from nature’s tyranny and has solved the basic problems of sufficient food, clothing, shelter, medical care and education for all, he is unable to realize himself. So we co-operated with you to the extent we found possible.”
His smile was grim. “I am afraid that almost from the beginning, and on both planets, your very actions developed an…underground, I believe you call it. Not an overt one, since we needed your assistance to build the new industrialized culture you showed us was possible. We even protected you against yourselves, since it soon became obvious that if left alone you’d destroy each other in your addiction to power.”
Baron Leonar broke in, “Don’t misunderstand. It wasn’t until the past couple of decades that this underground which had sprung up independently on both planets, amalgamated.”
Barry Watson blurted, “But Joe…Chessman—” he refused to meet the eye of the man he’d condemned.
Taller said, “From the first you made no effort to study our customs. If you had, you’d have realized why my father allied himself to you after you’d killed Taller First. And why I did not take my revenge on Chessman after he’d killed Reif. A Khan’s first training is that no personal emotion must interfere with the needs of the People. When you turned Joe Chessman over to me, I realized his education, his abilities were too great to destroy. We sent him to a mountain university and have used him profitably all these years. In fact, it was Chessman who finally brought us to space travel.”
“That’s right,” Buchwald blurted. “You’ve got a spaceship out there. How could you possibly—?”
Taller said mildly, “There are but a handful of you, you could hardly keep track of two whole planets and all that went on upon them.”
Amschel Mayer said bitingly, “All this can be gone over on our return to Terra City. We’ll have a full year to explain to ourselves and each other why we became such complete idiots. I was originally head of this expedition—before my supposed friends railroaded me to prison—does anyone object if I take over again?”
“No,” Joe Chessman growled.
The others shook their heads.
Taller said, “There is but one other thing. In spite of how you may feel at this moment of embarrassment, basically you have succeeded in your task. That is, you have brought Texcoco and Genoa to an industrialized culture. We hold various reservations about how you accomplished this. However, when you return to your Co-ordinator of Galactic Colonization, please inform him that we are anxious to receive his ambassadors. The term is ambassadors and we will expect to meet on a basis of equality. Surely in all Earth’s millennia of social evolution man has worked out something better than either of your teams have built here. We should like to be instructed.”
Dick Hawkins said stiffly, “We can instruct you on Earth’s present socio-economic system.”
“I am afraid we no longer trust you, Richard Hawkins. Send others—uncorrupted by power, privilege or great wealth.”
* * * *
When they had gone and the sound of their departing spacecraft had faded, Amschel Mayer snapped, “We might as well get underway. And cheer up, confound it, we have lots of time to contrive a reasonable report for the Co-ordinator.”
Jerry Kennedy managed a thin grin, almost reminiscent of the younger Kennedy of the first years on Genoa. “Say,” he said, “I wonder if we’ll be granted a good long vacation before being sent on another assignment.”
STOWAWAY
Lieutenant Johnny Norsen, his lanky body sprawled uncomfortably in an acceleration chair, was playing Spartan rules with the darts, and paused only momentarily before each shot. Spartan rules were pretty Spartan, but in spite of the handicaps he hit the bull’s eye six times out of six and grunted in disgust.
He complained, to no one in particular, “This was a swell game when we first brought it aboard. Now everybody is as good as it’s possible to get. We might as well flush it overboard.”
No one in particular happened to be Dick Roland, ship’s navigator. He looked up from the onion skin, paper bound history he was reading. “Ummm,” he said vaguely. “Maybe we could toughen up the rules.”
“How?” Norsen grumbled. “They’re as tough already as it’s possible to get them. We’d have to close both eyes, or something.” He shifted in his chair, yawned and recrossed his legs. “What in the kert are you reading?”
“Decline and Fall of the United Stales. Ancient history. What do you think of it?” The navigator was young, rather handsome in an easygoing sort of way, but almost colorless in his lack of aggressiveness.
Johnny Norsen yawned again. “I don’t like history, so I’ve only read the book four or five times.” He looked up at the earth time chrono on the wall. “Let’s crack today’s video-news.”
Dick Roland followed his eyes. “We’ve still got five minutes to go,” he protested mildly.
The other was irritated. “Five minutes, ten minutes, what’s the difference? Today is today. It’s not as though we were cracking next week’s news. Besides, I think Doc Thorndon’s crazier than a makron. What difference does it make when we show a news wire?”
He knew the answer to his own question as well as anyone else in the New Taos, but it was something to talk about.
Dick Roland said, “I think it’s a good idea. Keeps us interested in things. Every day we can look forward to getting the news. Sure, it’s a full year old, but that doesn’t make any difference to us. We haven’t heard it yet. Doc Thorndon says it’s one way of keeping space cafard from hitting the crew—something new every day, something to look forward to.”
Norsen screwed up his angular face. “Where’d Doc get the idea, anyway? We never did it before.”
Dick closed his history and tossed it to the wardroom table. He’d read it half a dozen times already, himself. He said, “You know Doc. Always reading those old books. From what he says, back in ancient times they used to pull the same idea—weather station men who were stuck up in the Artie and snowed in for maybe six months at a crack. They’d have a file of newspapers on hand, and each day they’d take one off the top. The news was exactly one year old, but it didn’t make any difference to them. They hadn’t read it before and so it was as fresh as though it’d just happened. When their supplies came in, in the Spring, they’d get another batch of papers.”
Lieutenant Norsen looked up at the chrono again. “Well, it’s time now. Let’s crack today’s. I want to see if there’s anything on Jackie Black. It’s about time for him to pull one of his jobs again. That little makron is sure giving the S.S.B.I. a run for their credits.”
Dick Roland was on his feet and getting the video-news wire from its built-in file. “Ummm,” he said. “Most effective criminal for the past century. If he keeps on making haul after haul, he ought to be set for life pretty soon.”
Ensign Mart Bakr, his chubby face questioning, and his mouth still working on some tidbit or other, hurried through the wardroom door. “Haven’t started the video-wire yet have—” He saw they were about to run it and interrupted himself. “Good,” he said, and slumped into a chair.
“Be ready in a second,” Dick Roland told him.
“Good.
