Wolfling

Chapter 13

It was a second or two after Jim had stopped talking before his last few quiet words exploded with their proper implication upon the minds of his Earth-born audience. Then the effect was, in a small way, dramatic. Heinman sat straight up. The other members of the Committee, all up and down the table, reacted with an equal and sudden alertness.

“What was that, Mr. Keil?” demanded Heinman. “You’re accusing this Prince Galyan—he was one of the ones killed, wasn’t he—of wanting to alter us genetically to some sort of single-minded bodyguards for his own purposes?”

“I’m not accusing him,” said Jim evenly. “I’m stating a fact—the acknowledged fact of Galyan’s intentions. The fact he acknowledged to me. He planned to do exactly what I say. I don’t think you understand”—for the first time a little touch of irony swept into Jim’s voice—“that his doing that, by itself, wouldn’t have seemed so terrible to the rest of the High-born on the Throne World. After all, the lesser breeds of humans on their Colony Worlds were available material for the High-borns’ using. And we weren’t even that important. We were Wolflings—wild men and women living out beyond the fringe of the civilized Empire.”

Heinman leaned back and turned to whisper to the Governor of Alpha Centauri beside him. Jim sat without speaking until the whispered conversation came to an end. Heinman turned back to Jim and leaned forward. His face was slightly flushed.

“A little while earlier,” Heinman said, “you told us that the High-born on the Throne World were superior beings. How can you reconcile the fact they were superior beings with such inhuman plans on the part of this Prince Galyan? Let alone the fact that, according to you, he planned to murder his uncle and dominate his Emperor? If the High-born are what you say they are—and the Governor of Alpha Centaun III, here, agrees with you, at least in that—the Prince Galyan would’ve been far too civilized to entertain such savage and murderous intentions.”

Jim laughed.

“I still don’t think you, or the other members of this Committee, understand the cultural situation between the High-born and the humans on the Colony Worlds—or us,” he said. “Galyan’s plan against the Emperor was an ultimate in crimes, from the viewpoint of any decent High-born, like Slothiel. But his plans about us weren’t inhuman at all, as any High-born would see it. In fact, most High-born would consider us lucky to have the benefit of Galyan’s attention. In making us into Starkiens, they’d have pointed out, he’d have rid us of disease and made us a much more healthy, happy, and uniform race. Just as the Emperor’s Starkiens are disease-free, happy, and uniform.”

Once more Heinman held a whispered consultation with the Governor. This time when it broke off, however, both men looked annoyed and a little dissatisfied.

“Are you trying to tell us, Mr. Keil,” said Heinman, and it was more of an honest, open demand for information than any of the questions the Committee chairman had asked Jim earlier, “that all the actions you took on the Throne World were justified, not merely for the good of the Emperor there, but for the good of the people of Earth back here?”

“Yes,” said Jim.

“I’d like to believe you,” said Heinman, and at the moment it sounded as if he actually would have liked to believe Jim. “But you’re asking us to take a great deal on faith. Not the least of which is how you could come to know the plans of this Prince Galyan, when they necessarily must have been kept extremely secret.”

“They were kept secret,” said Jim. “Certain of the Governors and Nobles on the Colony Worlds”—his eyes lingered for a second on the Alpha Centauran Governor—“had to know about his plan to get rid of the Starkiens. The Princess Afuan and Melness, the master servant in the Throne World palace, had to know other parts. But as much as possible, Galyan told nobody but himself.”

“Then how could you find out?” demanded another member of the Committee—a short-bodied, fat man in high middle age whom Jim did not recognize.

“I’m an anthropologist,” said Jim dryly. “My main field of interest is human culture, in all its types and variations. And there’s a certain limit to the variations that can take place in human culture, given concentrated population, no matter how advanced the culture may be. The social arrangement of the High-born on the Throne World, and the social arrangements of the Nobles on the Colony Worlds, which mirrored the Throne World arrangement, were at odds with the cultural level which the High-born themselves believed they had achieved. The High-born—and the colonial Nobles in imitation—were split into small artificial cliques or groups which operated essentially like noyaux.”

Jim paused and waited for them to ask him what noyaux were. Heinman did.

“The French ethnologist Jean-Jacques Petter coined the term noyau as a label for a society of inward antagonism,” Jim answered. “Robert Ardrey, writing some years later, identified it as a ‘neighborhood of territorial proprietors bound together by a dear-enemy relationship.’ The Callicebus monkey is an example of the noyau in nature. Each Callicebus family spends its time, apart from eating and sleeping, in going to the borders of that territory which they had marked out for their own among the general treetops and engaging in screaming and threatening with the adjoining family of Callicebus, who have also come to their boundary so that the display of antagonism can take place. This, except for the fact that physical territory was replaced by ‘position’ and screaming and threats were replaced by intrigue to make the next person or group lose status among his fellows, exemplifies the noyau -likesituation existing among the High-born on the Throne World. The only ones exempt from it were those like the High-born Ro, because she was an atavism—a throwback at a time when the High-born specialized physical and mental type was not yet fully developed—and therefore the others considered her not able to compete… Although, she was.”

Jim paused again. For a moment no one on the Committee said anything. Then Heinman spoke again.

