First Cycle Part 8

"Oh, no!" Dantro expostulated. "Didn't we just define sanity as thinking in a manner in agreement with objective reality? How many kinds of reality are there, anyhow? I mean, it's not insane to believe that your child is missing if you have no evidence to the contrary. But if you have perfectly objective evidence that your child is dead, such as having seen the body, then continuing to believe that it is merely missing, while unfortunate and pathetic, is also insane."

"Well, while we're on the subject, how about this Tizzy-Puzzy-Vran business?" Lylla asked. "Is that sanity, now? We have a universe which we know-not just a.s.sume; know from actual physical-structure examination-to be composed of quanta of energy, grouped into atoms, which are grouped into molecules, which are grouped into macroscopic ma.s.ses. Yssa, you're the physicist; do we or don't we know that?"

"Well-" Yssa looked up at the ceiling, wrinkling the fur between her eyes. "When I perform an experiment, and check the results with my senses, and check my sensesagainst one another and against instruments, and somebody else performs the same experiment and our results agree; and then another researcher uses those results to set up a second-stage experiment and predicts the results accurately based on our data... Yes, without getting onto any ontological-epistemological merry-go-round, I'd say we know that."

"All right. Now then, what about this universe-in-the-Mind-of-Vran? Without cracking wise about what would happen if Vran ever got seriously absent-minded, I say that the whole thing is systematized delusion and rejection of reality; and if that isn't a description of non-sanity, I'd like to hear one. The very fact that they won't allow themselves to ask questions ought to be proof enough. You try to convince that woman we were talking about that her child isn't alive, and see what happens."

"That's the sort of thing I mean," Yssa said. "But what I was thinking about, more than Tizzy and Puzzy, was this big animal that they all think they're parts of. Now, if that's an example of sanity, then I'll kiss the man who calls me crazy!"

"But, Yssa," Vandro objected, "they don't really believe that they're cells in the body of some big animal. That's just a sort of figure of speech. They mean that they have const.i.tuted their society so that it resembles a living organism-"

"I know perfectly well what they mean. They mean that a little gang that call themselves the brain-cells can tell everybody else what to do and what not to do, and what to wear and eat, and who to mate with, and where to work, and what house to live in; and everybody thinks it's for their own good, and it's the way Vran intended for them to live. And if you don't happen to think so, why then 'you're too afraid to mention it to anyone. You know what would happen at home if anybody tried any trash like that? You know how long the Halzorro Gang lasted, after they tried to do about one-millionth of what this Organic State thing gets away with? Why, as nearly as I can see, the whole and sole purpose of this Organic State thing is to make everybody as wretched as possible.

Beside that, the Tizzy-Puzzy-Vran thing is practically sane. You know what I think? I think we ought to go home, all of us, and blow up the ship, and dismantle the radio station on Skystabber, and forget all about this place. The way these beings behave isn't just non-sane; it's anti-sane!"

Chapter Fourteen

As he sat by the window just forward of the edge of the plane's wing, waiting for Valla Alvararro to get the transport into the air, Vandro Hannaro thought, for the thousandth time, of what Yssa had said twenty years before, and found himself wishing devoutedly that her advice had been followed. When it came to that, he wished that his mother had interested herself in anything besides contacting Shining Sister, that he had found his mother's interests boring, that Kartho Alvararro had broken his neck halfway up Skystabber. But it was too late, now, even for regrets. The destinies of the twin planets were inextricably tangled, and could only get more so.

The plane shuddered slightly as Valla fed more fuel into her jets to keep them hot.

Opening his eyes, Vandro saw that they were still motionless in the same place.

"Valla!" he called. "What's the delay?"

"It's the plane ahead of us," she replied. "A big Zemnovarro Gang transport. It should be taxiing over to the edge of the runway for the take-off run, but the Zemnovarro's are having some kind of a ha.s.sle with some pa.s.sengers. They look like greenies. Probably claiming that their luggage has been searched, judging by my experience with the breed."

