Читать книгу For a Good Time Call... - Donald Ph.D. Ladew - Страница 8

Mr. Carson said he was a businessman. Trouble is William had a hard time believing someone who looked like a whimsical badger, and spent his time hiring misfits, was anything but three slices short of a loaf.

When they arrived, Carson was scanning something on the monitor and scratching his ear with his tail as usual. Miss Annie-Brown had been sent off, William didn't know where. She was never around when Carson and William met.

"Welcome, William Holt-Fennimore. I have found a little task that might be right up your road," he said.

"That's “right up your alley”, Mr. Carson."

"Ummm, right, very confusing language, but I think I'm getting a hold on it."

"You sure are, sir."

Hey, what the hell, I like the guy, William thought. Besides he has a better hold on English than I do on Badgerese.

For the first time since he'd been making these trips Mr. Carson motioned William over to where he sat. He activated a control and a door appeared in the opaque wall that led into his work area.

"Come in, Mr. Holt-Fennimore." He indicated another chair which sprang suddenly out of the floor. "Forgive me, William, but while there was any doubt that you might take the assignment, it was necessary that you have as little direct contact as possible with the rest of the people here, and of course, with our technology. The Confederacy, of which my home world is a member, has strict rules about advanced technologies being given to worlds existing at different technological levels."

He was sure trying to be tactful. He could have said they didn't approve of giving cannon to children. Hell, William could figure that out.

"William, I want you to know from the start, there is danger in this assignment, considerable danger. Others have made the attempt and failed. However, I feel you have unique talents that will help you overcome these problems. I am sure you will be a great help to your employer."

His tail wasn't getting the job done so he replaced it with his small, dexterous fingers, then proceeded to scratch and pull the irritating extremity.

"In order for you to understand the assignment it will be necessary for me to tell you how things are run out here in my neck of the trees. Did I get that right, William?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it, Mr. Carson, it's close enough."

"Good. As you have probably concluded there are many inhabited planets in the Galaxy. The world that I come from is a member of a confederation of planetary systems, comprised of more than four thousand planets. The members of the Confederation, each member planet, subscribe to certain overall rules of conduct. These rules are aimed solely at promoting survival, broadly, for each member race. Through the membership, those who subscribe to these rules acquire certain...tangible and intangible benefits.

"There are many other planets spread through the known areas of the Galaxy, like your Earth, which aren't members. As a general rule, planetary systems that aren't members won't become such until they acquire interplanetary transport technology, FTL (Faster-Than-Light) space travel as you call it. We deduce from your current level of technology, barring any real disasters, your people will develop that technology in approximately two hundred of your years. Soon enough, I should think.

"There are of course exceptions to both sides of this rule. The Confederation has members who don't have FTL technology, and there are those who have space flight who aren't members, and probably never will be."

William realized the lecture was going to go on for a long time.

"Be certain you understand this. The confederation of planets is not a governmental body. There are no political parties, such as your...Republicans and Democrats. Nor are we a police force."

That was a change. "We?" William asked.

"Ahhh, William, you do pay attention." He made sounds which William discovered were his version of laughter. "Yes, quite right, very astute. I am an agent, occasional employee of, and volunteer to the Confederation. My company is frequently retained by the presiding representatives. As I was saying, the group of beings who represent all the member worlds are not a police force. However they do have the authority and the means to punish in extreme situations.

"Each planet or group of planets develops its own form of government. Each is entirely free to work out their own particular destiny, their own goals, by their own means."

William didn't say anything, but he was supremely bored. He wondered when Carson was finally going to get to the point.

"I have been watching your T.V. for years," Carson said. "There was a drama I watched regularly that featured “aliens”. That's me," he laughed, "or you, depending on your viewpoint. In any case, the drama often portrayed certain aliens, often an entire race as sublimely intelligent and gently motivated toward the goals of universal brotherhood and survival. I regret to tell you, William, that this is seldom the case."

William woke up a little. It looked like Carson was finally going to get to the bottom line.

"No, William, that is not how it is. Reality is far closer to your own history. The universe, this galaxy is filled with life. The inhabitants are also filled with prejudice, paranoia, avarice, hatred, evil and violence. I do not want to paint an entirely gloomy picture, however, because like Earth they have also produced beings of amazing ability, goodwill and charity. Some of them would even by your religious tenets be considered saints. But, while the latter happens often enough at an individual level to give us all hope, it seldom happens within any group, nation, planet or the like."

Christ, I could have told him that, William thought. What organization ever does anything except muddy the work of an individual. Group think is never elegant, and frequently destructive.

