IV

Sal Karone had not repeated his invitation that the Terrans visit the Id

communities, but he showed no adverse reaction when Cameron said they

would like to take him up on his previous offer.

"You will be very welcome," he said. A soft smile lightened his

features. "I will notify my leaders you will come."

With a start, Cameron realized that the existence of any kind of

community probably implied leaders, but he had ignored this in view of

Marthasa's insistence that the Ids had no culture of their own. He

wondered just how untrue that assertion might be.

For the first time, he sensed genuine disapproval in the attitude of

Marthasa when he mentioned plans to go with Sal Karone to the Id

centers. "There's nothing out there you'd want to see," the Markovian

said. "Their village is only a group of crude huts in the forest. It'll

be a waste of your time to go out there when there's so much else we

could show you."

"Sal Karone suggested the visit before we arrived," said Cameron. "He'd

be hurt if we turned him down. Perhaps just to satisfy him--"

Angry indecision hid behind Marthasa's eyes. "Well--maybe that makes it

different," he said finally. "We try to do everything possible to make

the Ids happy. It's up to you if you want to waste your time on the

visit."

"I think I do. Sal Karone has been very attentive and pleasant to us.

It's a small favor in return."

* * * * *

Early in the morning, two days later, they left with Sal Karone

directing them to the Idealist center. They discovered that the term, at

the edge of the city, was a mere euphemism. It was a long two-hour trip

at the high speed of which the Markovian cars were capable.

The city itself vanished, and a thickly wooded area took its place

during the last half of the journey, reminding them of the few remote,

peaceful forests of Earth. Then, as the car slowed, they left the

highway for a rough trail that led for a number of miles back into the

forest. They came at last into a clearing circled by rough wooden

dwellings possessing all the appearance of crude, primitive existence on

little more than a subsistence level.

"This is the village of our Chief," said Sal Karone. "He will be pleased

to explain all you may wish to know about the Idealist Way."

Cameron was shocked almost beyond speech by his first sight of the

clearing. He had tried to prepare for the worst, but he had told himself

that the Markovian's estimate of the Ids could not be true. Now he was

forced to admit that it was. In contact with all the skills of their

Masters, which they would certainly be permitted to learn if they wanted

to, the Ids chose primitive squalor when they were on their own.

Their serenity could be little more than the serenity of the savage who

has no wants or goals and is content to merely serve those whose

ambitions are greater. It was the serenity and peacefulness of death.

The Ids had died--as a race--long ago. The Markovians were loud,

boastful, and obnoxious, but that could be discounted as the awkwardness

of youth in a race that would perhaps be very great in the Universe at a

time when the Ids were wholly forgotten.

Cameron felt depressed by the sight. He began to doubt the wisdom of his

coming here in hope of finding an answer to the Markovian deception. The

warning of Sal Karone on shipboard seemed now like nothing more than a

half ignorant demonstration of loyalty toward the Markovian Masters.

Possibly there had been some talk which the Id had overheard and he had

taken it upon himself to warn the Terrans--knowing perhaps nothing of

the matter which the Markovians were reluctant to expose.

If he could have done so gracefully, Cameron felt he would have turned

and gone back without bothering with the interview. His curiosity about

the Ids themselves had all but vanished. The answer to their situation

was obvious. And he had maintained such high hope that somehow his

expectation in them would be fulfilled during this visit.

There was a satisfying cleanliness apparent in everything as Sal Karone

led them to the largest of the buildings. Joyce seemed to be enjoying

herself as she surveyed the surroundings with an interest Cameron had

lost.

As they entered the doorway a thin, straight old man with a white beard

arose from a chair and approached them in greeting. The ancient,

conventional, patriarchal order, Cameron thought. He could see the whole

setup in a nutshell right now. Squalid communities like this where the

too-old and the too-young were nurtured on the calcified traditions to

which nothing was ever added. The able serving in the homes of the

Markovians, providing sustenance for themselves and those who depended

on them. The Markovians were generous indeed in not referring to the Ids

as slaves. There was little else they could ever be called.

