"Dawnman Planet" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reynolds Mack)

IV

When Ronny Bronston came in, in the morning, Irene Kasansky looked up from her desk, and said, in comparatively good humor, “Where’ve you been, Ronny? The commissioner’s been asking for you.”

Ronny said mildly, “I’ve been getting some sleep. Remember? Even Section G operatives have to do it occasionally.”

She snorted, but not with her usual acidity. “Jetsam, jetsam. All I get around here is jetsam. Why I don’t go drivel-happy…”

Ronny grinned at her, pushed through the door beyond her desk, turned left in the corridor and knocked at another door, which was inconspicuously lettered, Ross Metaxa, Commissioner, Section G . Ronald Bronston seldom entered here, without the realization coming over him, all over again, that behind this door was possibly the single most powerful man in United Planets, and that not one person in a million had ever heard of him. Ross Metaxa of Section G, the ultra-secret enforcement arm of the inner-workings of United Planets. Section G, whose unstated principle was that the ends justified the means: any means necessary to achieve the United Planets dream were acceptable. As always, when this thought came to him, Ronny Bronston shook his head. He had been raised in another ethic.

By his appearance, one would have assumed that the commissioner of Section G had not seen his bed the night before. Either that, or he had been on a monumental toot. He was red and slightly moist of eye, his clothes more disheveled than before. He looked up grumpily, when Ronny entered.

Sid Jakes was there, too, sprawled in a chair, his hands in his pockets, his face in its all but perpetual grin. Lee Chang Chu was also present, sitting demurely to one side of Metaxa’s desk, her cheongsam dress emphasizing her oriental background.

Metaxa grunted. “Ronny. Good. We’re just about to get underway. Drink?” He made a motion to the inevitable squat bottle that stood at his right hand.

Ronny shuddered. “That stuff? And this time of day?” He looked at the girl. “Hi, Lee Chang.” So far as he knew, every unmarried man in Section G was in love with the diminutive Chinese girl, despite the fact that she was possibly the most effective agent of them all, and had reached supervisor status, ranking the great majority.

She smiled her slow smile and nodded her greetings, as though too shy to speak out in this gathering of men.

Metaxa grunted, “Sid, bring Ronny up to date.”

Sid chuckled happily. “Everything’s going to pot. Whether or not we’re going to keep the lid on this, even temporarily, is moot. We thought we’d selected the two thousand most responsible chiefs of state of United Planets. Actually, what we’ve got is a madhouse. Hardly any two of them agree on what’s to be done. At least a dozen have dropped out of UP.”

Ronny stared at him. “Dropped out! But why? In this emergency…”

Metaxa interrupted. “They didn’t wait long enough to consider the emergency. As soon as they heard that we had been violating Articles One and Two, they resigned.”

Lee Chang Chu spoke for the first time. She said softly, “Self-interest we shall always have with us. There’s a sizable percentage of our species that would rather die, and bring down the whole race with them, than face the threat of having their political or religious institutions changed.”

There was no refuting that.

Sid went on. “Goshen and some of the other hairy-chested planets want to declare war on the aliens. Right now.” He laughed his pleasure at the idea. “We don’t even know where they are located in the galaxy, but Goshen wants to declare war. On their own planet, of course, they’ve resisted the introduction of gunpowder. Afraid that the serfs they exploit might get uppity if there were weapons available capable of knocking over castle walls. But they want to declare war on some unknown aliens, who evidently have the neat trick of changing a whole world’s atmosphere from nitrogen-oxygen, to poison gas, overnight. Oh, great.” Sid chortled again.

“Get on with it, you laughing hyena,” Metaxa grumbled.

Sid said, “Others want to sue for peace. How we can sue for peace is another mystery. Keeping in mind that even if we knew where they came from, we still have no particular reason to believe we could communicate. Or, if we could, that they’d be interested in doing so. But even that’s not the end. A few of the member planets want to send missionaries. Missionaries, yet! If there’s anything that’ll irritate just anybody at all, it’s bothering around with his religious institutions. Besides, who ever heard of missionaries being sent from a weaker to a stronger power. It’s the stronger power that always beats its weaker neighbors over the head with its missionaries.”

Ronny said, thoughtfully, “What is our own stand? Section G has been aware of the problem for over a century. What should we do?”

Metaxa stirred in his chair. He growled, “For the most part, what we have been doing. That is, speeding up our own development by every means that we can. Scientifically, industrially, socio-economically…”

Ronny frowned at him.

His chief scowled back. “We’ve got to push toward the optimum socio-economic system…”

Ronny said mildly, “There are nearly as many ideas on what that is as you’ve got persons who have considered the question.”

Sid chuckled.

