"Still think you can kill me?" he asked.
"Don't want . . . kill you," I said.
You can't smile in a fight. Instead he grimaced. "You're soft, Civilized Man. Decadent. I'll free the world from your ilk."
"Really?" I grunted.
"You think me a fool." He could talk easily; he was in far better shape then me. "Your old world was a cancer. Build it again, and you'll bring another Collapse. I'll spare the world that suffering when I destroy you."
I was sagging under his weight. Suddenly I pushed up with one arm and let the other arm drop. He dropped as I twisted aside, shoving my spear against his. Weyler landed atop his spear, face down in the mud—and I had the opportunity I'd wanted.
Kill him? No, not with his shamans' prophecies, all ready to turn his death into martyrdom. Spare his life and trust him to keep his word, overawed by my mercy and fighting prowess? Come, now. There was only one way to defeat him.
He started to get up, groping for his spear with one hand, wiping mud from his face with the other. He wasn't worried about me; he'd decided I was weak, and he knew I was unarmed, so he was in no hurry to get up. That's when I kicked him in the ass, in full view of his entourage.
The pain made him yell. I'd hit him in one of the most sensitive parts of the human anatomy, right at the base of the spine. I kicked again, harder, and I felt something crunch. He sprawled in the mud, then tried to stand. Weyler fell down again, immobilized by the pain, and I took his knife. It was a good, pre-Collapse blade, and I put it into my own belt. Symbolism is important among savages. Disarming Weyler sealed my victory.
Gwen was standing next to Washington, her face flushed with anger. "Do you know what you've
done?
" she demanded as I joined them.
"I think I broke my toe," I said. It was just starting to throb.
"You didn't win anything," Gwen said, looking across the grounds. Two of Weyler's warriors had helped him up and were wiping away the mud. "He's down now, but what about tomorrow? He'll be out for revenge."
"I know, but right now I'm in control." I faced Weyler and raised my voice. "Weyler! Tomorrow the Legislature will meet in the Forum. Before you leave, you and your men will go to the meeting." I waved a hand at Signal Hill and the Alien watchers. "
They
will be there also."
One of Weyler's old men nodded to me. In the face of their leader's humiliation, they could do nothing but listen and obey—until they got over this. If tomorrow's events worked out right, though, they would never recover.
I turned to Washington. "Colonel, would you send a messenger to the Aliens? Inform them that if they want any cooperation from us they will have a representative at tomorrow's sessions."
"What's the idea?" Gwen asked, as the colonel left to carry out my orders.
"Gwen, you know that everything Dzhaz said was true. We're going to have to learn to live with it. If we can't, then we're just setting ourselves up for another Collapse."
"Peachy," she said. "What are you going to do? Get up in the Forum and say that the human race is decadent? Why make the Aliens' job easier for them?"
"They aren't here to provoke another Collapse," I said. "If I'm right, we're not in any danger of a Collapse. I can prove everything . . . and when I do, Weyler won't be a problem any more."
"If you're right."
"We'll have to handle things carefully," I said. I planned to play games with beliefs, both ours and the outlanders. That would present more dangers than my duel with Weyler.
While the camp medic came over to examine my foot, I looked at our savages. One of them was ministering to Weyler's injuries, by chanting and waving a gourd rattle over him. The others were on their knees, bowing and praying to the Aliens, hoping for a miracle. In my way I was doing the same thing, just as I'd done before the fight. My god was Reason, though, a much more demanding deity than any the savages worshiped. If it was going to deliver any miracles, I would have to work for them.
There was silence through the first part of my address. Shock, I suppose, at least among the other legislators. Weyler and his men seemed quietly pleased by my revisionist account of the Collapse. Perhaps it made up for yesterday's humiliation. They had chairs, but all of them were standing, no doubt because Weyler couldn't sit down. I was having trouble staying on my feet; willow-bark tea, our substitute for aspirin, wasn't doing much for the pain in my sprained toe.