The Chief was addressed as Venor by Sal Karone, who introduced them. "It

is kind of you to include our village in your visit to the Nucleus,"

said Venor. "There are many more spectacular things to see."

"There is often greatest wisdom in the least spectacular," said Cameron,

trying to sound like a sage. "Sal Karone was kind enough to invite us to

your center and said there was much you could show us."

"The things of the soul are not possible to _show_," said Venor gently.

"We wish there were time that we might teach you some of the great

things our people have learned in their long wanderings. I am told that

your profession and your purpose in being here is the study of races and

their actions and the things they have learned."

With a start, Cameron came to greater attention. He was certain he had

never given any such information in the presence of Sal Karone or

Marthasa. Yet even Venor knew he was a sociologist! Here was the first

knowledge that must lie behind the evidence of the undercurrent of

objections of the Markovian representative in the Council and Premier

Jargla.

And this primitive patriarch was in possession of it.

Relations between the individuals of this planet were something far more

complex than Cameron had assumed. He hesitated a moment before speaking.

Just why had this bait been so innocently thrown to him? Marthasa had

never mentioned it. Yet had the Markovians asked for an attempt to get

an admission from him for their own purposes? And what purposes--?

He abandoned caution, and nodded. "Yes, that is the thing I am

interested in. I had hoped to study the history and ways of the

Markovians. As Sal Karone has told me, they don't want strangers to make

such a study. You are perhaps not so unwilling to be known--?"

"We wish the entire Universe might know of us and be as we are."

"You hardly make that possible, subjugating your identity so completely

to that of another race. The worlds will never know of you unless you

become strong and unified as a people and obtain a name of your own."

"Our name is known," said Venor. "We are the Idealists. You will not

find many worlds on which we are unknown, and they call us the ones who

serve. Even on your world you have the saying of a philosopher who

taught that any who would be master should become the servant of all.

Your people once understood it."

"Not as a literal undertaking," said Cameron. "You can't submerge your

entire racial identity as you have done. That is not what the saying

meant."

"To us it does," said Venor solemnly. "We would master the Universe--and

therefore we must serve it. That is the core of the law of the

Idealists."

* * * * *

Cameron let his gaze scan through the window to the small clearing in

the thick forest, to the circle of wooden houses. _We would master the

Universe_--he restrained a smile.

"You cannot believe this," said Venor, "because you have never

understood the mark of the servant or the mark of the master. How often

is there difficulty in distinguishing one from the other!"

And how often do the illusions of the mind ease the privations of the

body, Cameron thought. So that was the source of the Idealist serenity.

Wherever they went they considered themselves the masters through

service--and conversely, those they served became the slaves, he

supposed. It was a pleasant, easy philosophy that hurt no one. Except

the ones who believed it. They died the moment they accepted it, for all

initiative and desire were gone.

"The master is he who guides the destiny of a man or a race," said Venor

almost in meditation. "He is not the man who gathers or disperses the

wealth, or who builds the cities and the ships to the stars. The master

is he who teaches what must be done with these things and how a people

shall expend their lives."

"And the Markovians do this, in obedience to you?" said Cameron

whimsically.

"Wherever my people are," answered Venor, "strife ceases and peace

comes. Who can do this is master of worlds."

There was a strange solemnity about the voice and figure of the old

Idealist that checked the sense of ridiculousness in Cameron. It seemed

somehow strangely moving.

"You believe the worlds are better," he asked gently, "just because you

are there?"

"Yes," said Venor, "because we are there."

There was a pathos about it that fired Cameron's anger. On scores of

worlds there were primitive groups like this one, blinding themselves

with a glory that didn't exist, in the grip of ancient, meaningless

traditions. The younger ones--like Sal Karone--were intelligent, worth

salvaging, but they could never be lifted out of this mire of false

belief unless they could be shown how empty it was.

"Nothing you have said explains the mystery of how this great thing is

accomplished," said Cameron almost angrily. "Even if we wanted to

believe it were true, it is still as utterly incomprehensible as before

we came."

"There is a saying among us," said Venor kindly. "Translated into your

tongue it would be: How was the wild dog tamed, and a saddle put upon

the fierce stallion?"

