VIII
Just before sunset Brion heard clanking, and the throbbing whine of asandcar's engine coming from the west.
With each second the noise grew louder, coming their way. The trackssqueaked as the car turned around the rock spire, obviously seeking themout. A large carrier, big as a truck. It stopped before them in a cloudof its own dust and the driver kicked the door open.
"Get in here--and fast!" the man shouted. "You're letting in all theheat." He gunned the engine, ready to kick in the gears, looking at themirritatedly.
Ignoring the driver's nervous instructions, Brion carefully placed Leaon the rear seat before he pulled the door shut. The car surged forwardinstantly, a blast of icy air pouring from the air-cooling vents. Itwasn't cold in the vehicle--but the temperature was at least fortydegrees lower than the outer air. Brion covered Lea with all their extraclothing to prevent any further shock to her system. The driver, hunchedover the wheel and driving with an intense speed, hadn't said a word tothem since they had entered.
Brion looked up as another man stepped from the engine compartment inthe rear of the car. He was thin, harried looking. Pointing a gun.
"Who are you," he said, without a trace of warmth in his voice.
It was a strange reception, but Brion was beginning to realize that Diswas a strange planet. He sat, relaxed and unmoving, keeping his voicepitched low. The other man chewed at his lip nervously and Brion didn'twant to startle him into pulling the trigger.
"My name is Brandd. We landed from space two nights ago and have beenwalking in the desert ever since. Now don't get excited and shoot thegun when I tell you this--but both Vion and Ihjel are dead."
The man with the gun gasped, his eyes widened. The driver threw a singlefrightened look over his shoulder then turned quickly back to the wheel.Brion's probe had hit its mark. If these men weren't from the CulturalRelationships Foundation, they at least knew a lot about it. It seemedsafe to assume they were C.R.F. men.
"When they were shot the girl and I escaped. We were trying to reach thecity and contact you. You are from the Foundation, aren't you?"
"Yes. Of course," the man said, lowering the gun. He stared glassy-eyedinto space for a moment, nervously working his teeth against his lip.Startled at his own inattention he raised the gun again.
"If you're Brandd, there's something I want to know." Rummaging in hisbreast pocket with his free hand he brought out a yellow message form.He moved his lips as he reread the message. "Now answer me--if youcan--what are the last three events in the"--he took a quick look at thepaper again--"in the Twenties?"
"Chess finals, rifle prone position and fencing playoffs. Why?"
The man grunted and slid the pistol back into its holder, satisfied."I'm Faussel," he said, and waved the message at Brion. "This is Ihjel'slast will and testament, relayed to us by the Nyjord blockade control.He thought he was going to die and he sure was right. Passed on his jobto you. You're in charge. I was Mervv's second-in-command, until he waspoisoned. I was supposed to work for Ihjel and now I guess I'm yours. Atleast until tomorrow when we'll have everything packed and get off thishell planet?"
"What do you mean tomorrow?" Brion asked. "It's three days to deadlineand we still have a job to do."
Faussel had dropped heavily into one of the seats and he sprang to hisfeet again, clutching the seat back to keep his balance in the swayingcar.
"Three days, three weeks, three minutes--what difference does it make?"His voice rose shrilly with each word and he had to make a definiteeffort to master himself before he could go on. "Look. You don't knowanything about this. You just came and that's your bad luck. My bad luckis being assigned to this death trap and watching the depraved andfilthy things the natives do. And trying to be polite to them even whenthey are killing my friends, and those Nyjord bombers up there withtheir hands on the triggers. One of those bombardiers is going to startthinking about home and about the cobalt bombs down here and he's goingto press that button--deadline or no deadline."
"Sit down, Faussel. Sit down and take a rest." There was sympathy inBrion's voice--but also the firmness of an order. Faussel swayed for asecond longer, then collapsed. He sat with his cheek against the window,eyes closed. A pulse throbbed visibly in his temple and his lips worked.Under too much tension for too long a time.
* * * * *
This was the atmosphere that hung heavily in the air at the C.R.F.building when they arrived. Despair and defeat. The doctor was the onlyone who didn't share this mood as he bustled Lea off to the clinic withprompt efficiency. He obviously had enough patients to keep his mindoccupied. With the others the feeling of depression was unmistakable.From the first instant they had driven through the automatic garage doorBrion had swum in this miasma of defeat. It was omnipresent and hard toignore.
As soon as he had eaten he went with Faussel into what was to have beenIhjel's office. Through the transparent walls he could see the staffpacking the records, crating them for shipment. Faussel seemed lessnervous now that he was no longer in command. Brion rejected any idea hehad of letting the man know that he was only a green novice in theFoundation. He was going to need all the authority he could muster,since they would undoubtedly hate him for what he was going to do.
