Robert Silverberg: Starhaven

“You said you had laws. How does that square with what you just told me?”

Thurdan smiled. “We have laws, all right. Two of them. And only two.”

“I’m listening.”

“The first one is something generally known as the Golden Rule. I phrase it like this. ‘Expect the same sort of treatment yourself that you hand out to others.’ That’s simple enough, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so. And the other?”

Thurdan grinned darkly and nipped at his drink before speaking. “The second law is even simpler: ‘You’ll do whatever Ben Thurdan tells you to do, without argument, question, or hesitation.’ Period. End of the Starhaven Constitution.”

Mantell was silent for a moment, watching the big rawboned man in the glaring costume and thinking about the sort of world Starhaven was. Then he said, “That second law contradicts the first one, wouldn’t you say? I mean, so far as you’re concerned.”

He nodded. “Oh, certainly.”

“How come you rate, then? How come you can place yourself beyond the laws?”

His eyes flashed. “Because I built Starhaven,” he said slowly. “I devoted my life and every penny I could steal to setting up a planet where guys like you could come and hide. In return, I get the right of absolute dominance. Believe me, I don’t abuse my power. I’m no Nero. I set things up this way because Starhaven has to be run by a single forceful leader.”

Mantell’s brows knit. There was, he had to admit, even though reluctantly, plenty of truth in what he was saying. It was a weird, even devilish philosophy of government—but it seemed to work, at least here on Star-haven. It hung together consistently.

“Okay,” Mantell said. “I’m with you.”

Thurden smiled. “You never had any choice,” he said. “Here. Take this.”

He handed Mantell a small white capsule. Mantell studied it. “What is it?”

“It’s the antidote to the poison that was in your drink,” Thurdan said. “I suggest you take it within the next five minutes, if you’re going to take it at all. Otherwise it may be unpleasant.”

Mantell repressed a shiver and hastily popped the capsule into his mouth. It tasted faintly bitter, and dissolved against his tongue. He felt chilled. So this was what it was like to be in the absolute grasp of one man!

Well, he thought, I asked for it. I came to Starhaven of my own free will. Here I am, and here I’ll stay.

Thurdan said, “You have a week to Telax and learn the ropes here, Mantell. After that you’ll have to begin earning your keep. There’s plenty of work here for a skilled armaments man.”

“I won’t mind getting back to work.”

Thurdan grinned at Mantell. “Have another drink?”

“Sure,” Mantell said. He dialed and drank without hesitation. There was no better way to show that he trusted Thurdan.

The two men drank, and finished their drinks. Mantell could distinguish no difference between the drink he had had before and this one—but he relied on the fact that Thurdan seemed to need him, and that the big man seemed too sane to poison a man for the sheer pleasure of it.

A few moments later Thurdan jabbed a button at his desk and the girl with star-blue eyes came in. She wore a large-sleeved synthilk blouse of electric blue, buttoned high on one shoulder, and a dark skirt of some soft clinging material that accentuated her graceful walk. If the outfit was calculated to make an effect on Mantell, it accomplished its purpose.

Thurdan said, “Mantell, this is Miss Myra Butler, my secretary.” And Johnny Mantell was conscious of Thur-dan’s swift glance at the girl; a look that held both warmth and pride, and gave Mantell a sudden start. He thought; Lord! Thurdan’s in love with her! He must be twenty years older, but I admire his taste.

“Hello,” he said, smiling straight into the shining blue eyes that eclipsed even the crackling brilhant color of her blouse. Resolutely then he pulled his gaze away from hers. Watch your step, Johnny, he cautioned himself. If Thurdan is in love with her, you can land in a big bunch of trouble without half trying. Take it easy, boy, and live longer.

But on the other hand, he could never recall meeting a woman with the same magnetic appeal that Myra had for him. It was as if he were drawn to her by powerful invisible cables. To be sure, he had known beautiful women during his earliest days on Mulciber, before all his money and self-respect had gone. But in the dreary later years of combing the beaches and hawking shells to tourists, he knew that the only kind of woman who would have anything to do with Johnny Mantell was the kind of woman that Johnny Mantell didn’t want to have anything to do with.

Thurdan said, “Mantell’s going to be an armaments technician, Myra. He’s going to be very useful to us, I think. I want you to show him around Starhaven. Give him the number one guided tour. He has a week to get the feel of the place. You show him the sights.”

“That sounds like a pretty pleasant week,” Mantell said. It couldn’t hurt to praise Thurdan’s choice in women a little, he thought.

Thurdan ignored the remark. He took a crumpled handful of bills from his pocket and shoved them at Mantell.

“Here. Here’s some walking-around money to see you through the week. You go on the regular payroll as soon as you start working.”

Mantell looked at the bills. They were neatly printed, in various colors. They looked vaguely like the standard Terra-issued Galactic currency. But they weren’t Galactic issues at all.

In the center, where the stylized star-cluster design is found on the high Galactic bills, and the atom-diagram symbol on the low ones, these notes had a portrait of Ben Thurdan, head and shoulders, in remarkable detail. The denominations were interesting too. Thurdan had given him two hundred-chip bills, a fifty, a twenty, and some single-chips.

“Chips?” Mantell said, puzzled.

Thurdan chuckled. “The local unit of currency. I’ve always thought it was appropriate on a world like Star-haven. Just so you can guide yourself, one chip equals one Galactic credit in purchasing power. A hundred cents equals one chip. Originally I was going to have blue chips, red chips, and so on, but that turned out to be too complicated. . . . Show him around, Myra.”

They made their way through shining well-lighted halls, the girl slightly in the lead and Mantell behind, into a gravshaft that lowered them gracefully and smoothly to street level. They stepped outside into the fresh and pleasant air.

A car was waiting at the curb for them—a slinky dark teardrop style, in the latest model. Thurdan had obviously made his mind up that Starhaven would keep abreast of the current stream of galactic fashions, even though the planet was closed to normal trade and tourist travel.

Myra slid into the car and murmured something to the stony-faced man behind the wheel. By the time Mantell had both legs in the car, it had pulled away from the sidewalk and was under way.

Hardly any time later, it was pulling up again, outside a glittering chrome-trimmed building. Myra reached into her purse and handed Mantell a key.

“You see the building on the left?”

Mantell nodded.

The girl said, “The name of that place is Number Thirteen. It’s a hotel that Ben runs. You’re going to live here.”

“Can I afford it?”

“Don’t worry about that. Your room number is 1306. Any time you’re anywhere in Starhaven and you want to get here, just ask a driver to take you to Number Thirteen. They’ll know the place. Do you want to take a look at your room now?”

“Later will be fine,” Johnny Mantell said, disliking the thought of being away from the girl.