measures. Top security. I’ve warned off every Commissioner in UP. You
can’t get away from me until you reach retirement age. Although I don’t
know why I care. I hate nasty tempered women.”
“Huh!” she snorted and clicked off.
“There’s a woman for you,” Ross Metaxa growled at Ronny. “It’s too bad
she’s indispensable. I’d love to fire her. Look, you go in and see Sid
Jakes. Seems to me he said something about Tommy Paine this morning. Maybe
it’s a lead.” He came to his feet. “So long and good luck, Ronny. I feel
optimistic about you. I think you’ll get this Paine troublemaker.”
Which was more than Ronny Bronston thought.
Sid Jakes already had a visitor in his office, which didn’t prevent him
from yelling, “It’s open,” when Ronny Bronston knocked.
He bounced from his chair, came around the desk and shook hands
enthusiastically. “Ronny!” he said, his tone implying they were favorite
brothers for long years parted. “You’re just in time.”
Ronny took in the office’s other occupant appreciatively. She was a small
girl, almost tiny. He estimated her to be at least half Chinese, or maybe
Indo-Chinese, the rest probably European or North American.
She evidently favored her Asiatic blood, her dress was traditional
Chinese, slit almost to the thigh Shanghai style.
Sid Jakes said, “Tog Lee Chang Chu—Ronny Bronston. You’ll be working
together. Bloodhounding old Tommy Paine. A neat trick if you can pull it
off. Well, are you all set to go?”
Ronny mumbled something to the girl in the way of amenity, then looked
back at the supervisor. “Working together?” he said.
“That’s right. Lucky you, eh?”
Tog Lee Chang Chu said demurely, “Possibly Mr. Bronston objects to having
a female assistant.”
Sid Jakes snorted, and hurried around his desk to resume his seat. “Does
he look crazy? Who’d object to having a cutey like you around day in and
day out? Call him Ronny. Might as well get used to it. Two of you’ll be
closer than man and wife.”
“Assistant?” Ronny said, bewildered. “What do I need an assistant for?” He
turned his eyes to the girl. “No reflection on you, Miss ... ah, Tog.”
Sid Jakes laughed easily. “Section G operatives always work in pairs,
Ronny. Especially new agents. The advantages will come home to you as you
go along. Look on Tog Lee Chang Chu as a secretary, a man Friday. This
isn’t her first assignment, of course. You’ll find her invaluable.”
The supervisor plucked a card from an order box. “Now here’s the dope. Can
you leave within four hours? There’s a UP Space Forces cruiser going to
Merlini, they can drop you off at New Delos. Fastest way you could
possibly get there. The cruiser takes off from Neuve Albuquerque in, let’s
see, three hours and forty-five minutes.”
“New Delos?” Ronny said, taking his eyes from the girl and trying to catch
up with the grasshopper-like conversation of his superior.
“New Delos it is,” Jakes said happily. “With luck, you might catch him
before he can get off the planet.” He chuckled at the other’s expression.
“Look alive, Ronny! The quarry is flushed and on the run. Tommy Paine’s
just assassinated the Immortal God-King of New Delos. A neat trick, eh?”
-------------------------------------
The following hours were chaotic. There was no indication of how long a
period he’d be gone. For all he knew, it might be years. For that matter,
he might never return to Earth. This Ronny Bronston had realized before he
ever applied for an interplanetary appointment. Mankind was exploding
through this spiral arm of the galaxy. There was a racial enthusiasm about
it all. Man’s destiny lay out in the stars, only a laggard stayed home of
his own accord. It was the ambition of every youth to join the snowballing
avalanche of man into the neighboring stars.
It took absolute severity by Earth authorities to prevent the depopulation
of the planet. But someone had to stay to administer the ever more
complicated racial destiny. Earth became a clearing house for a thousand
cultures, attempting, with only moderate success, to co-ordinate her
widely spreading children. She couldn’t afford to let her best seed
depart. Few there were, any more, allowed to emigrate from Earth. New
colonies drew their immigrants from older ones.
Lucky was the Earthling able to find service in interplanetary affairs, in
any of the thousands of tasks that involved journey between member planets
of UP. Possibly one hundredth of the population at one time or another,
and for varying lengths of time, managed it.
Ronny Bronston was lucky and knew it. The thing now was to pull off this
assignment and cinch the appointment for good.
He packed in a swirl of confusion. He phoned a relative who lived in the
part of town once known as Richmond, explained the situation and asked
that the other store his things and dispose of the apartment he’d been
occupying.
