Silence.
Shomuth: “If your Eustace is now present, can I question him through you?”
No reply.
Switching off, the Commandant said; “There you are. Eight other Terran officers gave more or less the same evidence. T he rest tried to conceal the facts but, as you have heard, they failed. Zangasta himself has listened to the taped records and is deeply concerned about the situation.”
“He needn’t worry his head about it,” Leeming offered.
“Why not?”
“It’s all a lot of bunk, a put-up job. There was collusion between my Eustace and theirs.”
The Commandant looked sour.” As you emphasised at our last meeting, there cannot be collusion without Eustaces, so it makes no difference either way.”
“I’m glad you can see it at last.”
“Let it pass,” chipped in Pallam impatiently. “It is of no consequence. The confirmatory evidence is adequate no matter how we look at it.”
Thus prompted, the Commandant continued, “I have been doing some investigating myself. In two years we’ve had a long series of small-scale troubles with the Rigellians, none of them really serious, but after you arrive there comes a big break that obviously must have been planned long before you turned up but soon afterward took place in circumstances suggesting outside help. Whence came this assistance?”
“Not telling,” said Leeming knowingly.
“At one time or another eight of my guards earned your enmity, by assaulting you. Of these, four are now in hospital badly injured, two more are to be drafted to the fighting front. I presume that it is only a matter of time before the remaining two are plunged into trouble?”
“The other two have arbitrated and earned forgiveness. Nothing will happen to them.”
“Is that so?” The Commandant registered surprise.
Leeming went on; “I cannot give the same guarantee with respect to the firing squad, the officer in charge of it or the higher-up who ordered that helpless prisoners be shot.”
“We always execute prisoners who break out of jail. It is an old-established practice and a necessary deterrent.”
“We always settle accounts with the executioners,” Leeming gave back. “It is an old-established practice and a necessary deterrent.”
“By ‘we’ you mean you and your Eustace?” put in Pallam.
“Yes.”
“Why should your Eustace care? The victims were not Terrans. They were merely a bunch of obstreperous Rigellians.”
“Rigellians are allies. And allies are friends. I feel bad about the cold-blooded, needless slaughtering of them. Eustace is very sensitive to my emotions.”
“But not necessarily obedient to them?”
“No:”
“In fact,” pressed Pallam, determined to establish the point once and for all, “if there is any question of one being subordinate to the other, it is you who serves him.”
“Most times, anyway,” conceded Leeming with the air of having a tooth pulled.
“Well; it confirms what you’ve already told us.” Pallam gave a thin smile. “The chief difference between Terrans and Lathians is that you know you’re controlled whereas the Lathians are ignorant of their own status.”
“We are not controlled consciously or unconsciously,” Leeming insisted. “We exist in mutual partnership the same as you do with your wife. Sometimes she gives way to you, other times you give way to her. Neither of you bother to estimate who has given way the most in any specific period and neither of you insists that a perfect balance must be maintained. That’s how it is. And it’s mastery by neither party “I wouldn’t know, never having been mated.” Pallam turned to the Commandant. “Carry on.”
“As probably you are aware by now, this planet has been set aside as the Combine’s main penal world,” informed the Commandant. “Already we hold a large number of prisoners; mainly Rigellian.”
“What of it?”
“There are more to come. Two thousand Centaurians and six hundred Thetans are due to arrive and fill a new jail next week: Combine forces will transfer more enemy life-forms as soon as we have accommodation ready for them and ships are available. He eyed the other speculatively. “It is only a matter of time before they start dumping Terrans on us as well.”
“Is the prospect bothering you?”
“Zangasta has decided that he must refuse to accept Terrans.”
“That’s up to him,” said Leeming, blandly indifferent.
“Zangasta has a clever mind,” opined the Commandant oozing patriotic admiration. “He is of the firm opinion that to assemble a formidable army of mixed prisoners all on one’ planet, and then add some thousands of Terrans to the mixture, is to create a potentially dangerous situation. He foresees trouble on a scale vaster than we could handle. Indeed, we might lose control of this world, strategically placed in the Combine’s rear, and become subject to the violent attacks of our own allies.”
“That is quite possible,” Leeming agreed. “In fact it’s quite probable. In fact it’s practically certain. But it’s not Zangasta’s only worry. It’s the one he’s seen fit to put out for publication. He’s got a private one too.”
“And what is that?”
“Zangasta himself originated the order that escaped prisoners be shot. He must have done so—otherwise nobody would dare shoot them. Now he’s jumpy because a Eustace may be sitting on his bed and grinning at him every night. He thinks that a few thousand Eustaces will be a proportionately greater menace to him. But he’s wrong.”
“Why is he wrong?” inquired the Commandant.
“Because it isn’t only the repentant who have no cause to fear. The dead haven’t either. The arrival on this world of fifty million Eustaces means nothing whatever to a corpse. Zangasta had better countermand that shooting order if he wants to go on living.”
“I’ll inform him of your remarks. However, such cancellation may not be necessary. As I have told you, he is clever. He has devised s subtle strategy that will put all your evidence to the final, conclusive test and at the same time may solve his problems to his own satisfaction.”
Feeling vague alarm, Leeming asked, “Am I permitted to know what he intends to do?”
“He has given instructions that you be told. And already he has swung into action.” The Commandant waited for the sake of effect then finished, “He has beamed the Allies, a proposal to exchange prisoners.”
Leeming. fidgeted around in his seat. Ye gods, the plot was thickening with a vengeance. From the very beginning his sole purpose had been to talk himself out of jail and into some other situation more favourable for sudden departure at high speed. He’d been trying to lift himself over the wall with his tongue. Now they were taking his story and plastering it ail over the galaxy. Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practise to deceive!
“What is more,” the Commandant went on, “the Allies have notified us of their acceptance providing we exchange rank for rank. That is to say, captains for captains, navigators for navigators and so forth.”
“That’s reasonable.”
“Zangasta,” said the Commandant, grinning like a hungry wolf, “has agreed in his turn—providing that the Allies take Terran prisoners first and make exchange on a basis of two for one. He is now awaiting their reply.”
“Two for one?” echoed Leeming, blinking. “You mean he wants them to release two of their prisoners for every Terran they get back?”
“No, no, of course not.” He increased the grin and exposed the roots of his teeth. “They must return two Combine troopers for each Terran and his Eustace that we hand back. That is two for two and perfectly fair, is it not?”
“It’s not for me to say.” Leeming swallowed hard. “The Allies are the judges.”