In the lanee's apartments, Guy sat down to think. It was morning,
breakfast was over, and Guy had enjoyed a full night of deep and honest
sleep. He had analyzed things to his satisfaction right up to the next
move, and that troubled him.
There was no doubting Thomakein's statements concerning the need
for masquerade, though Guy wondered whether it wasn't slightly
off color. But Thomakein was of Ertene, and should know the temper
of the Ertinians better than any Terran. Certainly there was no
doubting Thomakein's ideals. And as for his friendship--that was well
established.
But Thomakein was a little glib in expecting a rank outsider to come
in and masquerade as a Public figure. It would be hard enough to act
as a mere citizen with no popularity, let alone a rising, popular, and
well-balanced governor of a planet.
He fingered the book of Elanane's friends and their descriptions and
habits, and despaired of ever being able to call them by name, much
less knowing them well enough to discuss their favorite subjects with
them. It was a heavy volume, and Guy knew that Elanane was very much
loved by his people.
Habit set in at this point, and Guy opened his little kit to shave
before he recalled the depilatory that Thomakein gave him. Shaving, for
Guy Maynard, was over forever since his trial of the rather tingling
unguent that morning.
But--beside his razor was the partly-assembled thought-beam instrument.
Guy laughed aloud.
This would put him in the possession of anything that was needed. And
Guy grinned again. This was his secret. Let Thomakein think that he was
really brilliant. He'd use the thought-beam gadget for himself, and
use it for the best. Besides, letting knowledge of the thought-beam
instrument out would be as dangerous for Guy on Ertene as it would
have been on Terra. No one alive, save Guy, knew of the instrument. Its
inventors were dead and gone and every instrument of its kind a smoking
mass of burned components. For his own protection, he would keep this
one secret.
He snorted in derision. Would he never finish having secrets to keep?
Was his life to continue with one important phase hidden from the
world? Would he never be free?
Or, came the comforting thought, do all men have something hidden from
their fellows?
Finishing the instrument was impossible at the present time. That
would take some work. But if Guy by-passed some of the finer
circuits, he could at least gain a crude idea of a man's surface
thoughts, especially if they were directed at him. Guy started to
hook the partially-completed instrument together, and considered the
effectiveness of the instrument.
It was small, luckily. It fitted one pouch of the pocket-belt to
perfection, and Guy closed the flap over the instrument and snapped the
little catch with confidence.
Guy nodded. Then he rang for his valet.
"You rang." It was an introductory statement rather than a redundant
question, and it held none of the abruptness that a query as to the
wants of the lanee might have held.
Guy faced the Ertinian and read in the man's mind that his name was
Willadoran. "Willadoran, when is Leilanane expected to arrive?"
In the man's mind Guy could see admiration for his lanee, enhanced
since the busy governor had time to think of his younger sister no
matter how busy he was.
"Sometime today," answered Willadoran.
"I wonder if I'll have time to see Charalas first."
An annoying thought crossed Willadoran's mind--had Elanane forgotten
that Charalas never awakened at this time?
"I mean after Charalas arises," amended Guy.
Elanane must be reading my mind, came the amused thought. "I'll see,"
came the reply, "that he is informed of your desire as soon as he
awakens."
"Good," said Guy. He reminded himself never to take an expressed
thought for speech. He smiled inwardly at Willadoran's amusement and
wondered what the valet would do if the truth were known. Willadoran
was highly amused at the idea that Elanane was a mind-reader, and
considered the act utterly impossible.
A deep-seated impulse to shock the valet crossed Guy's mind, and it was
only with trouble that he stifled the impulse.
Guy tried to discern Willadoran's thought concerning Charalas again,
but it was a blank. Thomakein was blank, as was Leilanane, and Guy
decided that his instrument was not sensitive enough to dig these
deep-seated thoughts out of the below-threshold level. Only the surface
thoughts were available--which, thought Guy, were sufficient.
Guy spent an hour speculating, and roaming the apartment to investigate
its mysteries. Then Charalas came.
The neuro-surgeon smiled affably, looked around, and asked: "Well,
where is it?"
Guy started, and then smiled. "You're slightly earlier than I
expected." He went to the cupboard indicated in Charalas' mind and
returned with the toran set. He was about to ask: _white or black?_
when he perceived that Charalas expected the black men since he
had been victorious on their last game. Reading the positions from
Charalas' mind, Guy set up the various men upon their proper squares,
and offered Charalas the first move, which was proper.
Guy's knowledge of chess was fair, and toran was an Ertinian version of
the ancient Terran game. He had no idea as to the moves, but--Charalas
thought: _Elanane always counters my first move by counter-attacking
with his vassal._
Guy moved the minor piece up to confront the other.
