Collected Short Fiction, page 121
“It wasn’t our fault,” Onomodze said. “We have a natural leader here, in Joslyn. He knows exactly what to do and how to do it. But it was like a poker game in which one man had a royal flush, and having everyone else drop out before he can bet. Our royal flush is Joslyn, but he has to have someone else in the game with him for the royal flush to mean anything. We can’t force people to accept our rule.”
“It’s not our fault at all,” Carter said. “All those little dukes are going to find out the same thing I did.”
“What’s that?”
“Look: for a thousand years the Sslesor ruled us, telling us what to do at every step of our way,” Carter said, “We grew terribly dependent cn them—so dependent that now every Earthman is firmly convinced that he can be ruled properly only by benevolent lizards from the stars. The Sslesor did such a good job of ruling that the people just won’t believe we can do as well ourselves. Those dukes are finding it out, too. Just as they refused to accept cur authority, so their own subjects are refusing to accept theirs. As fast as a duchy gets going, it subdivides. Our friend Duke Richard of Chicago is going to find himself the Duke of eight or nine square blocks in a month’s time, and then maybe one block.”
“That means anarchy coming,” Onomodze said.
“Exactly,” said Carter. “We’d just better be ready to get out of the way when the roof blows off.”
CHAPTER V
20 March 3028
THINGS grew steadily worse during the next weeks. New York became the scene of a pitched battle between the Earl of Manhattan and the Overlord of West Brooklyn, with Staten Island as the prize. Carter and his government, cooped up in the old Sslesor Administration Building on the Island, waited uneasily and wondered which ruler would get to them first.
All pretense at governing was dropped now. The Provisional Government had been dead almost from the start, with Earthmen unable to accept the fact that other Earthmen could successfully take the place of the Sslesor. Carter had had no control over the local governments at all.
“We might just as well call the Sslesor back,” Carter said. “Because we’re heading for a glorious war now, with everybody fighting everybody else and no one quite sure what the shooting’s all about.”
“We can’t get the Sslesor back,” Onomodze pointed out. “And the Velks won’t be bothered with us. That means we’re on our own.”
“At last,” said Carter. “And rapidly heading toward the junkpile. But we can’t give up,” he said, suddenly fierce again.
“Why not?” the other demanded. “It’s all over for us now. We’ve had our chance and botched it. Now we can sit back and watch the fireworks.”
“That’s exactly what we can’t do,” Carter snapped. “We’re the only men capable of putting Earth together, you and I and a handful of top Marine Corps men. We’ve known that since before the Sslesor left. We’re still able to do the job.”
“But they won’t listen to us,” Onomodze protested.
“I think I have an idea.” Carter sat quietly for a long time. “Let’s start from the beginning once more,” he said. “Let’s analyze the whole situation all over again.”
1 April 3028
THE Carter government made its formal resignation a week later. It was, of course, an empty gesture, but at least the thing had been carried out according to protocol. The hundreds and thousands of local rulers reacted jubilantly to the news.
Earth was, therefore, in an official state of anarchy when the Khoomish arrived.
Their huge, gleaming ship put down without advance warning on Staten Island, in the great plaza that lay before the ruins of the Sslesor Administration Building. A well-placed bomb had levelled the former headquarters both of the Sslesor and of the Provisional Government, but the Provisional Government had prudently foreseen this and had been elsewhere at the time.
Thus, only a handful of Terrans were on hand to witness the landing of the Khoomish, attracted by the sight of the ship hovering over the Island and sinking down to land.
The Khoomish were tall, powerful, green-furred aliens with thin purple lips and magnificent blazing eyes. They were far more imposing to the war-weary Terrans than either the reptilian Sslesor or the nondescript Velks.
They emerged from their ship and, taking no notice of the curious knot of Terrans around them, calmly went about the business of setting up a complex, involuted piece of machinery about eight feet high. Then, the biggest and most majestic-looking of the aliens approached the machine that had been set up and spoke incomprehensible syllables into it.
The machine translated his speech to what was by now a fairly large and interested gathering of Earthmen as:
“People of Earth: Your time of troubles is over. We have come from the stars to aid you.”
The bald announcement caused a ripple of conversation to wash through the crowd. Then the Khoomish leader went on to explain that the machine before them was a thought-translator which converted English into the Khoomish tongue and vice versa, and went on to request that the leaders of the local governments be brought to see them at once.
When the news reached them, the Duke of Lower Manhattan and the Imperator of Astoria were engaged in treaty negotiation. They held a hurried conference and decided to speak to the alien leader together.
“My name is Terrag Broz,” the huge green-furred creature said when the two rulers approached. “While waiting for you, I have had the opportunity of learning your language—a singularly clumsy one, may I add.”
The Imperator introduced the Duke, and then himself.
“You are the rulers of this area, I take it,” Broz said.
They nodded.
“Might I inquire, how many subjects does each of you possess?”
The two rulers exchanged worried glances. In the past weeks, their domains had been shrinking at an exponential rate. When the Imperator of Astoria had seceded from the Dominion of Queens, he had boasted some four thousand loyal subjects. But since the establishment of the Free State of Long Island City, that number had diminished somewhat, and a threatened Republic of Inner Astoria would make further inroads. The Duke of Lower Manhattan had undergone similar experience.
