"We don't object."
"I thought you might consider me presumptive--"
"Not in the least!" boomed Len Dor Vale.
"That makes it easier," said Wan Nes Stan.
"Trying to conceal your real identity is both impossible and
ridiculous," laughed Len Dor Vale. "Now, Wan Nes Stan, how will you
spend your Galactic life?"
"First, how long have I to live?"
"Your super-intellect will, of course, cause subconscious repair of
your body. I'd say another six or seven hundred years. You understand,
of course, that not being born one of us has cut your life expectancy.
That is too bad. But--" and the overseer dismissed the subject with a
wave and a shrug.
"I've been a business executive most of my life."
"You may have trouble doing anything of that nature here," said Len
Dor Vale with a sad shake of his head. "We are not a competitive race,
we Galactic Ones. I might suggest that you try the main line here;
overseeing the myriad of uninformed planets comprises the major portion
of our lives."
"That seems not too productive."
"No? We have all we need. Anything you want is supplied, you will
find. Our philosophy is settled and stable; we are luckily the highest
order of intelligence in this galaxy--and that fact we know. In other
galaxies near by, we have found no race to compare with us. There
are rising races in all of them, but our prime job is to bring about
the completeness of this, the First Galaxy before we struggle with
the rest. Our job, Wan Nes Stan, is to co-relate and to advise. Our
compensation is the fulfillment of our every desire. We--must carry the
burden of all intelligence. We are repaid by those races just below us
who are enlightened enough to know what we are doing and who appreciate
it.
"Terra is not yet one of these, but another Galactic year and they will
be. Our plan is endless, Wan Nes Stan, a project that only we, the
Galactics can appreciate in its entirety. You understand the magnitude
of any plan of steering a galaxy of races into the full realization
of their destiny--and then spreading out through the universe to the
countless other galaxies to do likewise.
"The end-product? Yes, you will, as one of us, be able to appreciate
this, too. We are still rising, ourselves. We do not know what we
may be in another million galactic years--but we do know it will be
interesting, and our regret is that we cannot live to see it. Yet our
children may, and for them we must plan."
Wan Nes Stan nodded. Certain things penetrated deep during the speech;
they rang home with response greater than others; a natural thing. But
the one thing that flared in his mind was the statement:
_We are not a competitive race._
Wan Nes Stan could and would go far in a culture like this.
"I want to know; how much training is necessary to join the ranks of
your governmental service?"
"About a week will suffice. You will then be given an overseer's
position. Perhaps you might enjoy being overseer in the sector that
includes Sol."
Wan Nes Stan shook his head. "A prophet is not without honor save in
his own country," he said.
He considered the idea of overseer's position and scorned it. He'd
continue to use the mind machine.
_They were still rising._
He could and would rise too. He would rise above them, he could and
would become the high governor of all the great widespread race of
Galactics. With intelligence above them, he could and would direct them
wisely and well, and though none would live to carry his name onward,
the name of Wan Nes Stan would go ringing down the halls of time.
But Wan Nes Stan cared little for the halls of time, really. He wanted
a present, not a future. That his name might appear as a beacon to
uncounted numbers of yet unborn Galactics was attractive; his basic
purpose was still to enjoy the power and the glory that would be his.
He wanted the sensuous thrill of having the power that would place him
among those whose names still ring though eons have passed.
He began to plan craftily.
* * * * *
"Len Dor Vale, have I your backing?" he asked.
"In two days you have proved yourself most able," agreed Vale.
"I have your backing."
"Need you receive it in words?" puzzled Len Dor Vale. "Must you have
acclaim thrust upon you?"
Wan Nes Stan smiled in self-depreciation. "I want you to help me," he
said quietly.