Luckily, the roof of his apartment building was a copter-cab pickup point
and he was able to hustle over to the shuttleport in a matter of a few
minutes.
He banged into the reservations office, hurried up to one of the windows
and said into the screen, “I’ve got to get to Neuve Albuquerque
immediately.”
The expressionless voice said, “The next rocket leaves at sixteen hours.”
“Sixteen hours! I’ve got to be at the spaceport by that time!”
The voice said dispassionately, “We are sorry.”
The bottom fell out of everything. Ronny said, desperately, “Look, if I
miss my ship in Neuve Albuquerque, what is the next spaceliner leaving
from there for New Delos?”
“A moment, citizen.” There was an agonized wait, and then the voice said,
“There is a liner leaving for New Delos on the 14th of next month. It
arrives in New Delos on the 31st, Basic Earth calendar.”
The 31st! Tommy Paine could be halfway across the galaxy by that time.
A gentle voice next to him said, “Could I help, Ronny?”
He looked around at her. “Evidently, nobody can,” he said disgustedly.
“There’s no way of getting to Neuve Albuquerque in time to get that
cruiser to New Delos.”
Tog Lee Chang Chu fished in her bag and came up with a wallet similar to
the one in which Ronny carried his Section G badge. She held it up to the
screen. “Bureau of Investigation, Section G,” she said calmly. “It will be
necessary that Agent Bronston and myself be in Neuve Albuquerque within
the hour.”
The metallic voice said, “Of course. Proceed to your right and through
Corridor K to Exit Four. Your rocket will be there. Identify yourself to
Lieutenant Economou who will be at the desk at Exit Four.”
Tog turned to Ronny Bronston. “Shall we go?” she said demurely.
He cleared his throat, feeling foolish. “Thanks, Tog,” he said.
“Not at all, Ronny. Why, this is my job.”
Was there the faintest of sarcasm in her voice? It hadn’t been more than a
couple of hours ago that he had been hinting rather heavily to Sid Jakes
that he needed no assistance.
She even knew the layout of the West Greater Washington shuttleport. Her
small body swiveled through the hurrying passengers, her small feet
a-twinkle, as she led him to and down Corridor K and then to the desk at
Exit Four.
Ronny anticipated her here. He flashed his own badge at the chair-borne
Space Forces lieutenant there.
“Lieutenant Economou?” he said. “Ronald Bronston, of the Bureau of
Investigation, Section G. We’ve got to get to Neuve Albuquerque soonest.”
The lieutenant, only mildly impressed, said, “We can have you in the air
in ten minutes, citizen. Just a moment and I’ll guide you myself.”
-------------------------------------
In the rocket, Ronny had time to appraise her at greater length. She was a
delicately pretty thing, although her expression was inclined to the
over-serious. There was only a touch of the Mongolian fold at the corner
of her eyes. On her it looked unusually good. Her complexion was that
which only the blend of Chinese and Caucasian can give. Her figure, thanks
to her European blood, was fuller than Eastern Asia usually boasts; tiny,
but full.
Let’s admit it, he decided. My assistant is the cutest trick this side of
a Tri-Di movie queen, and we’re going to be thrown in the closest of
juxtaposition for an indefinite time. This comes under the head of work?
He said, “Look here, Tog, you were with Sid Jakes longer than I was.
What’s the full story?”
She folded her slim hands in her lap, looking like a schoolgirl about to
recite. “Do you know anything about the socio-economic system on New
Delos?”
“Well, no,” he admitted.
She said severely, “I’d think that they would have given you more
background before an assignment of this type.”
Ronny said impatiently, “In the past three months I’ve been filled in on
the economic systems, the religious beliefs, the political forms, of a
thousand planets. I just happened to miss New Delos.”
Her mouth expressed disapproval by rucking down on the sides, which was
all very attractive but also irritating. She said, “There are two
thousand, four hundred and thirty-six member planets in the UP, I’d think
an agent of Section G would be up on the basic situation on each.”
He had her there. He said snidely, “Hate to contradict you, Tog, but the
number is two thousand, four hundred and thirty-four.”
“Then,” she nodded agreeably, “membership has changed since this morning
when Menalaus and Aldebaran Three were admitted. Have two planets dropped
out?”
“Look,” he said, “let’s stop bickering. What’s the word on New Delos?”
“Did you ever read Frazer’s ‘Golden Bough’?” she said.
“No.”
