He waited, but Dahno’s expression still did not change. Nor did he answer immediately.
“You understand?” Bleys said. “I want to change people’s minds, not the way they live—immediately, anyway. For that I have to be more an Idea than a Human, someone seen always and only at a distance—a sort of mythic personage, a symbol of what I tell them they can be.”
“And you’re sure that all this is going to go off all right?” Dahno asked slowly.
“Yes,” said Bleys.
He stared directly at Dahno.
“You’ve seen how my recorded tapes have caught on on other worlds. The overwhelming majority of people on most of the New Worlds are hungry for leadership. It’s been three hundred years now since terraforming allowed the first immigrants to go to the New Worlds. For a long time those who left Old Earth were too busy straggling to survive, to consider where they were headed in the long run. But they’ve had time now. The Fanatics, the True Faith-Holders, the Dorsai and the Exotics believe they’ve already found their future and they’re satisfied with it. But everyone else on our New Worlds is reaching out for something they can’t describe or put their finger on but know they want—just like our ancestors back on Old Earth for several thousands of years knew that there was an eventual future in which everything they needed and wanted could be had and they themselves would be happy. I promise them that in my dream of the future, and in a little while it’ll seem as if there are people on their own worlds who are steering them in exactly the direction I talked about. It’s that simple.”
He paused. Dahno looked less doubtful, but still not completely convinced. After a moment, Dahno did speak, soberly.
“That business of being a symbol—that’s always been a strange and dangerous notion you’ve been playing with,” he said. “It’ll end up with the three of us trying to drive something like a dozen different juggernauts in single harness. Dangerous—not only for our Others, Toni and myself; but mostly for you. People can turn against symbols—and when they do, they destroy them. Anyway—since I know better than to try to talk you out of it—how would this lecture tour of yours lead into it?”
“It’s the first step”—Bleys began, but at that moment Toni’s wrist control pad chimed and she lifted it to her lips.
“Yes?” she said. She listened a moment, her control pad obviously on mute, so that only her end of the conversation was audible to Bleys and Dahno. “Hold a moment.”
She looked back at Bleys while touching the control that would block off their conversation from the open phone circuit. “Someone’s here to see you,” she said. “Apparently, he’s being insistent about seeing you. Do you know an Association Militia officer who just got back here from Harmony, named Amyth Barbage?”
“I do,” said Dahno. “Oh, that was the other matter I wanted to talk to you about, Bleys. This Barbage called me from orbit on his way in. I’ve been maintaining contacts within the Militia of both our Friendly worlds for some time, and I know this man. He’s a Fanatic; I don’t care for him, but he’s useful. And he’s ambitious—he’s been wanting to talk with you, and now he’s come up with news he says you have to hear—from him. Didn’t want to tell me; but I got it out of him. He thinks he’s located Hal Mayne finally—with an outlaw Command on Harmony.”
“Harmony!” said Toni, for Hal Mayne could hardly not know that Harmony was the other so-called “Friendly” world, a place where the Others were strong.
“Yes,” said Dahno, “Barbage seems to think Mayne’s been there some months; all these last few months we were still having the Coby mines searched for him. In fact,
Barbage thinks you saw him yourself—or should have seen him—when you were on that speaking tour on Harmony just four months ago. Damned if I know why you attach so much importance to finding this Mayne, anyway!”
“In that case, I probably better have this officer up,” said Bleys. “But you sound as if you don’t really trust his information.”
“I don’t know whether or not to trust it,” said Dahno. “And I didn’t want to raise your hopes until I’d checked it out. But, make your own judgment as to whether you want to use him further, or not. Anyway, since the cat’s out of the bag on his current news, maybe you’re right. Maybe you’d better talk to him now and judge for yourself.”
Bleys nodded, and Toni lifted the control pad again to her lips.
“Send him up,” she said.
Chapter 3
Bleys looked directly at Dahno.
“According to Barbage, Hal Mayne’s been there how long?” he asked.
