Normally, I only write original content in this blog. But,this is something which has perhaps shaped a lot of my thought process. And hence, I am putting this short story(Science Fiction) by Isaac Asimov. This is the one story which has perhaps shaped a lot of my thought process. And, therefore I am sharing it to you. PS: It's science fiction but do patiently read through it and then you might understand why I shared it.
In
the Great Court, which stands as a patch of untouched peace among the
fifty busy square miles devoted to the towering buildings that are
the pulse beat of the United Worlds of the Galaxy, stands a statue.
It stands where it can look at the stars at night. There are other
statues ringing the court, but this one stands in the center and
alone. It is not a very good statue. The face is too noble and lacks
the lines of living. The brow is a shade too high, the nose a shade
too symmetrical, the clothing a shade too carefully disposed. The
whole bearing is by far too saintly to be true. One can suppose that
the man in real life might have frowned at times, or hiccuped, but
the statue seemed to insist that
such imperfections were impossible. All this, of course, is
understandable overcompensation. The man had no statues raised to him
while alive, and succeeding generations, with the advantage of
hindsight, felt guilty. The name on the pedestal reads "Richard
Sayama Altmayer." Underneath it is a short phrase and,
vertically arranged, three dates. The phrase is: "In
a good cause, there are no failures."The three dates
are June 17, 2755; September 5, 2788; December 32, 2800;—the years
being counted in the usual manner of the period, that is, from the
date of the first atomic explosion
in 1945 of the ancient era.
None
of those dates represents either his birth or death. They mark
neither a date of marriage or of the accomplishment of some great
deed or, indeed, of anything that the inhabitants of the United
Worlds can remember with pleasure and pride. Rather, they are the
final expression of the feeling of guilt.Quite simply and plainly,
they are the three dates upon which Richard Sayama Altmayer was sent
to prison for his opinions.
June
17, 2755
At
the age of twenty-two, certainly, Dick Altmayer was fully capable of
feeling fury. His hair was as yet dark brown and he had not grown the
mustache which, in later years, would be so characteristic of him.
His nose was, of course, thin and high-bridged, but the contours of
his face were youthful. It would only be later that the growing
gauntness of his cheeks would convert that nose into the prominent
kndmark that it now is in the minds of trillions of school children.
Geoffrey
Stock was standing in the doorway, viewing the results of his
friend's fury. His round face and cold, steady eyes were there, but
he had yet to put on the first of the military uniforms in which he
was to spend the rest of his life. "' He said, "Great
Galaxy!"
Altmayer
looked up. "Hello, Jeff."
“What's
been happening, Dick? I thought your principles, pal, forbid
destruction of any kind. Here's a book-viewer that looks somewhat
destroyed." He picked up the pieces.
Altmayer
said, "I was holding the viewer when my wave-receiver came
through with an official message. You know which one, too."
"I
know. It happened to me, too. Where is it?"
"On
the floor. I tore it off the spool as soon as it belched out at me.
Wait, let's dump it down the atom chute."
"Hey,
hold on. You can't—"
"Why
not?"
"Because
you won't accomplish anything. You'll have to report."
"And
just why?"
"Don't
be an ass, Dick."
"This
is a matter of principle, by Space."
"Oh,
nuts! You can't fight the whole planet."
;
"I don't intend to fight the whole planet;
just the few who get us into wars."
Stock
shrugged. "That means the whole planet. That guff of yours of
leaders tricking poor innocent people into fighting
is just so much space-dust. Do you think that if a vote were taken
the people wouldn't be overwhelmingly in favor of
fighting this fight?"
"That
means nothing, Jeff. The government has control of—"
"The
organs of propaganda. Yes, I know. I've listened to you often enough.
But why not report, anyway?"
Altmayer
turned away.
Stock
said, "In the first place, you might not pass the physical
examination."
"I'd
pass. I've been in Space."
"That
doesn't mean anything. If the doctors let you hop a liner, that only
means you don't have a heart murmur or an aneurysm. For military duty
aboard ship in Space you need much more than just that. How do you
know you qualify?"
"That's
a side issue, Jeff, and an insulting one. It's not that I'm afraid to
fight."
"Do
you think you can stop the war this way?"
"I
wish I could," Altrnayer's voice almost shook as he spoke. "It's
this idea I have that all mankind should be a single unit. There
shouldn't be wars or space-fleets armed only for destruction. The
Galaxy stands ready to be opened to the united efforts of the human
race. Instead, we have been factioned for nearly two thousand years,
and we throw away all the Galaxy."
Stock
laughed, "We're doing all right. There are more than eighty
independent planetary systems."
"And
are we the only intelligences in the Galaxy?"
"Oh,
the Diaboli, your particular devils," and Stock put his fists to
his temples and extended the two forefingers,waggling them.
"And
yours, too, and everybody's. They have a single government extending
over more planets than all those occupied by our precious eighty
independents."
"Sure,
and their nearest planet is only fifteen hundred light years away
from Earth and they can't live on oxygen planets anyway."
Stock
got out of his friendly mood. He said, curtly, "Look, I dropped
by here to say that I was reporting for examination
next
week. Are you coming with me?"
"No."
"You're
really determined."
"I'm
really determined."
"You
know you'll accomplish nothing. There'll be no great flame ignited on
Earth. It will be no case of millions of young men being excited by
your example into a no-war strike. You will simply be put in jail."
"Well,
then, jail it is."
And
jail it was. On June 17, 2755, of the atomic era, after a short trial
in which Richard Sayama Altmayer refused to present any defense, he
was sentenced to jail for the term of three years or for the duration
of the war, whichever should be longer. He served a little over four
years and two months, at which time the war ended in a definite
though not shattering Santannian defeat. Earth gained complete
control of certain disputed asteroids, various commercial advantages,
and a limitation of the Santannian navy.