"Better take notes of this Faussel, and have it typed. I'll sign it."The printed words always carried the most authority. "All preparationsfor leaving are to be stopped at once. Records are to be returned to thefiles. We are going to stay here just as long as we have clearance fromthe Nyjorders. If this operation is unsuccessful, we will all leavetogether when the time expires. We will take whatever personal baggagewe can carry by hand, everything else stays here. Perhaps you don'trealize we are here to save a planet--not file cabinets full of papers."Out of the corner of his eye he saw Faussel flush, then angrilytranscribe his notes. "As soon as that is typed bring it back. And allthe reports as to what has been accomplished on this project. That willbe all for now."
Faussel stamped out and a minute later Brion saw the shocked, angrylooks from the workers in the outer office. Turning his back to them heopened the drawers in the desk, one after another. The top drawer wasempty, except for a sealed envelope. It was addressed to Winner Ihjel.
Brion looked at it thoughtfully, then ripped it open. The letter insidewas handwritten.
Ihjel:
I've had the official word that you are on the way to relieve me and I am forced to admit I feel only an intense satisfaction. You've had the experience on these outlaw planets and can get along with the odd types. I have been specializing in research for the last twenty years, and the only reason I was appointed planetary supervisor on Nyjord was because of the observation and application facilities. I'm the research type not the office type, no one has ever denied that.
You're going to have trouble with the staff, so you had better realize that they are all compulsory volunteers. Half are clerical people from my staff. The others a mixed bag of whoever was close enough to be pulled in on this crash assignment. It developed so fast we never saw it coming. And I'm afraid we've done little or nothing to stop it. We can't get access to the natives here, not in the slightest. It's frightening! They don't fit! I've done Poisson Distributions on a dozen different factors and none of them can be equated. The Pareto Extrapolations don't work. Our field men can't even talk to the natives and two have been killed trying. The ruling class is unapproachable and the rest just keep their mouths shut and walk away.
I'm going to take a chance and try to talk to Lig-magte, perhaps I can make him see sense. I doubt if it will work and there is a chance he will try violence with me, the nobility here are very prone to violence. If I get back all right, you won't see this note. Otherwise--good-by Ihjel, try to do a better job than I did.
Aston Mervv
P.S. There is a problem with the staff. They are supposed to be saviors, but without exception they all l
oathe the Disans. I'm afraid I do, too.
Brion ticked off the relevant points in the letter. He had to find someway of discovering what Pareto Extrapolations were--without uncoveringhis own lack of knowledge. The staff would vanish in five minutes ifthey knew how green he was at the job. Poisson Distribution made moresense. It was used in physics as the unchanging probability of an eventthat would be true at all times. Such as the number of particles thatwould be given off by a lump radioactive matter during a short period.From the way Mervv used it in his letter it looked as if the Societicspeople had found measurable applications in societies and groups--atleast on other planets. None of the rules seemed to be working on Dis.Ihjel had admitted that, and Mervv's death had proven it. Brionwondered who this Lig-magte was who appeared to have killed Mervv.
* * * * *
A forged cough broke through Brion's concentration, and he realized thatFaussel had been standing in front of his desk for some minutes. WhenBrion looked up at the man he was mopping perspiration from his face.
"Your air conditioner seems to be out of order," he said. "Should I havethe mechanic look at it?"
"There's nothing wrong with the machine, I'm just adapting to Disclimate. Anything else, Faussel?"
The assistant had a doubting look that he didn't succeed in hiding. Healso had trouble believing the literal truth. He placed the small stackof file folders on the desk.
"These are the reports to date, everything we have uncovered about theDisans. It's not very much; however, considering the antisocialattitudes on this lousy world, it is the best we could do." A suddenthought hit him, and his eyes narrowed slyly. "It can't be helped, butsome of the staff have been wondering out loud about that native thatcontacted us. How did you get him to help you? We've never gotten tofirst base with these people and as soon as you land you have oneworking for you. You can't stop people from thinking about it, you beinga newcomer and a stranger. After all, it looks a little odd...." Hebroke off in mid-sentence as Brion looked up in a cold fury.
"I can't stop people from thinking about it--but I can stop them fromtalking. Our job is to contact the Disans and end this suicidal war. Ihave done more in one day than all of you have done since you arrived. Ihave accomplished this because I am better at my work than the rest ofyou. That is all the information any of you are going to receive. Youare dismissed."
White with anger, Faussel turned on his heel and stamped out. Out tospread the word about what a slave-driver the new director was. Theywould then all hate him passionately which was just the way he wantedit. He couldn't risk exposure as the tyro he was. And perhaps a newemotion, other than disgust and defeat, might jar them into a littleaction. They certainly couldn't do any worse than they had been doing.
