[Illustration]
All nature is but art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;
All partial evil, universal good:
And, spite of pride, in erring reasons spite,
One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.
Alexander Pope
_Essay on Man_
* * * * *
I
Jason dinAlt looked unhappily at the two stretchers as they were
carried by. "Are they at it again?" he asked.
Brucco nodded, the scowl permanently ingrained now on his hawklike
face. "We have only one thing to be thankful for. That is--so far at
least--they haven't used any weapons on each other."
Jason looked down unbelievingly at the shredded clothing, crushed
flesh and broken bones. "The absence of weapons doesn't appear to make
much difference when two Pyrrans start fighting. It seems impossible
that this damage could be administered bare-handed."
"Well it was. Even you should know that much about Pyrrus by now. We
take our fighting very seriously. But they never think how much more
work it makes for me. Now I have to patch these two idiots up and try
to find room for them in the ward." He stalked away, irritated and
annoyed as always. Jason usually laughed at the doctor's irascible
state, but not today.
Today, and for some days past, he had found himself living with a
persistent feeling of irritation, that had arrived at the same time as
his discovery that it is far easier to fight a war than to administer
a peace. The battle at the perimeter still continued, since the massed
malevolence of the Pyrran life forms were not going to call a truce
simply because the two warring groups of humans had done so. There was
battle on the perimeter and a continual feeling of unrest inside the
city. So far there had been very little traffic between the city
Pyrrans and those living outside the walls, and what contact there had
been usually led to the kind of violence he had just witnessed. The
only minor note of hope in this concert of discord was the fact that
no one had died--as yet--in any of these fearsome hand-to-hand
conflicts. In spite of the apparent deadliness of the encounters all
of the Pyrrans seemed to understand that, despite past hatreds, they
were all really on the same side. A distant rumble from the clouded
sky broke through his thoughts.
"There is a ship on the radar," Meta said, coming out of the
ground-control office and squinting up at the overcast. "I wonder if
it is that ecology expedition that Brucco arranged--or the cargo ship
from Ondion?"
"We'll find out in a few minutes," Jason said, happy to forget his
troubles for the moment in frank admiration, since just looking at
Meta was enough to put a golden edge on this gloom-filled day.
Standing there, head back searching the sky, she managed to be
beautiful even in the formless Pyrran coverall. Jason put his arms
around her waist and exacted a great deal of pleasure from kissing the
golden length of her up-stretched throat.
"Oh, Jason ... not now," she said in exasperation. Pyrran minds, by
necessity, run along one track at a time, and at the present moment
she was thinking about the descending spaceship. With a quick motion,
scarcely aware of her action, she pulled his hands from her and pushed
him away, an easy enough thing for a Pyrran girl to do. But in doing
so she half fractured one of his wrists, numbed the other, and knocked
Jason to the ground.
"Darling ... I'm sorry," she gasped, suddenly realizing what she had
done, bending quickly to help him up.
"Get away, you lady weight-lifter," he growled, pushing aside the
proffered hand and struggling to his feet. "When are you going to
realize that I'm only human, not made of chrome steel bars like the
rest of your people...." He stifled the rest of his words in disgust,
at himself, his temper, this deadly planet and the cantankerousness of
its citizens that was scratching away at his nerves. He turned and
stamped away, angry at himself for taking out his vile mood on Meta,
but still too annoyed to make peace.
Meta watched him leave, trying to say something that would end this
foolish quarrel, but unable to. The largest blank in the Pyrran
personality was an almost complete lack of knowledge of human nature,
and her struggle to fill in the gaps--gaps she was only just beginning
to realize existed--was a difficult one. The stronger emotions of hate
and fear were no strangers to her; but for the first time she was
discovering how difficult and complex was this unusual feeling of
love. She let Jason go because she was incapable of any other action.
