II

Cameron admitted to himself that he was getting more edgy as the day of

departure approached, but he tried to keep Joyce from seeing it. He was

worried about the possible development of further opposition now that

the Markovian had expressed his displeasure, and he was worried about

their reception once they reached the Nucleus. He wondered why they had

not seen in advance that it would be an obvious blunder to let the

Markovians be aware of their real purpose. It didn't even require a

pirate ancestry to make groups unappreciative about resurrection of

their family skeletons.

But no other hindrance appeared, and on the evening before their

departure Fothergill called that word had been received from Ebbing

stating the Markovian representative had approved the visit now that

Cameron had expressed a change in his objectives. Their coming had been

announced to the Markovian people and the way prepared for an official

welcome.

Cameron was pleased by the change of attitude. He was hit for the first

time, however, by the full force of the fact that he was taking his

bride to a pirate center which the Council had never overthrown and

which was active only moments ago, culturally speaking.

If any kind of trouble should develop the Council would be almost

impotent in offering them assistance. On the face of it, there was no

reason to expect trouble. But the peculiarly oblique opposition of the

Markovian delegate in the Council continued to make him uneasy.

His tentative suggestion that he would feel better if he knew she were

safe on Earth brought a blistering response from Joyce, which left him

with no doubts about carrying out his original plans.

And then, as the last of their packing was completed and they were ready

to call it a day, the phone buzzed. Cameron hesitated, determined to let

it go unanswered, then punched the button irritably on audio only.

Instead of the caller, he heard the voice of the operator. "One moment

please. Interstellar, Transpace, printed. Please connect visio."

It was like a shock, he thought afterwards. There was no one he knew who

could be making such a call to him. But automatically he did as

directed. Joyce had come up and was peering over his shoulder now. The

screen fluttered for a moment with polychrome colors and cleared. The

message, printed for English translation, stood out sharply. Joyce and

Cameron exclaimed simultaneously at the titling. It was from Premier

Jargla, Executive Head of the Markovian Government.

"To Wilder, Cameron and Joyce," it read, "greetings and appreciation for

your proposed visit to the Markovian Nucleus for study of our history

and customs. We have not been before so honored. We feel, however, that

it is an imposition on your Foundation and on you personally to require

that you make the long journey to the Nucleus for this purpose alone.

While we would be honored to entertain you--"

It was the same proposition as Ebbing had reported the delegate offered.

Only this time it was from the head of the Markovian government himself.

They sat up nearly all the rest of the night considering this new

development. "Maybe you shouldn't go, after all," said Joyce once.

"Maybe this is something that needs bigger handling than we can possibly

give it."

Cameron shook his head. "_I've_ got to go. They haven't closed the door

and said we can't come. If I backed out before they did, I'd be known

the rest of my life as the guy who was _going_ to crack the Markovian

problem. But I'd much rather you--"

"No! If you're going, so am I."

* * * * *

They consulted again with Fothergill and finally drafted as polite a

reply as possible, explaining they were newly married, desired to make

the trip a honeymoon excursion primarily and conduct an investigation

into Markovian culture to prevent the waste of the wonderful opportunity

their visit would afford them.

An hour before takeoff a polite acknowledgment came back from the

Nucleus assuring them a warm welcome and congratulating them on their

marriage. They went at once to the spaceport and took over their

stateroom. "Before anything else happens to try to pull us off this

investigation," Cameron said.

The trip would be a long one, involving more than two months subjective

time, because no express runs moved any distance at all in the direction

of the Nucleus. It was necessary to transfer three times, with days of

waiting between ships on planets whose surface conditions permitted

exploration only in cumbersome suits that could not be worn for more

than short periods. Most of the waiting time was spent in the visitors'

chambers at the landing fields.

These seemed to grow progressively worse. The last one could not

maintain a gravity below 2G, and the minimum temperature available was

104 degrees. There was a three-day wait here and Joyce spent most of it

lying on the bed, under the breeze of a fan which seemed to have

required a special dispensation of the governing body to obtain.

[Illustration: CAMERON]

Cameron, however, was unwilling to spend his time this way in spite of

the discomfort imposed by any kind of activity. Humidity was a physical

factor which seemed to have gone undiscovered by the inhabitants of the

planet they were on. He was sure it was constantly maintained within a

fractional per cent of one hundred as he donned a clean pair of trunks

and staggered miserably along the corridor toward a window that gave a

limited view of the city about them.