Speaker Ryan had virtually handed control of the floor to me for the duration of my speech; only she and Gwen knew what I would say. Dzhaz had shown up, and he kept himself busy with his instruments while I talked about such things as decay, addiction, and the Collapse.
"So
Scented Vine
left and we started picking up the pieces," I said. "We never counted on a return visit from the Aliens, because
Scented Vine
was the equivalent of a tramp steamer, dropping anchor at a convenient port. We didn't think they'd tell anyone about their activities here. Even if they weren't responsible for the Collapse, they'd played a role in it, and some of their activities
were
criminal.
"Nevertheless, they talked. Word got around. A group of scholars heard about the incident. They interviewed
Scented Vine
's crew, purchased copies of their records. They came here to study the Collapse. Isn't that right, Dzhaz?"
The silvery suit turned to face me. "Correct."
I looked around the Forum. "Fascinating, isn't it?
Scented Vine
kept nothing secret, but only a few academics took any interest in their crimes. No galactic government or space patrol became curious. In any event, these scholars came to Earth, detected our radio station, and homed in on it. That brings up another strange point. Why investigate us?"
"Because we're rebuilding!" a legislator shouted. That got a scattering of applause.
"Exactly," I said. "They're interested in us because we're working to restore civilization—or to build a new one. But we have nothing to do with the Collapse; the Republic didn't arise until
after
things fell apart. Yet the Aliens were clearly, undeniably desperate to study us—
us
, not the savages or the warlords. Why?"
No one answered. "It must be vitally important; they even agreed not to carry their zappers among us. Does that mean they're willing to risk their lives to—what? Study a mishap on an obscure planet? Get information to write a footnote? What makes it worth their while?"
"Well, they're
alien
," someone suggested—an Expansionist legislator. I felt glad that a member of the opposition had suggested that. Let
them
look obtuse.
"I thought the same thing, at first," I said. "Dzhaz, one of the Aliens, visited my office the other day. We discussed one of my constituent's problems—two of his cats had been shot by a neighbor's boy. The questions he asked proved that Dzhaz had trouble understanding that we wanted dissent
and
order, that there's a difference between discipline and brutality, the need to assume responsibility—" Light began to dawn on some of the faces in the amphitheater. "You see? What sort of society produces someone like that?
"And what sort of society produces people like
Scented Vine
's crew? Or lets them run rampant? Without assuming responsibility for their acts?" I had to raise my voice over a growing murmur. The savages looked angry; I was blaspheming against their gods. "They're not 'alien,' any more than the twentieth century was 'alien.' They came here to learn about themselves." I faced Dzhaz.
"Your civilization is collapsing, isn't it?"
"Statement of fact," Dzhaz said. Odd, how the translator's flat voice could sound so reluctant. "As experts, self, others able to recognize disintegration of own society. Organize selves into unit, ultimate objective, formulate method to halt or reverse process. One of many techniques, study social disintegration this planet. Last known collapse three thousand local years prior to your collapse; you present opportunity to collect information from survivors, generate new insights, possible solutions."
"You expected to find total anarchy, but when you got here you found the Republic," Gwen said. We'd worked out a compromise the night before, after I explained my perceptions to her. It was good politics to let the head Expansionist handle some of the questions—besides, she'd filled in a few of the gaps in my reasoning. "That changed your plans."
"Statement of fact," Dzhaz said. "Many known cases of planet-wide social disintegration in galaxy. Approximately one half never recover. Of successful half, recovery normally begins only after hundreds or thousands of local years. Full recovery process requires similar time frame."
"We're the exception to the rule," Gwen stated with pride. "And you want us to tell you what makes us so special."
"Partial statement of fact. Improbable, natives understand factors behind own success. You lack training, experience in academic matter. Best chance of success, conceal true motive of investigation, learn answers through indirect approach."
I nodded. There'd been nothing sinister in that; far from it. "It's a basic law of any science," I said. "The process of observation changes whatever you observe. You couldn't risk losing what you might learn here."