“A little earlier,” he said, “you were likening these High-born to superior beings, compared to us here on Earth. Now you’re comparing them to a society of monkeys. They can’t be both.”

“Oh, yes, they can,” said Jim. “Ardrey also made the statement that ‘nations produce heroes, noyaux geniuses.’ In the case of the Throne World, which set the pattern for the colonial Governors and Nobles, the process was reversed. Geniuses made noyaux. The Callicebus monkey lives in what is essentially a utopia. Food and drink are right at hand for him on the trees. Just so, the High-born on the Throne World also lived in a utopia where their technology took care of every possible physical need or want they could have. Normally, under utopian conditions, they should have grown soft and become easy prey to the members of the human race on the Colony Worlds who did not have it quite so soft. That’s the historical turnover of society, in which an aristocracy weakens and becomes supplanted by those from below.”

“Why didn’t it happen with the Highborn?” asked Heinman.

“Because they succeeded in achieving something unique—a practical, self-perpetuating aristocracy,” said Jim. “The Empire began by pooling all its best minds on the planet that was later to become the Throne World. When it became the Throne World, it still drew to it anyone of unusual talent who appeared on any of the other worlds. This gave it a small trickle, a small but continuous supply, of new blood. In addition to this, the aristocracy that developed on the Throne World and became the High-born did something earlier aristocracies never were able to do. It required each member of the aristocracy to know everything there was to know about the technology that made the Empire work. In other words, the High-born were not merely pan-geniuses, they were pan-authorities. The High-born Ro, behind me now, given time, materials, and labor, could turn the Earth into a complete small duplicate of the Empire in every technological respect.”

Heinman frowned.

“I don’t see the connection between this, and their being noyaux,” the chairman said.

“An indefinitely self-perpetuating aristocracy,” said Jim, “runs counter to the instinctive process of human evolution. In effect, it creates an artificial situation in which social, and therefore individual, evolution can’t take place. Such an aristocracy, while it can’t be destroyed from the outside, therefore has to end up destroying itself. In short—the High-born after certain lengths of time had no alternative than to begin to become decadent. And they are decadent.”

The Governor leaned over urgently to whisper in Heinman’s ear. But Heinman shrugged him off almost angrily.

“…As soon as I realized they were decadent,” said Jim, keeping his eye not only on Heinman, but on the Governor, “I realized that the seeds of the destruction of their Empire were already sown. The noyaux into which their social patterns had degenerated were evidence of that decadence. In other words, within a few centuries at most, the Empire would start to break up, and no one there would have any time to bother with us back here on Earth. Unfortunately, at the same time, I discovered Galyan’s plan to seize power for himself. Not all the High-born were ideally satisfied by the outlet the noyaux gave their emotions and hungers. A few individuals—like Galyan, and Slothiel, and Vhotan—wanted and needed the real thing in the matter of conflict and victory, rather than the shadow of its substance, which the bickering between the noyaux and the Game of Points offered them. Also, Galyan was dangerous. Like the Emperor, he was mad—but he was effectively mad, the kind of man who could put his madness to practical use, in contrast to his cousin. And Galyan had plans for Earth. He would have sucked us into the decadence of the Empire, before the Empire had time to collapse of its own weight.”

Jim paused. He felt a sudden longing to look around at Ro, to see how she was taking this revelation. But he dared not turn.

“So,” he said, “I set out to stop and destroy Galyan—and I did.”

He stopped speaking. The Committee members at the table, the Governor, even the people sitting silent in the room behind him, continued to stay noiseless and unmoving for several seconds, as if they expected him to continue talking. Finally a slow stir along the line of the Committee members signaled their recognition of the fact that he was through.

“And so that’s your explanation,” said Heinman, slowly leaning forward and peering directly at Jim. “You did what you did to save Earth from a decadent madman. But, how do you know you were right?”

“I’ll tell you,” said Jim. He smiled a little grimly. “Because I found enough evidence in the records on the Throne World to satisfy me that Earth was, in fact, originally colonized by the Empire—by a party including several High-born, as they were just beginning to be called. And”—he hesitated, then said the words very slowly but clearly— “I myself am a throwback to those High-born colonists, just as Ro is a throwback. I am a High-born. Otherwise I couldn’t have done what I did, in competition with Galyan and the other High-born. I was a throwback to an earlier, healthier version of their aristocracy, and I’d look it even more than I do now if it hadn’t been for the treatments that were given me here on Earth to stop my growth when I was ten years old!”

In the silence following this remark, Jim turned and looked squarely at the Governor. The Governor sat as if frozen, his mouth a little open, his brown eyes staring fixedly at Jim. In one sweep, Jim felt the audience’s sympathy and belief in himself, that had been building all during his explanation—even among the Committee members, even in Heinman himself—swept away by a cooling reaction of incredulity and distrust.

“High-born? You?” said Heinman in a low voice, staring at him.

It was almost as if the chairman questioned himself. For a long moment he continued to stare at Jim; then he shook himself back into self-control. Clearly he remembered who he was and where he was.

