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CHAPTER FIVE

POLICE INSPECTOR

It was dusk at the old airstrip somewhere in the hills east of Hollister and west of the San Joaquin Valley. They’d finished their shopping and packing the day before, and slept in until 9:30. At noon trucks had pulled into the driveway of the San Jose house, and work crews had used a small crane to set the cargo containers into the truck beds. That took longer than expected, but eventually the trucks drove away, and Lee hustled Saxon and Haskins and Sandori out of the old house and into the Dodge van.

“Time,” he’d said.

They’d driven in silence through the San Jose Valley, stopped at the Round Table in Hollister for pizza. After that they drove south and east of Pinnacles and off into the interior of San Benito County. Now they stood in the clapboard operations building of an airfield that didn’t seem to have a control tower or lights or even paved runways. A couple of small aircraft were parked nearby. Neither looked as if it had flown for years, but the operations shack was attached to a surprisingly large hangar. The hangar was completely closed up, the windows painted over with silvery paint. It seemed far too big for this tiny airstrip. The only other buildings in sight were a farmhouse and barn a mile away on the ridge above the airstrip’s valley.

“Why do I get the feeling you aren’t telling us everything?” Saxon demanded, and Lee gave him a thin smile.

“Probably because it’s true. I’ve admitted there are things I can’t talk about until you’re firmly committed to the project and on your way. Last chance, Bart. Spirit. Cal. You can walk out now, take your money—we’ll make it four thousand dollars each—and you’ll never hear from us again. Otherwise, let’s go.”

“I’m less worried about the mystery than why there is a mystery,” Sandori said, and Lee smiled again.

“If I told you much more, you might identify the place, and that’s what our principals can’t allow if you’re not coming.”

“Contras,” Haskins said. “Couple of friends tried to get me off to fightin’ for the Contras when that was still going on. This is something like that. Right?”

“Close enough,” Lee said.

“Are we overthrowing or defending?” Saxon asked, and Lee looked thoughtful.

“A good question,” he said after a moment. “Both.”

“Can’t be both,” Haskins said.

“Sure it can,” Lee said. “You’re to work with the existing government, but what you’re doing is going to transform the place, whether they like it or not. There’s no way you can bring science and technology to a place like this without turning the whole place upside down. So—both.”

“I may like that part,” Sandori said.

She wore a print cotton dress, only the second time Saxon had seen her in skirts. Her legs looked sturdy, well-muscled. Well shaved too, he noticed, and was a bit surprised. In three weeks he’d learned very little about her beyond her militant championship of women’s rights.

“You may well like that part,” George Lee said. “God knows the women can use some education.”

“Not just where we’re going.” Her voice was firm.

“All right, not just there,” Lee said. “But it’s there you can make a difference. I never saw a place more in need of Women’s Liberation. And it’s time to decide. Bart. Coming or going?”

“Let’s get the guarantees straight,” Saxon said. He looked around the operations office. It seemed bare of schedules and papers and the kind of clutter he’d expect. It was clear this airstrip didn’t get much business. And what business it did get might not be on the record . . .

“When do we get home?”

Lee shook his head. “All I can promise is that you’ll be at least six years on—over there. At least six years. After that we can negotiate, depending on what you’ve accomplished. By then you’ll have a sizable international bank account in hard currency. More important will be what you’ve done for yourself locally. You’ll know the language, have important positions. In local terms, you’ll be rich.”

“What does rich mean?” Sandori demanded.

“As we told you. The equivalent of millionaires. With respect from the locals if you’ve done your jobs.”

“What’s this equivalent?” Haskins demanded.

“Depends on the currency, of course,” Lee said. “The per capita income there is under a hundred bucks a year. Look, did we stint on your budget up to now? Have we broken our word to you in any way?”

“No—”

“We bought you all the equipment you wanted, and some you didn’t ask for. And now it’s decision time. Bart. Coming with us or going back to the streets?”

“I wouldn’t be going back to the streets,” Saxon said. “Sober they don’t look so good. Not sure what I could do, anyway. Okay, I’m coming. When do we leave?”

“In about ten minutes. Cal?”

“I’ll stick with Bart,” the Black man said. He straightened noticeably. “Sure.”

“Ms. Sandori?”

“Spirit. I’m coming.”

“Good. Glad to have you aboard, Spirit. This way—”

There were two uniformed men and a metal detector in the next room. The uniforms were similar to the ones they’d provided Sandori, khaki with private security patches, but they had holstered pistols as well as batons. Lee gestured towards the metal detector.

Sandori stopped, frowned, and produced a Glock pistol from her handbag. Then she hesitated a moment and drew a Beretta from somewhere under her skirt. “What do I do with these?”

“In here.” Lee waved and one of the uniformed guards took a metal camera case from under the counter. It had foam rubber inserts. “You’ll get them back,” he told her.

She put the pistols in the case and Haskins shrugged and took out a butterfly knife and a Beretta. “These go in there too?”

“Yes,” Lee said. “Bart?”

“I don’t have any weapons.”

“All right, this way.” He indicated the door to the hangar.

Saxon noticed that Lee had not gone through the metal detector. He saw Haskins and Sandori exchange looks which told him they’d noticed as well.

* * *

“What kind of airplane is that?” Haskins demanded. He looked closer. “Jesus Christ. It’s—”

“A flying saucer,” Sandori said quietly. “I don’t believe in flying saucers.”

“I would be much disappointed if you did,” Dr. Lee said. “We’ve certainly taken enough trouble to discredit any stories about them.”

“But this is one,” Saxon said. He studied the dark gray craft that nearly filled the large hangar. It was big, probably larger than a 747 without wings, but that was hard to determine in the dim light. There was little to give size-reference data. It was just—big.

It wasn’t really a saucer at all. It was flat on the bottom, and long, an ovoid shape like a football sliced lengthwise below the center line, then slightly flared at the bottom. There weren’t any recognizable features. Bulges and distortions in the hull seemed randomly placed, and none of it made any sense. It looked vaguely menacing although Saxon couldn’t say why.

Absurdly, it sat on a wheeled carriage with large truck tires. A tractor stood ready to tow it out of the hangar.

“I ought to be a great deal more astonished than I am,” Saxon said. “Did you put something in the coffee?”