“You should. At any rate, New Delos is a theocracy. A priesthood elite
rules it. A God-King, who is immortal, holds absolute authority. The
strongest of superstition plus an efficient inquisition, keeps the people
under control.”
“Sounds terrible,” Ronny growled.
“Why? Possibly the government is extremely efficient and under it the
planet progressing at a rate in advance of UP averages.”
He stared at her in surprise.
She said, “Would you rather be ruled by the personal, arbitrary whims of
supremely wise men, or by laws formulated by a mob?”
It stopped him momentarily. In all his adult years, he couldn’t remember
ever meeting an intelligent, educated person who had been opposed to the
democratic theory.
“Wait a minute, now,” he said. “Who decides that they’re supremely wise
men who are doing this arbitrary ruling? Let any group come to power, by
whatever means, and they’ll soon tell you they’re an elite. But let’s get
back to New Delos, from what you’ve said so far, the people are held in a
condition of slavery.”
“What’s wrong with slavery?” Tog said mildly.
He all but glared at her. “Are you kidding?”
“I seldom jest,” Tog said primly. “Under the proper conditions, slavery
can be the most suitable system for a people.”
“Under _what_ conditions!”
“Have you forgotten your Earth history to the point where Egypt, Greece
and Rome mean nothing to you? Man made some of his outstanding progress
under slavery. And do you contend that man’s lot is necessarily miserable
given slavery? As far back as Aesop we know of slaves who have reached the
heights in their society. Slaves sometimes could and did become the
virtual rulers in ancient countries.” She shrugged prettily. “The
prejudices which you hold today, on Earth, do not necessarily apply to all
time, nor to all places.”
He said, impatiently, “Look, Tog, we can go into this further, later.
Let’s get back to New Delos. What happened?”
Tog said, “The very foundation of their theocracy is the belief on the
part of the populace that the God-King is immortal. No man conspires
against his Deity. Supervisor Jakes informed me that it is understood by
UP Intelligence, that about once every twenty years the priesthood
secretly puts in a new God-King. Plastic surgery would guarantee facial
resemblance, and, of course, the rank and file citizen would probably
never be allowed close enough to discover that their God-King seemed
different every couple of decades. At any rate, it’s been working for some
time.”
“And there’s been no revolt against this religious aristocracy?”
She shook her head. “Evidently not. It takes a brave man to revolt against
both his king and his God at the same time.”
“But what happened now?” Ronny pursued.
“Evidently, right in the midst of a particularly important religious
ceremony, with practically the whole planet watching on TV, the God-King
was killed with a bomb. No doubt about it, definitely killed. There are
going to be a lot of people on New Delos wondering how it can be that an
immortal God-King can die.”
“And Sid thinks it’s Tommy Paine’s work?”
She shifted dainty shoulders in a shrug. “It’s the sort of thing he does.
I suppose we’ll learn when we get there.”
-------------------------------------
Even on the fast Space Forces cruiser, the trip was going to take a week,
and there was precious little Ronny Bronston could do until arrival. He
spent most of his time reading up on New Delos and the several other
planets in the UP organization which had fairly similar regimes. More than
a few theocracies had come and gone during the history of man’s
development into the stars.
He also spent considerable time playing Battle Chess or talking with Tog
and with the ship’s officers.
These latter were a dedicated group, high in morale, enthusiastic about
their work which evidently involved the combined duties of a Navy, a Coast
Guard, and a Coast and Geodetic Survey system, if we use the ocean going
services of an earlier age for analogy.
They all had the dream. The enthusiasm of men participating in a race’s
expansion to glory. There was the feeling, even stronger here in space
than back on Earth, of man’s destiny being fulfilled, that humanity had
finally emerged from its infancy, that the fledgling had finally found its
wings and got off the ground.
After one of his studying binges, Ronny Bronston had spent an hour or so
once with the captain of the craft, while that officer stood an easy watch
on the ship’s bridge. There was little enough to do in space, practically
nothing, but there was always an officer on watch.
They leaned back in the acceleration chairs before the ship’s controls and
Ronny listened to the other’s space lore. Stories of far planets, as yet
untouched. Stories of planets that had seemingly been suitable for
colonization, but had proved disastrous for man, for this reason or that.
Ronny said, “And never in all this time have we run into a life form that
has proved intelligent?”
Captain Woiski said, “No. Not that I know of. There was an animal on
Shangri-La of about the mental level of the chimpanzee. So far as I know,
that’s the nearest to it.”
“Shangri-La?” Ronny said. “That’s a new one.”
