Inferno: A Chronicle of a Distant World (The Galactic Comedy) (11 page)

A small band emerged from the government building and played a discordant jason march on their various instruments, while Labu stood at attention. When they were through, he fumbled around the tarp for a moment, finally found the rope he was looking for, and gave it a sharp yank. The tarp came away to reveal a huge statue of an unimpressive-looking man dressed in a fashion that was almost a millennium out of date. The audience sat still, as if stunned.

"Who is it?" asked Oglipsi, who had walked over to the window. "Some hero from your ancient past?"

Cartright shook his head. "I wish it was. That is a statue of Conrad Bland."

"I am not familiar with the name. Who was Conrad Bland?"

"In the history of my race, we have had our share of genocidal maniacs: Caligula, Adolph Hitler, Joseph Stalin. The worst of them by far, the greatest killer of them all, was Conrad Bland. Before he was finally hunted down on the planet of Walpurgis III, he was responsible for the deaths of more than thirty million human beings." Cartright paused. "And that is Gama Labu's hero."

Down on the street, Labu was waiting for the applause that was not forthcoming. Finally he stepped forward again.

"Conrad Bland, like myself, was a visionary, capable of great things. The only difference between us is that he was hounded to his death, while in this enlightened age I have been elected the president of my planet." Labu grinned again. "I realize that you are moved to silence by this act of brotherhood, but this should be a joyous occasion. The spirit of Conrad Bland lives again."

He nodded to the leader of his soldiers, who barked a command, and this time all but three men and a woman got to their feet and cheered unenthusiastically. The four who remained seated were immediately taken away by the soldiers, and Cartright lost sight of them.

Shortly thereafter, Labu's vehicle carried him away, the soldiers moved the humans back onto their buses, and things slowly went back to normal. The moles began returning to their shops, a few Men went about their business, jasons crowded around the statue and read the inscription at its base.

"He's insane!" said Cartright, sitting back down on the floor. "He's absolutely certifiable."

"No, my friend," answered Oglipsi. "He is not insane, and if you hope to oppose him, you must understand that."

"You think his actions are those of a rational being?" demanded Cartright.

"His actions are those of a barbarian, which indeed he is," answered Oglipsi, "but not a mad barbarian, which he is not. He calculates every move very carefully. Never forget that, friend Arthur."

"Just what kind of calculation goes into erecting a statue of Conrad Bland?" asked Cartright.

"It is obvious that Labu wants all Men to leave the planet. Most of them have already left Faligor, but a few thousand diehards like yourself remain. If he starts slaughtering you, he is afraid that the Republic will come here in force—and while they may not help the jasons, or reappropriate the human property that was stolen, there is every likelihood that a widespread massacre of humans will indeed bring the Navy here." Oglipsi paused. "So what does he do? He unveils a statue of the greatest killer in history and claims that it is his hero. There are twelve thousand humans currently on Faligor. How many do you think will be here next week?"

"I see your point," said Cartright.

"I do not think you see it in its entirety," said Oglipsi.

"What do you mean?"

"I told you: he has a reason for everything he does."

"I know. And the reason he put up the statue was to encourage humans to leave the planet."

"You are missing the point."

"I am?"

"This is a barbarian, brought up to hate not just the Enkoti, but all tribes that are not his own. Why do you think he wants all Men to leave the planet?"

Cartright simply stared at Oglipsi.

"Yes," said the jason. "The worst is yet to come."

11.

Cartright was dreaming that he was a child again, going fishing with his father on a clear blue lake, when he became aware of an insistent prodding. He moaned, tried to roll over, and pulled his blanket over himself, but the prodding became harder, and suddenly he sat up.

"You!" said a uniformed jason who had been poking him with the barrel of a sonic rifle. "Up!"

The jason turned to Oglipsi, who was huddled in a corner of the cell. "You too!"

The two of them, terrified, got to their feet, and were half-marched, half-dragged down a corridor to a staircase. They descended to ground level, and were taken to a small room where Cartright was sure they were to be tortured and killed. Instead, they were met by an overweight jason in a colonel's uniform who sat behind a scarred, battered desk.