The
combined human losses of the war were something over two thousand
ships with, of course, most of their crews, and in addition, several
millions of lives due to the bombardment of planetary surfaces from
space. The fleets of the two contending powers had been sufficiently
strong to restrict this bombardment to the outposts of their
respective systems, so that the planets of Earth and Santanni,
themselves, were little affected.
The
war conclusively established Earth as the strongest single human
military power.
Geoffrey
Stock fought throughout the war, seeing action more than once and
remaining whole in life and limb despite that. At the end of the war
he had the rank of major. He took part in the first diplomatic
mission sent out by Earth to the worlds of the Diaboli, and that was
the first step in his expanding role in Earth's military and
political life.
2—September
5, 2788
They
were the first Diaboli ever to have appeared on the surface of Earth
itself. The projection posters and the newscasts of the Federalist
party made that abundantly clear to any who were unaware of that.
Over and over, they repeated the chronology of events.
It
was toward the beginning of the century that human explorers first
came across the Diaboli. They were intelligent and had discovered
interstellar travel independently somewhat earlier than had the
humans. Already the galactic volume of their dominions was greater
than that which was human-occupied.Regular diplomatic relationships
between the Diaboli and the major human powers had begun twenty years
earlier, immediately after the war between Santanni and Earth. At
that time, outposts of Diaboli power were already within twenty light
years of the outermost human centers. Their missions went everywhere,
drawing trade treaties, obtaining concessions on unoccupied
asteroids. And now they were on Earth itself. They were treated as
equals and perhaps as more than equals by the rulers of the greatest
center of human population in the Galaxy. The most damning statistic
of all was the most loudly proclaimed by the Federalists. It was
this: Although the number of living Diaboli was somewhat less than
the total number of living humans, humanity had opened up not more
than five new worlds to colonization in fifty years, while the
Diaboli had
begun
the occupation of nearly five hundred.
"A
hundred to one against us," cried the Federalists, "because
they are one political organization and we are a hundred." But
relatively few on Earth, and fewer in the Galaxy as a whole, paid
attention to the Federalists and their demands for Galactic Union.
The
crowds that lined the streets along which nearly daily the five
Diaboli of the mission traveled from their specially conditioned
suite in the best hotel of the city to the Secretariat of Defense
were, by and large, not hostile. Most were merely curious, and more
than a little revolted.
The
Diaboli were not pleasant creatures to look at. They were larger and
considerably more massive than Earthmen. They had four stubby legs
set close together below and two flexibly-fingered arms above. Their
skin was wrinkled and naked and they wore no clothing. Their broad,
scaly faces wore no expressions capable of being read by Earthmen,
and from flattened regions just above each large-pupilled eye there
sprang short horns. It was these last that gave the creatures their
names. At
first
they had been called devils, and later the politer Latin equivalent.
Each
wore a pair of cylinders on its back from which flexible tubes
extended to the nostrils; there they clamped on tightly. These were
packed with soda-lime which absorbed the, to them, poisonous carbon
dioxide from the air they breathed. Their own metabolism revolved
about the reduction of sulfur and sometimes those foremost among the
humans in the crowd caught a foul whiff of the hydrogen sulfide
exhaled by the Diaboli.
The
leader of the Federalists was in the crowd. He stood far back where
he attracted no attention from the police who had roped off the
avenues and who now maintained a watchful order on the little hoppers
that could be maneuvered quickly through the thickest crowd. The
Federalist leader was gaunt-faced, with a thin and prominently
bridged nose and straight, graying hair.
He
turned away, "I cannot bear to look at them."
His
companion was more philosophic. He said, "No uglier in spirit,
at least, than some of our handsome officials. These creatures are at
least true to their own."
"You
are sadly right. Are we entirely ready?"
"Entirely.
There won't be one of them alive to return to his world."
"Good!
I will remain here to give the signal."
The
Diaboli were talking as well. This fact could not be evident to any
human, no matter how close. To be sure, they could communicate by
making ordinary sounds to one another but that was not their method
of choice. The skin between their horns could, by the actions of
muscles which differed in their construction from any known to
humans, vibrate rapidly. The tiny waves which were transmitted in
this manner to the air were too rapid to be heard by the human ear
and too delicate to be detected by any but the most sensitive of
human instrumentation. At that time, in fact, humans remained unaware
of this form of communication.
A
vibration said, "Did you know that this is the planet of origin
of the Two-legs?"
"No."
There was a chorus of such no's, and then one particular vibration
said, "Do you get that from the Two-leg communications you have
been studying, queer one?"
"Because
I study the communications? More of our people should do so instead
of insisting so firmly on the complete worthlessness of Two-leg
culture. For one thing, we are in a much better position to deal with
the Two-legs if we know something about them. Their history is
interesting in a horrible way. I am glad I brought myself to view
their spools."
"And
yet," came another vibration, "from our previous contacts
with Two-legs, one would be certain that they did not know their
planet of origin. Certainly there is no veneration of this planet,
Earth, or any memorial rites connected with it. Are you sure the
information is correct?"
"Entirely
so. The lack of ritual, and the fact that this planet is by no means
a shrine, is perfectly understandable in the light of Two-leg
history. The Two-legs on the other worlds would scarcely concede the
honor. It would somehow lower the independent dignity of their own
worlds."
"I
don't quite understand."
"Neither
do I, exactly, but after several days of reading I think I catch a
glimmer. It would seem that, originally,
when
interstellar travel was first discovered by the Two-legs, they lived
under a single political unit."
"Naturally."
"Not
for these Two-legs. This was an unusual stage in their history and
did not last. After the colonies on the various worlds grew and came
to reasonable maturity, their first interest was to break away from
the mother world. The first in the series of interstellar wars among
these Two-legs began then."
"Horrible.
Like cannibals."
