“. . . Obviously,” the governor was saying, “you’re a precedent shattering threat to the World Government. Because this is a world government, and it has maintained peace and stability over millennia. Our space defense system sees to it that—outsiders don’t upset that peace. At least it always has until now; you’re the first person to penetrate our system, and we don’t even know how you did it. That’s what we want to know—must know, Jagit, not who you represent, or where, or even why, so much as how. We can’t allow anything to disrupt our stability.” Aydricks leaned forward across his desk; his hand tightened protectively over the stand of the strange metal globe. His affability had disappeared entirely, and Wim felt his own hopes sink, realizing the governor somehow knew the peddler’s every secret. Jagit wasn’t infallible, and this time he had let himself be trapped.
But Jagit seemed undismayed. “If you value your stability that much, then I’d say it’s time somebody did disturb it.”
“That’s to be expected.” Aydricks sat back, his expression relaxing into contempt. “But you won’t be the one. We’ve had ten thousand years to perfect our system, and in that time no one else has succeeded in upsetting it. We’ve put an end at last to all the millennia of destructive waste on this world ...”
Ten thousand years—? As Aydricks spoke, Wim groped to understand a second truth that tore at the very roots of his comprehension:
For the history of mankind stretched back wonder on wonder for unimaginable thousands of years, through tremendous cycles filled with lesser cycles. Civilization reached highs where every dream was made a reality and humanity sent offshoots to the stars, only to fall back, through its own folly, into abysses of loss when men forgot their humanity and reality became a nightmare. Then slowly the cycle would change again, and in time mankind would reach new heights, that paradoxically it could never maintain. Always men seemed unable in the midst of their creation to resist the urge to destroy, and always they found the means to destroy utterly.
Until the end of the last great cyclical empire, when a group among the ruling class saw that a new decline was imminent, and acted to prevent it. They had forced the world into a new order, one of patternless stability at a low level, and had stopped it there. “... And because of us that state, free from strife and suffering, the world has continued for ten thousand years, unchanged. Literally unchanged. I am one of the original founders of the World Government.”
Wim looked unbelievingly into the smiling, unremarkable face; found the eyes of a fanatic and incredible age.
“You’re well preserved,” Jagit said.
The governor burst into honest laughter. “This isn’t my original body. By using our computer network we’re able to transfer our memories intact into the body of an ‘heir’; someone from the general population, young and full of potential. As long as the individual’s personality is compatible, it’s absorbed into the greater whole, and he becomes a revitalizing part of us. That’s why I’ve been keeping track of Wim, here; he has traits that should make him an excellent governor.” The too-interested smile showed on the governor’s face again.
Wim’s bound hands tightened into fists—the invisible pressure forced him back down into the seat, his face stricken.
Aydricks watched him, amused. “Technological, initiative and personal aggressiveness are key factors that lead to an unstable society. Since, to keep stability, we have to suppress those factors in the population, we keep control groups free from interference—like the hill folk, the Highlanders—to give us a dependable source of the personality types we need ourselves.
“But the system as a whole really is very well designed. Our computer network provides us with our continuity, with the technology, communications, and—sources of power we need to maintain stability. We in turn ensure the computer’s continuity, since we preserve the knowledge to keep it functioning. There’s no reason why the system can’t go on forever.”
Wim looked toward the peddler for some sign of reassurance; but found a grimness that made him look away again as Jagit said, “And you think that’s a feat I should appreciate; that you’ve manipulated the fate of every being on this planet for ten thousand years, to your own ends, and that you plan to go on doing it indefinitely?”
“But it’s for their own good, can’t you see that? We ask nothing from this, no profit for ourselves, no reward other than knowing that humanity will never be able to throw itself into barbarism again, that the cycle of destructive waste, of rise and fall, has finally been stopped on earth. The people are secure, their world is stable, they know it will be safe for future generations. Could your own world claim as much? Think of the years that must have passed on your journey here—would you even have a civilization to return to by now?”
Wim saw Jagit forcibly relax; the peddler’s smile reappeared, full of irony. “But the fact remains that a cycle of rise and fall is the natural order of things—life and death, if you want to call it that. It gives humanity a chance to reach new heights, and gives an old order a clean death. Stasis is a coma—no lows, but no highs either, no choice. Somehow I think that Sharn would have preferred a clean death to this—”
“Sharn? What do you know about the old empire?” The governor leaned forward, complaisance lost.
“Sharn—?” Wim’s bewilderment was lost on the air.
“They knew everything about Sharn, where I come from. The crystal city with rot at its heart, the Games of Three. They were even seeing the trends that would lead to this, though they had no idea it would prove so eminently successful.”
“Well, this gets more and more interesting.” The governor’s voice hardened. “Considering that there should be no way someone from outside could have known of the last years of the empire. But I suspect we’ll only continue to raise more questions this way. I think it’s time we got some answers.”
Wim slumped in his seat, visions of torture leaping into his mind. But the governor only left his desk, passing Wim with a glance that suggested hunger, and placed a shining band of filigreed metal on Jagit’s head.
“You may be surprised at what you get.” Jagit’s expression remained calm, but Wim thought strain tightened his voice.
The governor returned to his chair. “Oh, I don’t think so. I’ve just linked you into our computer net—”
Abruptly Jagit went rigid with surprise, settled back into a half smile; but not before Aydricks had seen the change. “Once it gets into your mind you’ll have considerable difficulty concealing anything at all. It’s quick and always effective; though unfortunately I can’t guarantee that it won’t drive you crazy.”
The peddler’s smile faded. “How civilized,” he said quietly. He met Wim’s questioning eyes. “Well, Wim, you remember what I showed you. And crossing your fingers didn’t help, did it?”
Wim shook his head. “Whatever you say, Mr. Jagged ...” He suspected he’d never have an opportunity to remember anything.
Suddenly the peddler gasped, and his eyes closed, his body went limp in the seat. “Mr. Jagged—?” But there was no response, none, Wim wondered numbly what sort of terrible enchantment the metal crown held, and whether it would hurt when the computer—whatever that was—swallowed his own soul.
“Are you monitoring? All districts? Direct hookup, yes.—” The governor seemed to be speaking to his desk. He hesitated as though listening, then stared into space.