* * * * *

Stubbornly, then, Venor would say no more about the philosophy of the

Idealists. He spoke freely of the many other worlds upon which the

Idealists lived and served, and he affirmed the tradition that they did

not even know the place of their origin, the planet that might have been

their home world.

He was evasive, however, when Cameron asked when the first contact was

made between his people and the Markovians. There was something that the

Ids, too, were holding back, the sociologist thought, and there was no

apparent reason for it.

Recklessly, he decided nothing could be lost by attempting to blast for

it. "Why have the Markovians consistently lied to us?" he said. "They've

given us their history--and if your people know the feelings of other

worlds they know this history is a lie. Only a few generations ago the

Markovians pirated and plundered these worlds, and now they pose as

little tin gods with a silver halo. Why?"

Sal Karone stood by with a look of horror on his face, but Venor made no

sign of alarm at this forbidden question. He merely inclined his held

slowly and repeated, "How was the wild dog tamed, and a saddle put upon

the fierce stallion?"

* * * * *

That was the end of the interview. The Ids insisted, however, that he

inspect the rest of the village and they personally guided the Terrans

on the tour. Cameron's trained eye took in at a glance, however, the

evidence supporting his previous conclusion. The artifacts and buildings

demonstrated a primitive forest culture. The other individuals he saw

were almost entirely the old and very young--the ones unsuitable as

servants to the Markovians. Venor explained that family life among them

paralleled in general that of the Masters. Whole Idealist families lived

and served as units in the Markovian household. Exceptions existed in

the case of Sal Karone and others of his age who were separated from

their families and had not yet begun their own.

As they returned to the car Venor took their hands. He pressed Cameron's

warmly and looked into his eyes with deep sincerity. "You have made us

glad by your presence," he said. "And when the time comes for you to

return, we shall repay all the pleasure you have given us."

"I'm afraid we won't be able to do that," said Cameron. "We appreciate

your hospitality, but I'm sure time will not permit us to visit you

again, as much as we'd like to." In the past few minutes he had reached

the conclusion that further research on this whole planet was futile.

The best thing they could do was go somewhere else in the Nucleus and

make a fresh start.

Venor shook his head, smiling. "We will see each other again, Joyce and

Cameron. I feel that the day will be very soon."

It was senseless to let himself be irritated by the senile patriarch who

spoke out of a world of illusion but Cameron could not help feeling

nettled as he started back to the city. Somehow it seemed impossible to

regard Venor as merely a specimen for sociological research. The Chief

of the Idealists reached out of his unreal world and made his contact

with the Terrans a personal thing--almost as if he had spent all his

life waiting for their coming. There was a sense of intimacy against

which Cameron rebelled, and yet it was not an unpleasant thing.

Cameron's mind oscillated between the annoyance of Venor's calm

assertion that they would be back shortly, and the nonsense of the Id

belief that they controlled the civilizations in which they were

servants. How was the wild dog tamed, and a saddle put upon the fierce

stallion?

He smiled faintly to himself, wondering if the Markovians were fully

aware that the Ids regarded them as tamed dogs and saddled stallions.

They couldn't help knowing, of course, but it was hard to imagine

Marthasa and his wife being very much amused by such an estimate. The

situation would be intolerable, however, if it were met by anything

except amusement. It might be a mildly explosive subject, but he was

going to find out about that one small item before moving on, anyway,

Cameron decided.

* * * * *

Sal Karone was strangely silent during the whole of the return trip. He

offered no comments and made only brief, noncommittal replies to

questions about the country through which they passed. He seemed

depressed by the results of their visit. Probably because the violation

of his warning to not question the lives of the Markovians. It was a

curious evidence of their completely unreal, proprietary attitude in

respect to their Masters. They'd have to investigate Marthasa's response

as thoroughly as possible. There seemed to be no taboo on discussion of

the Ids with him.

His annoyance at their acceptance of the invitation to the Id village

appeared to have vanished as he greeted them upon their return. "We

delayed eating, thinking you'd be back in time. If you'll join us in the

dining room as soon as you're ready--?"

