Collected Short Fiction, page 410
David Kilross, Resident Protector of Dannon’s World, had held his post seven years. He had been appointed on the death of his predecessor in 3107, and had arrived to find himself Protector of a thriving, fully-industrialized Earth-type world well on its way to winning the coveted Home Rule status that amounted to absolute independence within the loose framework of the Terran Commonwealth.
He had finished his solidophone conversation with Stoneham on a hopeful note; Stoneham had his hands full on Lannimar, peopled by brawling miners and smelters, and Kilross had offered him some advice. Then, breaking the contact, he returned to the job of drafting his monthly report to Earth. The communicator panel on his desk lit up suddenly. He nudged the acknowledger and said, “What is it, Cronin?”
His attaché for local affairs said, “Sir, there’s been a call for you from an Austin White. He wants an appointment with you for this afternoon. I told him you were writing your report, but he insists it’s important.”
Kilross’ eyes narrowed briefly. “Tell him I’ll see him,” the Protector said. “The report can wait.”
Cronin protested, “The report, sir! The Council always screams if it’s the least bit late, and—”
The attaché was earnest, Kilross thought wearily, but a little dull. “The Council can learn to have patience, Cronin,” he said sharply. “Tell White I’ll see him today.”
“Very well, sir.”
The panel went dead.
He’s coming! Kilross thought exultantly. The complex plan was beginning to unfold.
Kilross had met White only once before—seven years ago, when he had arrived on Dannon’s World to take over for dead Jackson. The head of the local government then had been the vigorous, popular Richardson White. But White had died suddenly of pneumonia only six weeks after Kilross’ arrival; and the Premier’s son, Austin White, had emphatically turned down all bids to succeed his father.
After Richardson White had come a series of short-term Premiers, their names already half-forgotten: Marrick, eight months; Duval, seven months; Keswick, fifteen weeks. And then, two years ago in 3112, Mark Henderson.
A brisk, efficient man, Henderson began his career as a local selectman in a southern city, and rapidly had swept his way northward to the capital and the premiership. Running unopposed on a platform of reconstruction, Henderson easily won the approval of the people. He announced he would undo the damage caused by his weak-willed predecessors. He called for speedy expansion of industry, increase in the export balance, and prompt colonization of the uninhabited continent to the east.
Within a few months he had restored the Dannon economy to the healthy position it had enjoyed before the death of Premier White. Within his first year in office, a city was rising on the western shore of the far continent. Superficially, he had done a good job.
But, Kilross thought, Henderson teas a fool. A dangerous fool at that, brutal, ruthless, self-willed. Kilross had allowed him to attain the premiership only because he intended to use Henderson as a lever in a greater plan.
The communicator glowed again. “What is it, Cronin?” Kilross asked.
“I called White and told him what you said. He’ll be here in an hour.”
“Good.”
“Do you want me to bring you the dossier on White, sir?”
“It won’t be necessary.” Kilross chuckled. “I know all I need to know about Austin White, Cronin.”
“It wouldn’t be any trouble for me to bring it in—”
“Not necessary,” Kilross snapped. “I’m briefed on White already. I offered him the premiership back in 3107. That was before you came here, I think. He turned it down.”
“Turned it down, sir?”
“That’s right.” Kilross smiled at the memory. “Said he was too busy on a project of his—deriving a set of mathematical parameters of human communication, I think. So I gave the job to Leon Marrick. But White’s going to be in office soon. He’s going to succeed Henderson.”
“What’s that, sir?” came the startled voice of the young attaché.
“I said he’s going to succeed Henderson. He doesn’t know about it, yet, and if you told him he’d say you were crazy. But I know my man, Cronin. I’ve watched him for seven years.” Kilross laughed. “Get a good look at him when he shows up, Cronin. It’s instructive to see him. He’s tough. One of the most solid human beings I’ve ever seen.”
“I’ll look at him, sir.”
