Frank Herbert - The Godmakers

Stetson noted Orne’s attention, said: “I believe we have most of it now. Let’s just check it over once more for luck. You landed here ten weeks ago, right?”

“Yes. I was set down by a landing boat from the R&R transport, Arneb Rediscovery .”

“This was your first mission?”

“I told you that. I graduated from Uni-Galacta with the class of ’07, and did my apprentice work on Timurlain.”

Stetson frowned. “Then they sent you right out here to this newly rediscovered backwater planet?”

“That’s right.”

“I see. And you were full of the old rah-rah, the old missionary spirit to uplift mankind, all that sort of thing.”

Orne blushed, scowled.

Stetson nodded. “I see they’re still teaching that ‘cultural renaissance’ bushwa at dear old Uni-Galacta.” He put a hand to his breast, raised his voice in an elaborate caricature: “We must reunite the lost planets with the centers of culture and industry, and take up the glo -rious onward march of mankind that was cut off so brutally by the Rim Wars!”

He spat on the floor.

“I think we can skip all that,” Orne muttered.

“You’re sooooo right,” Stetson said. “Now, what’d you bring with you to this lovely vacation spot?”

“I had a dictionary compiled by First-Contact, but it was pretty sketchy in…”

“Who was that First-Contact?”

“Name on the dictionary says André Bullone.”

“Oh—Any relation to High Commissioner Bullone?”

“I don’t know.”

Stetson scribbled something on his papers. “And that First-Contact report says this is a special place, a peaceful planet with a primitive farming-hunting economy, eh?”

“That’s right.”

“Uh-huh. What else’d you bring into this garden spot?”

“The usual stuff for my job and reports… and a transmitter, of course.”

“And you pushed the panic button on that transmitter two days ago, eh? Did we get here fast enough for you?”

Orne glared at the floor.

Stetson said: “I suppose you’ve the usual eidetic memory crammed with cultural-medical-industrial-technological information.”

“I’m a fully qualified R&R agent!”

“We will observe a minute of reverent silence,” Stetson said. Abruptly, he slammed a hand onto the table. “It’s a plain damn stupidity! Nothing but a political come-on!”

Orne snapped to angry attention. “What?”

“This R&R dodge, sonny. It’s demagoguery; it’s perpetuating a few political lives by endangering all of us. You mark my words: We’re going to re discover one planet too many; we’re going to give its people the industrial foundation they don’t deserve; and we’re going to see another Rim War to end all Rim Wars!”

Orne took a step forward, glaring. “Why’n hell do you think I pushed the panic button?”

Stetson sat back, his calm restored by the outburst. “My dear fellow, that’s what we’re now trying to determine.” He tapped his front teeth with the stylus. “Now, just why did you call us?”

“I told you! It’s…” He waved a hand at the window.

“You felt lonely and wanted the I-A to come hold your hand, that it?”

“Oh, go to hell!” Orne barked. “In due time, son. In due time.” Stetson’s drooping eyelids drooped even farther.

“Now… just what’re they teaching you R&R dummies to look for these days?”

Orne swallowed another angry reply. “War signs.”

“What else? But let’s be specific.”

“We look for fortifications, for war games among the children, for people drilling or other signs of armylike group activities…”

“Such as uniforms?”

“Certainly! And for war scars, wounds on people and buildings, the level of wound treatment knowledge in the medical profession, indications of wholesale destruction—you know, things like that.”

“The gross evidence.” Stetson shook his head from side to side. “Do you consider this adequate?”

“No, damn it, I don’t!”

“You’re sooooo right,” Stetson said. “Hmmmmmm. Let’s us dig a little deeper. I don’t quite understand what bothers you about the honest citizenry here.”

Orne sighed, shrugged. “They have no spirit, no bounce. No humor. They live in perpetual seriousness bordering on gloom.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I… I… uh…” Orne wet his lips with his tongue.

“I… uh… told the Leaders’ Council our people are very interested in a steady source of froolap bones for making left-handed bone china saucers.”

Stetson jerked forward. “You what?”

“Well, they were so damn serious all the time. I just had as much of it as I could take and, well, I… uh…”

“What happened?”

“They asked for a detailed description of the froolap and the accepted method of preparing the bones for shipment.”

“What’d you tell them?”

“Well, I… Well, according to my description they decided Hamal doesn’t have any froolaps .”

“I see,” Stetson said. “That’s what’s wrong with this place, no froolaps .”

Now I’ve done it, Orne thought. Why can’t I keep my big mouth shut? I’ve just convinced him I’m nuts!

“Any big cemeteries, national monuments, that sort of thing?” Stetson asked.

“Not a one. But they have this custom where they plant their dead vertically and put an orchard tree over them. There are some mighty big orchards.”

“You think that’s significant?”

“It bothers me.”

Stetson took a deep breath, leaned back. He tapped his stylus on the table, stared into the distance. Presently, he asked: “How’re they taking to reeducation?”

“They’re very interested in the industrial end. That’s why I’m here in Pitsiben village. We’ve located a tungsten source nearby and—”

“What about their medical people?” Stetson interrupted. “Wound knowledge, that sort of thing?”

“It’s difficult to say.” Orne said. “You know how it is with medics. They have this idea they already know everything and it’s difficult to find out just what they do know. I’m making progress, though.”

“What’s their general medical level?”

“They’ve a good basic knowledge of anatomy, surgery and bone setting. I get no pattern, though, in their knowledge of wounds.”

“Do you have any ideas why this planet is so backward?” Stetson asked.

“Their history says Hamal was accidentally seeded by sixteen survivors—eleven women and five men—from a Tritsahin cruiser disabled in an engagement during the early part of the Rim Wars. They landed with a lifeboat without much equipment and damn little know-how. I take it they were mostly black gang who got away.”

“And here they sat until R&R came along,” Stetson said. “Lovely. Just lovely.”

“That was five hundred Standard Years ago,” Orne said.

“And these gentle people are still farming and hunting,” Stetson murmured. “Oh, lovely.” He glared up at Orne. “How long would it take this planet, granting they have the aggressive drive, to become a definite war menace?”

Orne said: “Well—there are two uninhabited planets in the system they could build up for raw materials. Oh, I’d say twenty to twenty-five S-years after they got the industrial foundation on their home planet.”

“And how long before the aggressive core would have the know-how to go underground so we’d have to blast the planet apart to get at them?”

“Give ’em a year the way they’re going now.”

“You are beginning to see the sweet little problem you R&R dummies create for us!” Stetson pointed an accusing finger at Orne. “And let us make one little slip! Let us declare a planet aggressive and bring in an occupation force and let your damn spies find out we made a mistake!” He doubled his hand into a fist. “A- ha! ”