The villa of Marthasa seemed different after the day's experience with

the Ids, although Cameron was certain nothing had changed either in a

physical way or in their relations with the Markovians. It was as if his

senses had been somehow sharpened to detect an undercurrent of feeling

of which he had previously been unaware. Glancing at Joyce, he sensed

she felt the same.

"I have the feeling that we missed something," she said, as they changed

clothes to join Marthasa and his wife. "There was something Venor wanted

us to know and wouldn't say. I would almost like to go back there again

before we go away."

Cameron was surprised at his own annoyance with Joyce's statement. It

reflected the impressions in his own mind which he was trying to ignore.

"Nonsense," he said. "There's no use trying to read great profundity in

the words of an old patriarch of the woods. He's nothing except what he

appears to be."

The Markovians talked easily of Venor and the rest of the Ids. "We have

tried to get him to join us in the city," said Marthasa as the meal

began, "but he won't hear of it. It seems to give him a sense of

importance to live out there alone with his retinue and have the other

Ids come to him with their problems. He's a kind of arbiter and

patriarch to all of them for many miles around."

[Illustration]

While Marthasa talked Cameron tried to bring his awareness of all the

varied facets of the problem together and see it whole, as he now

understood it. The Markovians, a vast pirate community, had voluntarily

abandoned freebooting for reasons yet to be discovered. They had turned

their backs upon it so forcibly that they hid even the history of their

depredations. And one of their last acts must have been the capture of a

large colony of Idealists who were forced into servitude. Now the Ids

compensated their enslavement by the religious belief that service made

them masters over the ex-pirates, convincing themselves that _they_ had

changed the Markovians, taming them like wild dogs, saddling them as

fierce stallions--

Cameron wondered if he dared, and then dismissed the thought that there

could be any risk. It was too ridiculous!

* * * * *

There was even a half-malicious smile on his lips as he broke into

Marthasa's conversation. "One of the things that made me very curious

today," he said, "was the general reaction of your people to the

Idealist illusion that they have _tamed_ you--as expressed in their

aphorism about how was the wild dog--?"

He never finished. Across the table the faces of the Markovians had

frozen in sudden bitterness. The shield of friendliness vanished under

the cold glare from their eyes.

Marthasa's lips seemed to curl as he whispered, "So you came like all

the rest! And we wanted so much to believe you were honest. A study! A

chance to find material for lies about the Nucleus to spread among all

the Council worlds."

He continued almost sadly, "You will be confined to your quarters until

transfer authorities can arrange for your return to Earth. And you may

be sure that never again will such a scheme get one of your kind into

the Nucleus again."

But there was no hint of sadness in his wife's face. She glared coldly.

"I said they should never had been permitted to come!"

Cameron rose in sudden bewildered protest. "I assure you we have no

intention--" he began.

And then he stopped. In one moment of incredible clarity while they

stood there, eyes locked in bitter stares, he understood. He knew the

myth was not a myth. It was cold, unbelievable reality. The Ids _had_

tamed the Markovians.

In a moment of fear he wondered if it were anything more than a thin

shell that could be shattered by a whisper from a stupid dabbler in

cultures, who really knew nothing at all about the profession to which

he pretended.

V

As if upon some secret signal Sal Karone appeared from the serving room

at their left.

"Our visitors are no longer our guests," Marthasa said sharply with

accusing eyes still upon Cameron. "They will remain in their rooms until

time for deportation.

"I trust it will not be necessary to use force," he said directly to

Cameron.

"Of course not. But won't you let me explain--won't you even allow an

apology for breaking a taboo we did not understand?"

"Is it not taboo among all civilized peoples, including your own, to

invent and spread lies about those who wish you only well?"

It was useless to argue, Cameron saw. He turned, taking Joyce's arm, and

allowed Sal Karone to lead them back to their rooms. As they paused at

the doorway the Id spoke without expression on his dark face. "This is

not a good thing, Cameron Wilder. It would have been best for you to

have considered my warning."

He turned and stepped away, locking the door behind him.

Joyce slumped on the bed in dejection. "This is a fine fix we've got

ourselves into, being declared _persona non grata_ before we even get a

good start! They'll remember _that_ back home when A Study of the

Metamorphosis of the Markovian Nucleus is mentioned in professional

circles!"