There was an affectionate gleam in the captain’s eye. “Yes,” he said. “If
and when I retire, I think that’d be the planet of my choice, if I could
get permission to leave Earth, of course.”
Ronny scowled in attempted memory. “Now that you mention it, I think I did
see it listed the other day among planets with a theocratic government.”
The captain grunted protest. “If you’re comparing it to this New Delos
you’re going to, you’re wrong. There can be theocracy and theocracy, I
suppose. Actually, I imagine Shangri-La has the most, well _gentle_
government in the system.”
Ronny was interested. His recent studies hadn’t led him to much respect
for a priesthood in political power. “What’s the particular feature that’s
seemed to have gained your regard?”
“Moderation,” Woiski chuckled. “They carry it almost to the point of
immoderation. But not quite. Briefly, it works something like this. They
have a limited number of monks—I suppose you’d call them—who spend their
time at whatever moves them. At the arts, at scientific research, at
religious contemplation—any religion will do—as students of anything and
everything, and at the governing of Shangri-La. They make a point of
enjoying the luxuries in moderation and aren’t a severe drain on the rank
and file citizens of the planet.”
Ronny said, “I have a growing distrust of hierarchies. Who decides who is
to become a monk and who remain a member of the rank and file?”
The captain said, “A series of the best tests they can devise to determine
a person’s intelligence and aptitudes. From earliest youth, the whole
populace is checked and rechecked. At the age of thirty, when it is
considered that a person has become adult and has finished his basic
education, a limited number are offered monkhood. Not all want it.”
Ronny thought about it. “Why not? What are the shortcomings?”
The captain shrugged. “Responsibility, I suppose.”
“The monks aren’t allowed sex, booze, that sort of thing, I imagine.”
“Good heavens, why not? In moderation, of course.”
“And they live on a higher scale?”
“No, no, not at all. Don’t misunderstand. The planet is a prosperous one.
Exceedingly prosperous. There is everything needed for comfortable
existence for everyone. Shangri-La is one planet where the pursuit of
happiness is pursuable by all.” Captain Woiski chuckled again.
Ronny said, “It sounds good enough, although I’m leery of benevolent
dictatorships. The trouble with them is that it’s up to the dictators to
decide what’s benevolent. And almost always, nepotism rears its head,
favoritism of one sort or another. How long will it be before one of your
moderate monks decides he’ll moderately tinker with the tests, or
whatever, just to be sure his favorite nephew makes the grade? A high I.Q.
is no guarantee of integrity.”
The captain didn’t disagree. “That’s always possible, I suppose. One guard
against it, in this case, is the matter of motive. The _privilege_ of
being a monk isn’t as great as all that. Materially, you aren’t
particularly better off than any one else. You have more leisure, that’s
true, but actually most of them are so caught up in their studies or
research that they put in more hours of endeavor than does the farmer or
industrial worker on Shangri-La.”
“Well,” Ronny said, “let’s just hope that Tommy Paine never hears of this
place.”
“Who?” the captain said.
Ronny Bronston reversed his engines. “Oh, nobody important. A guy I know
of.”
Captain Woiski scowled. “Seems to me I’ve heard the name.”
At first Ronny leaned forward with quick interest. Perhaps the cruiser’s
skipper had a lead. But, no, he sank back into his chair. That name was
strictly a Section G pseudonym. No one used it outside the department, and
he’d already said too much by using the term at all.
Ronny said idly, “Probably two different people. I think I’ll go on back
and see how Tog is doing.”
-------------------------------------
Tog was at her communicator when he entered the tiny ship’s lounge. Ronny
could see in the brilliant little screen of the compact device, the
grinning face of Sid Jakes. Tog looked up at Ronny and smiled, then
clicked the device off.
“What’s new?” Ronny said.
She moved graceful shoulders. “I just called Supervisor Jakes. Evidently
there’s complete confusion on New Delos. Mobs are storming the temples. In
the capital the priests tried to present a new God-King and he was laughed
out of town.”
Ronny snorted cynically. “Sounds good to me. The more I read about New
Delos and its God-King and his priesthood, the more I think the best thing
that ever happened to the planet was this showing them up.”
Tog looked at him, the sides of her mouth tucking down as usual when she
was going to contradict something he said. “It sounds bad to me,” she
said. “Tommy Paine’s work is done. He’ll be off to some other place and we
won’t get there in time to snare him.”