Vandro twisted in his seat and looked forward along the direction his plane was pointing. The big six-jet transport ahead of them was in the next slot for the runway, but instead of the gangway stairs being pulled away, there were fifteen green-skinned, green- downed natives of Shining Sister gathered around the foot of the gangway. While the transport rumbled in place, alternately puffing its jets, two of the green-skins were gesticulating angrily as they argued with a couple of members of the Zemnovarro Gang, while the rest stood in a clump. Only three of them were armed; they would be members of the Organic State Police, each watching the other two while all of them watched the rest.

This was typical of relations between the two planets and their races. He remembered the first of Shining Sister's Children to visit his world. There had been twelve, including Skrov-Rogov. He and two others, members of the Organic State Police, had brought weapons, the peculiarly-shaped automatics designed for a two-thumbed hand, and had gone to considerable trouble to secrete them. They probably thought they were succeeding, too, despite the tell-tale bulges in their clothing, until one of their guides asked them why the others were not also armed. None of them would go anywhere or do anything without the permission of Skrov-Rogov. None of them would talk to any Hetairan alone. As a result, they did everything in a clump.

They were given a tremendous ovation everywhere they went, and taken to see everything of interest. They would go to tremendous lengths to learn, in strange, sneaky ways, all sorts of things that they could have found out simply by asking. When they were about to go back, one of their pieces of luggage had broken open and it was revealed stuffed with notes and books of all sorts of scientific and technical information.

They went into a panic of discovery, which amazed the Hetairans, who, in turn tried to convince them that they didn't care; that the Thala.s.sans were free to take back whatever they wished. Which amazed the Thala.s.sans even more."They're always screaming that we're searching their luggage," the girl sitting beside Vandro said. "They never have gotten it inside their heads that we don't care where they come or go, or what they take-as long as they pay for it."

"Maybe it would be a good idea to search their luggage occasionally," Vandro said.

"We'd find out what they're so afraid of, and give more of an air of reality to their fears."

"That's the lot from Zagannos' Landing," another of his companions said. "Four of them wouldn't go back; said they'd rather stay on a decent world and dig ditches for a living. So the Zagannos took them in, of course. That's what the rest are so sore about."

That had started early in the course of interplanetary relations, too. A member of the second group of visitors from Shining Sister had eluded the Organic State Police guards and taken refuge with a lumbering gang in the mountains.

When his absence was discovered, the others had demanded the right to go back and get him. They were amazed when they were told that they were free to go wherever they liked, including back after their wandering planet-mate. They were never able to quite believe that, and always behaved as though they thought it was some kind of trap. And then when they went back to the lumbering gang and demanded their man, they were turned away at rifle point. Krav-Torov himself demanded the fugitive's return, and was quite incredulous when informed that, if he couldn't get him out, then n.o.body else could.

By this time the att.i.tude of the Organic State was becoming more understandable.

Krav-Torov and his government feared that contact with the Hetairans would spread dissatisfaction with the Organic State and doubt of the Puzzan Creed among his people.

Sanity, it would appear, was a dangerously contagious disease. The whole situation, and the behavior of Krav-Torov, became most understandable when viewed by a.n.a.logy to the quarantines established by the ranching gangs of the plains during the recurring cattle- plagues.

Trade, of course, was difficult under such circ.u.mstances. On Thala.s.sa, only the Organic State was allowed to buy or sell, or even own, commodities in bulk. And the Organic State had to be watched with two unblinking eyes if you were going to deal with it. Every grain of cereal had to be counted, every bag of produce weighed and smelled before it could be accepted. Business ethics, it seemed, were not a part of the Organic State.

For a long time Krav-Torov believed, in spite of repeated denials and extensive explanations, that the Shining Sister Combine was a government like his own. It was not until the Zaganno Gang built a s.p.a.ce-ship of their own and began trading in direct compet.i.tion with the Shining Sister Combine that he learned otherwise.

Then he got the bright idea of having his agents try to foment trouble between the Zagannos and the Combine, but they couldn't seem to get a handle on it. The charges that they whispered in appropriate ears were so ridiculous that, instead of believing them, one gang would call the other to chortle, "Say, what do you suppose a green-skin told me you boys were up to today?"