Of course she could stop him by force, but if she had learned anything
in the past few weeks, it was the discovery that this was one area
where he was very sensitive. There was no doubt that she was far
stronger than he--physically--and he did not like to be reminded about
it. She went back into the ground-control room, almost eager to deal
with the impersonal faces of the dials and scopes, material and
unchanging entities that posed no conflicting problems.
* * * * *
Jason stood at the edge of the field and watched the ship come in for
a landing, his anger forgotten temporarily in the presence of this
break in routine. Perhaps this was the shipful of scientific eggheads
that Brucco was expecting; he hoped so. It would be a pleasant treat
to have a conversation with someone about a topic more universal than
the bore dimensions of guns. With practiced eye he watched the landing
which was a little sloppy, either a new pilot or an old one who didn't
care much. It was a small ship so not many people would be aboard.
Then the spacer turned for a moment, in a landing correction, and he
had a quick glimpse of a serial number and tantalizingly familiar
insignia on its stern--where had he seen that before?
The ship touched down and the flaring rockets died. There was only the
click of cooling metal from the ship: no one emerged, nor did any of
the Pyrrans seem interested enough in the newcomer to approach it.
That must mean that no one had any business with it, and, of course,
no curiosity either, for this along with imagination was in very short
supply on the war-torn planet. Since no one else was making any moves,
Jason went forward to investigate for himself.
A stingwing that had escaped the perimeter guards dived towards him
and he blasted it automatically with his gun. The corpse thudded to
the ground and the soil churned around it as the insectile scavengers
fought for the flesh; only bare bones remained by the time he had
taken two paces.
A muffled whine of motors told him that the lower hatch was opening,
and Jason watched as a hairline crack appeared in the thick metal,
then widened as the heavy door ground outwards. Through the opening he
had a glimpse of a figure muffled in a heavy-duty spacesuit. That must
be Meta's work, she would have contacted the ship by radio while it
was on its way down and explained the standing orders that no
off-worlders were to be allowed out of their ships unless wearing the
heaviest armor. Since the armed truce between the human inhabitants
there had been a lessening of the relentless warfare the Pyrran life
forms waged against the city, but only to a slight degree. Deadly
beasts still abounded, and the air was thick with toxic diseases. A
stranger, unprotected, would be ill in five minutes, dead within
ten--or much sooner if a horndevil or other beast got to him in the
interval.
Jason felt a justified pride that he could walk this planet under his
own power. The natives, adapted to the deadliness and heavy gravity
since birth, were still his superiors, but he was the only off-worlder
who could stand the dangers of Pyrrus. His gun whined out of his power
holster into his waiting hand as he searched for some target to use
his talents on. An armored piece of nastiness, with a lot of legs, was
crawling into hiding under a rock and he blasted it neatly with a
single shot. The gun snapped back into the holster and he turned to
the open door of the spacer, his morale greatly improved.
* * * * *
"Welcome to Pyrrus," he told the ungainly figure that clumped out of
the ship. There was a hefty maser-projector clutched in the armored
gloves and whoever was inside the suit, the face was invisible behind
the thick and tinted faceplate, seemed exceedingly nervous, turning to
look in all directions.
"Don't worry," Jason said, fighting to keep a tone of smug
satisfaction out of his voice, "I'll take care of things for you. I
don't know what kind of horror stories you may have heard about
Pyrrus--but they're all true. That's a nice looking heat ray you have
there, but I doubt if you could move fast enough to use it."
The figure lowered the gun and fumbled for a switch on the front of
the space armor, it clicked and a speaker diaphragm rustled.
"I'm looking for a man called Jason dinAlt. Can you tell me if he is
on this planet or if he has left?"
It was impossible to tell the speaker's tone from the rasping
diaphragm, and no face was visible that might betray an emotion. This
was the moment when Jason should have shown caution, and have
remembered that there were thousands of policemen scattered across the
galaxy who would heartily enjoy putting him under arrest. Yet he
couldn't imagine any of them going to the trouble of following him
here. And certainly there could be very little danger from a
spacesuited man with a rifle, not to the man who had learned to take
Pyrrus on its own terms, and live.
