You're giving the old argument—that the Wardens are all artificial, I pointed out. You know there's never been any evidence of that
That's true, Father Bronz admitted, but remember what I said about comprehensibility? It seems to be that, in this enormous universe of which we know so little, we are handcuffed by our rigid concepts. What we have here is something that's not comprehensible—truly alien—and so we ignore it, dismiss it, forget it. These planets do not fit our cosmology, so we dismiss them as aberrations of chance and forget about it. My feeling is that anything you find that can't be explained by your cosmology means that your cosmology's got some holes in it.
The hand of God, perhaps? I retorted, not meaning to make fun of his religion but unable to refute him, either.
He didn't laugh or take oflense. Since I believe that the universe was created by God and that He is everywhere and in everything and everyone, yes. I have often reflected that the Wardens might be here simply to slap down our smugness. But God is supremely logical, remember. The Wardens fit the rest of the universe somehow, of that I am convinced, even if they don't fit our perception of it. But we're off the track. I was discussing why your fine dream of returning Lilith to Paradise is impossible to realize.
I chuckled. I didn't mind the digression. What else do we have to do, anyway?
He shrugged. Who knows? Discussion may be vital or it may be inconsequential. I have a feeling that you are somehow driven to command this world. You'll probably get killed in the attempt, of course, but if you survive—well, at least it's interesting to fence with you and see what you have in mind.
Lord Tremon, I laughed. Boy! Wouldn't
that
give the Confederacy heartburn!
You're no more Cal Tremon than I'm Marek Kreegan, Bronz came back casually. We might as well stop the pretense, since nobody believes in it any more—and I never did.
I froze. What do you mean?
You're on the wanted list here because Kreegan got information from his Confederacy agents that you were a plant, a spy, an assassin sent here to get him. You and I both know it's true. You're far too idealistic and ethical and all that to be somebody like Tremon, who was the sort of fellow who enjoyed making chopped hamburger out of his still-living enemies with carving knives. I knew that the first time we met, back in Zeis, just talking to you. You're too well-educated, too well-bred for Tremon—not to mention, of course, that you're too much a product of your culture. Who are you, anyway, by the way? , I considered what he said, then thought about what it meant to me. I really didn't need to keep up the pretense any more. Kreegan knew it, Artur knew it— hell,
everybody
knew it.
My name doesn't matter, does it? I replied carefully. I no longer exist as him. I'm Cal Tremon now and forever; I'm just not the Cal Tremon in the court dockets. And .since this is his body, I'm more of him than I'd have believed.
He nodded. All right, Cal it is. But you are an agent?
Assassin grade, I answered truthfully. But it's not quite what you think. You and I know that, once down here and locked here forever, the only reason I'd have for killing Kreegan would be to challenge him for Lord of the Diamond. No, I'm here for something quite different.
I find it interesting that they finally got that personality transfer process down mechanically. On Cerberus it's a product of the Warden organism, as physical shape-change adaptation is to Medusa and reality perception to Charon.
You knew they were working on something like that? I prodded suspiciously.
He nodded. Sure. I told you I used to be a really influential power, didn't I? A few of the people involved in the research were Catholics who were very worried about the theological implications-—the soul and all that. Frankly, though, not only I but the church as a whole dismissed the entire question as impossible. See what I mean about cosmologies not fitting facts?
His story didn't ring altogether true, as I knew how absolute the security had been on the process, but I had to let it stand. Maybe my only ally on Lilith was holding out on me—but I was holding out on him, too.
So you say it isn't Kreegan you're after, he went on, changing the direction of the conversation. Then what? What is so vital that the Confederacy is willing to sacrifice one of their best just to find out about it, and what would force you to remain true to that end once you got here?
Then I told him .about the aliens, the penetration of the top levels of Military Systems Command, the whole story. It seemed the best course—and he might know something.
When I finished, he just sighed, then said, Well, now ... alien enemies, huh? Using the Four Lords ... Damned clever beasts, you must admit that, to understand us so well.
I was disappointed. If anyone other than those at the very top of the hierarchy would know about the aliens, I felt certain Bronz would. You've heard nothing about this?
Oh, yes, rumors, he responded. I didn't put much stock in them, partly because of Kreegan. He's not like the others. He came here voluntarily, of his own free will', after serving the Confederacy well and loyally for his whole life. The revenge that would motivate the others would be lacking in him.