“I take it from your silence,” the Khoomish said, “that you have seen difficult times lately. In short, that the condition of your planet has been degenerating rapidly into utter anarchy since Earth’s abrupt and, may I say, unwanted liberation.”
“That’s not true at all!” the Duke began, but the Imperator nudged him to be quiet.
“It is true,” he admitted. He was a short, gray-haired man with close-clipped hair, who had been a provincial administrator under the Sslesor. “I would venture to predict, sir, that within a year’s time I’ll have no more than one subject—if that many. And that one will be myself. Everyone wants to be a king,” he said, sighing.
The Khoomish grinned broadly. “Precisely. And that is why we have come. We offer you a strong, efficient government, a centralized administration, a unified planet. Throw in your lot with us and we will see that you are placed high in the ranks of the ruling echelon—as high, of course, as it will be possible for a Terran to rise.”
After a whispered consultation, the two rulers agreed to submit to the authority of the Khoomish.
By nightfall, the Khoomish had all of New York except a recalcitrant section of the Bronx.
In a week’s time, they were being acclaimed as saviors throughout the United States of America, as duke after duke willingly resigned his uneasy throne to them.
Within two months, the Earthmen had completely yielded their battered planet to the Khoomish. Even the most stubborn conceded that it was better to be ruled benevolently by aliens than badly by one’s self. In fact, most Earthmen had believed that all along.
Work proceeded apace on an immense central headquarters to house Earth’s new rulers.
And sanity had returned to the Earth for the first time since the Sslesor had unexpectedly departed.
11 May 3035
ORVID KEMRON glared across the desk at Terrag Broz.
“All right,” he said. “You took advantage of the right moment to come down and take possession of Earth. You waited until the Provisional Government had failed miserably and Earth was in complete chaos. And those sheep—” He waved in an all-inclusive gesture. “—were wildly enthusiastic about it. They thought that the only way any of us would survive would be to be ruled by a set of galactic overlords. Any set at all would do.”
“And you rebelled,” Broz said. “Just as Joslyn Carter rebelled—or tried to—against the Sslesor. But even if Carter had actually managed to blast the Sslesor government, the same thing would have happened. Earth was—and is—not ready to govern itself on such short notice. It’s not that Earthmen have had any of the vigor and fire bred out of them; it’s simply that they have been relying on exterior government for so long that they don’t know how to handle themselves without it.
“Like any energetic, potentially brilliant child who is suddenly deprived of parental care and told to shift for himself, the human race went hogwild,” he said.
“And what if our rebellion had gone through?” Kemron asked.
“The same thing would have happened,” said the Khoomish leader. “Earth would have fallen into anarchy again.
“I will certainly agree that humanity would, in time, pull itself back together for another try at the stars, but by that time it would perhaps be too late. Why spend another thousand years regaining what Earth has right now?”
Kemron closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. “I suppose that means that Earth will never again govern herself,” he said slowly. “And I suppose it means that I will be shot.”
“Wrong on both counts,” Broz smiled. “Earth will govern herself again. And we’re certainly not going to harm you. We need you, and more like you. But you were as I said, a little premature.”
“Premature?” Kemron looked blank.
The Khoomish nodded. “That’s what I said. Like Joslyn Carter, you rebelled at a time when you didn’t have a united planet behind you. No one hated the Sslesor but Carter and his Marines. No one hates us but you and your underground. You’re making the same mistakes that Carter did, and that’s why we had to drag you out of bed in the middle of the night. It wouldn’t have done for you to drive us off the Earth tomorrow. Wait until you are ready—then strike.”
“I don’t understand,” said Kemron. His confused mind felt as though it were spinning in silly little circles.
“It’s very simple,” Broz continued. “If we can make the rest of the human race hate us enough, they’ll drive us off and be ready to follow wholeheartedly the leader of the group that drives us off. Do you follow me?”
“Yes,” Kemron, said hesitantly, “yes, I think I understand, but why? Why do you want to do this? Don’t you want to rule Earth? I don’t think I’d be very intelligent if I trusted the word of a Khoomish that his race was as altruistic as all that.”
At that Broz grinned. “I’m glad I didn’t underestimate you. I—” He stopped as the door to the office opened.
Behind him, Kemron heard footsteps. Another Khoomish walked over to Broz’ desk and put a sheaf of papers on the hard, shiny top.
“What’s this about our race being altruistic?” the newcomer asked, grinning.
Broz looked back at Kemron. “You know our Vice Administrator. Nacomon Gornik, I think?”
Kemron nodded blankly, looking from one to the other.
“I assure you,” Broz said, “that the race to which we belong is the least altruistic—in that sense—of any of the three races we know to exist in the galaxy. And yet, in another manner of speaking, we—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish. Kemron leaped to his feet, and strangely enough, the automatics did not shoot him down.
“Three races! You! I get it! I get it!” He slapped a hand against his forehead. “My God! Why didn’t I see it before? Why didn’t anyone else see it?”
