Antagonist - Childe Cycle 11 (92 page)

"You
can
't
mean
your
plans
have
been
doomed
from
the
start!"

"By
no
means,"
he
said.
"Think
of
it
like
this:
I
can't
change
the forces,
but
I
can
ride
them.
And
if
in
doing
so
I
can
change
the minds
of
people,
those
small
changes,
aggregated
over
a
long
time, will
slowly
alter
the
direction
of
the
forces
themselves."

"Doesn't
it
matter
where
the
organization
goes?"

"A
little,"
he
said.
He
shrugged.
"It
doesn't
matter
to
me
exactly which
road
the
organization
takes;
because
a
lot
of
roads
go
in
the direction
I
want
...
anything
that
will
push
the
race
off
the
Younger Worlds
and
back
to
Old
Earth
is
a
step
in
the
right
direction."

"You've
spoken
of
war,"
she
said.
"Won't
it
threaten
your
plans
if Old
Earth
wins
that
war?"

"I'm
no
longer
so
sure
of
that,"
he
said.
"No
matter
who
wins,
if there's
a
war
it'll
be
so
large
that
the
economies
of
all
the
Younger Worlds
will
be
bled
white.
If
the
organization
wins
that
war,
it'll gravitate
naturally
to
the
only
place
with
a
viable
economy—Old Earth;
and
if
Old
Earth
wins,
it
will
turn
its
back
on
colonization
for a
long
time."

"Can
you
just
sit
back,
then,
and
let
things
play
themselves
out?"

"No,"
he
said.
"To
ensure
the
success
of
my
plans,
I
have
to
be able
to
gather
the
ablest
elements
of
the
Younger
Worlds
and
establish
them
on
Old
Earth
in
positions
from
which
they
can
begin pushing
the
race
in
the
direction
it
needs
to
go—the
direction
of
inner
moral
development,
that
will
help
it
see
the
futility
and
danger in
acting
on
the
immature
whims
of
random
excitable
individuals."

"I
thought
you
weren't
really
important
in
the
scheme
of
history?"

"I'm
not,"
he
said.
"Not
as
an
individual.
But
if
I
can
influence enough
people
to
see
things
the
way
I
do,
the
sum
of
us
can
become important."

"And
that's
what
you've
been
doing,
in
all
those
years
of
speeches and
recorded
talks,"
she
said.
"Bringing
people
around
to
your
point of
view."

"I
wish
it
were
as
easy
as
you
make
it
sound."

"I
must
go,"
Henry
MacLean
insisted
later
that
day,
even
though Bleys
had
already
refused
to
let
his
uncle
investigate
the
lost
Soldiers.
"They
were
my
people."

"And
they
were
mine,
Uncle
Henry,"
Bleys
said,
speaking
softly but
firmly.

"Bleys,
you
can't
go
running
off
every
time
one
of
our
people gets
killed,"
Toni
said,
even
more
softly.
"You
know
that—it's
part of
the
price
of
your
position."

She
had
already
used
up
her
other
arguments,
in
private.

"I
agree,"
Bleys
said,
looking
at
her
with
a
slight
smile,
but
not budging.
"But
this
isn't
a
normal
situation.
This
is
Dahno.
If
he's doing
something
that
endangers
my
plans,
we
have
to
know
it."

He
turned
his
eyes
back
to
Henry.

"You
have
to
agree
with
this,
Uncle,"
he
said.
"No
one
else—not even
you—can
see
through
Dahno
like
I
can."

"I
cannot
argue
with
you
on
that
point,
Bleys,"
Henry
said.
"But you
must
let
me
make
a
few
suggestions,
at
least."

CHAPTER 30

There
were
just
over
ninety
passengers
aboard
the
shuttle
that came
down
to
Famagusta,
one
early
spring
day,
from
the
Sesostris
II.
They
had
filled
out
the
necessary
customs
forms
while
still
aboard the
passenger
liner,
and
had
been
vouched
for
by
the
shipping
line; the
only
remaining
barrier
was
a
passage
through
electronic
inspection of
their
persons
and
belongings.
When
no
untoward
metal
objects
or unorthodox
circuitry
or
chemicals
were
found,
they
were
released to
Old
Earth's
soil.

Passengers
arriving
on
an
Old
Earth-owned
liner
generally
received
a
substantial
amount
of
deference,
since
they
were
highly likely
to
be
well-off
and
well-connected.
Indeed,
most
of
the
new arrivals
were
met
and
escorted
from
the
spaceport,
to
be
conveyed to
their
destinations
in
North
Africa,
southern
Europe
or
eastern Asia.

Among
the
few
not
so
greeted
was
a
tall
man
with
blond-brown hair
that
was
graying
at
the
temples.
His
skin
was
deeply
tanned, but
he
seemed
to
suffer
from
a
dermal
affliction
that
created
a nasty-looking
rash
and
an
accretion
of
random
bumps
and
pitting. People
winced
internally
when
they
saw
his
face,
then
politely averted
their
eyes.

Space
travel
was
expensive,
and
seasoned
interstellar
travelers packed
lightly,
knowing
it
was
cheaper
to
buy
most
items
on
arrival than
to
pay
their
luggage
charges.
The
tall
man
with
the
unsightly face
had
only
a
tiny
bag
as
he
strolled
through
the
terminal
to
the area
reserved
for
taxis.

Out
on
the
curb,
his
attention
was
caught
by
the
tall
palm
trees that
lined
a
nearby
parking
area.
There
were
variform
palms
on some
of
the
Younger
Worlds,
varieties
genetically
altered
to
fit
those