"Yes,
isn't it? My digestion has been upset for days. My cud is sour. In
any case, the various colonies gained independence, so that now we
have the situation of which we are well aware. All of the Two-leg
kingdoms, republics, aristocracies, etc., are simply tiny clots of
worlds, each consisting of a dominant world and a few subsidiaries
which, in turn, are forever seeking their independence or being
shifted from one dominant to another. This Earth is the strongest
among them and yet less than a dozen worlds owe it allegiance."
"Incredible
that these creatures should be so blind to their own interests. Do
they not have a tradition of the single government that existed when
they consisted of but one world?"
"As
I said that was unusual for them. The single government had existed
only a few decades. Prior to that, this very planet itself was split
into a number of subplanetary political units."
"Never
heard anything like it." For a while, the supersonics of the
various creatures interfered with one another.
"It's
a fact. It is simply the nature of the beast."
And
with that, they were at the Secretariat of Defense. The
five Diaboli stood side by side along the table. They stood because
their anatomy did not admit of anything that could correspond to
"sitting."
On
the other side of the table, five Earthmen stood as well. It would
have been more convenient for the humans to sit but, understandably,
there was no desire to make the handicap of smaller size any more
pronounced than it already was. The table was a rather wide one; the
widest, in fact, that could be conveniently obtained. This was out of
respect for the human nose, for from the Diaboli, slightly so as they
breathed, much more so when they spoke, there came the gentle and
continuous drift of hydrogen sulfide. This was a difficulty rather
unprecedented in diplomatic negotiations.
Ordinarily
the meetings did not last for more than half an hour, and at the end
of this interval the Diaboli ended their conversations without
ceremony and turned to leave. This time, however, the leave-taking
was interrupted. A man entered,and the five human negotiators made
way for him. He was tall, taller than any of the other Earthmen, and
he wore a uniform with the ease of long usage. His face was round and
his eyes cold and steady. His black hair was rather thin but as
yet
untouched by gray. There was an irregular blotch of scar tissue
running from the point of his jaw downward past the line of his high,
leather-brown collar. It might have been the result of a hand
energy-ray, wielded by some forgotten human enemy in one of the five
wars in which the man had been an active participant.
"Sirs,"
said the Earthman who had been chief negotiator hitherto, "may I
introduce the Secretary of Defense?"
The
Diaboli were somewhat shocked and, although their expressions were in
repose and inscrutable, the sound plates on their foreheads vibrated
actively. Their strict sense of hierarchy was disturbed. The
Secretary was only a Two-leg, but by Two-leg standards, he outranked
them. They could not properly conduct official business with him.
The
Secretary was aware of their feelings but had no choice in the
matter. For at least ten minutes, their leaving must be delayed and
no ordinary interruption could serve to hold back the Diaboli.
"Sirs,"
he said, "I must ask your indulgence to remain longer this
time."
The
central Diabolus replied in the nearest approach to English any
Diabolus could manage. Actually, a Diabolus might be said to have two
mouths. One was hinged at the outermost extremity of the jawbone and
was used in eating. In this capacity, the motion of the mouth was
rarely seen by human beings, since the Diaboli much preferred to eat
in the company of their own kind, exclusively. A narrower mouth
opening, however, perhaps two inches in width, could be used in
speaking. It pursed itself open, revealing the gummy gap where a
Diabolus' missing incisors ought to have been. It remained open
during speech, the necessary consonantal blockings being performed by
the palate and back of the tongue. The result was hoarse and fuzzy,
but understandable.
The
Diabolus said, "You will pardon us, already we suffer." And
by his forehead, he twittered unheard, "They mean to suffocate
us in their vile atmosphere. We must ask for larger poison-absorbing
cylinders."
The
Secretary of Defense said, "I am in sympathy with your feelings,
and yet this may be my only opportunity to speak with you. Perhaps
you would do us the honor to eat with us."
The
Earthman next the Secretary could not forbear a quick and passing
frown. He scribbled rapidly on a piece of paper and passed it to the
Secretary, who glanced momentarily at it.
It
read, "No. They eat sulfuretted hay. Stinks unbearably."
The Secretary crumbled the note and let it drop.
The
Diabolus said, "The honor is ours. Were we physically able to
endure your strange atmosphere for so long a time, we would accept
most gratefully."
And
via forehead, he said with agitation, "They cannot expect us to
eat with them and watch them consume the corpses of dead animals. My
cud would never be sweet again."
"We
respect your reasons," said the Secretary. "Let us then
transact our business now. In the negotiations that have so far
proceeded, we have been unable to obtain from your government, in the
persons of you, their representatives, any clear indication as to
what the boundaries of your sphere of influence are in your own
minds. We have presented several proposals in
this
matter."
"As
far as the territories of Earth are concerned, Mr. Secretary, a
definition has been given."
"But
surely you must see that this is unsatisfactory. The boundaries of
Earth and your lands are nowhere in contact. So far, you have done
nothing but state this fact. While true, the mere statement is not
satisfying."
"We
do not completely understand. Would you have us discuss the
boundaries between ourselves and such independent human kingdoms as
that of Vega?"
"Why,
yes."
"That
cannot be done, sir. Surely, you realize that any relations between
ourselves and the sovereign realm of Vega cannot be possibly any
concern of Earth. They can be discussed only with Vega."
"Then
you will negotiate a hundred times with the hundred human world
systems?"
"It
is necessary. I would point out, however, that the necessity is
imposed not by us but by the nature of your human organization."
"Then
that limits our field of discussion drastically." The Secretary
seemed abstracted. He was listening, not exactly to the Diaboli
opposite, but, rather, it would seem, to something at a distance.
And
now there was a faint commotion, barely heard from outside the
Secretariat. The babble of distant voices, the brisk crackle of
energy-guns muted by distance to nearly nothingness, and the hurried
click-clacking of police hoppers.