“No. That would be illegal.” Saxon looked at him in puzzlement, but Lee said nothing else, and his expression was serious. Then he gestured with a backhanded wave. An opening appeared in the featureless side of the gray ship, a brightly lit rectangle just in front of them.

“Shall we go aboard?”

“I’m not getting in there!” Haskins protested.

“I am afraid you are,” Lee said. He gestured towards the door they had just come through. The two uniformed guards had drawn their weapons and were watching them closely. “The only question is what condition you’ll be in when you board. You had your chance to say no. Now it’s a bit late.”

“Why, for God’s sake?” Haskins asked. “’Cause we seen this ship? Ain’t nobody gonna believe me. Or Bart neither.”

“They might well believe Ms. Sandori,” Lee said carefully.

“So—” Haskins stopped himself. “Bart, what the flaming crap do we do?”

“We get aboard. At least I think I will.” Saxon turned to Lee. “I take it this assignment is farther away than you intimated?” he said, and Lee smiled.

“You could say that.”

“But it’s the same job? Science education?”

“Very much so. You know what equipment you bought.”

“Where’s our gear?” Saxon demanded.

“Already aboard. If you hadn’t come we’d at least have that much done. Your weapons and equipment are also aboard, including some you didn’t think to get. We had—other consultants—in choosing them. With luck you won’t need weapons, but you can’t always be lucky.”

“And me?” Sandori said. “What’s my job, then?”

“The same as before. Security. Protect and assist Mr. Saxon. Try to include women in the education process. I did not exaggerate the primitive nature of the place you are going.”

“Now just a damn minute,” Sandori said. She looked at Haskins and Saxon. “You’re talking about going to another goddam planet—”

Lee nodded.

“Which makes me the only woman in the world. For them. Thanks, but—”

Lee chuckled again. “Wrong. Ms. Sandori, you don’t have any choices here, but you won’t be the only woman in the world, nor are these the only men. Tran is settled with humans. The culture is primitive, but I assure you quite human.”

“What kind of humans?” Haskins demanded. “Black people?”

“I frankly don’t know. I believe there may be Moors. Does it matter?” Lee said. “They’re certainly human beings. As am I, as you may have noticed.”

“You come from there?” Haskins asked.

“Not from where you’re going, no. But I was neither born nor raised on Earth. Now. Please get aboard. You’ll be no use to us if you’re dead, but if that’s what it takes—”

“I don’t think he’s kidding,” Sandori said.

“I’m not, although in fact the necessity will not arise. We have the means to stun you. You won’t appreciate the headaches.”

Saxon ignored that.

“So how did these humans get to—Tran, you said?”

“Tran, and no more conversation. You’ll be well briefed. I guarantee that before you get there, you will know more about Tran’s history than anyone at present on the planet. Now get aboard. We’re running out of time.”

* * *

They were in a windowless compartment about the size of the San Jose living room office. The walls were plain and featureless except for several large squares that looked as if they might be coverings for something else. Otherwise there was nothing to look at. Saxon felt stirrings of claustrophobia, enough to keep him from talking, or paying attention to Haskins who was saying something Saxon didn’t care about. The steel walls seemed to be closing in. Saxon shuddered.

Seven steel airline seats were bolted to the floor. At least they looked like airline seats, but Saxon noticed they’d been modified. They reclined further and there were heavy-duty head rests.

Lee took one of the seats and gestured them into others. The straps were simple, similar to the full restraints airline crews use, and Saxon busied himself fastening them. George Lee settled into his chair, fixed his straps, and promptly went to sleep. A few moments later they felt the ship move as it was towed out of the hangar.

Five minutes went by. There was a feeling of acceleration.

“Whoo,” Haskins said. The floor rotated under them. “Uh—”

There were brief periods of acceleration, changes of direction, more accelerations, then a long period of high weight, high enough to discourage conversation. In about an hour the high weight stopped, and there was a brief period of weightlessness. Saxon fought the urge to vomit. Then they were heavy again for another hour or more. To distract himself from the closing in walls, Saxon estimated the accelerations.

Assume we accelerated, and now we’re decelerating, he thought. About an hour at something like two gravities. Now decelerate—he whistled.

“Moon,” he said. “We’re going to the Moon.”

“Astute,” George Lee said, and went back to sleep.

* * *

A soft tone sounded, and Lee got up.

“Ah. We’re here.”

“Low gravity,” Saxon said. “Definitely the Moon.”

“You’re calm enough about it,” Sandori said.

“Sure. I have to be,” Saxon said through his teeth. “No point in being anything else.”

“Maybe you feel that way, but I’m ready to freak,” Haskins said.

“No you’re not,” Sandori said.

“Well, maybe not, then.”

There was a slight pressure change. A door appeared. Saxon wasn’t sure whether it opened or dilated: it was just suddenly there, and Lee led the way through it. Beyond was a rough-walled corridor, then a series of doors that definitely did dilate to open, and finally a carpeted room with tables and chairs, all furniture that had clearly been made on Earth. A Formica-topped counter ran along one wall. It held a Krups cappuccino machine and a Mr. Coffee coffee maker. Cabinets above the counter held cups and other supplies. There was a sink with running water. The fixtures were standard ones you’d see in any home appliance store on Earth. The overhead lights were fluorescent shop lights. Except for the dilating door there was nothing alien in the room.

“Make yourselves at home,” Lee said. “The bathroom is through there, press the square button on the wall to open the door. Bart, if you’ll come with me—”

“What about us?” Sandori demanded.

“Later. Have some coffee,” Lee said. “Don’t worry, Bart will be back soon enough, and you’ll all be on your way. Inspector Agzaral prefers to talk to him alone first.”

“Inspector Agzaral,” Sandori said. “Inspector? Police?”

“A policeman, yes,” Lee said. “Unlike in San Francisco, inspector is a very high rank in our service. You’ll all meet Inspector Agzaral later. Bart, we don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Saxon followed George Lee through a series of corridors and dilating doors. Each door closed behind them, and Saxon couldn’t figure out how Lee got them to open. He certainly wasn’t pressing buttons. Saxon tried getting ahead of him to see if the doors opened automatically, but they didn’t. If Saxon got there first, the door stayed closed until Lee approached, then it opened without his seeming to do anything. Saxon wondered if he should ask, but decided not to. Watch, wait, learn . . .

