"We have gone to the Holliday government repeatedly," ud Klavan pleaded.
"They tell us the raiders are criminals, that they are doing their best
to stop them. But they still buy the metal the raiders bring them."
"They have to," Marlowe said. "There are no available resources
anywhere within practicable distances. If they're to have any
civilization at all, they've _got_ to buy from the outlaws."
"But they are members of the Union!" ud Klavan protested. "_Why_ won't
you do anything to stop them?"
"We can't," Marlowe said again. "They're members of the Union, yes, but
they're also a free republic. We have no administrative jurisdiction
over them, and if we attempted to establish one our citizens would rise
in protest all over our territory."
"Then we're finished. Dovenil is a dead world."
Marlowe nodded slowly. "I am very sorry. If there is anything I can do,
or that the Ministry can do, we will do it. But we cannot save the
Dovenilid state."
Ud Klavan looked at him bitterly. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for
your generous offer of a gracious funeral.
"I don't understand you!" he burst out suddenly. "I don't understand you
people! Diplomatic lies, yes. Expediency, yes! But this ... this
madness, this fanatical, illogical devotion of the state in the cause of
a people who will tolerate no state! This ... no, this I cannot
understand."
Marlowe looked at him, his eyes full of years.
"Ud Klavan," he said, "you are quite right. We are a race of maniacs.
And that is why Earthmen rule the galaxy. For our treaties are not
binding, and our promises are worthless. Our government does _not_
represent our people. It represents our people as they once were. The
delay in the democratic process is such that the treaty signed today
fulfills the promise of yesterday--but today the Body Politic has formed
a new opinion, is following a new logic which is completely at variance
with that of yesterday. An Earthman's promise--expressed in words or
deeds--is good _only at the instant he makes it_. A second later, new
factors have entered into the total circumstances, and a new chain of
logic has formed in his head--to be altered again, a few seconds later."
He thought, suddenly, of that poor claustrophobic devil, Holliday,
harried from planet to planet, never given a moment's rest--and
civilizing, civilizing, spreading the race of humankind wherever he was
driven. Civilizing with a fervor no hired dummy could have accomplished,
driven by his fear to sell with all the real estate agent's talent that
had been born in him, selling for the sake of money with which to buy
that land he needed for his peace--and always being forced to sell a
little too much.
Ud Klavan rose from his chair. "You are also right, Marlowe. You are a
race of maniacs, gibbering across the stars. And know, Marlowe, that the
other races of the universe hate you."
Marlowe with a tremendous effort heaved himself out of his chair.
"Hate us?" He lumbered around the desk and advanced on the frightened
Dovenilid, who was retreating backwards before his path.
"Can't you see it? Don't you understand that, if we are to pursue any
course of action over a long time--if we are ever going to achieve a
galaxy in which an Earthman can some day live at peace with himself--we
must each day violate all the moral codes and creeds which we held
inviolate the day before? That we must fight against every ideal, every
principle which our fathers taught us, because they no longer apply to
our new logic?
"_You_ hate us!" He thrust his fat hand, its nails bitten down to the
quick and beyond, in front of the cringing alien's eyes.
"You poor, weak, single-minded, ineffectual thing! We hate ourselves!"