“Some months, apparently,” said Dahno. “I’m checking the information, of course.”
With his gaze focused on Dahno, Bleys was still able to see the Mayne-map, but only with the outer corners of his eyes. He did not like to betray his intense interest in this news by looking to see if the map had just been updated. As it was, he could not be sure upon which black world-dot the end of the red line now rested; but the line itself seemed longer than it had been the last time he looked. Dahno was probably playing safe—more sure than he sounded, that Barbage’s information was correct.
“Anyway,” Dahno was going on, “I ought to have my answer in six days. I sent a letter on Favored of God—you remember? One of the spaceships we’ve got a majority interest in. Favored’s got to go on from Harmony to Ceta. But there’re other ships coming straight back to here, any one of which can bring back the answer.”
Bleys nodded, thoughtfully. He had not only remembered Favored, he had wanted to do his entire speaking tour using that spaceship. But the answers on the Hal Mayne question were important—important enough to him so any delay of the trip would be worthwhile, whenever he might decide to go.
“When will Favored be back here and free?” he asked.
“Eight days,” said Dahno.
Bleys nodded again. With all the near-magic of which phase-shift physics seemed to be capable, the fastest way to get letters across an interstellar distance was still by sending them aboard spaceships. It was even more practical between two worlds under the same star, like Association and Harmony. He should probably be glad he had an available technology like that to make his multi-worlds speaking tour possible. But the Exotics had once been supposed to have a secret and faster way of sending messages between the stars that gave them a commercial advantage in interworld trade. Bleys lost himself in possibilities.
Phase-shifting could be made to translate properly equipped ships from point to point—the word “move” did not really apply—completely disregarding the limiting speed of light. It did not so much move the ship, as simply restate its position with regard to the theoretical centerpoint of the galaxy.
But the best calculated phase-shift was only an approximate approach to any destination. Traveling this way was like zeroing in on a target point. The smaller the shift, the more accurate it was. But there was always some error, requiring re-calculation, until the destination was close enough to be approached with an ordinary mass-drive unit.
That took time, but if there was some way to compensate for the error factor—
“—In fact,” Dahno was saying, as Bleys came back to the present, “Barbage, as I say, claims you were right in the same room with Mayne four months ago. In any case, as I say, Barbage is here, hotfoot from Militia Headquarters with the news. I don’t like the little man.”
“I gathered,” said Bleys. “Why? You’ve dealt with enough Fanatics in your lobbying work—Bishops of wild-eyed churches who’ve managed to get themselves elected to the Chamber, and are mere, helping rule Association.”
“I have,” said Dahno. “But Barbage out-fanatics them all. He’s like a knife blade, a very sharp, very cold knife blade. And he always wants something.”
“What is it this time, then?” said Bleys.
“He expects you’ll be going with him to Harmony to run Mayne down,” Dahno went on. “He wants us to pull strings for him. He’d like to pick out troops for his own search fo
rce, from here on Association, rather than simply getting authority to use the district militias on Harmony, as he passes through their districts.”
Dahno leaned back in the float, spreading his wide shoulders. His brown eyes watched Bleys intently.
“I told him I didn’t know how it could be done,” he added, “but I said I’d talk it over with you first.”
“No, I don’t want him taking Association Militia to Harmony,” said Bleys. It was an obvious decision. As a Fanatic, Barbage would be one of those people on the two Friendly Worlds who made his religion an excuse for his own desires, not a standard by which to measure them. Even if it occurred to him, he would ignore the fact that the appearance of numbers of Association Militia on Harmony would arouse feelings of rivalry, resentment and non-cooperation from the Harmony Militia.
“There’re good reasons for not using Association Militia there,” Bleys went on, “particularly with a rare two-worlds election for an Eldest coming soon. I’ll talk to him—”
“Come over here, Captain,” Toni interrupted with unusual sharpness. “Bleys Ahrens will speak to you now.”
Bleys looked up quickly from Dahno, and saw a man who must be Amyth Barbage already standing just inside the door from the office elevator to this lounge. He had plainly been there long enough to hear Bleys’s last words.