"Don't rub it in," Cameron said, half angrily. "How was I to know that

was such a vicious taboo? It can't be any secret to the Markovians that

the Ids look upon them as tamed. Why should they get their hackles up

because _I_ mentioned it?"

"All I know is we're washed up as of now. What do we do when we get back

home?"

Cameron stood with his back to her, looking through the windows to the

garden beyond. "I'm not thinking of that," he said. "Can't you see we

haven't failed? We've almost got it--the thing we came to find. We

_knew_ why the Markovians suddenly became good Indians. The Ids actually

did tame them. We've got to find out how such an apparently impossible

thing could be done."

"Do you really believe that's what happened?" asked Joyce.

Cameron nodded. "It's the only thing there is to believe. If it weren't

true, Marthasa and his wife would have laughed it off as nonsense.

Getting all huffy and talking about deportation for cooking up lies is

the best proof you could ask for that we hit pay dirt. Don't ask me how

I think the Ids could do it. _That's_ what I'm going to find out."

"How?"

"I don't know."

But he did have an idea that if he could somehow get word to the old Id

chieftain help could be had. He knew he was straining to believe things

he wanted to believe, yet it seemed as if this were almost the very

thing Venor had tried to convey the day before but had left unspoken.

There was only one possibility of establishing contact, however, and

that was through Sal Karone. A remote chance indeed, Cameron thought, in

view of the relationship between the Markovian and his _sargh_. As a

last resort it was worth trying, however.

It looked as if they would not have even this chance as the evening grew

darker. Cameron kept watch through the windows in the hope of signaling

Sal Karone in case he should appear. They hoped he might come to the

room for a final check of their needs for the night as he usually did.

But he did not appear.

* * * * *

Cameron finally went to bed after Joyce was long asleep. He turned

restlessly, beating his mind with increasing wonder as to how it could

be so incredibly true that the Idealists were the actual masters of the

Nucleus. That they had somehow tamed the murderous, piratical

Markovians. He couldn't have known this was it!

One thing he could understood, however, was the Markovians reluctance to

have visitors--and their careful watch over them. Marthasa had been more

than a host, he thought. He was a guard as well, trying to keep the

Terrans from discovering the unpleasant reality concerning the influence

of the Ids. He had slipped in allowing the visit to Venor.

At dawn there was the sound of their door opening and Cameron whirled

from his dressing, hopeful it might be Sal Karone. It was Marthasa,

however, grim and distant. "I have obtained word that your deportation

can be accomplished today. Premier Jargla has been informed and concurs.

The Council has been notified and offers no protestations. You will

ready yourselves before the evening hour."

He slammed the door behind him. Joyce turned down the covers in the

other room and sat up. "I wonder if he isn't even going to feed us

today?"

Cameron made no answer. He finished dressing hurriedly and kept a

frantic watch for any sign of Sal Karone.

At last there was a knock on the door and the Id appeared with breakfast

on a cart. Cameron exhaled with relief that it was not one of the other

_sarghs_ in the household.

Sal Karone eyed them impassively as he wheeled in and arranged the food

on the table by a window. Cameron watched, estimating his chances.

"Your Chief, Venor, was very kind to us yesterday," he said quietly.

"Our biggest regret in leaving is that our conversation with him must go

unfinished."

Sal Karone paused. "Were there things you had yet to say to him?" he

asked.

"No--there were things Venor wanted to tell us. You heard him. He wanted

us to come back. It is completely impossible for us to see him again

before we go?"

Sal Karone straightened and set the utensils on the table. "No, it is

not impossible. I have been instructed to bring you back to the village

if it should be your request."

Cameron felt a surge of eager excitement within him. "When? Our

deportation is scheduled for today. How can we get there? How can we

avoid Marthasa and the Markovians?"

"Stand very quietly," said Sal Karone, that sense of power and command

in his voice and bearing as Cameron had seen it once before aboard the

spaceship. "Now," he said. "Close your eyes."

There was a sudden wrenching twist as if two solid surfaces had slammed

them from front and back, and a third force had thrust them sideways.

