Poul Anderson - The Long Way Home

And, curse it all, a man was more than a logic machine.

“Your thinking is muddy,” said Thrymka. “You may clarify it by formulating your objections verbally.”

“I won’t have those men murdered,” said Brannoch flatly. “It’s an ethical question. I’d never forget what I had done.”

“Your society has conditioned you along arbitrary lines,” said Thrymka. “Like most of your relationship-concepts, it is senseless, contra-survival. Within a unified civilization, which man does not possess, such an ethic could be justified, but not in the face of existing conditions. You are ordered to have those men killed.”

“Suppose I don’t?” asked Brannoch softly.

“When the Council hears of your insubordination, you will be removed and all your chances for attaining your own ambitions vanish.”

“The Council needn’t hear. I could crack that tank of yours. You’d explode like deep-sea fish. A very sad accident.”

“You will not do that. You cannot dispense with us. Also, the fact of your guilt would be known to all Thrymans on the Council as soon as you appeared before it.”

Brannoch’s shoulders slumped. They had him, and they knew it. According to his own orders from home, they had the final say—always.

He poured himself a stiff drink and gulped it down. Then he thumbed a special communicator. “Yantri speaking. Get rid of those two motors. Dismantle the parts. Immediately. That’s all.”

The rain poured in an endless heavy stream. Brannoch stared emptily out into it. Well—that was that. I tried .

The glow of alcohol warmed him. It had gone against the grain, but he had killed many men before, no few of them with his own hand. Did the manner of their death make such a difference? There were larger issues at stake. There was his own nation, a proud folk, should they become the tributaries of this walking corpse which was Solar civilization? Two lives against a whole culture?

And there was the land. Always there was the land, space and fertility, a place to strike roots, a place to build homes and raise sons. There was something unreal about a city. Money was a fever-dream, a will-o’—the-wisp which had exhausted many lives. Only in soil was there strength.

And Earth had fair broad acres.

He shook himself, driving out the last cold which lay in his blood. Much to do yet. “I suppose,” he said, “that you know Langley is coming here today.”

“We have read that much in your brain. We are not sure why Chanthavar permits it.”

“To get a lead on me, of course, an idea of my procedures. Also, he would have to set himself against higher authorities, some of whom are in my pay, who have decreed that Langley shall have maximum freedom for the time being. There’s a good deal of sentimentality about this man from the past and- Well, Chanthavar would defy them if he thought there was something to gain; but right now he wants to use Langley as bait for me. Give me enough voltage to electrocute myself.”

Brannoch grinned, suddenly feeling almost cheerful. “And I’ll play along. I’ve no objections at all to his knowing my game at present, because there isn’t much he can do about it. I’ve invited Langley to drop over for a talk. If he knows where Saris is, you can read it in his mind: I’ll direct the conversation that way. If he doesn’t, then I have a scheme for finding out exactly when he’s figured out the problem and what the answer is.”

“The balance is very delicate,” said Thrymka. “The moment Chanthavar suspects we have a lead, he will take measures.”

“I know. But I’m going to activate the whole organization—spying, sabotage, sedition, all over the Solar System. That will keep him busy, make him postpone his arrest and interrogation of Langley till he’s sure the fellow knows. Meanwhile, we can—” A bell chimed. “That must be him now, downshaft. Here we go!”

Langley entered with a slow step, hesitating in the doorway. He looked very tired. His conventional clothes were no disguise for him—even if he had not been of fairly unmixed race, you would have known him for an outsider by his gait, his gestures, a thousand subtle hints. Brannoch thought in a mood of sympathy how lonesome the man must be. Then, with a secret laughter: We’ll fix that!

Stepping forward, his flame-red cloak swirling from his shoulders, the Centaurian smiled. “Good day, captain. It’s very kind of you to come. I’ve been looking forward to a talk with you.”

“I can’t stay long,” said Langley.

Brannoch flashed a glance at the window. A fighting ship hovered just outside, rain sluicing off its flanks. There would be men posted everywhere, spy-beams, weapons in readiness. No use to try kidnapping this time. “Well, please sit down. Have a drink.” Flopping his own huge form into a chair: “You’re probably bored with silly questions about your period and how you like it here, I won’t bother you that way. But I did want to ask you something about the planets you stopped at.”

Langley’s gaunt face tightened. “Look here,” he said slowly, “the only reason I came was to try and get my friends away from you.”

Brannoch shrugged. “I’m very sorry about that.” His tone was gentle. “But you see, I haven’t got them. I’ll admit I wanted to, but somebody else got there first.”

“If that isn’t a lie, it’ll do till one comes along,” said the spaceman coldly.

Brannoch sipped his drink. “Look here, I can’t prove it to you. I don’t blame you for being suspicious. But why fasten the guilt on me particularly? There are others who were just as anxious. The Commercial Society, for instance.”

“They—” Langley hesitated.

“I know. They picked you up a couple nights ago. News gets around. They must have sweet-talked you. How do you know they were telling the truth? Goltam Valti likes the devious approach. He likes to think of himself as a web-weaver, and he’s not bad at it either.”

Langley fixed him with tormented eyes. “Did you or did you not take those men?” he asked harshly.

“On my honor, I did not.” Brannoch had no scruples when it came to diplomacy. “I had nothing to do with what happened that night.”

“There were two groups involved. One was the Society. What was the other?”

“Possibly Valti’s agents, too. It’d be helpful if you thought of him as a rescuer. Or... here’s a possibility. Chanthavar himself staged that kidnaping. He wanted to try interrogation but keep you in reserve. When you escaped him, Valti’s gang may have seized the chance. Or Valti himself may be in Chanthavar’s pay—or even, fantastic as it sounds, Chanthavar in Valti’s. The permutations of bribery—” Brannoch smiled. “I imagine you got a good scolding when you returned to friend Channy.”

“Yeah. I told him what to do with it, too. I’ve been pushed around long enough.” Langley took a deep gulp of his drink.

“I’m looking into the affair,” said Brannoch. “I have to know myself. So far, I’ve not been able to discover anything. It is not that there are no clues—but too many.”

Langley’s fingers twisted together. “Think I’ll ever see those boys again?” he asked.

“It’s hard to say. But don’t set your hopes up, and don’t accept any offers to trade their lives for your information.”

“I won’t... or wouldn’t have... I think. There’s too much at stake.”

“No,” murmured Brannoch. “I don’t think you would.”

He relaxed still further and drawled out the key question: “ Do you know where Saris Hronna is?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Haven’t you any ideas? Isn’t there some probable place?”

“I don’t know.”

“You may be stalling, of course,” said Brannoch. “I won’t badger you about it. Just remember, I’m prepared to offer a very generous payment, protection, and transportation to the world of your choice, in return for that information. The world may well be Earth herself... in a few years.”