“You’re giving the old argument—that the Wardens are all artificial,” I pointed out. “You know there’s never been any evidence of that”
“That’s true,” Father Bronz admitted, “but remember what I said about comprehensibility? It seems to be that, in this enormous universe of which we know so little, we are handcuffed by our rigid concepts. What we have here is something that’s not comprehensible—truly alien—and so we ignore it, dismiss it, forget it. These planets do not fit our cosmology, so we dismiss them as aberrations of chance and forget about it. My feeling is that anything you find that can’t be explained by your cosmology means that your cosmology’s got some holes in it.”
“The hand of God, perhaps?” I retorted, not meaning to make fun of his religion but unable to refute him, either.
He didn’t laugh or take offense. “Since I believe that the universe was created by God and that He is everywhere and in everything and everyone, yes. I have often reflected that the Wardens might be here simply to slap down our smugness. But God is supremely logical, remember. The Wardens fit the rest of the universe somehow, of that I am convinced, even if they don’t fit our perception of it. But we’re off the track. I was discussing why your fine dream of returning Lilith to Paradise is impossible to realize.”
I chuckled. “I didn’t mind the digression. What else do we have to do, anyway?”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Discussion may be vital or it may be inconsequential. I have a feeling that you are somehow driven to command this world. You’ll probably get killed in the attempt, of course, but if you survive—well, at least it’s interesting to fence with you and see what you have in mind.”
“Lord Tremon,” I laughed. “Boy! Wouldn’t that give the Confederacy heartburn!”
“You’re no more Cal Tremon than I’m Marek Kreegan,” Bronz came back casually. “We might as well stop the pretence, since nobody believes in it any more—and I never did.”
I froze. “What do you mean?”
“You’re on the wanted list here because Kreegan got information from his Confederacy agents that you were a plant, a spy, an assassin sent here to get him. You and I both know it’s true. You’re far too idealistic and ethical and all that to be somebody like Tremon, who was the sort of fellow who enjoyed making chopped hamburger out of his still-living enemies with carving knives. I knew that the first time we met, back in Zeis, just talking to you. You’re too well-educated, too well-bred for Tremon—not to mention, of course, that you’re too much a product of your culture. Who are you, anyway, by the way?” I considered what he said, then thought about what it meant to me. I really didn’t need to keep up the pretence any more. Kreegan knew it, Artur knew it—hell, everybody knew it.
“My name doesn’t matter, does it?” I replied carefully. “I no longer exist as him. I’m Cal Tremon now and forever; I’m just not the Cal Tremon in the court dockets. And since this is his body, I’m more of him than I’d have believed.”
He nodded. “All right, Cal it is. But you are an agent?”
“Assassin grade,” I answered truthfully. “But it’s not quite what you think. You and I know that, once down here and locked here forever, the only reason I’d have for killing Kreegan would be to challenge him for Lord of the Diamond. No, I’m here for something quite different.”
“I find it interesting that they finally got that personality transfer process down mechanically. On Cerberus it’s a product of the Warden organism, as physical shape-change adaptation is to Medusa and reality perception to Charon.”
“You knew they were working on something like that?” I prodded suspiciously.
He nodded. “Sure. I told you I used to be a really influential power, didn’t I? A few of the people involved in the research were Catholics who were very worried about the theological implications-—the soul and all that. Frankly, though, not only I but the church as a whole dismissed the entire question as impossible. See what I mean about cosmologies not fitting facts?”
His story didn’t ring altogether true, as I knew how absolute the security had been on the process, but I had to let it stand. Maybe my only ally on Lilith was holding out on me—but I was holding out on him, too.
“So you say it isn’t Kreegan you’re after,” he went on, changing the direction of the conversation. “Then what? What is so vital that the Confederacy is willing to sacrifice one of their best just to find out about it, and what would force you to remain true to that end once you got here?”
Then I told him about the aliens, the penetration of the top levels of Military Systems Command, the whole story. It seemed the best course—and he might know something.
When I finished, he just sighed, then said, “Well, now … alien enemies, huh? Using the Four Lords … Damned clever beasts, you must admit that, to understand us so well.”
I was disappointed. If anyone other than those at the very top of the hierarchy would know about the aliens, I felt certain Bronz would. “You’ve heard nothing about this?”
“Oh, yes, rumors,” he responded. “I didn’t put much stock in them, partly because of Kreegan. He’s not like the others. He came here voluntarily, of his own free will’, after serving the Confederacy well and loyally for his whole life. The revenge that would motivate the others would be lacking in him.”
My heart sank. Wasted. All of it, me, wasted here. Bronz was right—it had to be one of the other Lords.
But… did it?
“That might be true,” I admitted, “but do you know why an otherwise sane and even superior man like Kreegan would volunteer to come to a place like this? And could such a man be kept ignorant of things as momentous as the aliens even if he weren’t directly involved at the start?”
Bronz thought it over. “Hmm… You’re suggesting that maybe Kreegan is the kingpin? It’s possible, of course. Suppose, for example, such a man as he became thoroughly disillusioned with his job, with his employers, with the system he helped perpetuate? Suppose that somewhere in his work he stumbled over the aliens. It would explain much. It would explain, for example, how the aliens instantly knew so much about us, how they were able to use the Warden worlds to their advantage. Kreegan would be ideal for establishing, even masterminding an operation such as you described—and it would take time; He’d have to work his way up, like the rest of us. Maybe with a little alien help, of course, but it would still take time. Then, once in power, they’d start to implement their plans.”
“I’d originally been thinking along similar lines,” I told him. “But it would mean that our aliens were supremely confident we could be counted on to overlook them for the years it would take. And they would have to have much patience.”
Bronz shrugged. “Perhaps they do. And did you find them? How much did they learn before one of then: fancy machines finally got caught? It seems to me that, if your guess is right and these aliens are too nonhuman to do much of anything themselves, and if they knew they were well hidden or well disguised, this was the best route.”
“The only thing wrong with such a neat picture,” I said, “is in Kreegan’s character itself. He’s a good deal older than I am, but he came from the same place. Our lives parallel to a remarkable degree, even to the type of work we did. I just can’t see what would so disillusion him about the Confederacy that he’d want to destroy it, devote his whole life to doing so.”
“Well, now, you’ve got a point there,” Bronz came back, “but it’s not the point you think you made. I can see an awful lot to be disillusioned about in the Confederacy. I think perhaps you have Kreegan a little backward. I could just as easily picture him as a totally committed idealist willing to do anything for his cause. Out of that background I can envision a man who just might commit his very soul to such a project, not for gain but in an idealistic crusade.”