“I don’t know,” said Langley. “What people seem to need today is a good swift kick in the pants. Maybe Centauri can give it to them.”
“Not with any beneficial effect. What is Centauri? A triple-star system. Alpha A has two habitable planets, Thor and Freyja. Alpha B has two semi-poisonous ones slowly being made habitable. Proxima is a dim red dwarf with one inhabited planet, the frigid giant Thrym. Otherwise there are only mining colonies maintained with great difficulty. The Thorians conquered and assimilated the men of the other worlds long ago. They established contact with the Thrymans, showed them modern technology; soon the natives—already highly civilized—were equal to their teachers. Then Thrym denied them right to settle the Proximan System. A war was fought over it, which ended officially in compromise and unification; actually, Thrym had the upper hand, and its representatives occupy key positions in the League. Brannoch has Thryman advisors here on Earth, and I wonder who is really the chief.
“I’ve no prejudice against nonhumans, but Thrym makes me feel cold. They’re too remote from man, I think they have little use for him except as a tool toward some purpose of their own. Study the situation, study history, and I think you’ll agree. A Centaurian conquest, quite apart from the killing of some billions of innocent people, would not be an infusion of invigorating barbarian blood. It would be a move in a very old and very large chess game.”
“All right.” Langley gave up. “Maybe you’re right. But what claim has your precious Society got? Who says you’re a race of—” He paused, realized that there was no word for saint or angel, and finished weakly: “Why do you deserve anything?”
“We are not interested in imperialism,” said Valti. “We carry on trade between the stars—”
“Probably cleaning the pants off both ends.”
“Well, an honest businessman has to live. But we have no planet, we are not interested in having one, our home is space itself. We do not kill except in self-defense; normally we avoid a fight by simply retreating, there is always plenty of room in the universe and a long jump makes it easy to overcome your enemies by merely outliving them. We are a people to ourselves, with our own history, traditions, laws—the only humane and neutral power in the known galaxy.”
“Tell me more,” said Langley. “So far I’ve only got your word. You must have some central government, someone to make decisions and coordinate you. Who are they? Where are they?”
“I will be perfectly honest, captain,” said Valti in a soft tone. “I do not know.”
“Eh?”
“No one knows. Each ship is competent to handle ordinary affairs for itself. We file reports at the planetary offices, pay our tax—where the reports and the money go, I don’t know, nor do the groundlings in the offices. There is a chain of communications, a cell-type secret bureaucracy which would be impossible to trace through tens of light-years. I rank high, running the Solar offices at present, and can make many decisions for myself, but I get special orders now and then through a sealed circuit. There must be at least one of the chiefs here on Earth, but where and who—or what—I couldn’t say.”
“How does this... government... keep you in line?”
“We obey,” said Valti. “Ship discipline is potent, even on those who like myself are recruited from planets rather than born in space. The rituals, the oaths—conditioning, if you will—I know of no case where an order has been deliberately violated. But we are a free people, there is no slavery and no aristocracy among us.”
“Except for your bosses,” murmured Langley. “How do you know they’re working for your own good?”
“You needn’t read any sinister or melodramatic implications into a security policy, captain. If the headquarters and identity of our chiefs were known, they would be all too liable to attack and annihilation. As it is, promotion to the bureaucracy involves complete disappearance, probably surgical disguise; I will gladly accept the offer if it is ever made to me.
“Under its bosses, as you call them, the Society has prospered in the thousand years since its founding. We are a force to be reckoned with. You saw how I was able to make that police officer knuckle under.”
Valti took a deep breath and plunged into business. “I have not, as yet, received any command about Saris. If I had been told to keep you prisoner, be sure you would not leave here. But as things are, I still have considerable latitude.
“Here is my offer. There are small interplanetary flitters hidden here and there on Earth. You can leave anytime. Away from Earth, safely concealed by sheer volume of space unless you know her orbit, is an armed light-speed cruiser. If you will help me find Saris, I will take you two away, and do what I can to rescue your companions. Saris will be studied, but he will not be harmed in any manner, and if he wishes can later be returned to his home world. You can join the Society, or you can be set up on some human-colonized planet beyond the region known to Sol and Centauri. There are many lovely worlds out there, a wide cultural variety, places where you can feel at home again. Your monetary reward will give you a good start.
“I do not think you will like Earth any more, captain. Nor do I think you will like the responsibility of unleashing a war which will devastate planets. I believe your best course is with us.”
Langley stared at the floor. Weariness was close to overwhelming him. To go home, to creep down light-years and centuries until he found Peggy again, it was a scream within him.
But—
“I don’t know,” he mumbled. “How can I tell if you’re not lying?” With an instinct of self-preservation: “I don’t know where Saris is either, you realize. Doubt if I can find him myself.”
Valti lifted a skeptical brow, but said nothing.
“I need time to think,” pleaded Langley. “Let me sleep on it.”
“If you wish.” Valti got up and rummaged in a drawer. “But remember, Chanthavar or Brannoch may soon remove all choice from you. Your decision, if it is to be your own, must be made soon.”
He took out a small, flat plastic box and handed it over. “This is a communicator, keyed to a frequency which varies continuously according to a random-chosen series. It can only be detected by a similarly tuned instrument which I possess. If you want me, press this button and call; it need not be held to your mouth. I may even be able to rescue you from armed force, though it’s best to be quiet about this affair. Here... keep it next to your skin, under your clothes, it will hang on of itself and is transparent to ordinary spy-beams.”
Langley rose. “Thanks,” he muttered. “Decent of you to let me go.” Or is it only a trick to disarm me?
“It’s nothing, captain.” Valti waddled ahead of him to the outside flange. An armored police craft hovered just beyond its edge. “I believe transportation home is waiting for you. Good night, sir.”
“Good night,” said Langley.
9
Weather control had decreed rain for this area today, and Lora stood under a low gray sky with her highest towers piercing its mists. Looking out of the window which made one wall of his living room, Brannoch saw only a wet metal gleam, fading into the downward rush of rain. Now and then lightning flickered, and when he told the window to open there was a cool damp breeze on his face.
He felt caged. As he paced the room, up and down and around, there was rage in his heart, and he snapped his report as if every word had to be bitten off and spat out
“Nothing,” he said. “Not one damned sterile thing. They didn’t know. They had no idea where the creature might be. Their memories were probed down to the cellular level, and nothing turned up we could use.”
“Has Chanthavar any clue?” asked the flat mechanical voice.
“No. My Mesko agent’s last report said that a warehouse was broken into the night that flier was stolen, and several cases of space rations removed. So all the being had to do was hide these in whatever den he’s got, release the flier on automatic, and settle down to wait. Which he’s apparently been doing ever since.”