Eventually they came to a large office. It held a desk and a large screen that showed Earth from space. There were alien artifacts in plenty, incomprehensible panels with lighted squares, an oddly shaped thing that might have been a clock but had lights blinking in a pattern where there should have been a clock face, strange sculptures of animals that had never lived on Earth. There were also crystal decanters and sherry glasses, an ordinary General Electric wall clock, and other familiar things. The contrast between prosaic and alien was startling.

A tall, thin man dressed in what might have been a robe or a gown sat behind the desk. The gown was rust colored, with insignia and decorations, some, like a stylized comet and sunburst, familiar enough, others incomprehensible. The man stood when Lee ushered Saxon into the room. After a moment he held out his hand. Like Lee he seemed vaguely Oriental in appearance but Saxon couldn’t have said why. The head was a bit large for his body, the eyes a bit large for the face, but then the face was elongated rather than round. If he’d said he was an alien, Saxon wouldn’t have believed him.

“Agzaral,” he said. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Saxon.”

“I—I guess I’m pleased to meet you,” Saxon said. Agzaral’s hand felt normal enough, strong grip, what Saxon under different circumstances would have called a good handshake. The inspector seemed distracted, as if thinking about things other than Saxon, but at the same time his assured manner gave off a feeling of competence. Saxon thought he might like him.

“I’m probably more pleased to meet you,” Agzaral said with a thin smile. “Please be seated. We won’t have a great deal of time, and I don’t know you well. If you find something I say incomprehensible, you may ask clarification—”

“It’s all incomprehensible,” Saxon said.

“If so, we’ve chosen the wrong hero,” George Lee said.

“Hero.”

“Yes. Or perhaps protagonist,” Agzaral said. “You have an epic task, nothing less than saving a civilization. Perhaps a race. I believe hero is none too strong a word, but protagonist will serve if you prefer.”

Saxon looked from Lee to Agzaral for signs of humor, but saw none.

“Me?”

“You are the one chosen.”

“That’s the first problem,” Saxon said. “Why me?”

Agzaral made a gesture that might have been a nod of agreement and might have been irritation at a silly question.

“You were recommended.”

“By Hector Sanchez,” Lee added.

“Hector knows about—” Saxon gestured to take in the alien artifacts, including the large screen showing Earth. It was clear that the clouds and the solar terminator were moving, and this was a real time view. It was now night in California, but the lights of San Francisco and Silicon Valley were clearly visible. “—this?”

“No,” Agzaral said. “Dr. Sanchez works with one of our agents whom he believes to be a supervisor with the Central Intelligence Agency. I offer you the observation that your government’s habits of secrecy in matters that need none have been very helpful to us in the past. It was so this time. Dr. Sanchez was told that the CIA needs a science teacher to work in primitive conditions on a project of great national importance which will benefit a primitive society. He volunteered your name instantly as a person extremely well qualified, then expressed doubt that your wife would let you accept the assignment.”

“It wasn’t hard to discover that your wife’s views would no longer be a problem,” Lee observed. “Sanchez’s recommendation was so enthusiastic that I thought it worthwhile looking farther.”

“But still—”

“There are rules on recruiting Earth humans,” Agzaral said. “For any purpose, but particularly for off-planet work. The rules are complex, but let us say that your legal situation actually made things much easier for us. You don’t need to know more.”

“Habits of secrecy,” Saxon said.

“Perhaps, but there’s also the time factor,” Agzaral said. “We’re not trying to be secretive in this case. In essence we are not allowed to tell you what you’re volunteering for, yet we’re supposed to accept only volunteers. This usually translates to ‘was it reasonable for you to be sent?’ In your case it was. You will learn much more on the journey to Tran.”

“Please listen and save questions for later,” Lee said. He looked at a small box on the desk in front of them. Lights flashed in a pattern that meant nothing to Saxon, but Agzaral and Lee exchanged looks and nodded. “Inspector Agzaral hasn’t a lot of time.”

“All right.” Saxon settled back in his chair.

“Begin with your remark about secrecy,” Agzaral said. “It is a habit of long standing. Only a few of your Earth years ago, my revealing to an Earth human what I am about to tell you would have earned me a painful death. It would do so even now if there were the smallest chance that you would return to relay this information to your government.”

X-Files,” Saxon said. The new show had been quite a hit among those in the lounge at the Glide. Bart knew many of his fellow street people thought the show was more truth than fiction.

Agzaral frowned, but Lee laughed.

“Close,” he said.

“What you’ve said is that I’ll never go home again,” Saxon said.

“From what I’ve learned, you have little reason to want to,” Agzaral said, and Saxon nodded.

“I guess that’s true. I thought about this on the way. It was pretty clear this was a one-way trip. If I could go back, why hasn’t someone already?”

“Some have claimed to,” Agzaral said.

“Sure, obvious nut cases—unless you really are into sexual abuses?”

“Hardly,” Agzaral said. “So you are not astonished.”

“Astonished perhaps, but hardly unhappy. I really don’t have anyone left on Earth. And I’d like to teach again. I assume I really am going to teach young humans on an alien planet?”

“You are.”

“And my—associates?”

“Same story,” Lee said. “You need assistants, and what do they have to go back to?”

“Cal, certainly, but Spirit?”

“She has better reasons than Cal not to return to Earth,” Lee said, and Agzaral gestured impatiently.

“What is done is done,” he said. “Depend upon it. Neither you nor your companions will ever return to Earth, but the work we have for you is more important than anything you would ever have done on Earth. Accept that, and allow me to continue.”

Saxon nodded.

“You said Earth humans,” he said. “That means you and Dr. Lee aren’t?”

“I was born on Earth,” Agzaral said. “Long ago. Dr. Lee was not. We are both human.”

“Not born on Earth. In this solar system?”

“No.”

Saxon nodded again.

“Interstellar travel. Faster than light?”

“Yes.”

“An interstellar civilization, then. How far does it extend?”

Agzaral smiled thinly.

“The answer depends on your definition of civilization. The galaxy contains many of what you would call civilizations.”

“The part you run.”

“Several hundred light-years,” Agzaral said. “The center of the Confederation is more than two hundred light-years from Sol.”

“Big. All under one government?”