That was when he discovered that they were to be accompanied on the

remainder of the journey by a Markovian citizen and his Id servant.

The visitors' chamber in which these semi-terran conditions were

supplied consisted of only three suites. The other two had been empty

when Cameron and Joyce arrived the night before. Now a Markovian Id

occupied a seat by the window. He glanced up with warm friendliness and

invited Cameron to join him.

Cameron hesitated, undecided for a moment whether to return to his suite

for the portable semantic translator used in his profession at times

like this. He always felt there was something decidedly unprofessional

about resorting to their use and had spent many hours trying to master

Markovian before leaving. He understood the Id well enough and decided

to see if he could get along without the translator.

"Thanks," he said, taking a seat. "I don't suppose there's much else to

do except look at the scenery here."

The Id showed obvious surprise that Cameron spoke the language without

use of an instrument. His look of pleasure increased. "It is not often

we find one of your race who has taken the trouble to make himself

communicable with us. You must be expecting to make a long stay?"

Cameron's sense of caution returned as he remembered the previous

results of indiscreet announcement of his purpose. He wiped the stream

of sweat from his face and neck and took a good look at the Id.

* * * * *

The Idealists were of an anthropomorphic race, dark-skinned like the

terran Indian. Very few of them had ever appeared on Earth, however, and

this was actually Cameron's first view of one in the flesh. He knew

something of their reputation and characteristics from very brief study

at the Institute--but no one really knew very much of the Ids as far as

Earthmen were concerned. The warning of Fothergill to keep to the main

line of his research sank to the bottom of his mind as he leaned toward

the stranger with a fresh sense of excitement inside him.

"I have never felt you could understand another man unless you spoke his

language," he said in his not too stumbling Markovian.

The Id, like himself, was dressed in the briefest of garments and

perspiration poured from the dark skin as he nodded. "You speak sounder

wisdom than one usually meets in a stranger," he said. "May I introduce

myself: Sal Karone, servant of the Master Dalls Ret Marthasa?"

Cameron introduced himself and cautiously explained that he and Joyce

were on their honeymoon, but had a side interest in the history and

customs of the Markovian Nucleus. "My people know so little about you,"

he said, "it would be a great privilege to be able to take back

information that would increase our mutual understanding."

"All that the Idealists have belongs to every man and every race," said

Sal Karone solemnly. "What we can give you may be had for the asking.

But I would give you a word of warning about my Masters."

Cameron felt the flesh of his back tingle with sudden chill as the eyes

of the Id turned full upon him.

"Do not try to find out the hidden things of the Masters. That is what

you have come for, is it not, Cameron Wilder? That is why you have taken

so much trouble to learn the language which we speak. I say do not

inquire of the things about which they do not wish to speak. My Masters

are a people who cannot yet be understood by the men of other worlds. In

time there will be understanding, but that time is not yet. You will

only bring disaster and disappointment upon us and yourselves by

attempting to hasten that time."

"I assure you I have no intention of prying," said Cameron haltingly. He

fumbled for the right Markovian words. "You have misunderstood--We come

only in friendship and with no intention of disturbing--"

The Id nodded sagely. "So many crises are originated by good intentions.

But I am sure that now you understand the feelings of my Masters in

these things that you will be concerned only with your own enjoyment

while in the Nucleus. And do come to the centers of the Idealists, for

there is much we can show you, and our willingness has no limits."

For a moment it was impossible for Cameron to remember that he was

dealing with a mere servant of the Markovians. The Id's words were so

incisive and his manner so commanding that it seemed he must be speaking

in his own right.

And then his manner changed. His boldness vanished and he spoke

obsequiously. "You will forgive me," he said, "but this is a matter

concerning which there is much feeling."

* * * * *

Cameron Wilder was more than willing to agree with this sentiment. As he

returned to his own quarters he debated telling Joyce of his encounter

with the Id, deciding finally that he'd have to mention it since they'd

all be traveling together, but omitting the Id's repetition of the

previous warnings.

He did not meet the Markovian, nor did he encounter the Id again in the

waiting quarters. It was not until they had embarked on the last leg of

the journey and had been aboard the vessel for half a day that they met

a second time.

The ship was not a Markovian or a terran-type vessel of any kind.

Another week's wait would have been required for one of those. As it

was, their quarters were not too uncomfortable although very limited.

The bulk of the vessel was designed for crew and passengers very much

unlike Terran or Markovian, and only a few suites were provided for

accommodation of such races.