Then the agents of the Organic State got the bright idea of trying to break the Trading Combine with floods of counterfeit trade certificates. Those who were caught at it were summarily shot, which did nothing to improve interplanetary feelings. The ether was hot for a while with radio-beamed threats of reprisal and counter-reprisal. Both sides were bluffing, the one because they didn't dare start anything, and the other because there wasno sort of supra-gang government to do any reprising if they had wanted to. Of course, any gang or combine would have been free to take on the Organic State all by itself.

By then, thanks to the almost ineradicable Hetairan belief that scientific information should be freely shared and exchanged, the Thala.s.sans had nuclear power-reactors all over their planet, buying uranium and plutonium from Hetaira. Within a short time after this, they had built a s.p.a.ce-ship of their own.

The Zaganno Gang, unable to compete profitably with the Shining Sister Combine, sent their ship on a voyage of exploration to the tiny first planet of the system. It was airless, blazingly hot on the hemisphere facing the sun, and s.p.a.ce-cold on the far side; but there was a narrow twilight-ribbon where, if they were canny, they could put their air- locked dome in the shade and extend low-pressure heat collectors into the sunlight for warmth and power. They were able to find oxygen, carbon dioxide, and water locked in the rocks of the far side, and in a pocket in the twilight zone they found fabulously rich deposits of pitchblende and uranite.

By this time the first emotional love for Shining Sister's Children had evaporated, and along with it the willingness to share information. The Zaganno Gang kept their operations on the First Planet a secret for a very long time.

Vandro felt the plane vibrating under him as it moved into position for the take-off run. The Zemnovarro transport was already airborne; the Zemnovarros had probably given the gra.s.s-heads the choice of getting on or being left behind.

"The Zagannos probably caught that bunch snooping, and booted them out," the girl said. "Which, in my opinion, was a dumb trick. What they should have done was shot the lot of them!"

"And give the gra.s.s-heads an excuse to ma.s.sacre our people on Shining Sister?"

another of the party asked.

"They wouldn't dare do that; we have four s.p.a.ce-ships to their one, and they know it.

We'd have all four of them over there launching their shuttles and dumping explosives down on them before one of their missionaries could recite ten stanzas from That Book!"

The missionaries had been one of Krav-Torov's bigger mistakes. They had come over in groups, two-by-two, to convert the heathen Outsiders, bringing with them thousands of copies of The Books of Tisse to be distributed freely among the furry people. Well, the furry people took the books; they had an innate love of books of any description. They also listened to the missionaries. But, try as they would, the missionaries made no converts. None.

What it took Krav-Torov almost two years to figure out was that the people of the Horizon Object thought the missionaries were funny. When he realized this, he decided to make the best use of the missionaries he could. The problem of converting the heathens was put to one side, and the missionaries were converted into spies. They were not very effective spies. The Hetairans had no secrets, a fact that Krav-Torov never understood, but they did believe in safeguarding their possessions. So, when missionaries were found snooping around in places they shouldn't be, they were shot. Just like anyone else would have been.

Which, of course, convinced Krag-Torov that the Outsiders did, indeed, have secrets.

So he sent more missionaries. Pretty soon the Hetairans longer thought they were funny.

Vandro turned to the girl at his side. "I hope it doesn't come to that, Janna," he said.

"But it looks like it will eventually come to something. We can't put up with their slimytricks forever. Maybe if we gave them a good banging around, we might knock some civilized manners into them."

Thirty years after the coming of the Outsiders, Skrov-Rogov sat in the chair that had been Krav-Torov's before him, and Tov-Varsov's, and Rav-Razkov's, and Zov-Zolkov's at Karkasha. He had played well the cards Vran had dealt him. His liaison agency had, after his return from the first trip to the Horizon Object, become a full Control Bureau, with himself elevated to first brain-cell category and placed at its head; and, because of the paramount importance of the Horizon Object and its strange, fuzzy people in the affairs of the Organic State, he had come to stand second only to the Successor- Controller in the councils of the State. When Krav-Torov died, it had been only natural for him to be elected to the Successor-Controllership.

"Why didn't they attack us at the very beginning?" Nov-Borsov, the Deputy-Controller of the Armed Forces, wondered. "That's what I should have done in their place. And why did they let us learn so much from them? After all these years we still can't understand the way they think. It's unreasonable!"