My heart sank. Wasted. All of it, me, wasted here. Bronz was right—it had to be one of the other Lords.
But... did it?
That might be true, I admitted, but do
you
know why an otherwise sane and even superior man like Kreegan would volunteer to come to a place like this? And could such a man be kept ignorant of things as momentous as the aliens even if he
weren't
directly involved at the start?
Bronz thought it over. Hmm . .. You're suggesting that maybe Kreegan is the kingpin? It's possible, of course. Suppose, for example, such a man as he became thoroughly disillusioned with his job, with his employers, with the system he helped perpetuate? Suppose that somewhere in his work he stumbled over the aliens. It would explain much. It would explain, for example, how the aliens instantly knew so much about us, how they were able to use the Warden worlds to their advantage. Kreegan would be ideal for establishing, even masterminding an operation such as you described—and it would take time; He'd have to work his way up, like the rest of us. Maybe with a little alien help, of course, but it would still take time. Then, once in power, they'd start to implement their plans.
I'd originally been thinking along similar lines, I told him. But it
would
mean that our aliens were supremely confident we could be counted on to overlook them for the years it would take. And they would have to have much patience.
Bronz shrugged. Perhaps they do.
And did
you find them? How much
did they
learn before one of then: fancy machines finally got caught? It seems to me that, if your guess is right and these aliens are too nonhuman to do much of anything themselves, and if they knew they were wett hidden or well disguised, this was the best route.
The only thing wrong with such a neat picture, I said, is in Kreegan's character itself. He's a good deal older than I am, but he came from the same place. Our lives parallel to a remarkable degree, even to the type of work we did. I just can't see what would so disillusion him about the Confederacy that he'd want to destroy it, devote his whole life to doing so.
Well, now, you've got a point there, Bronz came back, but it's not the point you think you made. I can see an awful lot to be disillusioned about in the Confederacy. I think perhaps you have Kreegan a little backward. I could just as easily picture him as a totally committed idealist willing to do anything for his cause. Out of that background I can envision a man who just might commit his very soul to such a project, not for gain but in an idealistic crusade.
I think you're crazy, I told him. An idealist would have certainly changed the system on Lilith. At the very least pawns would be far better off, the ruling class taken down several pegs.
Father Bronz laughed and shook his head in wonder. You poor soul. Let's look at Lilith first, in light of all I've said. The social system is
not
merely determined by individual power. It is determined by the need to have Lilith support a nonindigenous human population, something she was simply not designed to do. The-Warden organism defends the planetary ecosystem—the plant and animal balance, the rocks, the swamps, the air and water—against change. It struggles to retain an equilibrium. Total balance.
We're
the aliens here, the incomprehensible ones, son. We have power, yes, but it's of a very limited nature. We cannot reshape this planet, but can only adapt to its existing conditions. The Warden beasties won't let us. Now, dump thirteen million totally wrong aliens here and see what happens.
I couldn't see where he was going and said so.
It's so
simple,
he responded. You're so used to technology as the answer to all ills that you don't see what we're faced with here. All of human history is the history of technology, of using that technology so that man can change his environment to suit himself. And we have. On Earth we changed the course of rivers, we bent sun and wind and whatever it took to our ends. We leveled mountains when they were inconvenient, and built them where we wanted. We created lakes, cut down whole forests, tamed the entire planet. Then we went out to the stars and did the same thing. Terraforming. Genetic engineering. Using our technology, we changed whole planets; we even changed ourselves. Man's history is warring with his environment and winning that war. But, son, on LJlith—and only on Lilith—man cannot declare war. He
must
live within the environment that was already here. On Lilith the environment won. One lonely skirmish, true, but we were whipped. Beaten. We can't fight it. We can build a castle, yes, and get insects to carry us to and fro, but we can make only minor dents, dents that would be instantly erased if they weren't being constantly maintained.
You see, son, Lilith's the boss here, thanks to Warden's bug. We all dance to her tune or compromise with her, but she's the boss. And yet we must feed and house thirteen million people. We must support thirteen million alien interlopers on a land not meant for them and on which we can't really perform more than cosmetic changes. Somebody has to grow the food and ship it. Somebody has to raise the great insect beasts and keep them domesticated. The economy must be kept going, for if those thirteen million were suddenly left entirely to their own devices they'd go out and eat and drink their fill and denude the melon groves. They'd fight each other as savage hunters and gatherers, the most primitive of tribal structures, and all but the toughest would die.