"Arthur Cartright, Reverend James Oglipsi, all charges against you have been dropped and you are free to leave," announced the colonel.

For just an instant Cartright thought that Labu had been overthrown, but a glance through the window assured him that the military was still going about its business.

"I thank you," Oglipsi said.

"Do not thank me. If I had my way, you would have been executed the day you arrived. You owe your gratitude to the ruler you have so unfairly slandered."

"President Labu?" said Cartright.

"President-For-Life Labu," the jason corrected him. "In honor of his new position, which was conferred upon him last night, he has ordered that one in every five political prisoners be granted their freedom. Your names were drawn." The jason glared at them. "Now get out of here. I do not wish to be in the company of either of you."

Cartright felt an urge to race out the door before the jason could change his mind, and found that the only reason he walked slowly toward his freedom was that his incarceration had left him too weak to move any faster. He and Oglipsi made their way to the street, where they turned and faced each other.

"Will you be remaining on Faligor?" asked Oglipsi.

"It is my home," answered Cartright. "And I won't let Gama Labu or anyone else drive me away." He paused. "And you—what are your plans?"

"I have my church and my flock," said Oglipsi. "I must return to them."

"Be careful what you say," said Cartright. "I can't imagine that he's not having us watched."

"I will do what I must do," said Oglipsi. He extended his golden hand. "God go with you, Arthur."

"And with you," said Cartright.

Oglipsi turned and started walking away, and Cartright found that he had to lean against the side of a building to steady himself.
Well,
he thought wryly,
I'd been wanting to lose thirty pounds for some time now. I suppose instead of being bitter I should thank them.

A wave of dizziness overcame him, and he waited until it passed, then walked away from the jail as rapidly as he could. He turned into a side street and approached a restaurant, then saw the proprietor lock the front door when he got within a few feet of it.

I can't say that I blame you,
thought Cartright.
I've been three weeks without a shave or a bath or a change of clothes; I must look like Death warmed over.
Belatedly it occurred to him that even had the restaurant allowed him inside, he had no money to pay for his food; he had been so anxious to leave the jail he hadn't asked for the return of his personal effects, nor had he any intention of going back to ask for them. Besides, the odds were that some jason had appropriated them within five minutes of his incarceration.

He didn't even possess a coin for a newspaper, but he pulled a used one out of a garbage can and quickly skimmed it. The lead story, of course, was Labu's appointment—self-appointment, really—as President-For-Life. In honor of the event, the government had renamed the Jonathan Ramsey National Park as the Gama Labu National Park. The Bortai River was now the Labu River, and the Bularoki Reserve, one of the prime attractions for tourists, was now the Batisha Reserve, named in honor of Labu's youngest wife.

He wondered if he possessed the strength to undertake the three-mile walk to his home, which was just beyond the city limits, when a vehicle pulled up and Dorothy Watts, a neighbor, offered him a ride.

"Thank you," he said, getting into the vehicle.

"We thought we'd lost you," she said he closed the door. "People have this habit of simply vanishing these days."

"He won't kill any Men," said Cartright. "He may be crazy, but he's not stupid."

"Well, truth to tell, there aren't that many of us left," said Watts. "I think half of us have left the planet in the past two weeks."

"I'm glad to see you stayed."

"Oh, I'm leaving, too. I have tickets on the flight to Pollux IV three days from now." She paused. "I assume you'll be leaving soon yourself?"

Cartright shook his head. "Somebody's got to stay and put things right."

"Arthur, it was a noble experiment, and maybe if Bobby had won the election, things would have turned out all right. But you can't deal with Labu and you can't reason with him. It's just a matter of time before he forces all the moles and Men to leave. At least if I go now, I can get some mole to buy my farm. If I wait until I'm kicked off the planet, Labu will wind up owning it, and I'll destroy the stock and poison the wells before I let that happen."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," said Cartright.

"I'm sorry you don't. At least I'll be alive at this time next year."