"Statement of fact." That had become a litany, confirming my hunches. "We do not know many things. Extreme importance, things we may learn from you—"
There was a sudden upset among the barbarians. The sergeants-at-arms waded in and pulled them apart. Two of Weyler's advisors had taken him and shoved him to the floor. "How can anything be unknown to the Dark Gods?" one demanded.
"Fact, we are like humans." I don't think Dzhaz was addressing the savages. None of the Aliens had ever shown any interest in them. "All sentient species share many traits, fact which makes studies useful. Gamble, can uncover your secret, apply to galactic culture, prevent total disintegration. Alternative, social disintegration on galactic scale, all habited planets and artificial worlds to experience your conditions or worse."
The Alien turned slowly on its three feet, and I had the impression it was sizing up the audience in the amphitheater. "Probability of success low. Evident that your success product of mental, emotional attitude, in itself product of unique conditions. Unlikely to reproduce attitude in other minds. Ultimate failure indicated."
A galaxy-wide Collapse was beyond my grasp. My concerns were closer to home. The Republic was in no danger from the Aliens—or the barbarians surrounding us. If the looks Weyler's men gave their "king" meant anything, the day of the warlords was over, at least in our corner of the world.
Then Gwen walked up to Dzhaz, something that wasn't in our script. I started to leave the podium; I was afraid she was going to say something vengeful, something that would upset everything. "So you need us to keep your own society from collapsing."
"Correct. Possibility, still time, opportunity to prevent disaster."
I was halfway down the steps when she spoke again. "We'll do what we can to help you."
I had not wanted to see this, but you can't duck your responsibilities, even when the thing you're responsible for is justice. I'd engineered Weyler's fall, and I had to be there at the end.
It had been two weeks since the meeting in the Forum, but things were already changing outside the Republic. The story was slowly percolating through the outlands: the Aliens came to the Republic for help. Their empire was falling apart. They expected the Republic to save them. In the Neutral Zone, the raids had stopped.
The story of Weyler's fall was spreading, too, and our outposts reported cautious overtures from the neighboring warlords and chieftains. They wanted to make arrangements with us, before their own people turned on them as well. We were ignoring their appeals.
Weyler's "castle" was a crude stone blockhouse, surrounded by a dry moat and abatis. Our rehabilitation team had pitched camp outside it, and was laying plans to bring twenty thousand ex-barbarians and freed slaves into the Republic. Meanwhile, the people made themselves ready to join us.
Gwen had come out to watch the ordeal. She had been rather subdued since the last Legislature session. "Their ship left yesterday," she said, after we finished breakfast in the camp mess.
"Yeah, I saw the shuttle go overhead. Did they say when they would return?"
"It won't be for two or three years, maybe longer. They can travel faster than light, but it's still a big galaxy."
"And we'll have a place in it."
"Along with the Aliens." Gwen looked bitter. "I didn't offer to help them because I forgive them."
"Gwen, you can't blame all of them because
Scented Vine
—"
"I blame them," she said. "Every time I looked at one of them, I saw my husband and children. We may have set ourselves up for the Collapse, but
Stinking Weed
's crew played a role in events. They were killers, too. Dzhaz never admitted any of that."
"Did you expect him to? He's a product of his society." I shook my head. "I doubt we can really help them."
"I don't care about that, Tad." She toyed with her coffee mug, turning it around and around on the mess hall table. "I made that offer for us. They need
us
to survive. If anything can prove to us, and the rest of the world, that we're coming out of the Collapse, it's that."
Gwen had a point. I had one, too, which I couldn't mention to her. One of the driving forces behind the Republic had always been our hatred of the Aliens, the feeling that they were to blame for everything. We were losing that now; it had been comforting, but illusions never last, and hate can be one of the worst illusions. It had kept us from seeing the realities behind the Collapse, and that blindness might have put us on the road to a second such disaster.
Even though I was glad we were shedding our hate, I could see the danger in losing part of our motivation. The belief that the Aliens had caused the Collapse had made it possible for us to think that there was nothing wrong with the human race, that we could recover from what had been done to us. Now we would have to take pride in what we were going to do.