Imperial Stars 2-Republic and Empire (24 page)

Without realizing just how it happened, Baltur found himself bargaining over the tent first, then talking of his personal affairs. Soon, they were talking of the affairs of the province, then of Imperial policy. With a start, Baltur realized that he had bared some of his innermost thoughts. Dangerous thoughts, some of them, and these to a man he had just met. He swallowed hard, then looked straight at the tentmaker. What if this man were an Imperial spy?

His companion smiled gently. "No, Plono Baltur, I am far from being an agent of the Emperor." He nodded toward the herdsman's tent. "Shall we go inside?"

Baltur shrugged, held the tent flap aside, then entered after his visitor.

Inside, Kono Meru swept his elaborate headdress off, revealing a crop of black hair, surmounted by a golden circlet.

"First," he said, "let me introduce myself. I am known on this world as the tentmaker, Kono Meru. On other worlds, I have had different names."

He held up a hand. "No, make no mistake about me. I am a man like yourself. Neither I nor any of my companions are supernatural. We merely come from worlds other than this one. Older worlds. We have certain tools unknown to your world, like this 'mentacom' here." He pointed to the circlet. "The device has a long, technical name, but we usually just call it a mentacom. It allows us to make direct contact with the mind of another being, making words unnecessary." Kono paused.

"We also have knowledge unheard of by your world as yet," he continued. "Possession of that knowledge has brought with it obligations and duties. My duty and that of my companions is to make worlds we are assigned to into better places for their inhabitants to live in, that the universe of worlds may prosper."

"There are, then, other worlds than this?" Baltur stared at him.

"Worlds beyond number," Meru assured him. "Many of them inhabited by men such as you and I."

"Why do you tell me these things?" queried the herder. "I am but a simple man. It is not for me to make great decisions." He spread his hands. "Rather, should you go to those who rule."

Kono Meru smiled. He had been right. The man had both mental flexibility and analytical ability. "It is our opinion," he stated, "that those who now rule this Empire are failing to do a good job. You have agreed with us on that."

Baltur started. "I . . . I merely—"

His companion held up a hand, then pointed to the golden circlet. "You had the thought," he said positively. "Also," he added, "you said that men are not to be treated as cattle, thinking as you said it that in many ways, you and your people are being so treated."

Baltur paled. "I admit it," he muttered. "I had the thought."

Meru smiled. "How, then, can I go to rulers who consider men as cattle, and ask them to give those cattle a voice in the government?"

"I see." Baltur walked across the tent, seated himself, and leaned back against some cushions. "What, then, can I do? I am a herdsman. I have no great wealth, no power."

"Do you want to do something?"

"Yes, yes, I think so."

"You are willing to accept hardship and danger?"

Baltur shrugged. "If it will do good."

"Good. You will go, then, to the healer, Marko Dalu. Until you see him, you will forget all that we have spoken about." As he spoke, the tentmaker removed a small instrument from his clothing, pointing it toward the herdsman. "When you see Marko Dalu, you will remember your talk with me, and will ask him for further information and instruction." Kono Meru stood, walking to the tent entrance. "Now, I will help you set up your new tent, then we will part company."

The following morning, Baltur woke, feeling weak and nauseated. He stirred about the new tent, preparing his breakfast, then looked at the result with distaste. Finally, he tried some. It tasted terrible. He spat it out. Now, he realized that he had a headache. He thought back to the night before. No, he hadn't touched any wine.

"Something else is wrong," he muttered. "What was the name of that healer?"

He went outside, looking over his herd, then started making preparations for the trip into the village.

Nodan, aide to the Master of the Palace Guard, was a puzzled man. He looked after the retreating figure of Company Master Philar, his brows contracted in thought. Finally, he spoke to his superior.

"Why, sir? Why promote that man and send him on this assignment? Surely, there are others better fitted for command."

Milbar smiled thoughtfully. "For instance?" he inquired.

The smile made Nodan bold, "For instance, the senior watchmaster, Mylan dar Byklor, sir," he said. "Surely, there's a man who could take over a mission and make it successful."