It was a frightening amount of responsibility. For the first time sincesetting foot on this barbaric planet Brion had time to stop and think.He was taking an awful lot upon himself. He knew nothing about thisworld, nor about the powers involved in the conflict. Here he satpretending to be in charge of an organization he had first heard aboutonly a few weeks earlier. It was a frightening situation. Should heslide out from under?
There was just one possible answer, and that was _no_. Until he foundsomeone else who could do better, he seemed to be the one best suitedfor the job. And Ihjel's opinion had to count for something. Brion hadfelt the surety of the man's convictions that Brion was the only onewho might possibly succeed in this difficult spot.
Let it go at that. If he had any qualms, it would be best to put thembehind him. Aside from everything else there was a primary bit ofloyalty involved. Ihjel had been an Anvharian and a Winner. Maybe it wasa provincial attitude to hold in this great big universe--Anvhar wascertainly far enough away from here--but honor is very important to aman who must stand alone. He had a debt to Ihjel and he was going to payit off.
Once the decision had been made he felt easier. There was an intercom onthe desk in front of him and he leaned with a heavy thumb on the buttonlabeled _Faussel_.
"Yes?" Even through the speaker the man's voice was cold and efficientwith ill-concealed hatred.
"Who is Lig-magte? And did the former director ever return from seeinghim?"
"Magte is a title that means roughly noble or lord, Lig-magte is thelocal overlord. He has an ugly stoneheap of a building just outside thecity. He seems to be the mouthpiece for the group of magter that arepushing this idiotic war. As to your second question I have to answeryes and no. We found Director Mervv's head outside the door next morningwith all the skin gone. We knew it was him because the doctor identifiedthe bridgework in his mouth. _Do you understand?_"
All pretense of control had vanished and Faussel almost shrieked thelast words. They were all close to cracking up, if he was any example.Brion broke in quickly.
"That will be all, Faussel. Just get word to the doctor that I wouldlike to see him as soon as I can." He broke the connection and openedthe first of the folders. By the time the doctor called he had skimmedthe reports and was reading the relevant ones in greater detail. Puttingon his warm coat he went through the outer office. The few workers stillon duty turned their backs in frigid silence.
* * * * *
Dr. Stine had a pink and shiny bald head that rose above a thick blackbeard. Brion liked him at once. Anyone with enough firmness of mind tokeep a beard in this climate was a pleasant exception after what he hadmet so far.
"How's the new patient, doctor?"
Stine combed his beard with stubby fingers before answering. "Diagnosis:heat-syncope. Prognosis: complete recovery. Condition fair, consideringthe dehydration and extensive sunburn. I've treated the burns and asaline drip is taking care of the other. She just missed going intoheat-shock. I have her under sedation now."
"I'd like to have her up and helping me tomorrow morning. Could she dothis--with stimulants or drugs?"
"She could--but I don't like it. There might be side factors, perhapslong-standing debilitation. It's a chance."
"A chance we will have to take. In less than seventy hours this planetis due for destruction. In attempting to avert that tragedy I'mexpendable as is everyone else here. Agreed?"
The doctor grunted deep in his beard and looked Brion's immense frame upand down. "Agreed," he said, almost happily. "It is a distinct pleasureto see something beside black defeat around here. I'll go along withyou."
"Well you can help me right now. I checked the personnel roster anddiscovered that out of the twenty-eight people working here there isn'ta physical scientist of any kind--other than yourself."
"A scruffy bunch of button-pushers and theoreticians. Not worth a damnfor field work, the whole bunch of them!" The doctor toed the floorswitch on a waste receptacle and spat into it with feeling.
"Then I'm going to depend on you for some straight answers," Brion said."This is an un-standard operation and the standard techniques just don'tbegin to make sense. Even Poisson Distributions and ParetoExtrapolations don't apply here." Stine nodded agreement and Brionrelaxed a bit. He had just relieved himself of his entire knowledge ofSocietics and it had sounded authentic. "The more I look at it the moreI believe that this is a physical problem; something to so with theexotic and massive adjustments the Disans have made to this hellishenvironment. Could this tie up in any way with their absolutely suicidalattitude towards the cobalt bombs?"
"Could it? Could it?" Dr. Stine paced the floor rapidly on his stockylegs, twining his fingers behind his back. "You are bloody well right itcould. Someone is thinking at last and not just punching bloody numbersinto a machine and sitting and scratching while waiting for the screento light up with the answers. Do you know how Disans exist?" Brion shookhis head no. "The fools here think it disgusting, but I call itfascinating. The have found ways to join in a symbiotic relationshipwith the life forms on this planet. Even a parasitic relationship. Youmust realize, that living organisms will do anything to survive.Castaways at sea will drink any liquid at all in their
search for water.Disgust at this is only the attitude of the over-protected who havenever experienced extreme thirst or hunger. Well, here on Dis you have aplanet of castaways."