"It was the Will of Vran," Harv-Sarov, the Dean of Archpriests, declared. "Vran was testing us with these Outsiders, but Vran would not suffer His people to be overwhelmed by the infidel."

The others looked at him in deprecation. That sort of talk was all right to give to the body-cells and the lower category brain-cells, but entirely out of place at a meeting of the First Category.

"How could those anarchists, with no> internal organization and n.o.body in command, ever hope to coordinate their forces well enough to wage a successful war of conquest against the Organic State?" Morv-Gorov, the Deputy Controller of Security, demanded scornfully.

"They could have. You should know that, Citizen. With their weapons, it would have taken very little organization to have defeated us utterly," Skrov-Rogov said. Had anyone else uttered those words, it could have been considered treason. "But they were too crafty. They had other weapons with which to subdue us. They could, and did, make us dependent upon them for power-metals. They could, and did, make us dependent upon them for technological goods that we are incapable of making. And they could, and I regret to say that in the cases of some of the weak and degenerate among us, they did, corrupt us."

"Yes!" The Dean of Archpriests nodded and slapped his hand sharply down on the conference table. "Their abominable atheism; their lawless and anarchic way of life; their beastly immorality and lack of shame!"

"And now we find out," the Successor-Controller said, "that they have seized the First Planet, and planted a colony there. This colony is where their steady supply of the power- metals is coming from. And when, quite by accident, one of our spies finds this out, and we demand a just share of these interplanetary riches-which, by rights, should belong to everybody equally-they refuse us utterly."

"They laugh at us," Morv-Gorov put in, angrily.

"And, with the exception of insignificant deposits of low-grade fissionable ores on Thurv, we are without any uranium whatever that we do not buy from them." The Successor-Controller shifted in his chair. "This is an intolerable position for the Organic State, and one which we are no longer prepared to bear. Nov-Borsov?"The Deputy-Controller of the Armed Forces rose. "Two new-model s.p.a.ce-ships are ready," he said. "Secretly built over the past two years; these are fighting ships, armed with rocket-bombs, and carrying two hundred and eighty-eight fighting men each. These men have been equipped with s.p.a.ce-suits, and trained to fight on a low-gravity, airless world."

"How were they trained?" asked the Deputy-Controller of Agriculture.

"In special large tanks, under water," Nov-Borsov replied. "Our experts have concluded that such an environment closely approximates conditions on the surface of the First Planet."

"They will depart shortly from the side of the planet out of sight of the Horizon Object," Skrov-Rogov said. "It will take some six hundred hours for them to reach the First Planet. Our agents have located the mining colony to within a few hundred leagues, so there should be no trouble finding the domes on the surface. Our fighters should have little trouble overwhelming the colony."

"It is the Will of Vran," the Dean of Archpriests said firmly.

Errba Zaganno, defensive screen observer for the Third Shift Watch, observed the two little blips on the radar screens as two mysterious ships rounded the curve of the First Planet, headed toward the Zaganno mining colony. They were not coming in from the right direction for Zaganno ships, they did not show the automatic identification code of Zaganno ships, and there were no Zaganno ships expected. She hit the general alarm b.u.t.ton, and flipped the missile delivery radar onto automatic tracking. "Visitors!" she yelled.

The head of the communications section, Dan-dro Zaganno, came running into the screen room from the general mess, a soup spoon still forgotten in his hand. "What have you got?"

"I think they're unfriendlies," Errba said. "I'm trying the s.p.a.ceship general-hailing frequencies now, and they don't respond."

"What are they aiming for?" Dandro asked, glaring into the screen.

Errba flicked a couple of switches and tapped a tune into the small keyboard below the screen complex. A dotted line appeared on the big screen, predicting where the objects would go with no further rocket burn.

"They're coming jn low, directly over our heads," she said.

Dandro stared at the screen for a few more seconds, and then shook his head. "Any gang would know better than that," he said. "They're greenies, and they mean us no good.

Blast them."

Errba Zaganno rotated a guard free of a large black b.u.t.ton labeled LAUNCH, which had a row of twenty switches under it. She flipped the first and second switches up, and then pushed the b.u.t.ton.

"Don't look at me like that!" Nov-Borsov barked, glaring defensively around the table.

