Raymond Jones: Cubs of the Wolf

With a start, Cameron came to greater attention. He was certain he had never given any such information in the presence of Sal Karone or Marthasa. Yet even Venor knew he was a sociologist! Here was the first knowledge that must lie behind the evidence of the undercurrent of objections of the Markovian representative in the Council and Premier Jargla.

And this primitive patriarch was in possession of it.

Relations between the individuals of this planet were something far more complex than Cameron had assumed. He hesitated a moment before speaking. Just why had this bait been so innocently thrown to him? Marthasa had never mentioned it. Yet had the Markovians asked for an attempt to get an admission from him for their own purposes? And what purposes—?

He abandoned caution, and nodded. ”Yes, that is the thing I am interested in. I had hoped to study the history and ways of the Markovians. As Sal Karone has told me, they don't want strangers to make such a study. You are perhaps not so unwilling to be known—?”

”We wish the entire Universe might know of us and be as we are.”

”You hardly make that possible, subjugating your identity so completely to that of another race. The worlds will never know of you unless you become strong and unified as a people and obtain a name of your own.”

”Our name is known,” said Venor. ”We are the Idealists. You will not find many worlds on which we are unknown, and they call us the ones who serve. Even on your world you have the saying of a philosopher who taught that any who would be master should become the servant of all. Your people once understood it.”

”Not as a literal undertaking,” said Cameron. ”You can't submerge your entire racial identity as you have done. That is not what the saying meant.”

”To us it does,” said Venor solemnly. ”We would master the Universe — and therefore we must serve it. That is the core of the law of the Idealists.”

Cameron let his gaze scan through the window to the small clearing in the thick forest, to the circle of wooden houses. We would master the Universe — he restrained a smile.

”You cannot believe this,” said Venor, ”because you have never understood the mark of the servant or the mark of the master. How often is there difficulty in distinguishing one from the other!”

And how often do the illusions of the mind ease the privations of the body, Cameron thought. So that was the source of the Idealist serenity. Wherever they went they considered themselves the masters through service — and conversely, those they served became the slaves, he supposed. It was a pleasant, easy philosophy that hurt no one. Except the ones who believed it. They died the moment they accepted it, for all initiative and desire were gone.

”The master is he who guides the destiny of a man or a race,” said Venor almost in meditation. ”He is not the man who gathers or disperses the wealth, or who builds the cities and the ships to the stars. The master is he who teaches what must be done with these things and how a people shall expend their lives.”

”And the Markovians do this, in obedience to you?” said Cameron whimsically.

”Wherever my people are,” answered Venor, ”strife ceases and peace comes. Who can do this is master of worlds.”

There was a strange solemnity about the voice and figure of the old Idealist that checked the sense of ridiculousness in Cameron. It seemed somehow strangely moving.

”You believe the worlds are better,” he asked gently, ”just because you are there?”

”Yes,” said Venor, ”because we are there.”

There was a pathos about it that fired Cameron's anger. On scores of worlds there were primitive groups like this one, blinding themselves with a glory that didn't exist, in the grip of ancient, meaningless traditions. The younger ones — like Sal Karone — were intelligent, worth salvaging, but they could never be lifted out of this mire of false belief unless they could be shown how empty it was.

”Nothing you have said explains the mystery of how this great thing is accomplished,” said Cameron almost angrily. ”Even if we wanted to believe it were true, it is still as utterly incomprehensible as before we came.”

”There is a saying among us,” said Venor kindly. ”Translated into your tongue it would be: How was the wild dog tamed, and a saddle put upon the fierce stallion?”

Stubbornly, then, Venor would say no more about the philosophy of the Idealists. He spoke freely of the many other worlds upon which the Idealists lived and served, and he affirmed the tradition that they did not even know the place of their origin, the planet that might have been their home world.

He was evasive, however, when Cameron asked when the first contact was made between his people and the Markovians. There was something that the Ids, too, were holding back, the sociologist thought, and there was no apparent reason for it.

Recklessly, he decided nothing could be lost by attempting to blast for it. ”Why have the Markovians consistently lied to us?” he said. ”They've given us their history — and if your people know the feelings of other worlds they know this history is a lie. Only a few generations ago the Markovians pirated and plundered these worlds, and now they pose as little tin gods with a silver halo. Why?”

Sal Karone stood by with a look of horror on his face, but Venor made no sign of alarm at this forbidden question. He merely inclined his held slowly and repeated, ”How was the wild dog tamed, and a saddle put upon the fierce stallion?”

That was the end of the interview. The Ids insisted, however, that he inspect the rest of the village and they personally guided the Terrans on the tour. Cameron's trained eye took in at a glance, however, the evidence supporting his previous conclusion. The artifacts and buildings demonstrated a primitive forest culture. The other individuals he saw were almost entirely the old and very young — the ones unsuitable as servants to the Markovians. Venor explained that family life among them paralleled in general that of the Masters. Whole Idealist families lived and served as units in the Markovian household. Exceptions existed in the case of Sal Karone and others of his age who were separated from their families and had not yet begun their own.

As they returned to the car Venor took their hands. He pressed Cameron's warmly and looked into his eyes with deep sincerity. ”You have made us glad by your presence,” he said. ”And when the time comes for you to return, we shall repay all the pleasure you have given us.”

”I'm afraid we won't be able to do that,” said Cameron. ”We appreciate your hospitality, but I'm sure time will not permit us to visit you again, as much as we'd like to.” In the past few minutes he had reached the conclusion that further research on this whole planet was futile. The best thing they could do was go somewhere else in the Nucleus and make a fresh start.

Venor shook his head, smiling. ”We will see each other again, Joyce and Cameron. I feel that the day will be very soon.”

It was senseless to let himself be irritated by the senile patriarch who spoke out of a world of illusion but Cameron could not help feeling nettled as he started back to the city. Somehow it seemed impossible to regard Venor as merely a specimen for sociological research. The Chief of the Idealists reached out of his unreal world and made his contact with the Terrans a personal thing — almost as if he had spent all his life waiting for their coming. There was a sense of intimacy against which Cameron rebelled, and yet it was not an unpleasant thing.

Cameron's mind oscillated between the annoyance of Venor's calm assertion that they would be back shortly, and the nonsense of the Id belief that they controlled the civilizations in which they were servants. How was the wild dog tamed, and a saddle put upon the fierce stallion?