Possibly even long enough to hear Dahno’s opinion of him. He came forward now with no expression; a slim, wiry young man, slightly above average height and wearing a perfectly fitted black-and-silver uniform of the Militia—as the planetary paramilitary police forces were called on both Friendly Worlds.
Bleys saw Toni examining Barbage as he advanced. He was young to have reached the rank he had in the Militia and unusual enough in appearance to invite interest.
He stood rod-straight; and the first impression he gave was that of someone thin and young trying hard to look impressive—but achieving impressiveness no more so than a rabbit. A second glance told Bleys more. The impressiveness was real. This was a saber-toothed rabbit.
Barbage’s face was lean with almost the leanness of near-starvation. His hair and eyebrows were almost as dark as the impeccable black uniform he wore. In contrast, that face was beardless and so white-skinned that he looked pale, as if with emotion.
Under his eyebrows, Barbage’s eyes burned with little brightnesses, like fire opals of that same color. His mouth was a straight line, as if his lips were locked tightly between the thin nose above and the narrow-but-square jaw beneath. He walked directly toward Bleys, but with his gaze equally on all of them. There was no expression on his face, unless what there was could be called an expression of aggressive politeness. It was not far removed from an expression of contempt.
And indeed, thought Bleys, it could be contempt. As a Fanatic, Barbage would think of himself as one of God’s chosen—possibly the Chosen among those chosen. This would mean that everyone else anywhere was necessarily less than he was, no matter what their worldly office, power or authority.
He came to a halt before Bleys.
“Thou honorest me by seeing me, Great Teacher,” he said.
“I believe I saw you briefly the last time I was on Harmony,” said Bleys. “Are you a member of the Harmony Militia or a member of Association Militia who was temporarily on Harmony?”
“I was on Harmony, Great Teacher, on a training transfer from the Association Militia, to which I belong. I had volunteered for a spell of training, on Harmony, to broaden my experience and usefulness to the Militia and to God. Clearly, thy memory is as great as thy other parts, Great Teacher. You would have seen me only briefly, when I brought in the detainees there under orders to display them to you. You spoke to them, and they went away no longer abandoned of God and committed to outlaw ways, but seemingly back in the path of righteousness once more. Though, certainly, some of them must have strayed again from that path; otherwise I would not have seen the man you call Hal Mayne sometime later with an outlaw band in the mountains there, where I was temporarily leading a small arm of the Militia in search of such.”
“Yes,” said Bleys. “I’m not surprised you found Hal Mayne with the outlaws, Amyth. He’s not an ordinary man.”
“Satan upholds him, clearly,” said Barbage.
“Doubtless,” said Bleys. “But, to come back to present matters. I called you in because I just wanted to be sure you understand the reasons for what I’ve decided.”
Suddenly his voice became quiet and warm, and a little flicker in Barbage’s gaze betrayed his taking note of the change.
Bleys went on, “You were expecting to be going back to Harmony to search for Hal Mayne, of course, and I want you to do just that. How sure are you you’ll know him when you see him?”
“Very sure, Great Teacher. I do not forget faces. I knew him from an image of him, an artist’s rendering of his boyhood face as adjusted by a computer, which your people have circulated. And now I have seen him twice.” He paused only briefly.
“And now,” he went on, “there is evidence he is with some of those Abandoned by God, one of the self-styled Resistance Groups, outlaw commands that have sprung up in opposition to the Chamber of Government on Harmony—as other such groups have here.”
His use of the antique-sounding “cant” speech of some of the ultra-religious on Association and Harmony could have sounded artificial and ridiculous. It did nothing of the sort. Instead, it seemed only to put him farther from having ordinary human feelings and responses. His voice itself was a light baritone, held taut by some inner tension, so that the sound of it had an edge which cut like a tight-stretched wire.
“—But surely, Great Teacher,” he wound up, “thou wilt be with me there, on Harmony?”
