Cameron sucked on his pipe once more. "Ever hear of the Markovian
Nucleus?" he said thoughtfully.
Joyce slowly nodded her head. "Oh, I think I've heard the name
mentioned," she murmured, "but nothing more than that."
"I've asked for that as my research project."
"But that's clear out of the galaxy--in Transpace!"
"Yes, and obviously out of bounds for the ordinary graduate researcher.
But because of the scholarship record I've been able to rack up here I
took a chance on applying to the Corning Foundation for a grant. And
they decided to take a chance on me after considerable and not entirely
painless investigation. That's why you were followed around like a
suspected Disloyalist for a month. My application included a provision
for you to go along as my wife. Professor Fothergill notified me this
morning that the grant had been awarded."
"Cam--" Joyce's voice was brittle now. "You aren't fooling me?"
He gathered her in his arms again. "You think I would fool about
something like that, darling? In a week you'll be Mrs. C. Wilder, and as
soon as school is out, on your way to the Markovian Nucleus. And
besides, it took me almost as much work preparing the research
prospectus as the average guy spends on his whole project!"
* * * * *
Sometimes Joyce Farquhar wished Cameron were a good deal different than
he was. But then he wouldn't have been Cameron, and she wouldn't want to
marry him, she supposed. And somehow, while he fell behind on the
mid-stretch, he always managed to come in at the end with the rest of
the field. Or just a little bit ahead of it.
Or a good deal ahead of it. As now. It took her a few moments to realize
the magnitude of the coup he had actually pulled off. For weeks she had
been depressed because he refused to use some trivial, breeze research
to get his degree. He could have started it as much as a year ago, and
they could have been married now if he'd set himself up a real cinch.
But now they were getting married anyway--and Cameron was getting the
kind of research deal that would satisfy his frantic desire for
integrity in a world where it counted for little, and his wish to
contribute something genuine to the sociological understanding of
sentient creatures.
Their marriage, as was customary, would be a cut and dried affair. A
call to the license bureau, receipt of formal sanction in the mail--she
supposed Cameron had already made application--and a little party with a
few of their closest friends on the campus. She wished she had lived in
the days when getting married was much easier to do, and something to
make a fuss about.
She stirred and sat up, loosening the jacket as the sun came from behind
a puff of cloud. "You could have told me about this a long time ago,
couldn't you?" she said accusingly.
Cameron nodded. "I could have. But I didn't want to get false hopes
aroused. I didn't have much hope the deal would actually go through,
myself. I think Fothergill is pretty much responsible for it."
"Transpace--" Joyce said dreamily. "Tell me about the Markovian Nucleus.
Why is it important enough for a big research study, anyway?"
"It's a case of a leopard who changed his spots," said Cameron. "And
nobody knows how or why. The full title of the project is A Study of the
Metamorphosis of the Markovian Nucleus."
"What happened? How are they any different from the way they used to
be?"
"A hundred and fifty years ago the Markovians were the meanest,
nastiest, orneriest specimens in the entire Council of Galactic
Associates. The groups of worlds in one corner of their galaxy, which
make up the Nucleus, controlled a military force that outweighed
anything the Council could possibly bring to bear against them.
"With complete disregard of any scheme of interplanetary rules or order
they harassed and attacked peaceful shipping and inoffensive cultures
throughout a wide territory. They were something demanding the Council's
military action. But the Council lacked the strength.
"For years the Council dragged on, debating and threatening
ineffectively. But nothing was ever done. And then, so gradually it was
hardly noticed, the harassments began to die down. The warlike posturing
was abandoned by the Markovians. Within a period of about seventy or
eighty years there was a complete about-face. They wound up as good
Indians, peaceful, cooeperative and intelligent members of the Council."
"Didn't anybody ever find out why?" asked Joyce.
"No. Nobody _wanted_ to find out. In the early years the worlds of the
Council were hiding behind their collective hands hoping with all their
might that the threat might go away if they kept their eyes closed long
enough. And by some miracle of all miracles, when they parted their
fingers for a scared glimpse, the threat _had_ disappeared.
"When they could breathe a little more easily it seemed a foolish thing
to bring out this old skeleton from the closet again, so a perpetual
state of hush was established. Finally, the whole thing was practically
forgotten except for a short paragraph in an occasional history text.
But no politician or historian has ever dared publicly to question the
mysterious why of the Markovian's about-face."
"Sociologists should have done it long ago," said Joyce.
"There was always the political pressure, of course," said Cameron. "But
the real reason was simply our preoccupation with making bibliographies
of each others' papers. It's going to take a lot of leg work, something
in which our formal courses don't give us any basic training. Fothergill
understands that--it's why he pushed me so hard with the Foundation. And
Riley up there is capable of seeing it, too.
"I showed him that here was a complex of at least a hundred and ten
major planets, inhabited by a fairly homogenous, civilized people,
speaking from a technological point of view at least. And almost
overnight some force changed the entire cultural posture. I made him see
that identification of that force is of no small interest to us right
now. If it operated once, it could operate again--and would its results
be as happy a second time?
"Riley got the Foundation to kick through enough for you and me to make
a start. A preliminary survey is about all it will amount to, actually,
but if we show evidence of something tangible I'll get my degree, you'll
get your basic certification--and we'll both return in charge of a
full-scale inquiry with a staff big enough to really dig into things
next year.
"Now--about this matter of marriage which you didn't want me to speak
of--"
"Keep talking, Cam--you're doing wonderfully!"