"I'm Jason dinAlt," he said. "What do you want me for?"
"I've come a long way to find you," the speaker rasped. "Now"--the
gloved hand pointed--"what is THAT?"
Jason's reactions were instantaneous, conditioned to move without
thought. He wheeled, crouched, the gun in his hand and finger
quivering lightly on the trigger, pointed in the indicated direction.
There was nothing unusual to be seen, just an empty field and the
control building at the edge.
"Whatever are you talking about ..." Jason asked, then stopped as it
became very obvious what the stranger had been talking about. The
large, flanged mouth of the maser-projector ground into the small of
his back. His own gun snapped halfway out of its holster, buzzed
briefly, then slipped back as he realized his position.
"That's much better," the stranger said. "If you attempt to move,
turn, lower your gun hand or do anything I don't like I'll pull this
trigger and...."
"I know," Jason sighed, careful to stand with every muscle frozen.
"You will pull the trigger and burn a nice round hole through my
backbone and intestines. But I would just like to know why? Who is it
that is so interested in my worthless old carcass that they were
willing to pay interstellar freight charges to send you and that
oversize toaster all the way here in order to threaten it?"
Jason was only talking to kill time, since he knew this situation
would not stay static for long, not on Pyrrus. He was completely right
because before he had finished the ground-control door burst open and
Meta ran out, circling to the left. At the same moment Kerk appeared
from behind the building, his Pyrran reflexes absorbing the situation
in an instant and with no perceptible delay he ran in the opposite
direction. Both Pyrrans had their guns ready and closed in with the
merciless precision of trained predators.
"Tell them to stop," the suit speaker grated at Jason. "I'll shoot you
if they try anything."
"Hold it!" Jason shouted, and the running Pyrrans stopped instantly.
"Don't come any closer and whatever you do don't shoot." He
half-turned his head and spoke in a quieter voice to the suited figure
behind him. "Now you see where you stand. Lower the gun and get back
into your ship, I guarantee you'll stay alive if you do that at once."
"Don't try and buff me, dinAlt," the maser barrel pushed harder
against his back. "You are my prisoner and your friends can't save
you. Start walking backwards now--I'll stay right behind you."
"Look," Jason said calmly, not permitting himself to get angry. "Those
are _Pyrrans_ out there. Either of them could kill you so quickly that
you couldn't possibly have time to pull that trigger. I'm saving your
life--though I don't know why I'm bothering--so be a good boy and get
back into your ship and go home and we'll give you a T for trying."
"Could I have him, please Kerk?" Meta called out, the deadly
assumption of her remark punctuating Jason's logic. "After all, Jason
means more to me than you. Shall I kill him yet, Jason?"
"Just shoot his gun hand off, Meta," Kerk told her, in the same
emotionless tone. "I want to know who this is, why he came here,
before he dies."
"Get back into your ship, you fool," Jason hissed. "You've got only
seconds to live."
"Start walking backwards," his captor said. "You are under arrest.
I'll count to three, then shoot. One ... two...."
Jason shuffled a cautious step to the rear and the Pyrran guns snapped
up at the same instant, extended at arm's length. Jason was so close
to the man in the spacesuit that the guns could have been pointed at
him, the eyes sighting carefully over the dark muzzles.
"Don't shoot!" Jason shouted to his friends.
"Don't worry," Kerk called back. "We won't hit you."
"I know that--it's this idiot here that I'm worrying about. You just
can't shoot him for trying to do his job. In fact I'm surprised to
find out that there is one honest cop left on any of the places I've
been."
"Don't talk so crazy," Meta said with maddening sweetness. "We'll kill
him, Jason. We'll take care of you."