They opened their eyes in the wooden house of Venor, in the village of

the Idealists.

* * * * *

"We owe you apologies," said Venor. "We hope you are not harmed in any

way."

Cameron stared around uncertainly. Joyce clutched his hand. "How did

we--?" Cameron stammered.

"Teleportation is the descriptive term in your language, I believe,"

said Venor. "It was rather urgent that you come without further delay so

we resorted to it. Nothing else would do in the face of Marthasa's

action. Sit down if you will, please. If you wish to rest or eat, your

quarters are ready."

"Our quarters--! Then you _did_ expect us back. You knew this was going

to happen exactly as it has!"

"Yes, I knew," said Venor quietly. "I planned it this way when word

first came to us of your visit."

"I think we are entitled to explanations," Cameron said at last. "We

seem to have been pieces in a game we knew nothing about."

And it had taken this long for the full impact of Venor's admission of

teleportation to hit him. He closed his eyes in a moment's reaction of

fright. He didn't want to believe it--and knew he must. These

Idealists--who could master galaxies and tame the wild Markovians--was

there anything they could not do?

"Not a game," Venor protested. "We planned this because we wanted you to

see what you have seen. We wanted a man of Earth to know what we have

done."

"But don't the Markovians realize the foolishness of deporting us

because we stumbled onto the relationship between you and them? And if

you are in control how can they issue such an order--unless you want

it?"

"Our relationship is more complex than that. There are different levels

of control. We operate the one that brought you here--" He let Cameron

consider the implication of the unfinished statement.

Then he continued, "To understand the Markovians' reason for deporting

you, consider that on Earth men have tamed wolves and made faithful,

loyal dogs who can be trusted. Dogs who have forever lost the knowledge

their ancestors were fierce marauders ready to rip and tear the flesh of

any man or beast that came their way.

"Consider the dogs only a generation or two from the vicious wolves who

were their forebears. The old urges have not entirely died, yet they

want to know man's affection and trust. Could you remind them of what

their kind once was without stirring up torment within them?

"So it is with the Markovians. They are peaceful and creative, but only

a few generations behind them are pirates who were not fit to sit in the

Councils of civilized beings. They have no tradition of culture to

support them. It knocks the props out from under them, so to speak, to

have it known what lies behind them. They cannot be friends with such a

man. They cannot even endure the knowledge among themselves."

"Then I was right!" Cameron exclaimed. "Their phony history _was_ set up

to deceive their own people as well as others."

"Yes. The dog would destroy all evidence of his wolf ancestry. It has

been an enormous project, but the people of the Nucleus have been at it

a long time. They have concocted a consistent history which leaves out

all evidence of their predatory ancestry. The items of reality which

were possible to leave have been retained. The gaps between have been

bridged by fictionized accounts of glorious undertakings and

discoveries. Most of the Markovian science has been taken from other

cultures, but now their history boasts of heroes and discoverers who

never lived and who were responsible for all the great science they

enjoy."

"But nothing stable can be built upon such an unhealthy foundation of

self-deception!" Cameron protested.

"It is not unhealthy--not at the present moment," said Venor. "The time

will come when it, too, will be thrust aside and a tremendous effort of

scholarship will extract the elements of truth and find that which was

suppressed. But the Markovians themselves will do it--a generation of

them who can afford to laugh at the fears and fantasies of their

ancestors."

"This tells us nothing of how you were able to make a creative people

out of a race of pirate marauders," said Cameron.

"I gave you the key," said Venor. "It was one used long ago by your own

people before it was abandoned.

"How was the savage wolf tamed to become the loyal, friendly dog? Did

ancient man try to exterminate the wolves that came to his caves and

carried off his young? Perhaps he tried. But he learned, perhaps

accidentally, another way of conquest. He found the wolf's cubs, and

learned to love them. He brought the cubs home and cared for them

tenderly and his own children played with them and fed them and loved

them.

"It took time, but eventually there were no more wild wolves to trouble

man, because he had discovered a great friend, the dog. And man plus dog

could handle wolf with ease. Dog forgot in time what his forebears were

and became willing to defend man against his own kind--because man loved

him.