The
Diaboli showed no indication of hearing, nor was this simply another
affectation of politeness. If their capacity for receiving supersonic
sound waves was far more delicate and acute than
almost
anything human ingenuity had ever invented, their reception for
ordinary sound waves was rather dull.
The
Diabolus was saying, "We beg leave to state our surprise. We
were of the opinion that all this was known to you."
A
man in police uniform appeared in the doorway. The Secretary turned
to him -and, with the briefest of nods, the policeman departed.
The
Secretary said suddenly and briskly, "Quite. I merely wished to
ascertain once again that this was the case. I trust you will be
ready to resume negotiations tomorrow?"
"Certainly,
sir."
One
by one, slowly, with a dignity befitting the heirs of the universe,
the Diaboli left.
An
Earthman said, "I'm glad they refused to eat with us."
"I
knew they couldn't accept," said the Secretary, thoughtfully.
"They're vegetarian. They sicken thoroughly at the very thought
of eating meat. I've seen them eat, you know. Not many humans have.
They resemble our cattle in the business of eating. They bolt their
food and then stand solemnly about in circles, chewing their cuds in
a great community of thought. Perhaps they intercommunicate by a
method we are unaware of. The huge lower jaw rotates horizontally in
a slow, grinding process—"
The
policeman had once more appeared in the doorway.
The
Secretary broke off, and called, "You have them all?"
"Yes,
sir."
"Do
you have Altmayer?"
"Yes,
sir."
"Good."
The
crowd had gathered again when the five Diaboli emerged from the
Secretariat. The schedule was strict. At 3:00 P.M.
each day they left their suite and spent five minutes walking to the
Secretariat. At 3:35, they emerged therefrom once again and returned
to their suite, the way being kept clear by the police. They marched
stolidly, almost mechanically, along the broad avenue.
Halfway
in their trek there came the sounds of shouting men. To most of the
crowd, the words were not clear but there was the crackle of an
energy-gun and the pale blue fluorescence split the air overhead.
Police wheeled, their own energy guns drawn, hoppers springing seven
feet into the air, landing delicately in the midst of groups of
people, touching none of them, jumping again almost instantly. People
scattered and their voices were joined to the general uproar.
Through
it all, the Diaboli, either through defective hearing or excessive
dignity, continued marching as mechanically as ever.
At
the other end of the gathering, almost diametrically opposing the
region of excitement, Richard Sayama Altmayer stroked his nose in a
moment of satisfaction. The strict chronology of the Diaboli had made
a split-second plan possible. The first diversionary disturbance was
only to attract the attention of the police. It was now—
And
he fired a harmless sound pellet into the air.
Instantly,
from four directions, concussion pellets split the air. From the
roofs of buildings lining the way, snipers fired.
Each
of the Diaboli, torn by the shells, shuddered and exploded as the
pellets detonated within them. One by one, they toppled.
And
from nowhere, the police were at Altmayer's side. He stared at them
with some surprise.
Gently,
for in twenty years he had lost his fury and learned to be gentle, he
said, "You come quickly, but even so you come too late." He
gestured in the direction of the shattered Diaboli.
The
crowd was in simple panic now. Additional squadrons of police,
arriving in record time, could do nothing more than herd them off
into harmless directions.
The
policeman, who now held Altmayer in a firm grip, taking the sound gun
from him and inspecting him quickly for further weapons, was a
captain by rank. He said, stiffly, "I think you've made a
mistake, Mr. Altmayer. You'll notice you've drawn no blood." And
he, too, waved toward where the Diaboli lay motionless.
Altmayer
turned, startled. The creatures lay there on their sides, some in
pieces, tattered skin shredding away, frames
distorted
and bent, but the police captain was correct. There was no blood, no
flesh. Altmayer's lips, pale and stiff, moved soundlessly.
The
police captain interpreted the motion accurately enough. He said,
"You are correct, sir, they are robots."
And
from the great doors of the Secretariat of Defense the true Diaboli
emerged. Clubbing policemen cleared the way, but another way, so that
they need not pass the sprawled travesties of plastic and aluminum
which for three minutes had played the role of living creatures.
The
police captain said, "I'll ask you to come without trouble, Mr.
Altmayer. The Secretary of Defense would like to see you."
"I
am coming, sir." A stunned frustration was only now beginning to
overwhelm him.
Geoffrey
Stock and Richard Altmayer faced one another for the first time in
almost a quarter of a century, there in the Defense Secretary's
private office. It was a rather straitlaced office: a desk, an
armchair, and two additional chairs. All were a dull brown in color,
the chairs being topped by brown foamite which yielded to the body
enough for comfort, not enough for luxury. There was a micro-viewer
on the desk and a little cabinet big enough to hold several dozen
opto-spools. On the wall opposite the desk was a trimensional view of
the old Dauntless, the
Secretary's first command.
Stock
said, "It is a little ridiculous meeting like this after so many
years. I find I am sorry."
"Sorry
about what, Jeff?" Altmayer tried to force a smile, "I am
sorry about nothing but that you tricked me with those robots."
"You
were not difficult to trick," said Stock, "and it was an
excellent opportunity to break your party. I'm sure it will be quite
discredited after this. The pacifist tries to force war; the apostle
of gentleness tries assassination."
"War
against the true enemy," said Altmayer sadly. "But you are
right. It is a sign of desperation that this was forced on me."
—Then, "How did you know my plans?"
"You
still overestimate humanity, Dick. In any conspiracy the weakest
points are the people that compose it. You had twenty-five
co-conspirators. Didn't it occur to you that at least one of them
might be an informer, or even an employee of mine?"
A
dull red burned slowly on Altmayer's high cheekbones. "Which
one?" he said.
"Sorry.
We may have to use him again."