Milbar's smile grew broader. "Ah, yes, Mylan. Makes up a nice bribe, doesn't he?"

Nodan flushed. His mouth opened, but his superior held up a hand.

"No, no. Don't worry. Of course I'm not blind, but I know that one must live. Why not a little on the side now and then." The older man dropped his hand, then played with his fingers for a moment.

"No," he continued, "this promotion and assignment is not exactly a reward. You see, the situation in Kleedra is most peculiar." He shook his head. "Most peculiar," he repeated. "Really, it isn't a genuine rebellion. No arms have shown. None have flouted authority. It seems rather a change in attitude. Many of the townspeople and more of the countryfolk seem to regard the Empire with a sort of tolerance, rather than with the normal respect. It is nothing we can put our fingers on. We can't declare a state of emergency, since there is none.

"It seems, however, that there is a man. A physician named Marko—Marko Dalu. He appears to be the central figure. People come to him from quite considerable distances, not so much for medical care as for something else. He goes out quite a bit, too. We've noticed that whenever he does, he gathers quite a crowd. Always makes speeches. Not much to them, but they seem to result in a very unsatisfactory attitude toward the Empire."

"But," Nodan suggested, "can't he be put in constraint on a treason or a heresy charge?"

"Oh, easily." His superior nodded. "Of course he can. We can arrest anyone for that, and in this case, we could make it stick." He paused, a smile creeping over his face. "But we want to do it in such a way as to be profitable." He paused again. "We must sacrifice troops to an unlawful mob." He beat softly on the table. "Our overlordship will be challenged." His voice lowered again, and he faced Nodan squarely. "Then, of course, Kleedra will be reconquered. It will resume its rightful place as a subject village, and all will be well again."

Nodan's smile was admiring. "A truly clever plan," he applauded. "And, of course, our Philar, the bluff old warrior, is just the man to make the plan work?"

"Naturally," nodded Milbar, "he will swagger in at the head of his reinforced company, full of righteousness and patriotic vim. He'll seize his prisoner and start out of town. Then, the trap will spring. He has never been in combat on the battlefield, nor have the men we are giving him. A determined mob will make dog meat of them; with some encouragement, of course, and at a price. After that, I'll send in experienced troops and take over the district."

Milbar leaned back in his chair, contemplating the future with considerable satisfaction.

It was a warm day. Back in the hills, a faint blue haze obscured details of trees and ground. On one of the hillsides, before a cliff, a large group of people had gathered. They faced a single man expectantly. He held up his hands for silence.

"Peace, my friends," he said. He spoke in almost a normal tone, yet those most distant heard him clearly.

Back in the crowd, among a small group of his friends, Plono Baltur nodded to himself. Yes, the mental communicator was a remarkable device. In this age, a public address system would be supernatural. It would be a strange device to be regarded with superstitious fear, yet the far more advanced mentacom merely gave a feeling of ease. It operated unobtrusively, without causing any comment, or revealing itself in any way. He looked about the group. Yes, a lot of people were listening.

"Men have spoken words of violence," Marko was continuing. "This cannot be. Those who resort to violence will perish uselessly. It is only for those who abstain, who pass their days in peace who, with their sons, will inherit the future."

A murmur passed through the crowd: This was not exactly what many of them had come to hear. To a great many men in this audience, the stories of Marko Dalu and his strange abilities, coupled with his remarkable deeds, had come as a cry to action. Now, they felt let down.

"The rule of fear, of force and violence, cannot last," declared Dalu. "It must and will come to an end, since force creates counterforce. It is not up to us to dash ourselves senselessly at overwhelming odds, but rather to practice and teach those virtues that have been handed to us from the ancient days, in anticipation of the days to come, when many men will also practice them. Thus will all benefit."

Gradually, as he spoke, most of his hearers nodded in agreement. Not all he said was understood, nor was it meant to be. Only a few men still felt a vague dissatisfaction. As the crowd broke up, scattering to various pursuits, a few of these approached the philosopher.