This threw the travelers to the Nucleus in close association again.

Their suites opened to a common lounge deck and when Cameron and Joyce

went out they found Sal Karone and the Markovian, Marthasa, already

there.

The Id was on his feet instantly. With a sharp bow he introduced the

newcomers to his Master. Dells Marthasa stood and extended a hand with a

smile. "I believe that is your greeting on Earth, is it not?" he said.

"You must be familiar with our home world," said Cameron, returning the

handshake.

"Only a little, through my studies," said the Markovian. "Enough to make

me want to hear much more. Please join us. Since my _sargh_ told me we

would be traveling together I have looked forward to your company."

The term, _sargh_, as Cameron learned shortly was applied to all Ids

attached to Markovians. It had a connotation somewhere between servant

and companion. Sal Karone remained in the background, but there was no

servility in his manner. His eyes remained respectfully--almost fondly;

that was the right word, Cameron thought curiously--on Marthasa.

While the Id was slender in build, the Markovian was taller and bulkier.

His complexion was also dark, but not quite so much so as the Id's. He

was dressed in loose, highly colored attire that gave Cameron an

impression of an Oriental potentate of his own world.

But somehow there was a quality in Marthasa's manner that was jarring.

It would have been less so if the Markovian had been less

anthropomorphic in form and feature, but Cameron found it difficult to

think of him as anything but a fellow man.

A man of arrogance and ill manners, and completely unaware that he was

so.

It was apparent in his gestures and in the negligence with which he

leaned back and surveyed his companions. "You'll be surprised when you

see the Nucleus," he said. "We sometimes hear of rumors circulated among

Council worlds that Markovian culture is rather backward."

"I've never heard anything of that kind," said Cameron. "In fact we've

heard almost nothing at all of the Nucleus. That's why we decided to

come."

"I'm sure we can make you glad you did. Don't you think so, Karone?"

The face of the Id was very sober as he nodded solemnly and said,

"Indeed, Master." His burning eyes were boring directly into Cameron's

own.

"I want to hear about your people, about Earth," said Marthasa. "Tell me

what you would like to see and do while you're in the Nucleus."

While Joyce answered, explaining they hardly knew what there was to be

seen, Cameron's attention was fixed by the problem of the strange

relationship between the two men--the two races. In the face of the Id

there seemed a serenity, a dignity that the Markovian would never know.

Why had the Ids failed to lift themselves out of servility to a state of

independence, he wondered?

Joyce explained the story about their honeymoon trip and built their

interest in Markovian culture as casual indeed. As she went on, Marthasa

seemed to be struck by a sudden thought.

"I insist that you make your headquarters with me during your stay," he

said. "I can see that you learn everything possible about the Nucleus

while you are here. My son is a Chief Historian at our largest research

library and my daughter has the post of Assistant Curator at our Museum

of Science and Culture. You will never have a better opportunity to

examine the culture of the Nucleus!"

Cameron winced inwardly at the thought of Marthasa's companionship

during their whole stay, and yet the Markovian's statement might be

perfectly true--there would be no better opportunity to make their

study.

"We have an official note of welcome from your Executive Head, Premier

Jargla," he said. "While we would be very happy to accept your

invitation, it may be that he has different plans for our reception."

Marthasa waved a hand. "I shall arrange for my appointment as your

official host. Consider it agreed upon!"

It was agreed. But Joyce was not as optimistic as Cameron in regarding

it an aid to their study. "If they have a general aversion to talking

about their pirate ancestry, Marthasa is just the boy to put us off the

track," she said. "If he gets a clue to what we really want to know,

he'll keep us busy looking at everything else until we give up and go

home."

Cameron leaned back in the deep chair with his hands behind his head.

"It's not too hard to imagine Marthasa's great-great-grandfather running

down vessels in space and pillaging helpless cities on other planets.

The veneer of civilization on him doesn't look very thick."

"It's not hard to imagine Marthasa doing it," said Joyce. "A scimitar

between his teeth would be completely in character!"

"If all goes well, you will probably see just that--figuratively

speaking, of course. Where a cultural shift has been so great as this

one you are certain to see evidence of both levels in conflict with one

another. It's like a geologic fault line. Once we learn enough about the

current mores the anomalies will stand out in full view. That's what we

want to watch for."