Still chuckling, Kilross broke contact and turned back to his work. White’s tough, all right. And capable. But it’s a lucky thing for Dannon’s World and for him that I’m a little hit tougher.
Austin White was thinking about Resident Protector Kilross. as he rode crosstown that afternoon. He disliked the man. More on impulse than on actual knowledge, for he had had very little contact with Kilross. But he blamed the man for the slow, steady onset of decline in Dannon’s World’s affairs. Kilross had let the planet drift.
And after Henderson had appeared to set right some of the haze of confusion five years of incompetent government had caused, White thought, Kilross had behaved increasingly negatively. Eleven months after his election, Henderson had fulfilled his final campaign promise by presenting to Protector Kilross a petition for Home Rule status for Dannon’s World.
Kilross ignored it.
A month after the petition had been presented, Henderson inquired when Earth planned to act on it.
“The petition was never forwarded to Earth,” Protector Kilross coolly informed the people of Dannon’s World. “The time has not yet come for Home Rule here.”
The announcement caused much bitter comment. And, six months later, Henderson presented a second petition. It met with the same fate as had the first.
And so did the third.
Now, White thought, the time had come for a fourth petition—and this was the last one. He carried the document in a leatheroid portfolio dangling from his left hand; he rode across town in the monobus in a mood of chilly resignation, not anxious to take part in any of Henderson’s political maneuvers but aware that in good faith he could not have refused Klein’s request.
Governing a planet is a hopeless job, he thought. Dad and Granddad tried it. They jailed. They were capable, but shortsighted. They didn’t realize that before you can govern properly you need a science of governing. You can’t just improvise.
That was why White had declined public office. He aimed for the higher goal. Let others struggle with routine administrative work; he worked on a more theoretical plane. He understood the futility of governing without a science of communication to guide him. Instead of taking the job everyone wanted him to have, he preferred to explore the essential basic concepts of reaching people. It was a much tougher job.
At the entrance to the Protector’s residence he paused and nudged the signal stud. The scanning beams whisked over him quickly and a deep voice said, “You may come in, Mr. White.”
The door slid back. A blank-faced servant-robot stood just within. It bowed perfunctorily and said, “Will you come this way, please?”
White followed the servo down well-lit hallways into a narrower corridor. There he was met by a slim young Earther who introduced himself as Cronin, attaché to the Protector, and who stared at him most intensely before leading him inward to the door of a secluded office.
Cronin touched a knuckle to the doorplate; the paneled door rolled silently open. White was ushered inside, into the presence of Resident Protector Kilross.
Kilross was sitting down when White entered. He sat virtually enfolded in the soft moist arms of a relaxer, and as the gentle vibration of the chair traveled through the Protector’s body the pink flesh of his throat and cheeks quivered perceptibly. He looked, thought White with some distaste, like a man who enjoys his comforts too well.
Without rising, Kilross gestured him to a seat—a straight-backed chair, White noticed gratefully, not a clinging relaxer. White had little sympathy for some of the effete customs of the native-born Earthers. He regarded Earthers, in general, as a soft lot.
But there was nothing soft about Kilross’ voice as he said, “This visit is most unusual, isn’t it, Mr. White? It was my impression that you preferred to keep aloof from such dreary things as affairs of government—and from such dreary people as those unfortunate ones who hold high government office.”
White nodded stiffly. “It’s not my aim to take part in affairs of state, Excellency. I feel my family’s had more than its share of power in Dannon’s brief history, and that I should step aside.”
“I understand perfectly,” Kilross said. “I believe you made something of the same sort of speech the last time I saw you. Seven years ago, wasn’t it, when I offered you the premiership and you refused it?”
Curtly White said, “Seventh of Sevenmonth, 3107. Odd how the sevens haunted us. But I didn’t come here today to discuss my private feelings, Excellency.”
“Naturally. Cigarette, Mr. White?”
White took it and flicked the igniting cap. It was an Earther cigarette, with a strange alien tang to it. It seemed mild, lacking in bite. He preferred the local brand of tobacco that grew in the blue-black soil of the southern farm-ranges.