Anger hit him. "You will NOT take care of me because I can take care
of myself. Either of you kill him and so help me I'll kill you." Jason
shuffled backwards faster now until his legs hit the lower edge of the
hatch. He clambered into it and burst out laughing at the dumfounded
expressions of his friends' faces. The laugh died as something pricked
the back of his neck. The pressure of the gun was gone and he swung
around, surprised to see the floor rushing up towards him, but before
it struck him blackness descended.
Consciousness returned, accompanied by a thudding headache that made
Jason wince when he moved, and when he opened his eyes the pain of the
light made him screw them shut again. Whatever the drug was that had
knocked him out, it was fast working, and seemed to be oxidized just
as quickly. The headache faded away to a dull throb and he could open
his eyes without feeling that needles were being driven into them. He
was seated in a standard spacechair that had been equipped with wrist
and ankle locks, now well secured. A man sat in the chair next to him,
intent on the spaceship's controls; the ship was in flight and well
into space. The stranger was working the computer, cutting a tape to
control their flight in jump-space.
Jason took the opportunity to study the man. He seemed to be a little
old for a policeman, though on second thought it was really hard to
tell his age. His hair was gray and cropped as short as a skull cap,
but the wrinkles on his leathery skin seemed to have been caused more
by exposure than advanced years. Tall and firmly erect, he appeared
underweight at first glance, until Jason realized this effect was
caused by the total absence of any excess flesh. It was as though he
had been cooked by the sun and leeched by the rain until only bone,
tendon and muscle were left. When he turned his head the muscles stood
out like cables under the skin of his neck and his hands at the
controls were the browned talons of some bird. A hard finger pressed
the switch that actuated the jump control, and he turned away from the
board to face Jason.
"I see you are awake. It was a mild drug. I did not enjoy using it,
but it was the safest way."
When he talked his jaw opened and shut with the seriousness of a bank
vault. The deep-set and cold blue eyes stared fixedly from under dark
brows. Jason stared back just as steadily and chuckled.
"I suppose you didn't enjoy using the maser-projector either, nor
threatening to cook holes in me. For a cop you seem to be very tender
hearted."
"I did it only to save your friends. I did not want them to get hurt."
"Get hurt!" Jason roared with laughter. "Space-cop, don't you have any
idea what Pyrrans are like, or what kind of a setup you were walking
into? Don't you realize that I saved your life--though I really don't
know why. Call me a natural humanitarian. You may have a swollen head
and a ready trigger-finger, but you were so far out of your class that
you just weren't in the race. They could have blasted you into pieces,
then shot the pieces into smaller pieces, while you were still
thinking about pulling the trigger. You should just thank me for being
your savior."
"So you are a liar as well as a thief," Jason's captor answered with
no change of expression. "You attempt to play on my sympathies to gain
your freedom. Why should I believe this story? I came to arrest you,
threatening to kill you if you didn't submit, and your friends were
there ready to defend you. Why should you attempt to save my life? It
does not make sense." He turned back to the controls to make an
adjustment.
[Illustration: Mikah Samon]
It didn't make sense, Jason agreed completely. Why had he saved this
oaf who meant nothing to him? It was not an easy question to answer,
though it had seemed so right at the time. If only Meta hadn't said
that they would take care of him; he knew they could and was tired of
it. He could take care of himself: he felt the anger rising again at
the remembered words. Was that the only reason he had let this cop
capture him? To show the Pyrrans that he was able to control his own
destiny? Was the human ego such a pitiable thing that it had to keep
reassuring itself of its own independence or lie down on its back and
curl up its toes?
Apparently it was. At least his was. The years had taught him a
certain insight into his own personality and he realized that his
greedy little subconscious had collected all the cues and signals from
the encounter at the spaceport and goaded him into a line of action
that looked uncomfortably like suicide. The arrival of the stranger,
the threat to himself, the automatic assumption by the Pyrrans that
they would take care of him. Apparently his ego and his subconscious
felt that he had been taken care of too long. They had managed to get
him into this spot from which he could only be extricated by his own
talents, far away from Pyrrus and the pressures that had been weighing
on him so long.