* * * * *
They got married at once, even though there were several weeks of school
which had to be finished before they could leave. Among their friends on
the campus there were a good many whispered remarks about the insanity
of Joyce and Cameron in planning such a fantastic excursion, but Joyce
was certain there was as much envy as criticism in the eyes of her
associates. It might be true when they asserted that every conceivable
sociological factor or combination of factors could be found and
analyzed right here in the Solar System, but a husband who could finagle
a way to combine a honeymoon trip halfway across space with his graduate
research thesis was a rare specimen. Joyce played her advantage for all
it was worth.
Two weeks before departure time, however, Cameron was called to the
office of Professor Fothergill. As he entered he found a third man
present, wearing a uniform he recognized at once as belonging to the
Council Secretariat.
"I'll wait outside," he said abruptly as Fothergill turned. "I got your
message and came right over. I didn't know--"
"Sit down," said Fothergill. "Cameron, this is Mr. Ebbing, whose
position you no doubt recognize. Mr. Ebbing, Mr. Wilder."
The men shook hands and took seats across from each other. Fothergill
sat between them at the polished table. "The Council, it seems, has
developed an interest in your proposed research among the Markovians,"
he said. "I'll let Mr. Ebbing tell you about it."
Cameron felt a sinking anticipation within him as he turned to the
secretary. Surely the Council wasn't going to actively oppose the
investigation after so long a time!
The secretary coughed and shuffled the papers he drew from his case.
"It's not actually the Council's interest," he said, and Cameron was
immediately relieved. "But I have been asked by the Markovian Nucleus,
through their representative, to suggest that they would like to save
you the long and unnecessary trip. He offers to co-operate to the
fullest degree by causing all necessary materials to be transferred to
your site of study right here. He feels that this is the least they can
do since so much interest appears to exist in the Nucleus."
Cameron stared at the secretary, trying to discern what the man's own
attitude might be, but Ebbing gave no sign of playing it any way but
straight.
"It sounds like a polite invitation to stay home and mind our own
business," said Cameron finally. "They don't want company."
The secretary's expression changed to acknowledgment of the correct
appraisal. "They don't want any investigation into the Metamorphosis of
the Markovian Nucleus. There is no such thing. It is entirely a myth."
"Says the Markovians--!"
Ebbing nodded. "Says the Markovians. Other worlds, both within and
without the Council have persisted in spreading tales and rumors about
the Markovians for a long time. They don't like it. They are willing to
co-operate in having a correct analysis of their culture published, but
they don't want any more of these infamous rumors circulated."
"Then why aren't they willing to promote such an investigation? This
would be their big chance--if their ridiculous position were true!"
"They _are_ willing. I've told you the representative has offered to
send you all needed material showing the status of their culture."
Cameron looked at the secretary for a long time before speaking again.
"What's your position?" he asked finally. "Are we being ordered off the
investigation?"
"The Markovian representative doesn't want to go to quite that extreme.
He knows that, too, would react unfavorably towards his people. Here's
his point: So far, he's blocked news of your proposed research getting
to his home worlds. But he knows that if you do carry it out in the
manner you propose it is going to make a lot of the home folks mighty
unhappy and they'll demand to know why he didn't stop it. So he's trying
to satisfy both sides at once."
"Why will the people in the Nucleus be made unhappy by our coming?"
"Because you'll go there trying to track down the basis for the rumors
that defame the Markovian character. You'll bring forcibly to their
attention the fact that the rest of the Universe believes the Markovians
are basically a bunch of pirates."
"And the Markovians don't like to hear these things?"
"Definitely not."
"So you tell me the research is not being forbidden, but that the
Markovians won't like it. Suppose I tell you, then, I'm not going to
give up short of an order from the Council itself. But I am willing to
camouflage the investigation if necessary. I'll make no open mention of
what outside opinion says of the Markovians. I'll simply make a study of
their history and character as it becomes available to me."
Ebbing nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on Cameron's face. "I would say
that would be eminently satisfactory," he said. "I will inform the
representative of your decision."
Then his face became more severe. "The Council will be pleased to learn
of your willingness to be discreet. I wonder if you understand that the
Foundation came to us upon receipt of your application, for official
clearance of the project. It coincided quite fortuitously with the plans
of the Council itself. For a long time we have been concerned with the
lack of information regarding the Markovian situation and have been at a
loss as to how to improve our situation.
"Your proposed investigation seemed the answer, but we anticipated the
Markovian objection and had to make certain you would co-operate to his
satisfaction. I believe this will do it."
"Why is the Council concerned?" said Cameron. "Have the Markovians
changed their attitude in any way?"
"No--but the rest of us remember, even though we don't speak of it, that
the Nucleus was never punished for its depredations, nor was it ever
defeated. Its strength is as great as ever in proportion to the other
Council worlds.
"What are the chances and potentialities of the Nucleus worlds ever
again becoming the marauders they once were? That is the question which
we feel must be answered. Without knowing, we are sitting on a powder
keg in which the fuse may or may not be lighted. Will you bring us back
the answer we need?"
Cameron felt a sudden grimness which had not been present before. "I'll
do all I can," he said soberly. "If the information is there I'll bring
it back."
* * * * *
After the secretary had gone and Fothergill turned from the door to
rejoin him Cameron sat in faintly shocked consideration of the Council's
unexpected support. It took his research out of the realm of the purely
sociological and projected it into politics and diplomacy. He was
pleased by their confidence, but not cheered by the added
responsibility.
"That's a lucky break," said Fothergill enthusiastically, "and I'm
beginning to suspect you may be rather badly in need of all the breaks
you can get once you land among the Markovians. Don't forget for a
single minute that you are dealing with the sons and grandsons of
genuine pirates."
The professor sat down again. "There's one other little item of interest
I turned up the other day. You should know about it before you leave.
The Markovian Nucleus is somewhat of a hotbed of Ids."
"Ids--you mean the Idealists--?"