“There is a tide in the affairs of men,” said Bleys, “Which, taken at its flood, leads on to fortune…”
“Great Teacher?” Barbage’s eyes suddenly burned on him. “Thou quotest a scripture not known to me. Nor one spoken in the common tongue.”
“It’s not scripture, Amyth,” said Bleys. “It’s from the secular pen of a remarkable writer. He wrote those words some eight hundred years ago. A man named William Shakespeare. Those words are his, in Old Modern English, not our present-day Basic. They mean I’ll not be going to Harmony with you. I’ve got other things to do. But you can carry a letter from me to the Harmony Militia saying you speak with my voice. Now, do you know which Resistance Group—or outlaw command—this is, that Hal Mayne’s supposed to have joined?”
“Not yet, Great Teacher,” said Amyth. His face had returned to its normal expression. “But I will find someone who hath that knowledge—and that I will do much quicker with a force of my own men.”
“Perhaps,” said Bleys, “and I think we could possibly get you permission for such a force. Particularly, if it’s Association’s Over-Bishop McKae who wins the upcoming run-off election with Harmony; and becomes the first Eldest in eighteen years to rule over both our worlds. But if I arrange such a command for you now, or even then, I’m afraid the local Harmony Militia commanders are going to be only too likely to leave all the searching to you; and do only a halfhearted job of looking on their own. I want them doing their best, as well as you. In the end, Amyth, I think it’ll save time if you let them work for you. I can understand how you’d rather have a force of your own. But I think in this case—no.”
Barbage’s face registered no emotion. “If such is thy decision, Great Teacher. God hath made known to me that thou art one who decides. I will do as thou sayest and take what force is needed from the local militias. But it will be necessary to arrange authority for that. Also—”
Barbage was interrupted by a single chiming note on the air of the room.
“What is it?” asked Dahno.
“Great Teacher Bleys Ahrens, do you and Dahno Ahrens have an uncle named Henry Mack Klane?” It was the voice of the receptionist some forty floors below them, in this building that was both offices and living quarters for all present now in the room, exce
pt Barbage. “He’s asking to see you.”
“Uncle Henry!” Bleys was on his feet suddenly. He realized only then that the surprise of this announcement had sounded in his voice. He made himself go on with nothing more than his usual enthusiasm. After all, the visit might be just that, a casual drop-in because Henry was in town.
“Send him up,” Bleys said. “The lift shaft to my private lounge.”
“He’s coming, Bleys Ahrens,” said the receptionist’s voice, after a moment’s pause. “Thank you for your orders.”
Bleys turned to Dahno.
“Uncle Henry!” he said. “Did you know he was coming to town?”
“No.” Dahno shook his head. “It’ll be good to see him. I wonder if he’s got the family with him?”
“The receptionist didn’t mention it—”
Before Bleys could finish, the door of the elevator from the lobby slid open, and one of the lift circles stopped level with the room. Henry stepped off it, into the room, carrying his suitcase. The door closed again.
“Uncle!” said Bleys. “Are you alone? Where’s the family?”
“They drove me in at dawn,” said Henry. “They will have been back at the farm for some hours now. But I’ve come to stay with you.”
“Dawn, Uncle?” said Dahno. “Into town, here? And you’re just getting to us now?”
“I had some old friends to look up first,” said Henry.
His voice was no different, in its warm but unyielding statement, from the way it had been any time Bleys could remember. Henry put down his suitcase.
“—But you’re busy at the moment?” he added.
“No, no,” said Bleys. In a couple of long strides, he and Dahno had passed by Barbage to stand within arm’s reach of Henry. Barbage was only now turning to look at the three of them. Henry MacLean was not someone whom people other than young grandchildren would normally hug, and neither Bleys nor Dahno made any attempt to. But the way they stood close to him radiated their affection for him. As for Henry, he stood—in his own way— apart and alone, but perfectly still and composed. In spite of his relative lack of height, he did not seem to need to look up at Bleys or Dahno.