"My s.p.a.cemen died fighting heroically against a cowardly ambush! They must have the whole terminator-zone of the First Planet honeycombed with launching sites. Our intelligence was faulty." He glanced sidewise at Morv-Gorov. "How does it happen that we didn't know about their missiles in advance-or even that the Outsiders had fission- bombs? What kind of espionage are those missionaries accomplishing anyway?""And how soon is it going to be before their ships are in orbit off this planet, launching fission-bombs into our cities?" somebody else demanded. "We all know how little fission-fuel we have available; they must have five bombs for every one we could build."

Skrov-Rogov held up a hand. "Citizens!" he reproved. "These recriminations are unbecoming to our dignity; they are useless as well. No one is at fault. If any were, you may all be sure that Organic Justice would have been done before this. The purpose of this meeting is to decide future actions, not to cry about the past. We were surprised, that's all. We lost two ships and many good body-cells. They can be replaced. Our situation is far from hopeless, despite our lack of adequate fissionable material. Citizen Jav-Tarov, it is now time to reveal the details of your secret project. Speak, and receive the thanks of the Organic State for what you have done."

"Inspired by the Will of Vran, and by the patterns of correct thinking imbued by the words of the departed Dov-Soglov, Citizen Successor-Controller," Jav-Tarov, the Deputy Controller of Scientific Advancement and Display, added, rising to his feet.

"Well, Citizens, I a.s.sume that everyone around this table knows enough of the principles of the Fission-bomb that I need not go into that. If I am wrong, see me after the meeting and I will recommend some rudimentary reading. You also know that, despite the exaggerated idea of some of our lower-category brain-cells, the amount of fissionable material on this planet is quite limited. Even by stripping our existing fission-power plants of their fuel to make bombs, an action that would be undesirable anyway, we would not be able to create sufficient fission weapons to decisively defeat and conquer the Horizon Object. And we dare not contemplate any war that falls short of immediate and decisive defeat.

"However, we have developed a radically new type of nuclear weapon. Instead of releasing energy by the chain-reaction of fissionable heavy nuclei, such as those of uranium or plutonium, we have found that an even greater energy release can be gained by the fusion of light nuclei, such as those of hydrogen or lithium. The ideal substance in which to produce such an energy-release is a combination of the two; lithium hydride.

Weight for weight, fusion of lithium hydride will release three times the energy released by the fission of plutonium. Furthermore, the size of such a bomb will not be limited by any critical-ma.s.s factor; tons of lithium hydride can be packed around the small fission bomb which is necessary to furnish the intense heat to initiate the fusion reaction."

"Thank you, Citizen Tav-Jarov," Skrov-Rogov said. "You and your scientists have done well, and will be rewarded." He turned to the table. "Our rocket technicians a.s.sure me that it will be quite possible to build remote-controlled s.p.a.ce rockets which can deliver, on the Horizon Object, bombs several thousand times more destructive than the conventional fission bomb. It is well within the power of the Organic State to create enough such rockets, with the fusion warheads devised by Tav-Jarov, to totally depopulate the Horizon Object. Furthermore, the lingering radiation will be of extremely short duration. In a matter of several years we will be able to go there and find a world, intact, but burned clean of the vile life which now infests it."

"And how long is it estimated that it will take to build this quant.i.ty of remote- controlled rockets and fusion bombs?" somebody asked.

"The rockets are the responsibility of Citizen Shev-Yorov's Bureau," Skrov-Rogov said. "He will be given everything he needs. Citizen Jav-Tarov a.s.sures me that hisBureau will be able to produce the actual bombs in three years at the most. Isn't that right?"

Jav-Tarov nodded. "That is so, Citizen Successor-Controller," he said.

Skrov-Rogov stood up. "Then we will proceed with this plan," he said. "The Horizon Object must be wiped clean! But all of you keep in mind that, until the moment comes, we must do everything to avoid open conflict with the Outsiders."