"Occasionally," Mr. Carson went on, "when two nations or even planetary systems, have a problem for which their final solution is war, and this strife becomes so destructive, so harmful to others that its effects spread beyond its own territorial boundaries, the Confederation finds it necessary, under the rules of its charter, to step in and...terminate the problem, to...sterilize the area.

"This form of quarantine is not pleasant. The confederation's solution is almost always exercised in extremis. It will only occur if all other efforts to mediate have failed. Truly the Confederation would interfere only if such a war threatened the security of those not directly involved. A people's right to fight, to struggle, to survive, no matter how obscene, no matter how savage, is the business of the participants."

Now we're getting down to it, William thought. It's nitty-gritty time.

"A situation exists in the Tau Ceti System which is rapidly approaching the point where the Confederacy may find it necessary to intervene. Be assured, William, they would rather not. And this is where I think you may be able to help us. In Tau Ceti there is a situation that is desperately in need of a new viewpoint."

He paused. "Have you understood me so far, William?" He was very intense, quite different from his normal, professorial detachment.

William tried to answer him in kind. "Yeah, I got it, but I'm not sure I like the sound of this business. I can't see how I could possibly help. It looks like you're counting on one man to make the difference. Mr. Carson, I haven't even been able to make my own life go right. How do you expect me to be able to help anyone else?"

"Trust me, William. One man is often the only difference at great moments of history. I do know what I am doing." He was very sure.

William tried to recall where he'd heard that “trust me” bit before? Another recruiter in a different uniform, he thought.

"I know your potential, perhaps even better than you," Carson said. "When you leave here you will have an assignment, a task. It will be very specific. You will fulfill that task any way you can. Of course we will give you every kind of help possible. Remember, no matter what strange ideas you come up with, or odd suggestions, you will be listened to very carefully by the Confederation."

Well at least I know who the job is for, William thought.

"The people you will be dealing with have already heard all the “fresh” ideas there are from their own people. You may think of yourself as a galactic trouble-shooter if you like. Don't let anyone try to force their approach on you. Let your own uniqueness of viewpoint be your inspiration, your method. If you do this, I am sure you will succeed."

He stopped for a moment to review, and a fresh tug at the offending ear.

"So, you need more specifics. The planet you will be going to is called Fen-Hadramaut II. For simplicity's sake we'll call it Fen. This is a planet at war. This is the eleventh year of that war, and it has gone on unabated for the entire eleven years.

"One would think there was some deep-seated reason for this conflict. You know, the usual things, territorial disputes, religious/ethnic differences, even perhaps that ancient madness, lebensraum. Then there is racial paranoia, that's very popular as a so-called reason for conflict. Is it in fact one of these? The answer is no, William. We, that is the Confederation, do not know what the reasons are.

"Eleven years ago there was no outward sign of trouble from Fen. It was an average Confederation planet, physically similar to your Earth. There are six racial types, two humanoid, one aquatic and three insectoid. Prior to the war they were all living in relative harmony. There were minor conflicts of a limited and local nature, but certainly nothing the confederation would concern itself with.

"As planets go on the evolutionary scale, they are well advanced. So when war broke out between one of the humanoid groups and an insectoid group, it was quite startling. In the beginning it was only noted as a situation that should be watched. I regret the Confederation didn't have the foresight to step in at the beginning. But, our charter is very specific about interfering in the private affairs of other worlds.

"In a remarkably short period of time the other nations and races began to take sides. Not just in the moral sense, but in a participatory sense. In two years every country and its racial inhabitants had aligned to one side or the other.

"Although we don't know the significance yet, the sides were drawn along geographical boundaries.

"There are two main continents, Yarel Sor and Waren Sor, separated by two large oceans and numerous islands. These make up the principal geographical features of the planet surface. As I said, there wasn't any vast long-standing political rift. All of the races mentioned were living in relative harmony when, whammo, as you fellows say, global war. It's as if some strange form of collective madness simultaneously took over the lives of every person on the planet."

Mr. Carson was quiet for some time, and William was being pressed by some thought, some nagging idea, but it wouldn't develop so he waited for Carson to go on.

"Both sides began branching out into their solar system, each side claiming several of the planets. On the sixth planet lives a peaceful race of bio-organic crystalline beings. Both sides have begun to send military probes into that planet in search of certain raw materials needed to fuel their headlong flight to self-annihilation.

"Now they have involved another race. This is the point at which the Confederation stepped in. It is also the point at which planetary sterilization was considered. Unfortunately neither side in the conflict seems willing to listen to any outside advice, nor will they accept mediation in any form."

