A long silence.
“I thought not,” Veran said in a voice that had suddenly become sharp. “You see, I’ve sent spies to various cities around the planet. They didn’t have the slightest trouble infiltrating themselves, but they learned practically nothing. That’s the worst of these very decentralized societies. It seems this planet doesn’t have an official government, apart from Ngal R’nda’s limited authority.”
“Well,” Corson said, “that’s going to make things easy for you.” Veran gave him a keen glance. “No, it’s the worst thing that could have happened. How am I to negotiate with a government that doesn’t exist?”
He stared thoughtfully at his cigar.
“But,” he continued, “I only said it seems that way. One of my spies, a bit smarter than the rest, told me a peculiar tale. He says this planet does have a political organization, but of a completely original kind. There’s a Council which watches over several centuries and is based elsewhere in time. Some three centuries up, to be exact. It’s the craziest thing I ever heard of. Imagine ruling over dead men and kids that haven’t yet been born!”
“Maybe they don’t have the same idea of government as you do,” Corson said softly.
“Yes, they’re democrats, aren’t they? Maybe even anarchists! I know their theme song. Reduce the administration of people and things to the strict minimum. It never lasts for long. At the first invasion the whole setup goes smash.”
“They haven’t been invaded for centuries,” Corson said.
“Then they’re going to learn a nasty lesson. By the way, Corson, there’s something else odd, which I haven’t mentioned yet. One of the members of this Council is a man.”
“What’s odd about that?”
“Who looks very like you. I find that a surprising coincidence. One of your relations, maybe?”
“I don’t have connections in such high places,” Corson said.
“My spy hasn’t seen this man personally. He hasn’t even managed to lay hands on a document describing him. But he was quite definite about it. He’s an expert physiognomist, knows his typology inside out. There’s not a chance in a million of his being mistaken. Besides, he’s a clever artist. He made a sketch of you from memory and showed it to his informants. Everyone who has seen this man recognized you, Corson. What do you make of that?”
“Nothing,” Corson answered honestly.
Veran scrutinized him. “You may be telling the truth. I could put you under a lie detector, but you’d become a moron, at best. And it was no moron who sent that message to me. So unfortunately I still need you. Well, when I learned all this, I tried to put two and two together. They refused to make four. At first I thought you might be a machine, or an android. But you’ve undergone thorough medical examinations since you’ve been with us, so I had to scrap that idea. I know everything about you except what goes on in your head. You’re not a machine, and you weren’t bred in a vat. You think like a man, you have human courage and human faults. A little backward in some respects, as though you hail from a bygone age. But if you are carrying out an assignment, I have to admit you’ve got the guts to do it by yourself. Of course, not without taking out some insurance for yourself, like that damned message. Corson, why don’t you lay your cards on the table?”
“I have a bad hand,” Corson said.
“What?”
“I don’t have the right cards.”
“Maybe not. But you’re an ace in somebody’s game. And you’re acting as though you don’t realize it.”
Veran dropped his cigar butt and ground it underfoot.
“Let’s recapitulate,” he said. “This Council possesses the means to travel in time. They hide away in the future, but they must have it because otherwise a government three centuries ahead couldn’t administer the present. They already know what I’m going to do, what’s going to happen if there isn’t a timequake. And they haven’t made a move, either against me or against Ngal R’nda. That implies that in their view the time is not yet ripe. They’re waiting for something. What?”
He drew a deep breath.
“Unless they have already begun to act. Unless you’re a member of the Council on special assignment.”
“I never heard anything so silly,” Corson said.
Veran, stepping back a pace, drew his gun. “I could kill you, Corson. It might be suicide for me, but you’d die first. You’ll never send the message and I’ll never land on this world and never have the chance to take you prisoner and kill you, but the timequake will be so fierce that you’ll be caught up in it. You won’t be yourself any longer, but someone else. What counts, for a man? His name, his features, his chromosomes? Or his memories, his experience, his personality?”
They gazed at each other. At last Veran holstered his gun.
“I hoped to scare you. I admit I failed. It’s hard to frighten a man who’s been at Aergistal.”
He smiled.
“In the final analysis, Corson, I do believe you. You probably are the man who sits on the Council, three centuries up, but you don’t know it. You haven’t become that man yet. For the time being you’re only his trump card. He couldn’t come here himself because he already knew what was going to happen. He would have broken the Law of Non-regressive Information. But he could not trust anyone else. So he decided to send himself as he was in an earlier period of his life, altering the course of events only by such minute touches that they stayed below the timequake threshold. Congratulations, Corson. You have a brilliant future ahead of you—if you live so long.”
“Wait a moment,” Corson said. He had turned pale. He sat down on the ground and put his head in his hands. Veran must be right. He was experienced in temporal warfare.
“Shock treatment, hm?” Veran said. “Maybe you’re wondering why I said all that to you. Don’t bother working it out. As soon as I’m rid of Ngal R’nda I’m going to send you as my envoy to the Council. Since I have a future statesman in my hands, I’m going to exploit the fact. I told you I want to make a deal. I’m not going to ask for much: just some gear, like robots and spaceships. Then I’ll move on and leave this world in peace. I won’t touch it again even if I conquer the rest of the galaxy.”
Corson raised his head.
“And how are you going to get rid of Ngal R’nda? He seems to be very much on his guard.”
Veran gave a short wolfish laugh. “If you haven’t figured that out, I’m not going to tell you. You might double-cross me. But you’ll see.”
Chapter 31
They had to enter the anteroom of the Egg chamber naked. There they underwent a ritual cleansing and put on yellow togas. Corson imagined he could feel the rays of countless scanners brushing his skin, but knew that was an illusion—the Urians possessed more subtle techniques. He was sure that Veran was going to take advantage of the Presentation of the Egg to try something, but he could not guess what. Almost certainly he could not be carrying a weapon; the Urians knew human anatomy well enough to check all the body’s natural hiding places. And if Veran wanted violent action he would have come charging in at the head of his pegasone cavalry: a dangerous tactic, but one which would have invoked time as his ally, even though the Urians had the means to fight back. No, he must have a bolder stroke in mind.