Don't you see, son? Nobody enjoys the kind of hard labor it takes to keep the system going—but
name me another that would work.
Without technology at our disposal, we are condemned to mass muscle power.
I was appalled. Are you claiming that there's no other way to do it?
Nope. There are lots of other ways, all more cruel and worse than this one. There may well be a better way, but I don't know it. I suspect that's the way Kreegan sees it, too. I'm sure he doesn't
like
the system, since it's so much like the Confederacy—if we're right about him, that is—but unlike the Confederacy, he, like me, can't see any better way.
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. To have all one's basic beliefs challenged in an offhanded manner like this was a bit much. What do you mean, this system is so much like the Confederacy? I challenged. I certainly can't see any similarities.
Father Bronz snorted contemptuously. Then you do not see what you see. Consider the so-called civilized worlds. Most of humanity have been equalized into a stagnant sameness beyond belief. On a given planet everybody looks pretty much the same, talks pretty much the same, eats, sleeps, works, plays pretty much the same. They're pawns, all of them. They think the same. And they are taught that they are happy, content, at the pinnacle of human achievement, the good life for all, and they believe it. It's true they are coddled more, their cages are gilded, but they are pawns all the same. The only real difference between their pawns and ours is that ours know that they are pawns and understand the truth of the whole system. Your civilized worlds are so perfectly programmed to think the same that they are never even allowed to face the truth.
It's a pretty comfortable pawnship, I pointed out, not really conceding his point but allowing his terms for argument's sake.
Comfortable? I suppose so. like pet canaries, maybe. Those are small birds that live in cages in people's homes, in case you don't know—not on the civilized worlds, of course, where pets are not thought of. But at any rate these birds are born in cages; they are fed there, and their cages are regularly cleaned by thek owners. They know no other life. They know that somebody provides them with all they need to exist, and having no other expectations, they want for no more. In exchange, they chirp comfortably and provide companionship to lonely frontiersmen. Not only is no canary ever going to engineer a breakout that cage, but he's not even going to imagine, let alone design and build, a better life. He can't even conceive of such a thing.
Those are animals, I pointed out. Like Sheeba here.
Animals, yes, he acknowledged, but so are the humans of the civilized worlds. Pets. Everybody has an apartment that is just so in size, just so in furnishings, just so in every way the same. They look the same and wear the same clothes, as if it mattered, and they perform jobs designed to keep the system going. Then they return to their identical cubicles, get immersed in entertainment that involves them totally in some formula story that's all about their own world, offering nothing-new in thought, idea, concept. Most of their free time they spend on drugs in some happy, unproductive never-never land. Their arts, their literature, their very traditions are all inherited from history. They have none of then- own. We've equalized them too much for that—equalized out love and ambition and creativity, too. Whenever equality is imposed as an absolute, it is always equalized at the least common denominator, and historically, the least common denominator of mankind has been quite low indeed.
We still advance, I pointed out. We still come up with new ideas, new innovations.
Yes, that's true, Bronz admitted. But you see, my son, that's not from the civilized worlds. The masters of those worlds, the Outside supervisors and knights and dukes and lords, know that they can't let progress die completely or they die and their power with it. So we have the frontier, and we have selective breeding of exceptional individuals. The elite, working in the castles of Outside.
We don't have those ranks and positions and you know it, I retorted.
He gave a loud guffaw. The
hell
you say! And what then, pray tell, are
you?
What is Marek Kree-jgan? What, for that matter, am I? Do you know what
I
my
real
crime was, Tremon? I reintroduced not merely |religion but the concepts of love, of spirituality, to Ithose pawns. I- gave them something new, a rediscovery of their humanity. And it threatened the system! I was—removed. As long as I was on the frontier giving aid and comfort to the miserable and the uncomfortable, why, I was fine. Let the churches be. But when I started making headway on the civilized worlds—oh, no, then I was dangerous. I had to be removed or I might accomplish the unthinkable. I might awaken those pawns from their total environmental entertainment mods and drug stupors and show them they didn't have to be trained canaries any more, they could be individual human beings—like me. Like you. Like the ruling class. And I got slapped down.