_Why was Cyril Kirk, highest man in his
class, assigned to such an enigmatic place
as Nemar? Of what value was it--if anything?
No one could tell him the answer. He
wouldn't have believed them...._
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Cyril Kirk's first sight of the planet from the spaceship did nothing
to abate the anger seething within him. He stared at it in disgust,
glad there were no other passengers left to witness his arrival.
All during the long trip, he had felt their curious stares and excited
whispers everywhere he passed, and he had felt a small wave of relief
whenever a large batch of them had been unloaded on some planet along
the way. None of them had come this far--which was hardly surprising,
he thought; the last of them had been taken off two-thirds of the way
to Nemar. He was very glad to see them go, though by that time they had
stopped making their cautious, deferential attempts to draw him into
conversation and elicit some clue about his mission and destination.
He had let them wonder. He knew that his aloofness was being taken as
snobbishness, but he was past caring. They all recognized that he was
a Planetary Administrator by the blazing gold insignia on the dark
uniform, insignia calling for awe and respect all over the galaxy. They
guessed that this was his first appointment, but the thing that really
aroused their curiosity was the bitter, angry look that went with what
they considered his arrogant reserve.
Since polite efforts at conversation by the braver or more confident
among the company were met with icy monosyllables that cut off further
attempts, they were left with a wide range of controversy. Some of them
held, though they had never actually seen a Planetary Administrator
before in the flesh, that all PA's were like this. They argued that
the long, grueling years of study, the ascetic, disciplined life from
childhood, and the constant pressure of competition, knowing that only
a small percentage would finally make the grade, made them kind of
inhuman by the time they finished. Besides, they were near-geniuses
or they wouldn't have been selected in the first place--and everybody
knows geniuses are sort of peculiar.
One of the bolder and more beautiful girls on board had been argued
into making a carefully planned attempt to draw information out of him,
and bets had been placed on the results. She was eager enough to try
her hand at this rich prize, and her self-confidence was justified by
a long trail of broken hearts in high places, but the attempt came to
nothing. Kirk was aware of her efforts and aware that in another mood
he would have appreciated her charm, but he felt too sick and miserable
to respond.
Remembering her piquant, laughing face later in his cabin, Kirk
thought morosely of the long train of girls he had known in the past.
Many of them had been lovely--a fledgling PA was considered a highly
desirable date, even though the chances were always that he wouldn't
make it in the end. But Kirk had always been filled with an iron
determination that he _was_ going to make it in the end, and this meant
no distractions. If he began to feel he might get really emotionally
entangled with a girl, he stopped seeing her at once. He saw them
seldom enough, anyway. The regulations of the PA Institute gave him a
fair amount of free time, but the study requirements made the apparent
freedom meaningless.
How hard he'd worked for the day he'd be wearing this uniform, he
thought bitterly. How proud and happy he'd thought he'd feel wearing
it! And now, instead, here he was, practically hiding in his cabin,
hoping nobody would discover the name of his destination and guess the
reason for the humiliated rage that was still coursing through him.
He'd gone over the interview with Carlin Ross a hundred times since the
trip started, and he wasn't any nearer to making sense out of it than
when he began....
He'd entered Ross's office for the interview in which he would be
awarded his post, full of confidence and pride. The final examination
results posted in the main lobby were headed by his name. He knew that,
because of his good record and general popularity, he had been watched
with special interest by the teachers and staff for some time; and he
looked forward to being awarded a particularly desirable planet, in
spite of its being his first post.
Technical ability and sound training in administration had long ago
been decided upon as more important than practical experience, as
mankind began to sicken of the bungling of political appointees. The
far-flung planets that had been colonized or held an intelligent,
humanoid population were so numerous that even an experienced Planetary
Administrator could know very little about each one. Only someone
brought up on a planet could have a detailed knowledge of it, and it
was a basic premise of the Galactic Union that governors with a common
upbringing and training on Terra were necessary to keep the varied
parts of the empire from splitting off and becoming alienated from the
rest.
Ross was one of the half-dozen men in the top echelon governing the
galaxy and its warring components. His official title was Galactic
Coordinator, and one of his minor duties was the supervision of the
Institute of Training for Planetary Administration, which had been home
to Kirk for so long. Although he was the Institute's official head,
he was too busy to be seen in its halls more than rarely, but Kirk had
had several brief talks with him and one long one. He had the feeling
that Ross had a special interest in him, and this had added to his
anticipation on the fatal day.
As he entered the room, Ross looked up, his blue eyes friendly and
alert in the weathered, tanned face. "Hello, Kirk," he said. As always,
the simple warmth of his smile threw Kirk off guard. It had never
failed to surprise him the few times he had seen Ross. In this place
of dedicated, serious men, of military crispness of speech, of stiffly
erect carriage, Ross's relaxed body and quiet, open expression seemed
startlingly out of place. Except for the alertness and intelligence
of the eyes, he looked like a country farmer who had wandered in by
mistake. Kirk, and his friends, had more than once wondered how such an
anomaly had risen to the high position of Galactic Coordinator.
However, if his manner left you puzzled, it also made you feel
surprisingly comfortable, and Kirk had felt relaxed and happy as Ross
motioned him to a chair. Nothing prepared him for the shock that was to
come.
He remembered the apparent casualness with which Ross had spoken. "I'm
sending you to Nemar."
For a moment Kirk felt blank. The name did not register. His private
speculations had centered on the question of whether he would be sent
to a thriving, pleasant, habitable planet or to one of those whose
bleak surface contained some newly discovered, highly valuable mineral
and whose struggling colonists lived under pressurized domes. Either
type could have held the chance to work up to the galactic eminence
and power he had set his heart on. He had been over and over the list
of planets that were due to receive new PA's (there was a rotational
system of five years, with an additional five years made optional),
and he had a private list of those which, as the star graduate of his
class, he hoped he might draw. Nemar was not among them.
His face stayed blank for a minute as he searched his memory for the
name, and as vague bits of information filtered through to him, his
eyes widened in disbelief. "But, sir--" He fumbled for words. "That's
on the very edge of the galaxy."