“It is a Confederation of unequals. Of planets, races, clans, families. Mr. Saxon, I don’t mean to insult your intelligence, but the chances that you will ever understand Confederation government and politics are extremely small. I grew up with them, politics is literally my life work, and I understand perhaps a tenth of what I need to know.” He waved that away. “Fortunately, understanding the complex politics of a decadent high-tech civilization is no part of your task.” Then he grinned as if amused.

“So what’s so damn funny?” Saxon demanded.

“It is funny,” Agzaral said. “You don’t need to understand a decadent high-tech civilization, but you’ll certainly need to know a great deal about a low-tech civilization as complex and dynamic and incomprehensible as Renaissance Europe.”

“Very much like Renaissance Europe, in fact,” Lee said.

“I take it humans run this civilization.”

“The primitive one? Of course.”

“No, I meant the—galactic civilization. Confederation, you called it. Humans run that?”

“Not precisely,” Agzaral said. “There is a sense in which that’s true, but not the way you may expect. In your studies of Earth history, did you ever hear of the Janissaries?”

“Heard of, not sure I remember anything about them,” Saxon said. “Turkish elite soldiers? Something like that.”

“They served the Ottoman Empire, which was Turkish,” Agzaral agreed. “But they were not Turkish. They were Christian slaves, Slavs mostly, taken as young children as tribute, rounded up by their Bosnian and Albanian neighbors who had chosen to convert to Islam and thus avoid having their own children taken as taxes. They generally came from the Balkans, the area recently called Yugoslavia. The important point is they were taken when very young and impressionable and made slaves, not of individuals, but of the Turkish state. They were forcibly converted to Islam and brought up to serve the Empire, and they became fanatics in its service. Indeed, they soon became the elite troops of the Turkish armies, and were also the chief civil servants, department heads, advisors to the Sultan—so you could in fact say they ran the Turkish civilization. But they were its slaves, not its masters.”

There was a long silence while Saxon wondered what he was supposed to say. But then, slowly, he began to comprehend.

“You mean that humans in your Confederation are Janissaries?”

“We aren’t called that, but yes,” Lee said. “We’ve often wondered where the Turks came up with the idea for the Janissaries. Inspector Agzaral suspects it was from one of his predecessors in the security services.”

“How long has this been going on?” Saxon demanded.

“Over five thousand of your years,” Agzaral said. “Let me continue. Over time, the Janissaries on Earth became corrupt. They began to have their own agenda, their own goals which were not the same as those of the empire they served.” He shrugged. “It was inevitable, I suppose.”

“And that’s happened here?” Saxon demanded. “What the hell is going on? Are you trying to recruit me into some kind of Galactic human conspiracy against the government?”

Agzaral smiled.

“I believe you may have selected the right person despite my misgivings,” he said. “Congratulations, Gregeral.”

Lee smiled faintly in reply.

“Of course, it isn’t quite that simple.” Agzaral said. “‘Conspiracy against the government’ is too strong a phrase. Neither is it entirely incorrect however.” He frowned for a moment, as if in thought. “Think rather that we aid one part of the government against another.”

“To what purpose?”

“The advancement of humanity,” Lee said.

“A dramatic way to put it, but yes, something like that,” Agzaral said. “Our end goals are . . . several, but one of them—perhaps the most essential—is the admission of the human race to the Confederation. As equals, not as a recruiting ground for slaves.”

“That’s noble enough,” Saxon said. “Assuming I can believe you. And your other goals?”

“The survival of humanity,” Agzaral said flatly.

Saxon looked at him for long, motionless seconds, then shook his head.

“The survival of humanity isn’t your ‘most essential’ goal?” he asked incredulously.

“The inspector didn’t say humanity’s admission was the most important goal, Bart,” Lee said quietly. “He said it was the most essential; the one without which survival may well become impossible.”

“Impossible?! You just said this has been going on for thousands of years!”

“It has,” Agzaral said. “And during those millennia we have seen at least four civilizations and eleven intelligent species exterminated by the Confederation.”

Saxon looked at him in horror, and the inspector made the same shrugging gesture.

“In three of those cases, it was human hands which carried out the murders, Mr. Saxon. We obeyed the orders of our masters. It is what we do.”

“But . . . but why?”

“The Confederation prizes stability above all other things. It is a civilization which has taken thousands upon thousands of years to evolve, the matrix upon which a dozen races, each with the technological capability to destroy worlds, interact in ways which preclude the use of those weapons upon one another. They will allow nothing to destabilize that matrix. Anything which seems likely to do so—anything which may do so—must be . . . neutralized.”

“And—?” Saxon said, looking at him when he paused.

“And certain factions of the Confederacy and of the High Commission are hardening in their belief that their human slaves threaten precisely that destabilization,” Agzaral said levelly.

“Why?”

“Because they fear, correctly, that at least some of us would refuse to obey their orders and destroy another civilization, another world . . . if that world were Earth.”

“Earth? They want you to destroy Earth?!”

“That decision has not yet been made. It may never be made. But Earth’s current rate of progress frightens them, although most of them would reject the use of the verb ‘fear.’ Yet whatever you may choose to call it, the factions to which I refer have grown progressively more anxious over the last fifty or sixty years of Earth’s history. In the past, Earth has been protected. A nature preserve, perhaps, because it is the home of our species and past Confederation policy has been to introduce occasional, carefully metered infusions of ‘wild’ human genes into their Janissaries. Despite that, there is evidence that the High Commission has, in the past, intervened to enormously reduce—to cull, perhaps—the population of Earth. The last such attempt occurred in your fourteenth century.”

“What are you talking about? Nobody attacked Earth in the fourteenth century!”

“No?” Agzaral cocked his head. “You have, perhaps, heard of the Black Death?” Saxon swallowed hard, and Agzaral’s hands shrugged again. “The most effective biological weapons are normally those developed from pathogens already present in the environment, Mr. Saxon.”

“This Confederation did that? To Earth?”

“It did,” Agzaral said. “This is something that we confirmed from the secret archives only recently. Within the last ten of your years.”

“My God,” Saxon whispered.

“Not all of the races of the Confederation are equally enamored of stability above all else,” Agzaral told him. “Several of the ‘younger’ members were forcibly compelled to accept the Confederation’s policies, the limitations set upon their technology and their own actions, when first they attained interstellar flight. It was one of those races which aided us in confirming the truth of the Black Death. Not out of altruism, of course, but because they hoped that we would join with them in . . . modifying the Confederation’s policy, shall we say.”

