Martin Holliday climbed slowly out of the shuttle's lock and moved
fumblingly down the stairs, leaning on the attendant's arm. His face was
a mottled gray, and his hands shook uncontrollably. He stepped down to
the tarmac and his head turned from side to side as his eyes gulped the
field's distances.
Marlowe sat behind the desk that had been put down in the middle of this
emptiness, his eyes brooding as he looked at Holliday. Bussard stood
beside him, trying nervously to appear noncommittal, while Mead went up
to the shaking old man, grasped his hand, and brought him over to the
desk.
Marlowe shifted uncomfortably. The desk was standard size, and he had to
sit far away from it. He could not feel at ease in such a position.
His thick fingers went into the side pocket of his jacket and peeled the
film off a candy bar, and he began to eat it, holding it in his left
hand, as Mead introduced Holliday.
"How do you do, Mr. Holliday?" Marlowe said, his voice higher than he
would have liked it, while he shook the man's hand.
"I'm ... I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Secretary," Holliday replied. His
eyes were darting past Marlowe's head.
"This is Mr. Bussard, of Emigration, and you know Mr. Mead, of course.
Now, I think we can all sit down."
Mead's chair was next to Holliday's, and Bussard's was to one side of
the desk, so that only Marlowe, unavoidably, blocked his complete view
of the stretching tarmac.
"First of all, Mr. Holliday, I'd like to thank you for coming back.
Please believe me when I say we would not have made such a request if it
were not urgently necessary."
"It's all right," Holliday said in a low, apologetic voice. "I don't
mind."
Marlowe winced, but he had to go on.
"Have you seen a news broadcast recently, Mr. Holliday?"
The man shook his head in embarrassment. "No, sir. I've been ... asleep
most of the time."
"I understand, Mr. Holliday. I didn't really expect you had under the
circumstances. The situation is this:
"Some time ago, our survey ships, working out in their usual expanding
pattern, encountered an alien civilization on a world designated Moore
II on our maps, and which the natives call Dovenil. It was largely a
routine matter, no different from any other alien contact which we've
had. They had a relatively high technology, embracing the beginnings of
interplanetary flight, and our contact teams were soon able to work out
a diplomatic status mutually satisfactory to both.
"Social observers were exchanged, in accordance with the usual practice,
and everything seemed to be going well."
Holliday nodded out of painful politeness, not seeing the connection
with himself. Some of his nervousness was beginning to fade, but it was
impossible for him to be really at ease with so many people near him,
with all of Earth's billions lurking at the edge of the tarmac.
"However," Marlowe went on as quickly as he could, "today, our
representative was deported on a trumped-up charge. Undoubtedly, this is
only the first move in some complicated scheme directed against the
Union. What it is, we do not yet know, but further observation of the
actions of their own representative on this planet has convinced us that
they are a clever, ruthless people, living in a society which would have
put Machiavelli to shame. They are single-minded of purpose, and welded
into a tight group whose major purpose in life is the service of the
state in its major purpose, which, by all indications, is that of
eventually dominating the universe.
"You know our libertarian society. You know that the Union government is
almost powerless, and that the Union itself is nothing but a loose
federation composed of a large number of independent nations tied
together by very little more than the fact that we are all Earthmen.
"We are almost helpless in the face of such a nation as the Dovenilids.
They have already outmaneuvered us once, despite our best efforts. There
is no sign that they will not be able to do so again, at will.
"We must, somehow, discover what the Dovenilids intend to do next. For
this reason, I earnestly request that you accept our offer of another
planet than the one you have optioned, closer to the Dovenilid system.
We are willing, under these extraordinary circumstances, to consider
your credit sufficient for the outright purchase of half the planet, and
Mr. Bussard, here, will do his utmost to get you suitable colonists for
the other half as rapidly as it can be done. Will you help us, Mr.
Holliday?"
