Guy didn't answer. And Charalas smiled. "I've said my piece," he told
Maynard. "Take it as from an old, old, bothersome man who may be bitter
because of his age."
"Charalas, you are Ertene's foremost neuro-surgeon, and also one of the
most popular philosophers. I'll accept your arguments. But I am still
convinced that Ertene will suffer if any alliance is formed between
Terra and Ertene."
"A little suffering might wake us from our lethargy, but it is also
human nature to let the other guy suffer. We'll go on and on until we
get caught. Some day," promised Charalas, "Ertene will suffer. It's
just a matter of time before we get caught."
"Not if I can help it," said Maynard stoutly.
The door opened to admit Thomakein. He bore a sheaf of papers. He
looked surprised at Charalas and then greeted the neuro-surgeon. "Been
here long?"
"Couple of hours," answered Charalas. "Elanane and I have been
discussing the state of Ertene."
Thomakein's forehead wrinkled, and he cast a worried look at Guy, who
smiled cheerfully. "Have you come to a conclusion?" he asked with
forced cheer.
"We've decided that Ertene may be in for trouble some day," said
Charalas. "And also that we'll forestall it as best we can."
"That's what I came for," said Thomakein. "We're setting up vortex
projectors on strategic places. We need your signature, Elanane, on the
orders which procure the land."
"Upon what basis?"
"Purchase, of course."
"I'll sign--and pray that they are never used."
"So will we all," smiled Thomakein. "But to need them and not have them
would be terrible."
Guy signed the papers, and Thomakein left with Charalas. Maynard smiled
inwardly as they left. Thomakein's anxiety was so obvious; he wanted
to question Charalas to see what, if anything, was said that might lead
to trouble. He shrugged as the phone rang once and a girlish voice
told him that she was home and could she come up to see him. The voice
clicked a chord in Guy's mind, and he answered: "Come on up, Leilanane."
He wondered whether it was customary for the lanee to kiss his sister
on every possible occasion; his thought-beam instrument gave him enough
information to make his heart beat faster.
* * * * *
The days passed swiftly for Guy Maynard. Had he been the real Elanane,
they would have passed slowly, for nothing of any real interest
transpired. It was a humdrum life, he found. The affairs of state
were few and far between, and more and more Guy came to believe that
Ertene's system was as good or better than the turmoil that prevailed
on Terra. The only activity that went on was the construction of the
vortex machines, and that was the job of a few, specially-trained
technicians. Guy found his time passing swiftly because of the constant
necessity of keeping his guard up.
The thought-beam instrument kept him out of trouble, and gradually he
completed it, making the special parts in a tiny workshop that the real
Elanane had furnished. He thanked the dead lanee for having that kind
of a hobby, and used it to the best advantage.
Leilanane helped. The affairs of state were the small part of being
lanee, but the social functions were nightly. And since Lanee Elanane
had no mate, nor cared to speak with intent, he appeared at the state
functions with his sister. He was gently criticized for this; not as
lanee, but for the fact that he prevented his sister from the company
of young men of her own set. In shorter, blunter words, Guy was
"spoiling her chances!"
But Leilanane did not seem to care. She was happy. Guy pondered this,
and wondered whether she would have been as happy with her real
brother, or whether the facts, though unknown to her mind, were not
unknown to the chemistry that attracted men and women mutually.
Wondering, Guy opened the gain of his instrument one evening and looked
into her mind. He wanted to know, truly, whether she preferred him, or
whether her preference was but a desire to serve him. To Guy's way of
thinking, there was a difference in love between love of the man and
love of doing things for him.
So Guy looked and retreated blushing. For in Leilanane's mind there was
confusion and frustration; she was bitter against the laws that forbade
mating between blood relatives. That one experience told Guy how huge a
weapon the thought-beam instrument really was, and he swore never to do
that again.
It also gave him confusion. He was in no position to ponder
the unanswerable question he put to himself. It evolved into a
merry-go-round that left him dizzy. In telling Leilanane the truth,
he could establish a right to openly court her. But it would at once
remove any possibility of remaining close to her. On the other hand
not telling her kept them together--with the most formidable barrier
between them.
It gave Maynard sleepless nights, and in order to keep from thinking
himself into a bottomless pit, Guy started to build a thought-beam
instrument of monster proportions. What he hoped to do with the
instrument he did not know, but at one time he considered using it to
condition Ertene into believing that it would be proper to mate him
with his sister. When he analyzed the latter consideration, he scorned
himself for thinking of it. He'd be throwing Ertene to the dogs for his
own personal desire for a woman. And then he knew that no matter how he
felt, he could not use the instrument in that manner.
It was excellent, he found, for gaining information without the giver's
knowledge. But trying to coerce the individual in the slightest thing
was impossible without letting the one know that mental tricks were
being played.
He was forced to do some fast talking on the day he found that out,
and only managed to talk himself out of trouble by calling to mind and
attention the fact that he had known the man for many kilodays.
If the small one were that ticklish a proposition, the larger one would
be more brutal in its operation. Yet he continued to work on the thing
as a means of keeping his mind and hands busy. So night after night he
worked in the little workshop, and then as he grew drowsy at his bench,
Guy would stand under the stars upon the spiderweb of a foot-bridge
that connected the governmental offices with the governmental
apartments. He would look Solward and wonder how and why such a mess
had been made of his life, and whether happiness would always be out of
grasp.
He counted on his fingers. He'd been kidnaped, and he'd spent a
year on Ertene. That was one. There was a year or so developing the
barrier-screen--that made two. There were five years of advancing from
senior executive to marshal's rank, and that made seven. It was a year
since his being discharged from the Terran Space Patrol, and that made
eight years.
Eight long years since he hadn't had a care on his mind. And in spite
of his successes, there was that constant gnawing knowledge that he was
not true to himself or his fellows. Yet, his conscience was clear. The
knowledge had not been bad for his morale; it was merely disconcerting
to know that the things they gave him credit for were not his own.
Maynard did not consider for one moment that Ertene hadn't given him
everything. It took inventive genius to fit the barrier to spacecraft,
and the other developments were all Maynard's own. But he scorned them
all and debased himself.