"Enough to live on?"
"Barely," said Carroll, leaning heavily on the scythe. "It means we
must work many hours, sixteen or more a day, in order to survive."
"That is what we fight," said Wolf simply. "That, and the near slavery
of many of the Colonies. Do you know what happens to the money you pay
the Terran Federation in taxes?"
"No," admitted Carroll. "No one has dared ask."
Wolf laughed. "And yet they say the Federation is a republic? When the
citizen does not dare ask what happens to the taxes that are ground out
of him? I'll tell you, my friend Joseph. It is used for administration.
Simply that. Administration of a space empire is an expensive project,
and you must pay for it. It costs a great deal of money, our treasured
Empire. And what does the administration consist of? Machinery to
collect taxes. It is like a snake that feeds on its own tail, Joseph.
Taxes are increased in order to have enough money to collect more
taxes. It never ends."
"This is one thing," said Joseph. "The killing of people is another."
"How many do you know who have died in Debtor's camps, or died because
they could not work hard enough? Joseph, this is no life for a man. The
Colonies cannot develop under the Federation. They must be free to
govern themselves. Otherwise, we have simply a great, cancerous tumor,
spreading through the universe, calling itself the Terran Federation."
Joseph sighed. "All right," he said. "In principle I agree. The
colonies must be free. But is there no other way than murder and
assassination? This violence--what can come of it? And if the
revolution succeeds eventually, how can we know the Federation will not
be replaced by the same thing under another name?"
"Because you will govern yourselves," Wolf said. "Every Colony will be
autonomous, trading as a sovereign nation with the other Colonies. The
idea of a Galactic Empire is self-defeating, Joseph, it is unhealthy,
vicious. The only way man can go to the stars with his head up, is
without dreams of infinite power blinding him."
"You are an idealist," said the ferret-eyed man, with surprise.
"A man must live for something," said Wolf, quietly.
"Certainly, certainly," the thin man agreed quickly. "I was surprised
to find an idealist in your--trade."
"My trade is as distasteful to me as it is to you," said Wolf, speaking
more to Joseph Carroll than to the pale, thin man.
"What will the death of Mayne Landing accomplish?" Carroll asked.
"Confusion. He is the Administrator of over one hundred planets. He
is a strong man, a focal point. Without him, without his personal
strength, the administration of those planets will falter, and stop.
It isn't that he carries on the routine work, of course. But decisions
come from him, the decisions that cannot be made by routine, the
decisions that require a man's creative spark. Without that, the
routine itself cannot stand."
"It rather sounds as if you respect the man," said Carroll.
"Respect him? I--" Wolf hesitated, uncertain. "Yes," he finished. "I
respect him. He is doing what he thinks is right, as I do what I think
is right."
"And you would kill a man for whom you hold no hatred," Carroll
muttered. "This thing is making beasts of us all."
_If you only knew_, thought Wolf, _if you only knew._
"Sometimes it is necessary," he said aloud. "Sometimes bad things are
necessary, that good may follow."