"You've mentioned the possibility of payment," said Scyth smoothly.
"We expect and intend to pay. But not in money, Dusty. In service
and commerce and in many other ways. For instance, we know that your
group--I cannot call it your 'race' because your race is ours--must
stem from an early expedition and so you are a lost offshoot. As soon
as we can, we will come to you with teachers and learned men to help
you regain your rightful place as a part of our Galactic Culture."
Dusty looked at Scyth. In his mind churned a hundred objections to the
whole thing. He did not like it at all, but he was logical enough to
realize that his objections would be waved aside and the Marandanians
would go on and do as they planned anyway. On the other hand, maybe if
Dusty Britton were to take a large hand in this affair and carry it off
successfully, Dusty Britton could become a large figure indeed.
"It will be a bit difficult," he said slowly. "People are not going to
take to the idea of losing their sky and sun and a thousand years out
of the middle of their lives."
"The thousand years are peanuts. Nobody will notice it. The swap in
suns is only a sentimental objection. One sun is like the next and
we'll see to it that they are as close as can be had. The change in
stellar appearance is deplorable, I admit. But it will give you one
advantage, Dusty. Like most skies, they are divided off into primitive
legendary shapes with neither rhyme nor reason. A cluttered mess. With
a fresh start you can make some reason to the constellations. These
are the sort of arguments you must use, Dusty. As a final reminder,
you must remember that this is what is going to be done. Period. It
is necessary and it cannot be stopped. Therefore you and your people
should accept it and make the best of it. Therefore, in what will seem
like three weeks, you will be by another star, under a strange sky, a
thousand years from this moment. And my people will be there waiting to
help you on your climb to the pinnacle of culture.
"But now I must go. Take my words back to your leaders, Dusty. You will
go down in history; make the best of it!"
As abruptly as that--Scyth Radnor arose from the deck of the Buccaneer,
climbed onto his runway, and was drawn back into the big spacecraft.
The spacelock closed smoothly and the huge ship rose silently out of
the sea and arrowed towards the high blue sky. The only noise was the
whistle of its passage through the air above.
* * * * *
Scyth landed beside the bubble on Mercury's dark side not long after.
Chat greeted him with a question about his success and Scyth smiled.
"Naturally they didn't cotton to it," he said. "No one ever would."
Chat nodded agreement. "They wouldn't stand in the path of advancement,
would they?"
Scyth chuckled. "I'm getting to be something of a diplomat," he said.
"Not good, but I think adequate."
"Yes?"
"Sure. First I told them about the beacon and let them ask questions
about it to whet their curiosity. Then I explained what the beacon
was, which horrified them completely, as it should. Then after letting
them cook in their own fright for some time I let them down easy by
explaining how we would help to save them. So now there's nothing to do
but to finish off the job."
"Right. How long will it take for you to get the barytrine generator
set up and ticking?"
"Call it a couple of weeks. I'll have to go back to Marandis for the
generator. It may take me a day or two to get it, you know. We'll
have to get our license revised, and we'll have to put a bond against
the safety of this planet Earth, as they call it. Of course, we'll
have lots of time to look for another sun where we can put their
planet; we can do that after the beacon is started and they're out of
danger-distance."
Bren said, "So the first thing for you to do is to hike back to
Marandis and get your barytrine generator."
Chat added, "When you take off from here, be sure you go due North
until you're a long way out of line. No use in advertising our
position."
"Right. I'll fog-off the course as best I can."