Altmayer
sat back in his chair wearily. "What have you gained?"
"What
have you
gained? You are as impractical now as
on that last day I saw you; the day you decided to go to jail rather
than report for induction. You haven't changed."
Altmayer
shook his head, "The truth doesn't change."
Stock
said impatiently, "If it is truth, why does it always fail? Your
stay in jail accomplished nothing. The war went on. Not one life was
saved. Since then, you've started a political party; and every cause
it has backed has failed. Your conspiracy has failed. You're nearly
fifty, Dick, and what have you accomplished? Nothing."
Altmayer
said, "And you went to war, rose to command a ship, then to a
place in the Cabinet. They say you will be the next Coordinator.
You've accomplished a great deal. Yet success and failure do not
exist in themselves. Success in what? Success in working the ruin of
humanity. Failure in what? In saving it? I wouldn't change places
with you. Jeff, remember this. In a good cause, there are no
failures; there are only delayed successes."
"Even
if you are executed for this day's work?"
"Even
if I am executed. There will be someone else to carry on, and his
success will be my success."
"How
do you envisage this success? Can you really see a union of worlds, a
Galactic Federation? Do you want Santanni running our affairs? Do you
want a Vegan telling you what to do? Do you want Earth to decide its
own destiny or to be at the mercy of any random combination of
powers?"
"We
would be at their mercy no more than they would be at ours."
"Except
that we are the richest. We would be plundered for the sake of the
depressed worlds of the Sirius Sector."
"And
pay the plunder out of what we would save in the wars that would no
longer occur."
"Do
you have answers for all questions, Dick?"
"In
twenty years we have been asked all questions, Jeff."
"Then
answer this one. How would you force this union of yours on unwilling
humanity?"
"That
is why I wanted to kill the Diaboli." For the first time,
Altmayer showed agitation. "It would mean war with them, but all
humanity would unite against the common enemy. Our own political and
ideological differences would fade in
the
face of that."
"You
really believe that? Even when the Diaboli have never harmed us? They
cannot live on our worlds. They must remain on their own worlds of
sulfide atmosphere and oceans which are sodium sulfate solutions."
"Humanity
knows better, Jeff. They are spreading from world to world like an
atomic explosion. They block spacetravel into regions where there are
unoccupied oxygen worlds, the kind we
could use. They are planning for the future; making
room
for uncounted future generations of Diaboli, while we are being
restricted to one corner of the Galaxy, and fighting ourselves to
death. In a thousand years we will be their slaves; in ten thousand
we will be extinct. Oh, yes, they are the common enemy. Mankind knows
that. You will find that out sooner than you think, perhaps."
The
Secretary said, "Your party members speak a great deal of
ancient Greece of the preatomic age. They tell us that the Greeks
were a marvelous people, the most culturally advanced of their time,
perhaps of all times. They set mankind on the road it has never yet
left entirely. They had only one flaw. They could not unite. They
were conquered and eventually died out. And we follow in their
footsteps now, eh?"
"You
have learned your lesson well, Jeff."
"But
have you, Dick?"
"What
do you mean?"
"Did
the Greeks have no common enemy against whom they could unite?"
Altmayer
was silent.
Stock
said, "The Greeks fought Persia, their great common enemy. Was
it not a fact that a good proportion of the Greek states fought on
the Persian side?"
Altmayer
said finally, "Yes. Because they thought Persian victory was
inevitable and they wanted to be on the winning side."
"Human
beings haven't changed, Dick. Why do you suppose the Diaboli are
here? What is it we are discussing?"
"I
am not a member of the government."
"No,"
said Stock, savagely, "but I am. The Vegan League has allied
itself with the Diaboli."
"I
don't believe you. It can't be."
"It
can be and is. The Diaboli have agreed to supply them with five
hundred ships at any time they happen to be at war with Earth. In
return, Vega abandons all claims to the Nigellian star cluster. So if
you had really assassinated the Diaboli, it would have been war, but
with half of humanity probably fighting on the side of your so-called
common enemy. We are trying to prevent that."
Altmayer
said slowly, "I am ready for trial. Or am I to be executed
without one?"
Stock
said, "You are still foolish. If we shoot you, Dick, we make a
martyr. If we keep you alive and shoot only your subordinates, you
will be suspected of having turned state's evidence. As a presumed
traitor, you will be quite harmless in the future."
And
so, on September 5th, 2788, Richard Sayama Altmayer, after the
briefest of secret trials, was sentenced to five years in prison. He
served his full term. The year he emerged from prison, Geoffrey Stock
was elected Coordinator of Earth.
3—December
21, 2800
Simon
Devoire was not at ease. He was a little man, with sandy hair and a
freckled, ruddy face. He said, "I'm sorry I agreed to see you,
Altmayer. It won't do you any good. It might do me harm."
Altmayer
said, "I am an old man. I won't hurt you." And he was
indeed a very old man somehow. The turn of the century found his
years at two thirds of a century, but he was older than that, older
inside and older outside. His clothes were too big for him, as if he
were shrinking away inside them. Only his nose had not aged; it was
still the thin, aristocratic, high-beaked Altmayer nose.
Devoire
said, "It's not you I'm afraid of." "Why not? Perhaps
you think I betrayed the men of "88." "No, of course
not. No man of sense believes that you did. But the days of the
Federalists are over, Altmayer."
Altmayer
tried to smile. He felt a little hungry; he hadn't eaten that day —no
time for food. Was the day of the Federalists over? It might seem so
to others. The movement had died on a wave of ridicule. A conspiracy
that fails, a "lost cause," is often romantic. It is
remembered and draws adherents for generations, if
the loss is at least a dignified one. But to shoot at
living creatures and find the mark to be robots; to be outmaneuvered
and outfoxed; to be made ridiculous—that is deadly. It is deadlier
than treason, wrong, and sin. Not many had believed Altmayer had
bargained for his life by betraying his associates, but the universal
laughter killed Federalism as effectively as though they had.