Vandro Hannaro, grimly sad, looked down the long table. Everybody who would be taking part in the conference was seated: the whole board of advisers of Shining Sister Combine, the leading advisers of the Trading Combine, the Board of the Banking Combine, the big industrial and ranching and agricultural combines, the Rendezvous Combine. Less than a hundred men and women were gathered here, and they were prepared to speak for the entire world. This was a moment unique in the history of his people, and Vandro Hannaro didn't like it. What was worse, any decision reached around this table would affect every gang and individual on the planet. The thing that a few conservatives had feared back when the Trading Combine was formed, three centuries before, was now coming to pa.s.s.

"Well, that's the situation," Arvo Zaganno, the spokesman for his gang, told the group.

"We beat off the first attack on our mining outpost quite easily; probably because they didn't expect any resistance. They certainly weren't prepared to face remote-control rockets with nuclear warheads. But they'll be back; and we won't be able to face another attack alone. We can't put a radar screen around the whole planet; and we can't site missile launchers every twenty kilolances in every direction. They could land an army on the planet, once they build enough s.p.a.ce-suits, and deploy and attack from several directions. Nuclear rockets designed to take out s.p.a.ce ships aren't much use against a ground army, especially on an airless planet. We need your help to form a Grand Combine, and we believe it's in your interest."

"How does this affect us?" one of the Trading Combine demanded.

"If the gra.s.s-heads get onto the First Planet," Arvo said, "the fissionables monopoly is smashed. If they control the planet, they won't sell us any fissionables. They'll just build weapons with the surplus from their power-stations. And when they have enough nuclear weapons-does anyone want to guess what they'll do with them?"

"That might be a bit alarmist," one of the Banking Combine people said. "But he's right about the rest of it. All the fissionable ore on Shining Sister comes from those low- grade uranite mines on Thurv. If they get a foothold on the First Planet, we can close the books on any trade with them."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" an elderly representative of the Rendezvous Combine asked. "It seems to me, judging from past experiences, that we'd be better off without any dealings with them."

"Don't fool yourself, Zalgo," a woman from the Trading Combine said. "We'd have dealings with them-a kind we wouldn't like. If they get hold of the fissionables on the First Planet, they'd be invading us inside of ten years. I'm absolutely sure of that."

"Oh, rubbish, Nalla! They have a planet of their own-"

"With one-tenth our land-surface and ten times our population. This lovely planet of ours is just right to siphon off their surplus population to. And you don't know those snakes the way I do, Zalgo. When we make a deal, we try to come out even; everybody happy. They can't do that, can't stand the thought of it. They can't be even with anyone,they have to dominate. And, since they've brought their own world under a single tyranny, we're all they have left to conquer."

"Why? Why would they do that? Why would anyone want to-control-anybody else?"

"Some of them seem to thrive on controlling other people; it's a kind of sickness, I suppose. As for the others, it is their duty to Vran and the Organic State."

"That's what I've been trying to get across for the past thirty years," Yssa Balkadranna said. She was an old woman now, almost as old as Vandro himself; her dark red fur was beginning to a.s.sume the uniform whitish surface tinge of age, and her voice was sharp and petulant. "They're all crazy, every last one of them. And the ones who run the Organic State are the craziest of all. They hate and fear us; they can't even conceive that we came to them in love and friendship thirty years ago. Since they want so badly to dominate us, they have to believe that we want to dominate them. If we don't do something to stop them, they will be here; with guns and bombs and armored trucks, and all the weapons they can build with all the technology they learned from us!"

"Yes," Nalla took up the argument. "And if they get a foot-hold on the First Planet, they'll have all the fissionables they need; they can start building an invasion fleet and stockpiling fission bombs. This idea of a Grand Combine is all right as far as it goes, but it doesn't go far enough. We need a World Combine; with every gang in the world in it, to build a big enough s.p.a.ce-fleet to protect both this and the First Planet against any attack.

If we cut off trade with them, they'll attack us. Maybe not at once, but sooner or later, and I'd bet on sooner. They have plenty of fissionables now, that we were fools enough to sell them."

Yssa stood up silently, and waited until the cross-talk had died away, and everyone had turned to look at her. "We can do better than that," she said, clearly and firmly. "We can solve their population problem for them, by a one-hundred percent reduction-and then we can stop worrying about a raid on the First Planet, or an attack on us here. And, I tell you, it's the only way to prevent them from attacking us, as Nalla says, sooner or later."

"That would take quite a little doing, Yssa," Vandro said.