Complete Short Fiction, page 401
Dav retreated. He found a side street, slipped into its darker, damp distances, heading for home. As he approached the edge of the city he heard a sound in the night ahead of him, a swelling murmur of ugly voices. Then, out in the open spaces between himself and his house, he saw a huge crowd carrying torches.
Startled, Dav withdrew from the open area and headed for a small house on a nearby street. The place was actually a secret entrance to the big white mansion. Long ago, when Jana had been more primitive, unpleasant incidents had occurred. The secret access had often proved useful.
He made his way safely through the connecting tunnel to the big house and from its interior gazed out at the crowd through a viewplate. The plate magically dissolved the night and the rain, showing a dull day-view of the large grounds in front of the house.
At first look the mob seemed even huger than he had estimated. Dav shook his head sadly. The pattern was the same as it had once been on old Earth. At the top was the hereditary hierarchy. Next came a law-abiding middle-class of people. At the bottom seethed the vast mass of the unthinking.
The hierarchy was semi-psychotic, murderous, subjective. And the middle class was still relatively new and unaware of its future power. The mob was completely duped.
Dav observed with relief that several hundred troops patrolled an area between him and the angry crowd. An officer spoke through a loudspeaker system, addressing the mob.
“Go home. The rule of law shall prevail. Go home. If these people are spies they will be judged by the law. Go home—”
The frequently repeated admonition began to have its effect toward midnight. Dav saw that there were fewer people outside and more were drifting back toward the city. But it was nearly two in the morning before, feeling that the danger was over, he went to bed.
Lying there he rejected the accusations against Miliss and himself with little more than a moment’s consideration.
It was true, as the newspaper editorial had pointed out, that primitives had in the past suffered psychic and racial disaster as a result of being exposed abruptly to a superior culture. And, conceivably, somebody might mercifully evolve a more systematic approach to the problem.
But the mentors would know. That had to be. It would be absolutely ridiculous if Miliss and he weren’t aware of their own realities.
All these hundreds of years of ignorance on so vital a point?
Impossible.
The truth was that simple—and obvious. Nearly four hundred empty years made a weight of time in his mind that no words and no Jana accusation could penetrate.
He had no trouble sleeping.
V
ROCQUEL had stayed in the palace communications center during the period of threat against Dav. Several times he spoke directly to the commanding officer of the troops patrolling the grounds.
At last, weary and a little guilty at having been out late again, he went to his apartment. The bedroom was dark as he entered—and he had an instant, awful intuition.
He flicked on the light and stood confused and shaken. Nerda was in bed, undressed under the sheets. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing came with the regularity of sleep.
Rocquel’s thought flashed back to their conversation of the morning and to his sudden feeling that he had ruined himself with her.
His inability to grasp the meaning of the symbol idea troubled him again.
Standing beside his sleeping wife, he visualized the repercussions of her rebellion if it were ever found out. His absence had shaken the throne and he had returned too recently to have fully recovered his power and position. He had divined an uneasiness in the nobility—it would take a little while before those suspicious, violent beings were reassured that the new law was not a direct threat.
And if they found out that he was so weak that he could not control his wife—Instantly an old impulse propelled him toward her sleeping body. His hands and jaws clenched with the automatic effort that would shove her in a single thrust out of the far side of the bed.
He poised before the act, suddenly gripped and held by a thought and feeling new to him.
He had been about to act on the Jana male attitude. But was Nerda justified in her rebellion? Was the old way the way women should be treated? Had his analysis of her reason for what she had done been accurate?
A flash of an old male paranoia darkened his face and mind—the absolute conviction that Nerda was doing this because another male had gotten to her.
Dav, the human?
Some portion of Rocquel’s mind recognized the total irrationality of the thought—recognized that if it were true Jana females would not associate with males of their own free will, they obviously did not betray their husbands. He was also aware that Dav, who had an unlimited sense of personal responsibility, would not have taken advantage of the queen’s year of “widowhood.”
The recognition and awareness were not enough for his fevered brain, alive with brutal images. He had to know.
He turned and walked out of the room. Within minutes he was part of a motorcycle army unit roaring through the night streets of Nunbrid toward the military prison where Miliss was confined.
THE long, bleak concrete corridors of the prison echoed to his footsteps and those of his guards. The light carried by the prison’s officer-of-the-night was bright enough but it cast wavering shadows.
In that uneven brightness, Rocquel noted the gray drabness of this prison world, and some of the singleness of his purpose softened. The thought came to him that Miliss had been held here now for several days and that this was wrong.
He could do nothing about it under the new law but within himself he felt a deep anger against Jaer.
The rage was brief. It ended as they reached Miliss’ cell—and there she was. Rocquel went in alone, his guards retreating, waiting.
Their first moments together were ordinary. Miliss’ surprise and pleasure when she recognized him, then her puzzlement that he should come at so late an hour gave him his opening.
He asked her the question: Why had she and Dav separated?