But
Altmayer had remained stolidly stubborn under it all. He said, "The
day of the Federalists will never be over, while the human race
lives." "Words," said Devoire impatiently. "They
meant more to me when I was younger. I am a little tired now."
"Simon,
I need access to the subetheric system."
Devoire's
face hardened. He said, "And you thought of me. I'm sorry,
Altmayer, but I can't let you use my broadcasts for your own
purposes."
"You
were a Federalist once."
"Don't
rely on that," said Devoire. "That's in the past. Now I am—
nothing. I am a Devoirist, I suppose. I want to live."
"Even
if it is under the feet of the Diaboli? Do you want to live when they
are willing; die when they are ready?"
"Words!"
"Do
you approve of the all-Galactic conference?"
*
Devoire reddened past his usual pink level. He gave the sudden
impression of a man with too much blood for his body. He said
smolderingly, "Well, why not? What does it matter how we go
about establishing the Federation of Man? If you're still a
Federalist, what have you to object to in a united humanity?"
"United
under the Diaboli?"
"What's
the difference? Humanity can't unite by itself. Let us be driven to
it, as long as the fact is accomplished. I am sick of it all,
Altmayer, sick of all our stupid history. I'm tired of trying to be
an idealist with nothing to be idealistic over. Human beings are
human beings and that's the nasty part of it. Maybe we've got
to be whipped into line. If so, I'm perfectly willing to
let the Diaboli do the whipping."
Altmayer
said gently, "You're very foolish, Devoire. It won't be a real
union, you know that. The Diaboli called this conference so that they
might act as umpires on all current interhuman disputes to their own
advantage, and remain the supreme court of judgment over us
hereafter. You know they have no intention of establishing a real
central human government. It will only be a sort of interlocking
directorate; each human government will conduct its own affairs as
before and pull in various directions as before. It is simply that we
will grow accustomed to running to the Diaboli with our little
problems."
"How
do you know that will be the result?"
"Do
you seriously think any other result is possible?"
Devoire
chewed at his lower lip, "Maybe not!"
"Then
see through a pane of glass, Simon. Any true independence we now have
will be lost."
"A
lot of good this independence has ever done us. —Besides, what's
the use? We can't stop this thing. Coordinator Stock is probably no
keener on the conference than you are, but that doesn't help him. If
Earth doesn't attend, the union will be formed without us, and then
we .will face war with
the
rest of humanity and the Diaboli. And that goes for any other
government that wants to back out."
"What
if all
the governments back out? Wouldn't the
conference break up completely?"
"Have
you ever known all the human governments to do anything
together? You never learn, Altmayer."
"There
are new facts involved."
"Such
as? I know I am foolish for asking, but go ahead."
Altmayer
said, "For twenty years most of the Galaxy has been shut to
human ships. You know that. None of us has the slightest notion of
what goes on within the Diaboli sphere of influence. And yet some
human colonies exist within that sphere."
"So?"
"So
occasionally, human beings escape into the small portion of the
Galaxy that remains human and free. The government of Earth receives
reports; reports which they don't dare make public. But not all
officials of the government can stand the cowardice
involved in such actions forever. One of them has been to see me. I
can't tell you which one, of course—
So
I have documents, Devoire; official, reliable, and true."
Devoire
shrugged, "About what?" He turned the desk chronometer
rather ostentatiously so that Altmayer could see its gleaming metal
face on which the red, glowing figures stood out sharply. They read
22:31, and even as it was turned, the 1 faded and the new glow of a 2
appeared.
Altmayer
said, "There is a planet called by its colonists Chu Hsi. It did
not have a large population; two million, perhaps. Fifteen years ago
the Diaboli occupied worlds on various sides of it; and in all those
fifteen years, no human ship ever landed on the planet. Last year the
Diaboli themselves landed. They brought with them huge freight ships
filled with sodium sulfate and bacterial cultures that are native to
their own worlds."
"What?
—You can't make me believe it."
"Try,"
said Altmayer, ironically. "It is not difficult. Sodium sulfate
will dissolve in the oceans of any world. In a sulfate ocean, their
bacteria will grow, multiply, and produce hydrogen sulfide in
tremendous quantities which will fill the oceans and the atmosphere.
They can then introduce their plants and animals and eventually
themselves. Another planet will be suitable for Diaboli life—and
unsuitable for any human. It would take time, surely, but the Diaboli
have time. They are a united
people
and . . ."
"Now,
look," Devoire waved his hand in disgust, "that just
doesn't hold water. The Diaboli have more worlds than they know what
to do with."
"For
their present purposes, yes, but the Diaboli are creatures that look
toward the future. Their birth rate is high and eventually they will
fill the Galaxy. And how much better off they would be if they were
the only intelligence in the universe."
"But
it's impossible on purely physical grounds. Do you know how many
millions of tons of sodium sulfate it would take to fill up the
oceans to their requirements?"
"Obviously
a planetary supply."
"Well,
then, do you suppose they would strip one of their own worlds to
create a new one? Where is the gain?"
"Simon,
Simon, there are millions of planets in the Galaxy which through
atmospheric conditions, temperature, or gravity are forever
uninhabitable either to humans or to Diaboli. Many of these are quite
adequately rich in sulfur."
Devoire
considered, "What about the human beings on the planet?"
"On
Chu Hsi? Euthanasia—except for the few who escaped in time.
Painless I suppose. The Diaboli are not needlessly cruel, merely
efficient."
Altmayer
waited. Devoire's fist clenched and unclenched.
Altmayer
said, "Publish this news. Spread it out on the interstellar
subetheric web. Broadcast the documents to the reception centers on
the various worlds. You can do it, and when you do, the all-Galactic
conference will fall apart."
