_"I recall," said the Businessman, "that William Wrigley, Junior,
once said:_ 'When two men in a business always agree, one of them is
unnecessary.' _How true that is."_
_The Philosopher cast his eyes toward Heaven. "O God! The Mercantile
Mind!" He looked back at the Businessman. "When two men in a
business always agree, one of them will come in handy as a
scapegoat."_
_THE IDLE WORSHIPERS_
by R. Phillip Dachboden
[Illustration]
Lord Barrick Sorban, Colonel, H.I.M.O.G., Ret., sipped gently at his
drink and looked mildly at the sheaf of newsfacsimile that he'd just
bought fresh from the reproducer in the lobby of the Royal Hotel. Sorban
did not look like a man of action; he certainly did not look like a
retired colonel of His Imperial Majesty's Own Guard. The most likely
reason for this was that he was neither.
Not that he was incapable of action on a physical level if it became
necessary; he was past forty, but his tough, hard body was in as fine a
shape as it had been fifteen years before, and his reflexes had slowed
only slightly. The only major change that had occurred in his body
during that time had been the replacement of an irreparably damaged left
hand by a prosthetic.
But Lord Barrick Sorban preferred to use his mind, to initiate action in
others rather than himself, and his face showed it. His was a precision
mind, capable of fast, accurate computations, and his eyes betrayed the
fact, but the rest of his face looked, if anything, rather like that of
a gentle, persuasive schoolteacher--the type whom children love and
parents admire and both obey.
Nor was he a retired colonel of the Imperial bodyguard, except on paper.
According to the official records, he had been retired for medical
reasons--the missing left hand. In reality, his position in the Imperium
was a great deal higher than that of an ordinary colonel, and he was
still in the active service of the Emperor. It was a secret known only
to a comparative few, and one that was carefully guarded.
He was a fairly tall man, as an Imperial Guardsman had to be, with a
finely-shaped head and dark hair that was shot through with a single
streak of gray from an old burn wound. In an officer's uniform, he
looked impressive, but in civilian dress he looked like a competent
businessman.
He held the newsfac in his prosthetic left hand, which was
indistinguishable in appearance and in ordinary usage from the flesh,
bone, and blood that it had replaced. Indeed, the right hand, with its
stiff little finger, often appeared to be more useless than the left.
The hand, holding the glass of rye-and-ginger, gave an impression of
over-daintiness because of that stiff digit.
Lord Sorban paid little attention to the other customers in the bar;
customers of the Green Room of the Royal Hotel weren't the noisy kind,
anyway. He kept his attention on the newsfac for the most part; only a
small amount of awareness was reserved for the approach of the man he
was waiting for.
The banner line on the newsfac said:
BAIRNVELL OCCUPIED
BY IMPERIAL FORCES
He read through the article hurriedly, absorbing what facts he didn't
know, and then flipped over to the editorial page. If he knew the
_Globe_, there would sure as Space be an editorial.
There was.
At 0231 Greenwich Earth Time, 3/37/229, the forces of the Imperial
Government occupied the planet Bairnvell. (See article, Page One.)
The ships of the Imperial Space Force landed, purportedly at the
request of Obar Del Pargon, rebel leader of the anti-Presidential
forces. That such an action should be condoned by the Imperial File
is astounding enough; that it should be ordered by the Prime
Portfolio himself is almost unbelievable.
The government of Bairnvell, under the leadership of President
Alverdan, was not, by any means, up to the standards of the Empire;
the standard of living is lower, and the political freedom of the
people is not at all what we are used to. But that is no excuse for
interfering with the lawful government of any planet. If the
Imperium uses these methods for extending its rule, the time must
eventually come when our own civil liberties will be in peril.
Perhaps Lord Senesin's actions are not so surprising, at that. This
is the third time during his tenure as Prime Portfolio that he has
arbitrarily exercised his power to interfere in the affairs of
governments outside the Empire. Each such action has precipitated a
crisis in Galactic affairs, and each has brought the Empire nearer
to conflict with the Gehan Federation. This one may be the final act
that will bring on interstellar war.
The ...
* * * * *
Colonel Lord Sorban stopped reading as he noticed the approach of the
man he'd been waiting for, but he didn't look up until the voice said:
"I see you've been reading it, my lord." The voice was bitter. "A real
fiasco this time, eh?"
Sorban looked up. "It looks like it might mean trouble," he said
carefully. "Have you read all of it, Mr. Senesin?"
The young man nodded. The bitterness in his voice was paralleled by the
bitterness reflected in his face. "Oh, yes. I read it. The other
newsfacs pretty much agreed with the _Globe_. I'm afraid my father seems
to be rather in the soup. Being Prime Portfolio in the Terran Empire
isn't the easiest way to stay out of trouble. They'll be screaming for a
Special Election next." He sat down next to the colonel and lowered his
voice just enough to keep anyone else from hearing it, but not enough to
sound conspiratorial. "I think I've got a line on those tapes."
Colonel Sorban raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well, I wish you luck. If you
can uncover them in time, you may be able to save your father's career,"
he said, in a voice that matched Senesin's.
"You don't sound very concerned, my lord," said young Senesin.
"It's not that," said the colonel. "I just find it difficult to believe
that--" He cut his words off as another man approached.
The second newcomer was a red-faced, plumpish man with an almost
offensively hearty manner. "Well, well! Good afternoon, Lord Sorban!
Haven't seen you in some time. A pleasure to see you again, my lord, a
distinct pleasure! I don't get to Honolulu often, you know. How long's
it been? Four years?"
"Two, I think," said the colonel.
"Really? Only two? It seems longer. How've you been?"
"Well enough," said the colonel. "Excuse me--Mr. Heywood, I'd like to
present you to the Honorable Jon Senesin; Mr. Senesin, this is Robar
Heywood, of South African Metals."