"You preach against violence," said one of them. "Then you say in effect that the Empire is bound to be destroyed. Who, then, is going to do this?"

Marko smiled. "That is not a matter for you or for me, my friend," he said. "The teachers say, I believe, that the Empire is ruled by the Divine Emperor?"

The man nodded. "That is true."

"Then," argued Dalu, "cannot the Divine Halfazor take care of the purging of his own Empire?"

The man was obviously not satisfied, but he felt compelled to agree. He cast about for some way to pursue his questioning without venturing into the dangerous grounds of heresy. Back in the shadows, a small instrument was leveled his way. Suddenly, he felt that he was wasting his time. Here was no opportunity to build up a case against this Dalu. He turned and walked away. The instrument scanned the group. Several others decided that further discussion would be profitless. They left, to report another failure to their various superiors. Marko smiled at their retreating backs.

"Do you who remain have any further questions?" he asked.

One man stepped forward. "We do," he announced. "At least, I do." He glanced around at the three men with him. "I feel that there must be something to be done other than just passive waiting."

Marko looked at the four men. "Do all of you have that feeling?"

They all nodded. "I do," they chorused.

"Then," Marko added, "are you willing to risk torture and death for your beliefs?"

The men looked uncertain. "I mean it," Marko assured them. "If you join me, you will never gain riches. You may suffer hunger, thirst, torture, death. Danger will be your constant companion. You will be censured, with no chance of retaliation."

One man shook his head. "This is a dismal outlook," he announced.

"Yes, but one which must be faced," Marko told him.

The man looked at the philosopher for a moment, then turned. Slowly, he walked away. The others stood fast.

"I am a fool," announced one of them. "My better judgment tells me to leave, but I am still here. What must we do?"

The other two simply nodded.

"Follow me," ordered Marko. He turned, walking into the shadow of the cliff. He walked up to the cliff, then melted into it. The three men looked at each other, then shrugged. They, too, walked into the cliff.

Inside, they looked around in bewilderment. It was a cave, but the lighting was brilliant. Around the walls were arranged masses of unfamiliar equipment. Several men in strange clothing stood about the room. Marko Dalu was stripping off his robes. Now, he turned toward them, the light gleaming from his insignia.

"Gentlemen," he greeted them, "allow me to introduce myself. I am a member of a service which will remain unknown to your planet for many centuries. You have been chosen for that same service, provided you can prove yourselves fit during the next few hours. I think you can." He waved a hand and one of the uniformed men pulled a lever.

Instantly, the lights went out. Images started forming in the minds of the three men. Rapidly, they saw the early days of a planet. They saw the gradual appearance of man, then his development to a civilization comparable to their own. Empires arose—and fell. Once, civilization was wiped out, only to start anew from the very beginnings. Machines were developed—machines which the men somehow understood, though they had never seen their like before. Wars were fought. New weapons were devised. Defenses were developed, then, new weapons. Lands were devastated. Finally, an entire continent was laid bare of life, but its final, despairing effort was decisive. As they watched, the immense forces interacted. Gravitic stresses, far beyond the wildest dreams of the weapon designers, developed. Then came complete catastrophe. At first slowly, then with vicious rapidity, the planet ripped itself to bits. As the images faded, a few rocks started their endless circling of the sun which had once given life to a great planet.

"That," said Dalu's voice, "was a drastic case. Now, a different picture."

Again, the images formed. This planet, too, had its wars, but after the fall of one civilization, international and interracial understanding developed. The wars lessened in severity, then ceased. Scientific devices, once developed as weapons, took their places in a peaceful, planetwide economy. The population grew, and, as life spans lengthened, the race spread to other planets, then to other suns. The images faded upon a peaceful and prosperous vista.

"The other side of the picture," remarked Dalu. "Now for the mechanics of the thing."

Hours passed. Finally, the three men walked out of the cliff again. Coming out into the blackness of the night, they looked toward each other wordlessly. Then, each engaged with his own thoughts, they went their separate ways.

Inside the cave, D'lun spoke to Communications Technician Elkins.