Devoire's
chair tilted forward. He stood up. "Where's your proof?" a
"Will you do it?" <> ,"I want to see your
proof." Altmayer smiled, "Come with me."
They
were waiting for him when he came back to the furnished room he was
living in. He didn't notice them at first. He was completely unaware
of the small vehicle that followed him at a slow pace and a prudent
distance. He walked with his head bent, calculating the length of
time it would take for Devoire to put the information through the
reaches of space; how long it would take for the receiving stations
on Vega and Santanni and Centaurus to blast out the news; how long it
would take to spread it over the entire Galaxy. And in this way he
passed, unheeding, between the two plain-clothes men who flanked the
entrance of the rooming house.
It
was only when he opened the door to his own room that he stopped and
turned to leave but the plain-clothes men were behind him now. He
made no attempt at violent escape. He entered the room instead and
sat down, feeling so old. He thought feverishly, I need only hold
them off an hour and ten minutes.
The
man who occupied the darkness reached up and flicked the switch that
allowed the wall lights to operate. In the soft wall glow, the man's
round face and balding gray-fringed head were startlingly clear.
Altmayer
said gently, "I am honored with a visit by the Coordinator
himself."
And
Stock said, "We are old friends, you and I, Dick. We meet every
once in a while."
Altmayer
did not answer. Stock said, "You have certain government papers
in your possession, Dick." Altmayer said, "If you think so,
Jeff, you'll have to find them."
Stock
rose wearily to his feet. "No heroics, Dick. Let me tell you
what those papers contained. They were circumstantial reports of the
sulfation of the planet, Chu Hsi. Isn't that true?"
Altmayer
looked at the clock. Stock said, "If you are planning to delay
us, to angle us as though we were fish, you will be disappointed. We
know where you've been, we know Devoire has the papers, we know
exactly what he's planning to do with them."
Altmayer
stiffened. The thin parchment of his cheeks trembled. He said, "How
long have you known?"
"As
long as you have, Dick. You are a very predictable man. It is the
very reason we decided to use you. Do you suppose the Recorder would
really come to see you as he did, without our knowledge?"
"I
don't understand."
Stock
said, "The Government of Earth, Dick, is not anxious that the
all-Galactic conference be continued. However, we are not
Federalists; we know humanity for what it is. What do you suppose
would happen if the rest of the Galaxy discovered that the Diaboli
were in the process of changing a salt-oxygen world into a
sulfate-sulfide one?
"No,
don't answer. You are Dick Altmayer and I'm sure you'd tell me that
with one fiery burst of indignation, they'd abandon the conference,
join together in a loving and brotherly union, throw themselves at
the Diaboli, and overwhelm them."
Stock
paused such a long time that for a moment it might have seemed he
would say no more. Then he continued in half a whisper, "Nonsense.
The other worlds would say that the Government of Earth for purposes
of its own had initiated a fraud, had forged documents in a
deliberate attempt to disrupt the conference. The Diaboli would deny
everything, and most of the human worlds would find it to their
interests to believe the denial. They would concentrate on the
iniquities of
Earth
and forget about the iniquities of the Diaboli. So you see, we could
sponsor no such expose."
Altmayer
felt drained, futile. "Then you will stop Devoire. It is always
that you are so sure of failure beforehand; that you believe the
worst of your fellow man—"
"Wait!
I said nothing of stopping Devoire. I said only that the government
could not sponsor such an expose and we will not. But the expose will
take place just the same, except that afterward we will arrest
Devoire and yourself and denounce the whole thing as vehemently as
will the Diaboli. The whole affair would then be changed. The
Government of Earth will have dissociated itself from the claims. It
will then seem to the rest of the human government that for our own
selfish purposes we are trying to hide the actions of the Diaboli,
that we have, perhaps, a special understanding with them. They will
fear that special understanding and unite against us. But then
to be against us will mean that they are also against the
Diaboli. They will insist on believing the expose to be the truth,
the documents to be real—and the conference will break up."
"It
will mean war again," said Altmayer hopelessly, "and not
against the real enemy. It will mean fighting among the humans and a
victory all the greater for the Diaboli when it is all over."
"No
war," said Stock. "No government will attack Earth with the
Diaboli on our side. The other governments will merely draw away from
us and grind a permanent anti-Diaboli bias into their propaganda.
Later, if there should be war between ourselves and the Diaboli, the
other governments will at least remain neutral." He looks very
old, thought Altmayer. We are all old, dying men. Aloud, he said,
"Why would you expect the Diaboli to back Earth? You may fool
the rest of mankind by pretending to attempt suppression of the facts
concerning the planet Chu Hsi, but you won't fool the Diaboli. They
won't for a moment believe Earth to be sincere in its claim that it
believes the documents to be forgeries."
"Ah,
but they will." Geoffrey Stock stood up, "You see, the
documents are
forgeries. The Diaboli may be planning
sulfation of planets in the future, but to our knowledge, they have
not tried it yet."
On
December 21, 2800, Richard Sayama Altmayer entered prison for the
third and last time. There was no trial, no definite sentence, and
scarcely a real imprisonment in the literal sense of the word. His
movements were confined and only a few officials were allowed to
communicate with him, but otherwise his comforts were looked to
assiduously. He had no access to news, of course, so that he was not
aware that in the second year of this third imprisonment of his, the
war between Earth and the Diaboli opened with the surprise attack
near Sirius by an Earth squadron upon certain ships of
the
Diaboli navy.
In
2802, Geoffrey Stock came to visit Altmayer in his confinement.
Altmayer rose in surprise to greet him. "You're looking well,
Dick," Stock said. He himself was not. His complexion had
grayed. He still wore his naval captain's uniform, but his body
stooped slightly within it. He was to die within the year, a fact of
which he was not completely unaware. It did not bother him much. He
thought repeatedly, I have lived the years I've had to live.