Stine opened the door of the pharmacy. "This talk of thirst makes medry." With economically efficient motions he poured grain alcohol into abeaker, thinned it with distilled water and flavored it with some flavorcrystals from a bottle. He filled two glasses and handed Brion one. Itdidn't taste bad at all.
"How do you mean parasitic, doctor? Aren't we all parasites of the lowerlife forms? Meat animals, vegetables and such?"
"No, no--you miss the point! I speak of parasitic in the exact meaningof the word. You must realize that to a biologist there is no realdifference between a parasitism, symbiosis, mutualism, biontergasy,commensalism--"
"Stop, stop!" Brion said. "Those are just meaningless sounds to me. Ifthat is what makes this planet tick, I'm beginning to see why the restof the staff has that lost feeling."
"It is just a matter of degree of the same thing. Look. You have a kindof crustacean living in the lakes here, very much like an ordinary crab.It has large claws in which it holds anemones, tentacled sea animalswith no power of motion. The crustacean waves these around to gatherfood, and eats the pieces they capture that are too big for them. Thisis biontergasy, two creatures living and working together, yet eachcapable of existing alone. Now, this same crustacean has a parasiteliving under its shell, a degenerated form of a snail that has lost allpowers of movement. A true parasite that takes food from its host's bodyand gives nothing in return. Inside this snail's gut there is aprotozoan that lives off the snail's ingested food. Yet this littleorganism is not a parasite as you might think at first, but a symbiote.It takes food from the snail, but at the same time it secretes achemical that aids the snail's digestion of the food. Do you get thepicture? All these life forms exist in a complicated interdependence."
* * * * *
Brion frowned in concentration, sipping at the drink. "It's making somekind of sense now. Symbiosis, parasitism and all the rest are just waysof describing variations of the same basic process of living together.And there is probably a grading and shading between some of these thatmake the exact relationship hard to define."
"Precisely. Existence is so difficult on this world that the competingforms have almost died out. There are still a few left, preying off theothers. It was the co-operating and interdependent life forms thatreally won out in the race for survival. I say life forms with intent;the creatures here are mostly a mixture of plant and animal, like thelichens you have elsewhere. The Disans have a creature they call a vaedethat they use for water when traveling. It has rudimentary powers ofmotion from its animal parts, yet uses photosynthesis and stores waterlike a plant. When the Disans drink from it the thing taps their bloodstream for food elements."
"I know," Brion said wryly. "I drank from one. You can see my scars. I'mbeginning to comprehend how the Disans fit into the physical pattern oftheir world, and I realize it must have all kinds of psychologicaleffects on them. Do you think this has any effect on their socialorganization?"
"An important one. But maybe I'm making too many suppositions now,perhaps your researchers upstairs can tell you better, after all this istheir field."
Brion had studied the reports on the social setup and not one word ofthem made sense. They were a solid maze of unknown symbols and crypticcharts. "Please continue, doctor," he insisted. "The Societics reportsare valueless so far. There are factors missing. You are the only one Ihave talked to so far who can give me any intelligent reports oranswers."
"All right then--be it on your own head. The way I see it you've got nosociety here at all, just a bunch of rugged individualists. Each one forhimself, getting nourishment from the other life forms of the planet. Ifthey have a society, it is orientated towards the rest of the planetarylife--instead of towards other human beings. Perhaps that's why yourfigures don't make sense. They are setup for human societies. In theirrelations with each other these people are completely different."
"What about the magter, the upper-class types who build castles and arecausing all this trouble?"
"I have no explanation," Dr. Stine grumbled. "My theories hold water andseem logical enough up to this point. But the magter are the exceptionand I have no idea why. They are completely different from the rest ofthe Disans. Argumentative, bloodthirsty, looking for planetary conquestinstead of peace. They aren't rulers, not in the real sense. They holdpower because nobody else wants it. They grant mining concessions tooffworlders because they are the only ones with a sense of property.Maybe I'm going out on a limb. But if you can find out _why_ they are sodifferent you may be onto the clue to our difficulties."
For the first time since his arrival Brion began to feel a touch ofenthusiasm. Plus the remote possibility that there might even be asolution to the deadly problem. He drained his glass and stood up. "Ihope you'll wake your patient early, doctor. You might be as interestedin talking to her as I am. If what you told me is true, she could wellbe our key to the answer. Her name is Professor Lea Morees and she isjust out from Earth with degrees in exobiology and anthropology, and hasa head stuffed with vital facts."
"Wonderful!" Stine said. "I shall take care of the head not only becauseit is so pretty but because of its knowledge. Though we totter on theedge of atomic destruction I have a strange feeling of optimism--for thefirst time since I landed on this planet."