The woman was startled. She sensed the dark purpose in him—who had always been so friendly to her and with whom she had communicated so well in the past.
After a moment, realizing that delay was unwise, she gave him Dav’s diagnosis—that she had gone into the death tiling that had destroyed man. She deemed it the best reply, considering all possibilities.
Her answer and its deadly implications for her shocked him out of his madness. She explained in greater detail.
Rocquel said, “Then what you are saying is that you acted out of some parallel to the type of emotion used by people who actually did have the death thing. You did this consciously, knowing Dav would believe it was in fact the death thing.”
“I think that’s what I did,” Miliss replied. She added quickly; “The death thing is subtle. One can fool oneself.”
Rocquel persisted, “But as far as you’re concerned, you’re not really dying?”
“As far as I know I’m not.” Rocquel considered that in a gathering amazement.
Finally: “But why aren’t you doing something about getting out of this prison? You shouldn’t be here.”
“What can I do?”
“Don’t you have any protection of your own?”
“Nothing,” she said, “but the symbols so far activated. Except for a few hand weapons and mobile energy units, most of which we’ve given to the Janae, that’s all we have.”
“What about other—later—symbols?”
“Their time is not yet,” said Miliss. “They wouldn’t work—not for Jana.”
Rocquel sighed.
But, he wanted to say, Dav used the power of millions of believers in a constitutional monarchy before they ever believed in it—in fact, before they even knew about it. Why not use the power of millions of believers in some future symbol before they ever believe in it.?
He did not ask the question. The concept of any symbol was beyond his ability to grasp. He realized humbly that he was a Jana nobleman of a somewhat simple nature and that the year he had spent aboard the earth battleship—the time he had described to no one—had been really like some tribal king’s being—entertained—if that was the right word—by traders or scientists from a superior civilization. Being kindly disposed, they had been anxious not to hurt his feelings—but to them he had been a nothing. His status had been meaningless except insofar as they had a policy of using native kings in their interplanetary welfare work.
Nonetheless, he tried again to reach understanding.
At his request Miliss explained the power of a symbol once more. But it didn’t penetrate.
We thick-skulled males . . .
AND the ridiculous thing,” he explained his failure to Miliss, “is that I myself actually have control of a symbol—”
He stopped. It was an admission that he would have made to no other living person—only to this one individual with whom he had always felt able to speak freely.
He finished lamely, “Of course, that was given to me as a protection.”
He stopped again because of the look on her face—intent, avid, seeking, startled, unbelieving but finally believing.
Miliss whispered, “Who gave you control of that symbol?”
“Human beings,” Rocquel said simply.
She sank back. She seemed to cringe on the cot as if, like a mental patient, she were wracked by a psychic disease that contracted her body, curling it, twisting her head to one side.
Finally she said, “Then Jaer’s intuitions, accusations, may be true. There are human beings out there—” She suddenly broke off, breathless. “Tell me exactly where you were, what you saw—”
Rocquel described his year on the battleship.
She whispered, “There were both men and women?”
“Yes. It was a community of several thousand, I would say.”
“They never landed anywhere?”
“Not that I was aware of.” He sighed. “But it was such a big ship. I saw only what appeared on the visual screens in the sections where I was permitted to wander. They didn’t teach me the language. I only heard what the interpreting machines said to me.” He considered possibilities. “Landing parties could have gone down to planets without my knowing it.”
“It was one of these humans that taught you control of a symbol?”
“Yes.”
Miliss persisted: “But what was it supposed to do? If Jaer bad actually slashed at you with his sword—what would have happened to him?”
Rocquel didn’t know.
He explained slowly, “They warned me to be careful with it—because if I wasn’t it would hook on to me, too.” He added: “When I set it up against Jaer I could feel it tugging at me sort of like—” he paused, groping—“maybe like a magnet.”
“But what is it a symbol of?” Miliss asked.
Rocquel had no idea.
She went on, baffled: “It must be drawing its energy from some meaningful idea on another planet—since we didn’t sense anything here. But what could it be?” No answer came to her and she asked, “You still have control of it?”
He nodded.
“Did they say they would let you maintain it permanently?” Rocquel gazed at her unhappily. “I can’t remember. I was told something—but each time I think I’m going to recall it, it fades.”
“That sounds like close-to-the-surface programing.” Miliss nodded. “As if whatever it relates to might happen at any time. So we must be near a crisis.” She added, obviously thinking out loud, that only a symbol could act with subtle or powerful influence over distances. She finished: “It must be very personal to you, which in itself is unusual. For example, if I could do what you have described—I could get out of this prison.”
MILISS’ second admission of helplessness focused Rocquel’s attention on her situation. Her confession that she could not protect herself was abruptly enormously significant. It placed control back in Jana hands. Janae could accept or reject a gift of knowledge from the reservoir on a self-determined basis.
We can use what they have but we don’t have to . . .