Ronny considered that. It was probably true. “I wonder,” he said slowly,
“if it’s possible for us to get a list of all ships that have blasted off
since the assassination, all ships and their destination from New Delos.”
The idea grew in him. “Look! It’s possible that a dictatorial government
such as theirs would immediately quarantine every spaceport on the
planet.”
Tog said, “There’s only one spaceport on New Delos. The priesthood didn’t
encourage trade or even communication with the outside. Didn’t want its
people contaminated.”
“Holy smokes!” Ronny blurted. “It’s possible that Tommy Paine’s on that
planet and can’t get off. Look, Tog, see if you can raise the Section G
representative on New Delos and—”
Tog said demurely, “I already have taken that step, Ronny, knowing that
you’d want me to. Agent Mouley Hassan has promised to get the name and
destination of every passenger that leaves New Delos.”
Ronny sat down at a table and dialed himself a mug of stout. “Drink?” he
said to Tog. “Possibly we’ve got something to celebrate.”
She shook her head disapprovingly. “I don’t use depressants.”
There was nothing more to be discussed about New Delos, they simply would
have to wait until their arrival. Ronny switched subjects. “Ever hear of
the planet Shangri-La?” he asked her. He took a sip of his brew.
“Of course,” she said. “A rather small planet, Earth type within four
degrees. Noted for its near perfect climate and its scenic beauty.”
“Captain was talking about it,” Ronny said. “Sounds like a regular
paradise.”
Tog made a negative sound.
“Well, what’s wrong with Shangri-La?” Ronny said impatiently.
“Static,” she said briefly.
He looked at her. “It sounds to me as though it’s developed a near perfect
socio-economic system. What do you mean, static?”
“No push, no drive,” Tog said definitely. “Everyone—what is the old
term?—everyone has it made. The place is stagnating. I wouldn’t be
surprised to see Tommy Paine show up there sooner or later.”
Ronny said, “Look, since we’ve known each other, have I ever said anything
you agree with?”
Tog raised her delicate eyebrows. “Why, Ronny. You know perfectly well we
both agreed that the eggs for breakfast were quite inedible.”
Ronny came to his feet again. Considering her size, she certainly was an
irritating baggage. “I think I’ll go to my room and see if I can get any
inspirations on tracking down our quarry.”
“Good night, Ronny,” she said demurely.
-------------------------------------
They ran into a minor difficulty upon arrival at New Delos. The captain
called both Ronny Bronston and Tog Lee Chang Chu to the bridge.
He nodded in the direction of the communications screen. A bald headed,
robed character—obviously a priest—scowled at them.
Captain Woiski said, “The Sub-Bishop informs me that the provisional
government has ruled that any spacecraft landing on New Delos cannot take
off again without permission and that every individual who lands, even
United Planets personnel, will need an exit visa before being allowed to
depart.”
Ronny said, “Then you can’t land?”
The captain said reasonably, “My destination is Merlini. I’ve gone out of
my way slightly to drop you off here. But I can’t afford to take the
chance of having my ship tied up for what might be an indefinite period.
Evidently, there’s considerably civil disorder down there.”
From the screen the priest snapped, “That is an inaccurate manner of
describing the situation.”
“Sorry,” the captain said dryly.
Ronny Bronston said desperately, “But, captain, Miss Tog and I simply have
to land.” He reached for his badge. “High priority, Bureau of
Investigation.”
The captain shrugged his hefty shoulders. “Sorry, I have no instructions
that allow me to risk tying up my ship. Here’s a possibility. Can you
pilot a landing craft? I could spare you one, then you and your assistant
would be the only ones involved. You could turn it over to whatever Space
Forces base we have here.”
Ronny said miserably, “No. I’m not a space pilot.”
“I am,” Tog said softly. “The idea sounds excellent.”
“We shall expect you,” the Sub-Bishop said. The screen went blank.
Tog Lee Chang Chu piloted a landing craft with the same verve that she
seemed to be able to handle any other responsibility. As he sat in the
seat next to her, Ronny Bronston took in her practiced flicking of the
controls from the side of his eyes. He wondered vaguely at the efficiency
of such Section G officials as Metaxa and Jakes that they would assign an
unknown quality such as himself to a task as important as running down
Tommy Paine, and then as an assistant provide him with an experienced
operative such as Tog. The bureaucratic mind can be a dilly, he decided.
Was the fact that she was a rather delicately constructed girl a factor?
He felt the weight of the Model-H gun nestled under his left armpit.
Perhaps in the clutch Section G preferred men as agents.