Few words had been interchanged since the landing of the XV-ftl in Central Australia an hour before. The wanderers had come forth; and perhaps the Technarch had seen from their tense, bleak faces that the news they bore was not to be blurted out hastily. In any event, he had asked no questions, merely nodded a Technarchical greeting as the men left the ship. Bernard had come up to him.
“Hearkening, Excellency.”
“Hello, Bernard. What news?”
“Might I report to Your Excellency in your private chambers?”
The audience had been granted. One by one, stepping through the transmat, they had crossed the gap from the spacefield to the Archonate Center. Now Dominici, Stone, and Havig waited in the Technarch’s antechamber, while Bernard, alone, faced McKenzie within.
The Technarch slipped into his seat behind his broad, bare-topped desk and gestured to Bernard to sit facing him. Glad to get off his shaky legs, Bernard took the seat. He knew what he was going to say, but tension gripped him all the same.
He stared levelly at the Technarch’s face. At the dark, brooding eyes, the thick hump of a nose, the wide, tightly clamped lips, the jutting chin, the corded neck. McKenzie seemed to have the strength of a bull. Bernard wondered how much of that strength McKenzie was going to need in order to withstand the blow that was coming.
“You wish to report to me, Dr. Bernard. Very well. I’m extremely interested in learning how your voyage went—in detail.” The Technarch’s voice was level, well modulated, with the sharp edge of strength shaping every syllable.
Bernard said, “I’ll begin at the beginning, then, Excellency.”
“An excellent idea.”
Quit stalling! Bernard told himself sharply. The Technarch’s eyes reflected impatience, mockery perhaps. In a calm voice Bernard said, “We had no technical difficulties in reaching the planet of the alien colony. We landed, observed the aliens for a while, and finally made ourselves known to them. Dr. Havig did an excellent job of teaching several of the aliens to speak Terran. They call themselves Norglans, by the way. We made it clear to them that we had come to negotiate a treaty, whereupon our Norglan contact left us and returned, some time later, with two of his superiors—larger physically and evidently much more intelligent, since they were able to absorb a week’s instruction in Terran in only a few hours, from their comrade. When they met with us, they could speak fairly well, and they improved every minute.”
“What did they say?” McKenzie asked.
Bernard leaned forward, knotting his hands together tensely. “We explained quite clearly to them that it was inevitable that the boundaries of our respective spheres of expansion were bound to overlap and clash, and we showed them that it was Earth’s wish to arrive at a peaceful settlement now, rather than let matters slide until the actual collision came, and with it war.”
“Yes? And how did they react?”
“Badly. They listened to what we had to say, and then they presented a counter-proposaclass="underline" that Earth confine itself to the worlds already colonized, leaving all the rest for Norgla.”
“What?” Fury blazed in the Technarch’s eyes. “Of all the preposterous nonsense! You mean they simply told you to agree to an end of all Terran expansion? That we abdicate as a galactic power?”
Bernard nodded. “That was precisely the way they put it. The galaxy was theirs; we would be allowed to keep the worlds we had already taken, but no more.”
“And you rejected this insanity, of course.”
“We didn’t get the chance to.”
“What?”
“The two Norglan ambassadors hurled their ultimatum and walked out—went back to their home planet. Evidently they have the equivalent of transmat travel between worlds of their system too, Excellency. We protested to the colony supervisor, but he said he could do nothing; the ambassadors had left, and would not be returning. So the talks broke down. We blasted off for Earth.”
McKenzie goggled incredulously. Spots of color appeared on his cheeks; his nostrils widened in suppressed rage. “You realize what this ultimatum means. We’re at war with these creatures after all, despite everything…”
Bernard held up one hand, fighting to keep it steady. “Your pardon, Excellency. I haven’t finished telling of our journey.”
“There’s more?”
“Much more. You see, we became lost trying to return home. Commander Laurance and his men spent hours trying to get us back on course, but there was nothing they could do. We emerged from no-space, finally, in the region of the Greater Magellanic Cloud.” Bernard felt a band of tightness in his stomach. The words rolled glibly from his lips, though he knew each one drove a maddening wedge deep into the Technarch’s mind. “We were lost, fifty thousand parsecs from Earth, and no way of returning. But suddenly our ship was taken over by an irresistible force. We were drawn down to a planet in the Magellanic Cloud, inhabited by beings that identified themselves as the Rosgollans. Strange beings—with wonderful mental powers. Teleportation, psychokinesis, and many other abilities. They—read our minds. Interrogated us. Found out about our mission to the Norglans. And then—then they brought the two Norglan ambassadors across space to meet with us again.”
The Technarch’s facial expression had been changing all during Bernard’s last few sentences. Now McKenzie seemed to be staring silently off into a void, face growing pale, eyes glazed and reflective.
“Go on,” the Technarch said in a terribly quiet voice.
“The Rosgollans staged a kind of courtroom scene—examining our claims, dismissing them. The Norglans got indignant, so the Rosgollans humiliated them—levitated them, let them hang in the air, dropped them in a heap. It was a demonstration of unmatchable power. And after it was over—after the Rosgollans had shown us we could not hope to question their orders—they divided the galaxy into Terran and Norglan spheres.”
“Divided it?”
“Yes. Here—I have the chart on a flat projection. It’s a line that runs right through the heart of our galaxy. Everything on this side is ours; everything on the other side, Norglan. And if either side crosses the boundary line, or if we leave the confines of our galaxy, the Rosgollan scouts will discover it and administer punishment.”
The Technarch took the star-chart from Bernard with a leaden hand, looked at it for an instant, shoved it roughly to one side. He seemed to sigh.
“You aren’t—making all this up, Bernard?”
“No, Excellency. It’s all true. The Rosgollans are out there, half a million years cleverer than we are—and they hinted that there were other races even more powerful, in the distant reaches of the universe.”
“And we have to keep in line— like small boys in school— Norglans over here, Terrans over there—while the Rosgollans make sure we don’t get out of step. Is that it?” The Technarch’s face became a mask of rigid anguish. He leaned forward, gripping the top of his desk with big, powerful hands. He squeezed the desk top, closing his eyes, grimacing with inner torment.
Something shattered inside the Technarch. His shoulders seemed to slump; his face sagged, the wide mouth drooped, the massive forearms lost their strength and dangled limply. Bernard stared at the floor. Watching McKenzie break in this instant was like watching a monument tumble to destruction; it was painful to see.
When McKenzie spoke again, it was in a different voice, with none of the metallic inner strength of his Technarch tone. “I guess this expedition didn’t work out so well, then. I sent you out as representatives of the finest race in the galaxy—and you come back defeated— crushed…”