"One thing that's out of character right now is his offer of assistance

through his son, the Chief Historian," said Joyce. "That doesn't check

with the previous invitations to stay home. Once they let us have access

to their historical records we'll have them pegged."

"We haven't got it yet," said Cameron. "We can't be sure just what

they'll let us see. But for my money I'd just as soon tackle the

question of the Ids. Sal Karone is twice the man Marthasa is, yet he

acts like he has no will of his own when the Markovian is around."

"The Roman-slave relationship," said Joyce. "The Markovians probably

conquered a large community of the Ids in their pirate days and brought

them here as slaves. And I'll bet they are very much aware that the Ids

are the better men. Marthasa knows it. That's why he has to put on a

show in front of Sal Karone. He's the old Roman merchant struggling to

keep up his conviction of superiority before the Greek scholar slave."

"The Ids aren't supposed to be slaves. According to the little that's

known they are completely free. I'm going to get Marthasa's version of

it, anyway. Fothergill and the Foundation can't object to that much

investigation of the Ids."

He found the Markovian completely willing to talk about his _sargh_. On

the last day of the voyage they managed to be alone for a time without

the presence of Sal Karone.

Marthasa shook his head in answer to Cameron's question. "No, the

_sargh_ is not a slave--not in the sense I believe you mean it. None of

the Ids are. It's a matter of religion with them to be attached to us

the way they are. They have some incomprehensible belief that their

existence is of no value unless they are serving their fellow beings.

Since that means _all_ of them they can't be satisfied by serving each

other so they have to pick on some other race.

"I don't recall when they first showed up in the Nucleus, but it's been

many generations ago. There've been Ids in my family for a half dozen

generations anyway."

"They had space flight, so they came under their own power?" Cameron

asked incredulously.

"No. Nothing like that. You can't imagine _them_ building spaceships can

you? They migrated at first as lowest-class passengers on the commercial

lines. Nobody knows just where they came from. They don't even know

their home worlds. At first we tried to persuade them to go somewhere

else, but then we saw how useful they could be with their fanatic belief

in servitude.

"At present there is probably no family in the Nucleus that doesn't have

at least one Id _sargh_. Many of us have one for every member of the

family." Marthasa paused. The tone of his voice changed. "When you've

had one almost all your life as I've had Sal Karone it--well, it does

something to you."

"What do you mean?" Cameron asked cautiously.

"Consider the situation from Sal Karone's point of view. He has no life

whatever that is his own. His whole purpose is to give me companionship

and satisfy my requirements. And I don't have to force him in any way.

It's all voluntary. He's free to leave, even, any time he wants to. But

I'm certain he never will."

"Why do you feel so sure of this?"

"It's hard to explain. I feel as if I've become so much a part of him

that he couldn't survive alone any more. He's the one who's made it that

way, not me. I have become indispensable to his existence. That's the

way I explain it to myself. Most of my friends agree that this is about

right."

"It's rather difficult to understand a relationship like that--unless

you put it in terms I am familiar with on Earth."

"Yes--? What would it be called among your people?"

"When a man so devotes his life to another we say it is because of

love."

Marthasa considered the word. "You would be wrong," he said. "It is just

that in some way we have become indispensable to the Ids. They're

parasites, if you want to put it that way. But they provide us a

relationship we can get nowhere else, and that does us a great deal of

good. That's what I meant when I said it does something to us."

"What about the Id's own culture? Haven't they any community ties among

themselves, or do they ignore their own kind?"

"We've never investigated very much. I suppose some of our scholars know

the answer to that, but the rest of us don't. The Ids have communities,

all right. Not all of them are in service as _sarghs_ at one time. They

have little groups and communities on the outskirts of our cities, but

they don't amount to much. As a race they are simply inferior. They

don't have the capacity for a strong culture of their own, so they can't

exist independently and build a social structure like other people. It's

this religion of theirs that does it. They won't let go of it, and as

long as they hang onto it they can't stand on their own feet. But you

don't need to feel sorry for them. We treat them all right."

"Of course--didn't mean to imply anything else," said Cameron. "Do you

know if there are other Id groups serving in other galaxies?"

"Must be thousands of them altogether. Out beyond the Nucleus, away from

your galaxy, you can't find a planet anywhere that isn't using the Ids.

It's a wonderful setup. The Ids get what they want, and we get _sarghs_

with nothing like the slave relationship you had in mind. With slaves

there's rebellion, constant need of watchfulness, and no genuine

companionship. A _sargh_ is different. He can be a man's friend."