William couldn't help it, he had to interrupt. "Look, Mr. Carson, I know you keep saying there's something I can do..."

"Please be patient, Mr. Holt-Fennimore. I have been at this sort of thing for a long time. Without blowing my own pipes, I may safely say I have been rather successful."

William didn't bother to correct Carson's droll use of American slang, he was so proud of it.

"Stay with me, William. There is a uniqueness to this problem which has so far eluded our attempts at understanding. We sent people in with orders to contact the leaders of both sides. These are, or were, good people. For reasons we have been unable to fathom they almost immediately became aligned, biased in favor of the people or side with whom they made first contact.

"Our purpose for sending these people in was to get reliable reports on what was happening. We tried everything. We sent journalists, intelligence agents, historians, none of whom were known to have any previous affiliation or bias regarding the inhabitants of Fen. We also tried different racial types in case there was some sort of ethnic persuasion at work.

"It didn't matter. If the person sent made first contact with side A, they immediately took on the political/social bias of side A. If they were sent into the area of side B, they joined side B. To a man, or woman, whatever, they each became embroiled in the war. They took sides!

"In several cases they even joined in the fighting. We cannot get reliable reports from people who don't remember why they were sent there in the first place."

Christ on a crutch! What a mess, William thought. I wonder what makes him think I'm any different? Why shouldn't the same effect hit me? Just because I'm from Earth? It doesn't make any sense. Hell, he doesn't make any sense, William shook his head helplessly.

Mr. Carson went on undisturbed by William's doubts. "The Confederation must know what is going on, what is the truth, before any drastic decision affecting the lives of millions of living beings is made. Can you imagine what would happen if we went in there, sterilized the planet, stopped the war at the cost of the lives of most of the people living there, only to find out later there was something we could have done? It could de-stabilize the Confederation itself. Nations, worlds, who now look to the Confederation for help and guidance in their most severe difficulties, would lose faith. They'd resort to their ancient ways. It could lead to chaos on an unprecedented scale."

"I understand what you're saying, Mr. Carson, I just don't feel trained or qualified to do anything about it."

"I know what you feel, if you will forgive my presumption, Mr. Holt-Fennimore. Before you go to Fen, you and I are going to another planet in the Confederation. There you will attend a school of sorts. You will be brought up to date on current technology, history of the Confederation, economics of the member worlds, a variety of subjects.

"Also you will be thoroughly grounded in the history of Fen. You will acquire two new languages immediately. There isn't much time so your employers will expect you to work hard. I have also recommended you attend a three week physical conditioning course. During the course you will be briefed and receive training on the current military technology available; particularly what is being used on Fen."

He must have noticed William's disbelief. "I'm afraid," he went on, "your quiet five-to-nine days are going to come to an end. Remember, Mr. Holt-Fennimore, you wanted change. Well, you're going to get it," he chuckled.

William failed to see the humor. Not surprising, he thought. When one slides down the emotional curve of boredom, despair and apathy, one of the first things that goes is sense of humor. What little he had left was getting used up fast.

"William, this is your contract." He pulled a sheet of plastic from a slot in his console. It was slate gray with two diagonal red bars across one corner. "This has been authorized by Ser Garindror himself. He's currently the senior member of the Council of the Confederation. If you want to review it, insert it in the reader thus, and request verbal access."

He showed William how it was done, and together they went over all the rules, clauses, where ases and wherefores.

"Is there anything you don't understand?" he asked.

"No," William said, "I understand it."

"What about remuneration in the event of your...death?" Mr. Carson seemed genuinely distressed to bring it up. "We must know who to send it to, in the event such a thing were to happen."

"Hey, don't worry," William told him. "That's the most likely ending to this story. You just send everything to Miss Annie-Brown."

Carson's tail stopped waving about. Everything about him ceased to move. That got him, William chuckled. Finally surprised the little man.

"This is most unusual, William. I'm...not sure...I'm not sure about the legality of such a bequest."

William got stubborn at that point. "Well, you heard it, Mr. Carson. That's what I want, and I don't intend to have it any other way. You work it out, because I'm not going anywhere until you do. She gets it all, period."

He looked at William calmly for a minute or two. He was sure that sharp mind of Mr. Carson's was really humming.

He punched up some data on his console, took William's contract, put it in the machine and entered the data. "It will be exactly as you wish, Mr. Holt-Fennimore."

"Alright, where do I sign?"

He took the plaque and had William place his fingers across the red bars. "Just say, I accept this contract, and it's done."

William did what Carson said. No whistles blew, no fireworks exploded. The whole thing was pretty damned anti-climatic.