At length he said, “I’m here on a matter of grave concern to Mr. Henderson and his cabinet. They asked me to represent them here today.”
“I’m listening.”
“I came to discuss Home Rule for Dannon’s World,” White said evenly.
There was an immediate change in the Protector’s manner. He straightened up tensely, almost like some jungle beast that had been lounging sleepily in the noonday sun but now sensed the approach of danger. The heavy lids of the Protector’s gray eyes drew back. Very abruptly there was nothing at all effete about Resident Protector Kilross.
“Just how are you involved in the Home Rule agitation, Mr. White?”
Stonily White said, “I agreed to bring a petition to you. I have it here, with me. Would you care to examine it?”
Without waiting for a reply he drew the petition from its portfolio and slipped it across the burnished desk toward the Protector. Kilross’ fleshy lips pursed in a sort of smirk as he accepted the little booklet and lifted its green fabrikoid cover.
The room was silent for several minutes as the Protector skimmed through the document. Finally he looked up and said, “I’ve seen declarations like this before. Have you read it?”
White nodded. “It requests you to contact Earth and make the necessary arrangements for a change of status for Dannon’s World.”
“This is the fourth such petition I’ve received since Mr. Henderson took office,” Kilross murmured gently. “He’s persistent, at least.”
“He’s received no response to any of his petitions, Excellency. I don’t know Henderson well, but I understand he’s a rather impatient man.”
“Quite.”
Kilross slipped almost reluctantly from the grip of the relaxer and crossed the room to a slate-gray file cabinet. He touched a black stud; the cabinet sprang open. White saw him unseal an inner section and draw out several fabrikoid-bound portfolios.
“Contrary to public opinion, Mr. White, I don’t throw these things away. I file them.” Kilross dumped them down on the desk and indicated with a gesture that White was to examine them.
White leafed through them hastily and glanced up at the Protector.
“These are the three previous petitions!”
“And now I have a fourth for my collection. And there will be a fifth and a sixth and no doubt a seventh. Our Mr. Henderson can’t take no for an answer.”
Kilross sat down again and stared squarely across the desk at White. “My main job is to keep law and order on your planet, but I’m also here as a committee of one to determine when you’ve reached the point of Home Rule. Obviously you have not gotten there yet. I told Mr. Henderson this when he submitted his first petition. Tell me, White: do you honestly believe Dannon’s World deserves Home Rule status now?”
White nodded forcefully. “I do. And my father thought so, seven years ago. I happen to know he was planning to file such a petition just before his death.”
“Ah,” Kilross said. “That was seven years ago. Dannon’s World has changed in seven years, and not necessarily for the best, either. I spoke of now.”
“I think this petition should be forwarded to Earth—with a positive recommendation.”
“No. Dannon’s World isn’t ready for Home Rule status yet.”
“Is that final?”
“It is. And if the Henderson government should send me one, two, three, or thirty-three more of these little petitions, I’ll be compelled to ignore them the way I’ve ignored the first four.”
White rose suddenly. He wanted to reach out and smash the smug Earthman behind the desk. “There won’t be any more petitions, Excellency.”
“Oh?”
“I give you fair warning. Henderson’s a ruthless man. He wants independence for Dannon’s World in the worst way, and he wants it now, while he’s in charge of things. If this petition isn’t granted, you can expect a revolution.”
The word hung in the air, ugly, naked, mingling with the bluish clouds of cigarette smoke that the precipitrons had failed to clear away.
Revolution.
A network of worlds radiated outward from Earth in gigantic bounds across the black quilt of the night. And on one of the farthest and newest of the colonies an old and familiar word was resounding.
Revolution.
“So,” Kilross said, “either I grant you the Home Rule you don’t deserve, or Henderson seizes it? How interesting. Suppose we wait and see. You can tell Mr. Henderson, if you care to, that I choose not to sign this latest petition. Now it’s his turn to move.”
