_John Keats_ (_with an ironic alteration_)
It was a notably bare room, smaller and lower-ceilinged than he had
expected. It was furnished with ostentatious simplicity, and nothing
broke the gray monotony of the walls.
Around the longer side of a kidney-shaped table, eleven men sat on
stools. Their gray tunics, though clean, were like those of beggars.
They were all old, some bald, some capped with close-cropped white or
gray. They all sat very erect.
The first thing that struck Thorn--with surprise, he realized--was that
the Servants of the People looked in no way malignant, villainous, or
evil.
But looking at them a second time, Thorn began to wonder if there
was not something worse. A puritanic grimness that knew no humor. A
suffocating consciousness of responsibility, as if all the troubles of
the world rested on their shoulders alone. A paternal aloofness, as if
everyone else were an irresponsible child. A selflessness swollen to
such bounds as to become supreme selfishness. An intolerable sense of
personal importance that their beggarly clothes and surroundings only
emphasized.
But Thorn had barely gleaned this impression, had had no time to
survey the faces in detail, except to note that one of two seemed
vaguely familiar, when his attention became rivetted on the man who was
standing on the other side of the table, the focus of their converging
eyes.
That man was obviously one of them. His manner and general appearance
were the same.
But that man was also Conjerly.
He was speaking. "I must return at once. The soporific I inhaled into
my other body will wear off shortly, and if the other mind becomes
conscious, exchange will be difficult. True, Tempelmar is on guard
there and could administer another dose. But that is dangerous.
Understand, we will attempt no further exchanges unless it becomes
necessary to transmit to you information of vital importance. The
process is too risky. There is always the possibility of the mental
channels being blocked, and one or both of us being marooned here."
"You are wise," observed the midmost of the Servants, apparently their
chairman, a tall thin man with wrinkle-puckered lips. "No further
exchanges should be necessary. I anticipate no emergencies."
"And so I take my leave," Conjerly continued, "assured that the
transtime machine is ready and that the invasion will begin in three
days, at the hour agreed. We will prevent the World Executive Committee
from taking any significant action until then."
Thorn leaned forward, half guessing what was coming. Clawly II's hand
touched his sleeve.
Conjerly bowed his head, stood there rigid. Two black-uniformed guards
appeared and took up positions close to him, one on either side.
For a full half minute nothing happened.
Then a great shiver went through Conjerly. He slumped forward, would
have fallen except for the two guards. He hung in their arms, breathing
heavily.
When he raised his face, Thorn saw that it had a different expression,
was that of a different man. A man who looked dazed and sick.
"Where--? Who?" he mumbled thickly. The guards began to lead him out.
Then his eyes cleared. He seemed to recognize the situation. "Don't
lock me up. Let me explain," he cried out, his voice racked by a
desperate yet hopeless urgency. "My name's Conjerly. I'm a member
of the World Executive Committee." His face, twisted back over his
shoulder, was a white, uncomprehending mask. "Who are you? What do you
want out of me? Why am I drugged? What have you done to my body? What
are you trying to do to my mind? What--"
The guards dragged him out.
The wrinkle-lipped chairman lowered his eyes. "A distressing
occurrence. But, of course, strictly necessary. It is good to think
that, when we have things under control in the other world, no such
confinements and withholdings of permissible information will have to
be practiced--except, of course, in the case of hopeless Recalcitrants."
The others nodded silently. Then Thorn started, for from beside him
came an amused, incredulous snicker--not a polite or pleasant sound,
and certainly unexpected.
All eyes were turned in their direction.
* * * * *
Clawly II strode out leisurely.
"What did your laughter signify?" The chairman asked sharply, without
preliminaries, a look of displeasure settling on his face. "And who
is that you have smuggled into our council, without informing us?
Let me tell you, some day you will go too far in your disregard of
regulations."
Clawly II ignored the second question--and the comment. He swaggered
up to the table, planted his hands on it, looked them over, and said,
"I laughed to think of how sincerely you will voice your distress
when you discover all inhabitants of the other world to be hopeless
Recalcitrants--and take appropriate measures. Come, face circumstances.
You will be forced to destroy most of the inhabitants of the other
world, and you know it."
"We know nothing of the sort," replied the chairman coldly. "Take care
that your impudent and foolish opinions do not make us lose confidence
in you. In these critical times your shrewdness and ingenuity are
valuable to us. You are a useful tool, and only imprudent men destroy
a tool because its mannerisms annoy them. But if, in your foolhardy
opinionatedness you cease to be useful--that is another matter. As
regards the misguided inhabitants of the other world, you very well
know that our intentions are the best."
"Of course," agreed Clawly II, smiling broadly, "but just consider
what's actually going to happen. In three days the transtime machine
will subtronically isolate and annihilate a spatio-temporal patch
in this world, setting up stresses which cannot be relieved by any
redistribution of material in this world; accordingly the lacuna
will find with the corresponding patch from the other world, thereby
creating an area common to both worlds. Through this common area your
armed forces will pour. They will come as invaders, awakening horror
and fear. They will have the element of surprise on their side, but
there will inevitably be resistance--organized in desperate haste, but
using improvised subtronic weapons. Most important, that resistance
will not come, as it would in this world, from a small elite directing
an ignorant multitude, but from a people of uniformly high education--a
people used to freedom and adverse to submitting to any autocratic
government, no matter how well-intentioned. That resistance will not
cease until the other world has been destroyed in subtronic battle,
or you are forced to destroy it subtronically yourselves and retire
through the gap. All that is painfully clear."
