been victorious over the Loard-vogh will find little difficulty in wiping Tlembo right out of the universe itself!"
"Providing that you have the support of your fellows—those whom your defeatist practice must have betrayed. Will those you failed now come to your rescue?"
"Hotang Lu is quite familiar with the Terran action," said Billy. "Did he report one single cry—from any Terran—for me to order retaliation?"
"You claim that the entire Solar Sector was in agreement with your surrender-policy?"
"I do."
"Then I understand our defeat. Terra has not the honor nor the willingness to fight for the freedom that is her right."
"Terra retains her integrity."
"At the will of a conquering race."
"We are leaving the subject," said Billy. "I made a statement to the fact that Tlembo has failed and will never be able to do otherwise. You are the one that can not face facts, Indan Ko."
"We shall fight to the last."
"To the last gullible alien," snapped Thompson. "Indan Ko, how can you possibly delude yourself into the belief that you will some day be victorious?"
"Because it is our belief that slavery and conquest are evil. And I define 'evil' as any factor working against the advance of civilization."
"Can you view both sides of a personal question dispassionately?
"I have that belief."
"Then view the Loard-vogh dispassionately. Civilization throughout the Galaxy will be nothing unless the worlds are united. Stellar empires, discreet and belligerent, will result in chaos. Sectors such as Terra controlled would be embattled against sectors such as Sscantoo controls, and there would be a never-ending flurry of pacts and agreements and aggressions between one sector and others, against still others. That is chaos, Indan Ko."
"Perhaps you are right. But is the right to rule because of might a proper answer?"
"No. It is not. But I want you to understand that the Loard-vogh mental strategy is entirely selfish. The only thing that kept the Loard-vogh from sweeping through the Galaxy five thousand years ago, or next year, is the fact that they cannot conquer and hold any system until there are enough of them to control it. They expand through the Galaxy in direct proportion to their birth rate. Since they enslave those systems conquered, and become high lords of creation in their conquered territory, there is nothing for them to do except procreate. The factors that inhibit racial expansion on any democratic world are numerous, but most of them stem from financial insecurity. Since the Loard-vogh have no financial insecurity, and a family with a horde of children are as well educated, well fed, and well clothed as a family with none, why not? Especially when there are slaves to tend and care, feed and provide. The system has its advantages, Indan Ko, which I am pointing out to you. Its disadvantages are also there, too. Those we know. They include lack of personal responsibility and a complete and utter disregard of the rights of another race to live as it wishes to live."
"Granted. But where is this leading us?"
"Merely to the acceptance of the statement that the Galaxy must be united. The Loard-vogh are uniting the Galaxy, and as such are doing the right thing. They are going about it in a rough-shod manner, but it is far swifter than the treaty-join-and-wrangle method. The Galaxy must be united!"
"Go on. I accept that but reject the Loard-vogh as racial saviors."
"My visit with you, Indan Ko, is to impress upon your mind that you are doing harm to the Galaxy."
"A matter of opinion," snapped the little man.
"Perhaps. You've heard my statements to Hotang Lu. Were it not for Tlembo, we would have lived in cheerful ignorance for another three thousand years. Now, because of you, we are awakened, with terrific responsibility, and must forever work like slaves to maintain that which we did not need before. You will continue, you swear. That means that Tlembo will go back and forth through the Galaxy, always hiding, always keeping ahead of the Loard-vogh conquested areas, and always seeking a race of ability, power, and freedom. Again and again you will find them. And again and again you will set them to fighting the Loard-vogh. And yet, to the Loard-vogh, you are nothing more than a gnat, whipping madly about the ears of a mastodon. Annoying but far from dangerous. How do you hope to win with such a plan?"
"We will find a race with sufficient power—"
"And when that race has the sufficient intelligence, that same race will understand the true worth of conquest. Terra was no real menace."
"The Loard-vogh thought so."
"The Loard-vogh were ignorant of our intellect. And," smiled the Terran cheerfully, "they were forced to collect us. Terra, in a long-time fight, could have beaten them.”