Some of the member planets had immediately dropped out of the confederation, and Ross Metaxa was afraid that if the story spread, and the more backward worlds found that their institutions had been tampered with by Section G, that they would desert en masse.
Indeed, the ambitious Supreme Commandant of the militaristically inclined planet Phrygia, Baron Maximilian Wyler, had taken off almost immediately in his space yacht and headed home. And it was soon found that he dominated Interplanetary Press, the news service.
Metaxa had dispatched Ronny Bronston under vague orders to do whatever could be done to shut up the Baron.
On the way, Ronny had become acquainted with Rita Daniels, niece of the dictator of Phrygia, who had dropped information indicating just how ambitious Wyler was.
On Phrygia he had found that there was only one other Section G agent there, Phil Birdman, of Indian descent and originally from the planet Piegan. Birdman had accumulated information that indicated that Baron Wyler was eager to attack his neighboring worlds and to form an empire. Ronny had gotten in touch with Metaxa and Jakes and made arrangements for him to be named a plenipotentiary extraordinary from United Planets to the Supreme Commandant of Phrygia. The Baron evidently had some of his heavies out looking for Ronny Bronston, and Ronny wanted to throw around some weight.
Metaxa saw it through. The president had declared Ronny a special mission to Baron Wyler and Sid Jakes had notified the Supreme Commandant that Ronald Bronston was on his way.
The reception had been more than impressive. Above ground, the Baron’s palace was a replica of that of King Minos’ Knossos, complete with guards in Cretan armor, even to chariots. Below ground, it was the height of modernity.
Ronny had been whisked to the Supreme Commandant’s personal quarters in the bowels of the building. When the elevator door had opened, he was confronted by a tall, heavy-set man, his face beaming and his hand extended for a hearty shake. Baron Wyler carried his weight well; gracefully might be the better word. He moved as a trained pugilist moves, or perhaps one of the larger cats. His charm reached out and embraced you, all but suffocating you. His face was open; his eyes, blue and wide-set; his arched Hapsburg nose giving an aristocratic quality that only his overwhelming friendliness could dissipate.
Ronny had been taken to as comfortable a room as the Section G agent could ever remember having been in and there had been surprised to find that Wyler had a complete dossier on him down to the most intimate facts.
He also had some startling information. His space fleet had landed on the worlds of the small life forms and, wearing gas masks, had gathered up what information they could. This included a star chart of the some hundred of what the Baron called the Dawnman Worlds and of various films and tapes which had obviously been taken on these worlds.
He showed one of these films to Ronny, in particular a close-up of one of the Dawnmen. “But that’s a human being!” Ronny had blurted. The Dawnman was incredibly handsome. He was dressed in nothing more than brief shorts and sandals. He had a golden-brown coloration, was of bodily perfection seldom seen and then only among physical culture perfectionists who spend a lifetime achieving it. He could have stepped off a pedestal in a Greek temple devoted to the god Apollo. He seemed to be about six and a half feet tall and to weigh about one hundred and ninety. His hair was dark cream, his eyes were blue and very clear and there was the slightest of smiles on his lips! There was no indication that he was aware of being photographed.
Baron Wyler had told Ronny that evidently the technology of the Dawnworlds was incredibly advanced. They had such things as nuclear fusion, and, hence, unlimited power, and matter conversion units that could make anything out of anything. But, said the Baron, there was just one thing in which the Dawnmen differed from man. These aliens didn’t seem to be intelligent.
Ronny had bug-eyed him and Baron Wyler had summoned one of his top scientists, the elderly Academecian Count Felix Fitzjames to help explain. He had dubbed this alien culture the Dawnmen because there was a hypothesis that man had originated there and that Earth had been seeded from one of their planets, that Cro-Magnon man was of the same stock.
The academician explained why it was possible that the Dawnmen were not intelligent. Given a creature with a voicebox and a hand suitable for using tools and, even though his intelligence was low, in a few megayears, bit by bit, he would accumulate knowledge and know-how until in time even matter converters would be his to utilize.
Count Fitzjames had gone on to compare, the Dawnworlds with the caste system of India. The Aryan invaders of the sub-continent had been afraid that unless they took stringent measures, they would soon interbreed with the more numerous indigenous people to the point of merging with them. So they divided society into four orders: the Brahmins, who kept up religious and scholarly pursuits; the Kshatriyas, who were the ruling class and warriors; and the Vaishyas, traders and businessmen. All these were composed of the conquering Aryans. Intermarriage between castes was forbidden—a deep religious matter. Below these three castes were the Sudras, which were composed of the original peoples and took over the laboring jobs. Beneath these were the outcastes, the untouchables, who were consigned to the most menial tasks. According to the academician, under the caste system the Indians had made many of the important breakthroughs of the human race, such as discovering the zero in mathematics, at a time when most Europeans were running about in animal skins.
He pointed out that under such a system a man who belonged to, say, the cobbler caste, would pass on his trade to his descendents. It would never occur to them to do anything but make shoes, any more than it would occur to a Brahmin not to get the best education available. After a few thousand years, the cobbler caste would be turning out some superlative shoes, and after a few megayears at it they would instinctively make shoes. It would become a matter of genetics. Over the megayears, the inadequate shoemakers, the throwbacks, would have been weeded out. It would be similar to the bees who need no training to collect honey, or the soldier ant to guard the ant community. In short, a ritual-taboo society.
After the Count had left, Baron Wyler had explained to Ronny why he had revealed all this information. He was ambitious to achieve in actuality what Section G had been working on for a century or more, that is a real United Planets, a strong progressive United Planets—under his banner, of course. To achieve this, he needed good men, such as Ronny, on his team.
Ronny pointed out that it would seem unlikely that even such a militarily inclined a world as Phrygia could take on all 2435 other worlds of United Planets. But the Baron had merely smiled and told him they had the star chart that revealed the location of the Dawnman worlds. Given one of those matter converters, nothing could stand in his way. His scientists could duplicate it in any size, and overnight he would have at his command a fleet of space cruisers that would dwarf the combined might of the whole confederation.
Taken aback, Ronny had said he’d think it over and returned to the quarters of Phil Birdman where he immediately got in touch with Metaxa and Sid Jakes. Metaxa, obviously hating to say it, told Ronny he must get hold of that star chart. They had to know the location of the Dawnworlds.
There was only one thing to do. Either he or Birdman had to go into pseudo-time and enter the palace. Undoubtedly, the chart would be near the Baron since he was obviously working night and day on his project. Birdman protested that he was already forty-five years of age and going into pseudo-time for any protracted period took at least fifteen years off your life. Ronny was only thirty-two so he took on the job.