“Why would they hope that if you’ve been these ‘Janissaries’ for so long?”

“Because the High Commission used biological weapons to kill a quarter of Earth’s population in the Middle Ages, when your entire planet boasted perhaps four hundred and fifty million people, most of whom didn’t have even gunpowder. What do you think they might resort to when Earth’s population is over five and a half billion and it has attained nuclear weapons? Tell me, Mr. Saxon, are you familiar with the term ‘dinosaur killer’?”

It was very, very quiet in the inspector’s office for several seconds. Saxon stared at the other two men, nausea rolling about in his belly.

“Understand me,” Agzaral continued. “I and some of my fellow Janissaries were prepared to aid Earth, if we could, but we saw Tran as a place where humans could continue to grow and develop even if Earth was devastated. Even if the Confederation decided to exterminate all ‘wild humans’ once and for all. But there were also Janissaries who would agree with a decision to destroy Earth. Who see the thousands of years in which we, the human slave-soldiers of the Confederation, have preserved the peace of not billions but trillions upon trillions of sentient beings, as far more important than what might happen upon a single backwater world the vast majority of them have never seen.

“But the factions on the High Commission and in the Confederation who favor what we might call a final solution to the Earth problem may very well not stop there. There is a reason the High Commission of six hundred of your years ago used biological means and hid it from the Janissaries of their own time.”

He paused, and Saxon shook his head.

“What reason?”

“Fear,” Agzaral said. “Humans are ubiquitous throughout the Confederation’s worlds. They are not allowed to make policy, yet there are more humans in more star systems than any other single species, and they man the Confederation’s fleets, staff its police forces, administer its bureaucracies, and regulate its commerce. If those humans, or a sizable percentage of them, should turn upon their masters, the consequences could be catastrophic.”

“That’s good, then. Right? I mean, if they depend on you that heavily, then they have to be more cautious about something that might drive you into rebellion.”

“Unless they decide to reduce that dependency by eliminating those upon whom they depend.”

“What?” Saxon shook his head again, feeling like a boxer who’d taken one punch too many.

“It’s a serious policy proposal among the factions most concerned over potential destabilization, Bart,” Lee said quietly. “Exterminate humanity, the same way the Confederation has exterminated other races, and the ‘human problem’ goes away forever.”

Saxon’s jaw clenched, and it was Agzaral’s turn to shake his head.

“No decisions have been reached yet, Mr. Saxon, and there are factions on the High Commission who would strongly oppose any such policy. I think they would be unlikely to oppose the notion of ‘pruning’ Earth equally strongly, but some of them definitely would oppose that, as well. I personally suspect that some of those considering a ‘final solution’ are less concerned about the danger humanity might present than they are about eliminating the police forces and regulatory agents who inhibit their actions in the name of the Confederation. From our perspective, however, their motivation matters rather less than their intention.”

“Yeah, I can see how you might put it that way,” Saxon said bitterly, and Agzaral’s hands moved again.

“I told you you would never fully understand Confederation politics, and I certainly have no time to explain their intricacies to you now. But what you do need to know is that an entire spectrum of strategies is in motion. The equation is so complex, its solution dependent upon so many variables, that we are forced to play for a hierarchy of possible outcomes, from most favorable to least favorable. And that is where you enter the lists, Mr. Saxon.”

“Me? What’s my part in all this?”

“We need science teachers,” Agzaral said. “Most of what Dr. Lee has told you is the exact truth. We need to transform a primitive world into a modern one. Modern not merely by your standards, but by ours.”

“What do you mean by primitive?”

“The dominant civilization is at a level comparable to Earth’s medieval period,” Agzaral said. “With some elements of the Renaissance.”

“You want it to move from Renaissance to space travel,” Saxon said. “No, from Renaissance to interstellar travel. And how long to do that?”

“It took five centuries for Earth humans to reach your moon," Agzaral said. “We won’t have that long. Our hope is that you and the knowledge you’re taking with you can shorten that process considerably.”

Saxon frowned.

“Knowledge is one thing. Building an industrial base to do something with that knowledge is— But of course you know that.”

“We do,” Agzaral said. “We do, and that concerns us, but there’s nothing more we can do about it.”

“I do point out,” Lee said, “that Earth went from mostly animal-drawn transportation in World War I to trucks and aircraft in the Second World War. A matter of thirty years. Twenty-five years after that they were on your Moon. Note also the progress of parts of your so-called Third World. With the right knowledge base, industrial development can be quite rapid.”

“But what’s the point?” Saxon demanded. “You think you could build a bunch of primitives up into something with the firepower to take on this Confederation of yours? The one that’s already exterminated a bunch of other species?”

“That is not precisely what we have in mind,” Agzaral said dryly.

“Then what do you have in mind?”

“At the moment Tran is primitive, even by your standards. If, however, it attains the level of interstellar flight, as a unified world, the Confederation’s own rules would require it to extend the possibility of membership in the Confederation to it.”

Saxon looked from Agzaral to Lee and back again.

“And there’s a reason these antihuman hardliners of yours wouldn’t just wipe this place—Tran, did you call it?—off the face of the universe instead of granting it membership?”

“That is where our allies come into play,” Agzaral said. “Some of those other races which resent their subordinate positions, or who fear they might someday find themselves in humanity’s place, would agitate strongly against any such decision. They would insist that the Confederation honor its own long-standing law, and although they may be constrained by the limitations the Confederation imposed upon them at the time they became members, they are still voting members. They cannot simply be ignored, especially when at least one of the Confederation’s oldest races is prepared to stand with them, as well. The outcome would not be a certainty, but that is precisely the nature of our problem. There are no certainties.”

“I see.” Saxon inhaled deeply. “Should I assume that Tran’s membership in the Confederation would constitute your best-case scenario?”

“It would constitute one of our best-case scenarios. It is always possible that Earth will not be devastated, in which case it will almost certainly attain a qualifying level of technology well before Tran. It is certain, however, that Earth’s admission to the Confederation would be hedged about with far more restrictions and limitations than any other member race, and the Confederation’s long history with Earth would make that more acceptable to the potentially undecided factions on the High Commission. And Tran also represents our next-to-worst-case scenario: the world upon which our species may survive after it has been wiped out everywhere else in the galaxy.”