“Because they weren’t looking for it,” said Broz.
“They weren’t in any condition to,” Gornik added. “They couldn’t even bring themselves to admit that the possibility might exist.”
“Who are you?” Kemron asked sharply.
“I am Joslyn Carter,” said the green-furred being. “And this is Kelvin Onomodze.”
KEMRON nodded. “But why? Why this insane masquerade?”
“Not insane,” Broz-Carter said. “It’s the most terribly sane thing we’ve done yet. All my earlier actions were based on the faulty premise that one determined, capable group of men could, if properly led, take over Earth.
“It wasn’t. A thousand years of Sslesor rule had seen to that. What we are trying to do now will take thirty years or more of re-education. The answer to the anarchistic tendencies of Earth was obvious: we would have to turn into a set of galactics ourselves. We would have to provide Earth with what it wanted in order to rule it properly.”
“I see,” said Kemron. “Very neat. But if Earthmen are, as you say, too stagnant to rule themselves now, what makes you think we can ever do it? Isn’t it just possible that we’ll simply sink lower into stagnation?”
Broz-Carter shook his head. “Not at all. The very fact that anarchy nearly got us was proof of that. If we really were a stagnating race, we would have ruled ourselves without any difficulty. As it is, there is enough difference, even now, between various groups to allow them to quarrel with each other. And that’s a very hopeful sign.”
“But why tell me? How do I fit in?” Kemron asked.
“We told you for the purpose of self-preservation, for one thing,” Carter admitted. “We have no desire to get killed when the rebellion finally does come. For another thing, this is the sort of rebellion that requires close cooperation in the upper echelons of both factions if it is to be successful.
“Things are running very smoothly under the Khoomish now. We’ve picked up all the pieces and put them back together, but we need help to keep them together.
“You’re the only one who knows we’re only Earthmen wearing green fur. But we don’t want to keep the job for a thousand years. We want to be overthrown—desperately.
“But not yet. We want to be overthrown by a united movement of Earthmen, not a little hole-in-the–ground movement like yours.
“We’ve been waiting for you, Orvid. We deliberately made it easy; we set a trap to catch an underground movement. You’ll have to expand—form a real Earth faction to overthrow us. Drive us out! Send us packing! But not yet. Not until you’re strong enough. And that’s going to be a long time.”
“I feel as if the roof’s caved in on me,” Kemron said.
“That’s the way I felt,” said Carter. “First when the Sslesor pulled out, then when the Velks crossed us up, and finally when the provisional government turned out to be such a complete failure. And I hope I feel it one more time—in a slightly different way—the day Orvid Kemron comes blasting into this building with an army of Earthmen at his back and tells us he’s taking over.”
Kemron’s eyes glowed. “How long? When?”
“According to my calculations, thirty years. We don’t dare take much longer.”
“Why the rush?” Kemron asked, frowning suddenly.
Carter’s green-furred face became grim. “The Velks,” he said. “They said they’d come back. And then, too, there’s the chance that the Sslesor might regain this section of the galaxy. Or there may be another race out there somewhere. Human beings have never been to the stars, and it looks as though we’re going to have to have a hell of a lot of fight in us to get our share when we do. I don’t think the others have a chance if we’re united and working together towards that goal. If we have the tools to fight with, we’ll win.”
He jabbed a forefinger at Kemron to emphasize his point: “But God help us if they find us in the same condition of helplessness that we were in when the Sslesor found us a thousand years ago.
“What do I do now?” Kemron asked.
“Go home and get some sleep.” Carter told him. “We’ll get in touch with you later to begin making complete plans for the first phase. Now get out of here fast. The guards will take you home.”
“All right—Joslyn.” Kemron stood up. “I’ll wait until I can talk to you before making any further plans.”
He turned and headed toward the door. Carter watched him go.
“I think he’ll do,” he said, after the door shut.
“I hope so,” said Onomodze. “It’ll be a pleasure to take these getups off again.”
“Don’t worry. If I know Orvid Kemron, he’ll have us on our way back to Khoom soon enough. Wherever Khoom is, that is.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“I’m positive,” said Carter. “He’ll have most of Earth behind him when we get through with them. They’re going to want to skin us alive.”
Onomodze looked down at the fur on his arm. “That won’t be too soon for me.”
1957
First Kill
For more than twenty years, Westhuysen had upheld the law in a peaceful town; now there was trouble. And now, for the first time, he might have to kill a man . . .
MARSHALL WESTHUYEN was a quiet man with gray hair and gray eyes, and he had been in Apple Creek for more than twenty years. He carried a pair of well-oiled single-action Colts in his holsters, and his cartridge belt was always full. Always. Because Westhuysen hardly ever fired those shiny Colts, and in more than twenty years he’d never killed a man. He hadn’t needed to—not till the day Boon Thornton showed up in Apple Creek, and let it be known that he was in town for the sole purpose of robbing the local bank.
“What you aimin’ to do about Thornton, Marshal?” someone asked him as he entered Ledyard’s Drygoods.
Westhuysen turned and saw Slim Harker of the Lazy B standing near the back counter by a stack of Levis. The Marshal frowned. “Your business?”