* * * * *
Marlowe sank back in his chair. He became conscious of a messy feeling
in his left hand, and looked down to discover the half-eaten candy bar
had melted. He tried furtively to wipe his hand clean on the underside
of the desk, but he knew Bussard had noticed, and he cringed and cursed
himself.
Holliday's face twisted nervously.
"I ... I don't know--"
"Please don't misunderstand us, Mr. Holliday," Marlowe said. "We do not
intend to ask you to spy for us, nor are we acting with the intention of
now establishing a base of any sort on the planet. We simply would like
to have a Union world near the Dovenilid system. Whatever Dovenil does
will not have gathered significant momentum by the end of your life. You
will be free to end your days exactly as you have always wished, and the
precautions we have outlined will ensure that there will be no
encroachments on your personal property during that time. We are
planning for the next generation, when Dovenil will be initiating its
program of expansion. It is then that we will need an established
outpost near their borders."
"Yes," Holliday said hesitantly, "I can understand that. I ... I don't
know," he repeated. "It seems all right. And, as you say, it won't
matter, during my lifetime, and it's more than I had really hoped for."
He looked nervously at Mead. "What do you think, Mr. Mead? You've always
done your best for me."
Mead shot one quick glance at Marlowe. "I think Mr. Marlowe's doing his
best for the Union," he said finally, "and I know he is fully aware of
your personal interests. I think what he's doing is reasonable under the
circumstances, and I think his proposition to you, as he's outlined it,
is something which you cannot afford to not consider. The final decision
is up to you, of course."
Holliday nodded slowly, staring down at his hands. "Yes, yes, I think
you're right, Mr. Mead." He looked up at Marlowe. "I'll be glad to help.
And I'm grateful for the consideration you've shown me."
"Not at all, Mr. Holliday. The Union is in your debt."
Marlowe wiped his hand on the underside of the desk again, but he only
made matters worse, for his fingers picked up some of the chocolate he
had removed before.
"Mr. Mead, will you give Mr. Holliday the details on the new planet?" he
said, trying to get his handkerchief out without smearing his suit. He
could almost hear Bussard snickering.
* * * * *
Holliday signed the new option contract and shook Marlowe's hand. "I'd
like to thank you again, sir. Looking at it from my point of view, it's
something for nothing--at least, while I'm alive. And it's a very nice
planet, too, from the way Mr. Mead described it. Even better than
Karlshaven."
"Nevertheless, Mr. Holliday," Marlowe said, "you have done the Union a
great service. We would consider it an honor if you allowed us to enter
your planet in our records under the name of Holliday."
He kept his eyes away from Mead.
Martin Holliday's eyes were shining. "Thank you, Mr. Marlowe," he said
huskily.
Marlowe could think of no reply. Finally, he simply nodded. "It's been a
pleasure meeting you, Mr. Holliday. We've arranged transportation, and
your shuttle will be taking off very shortly."
Holliday's face began to bead with fresh perspiration at the thought of
bulkheads enclosing him once more, but he managed to smile, and then
ask, hesitantly: "May I ... may I wait for the shuttle out here, sir?"
"Certainly. We'll arrange for that. Well, good-by, Mr. Holliday."
"Good-by, Mr. Marlowe. Good-by, Mr. Bussard. And good-by, Mr. Mead. I
don't suppose you'll be seeing me again."
"Good luck, Mr. Holliday," Mead said.
* * * * *
Marlowe twisted awkwardly on the car's back seat, wiping futilely at the
long smear of chocolate on his trouser pocket.
Well, he thought, at least he'd given the old man his name on the star
maps until Earthmen stopped roving.
At least he'd given him that.
Mead was looking at him. "I don't suppose we've got time to let him die
in peace, have we?" he asked.
Marlowe shook his head.
"I suppose we'll have to start breaking him immediately, won't we?"
Marlowe nodded.
"I'll get at it right away, sir."
_Dave!_ Does everyone have to hate me? Can't anyone understand? Even
you, uh--Creed. Even you, Mead?