Agzaral’s tone was calm, almost dispassionate, but an icicle ran down Saxon’s spine.

“How much support can I expect?” he asked, dreading the response.

“All of our plans require that we have minimal contact with Tran lest we draw the attention of the very factions whose attention we must, at all costs, avoid.”

“‘Minimal contact,’” Saxon repeated. “I’m getting the impression that I’m about to be very much on my own.”

“That’s pretty much it,” Lee agreed. “It’s highly unlikely that we’ll be able to provide any additional support after you’ve reached Tran.”

“Great.” Saxon sagged back in his chair.

“There is another element in play,” Lee said after a moment, frowning slightly. “Another group of Earth humans recently arrived on Tran. A group of mercenary soldiers under a Captain Galloway of the United States Army. Inspector Agzaral permitted them to go to Tran, but they weren’t sent by us. We didn’t select them and they weren’t sent to transform or unify the planet, although Galloway seems to have adopted that mission. Or some of it, at least. He may even accomplish it. He’s proven quite capable.”

“Wait a minute—wait a minute! If you didn’t send them, who did?”

“They were sent by a race called the Shalnuksis,” Agzaral said, “who paid a great deal of money to transport Captain Galloway and his men to Tran in order to grow a highly valuable crop for them. The Shalnuksis are a commercial, trader race, and they expect to earn back their expenses with considerable profit. And while many of the Confederation’s races despise them, others admire them, and they have considerable influence with one powerful faction of the government. For historical reasons, they have commercial rights to exploit Tran. For political reasons, they choose not to openly assert those rights, but instead rely on keeping Tran, and its future, a very low-profile issue in Confederate politics so that they can exploit it ‘out of sight, out of mind.’ This situation has endured for several thousand of your years, and with Earth’s development of space travel and the new . . . uncertainty about humanity’s place in Confederation affairs, the most powerful Shalnuksi clan has even less desire for the other governing races to recall the existence of Tran.”

“So they sent Galloway to grow this crop—I’m guessing we’re talking about something like opium—for them?” Saxon shook his head. “Sounds like a wonderful guy!”

“Captain Galloway had even less choice about accepting his assignment than you did,” Agzaral said. “And there is indeed some hope that he will succeed, as Gregeral has just suggested. Moreover, through an accident—well, through a mistake no one could foresee—Galloway may shortly acquire significant additional capabilities. If he is successful, we expect you to work with him. On the other hand, he may fail, and while Gregeral is correct about his competence, the odds of his success are not high. Bluntly, Mr. Saxon, at this point you represent a low-profile insurance policy for the possibility—perhaps even the probability—that he will fail.”

Agzaral hesitated, then went on.

“Insurance or primary, it’s important work,” he said. “Out there is a planet of humans with no future. And here”—he gestured towards the image of Earth on the screen—“is a planet of humans with a totally unknown and unpredictable future. And in the Confederation is an entire species facing potential destruction. What you do on Tran will certainly change the lives of the people there, but you may also change not only what happens to Earth, but what happens throughout the entire Confederation, as well.”

“The fate of humanity rests with me.” Saxon tried to say it ironically.

It didn’t come out that way.

Agzaral’s hands moved in that shrugging gesture yet again, but his eyes were dark as they met Saxon’s.

“So!” Saxon said after a long, silent moment. “What do I have to work with?”

“What you’ve brought,” Agzaral said. “Understand that you already know more about the Confederation—and about our plans—than anyone on Tran. For our part, we will do what else we can. That may be a lot if certain plans mature, but as Gregeral has already suggested, it is far more likely that the most important thing we can do for you is to arrange for you to be forgotten. For Tran to vanish in bureaucratic records. We are unlikely to have the means to do much more for you, and possibly nothing at all. To be precise: given a choice between directly aiding you with technology and supplies, and assisting in hiding your existence from the Confederation, we will choose the latter. It’s for that reason that we have provided you with as much as we could now.”

“Like Einstein’s papers,” Saxon said.

“Precisely,” Lee said. “You may not be able to read them now, Bart, but that need not be true for you always. It certainly need not be true of your students, and I’ve tucked away what you might think of as a scientific Rosetta Stone for you, as well.”

Saxon eyed him speculatively, but then Agzaral made a throat-clearing sound and Saxon’s gaze returned to him.

“While it would be very tempting to provide additional support,” the inspector said, “every ship we send increases the probability that you will be detected.”

“What about this other guy? This Army captain? Galloway?”

“We are trying to aid Captain Galloway, but the fact remains that we can do little more for either of you.”

“Aid Galloway. You approve of him, then?”

“A difficult question,” Agzaral said. “In general, yes. He’s proven to be both capable and ethical, and a better teacher than his education would indicate. The fact remains, he and all his men were soldiers, not teachers. It will be part of your task to ascertain Galloway’s capabilities and intentions, and to decide whether or not to work with him. Of course, that must remain secret.”

Agzaral waved a hand in a different gesture, one that meant nothing to Saxon.

“Remember this,” he said. “The official story is that you’re being sent to aid Captain Galloway in his work. Your specialized knowledge will help him increase the yields of the cash crops he is growing. This is what your companions will be told, and what you will pretend to believe when speaking with them. For reasons you do not understand you will be set down on the planet at a considerable distance from Galloway. And that is all you know.” His voice lowered and became very stern. “This is important, Mr. Saxon. Any conversation you have outside this room, any conversation at any place, no matter how private you may think it, may be monitored by your enemies, and that will continue until you reach Tran. Any conversation at all, at any place.”

“But not here?”

“Sometimes here,” Lee said. “But not at this moment.”

“Enemies. That seems to imply a more . . . immediate threat than you’ve been discussing to this point.”

“I begin to have hopes for you, indeed, Mr. Saxon,” Agzaral said with a smile. “And you are correct. As we have already mentioned, the Shalnuksis regard Tran as their personal property. They are not your enemies now, but if they suspect that you are going to Tran for any purpose other than to help Galloway increase his production, they will be. Your official mission is to educate the natives with a view to making them better at farming, in particular at growing the recreational drugs they wish to trade in. Remember that. It’s important.”

“What happens if these . . . Shalnuksis figure out what I’m really up to?”