Rocquel felt somehow stronger in his Jana identity as he had that awareness. The accusations leveled at Miliss by Jaer had had a certain truth to them. The entire populace felt a displacement as a consequence of the human presence, gentle as it was.
After a little he was able to reason out the extent of her predicament. He was appalled. Her position was very severe if she and Dav could not really protect themselves.
With an effort he pushed aside his anxiety for her, grew calm and grave.
“There will be a difficult time ahead, my dear,” he said gently. “The new law binds me as much as it does everyone else. I cannot arbitrarily set you free. Have you an attorney?”
“Not yet,” Miliss answered.
“I’ll call Dav and tell him that it is imperative he get one for you.”
“He won’t do a thing.” She reminded him of the death-drive situation—how only those survived who refused to help. She finished; “I counted on that to keep him away from me. So there can be no help from him.”
Rocquel shook his head, smiling, and pointed out that his position in the matter was stronger than Dav’s.
“I’ll call him,” he said firmly. “He’ll do it because I ask him, not necessarily to help you.” He broke off. “He’s the one who should act in this matter. It will look odd if he doesn’t. So he will.”
At that moment Rocquel accidentally caught a glimpse of his watch. It registered nearly four in the morning. He was instantly contrite.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ve kept you awake.”
Miliss brushed his words aside.
“I feel so much better. You’ve given me the first information from—out there—” she gazed upward, waived vaguely—“that I’ve had in all the years Dav and I have been here. It’s not clear—it’s hard to decide what it means. But now I know that there are still a few other human beings.”
On that note they separated. Rocquel returned to the palace and presently slipped into bed beside the sleeping Nerda.
She was a problem to which he had no quick solution either.
VI
THE Jana attorney whom Dav consulted shook his head gravely over the fourth count.
“The other accusations,” he said, “have as yet no legal penalties. The judge could do anything, could even release her. But criminal intent has proved dangerous in the past. It can bring a capital verdict.”
Dav attended the trial as a witness, getting angrier every minute as all his “gifts” to the Janae were used as evidence against Miliss. The argument of the State was that a superior culture was, by way of its scientific gifts, cunningly guiding the Janae away from their natural development and into a mental enslavement that was the equivalent of a takeover of one people by another. Dav’s concern was with the accusations, not with Miliss.
Called to the stand by Miliss’ attorney, he denied all such intent.
“Science is neutral,” he said. “It is the truth of nature. Jana scientists would normally and in due course have discovered exactly the same truths. In giving the Janae the scientific artifacts of Earth’s ancient civilization I fulfilled a duty imposed upon me by a vanished race to hand on the torch of knowledge as rapidly as feasible in the hope that, with such a head start, the Janae would succeed in establishing a permanently growing civilization instead of one that would eventually dwindle as others, including man’s, have been them—”
When he later came out on the street a troop of guards sent by Rocquel saved him from a demonstrating crowd.
KEEP YOUR FOREIGN SCIENCE . . . JANA MUST BE FREED FROM THE ALIEN YOKE . . . JANA FOR THE JANAE . . . DEATH TO THE INVADERS . . . HUMANS, GO HOME . . .
The crowds screamed insults as Dav was escorted to a bus that took him, accompanied by several guards, to the end of the line. From there the soldiers walked with him to his house, where other soldiers patrolled the approaches, back, front and sides.
Miliss was found guilty on all counts and sentenced to death. Three appeals to ever higher courts failed. But Rocquel granted her a full pardon on the grounds that The Chosen had not legislated on the matters at issue.
“Prime minister” Jaer Darrish—and where had the title come from?—thereupon introduced amendments to criminal law. They were duly passed by The Chosen. Rocquel, to Jaer’s surprise, did not veto the legislation.
He asked Rocquel about it. The hereditary ruler gestured.
“I told you I wouldn’t interfere.” He paused, curious. “Suppose all those charges you’re making turn out to be true. If man is really a superior race, then presumably a fleet of total power will come to the rescue of his representatives on Jana—and we will all be degraded by having to submit, however briefly, to an occupation force. What would you gain if that were to happen?”
Jaer scowled.
“Jana honor,” he said with the traditional arrogance of the Jana male, “demands that the truth of this matter be brought out into the open. We shall deal with this so-called total power when we see it.”
“With what weapons?” Rocquel asked derisively.
Jaer said, “The human man is being watched night and day. At the proper moment we’ll make a raid and we’ll capture all man’s scientific secrets and make an end of this degrading dole system on which he seems to have been operating—one secret at a time. Such doling is an unbearable insult. We want to have everything—now!”
Rocquel stared sardonically at the other’s flushed face.
Finally he said skeptically, “Your concern with such minor matters does not fit with your previous character, Jaer. I wonder what you’re really up to.”
The big male stiffened. “Do you question my loyalty, sire?”
It could have been a dangerous moment. But Rocquel merely shook his head chidingly.
“No, Jaer, I expect you will accept the new law. It is to your advantage. What is your next move?”
