"Eric Frank Russell - Basic Right" - читать интересную книгу автора (Russell Eric Frank)

"So!" Zalumar thought a bit, looked as though about to voice something drastic, changed his mind
and said, "You may go." After Vitelli had departed, Zalumar commented to the others, "I could order the
prompt destruction of all this defective rubbish. But why should I bother? The chore of tending a horde of
mental or physical cripples keeps Terran hands busy. Things remain orderly and peaceful when everyone
is fully occupied. It is a world with time on its hands that makes itself a dangerous nuisance."
"Yes, sire," agreed Heisham, admiring him.
"Well, we now know something more," Zalumar went on. "In addition to being cowardly and stupid
they are also soft. They are soft and yielding, like this stuff they call putty."
Lakin said in the manner of one meditating aloud, "How far does one get by plunging a sword into a
barrel of putty? How much does one really cut, stab or destroy?"
Studying him blank-faced, Zalumar harshed, "Lakin, you will cease annoying me with senseless
remarks."
Everything worked smoothly for another two years. In between regal jaunts around his planetary
property Zalumar lurked in his palace like a spider in the center of its web. Terra remained utterly and
absolutely his to command, ran itself according to his directions. There had been no trouble other than
that attributable to ordinary misunderstandings. In nobody's history had anyone sat more securely upon
the throne than had the Emperor Nordis Zalumar.
At his command three groups of Raidan officers had gone on a tour of inspection of Terran colonies
on Venus, Mars, and Callisto. No crude frontiersman would risk cutting their throats; the home-world
remained hostage for their safety. They were due back most any time.
A fourth bunch had gone to look at a small settlement in the Centauri group, earth's first foothold in
another system. They'd not return for quite a piece. None of these groups had sailed in a Raidan warship;
they'd all been taken in Terran spaceliners, traveling in utmost comfort as was proper for a higher form of
life.
Of the sixteen hundred Raidans composing the original task force, less than two hundred continued
on military duty. A hundred formed the permanent palace guard. Eighty kept watch on the ships. All the
rest were touring Terra, going where they pleased, at no cost whatsoever. Every man a prince and
Zalumar the king of kings.
Yes, every man a prince—that was no exaggeration. If any of them saw something he fancied behind
a shop window he walked inside, demanded it, and it was handed over. An expensive camera, a
diamond pendant, a racing motor-bike, a streamlined moon-boat, one had only to ask to be given.
Thus two junior navigators owned a subtropic island on which stood a magnificent mansion. They'd
seen it from a confiscated amphibian, landed, marched in, and said to the owners, "Get out." They'd said
to the servants, "You stay." So the owners had gone posthaste and the servants had remained. Similarly,
twenty grease monkeys were touring the world on a two-thousand-ton luxury yacht, having ambled
aboard, ordered all passengers ashore, and commanded the crew to raise anchor.
It seemed impossible that in such circumstances any Raidan could be discontented. Yet here again
was that whining nuisance Lakin with a further batch of moans and groans. Some folk evidently would
gripe even if given the cosmos on a platter.
"It can't go on forever," opined Lakin.
"It isn't intended to," Zalumar gave back. "We aren't immortal and more's the pity. But so long as it
lasts our lifetimes we have every reason to he satisfied."
"Our lifetimes?" Lakin's expression showed that a deep suspicion had been confirmed. "Do you mean
that Raidan is to be left in ignorance of this conquest and that contact with our home forces is never to be
made?"
Zalumar settled himself deeper in his chair which resembled a cunning compromise between a bed
and a throne. He folded hands across an abdomen that was becoming a little more prominent, more
paunchy with every passing month.
"My dear witless Lakin, an official report should have been sent more than two and a half years ago.
If, like these Terran animals, we had been dumbly obedient and beamed that report where would we be