"So will I. If he didn't kill me this time, he won't ever kill me."

She shrugged. "I hope you're right."

"Things will get better," insisted Cartright.

"What makes you think so?"

"If for no other reason, the fact that you and the rest of the humans who leave will report what's been going on."

"So what?" she said. "Do you think the Republic is going to send the Navy here to stop a jason from killing other jasons and robbing the moles? They'll just shake their heads sadly, say that it's simply another example of what happens when you civilize primitive races too quickly and then leave them to their own devices, and twenty years from now some bleeding heart foundation on Deluros VIII might start a fund for those jasons who have suffered the most. And if they do, the fund will go right into the private bank account of Labu or whoever's in charge."

"He's only been in power for a year. We can undo the damage in even less time."

"Without overthrowing him?" she demanded. "Are
you
going to lead the charge against the presidential palace?"

"Someone will," said Cartright. "Some jason."

"What will he storm the barricades with? Sticks and stones?"

"I don't know," admitted Cartright. "But I'm not prepared to cut and run, just because I don't know. There must be a way."

She took her eyes off the road and stared at him, not without sympathy. "Arthur, I know how much this planet means to you, how much of yourself you've put into it, and I'm sorry things have turned out this way—but has it ever occurred to you that the situation will get a lot worse before it gets any better?"

"These are decent beings," said Cartright adamantly. "They won't put up with this forever."

"Probably not," she agreed. "But I'm 53 years old. I haven't
got
forever—and neither have you." She paused. "Look at them, Arthur. They play at government. They sit around and make motions and have no idea what they're doing. When they want money, they print it up, and when it turns out to be no good, they confiscate whatever they want from the moles' stores. They kill all the animals in the national parks for target practice, and then they can't understand why the tourist industry has died. They close down churches and erect statues to Conrad Bland. They're
savages
, Arthur. You did your best, but you've tried to move them too far too fast. Nobody blames you for it, but it's time you realized what you're dealing with here. Why should they obey the laws of civilized worlds? Nobody had even heard of those laws a generation ago. They tried to be a democracy and then wound up with William Barioke. They tried to correct that mistake and they got Gama Labu." She stared at him. "Do you really have much confidence in whoever they replace Labu with?"

"There must be a way."

She stared at him again, sighed wearily, and drove the rest of the way to his house in silence.

When Cartright unlocked the door and went inside, he was not surprised to find that it had been thoroughly looted, and that his servants—all Enkoti—weren't on the premises. Most of the furniture was gone, except for his kitchen set and one easy chair, his computers were missing, his holovisions had been stolen, and his pantry was empty. All insurance on Faligor had been cancelled within a month of Labu's coup, but he methodically made a list of what was missing and ordered replacements from the few dependable local stores. He found a few containers of soup that the looters had overlooked or simply hadn't wanted, warmed a bowl and decided that it was about all his system could handle at present anyway, and then took the first shower he'd had in a month and collapsed on his bed. He slept for nineteen hours, awoke, and drove out to buy some supplies and a small holovision set. When he returned he made himself some porridge and turned on the holovision.

The announcer, dressed—as they all seemed to be dressed these days—in a military uniform, was reading a weather forecast, which didn't take much effort: the weather was the same as always, moderate, temperate, with a brief afternoon shower. When he was done, he recapped the top news stories of the previous day: Labu's exalted new title, the name changes, the fact that amnesty had been declared for all prisoners (there was no mention of the one-in-five ration, or that it was for political prisoners only), and then there was a final item concerning the Reverend James Oglipsi, who had just returned from a three-week vacation to the Gama Labu (formerly Jonathan Ramsey) National Park.

Evidently Oglipsi, a good friend of President Labu, had been attacked by crazed religious fanatics on his way home. For reasons unknown, they had tortured and finally crucified him. (A holograph of Oglipsi's terribly mutilated body was flashed on the screen, still on its cross.) The perpetrators had been apprehended and incarcerated, but the army regretfully arrived on the scene too late to save the beloved religious leader.