“That’s hard to believe,” he said, and his voice had the same note of faint underlying sarcasm that had been in it at the beginning of his questioning of Jim. “What kind of proof have you got to back up such a claim?”

Jim nodded quietly at the Governor of Alpha Centauri III.

“The Governor knows the High-born,” said Jim, his eyes fixed on the small man. “Not only that, but he saw me on the Throne World in the midst of the native High-born there. He should be able to tell you whether I am one or not… That is, provided you’ll accept his evidence?”

“Oh,” said Heinman, not only leaning back, but tilting back a little in his chair. “I think we can accept the Governor’s opinion.” He turned to the small figure beside him and asked, loudly enough for the room to hear, “Mr. Keil claims to be one of the High-born. What do you think, Governor?”

The Governor’s eyes stared fixedly at Jim. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and spoke, thickly accenting the Earth-born words.

“No, no,” he said. “He is not a High-born. He could never be a High-born. No… No!”

A sort of low gasp, a groan of reaction, trembled through the audience behind Jim. Jim rose slowly to his feet and folded his arms.

“Sit down, Mr. Keil!” snapped Heinman. But Jim ignored him.

“Adok!” he said, addressing the empty air.

Suddenly Adok was with them, standing in front of Jim’s table, in the little clear space between it and the raised platform on which stood the table of the Committee members. He stood silent, his powerful body darkly gleaming a little under the lights, white power bands stark on his arms, body, and legs.

There was a new, shuddering gasp from the rest of the room. Then silence.

Jim turned and pointed at one long wall of the room.

“Adok,” he said. “That’s an outside wall. I want you to open it up. I don’t want any falling debris or undue heat. I just want it opened.”

Adok turned a little toward the wall Jim indicated. The Starkien did not seem to move, otherwise, but there was a wink of light that seemed brilliant enough to blind them all, if it had not been for the extremely short duration of its existence; and something like an unbearable sound, equally cut short.

Where the wall had been there was an irregular opening ten feet in height, fifty feet in length, and with edges smoothly rounded, as if the stone of the wall had been melted.

Through the opening they could see, over the rooftops of a few adjoining buildings, blue sky in which half a dozen cloud masses floated. Jim pointed at the sky.

“Those clouds, Adok,” he said, softly. “Take them away.”

There were five or six short, whistling noises—again like mighty sounds cut so short that the human ear did not suffer from hearing them.

The sky was clear.

Jim turned back to face the table on the raised platform. Slowly he raised his arm and pointed at the Governor of Alpha Centauri III.

“Adok—” he began. The squat brown figure came hurdling over the table before him, down off the platform, and across the table to Jim himself, reaching out his hands supplicatingly.

“No, no, High-born!” cried the Governor in the language of the Empire. Then, desperately, he switched to English.

“No!” he shouted, twisting his head sideways to look back over his shoulder at the members of the Committee. His voice in its thickly accented speech rang wildly against the silence of the room. “I was wrong! Wrong! He is High-born. I tell you, he is!”

The Governor’s voice rose frantically, for Heinman and the other Committee members were staring at him with expressions of mixed horror and disbelief. He twisted around on the tabletop to confront them.

“No, no!” he cried thickly. “I don’t say that because he pointed at me. No! It’s because of the Starkien! You don’t understand! The Starkiens obey nobody but the Emperor and those other High-born the Emperor tells the Starkiens to obey. The Starkien couldn’t obey like that for anybody but a High-born! It’s true! He is High-born, and I was wrong! I was wrong! You have to treat him like a High-born! Because he is!”

The Governor collapsed into a fit of hysterical weeping, huddled up on the tabletop. Jim felt a hand slide into his own, and looking down, saw that Ro had come from her seat to stand at his side.

“Yes, indeed,” Ro said slowly in careful but unpracticed English, to Heinman. “I am a High-born, and I tell you that Jim is one too. The Emperor adopted him as one, but even the Emperor said that he was giving Jim nothing Jim did not already have. Jim risked his life for all of you, and he brought me and Adok back to make you a people who will someday inherit the Empire.”

She stopped and turned to point to the sobbing Governor.

“This man,” she said, “must have been one of the colonials in Galyan’s plot. He sent a stone from Earth in Jim’s name. Only it was not a stone, but a device to project a blue, distorting light over Vhotan; and when it did this, the poor Emperor thought he saw the Blue Beast of his nightmares, and was so afraid that he ordered Vhotan killed, just as Galyan had planned. Wasn’t it this man who suggested you should try Jim for treason?”

“I lied. I told them the Princess Afuan would shortly remove the High-born Slothiel, and then she would seek payment from Earth for what Jim had done,” moaned the Governor, swaying on the table with his face hid in his hands. “But I was wrong— wrong! He is High-born. Not just by adoption, but by birth. I was wrong, wrong…”

On Heinman’s face there was a war of expressions, but gradually dominating them all came the look of a man who had just emerged from many miles of dark tunnels to find a daylight so much brighter than he had expected that it was almost too painful to bear.

Jim looked at him, then nodded down at the weeping Governor before returning his eyes grimly to Heinman once more.

“Yes,” Jim said. “So now you understand… And you can also understand why the Empire was something to be kept from Earth, at any cost.”