“If your cover story is penetrated, you will be killed,” Lee said.

“And you?”

Agzaral’s smile was thin.

“We’ve taken suitable precautions for protecting ourselves, but the result of indiscretions on your part will be highly unpleasant for you and for Tran. Believe me, you cannot profit from exploiting what you know, but you can harm yourself and many others in the attempt.”

“You don’t trust me.”

“Clearly untrue,” Lee said. “Make it that we trust you, but we still take precautions.”

“At this point my head is spinning,” Saxon said.

“I would be surprised if it wasn’t,” Lee said. “But there’s one more thing.”

“Oh, Jesus!” Saxon looked at him in disbelief. “There’s more?”

“Of course!” Lee actually chuckled, but then he sobered.

“Tran becomes important to the Shalnuksis at approximately six hundred-year intervals. One of those intervals is upon us, which is why it has also become important to us.”

“So these Shalnuksis muck around in its history every six hundred years?” Saxon asked in a resigned tone.

“Exactly,” Lee said. “You can study Tran history at your leisure during the journey and see just how thoroughly they have ‘mucked around’ in it. The short version, however, is that every six hundred years, the Shalnuksis have brought at least one new group of mercenaries to Tran. Sometimes several, and sometimes in considerable numbers. Each group was aided in establishing domination over a suitable area for cultivating crops to produce the drugs Inspector Agzaral mentioned earlier.”

“So they brought a different Earth culture every six hundred years? Jesus, that must be one mixed up place.”

“At least one culture. Often there was more than one expedition, each from a different Earth culture—and not always at six hundred-year intervals. From time to time certain Tran artifacts have become valuable, and one or another Shalnuksi trader group found the means to send human agents to gather them. The expeditions were then abandoned, as always. The one unbreakable rule is that no human returns from Tran to Earth.”

“What, never?”

“No. Never. Not hardly ever, but never,” Lee said. He chuckled. “I, too, enjoy English operettas.”

English, not British, Saxon thought. I wonder if that means anything.

“I also enjoy them,” Agzaral said. “But our protected time grows short, so let us conclude.

“Tran is, as you put it, a mixed up place. In different areas at different times it has been dominated by Achaean heroes, Scythian archers, Persian cavalry, Roman infantry, Celtic clansmen, Byzantine cataphracts, and others I don’t recall offhand. In addition to natural evolution from the Bronze Age slave masters, there have been interactions among all those. And others. Unlike Earth, however, these competing cultures have not been permitted to develop and grow.”

“Not permitted?”

“Precisely. The Shalnuksis have seen to it that they do not by eradicating any nonprimitive technological footprint their current expedition may have left.”

“Eradicating. How?”

“All Tran cultures have legends of ‘skyfire.’ Legends based on fact, of course. And those legends also suggest that anything, such as technology, which might threaten the sky gods brings swift and terrible retribution. Thus skyfire also serves as a deterrent to innovation between visitations.”

“So who does the bombing? Humans?”

“Sometimes. At least once the Shalnuksis have acted on their own. It depends on the cost.”

“Cost. We’re talking about thousands of human lives—”

“More,” Inspector Agzaral said.

“And they’re concerned about costs.”

“Yes. After all, they are businessmen, and these are only humans, not Ader’at’eel or Shalnuksis. Cost is always important to the Shalnuksis; humans are not. But the cost of doing business on Tran is inevitably high, because the periods in which it has value are so short and the intervals between those periods are so long. Costly as the transport and supply of mercenaries may be, it is still cheaper to bring in fresh agents once every six hundred years—and to eliminate them, if necessary, when their utility is done—than it would be to maintain a presence on the planet during those intervals.”

“‘Businessmen.’” Saxon snorted bitterly.

“Indeed,” Agzaral agreed. “Yet that is one of the factors that may ultimately work in our favor. In approximately twenty years most Shalnuksis will lose immediate interest in Tran, but it will have great commercial value to them again in another six hundred years . . . if it remains outside the Confederation. If it attains Confederate membership, however, they will be unable to exploit it. The average lifespan of the Shalnuksis is about four hundred years. They reach sexual maturity at some thirty Earth years of age, and they have a keen interest in the prosperity of their grandchildren. All of which means that they will also be doing their best to help the rest of the Confederation forget Tran exists in the meantime.”

“Well, that’s the first good news I’ve heard yet!”

“Indeed,” Agzaral said again. “Yet in order to protect that investment, they will again seek, and almost certainly gain, permission from their government to eradicate Galloway’s contaminating influence by bombing the more advanced parts of Tran back into the Bronze Age. That has happened before in Tran’s history, and it is, after all, fully in keeping with the Confederation’s policy of maintaining the status quo, is it not?”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Saxon muttered. “You’re telling me that not only do I have to modernize this place, I have to do it without anyone noticing?”

“Actually, that’s pretty accurate,” Lee said.

“But—” Saxon cut himself off. “Okay.”

“One way to avoid notice is to hide,” Agzaral said. “It’s likely—possible, at least—that you’ll have that option. We believe there’s a government on Tran that will be glad to hide you in exchange for what you can teach. It may be able to do so.” He looked at the image of Earth for a moment. “And it may not.”

“And this—Captain Galloway? If I hide I can’t help him. I take it I’m not really supposed to help him, whatever we all tell Cal and Spirit?”

“It would be better if you can,” Agzaral disagreed. “The decision will have to be yours once you reach Tran and have the opportunity to evaluate the situation, however. Our current information is obviously out of date, but it indicates that he has made some good alliances. Yet he’s made enemies, as well, which was inevitable. I have some confidence in his abilities and more in his intentions, but no certainties. You may well decide to throw in your lot with him. In any event, we need insurance against his failure.”

“But what’s his status on Tran?” Saxon asked.

“He is Warlord for the youthful king of a powerful kingdom, and an influential counselor to the chief of a smaller clan group, as well as an ally of one of Tran’s more powerful empires. Left to himself, he might well be successful in stimulating an industrial revolution on Tran and ringing in great progress. The problem is that he may not be left alone.”

“I thought you wanted him to succeed.”

“We do. What we want isn’t always of definitive importance, however,” Lee said with a thin smile, and Agzaral nodded.