"It happened again and again. Agricultural man hated the wild horse that

ate his grain and trampled his fields. But he learned to love the horse,

too, after a while. Again--no more wild horses."

"But you can't take a predatory, savage pirate and love him into

decency!" Cameron protested.

"No," Venor agreed. "It is too difficult ordinarily at that level, and

wasteful of time and resources. But I didn't say that is what happened.

You don't tame a wolf by loving it, but the _cubs_--yes. And even

pirates have cubs, who are susceptible to being loved.

"The first weapon was hate. But after learning the futility of it,

sentient creatures discovered another, the succeeding evolutionary

emotion. It is pure savagery in its destructive power, a thousand times

more effective in annihilating the enemy.

"You've thought 'Love thy enemy' was a soft, gentle, futile doctrine!

Actually, instead of merely killing the enemy it twists his personality,

destroys his identity. He continues to live, but he has lost his

integrity as an entity. The wolf cub never becomes an adult wolf. He

becomes Dog.

"It is not a doctrine of weakness, but the ultimate weapon of

destruction. It can be used to induce any orientation desired in the

mind of the enemy. He'll do everything you want him to--because he has

your love."

* * * * *

"How did you apply that to the Markovians?" asked Joyce in almost a

whisper.

"It was one of the most difficult programs we have ever undertaken,"

said Venor. "There were comparatively few of us and such a tremendous

population of Markovians. We had predicted long ago, even before the

organization of the Council, the situation would grow critical and

dangerous. By the time the Council awoke to the fact and started its

futile debates we had made a strong beginning.

"We arranged to be in the path of a Markovian attack on one of the

worlds where our work was completed. The Markovians were only too happy

to take us into slavery and use us as victims in their brutal sports."

"You didn't deliberately fall into a trap where you allowed yourselves

to be killed and tortured by them?" exclaimed Cameron.

Venor smiled. "The Markovians thought we did. We could hardly do that,

of course. Our numbers were so small compared with theirs that we

wouldn't have lasted very long. And, obviously, it would have been

plain stupid. There is one key that must not be forgotten: An effective

use of love requires an absolute superiority on the levels attainable by

the individual to be tamed. So, in this case, we had to have power to

keep the Markovians from slaughtering us or we would have been unable to

accomplish our purpose.

"Teleportation is of obvious use here. Likewise, psychosomatic controls

that can handle any ordinary wound we might permit them to inflict. We

gave them the illusion of slaughtering and torturing us, but our numbers

did not dwindle."

"Why did you give them such an illusion?" Joyce asked. "And you say you

_permitted_ them to inflict wounds--?"

Venor nodded. "We were in their households, you see, employed as slaves

and assigned the care of their young. The cubs of the wolf were given

into our hands to love--and to tame.

"These Markovian children were witnesses to the supposed torture and

killing of those who loved them. It was a tremendous psychic impact and

served to drive their influence toward the side of the slaves. And even

the adults slowly recognized the net loss to them of doing away with

servants so skilled and useful in household tasks and caring for the

young. The games and brutality vanished spontaneously within a short

time. Markovians, young and old, simply didn't want them any longer.

"During the maturity of that first generation of young on whom we

expended our love our position became more secure. These were no longer

wolves. They had become dogs, loyal to those who had loved them, and we

could use them now against their own kind. Influences to abandon piracy

against other peoples began to spread throughout the Nucleus.

"Today the Markovians are no longer a threat capable of holding the

Council worlds in helpless fear. They long ago ceased their

depredations. Their internal stability is rising and is almost at the

point where we shall be able to leave them. Our work here is about

finished."

"Surely all this was unnecessary!" Joyce said. "With your powers of

teleportation and other psionic abilities you must possess it should

have been easy for you to _control_ the Markovians directly, force them

to cease their piracy--"

"Of course," said Venor. "That would have been so much easier for us.

And so futile. The Markovians would have learned nothing through being

taken over by us and operated externally. They would have remained the

same. But it was our desire to change them, teach them, accomplish

genuine learning within them. It is always longer and more difficult

this way. The results, however, are more lasting!"