He took a deep breath and smiled. It wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Stupid in retrospect, but the stupidity could hopefully be kept in the
past. Now he had to prove that there was something other than a death
wish in his subconscious flight from Pyrrus, and he must find a way to
reverse positions with this cop, whoever he was. Which meant that he
had to find out a little more about the man before making any plans.
* * * * *
"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, officer. How about telling
me who you are and showing me a warrant or something under which you
are performing this deed of interstellar justice."
"I am Mikah Samon. I am returning you to Cassylia for trial and
sentencing."
"Ah, yes," Jason sighed. "I'm not surprised to hear that they are
still interested in finding me. But I should warn you that there is
very little remaining of the three-billion, seventeen-million credits
that I won from your casino."
"Cassylia doesn't want the money back," Mikah said as he locked the
controls and swung about in his chair. "They don't want you back
either. You are their planetary hero now. When you escaped with your
ill-gotten gains they realized that they would never see the money
again. So they put their propaganda mills to work and you are now
known throughout all the adjoining star systems as 'Jason 3-Billion',
the living proof of the honesty of their dishonest games, and a lure
for all the weak in spirit. You tempt them into gambling for money
instead of working honestly for it."
"Pardon me for being thick today," Jason said, shaking his head
rapidly to loosen up the stuck synapses. "I'm having a little
difficulty in following you. What kind of a policeman are you to
arrest me for trial after the charges have been dropped?"
"I'm not a policeman," Mikah said sternly, his long fingers woven
tightly together before him, his eyes wide and penetrating. "I'm a
believer in Truth--nothing more. The corrupt politicians who control
Cassylia have placed you on a pedestal of honor. Honoring you,
another--and if possible--a more corrupt man, and behind your image
they have waxed fat. But I am going to use the Truth to destroy that
image, and when I destroy the image I shall destroy the evil that
produced it."
"That's a tall order for one man," Jason said calmly--much calmer than
he really felt. "Do you have a cigarette?"
"There is, of course, no tobacco or spirits on this ship. And I am
more than one man. I have followers. The Truth Party is already a
power to be reckoned with. We have spent much time and energy in
tracking you down, but it was worth it. We have followed your
dishonest trail into the past, to Mahaut's Planet, to the Nebula
Casino on Galipto, through a series of sordid crimes that turns an
honest man's stomach. We have warrants for your arrest from each of
these places, in some cases even the results of trials and your death
sentence."
"I suppose it doesn't bother your sense of legality that those trials
were all held in my absence," Jason asked. "Or that I have only
fleeced casinos and gamblers--who make their living by fleecing
suckers?"
Mikah Samon wiped away this consideration with a wave of his hand.
"You have been proven guilty of a number of crimes. No amount of
wriggling on the hook can change that. You should be thankful that
your revolting record will have a good use in the end. It will be the
lever with which we shall topple the grafting government of Cassylia."
"I'm beginning to be sorry that I stopped Kerk and Meta from shooting
you," Jason said, shaking his head in wonder. "I have a very strong
suspicion that you are going to cause yourself--and a lot of other
people--a good deal of trouble before this thing is over. Look at me
for instance--" he rattled his wrists in their restraining bands. The
servo motors whined a bit as the detector unit came to life and
tightened the grasp of the cuffs, limiting his movement. "A little
while ago I was enjoying my health and freedom and I threw it all away
on the impulse to save your life. I'm going to have to learn to fight
those impulses."
"If that is supposed to be a plea for mercy, it is sickening," Mikah
said. "I have never taken favors nor do I owe anything to men of your
type. Nor will I ever."
"_Ever_ like _never_ is a long time," Jason said very quietly. "I wish
I had your serenity of mind about the sure order of things."
"Your remark shows that there might be hope for you yet. You might be
able to recognise the Truth before you die. I will help you, talk to
you and explain."
"Better the execution," Jason choked.