White nodded. He stared at the bland, mild, well-tended face of the plump Earthman, and rage flickered through him. He wanted to say, Wake up, Protector Kilross! Wake up and act or Henderson will rip you out of your cozy residence and toss you outback to the wolves, and with you our chances of Home Rule for the next hundred years. He wanted to shout, Earth will put down the rebellion and we’ll be tinder martial law for decades. All because you’re too lazy to do what needs to be done!
“Excellency,” White said, choking back his anger, “I presume you’ll send for Henderson right away—before he has time to do anything foolish?”
Kilross blinked thoughtfully. “I don’t feel any need to speak to Mr. Henderson.”
“Don’t you see, if you could only calm him down somehow, keep him from doing anything rash . . . Perhaps one word from you . . .”
“Mr. Henderson is the duly elected head of state on Dannon’s World,” Kilross said frostily. “He is free to act as he wishes within the bounds of his office. But I will not interfere until such time as he has actually exceeded those bounds, not before. Is that quite clear, Mr. White?”
White was silent for a moment, baffled and angry. A curve of events was taking shape, and he didn’t like its implications.
I get it, he thought. Give Henderson enough rope, let him rebel, and then hang him. But what about Dannon’s World? We’ll suffer. And you could prevent all this if you wanted to!
In a rigidly calm voice he said, “I believe we’ve reached the end of this discussion, Excellency. I have nothing further to say. May I be excused?”
“You can go, White,” the Protector said. With a casual flip of his hand he increased the vibrational intensity of his relaxer, while with his other hand he buzzed for the robot to show White out.
After the colonial had gone, Kilross nodded approvingly, smiling. He had plenty to tell when he rang Stoneham up on the solido for their next meeting. White had been hooked; he was free to wriggle, but the course of events from here on was fixed.
He’s tough, all right, Kilross thought. Tough and stubborn and smart. And before I’m through with him he’ll hold the fob he was meant to hold. But he still needs a little push—
III
” . . . Inexorable is the wheel of Zeus, and many a thing he brings to pass contrary to our expectation; that which we thought would be, is not accomplished, while for the unexpected, Zeus finds a way.”
Andromache
Night had dropped by the time Austin White returned to his apartment; the two bright snow-faced moons of Dannon’s World danced in the skies, and behind them the hard speckles that were the stars gleamed profusely. Sometimes White liked to stare at them, wondering whether he was seeing the sun of Earth, but now he did not look up. He had phoned the Capitol to report on Kilross’ reply, but his own involvement with the problem did not end there. He was a deeply angry individual just now. He seethed.
He was angry at Klein, first of all, for having dragged him into the situation in the first place. But he was angrier at Henderson, that coldblooded, opportunistic idiot, and still angrier at that fatuous dandy, the Resident Protector Kilross.
White slipped a musicdisk into the player—a late Beethoven quartet, a thing of subtle textures and nuances—but his mind was too bound up in political considerations to allow him enjoyment. He could not follow Beethoven’s intricate structural logic this time, and for some reason the pale-hued sound of the violins seemed whining, irritating, foolish to him. Angrily he snapped the machine off, thinking blackly of Kilross.
Kilross. A man with life tenure, an easygoing man, a lazy man, perhaps. This, thought White bitterly, is our Protector. This is the man chosen to dispense the age-old wisdom of the Mother World to the struggling benighted colonials.
Kilross was not stupid. He undoubtedly knew in full what the inevitable consequences of his action would be. A revolt, no doubt, and the Protector would find it necessary to call in the nearest wing of the Patrol to quiet matters down.
Dannon’s World would swiftly and inevitably yield to the greater might of Earth—and the limited-rule constitution would be suspended; the world would revert to its original status as a territorial possession governed directly by distant Earth.
It was within Kilross’ power to dissolve the Henderson government and order a new general election. Perhaps a moderate—Klein, maybe—would become Premier. Catastrophe could be averted. But, thought White, Kilross had simply washed his hands of the matter. He was going to sit back and wait, and see, and give Henderson enough rope.