While the two men shook hands and mouthed the usual pleasantries,
Colonel Lord Sorban watched them with an amusement that didn't show on
his placid face. Young Senesin was rather angry that the _tête-á-tête_
had been interrupted, while Heywood seemed flustered and a trifle
stuffy.
"So you're the son of our Prime Portfolio, eh?" he said. There was a
trace of hostility in his voice.
Colonel Sorban saw what was coming and made no effort whatsoever to stop
it. Instead, he simply sat there in straight-faced enjoyment.
"That's correct, Mr. Heywood," Senesin said, a little stiffly.
"I should have known," Heywood said. "You look a great deal like him.
Although I don't know that I've ever seen your picture in the newsfacs
or on the screens."
"Dad prefers to keep his family out of the spotlight," said Senesin,
"unless we get publicity for something other than the accidental fact
that we happen to be the family of the Prime."
"Yes, yes, of course. I see. May I stand the three of us a drink?"
Senesin and the colonel were agreeable. The drinks were brought. Heywood
took a swallow of his, and remarked casually: "Do you agree with your
father's politics, sir?"
"I don't know," Senesin said flatly.
Heywood misunderstood completely. "Yes, I suppose it is a bit
disappointing. Hard for a man's son to divide his loyalty like that. You
can't support his actions, and yet you hesitate to condemn your own
father."
"You mistake my meaning, Mr. Heywood," young Senesin said sharply. "I
said, 'I don't know' because I honestly don't know what my father's
politics _is_ any more."
But Heywood only compounded his error. "Of course not. How could you?
Since he became Prime, his policies have been erratic and unpredictable,
not to say foolish."
_This is it_, thought the colonel, wondering what young Senesin's
reaction would be. He didn't have to wonder longer than half a second.
"Mr. Heywood," said Senesin, his voice oddly tight under the strain of
suppressed emotion, "a person should learn to know what he's talking
about before he makes any attempt to talk. If you must talk drivel about
my father, I'll thank you not to do it in my presence." And before
Heywood could formulate an answer, Senesin turned to the colonel. "If
you'll pardon me, my lord, I have another errand to perform. I'll see
you at eleven." Then he turned and walked out.
Heywood stared at his receding back. "Well," he said after a moment, "I
guess I spoke out of turn. But he seemed ..." He turned back to his
drink, shrugged. "Oh, well. Tell me, my lord, what do _you_ think of
Senesin's policies? How long do you think he'll last in office?"
The colonel adroitly avoided the first question by answering the second.
"I dare say he won't last long. There'll be a great fuss in the File,
and most of his own party will desert him--I think. They hardly have any
choice, considering the reaction of the populace to this Bairnvell
thing."
"And I agree," said Heywood decisively. "We've got no business
interfering with the lawful governments of planets and systems outside
the Empire. The old days of Imperial expansion are over. Why, the way
Lord Senesin acts, you'd think Emperor Jerris the First was on the
throne."
"Well, not quite," Colonel Lord Sorban said dryly. "I can't imagine any
Prime Portfolio in the time of Jerris I daring to act on his own
initiative."
"Exactly," said Heywood, just as though the colonel had agreed with him.
"That's why we have a constitutional Empire today. One man can't be
allowed that much power without the consent of the governed. The people
must have a right to depose anyone who abuses the power they give him."
He swallowed the remainder of his drink. "Can you imagine what it would
be like if the present Emperor tried to pull that sort of stuff? Not
that he _would_, mind you; he's too good an Emperor for that. He sticks
to his job. But these are different times. And then, too, we can't
afford to antagonize the Gehan Federation. After all, I mean, _war_ ..."
He shook his head at the thought.
Colonel Lord Sorban had listened to Heywood's soliloquy with patience,
but he felt his irritation growing. Much as he had enjoyed the play
between Heywood and young Senesin, he had expected to get some
information out of the boy before he left. And besides, Heywood's
clichéd monologue was beginning to pall.
Therefore, the colonel finished his own drink, uttered some polite
banalities and got out.
* * * * *
He walked around the corner to the restaurant, was bowed into a seat by
an ultrapolite android, and quietly ordered his meal. While he waited,
he spread the newsfac on the table in front of him, holding it with his
right hand while his left elbow rested on the table and his left palm
cradled his left jaw. In that position, there was nothing odd-looking
about the fact that his left thumbtip was in contact with his larynx and
his left middle finger was pressed tightly against the mastoid bone just
behind his left ear. His lips began to move slightly, and anyone at a
nearby table would have assumed that he was one of those readers who are
habitual lip-movers.
"The Senesin boy says he has a lead on the tapes. That's all I could get
out of him just now, but I have an appointment with him at eleven
tonight. How far shall I let him go, Sire?"
The sensitive microphone in the tip of his thumb picked up the nearly
inaudible sounds; the speaker in his middle finger vibrated against his
skull and brought him the answer to his question.
"For the moment, I'll leave that up to you. But I wouldn't try to stop
him just yet."
"Very well, Sire," murmured the colonel. He had already made up his mind
to let the Senesin boy go as far as he could. The lad was smart, and his
attack would at least provide a test for the psycho-sociological
defenses that surrounded the Emperor.
"Do you think those tapes--if they exist--are genuine?" the voice asked.
"According to young Senesin," the colonel said carefully, "the tapes are
supposed to show that certain ... ah ... 'highly-placed persons' in the
Imperial hierarchy are influencing members of the Government illegally.
You figure out what that might mean, Sire; it's a little too ambiguous
to mean much to me."
"'Influencing,' eh? That could mean anything from a broad hint, through
pressure and bribery, to actual brainwashing," said the voice from the
finger.
"Which one do you think it is, Sire?" the colonel asked with mock
innocency.