Metaxa growled, “Please, no humor at this time of day. So far as we’re concerned, the optimum social system is one under which the greatest number can exercise the greatest amount of each individual’s ability. As much education as the individual can assimilate, all-out encouragment of unusual gifts, absolutely nothing so silly as industrial production cycles that allow such nonsense as unemployment, not to speak of anything as reactionary as featherbedding.”

Lee Chang Chu said softly, “It is an optimum which has been realized on few planets, I am afraid.”

The commissioner said, “At this point, we are aware that our potential enemy exists, though we are not in contact. But we haven’t any reason to believe that he is aware of our existence. It is possible that we have another year, another century, another millennium before our cultures touch. Possible, but not probable. To the extent we can delay that meeting, we can be more happily prepared for it. That’s our job. Delay, delay, delay, while man continues to advance.” He looked at Ronny again. “And that’s where you come in.”

Ronny Bronston was taken aback. “What?”

Sid chuckled his amusement.

Ross Metaxa reached his hand out for his Denebian tequila, while saying to Lee Chang, “You’re the only one of us that’s been to Phrygia. Brief Ronny on the place. That’s why I called you in.”

Lee Chang nodded demurely. “Are you acquainted with the derivation of the planet’s name, Ronny?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“It was one of the early Greek states. Myth has a story about one of its kings, a cloddy named Midas who had an abnormal love of gold. He befriended Silenus…”

Sid put in, “I know that one. The god of drunks.”

Lee Chang looked at him from the side of her eyes and went on. “And as a reward Dionysus gave him one wish. He chose the power to turn everything he touched into gold.” She twisted her mouth in gentle mockery. “The ramifications are obvious.”

She looked at Ronny again. “The name has a certain validity. Phrygia, I mean. The original colonists were a group which rebelled against the growth of what was then called the Welfare State. They were even more emphatic than usual. Many planets have been colonized by elements strong for, ah, free enterprise, and opposed to any interference at all by the state in the management of business—not to speak of democratic ownership of the means of production, distribution and communications. The colonists of Phrygia didn’t even believe in common ownership of such things as the post office and highways, not…”

Ronny blinked at her. “How can you conduct a post office or…”

Sid chuckled. “Ronny, old man, you don’t go far enough into history. Don’t you remember the Pony Express and Wells Fargo? In the early days, mail was in the hands of private concerns. And quite a hash they made of it, too. And early toll roads and toll bridges were private, too.”

“At any rate,” Lee Chang went on, “the settlers of Phrygia were strong individualists and great believers in pragmatism. On Phrygia, it’s each man for himself and the devil take the hindmost.”

“Also,” said Sid, “dog eat dog, never give a sucker an even break, and if I don’t take advantage of this situation, somebody else will.” He laughed.

Lee Chang said thoughtfully, “The characteristic also manifests itself in their interplanetary relations. The Phrygians are great entrepreneurs, great traders. More than once, less advanced member planets have had to evoke Article Two of the UP Charter to avoid being swallowed up, economically speaking, by the stutes from Phrygia.” She allowed herself a slight smile. “I suspect, actually, that they are in considerable revolt against the existence of such a restraint. Given a free rein, Phrygia would be in full control of a considerable section of her part of our growing confederacy, in short order.”

When she paused, Ronny looked at his superior. “What’s this got to do with me?”

Metaxa had slugged back the drink he had poured. As he wiped the heel of his beefy hand over his mouth, he said, “Sid didn’t bring you completely up to date. Yesterday, when we found out it was Baron Wyler, who had tipped off Interplanetary News, we sent out a call to have him picked up. Until we are able to concoct some mutually satisfactory plans to present to United Planets as a whole, we want to keep the existence of the aliens secret in order to minimize confusion. However, the good Baron has flown the coop.”

Ronny stared at him. “He’s gone? Where?”

“Evidently, back to Phrygia. He came to the conference in his own official yacht. Which is, by the way, at least as fast as any Space Forces cruiser, or public transportation. You won’t be able to beat him back to his home planet, no matter how soon you start.”

It was clearing up now. Ronny looked from one of them to the other. “You want me to go to Phrygia, eh? What do I do there?”

Ross scowled at him. “If we knew, then we wouldn’t have to send as good a man. You play it by ear. Do what has to be done.”

Ronny grunted at the left-handed compliment. “How big is our Section G force on Phrygia?”

Metaxa looked at Sid Jakes.

Sid was amused. “Only one man,” he said. “And he’s incognito. Operates under the guise of a member of the UP Department of Trade. The Phrygians are as stute as they come and evidently suspect the true nature of Section G. They don’t want any of our operatives stirring around in their affairs.”

Ronny came to his feet. “I suppose I’d better get under way.” He hesitated. “What happened to Rita Daniels and Rosen?”

Sid shrugged. “We memorywashed them and sent them back to Interplanetary News. They can’t complain. They’ve been violating Article Two in return for news beats.”