"_Who_ are you people--_what_ are you?" Cameron said with sudden

intensity. "You have teleportation--and how many other unknown psychic

powers? You have forced us to believe you can tame such a vicious world

as the Markovian Nucleus once was.

"But where is there a life of your own? With all your powers you must

live at the whim of other cultures. Where is _your_ culture? Where is

your own purpose? In spite of all you have, your life is a parasitical

one."

Venor smiled gently. "Is not the parent--or the teacher--the servant of

the child?" he said. "Has it not always been so if a species is to rise

very far in its conquest of the Universe?

"But this does not mean that the parent or teacher has no life of his

own. You ask where is our culture? The culture of _all_ worlds is ours.

We don't have great cities and vast fleets. The wolf cubs build these

for us. They carry us across space and shelter us in their cities.

"Our own energies are expended in a thousand other and more profitable

ways. We have sought and learned a few of the secrets of life and mind.

With these we can move as you were moved, when we choose to do so. From

where I sit I can speak with any of our kind on this planet or any world

of the entire Nucleus. And a few of us, united in the effort, can touch

those in distant galaxies.

"What culture would you have us acquire, that we do not have?" Venor

finished.

* * * * *

Without answer, Cameron arose and strode slowly to the window, his back

to the room. He looked out upon the rude wooden huts and the towering

forest beyond. He tried to tell himself it was all a lie. Such things

couldn't be. But he could feel it now with increasing strength, as if

all his senses were quickening--the benign aura, the indefinable wash of

power that seemed to lap at the edge of his mind.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Joyce's face, almost radiant

as she, too, sensed it here in the presence of the Ids.

Love, as a genuine power, had been taught by every Terran philosopher of

any social worth. But it had never really been tried. Not in the way the

Ids understood it. Cameron felt he could only guess at the terrible

discipline of mind it required to use it as they did. The analogy of the

wolf cubs was all very well, and man had learned to go that far. But

there is a difference when your own kind is involved, he thought.

Perhaps it was out of sheer fear of each other that men continued to try

to sway with hate, the most primitive of all their weapons.

It's easy to hate, he thought. Love is hard, and because it is, the

tough humans who can't achieve it and have the patience to manipulate it

must scorn it. The truly weak ones, they're incapable of the stern and

brutal self-discipline required of one who loves his enemy.

But men had known how. Back in the caves they had known how to conquer

the wolf and the wild horse. Where had they lost it?

The vision of the buildings and the forest with its eternal peace was

still in his eyes. What else could you want, with the whole Universe in

the palm of your hand?

He turned sharply. "You tricked us into betraying ourselves to Marthasa,

and you said that you planned it this way when you first heard of our

coming. But you have not yet said why. Why did you want us to see what

you had done?"

"You needed to have evidence from the Markovians themselves," said

Venor. "That is why I led you to the point where the admission would be

forced from them. The problem you came to solve is now answered, is it

not? Is there anything to prevent you returning to Earth and writing a

successful paper on the mystery of the Markovians?"

"You know very well there is," said Cameron with the sudden sense that

Venor was laughing gently at him. "Who on Earth would believe what you

have told me--that a handful of meek, subservient Ids had conquered the

mighty Markovian Nucleus?"

He paused, looking at Joyce who returned his intense gaze.

"Is that all?" said Venor finally.

"No that is not all. After taking us to the heights and showing us

everything that lies beyond, are you simply going to turn us away

empty-handed?"

"What would you have us give you?"

"This," said Cameron, gesturing with his hand to include the circle of

all of them, and the community beyond the window. "We want what you have

discovered. Is your circle a closed one--or can you admit those who

would learn of your ways but are not of your race?"

Venor's smile broadened as he arose and stepped toward them, and they

felt the warm wave of acceptance from his mind even before he spoke.

"This is what we brought you here to receive," he said. "But you had to

ask for yourselves. We wanted men of Earth in our ranks. There are many

races and many worlds who make up the Idealists. That is why it is said

that the Ids do not know the home world from which they originally came.

It is true, they do not. We are citizens of the Universe.

"But we have never been represented by a native of Earth, which needs us

badly. Will you join us, Terrans?"