Altmayer,
who looked the older of the two, had yet more than nine years to
live. He said, "An unexpected pleasure, Jeff, but this time you
can't have come to imprison me. I'm in prison already."
"I've
come to set you free, if you would like."
"For
what purpose, Jeff? Surely you have a purpose? A clever way of using
me?"
Stock's
smile was merely a momentary twitch. He said, "A way of using
you, truly, but this time you will approve. . . . We are at war."
"With
whom?" Altmayer was startled.
"With
the Diaboli. We have been at war for six months."
Altmayer
brought his hands together, thin fingers interlacing nervously, "I've
heard nothing of this."
"I
know." The Coordinator clasped his hands behind his back and was
distantly surprised to find that they were trembling. He said, "It's
been a long journey for the two of us, Dick. We've had the same goal,
you and I— No, let me speak. I've often wanted to explain my point
of view to you, but you would never have understood. You weren't the
kind of man to understand, until I had the results for you. —I was
twenty-five when I first visited a Diaboli world, Dick. I knew then
it was
either
they or we."
"I
said so," whispered Altmayer, "from the first."
"Merely
saying so was not enough. You wanted to force the human governments
to unite against them and that notion was politically unrealistic and
completely impossible. It wasn't even desirable. Humans are not
Diaboli. Among the Diaboli individual consciousness is low, almost
nonexistent. Ours is almost overpowering. They have no such thing as
politics; we have nothing else. They can never disagree, can have
nothing but a single government. We can never agree; if we had a
single
island to live on, we would split it in three.
"But
our very disagreements are our strength! Your
Federalist party used to speak of ancient Greece a great deal once.
Do you remember? But your people always missed the point. To be sure,
Greece could never unite and was therefore ultimately conquered. But
even in her state of disunion, she defeated the gigantic Persian
Empire. Why?
"I
would like to point out that the Greek city-states over centuries had
fought with one another. They were forced to specialize in things
military to an extent far beyond the Persians. Even the Persians
themselves realized that, and in the last century of their imperial
existence, Greek mercenaries formed the most valued parts of their
armies.
"The
same might be said of the small nation-states of preatomic Europe,
which in centuries of fighting had advanced their military arts to
the point where they could overcome and hold for two hundred years
the comparatively gigantic empires of Asia.
"So
it is with us. The Diaboli, with vast extents of galactic space, have
never fought a war. Their military machine is massive, but untried.
In fifty years, only such advances have been made by them as they
have been able to copy from the various human navies. Humanity, on
the other hand, has competed ferociously in warfare, Each government
has raced to keep ahead of its neighbors in military science. They've
had to! It was our own disunion that made the terrible race for
survival
necessary,
so that in the end almost any one of us was a match for all the
Diaboli, provided only that none of us would fight on their side in a
general war.
"It
was toward the prevention of such a development that all of Earth's
diplomacy has been aimed. Until it was certain that in a war between
Earth and the Diaboli, the rest of humanity would be at least
neutral, there could be no war, and no union of human governments
could be allowed, since the race for military perfection must
continue. Once we were sure of neutrality, through the hoax that
broke up the conference two years ago, we sought the war, and now we
have it."
Altmayer,
through all this, might have been frozen. It was a long time before
he could say anything.
Finally,
"What if the Diaboli are victorious after all?"
Stock
said, "They aren't. Two weeks ago, the main fleets joined action
and theirs was annihilated with practically no loss to ourselves,
although we were greatly outnumbered. We might have been fighting
unarmed ships. We had stronger weapons of greater range and more
accurate sighting. We had three times their effective speed since we
had antiacceleration devices which they lacked. Since the battle a
dozen of the other human governments have decided to join the winning
side and have declared war on the Diaboli. Yesterday the Diaboli
requested that negotiations for an armistice be opened. The war is
practically over; and henceforward the Diaboli will be confined to
their original planets with only such future expansions as we
permit."
Altmayer
murmured incoherently.
Stock
said, "And now union becomes necessary. After the defeat of
Persia by the Greek city-states, they were ruined because of their
continued wars among themselves, so that first Macedon and then Rome
conquered them. After Europe colonized the Americas, cut up Africa,
and conquered Asia, a series of continued European wars led to
European ruin.
"Disunion
until conquest; union thereafter! But now union is easy. Let one
subdivision succeed by itself and the rest will clamor to become part
of that success. The ancient writer, Toynbee, first pointed out this
difference between what he called a 'dominant minority' and a
'creative minority.'
"We
are a creative minority now. In an almost spontaneous gesture,
various human governments have suggested the formation of a United
Worlds organization. Over seventy governments are willing to attend
the first sessions in order to draw up a Charter of Federation. The
others will join later, I am sure. We would like you to be one of the
delegates from Earth, Dick."
Altmayer
found his eyes flooding, "I—I don't understand your purpose.
Is this all true?"
"It
is all exactly as I say. You were a voice in the wilderness, Dick,
crying What If for
union.
Your words will carry much weight. What did you once say: 'In a good
cause, there are no failures.' "
"No!"
said Altmayer, with sudden energy. "It seems your cause was the
good one."
Stock's
face was hard and devoid of emotion, "You were always a
misun-derstander of human nature, Dick. When the United Worlds is a
reality and when generations of men and women look back to these days
of war through their centuries of unbroken peace, they will have
forgotten the purpose of my methods. To them they will represent war
and death. Your calls for
union, your
idealism, will be remembered forever."
He
turned away and Altmayer barely caught his last words: "And when
they build their statues, they will build none for me."
In
the Great Court, which stands as a patch of untouched peace among the
fifty busy square miles devoted to the towering buildings that are
the pulse beat of the United Worlds of the Galaxy, stands a statue .
. .