Irene Kasansky had made the arrangements for his trip out to Phrygia. When Ronny issued forth from Metaxa’s sanctum sanctorium, she had looked up at him from her multiple duties on phone screen and order box, at desk mike and auto-files.

“Got your marching orders, eh? Before they’re through in there, there won’t be an agent left on Mother Earth.” She handed a slip of paper to him. “Your shuttle for Neuve Albuquerque leaves at six. You’ll have only one hour stopover. It’s all on the paper there. Take care of yourself, Ronny.”

It occurred to him only then, why Metaxa and Jakes had sent but one agent to Phrygia. Section G must be impossibly short of men in this crisis. Metaxa must have a thousand sore spots with which to deal. Metaxa had been right, up there on the podium, man was in the clutch and must soon alter all his most basic institutions, or he would be a sitting duck for the ultra-advanced aliens.

Ronny Bronston packed sparsely. He had no idea how long he might remain on the distant planet, which was his destination. It might be a matter of hours or years; he might spend the rest of his life there. However, if the stay were lengthy, he could augment his possessions on the spot. To date, he had no idea of what Phrygia climate or clothing styles might be. Why overload himself with non-essentials?

The roof of his apartment building was a copter-cab pickup point, and it took him little time to make his way to the Greater Washington shuttleport. Within three hours of his exit from Ross Metaxa’s office, he was being lobbed over to the spaceport at Neuve Albuquerque.

Irene had made him reservations on an interplanetary liner, rather than assigning a Space Forces cruiser. More comfortable than the military craft, of course, but not so fast. He shrugged. It was a long trip, and one to which he didn’t look forward.

When Ronny Bronston had been a younger man, working in Population Statistics in New Copenhagen, had someone suggested that he wouldn’t enjoy interplanetary travel, he would have thought the other mad. Getting into space was every earthborn boy’s dream, and few there were who realized it. Long since, the authorities had taken measures to keep Earth’s population from leaving wholesale. These days, when new planets were colonized, the colonists came from older settled planets, other than Earth. Earth, the source of man, could not spare its people. Its sole “industry” had at long last become the benevolent direction of human affairs, a super-government. More than four thousand man-populated worlds looked to it, in one degree or another, even those not members of United Planets.

However, no matter how strong the dream, no matter how wrapped up in interplanetary affairs, Ronny Bronston soon came to realize that the actual time involved in getting from one colonized planet to the next was the sheerest of boredom. All passenger activity in space was manufactured activity. There was little to do, certainly nothing to see, once the ship has gone into underspace.

One sits and reads. One plays battle chess, or other games. One talks with one’s fellow passengers. One watches the Tri-Di tapes, if one is mentally of that level.

Thus it was, on the first day out, that Ronny Bronston made his way to the lounge, hoping that at least the craft was stocked with reading material new to him.

He sank into an auto-chair, as far as possible from the Tri-Di stage, and reached his hand for the stud, which would activate the reading tape listing, set into the chair’s arm. His eye, however, hit upon the fellow passenger seated a few feet to his right.

He frowned, and said, “Don’t we know each…” and then broke it off. Of course. It was Rita Daniels, the Interplanetary News reporter. He hadn’t recognized her at first, since she had been wearing a heavy makeup disguise-trying to look like the Supreme Matriarch, Harriet Dos Passos—when he had seen her last. Now, in her own guise, he realized that she was considerably younger than he had thought—and considerably more attractive.

She was blonde, a bit too slim, with a pert, slightly freckled face, and ignored current hair style in favor of a rather intricate ponytail arrangement. In spite of her pertness, there was another more elusive quality, a certain vulnerableness about her mouth. She was clad in a businesslike, inconspicuous crimson suit, and she obviously was of the opinion that this somewhat colorless young man was attempting to pick her up.

She said coolly, “I am afraid not”—and turned away.

What in the name of the Holy Ultimate was she doing on this vessel? The implication was obvious.

He snapped his fingers. “Citizeness Daniels. Interplanetary News.”

She turned on him, her eyebrows high, in surprise. “I’m sorry. You do seem to know me. But… I’m afraid…”

It came to him suddenly that to reveal his true identity would put her on guard. However, he had an advantage. He knew she had been memorywashed. There was a period of at least twenty-four hours, probably more, of which she remembered nothing whatsoever, nor did her immediate superior, Rosen. It must be a confusing situation, he realized. But advantage, it was.

He said easily, smiling, “You remember me. Just yesterday.”

She blinked, her eyes immediately alert. Without doubt, she was keen to take advantage of an opportunity to replace erased memories. “Oh, yes, of course, Citizen…”

He grinned at her, both on the surface and inwardly, in true amusement. “Smythe,” he supplied. “Jimmy Smythe, I helped you out of that trouble with the bottle of guzzle and the traffic coordinator. Wow, were you drenched, eh?”

She stared at him blankly.