Charalas covered his pawn with a major piece and Guy countered with
exactly the one thought that Charalas hoped against.
Charalas set up a complicated trap, and sat back thinking: _Let's see
you outguess that one, Elanane._
Guy wondered about the move of the castle piece, and touched it
briefly. _Four moves in any direction_, came Charalas' thought. Guy
moved the castle, and Charalas thought: _Now why did he do that?_
Guy worried. Elanane might not have made that move.
_If I move my protector, he should fall into the trap by capturing it.
He always does._
Guy decided that this game was no fun at all, and took the piece.
Charalas smiled brightly and removed three of Guy's major pieces with
a single move, Guy countered by making the one move that Charalas did
not want, and the Ertinian lost the piece that he was hoping to save.
The rest was quick, Charalas moved and Guy countered, but Charalas
triumphed because Guy didn't know enough to set up his own traps. He
could avoid Charalas' traps, but in simple exchanges he lost ground,
and finally Charalas removed the last white piece from the board.
The neuro-surgeon smiled tolerantly, "You may be lanee, Elanane, but I
am still your master at toran."
"I'll learn some day," promised Guy.
"You seemed preoccupied," said Charalas. "You've been worrying."
"That's possible."
"About Sol, I'd guess."
"Right."
"Why worry about them?" asked Charalas.
"They threaten our integrity."
"You mean since Thomakein informed us that the Terran, Gomanar, was
forced to violate his oath?"
Guy blinked. To treat this properly, he would have to absolutely
divorce himself from his personality and treat the Terran as another
entity. "Yes," he said. "The Terrans, according to Thomakein, are more
than capable of setting up a detector that will detect the presence of
the light-shield."
"We'll cross that bridge when it comes."
"We should look forward to it--and plan."
"Elanane," said Charalas, "my loyalty has never been questioned. For a
moment, I'd like to discuss this as an impartial observer."
"Of course."
"Ertene is stale."
"Stale?" asked Guy in astonishment.
"Ertene has lost the pathway that leads to the apex," said Charalas.
"We have become soft and stale."
"I don't understand."
* * * * *
"When mankind came to Ertene, he was a soft, inefficient creature.
Nature had tried size, force, quantity, physical adaptability, and a
score of other concepts before she tried brains. Mankind was nature's
experiment with brains as a means of survival. We are a weakling race,
Elanane. Unarmed, we are no match for any of the beasts of the jungle.
Dropped into the depths of uncivilization--naked and alone--what
happens?"
"We die."
"No we do not. Within fifteen minutes we are armed with a stone bound
to a treelimb. Then we are the match for anything that lives. Within a
day, we are supreme in our jungleland. Our home is in a tree. Snares
are set for food animals, death traps are set for carnivores, and the
jungle is cleared for our safety. And, Elanane, from that time on the
beasts of the jungle avoid us. We, the weakling creature, are to be
feared mortally."
"Granted, but what has that to do with the present?"
"Mankind fought the jungle to supremacy. Mankind fought beasts, the
cannibals, and nature herself. He pushed himself upward by walking on
the heads of those below him. Then he fought with himself, since there
was nothing left that was worthy of his mettle. He fought himself
because he could gain no more by fighting lesser things."
"What may we gain by fighting among ourselves?" asked Guy.
"The right way to live," said Charalas thoughtfully. "Consider,
Elanane, the extremes of government. No matter what you call them,
they are absolute anarchy and absolute tyranny, and between these two
lie every other form of government. Obviously complete anarchy is
impossible at the present level of human nature. Equally obvious is the
impossibility of absolute tyranny in a culture based upon ambition and
education. But, Elanane, somewhere between these extremes is the best
system."
"Can fighting find it?" asked Guy doubtfully.
"It is the only way. Consider an hypothetical planet containing two
continents of equal size, on opposite hemispheres. One continent
is absolute anarchy, the other complete tyranny." Charalas grinned
boyishly for all of his years. "Obviously they have been living
in complete ignorance of one another up to now, for otherwise they
couldn't have arrived at those extremes.
"Well, it is hypothetical, anyway, and there are your constants. This
goes on, and then one day one of two things happen. Either is possible
and I am not plumping for either side--but the two possibilities are:
One, the tyrant decides to gather the anarchs under his rule, or; two:
the anarchs decide to free their fellows from the tyrant rule. This,
Elanane, means war, to quote an ancient cry.
"Immediately the tyrant finds that he cannot run the whole show by
himself, so he relegates power to able men. The anarchs decide that
they are impotent, and elect leaders to run certain phases of the
campaign. So we have less of a tyranny on one side and less anarchy on
the other. In either case, power relegated is seldom regained, and as
the years bear on, war after war is fought and either side approaches a
norm."