"It is nothing of the sort," replied the chairman in measured and
dispassionate tones. "Our invasion will be well-nigh bloodless,
though we must prepare for all eventualities. At the proper moment
Conjerly and Tempelmar will seize control of the so-called World
Executive Committee, thereby preventing any organized resistance at the
fountainhead. The majority of inhabitants of the other world have no
technical knowledge of subtronic power and will therefore constitute no
danger. Ultimately they will be grateful to us for insuring the safety
of their world and protecting them from their irresponsible leaders. It
will only be necessary for us to capture and confine all technicians
and scientists having a knowledge of subtronic physics. To do this, we
must admittedly be ready to take any and all necessary steps, no matter
how unpleasant. For our main purpose, of which we never lose sight, is
always to keep the knowledge of subtronic power--which now imperils
two worlds--in the possession of a small, responsible, and benevolent
elite."
* * * * *
Thorn shivered. The horrible thing was that these Servants actually
believed that they were acting for the best, that they had the good of
mankind--of two mankinds--at heart.
"Exactly," said Clawly II, continuing to smile. "The only thing you
don't see, or pretend not to see, is the inevitable consequences of
that main purpose. Even now your secrets are gravely endangered.
Mind-exchange is putting more and more Recalcitrants and Escapists
into the other world. It is only a matter of time before some of them
begin to realize that the inhabitants of that world are their potential
allies rather than their foes, and join forces with them. Similarly it
is only a matter of time until the mind of a subtronic technician is
displaced into this world and contacted by the Recalcitrants here--then
you will have to fight subtronic wars in two worlds. Your only chance,
as I'm glad you recognize in part, is to strike hard and fast, destroy
the other world, along with all the Recalcitrants and Escapists who
have entered it, then seek out and eliminate all displaced minds in
this world. Your weakness is in not admitting this at the start.
Everything would be much easier if you would leave out pseudobenevolent
intentions and recognize that you are up against an equation in
destruction, which you must solve in the only logical way possible--by
a general canceling out."
And he rocked back on his heels a little, again surveying the eleven
old faces. It struck Thorn that thus legendary Loki must have mocked
the Dawn Gods and flayed their high-sounding pretenses, confident that
his cunning and proven usefulness would protect him from their wrath.
As for the Servants, their paternalism was unpleasantly apparent in
their attitude toward Clawly II. They treated him like a brilliantly
mischievous favorite child--always indulged, often threatened, seldom
punished.
Certainly there was a germ of greatness about this Clawly II. If only
he had Clawly I's sane attitude toward life, so that his critical
thinking would come to something more than mere sardonic jibing!
One thing was certain, Clawly II's claim that he wanted to float on the
stream of life was a gross understatement. What he really wanted was to
dance along a precipice--and this time, apparently, he had taken one
heedless step too many.
For the chairman looked at him and said, "The question arises whether
your insistence on destruction has not assumed the proportions of a
mania. We will at once reconsider your usefulness as a tool."
Clawly II bowed. He said smoothly, "First it would be well to interview
the person I have brought you. You will be pleased when I tell you who
he is." And he motioned to Thorn.
All eyes turned on the niche.
Abruptly, painfully, Thorn woke from his impersonal absorption in the
scene unrolling before him. Again it came to him, like a hammer blow,
that he was not watching from the safety of a spy-hole, but was himself
immediately and fatally involved. Again the urge to escape racked
him--with redoubled force, because of the warning that he must now at
all costs take back to World I. It was such a simple thing. Just a
change of viewpoints. He had seen Conjerly accomplish it. Surely, if he
concentrated his mind in the right way, it would be that other Thorn
who walked forward to face the Servants and the destiny of that other
Thorn's own making, while he sank back. Surely his need to warn a world
would give him sufficient impetus.
But all the time he was walking toward the table. It was _his_
dragging feet that scuffed the gray flooring, _his_ dry throat
that swallowed, _his_ cold hands that clenched and unclenched. The
eleven old faces wavered, blurred, came clear again, seemed to swell,
grow gray and monstrous, become the merciless masks of judges of some
fabled underworld, where he must answer for another man's crimes.
The table stopped his forward progress. He heard Clawly II say, "I am
afraid that I am still very useful to you. Here is your chief enemy,
brought to book by my efforts alone. He was part of our bag when he
raided the local Recalcitrant headquarters last night. He escaped and
took to the hills, where I personally recaptured him--the Recalcitrant
leader Thorn 37-P-82."
But the Servants' reaction could not have been the one Clawly was
expecting, for the old faces registered anger and alarm. "Irresponsible
child!" the chairman rapped out. "Didn't you hear what Conjerly
reported--that he is certain there has occurred a mind exchange between
the Thorns? This man is not the Recalcitrant, but a displaced mind
come to spy on us. You have provided him with what he wanted--an
opportunity to learn our plans."
Thorn felt their converging hostility--a palpable force. His mind
shrank back from the windows of his eyes, but, chained there, continued
to peer through them.
The chairman's wrinkled hand dropped below the table. He said, "There
is only one course of action." His hand came up, and in it a slim
gleaming cone. "To eliminate the displaced mind before a re-exchange
can be--"
Thorn was dimly conscious of Clawly II leaping forward. He heard him
begin, "No! Wait! Don't you see--"
But although that was all he heard, he knew what Clawly II was going
to say and why he was going to say it. He also knew why Thorn II had
been able to exchange with him when Thorn II thought he was trapped and
facing death on the rooftop. He knew that the chairman's action was
the very thing that would nullify the chairman's purpose. At last he
had found the sufficient impetus--it was staring at him down the slim,
gleaming cone, leering at him even as the chains broke and his mind
dropped back from the windows of his eyes into a black, dimensionless
pit.
The fear of death.