“To put it mildly. Mr. Saxon, the Shalnuksis expect to earn back their expenses with considerable profit, which means that the most important objective now, from our perspective, is that they realize some, but not much, profit from this expedition. If the expedition causes great losses, their desire to maintain Tran as their private preserve, ‘off the books,’ as I believe you might put it, will be substantially weakened. If it gains great profits, however, they may be tempted to continue surveillance of Tran in order to protect their investment or even to find additional ways in which to exploit it in the intervals between their regular expeditions.”

Saxon shook his head in wonder.

“There is another development,” Agzaral said. He spoke briefly in a language that sounded vaguely Asian to Saxon, caught himself, and continued in English. “It is the reason you are being sent now. The Halnu Trader faction of the Shalnuksis decided to send its own expedition to Tran. Their goal was twofold. One was to establish a countervailing claim to Tran for their own clan at the expense of the planet’s current owners. The other was to accelerate the imposition of control by mercenaries working for them. Their intention was to significantly increase the area their mercenaries would be able to place under cultivation before the peak growing period arrives.

“However”—the inspector smiled thinly—“they overreached themselves. They recruited a mercenary group that does not meet the rules set for recruitment. As a result I was able to make it possible for the forces they recruited to join those of Captain Galloway, assuming Galloway is clever enough. The combined assets may be enough for him to succeed in establishing what amounts to a planetary government.”

“And if he can’t?” Saxon asked, and Agzaral made that hand-waving shrug gesture yet again.

“If Galloway is successful, he will find a way to bring you into his group. And if he fails, you still have the resources to transform the planet through education.”

“If I’m your last hope, it’s a thin reed.”

“We know,” Agzaral said, and Lee shook his head.

“If we could give you more support, we would,” the younger man said. “Unfortunately, there are simply too many things beyond our control, and it would be far too dangerous for us to attempt to force them under control.”

“The important point is to outlast the Shalnuksis’ current period of interest,” Agzaral said. “Whatever may happen on Earth and in the Confederation, time will be on your side . . . assuming we succeed in our effort to see to it that Tran is forgotten. Hold on long enough, and you automatically win.”

“How long is long enough?” Saxon asked.

“Twenty Earth years ought to be enough,” Agzaral said. “Not really a long time.”

“At the end of which, they’re going to bomb every sign of our existence out of existence.” Saxon shook his head. “Would it be too much to hope that you can at least give us a heads-up about when the hammer is likely to come down?”

“We will certainly tell you what we can—if we can. But it would be wise of you to prepare for a certain amount of destruction on the assumption that you will have no warning at all when the time comes.”

“How the hell do you prepare for that?”

“By not being destroyed, of course,” Agzaral said. “You hide your capabilities and the progress of the groups you advise so that you will be overlooked in the bombardment. The Shalnuksis have no desire to sterilize the planet. Quite the contrary. Nor will they wish to use nuclear weapons, which are, after all, expensive. Kinetic impacts—meteors if you will—should be sufficient for their purposes, and rocks, unlike nuclear weapons, are cheap. What they want is to so intimidate the population that they equate technological progress with death and destruction. And of course to kill off those who may have learned new technologies. But understand, the locals have survived all of this before. They have some mechanisms, coupled with legends and religious practices, which will help them do so again. But mostly, you hide.”

“Hide. Where?”

“We have chosen a civilization,” Agzaral said. “You will learn about it on your journey. Or you may choose another. You must understand, our choices are limited, and these conditions in the Confederation are temporary. We must act now, and we will not be able to help you much. That was not our original plan when we approached you, but matters have changed. We had not intended to place such a burden on you, but we do not control the matter.” He paused and looked gravely at Saxon. “You are being given a great opportunity as well as a great burden.”

“But—”

Saxon stopped himself. Whether these men lied or told the truth was important, but not just now, because nothing he could say would change their actions. Well, one thing. He could quit. But that seemed a sure formula for personal disaster.

Not just personal disaster, if they were telling the truth. And there was opportunity in this, as well. He might be important again, not a Tenderloin bum but a man with a mission, an important mission. Something to live for.

“Remember that we will be pursuing two approaches to decrease the probability of a massive bombardment and to buy you as much of the next six hundred years as we may,” Agzaral said. “First the political approach: lessen Shalnuksi influence in the High Commission and the Council. That is my task. I have agents working on it. They may be successful. I certainly have hopes, and if they do succeed, the permission for a truly massive bombardment of Tran may not be forthcoming. The second is to buy off the Shalnuksis. Frankly, that one is more likely to succeed, but whether or not it does is largely up to Captain Galloway, although you may well be able to aid him in that regard. We will tell you how. Your cover story contains large elements of truth, and you will have new means to increase agricultural yields beyond those Galloway has introduced. The problem with that approach is that it carries the very real danger of discovery if you help him.”

“If we’re discovered we’ll be bombed?”

“Quite possibly,” Agzaral said. “If it becomes known you’re teaching science and technology, quite probably.” He looked in concentration at the gadgets on his desk. Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him.

“But there’s also the chance that if I help this Galloway I can prevent the bombardment?”

“Yes,” Agzaral said. “And I am aware of the dilemma that poses. Fortunately, you won’t have to make any immediate decision.” He glanced at the instruments on his desk. One flashed an orange light. “We are very nearly out of time. In moments I will hold up my hand. When I do, I will ask you some questions. Your answers will be recorded and are important. Be very careful what you say.”

“But—”

“You’ll know more later,” Lee assured him.

“Sure, but what do I say?”

“The expected answers will be obvious,” Agzaral said. “Recall the cover story. You have been recruited to aid in increasing agricultural production. You need not try to hide confusion. It is expected that you will be confused at this stage.”

A test, Saxon thought. Just another goddam IQ test.

“Okay. Sure. But let me get this straight. I’m going to Tran with a lot of equipment and knowledge. More than Galloway has?”

“More knowledge. Not more military strength.”

“And you’re really hoping I’ll go hide rather than help Galloway.”

“I am hoping you will make the right choice,” Agzaral said. “And I do not know what that will be. Remember, we have concluded that the best thing that can happen to you would be for the Confederation to forget that you and Galloway and the whole world of Tran exist.”

“Forget for how long?”

“Until you can build ships of your own, of course,” Agzaral said.

The light on the desk turned red and Agzaral held up his hand.


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