James White - Federation World

“For an off-worlder you understand me well,” the First said in a voice which suggested that he was not immune to a well-turned compliment. “Many of the second and third generation Keidi see the wisdom of my plan and give it total support. Many others join my Family but tire of the hard work that is necessary. Or they object to working under my direction, or ignore my teachings and try to leave me, their First Father, for what they believe will be an easier life. “They are a great disappointment to me.” So interested had Martin become in what the other was saying that he had almost forgotten the continuing pain in his head. He said, “I can understand that labor with no immediate reward is unpleasant, doubly so if there is disbelief in ultimate purpose of the work. Considering the advantages your Estate offers, particularly to those with young families, I don’t understand why they leave.”

“It shames me to admit it to a stranger, but there is dissatisfaction even among the young people of my own Estate, and strong measures are necessary to check its spread. My population is already dangerously small, and any further reduction would jeopardize the Great Plan, so these malcontents must be prevented from spreading their unsettling ideas or of leaving the Family.”

“Leaving it for where?” Martin asked quickly. If there was another Keidi leader offering his people better conditions, he wanted to know about it. The answer came as a total surprise.

“For your accursed white houses!” The First said angrily. “In spite of all warnings that the houses are no longer linked to the Galactics’ transportation system, that in all likelihood they will transmit all who enter them to the airiessness of space, or appeals to their pride in their race and constant reminders that we who remain on Keida are the chosen people who will one day surpass the Galactics who have tried to diminish us, our young people still try to enter those white houses. Some cannot pass the outer entrance. Others enter and are never seen again, and the dissidents who remain insist that they have gone, not to instant destruction, but to a better place.”

Martin’s hand stopped motionless on its way to his head. Beside him Beth had become white-faced and still. Neither of them spoke.

“We cannot afford to lose any more of our young people,” the Keidi went on more quietly, “and we consider it a most grievous offense to attempt an escape whether it is to death or some supposedly easier way of life. Those who try are restrained and forced to discharge their criminal obligation by working for the Plan. Now that guards have been posted at every white house on the Estate, the successful escapes are few. Malcontents are easily captured, fortunately, because they insist on trying to take their children and blood relations with them.”

Allowing his hand to fall slowly onto his lap, Martin said, “What kind of work do they do?”

“No Keidi will deliberately inflict serious injury or death on another,” the First said. “The lives of these criminals must be made as productive as possible, but the work that they must do is not of the kind which I would assign to a favorite offspring.”

Martin put both hands to his head as the thudding pain reached a crescendo, making it nearly impossible to think. He felt nauseous as well, although the words of the First could have been responsible for that.

He had thought for a while that the other had reformed, become a more responsible, farseeing, and altruistic person. But now it was all too plain that this particular Keidi predator had camouflaged, not changed, its spots. Martin was staring into the dry, fissured mouth of the other’s speaking horn, but he was seeing the hundreds of grave markers of the so-called dissidents who had been forced to work, quite possibly with no radiation protection, in the old missile arsenal.

“With concerted opposition from without and malcontents burrowing from within,” the First went on, “the Great Plan will not long survive my death. There are actions I can take which should quell the opposition, extend and stabilize the Estate to the degree that my children and my children’s children may be able to steer my plan to its completion, but the future is still uncertain. It could well be that with your assistance these uncertainties can be removed. Complex negotiations will be necessary, however, and mutual safeguards devised, perhaps a voluntary and alternating hostage system worked out whereby one of you would remain here while the other operates the ship…”

He was hearing the Keidi’s words clearly but they had become meaningless to him. His head was pounding and he had a terrible need to get out of this place, to get away from the constant yammering of this utterly callous and hypocritical petty tyrant, to find the peace and quiet that would let him think straight. He leaned forward suddenly, elbows on his knees and placed his head between his hands. The untranslatable noise he made was expressive of mental anguish and frustration as much a physical pain.

“What’s wrong?” Beth said, looking really concerned. “Is there physical discomfort?” the First asked quickly. “Earlier you asked for the doctor. The request was denied because it seemed at the time that your distress was feigned. But now, as a small and nondischargable obligation between new friends, I am willing to allow the doctor to attend you.”

“I don’t want him,” Martin said without looking up. “He knows nothing of the physiology or treatment of an off-planet patient. I would be in greater danger from the doctor than the disorder. I need the diagnostic and treatment facilities of the mother ship.”

“Impossible!” the First said. “Until our negotiations have been completed to my satisfaction, you will remain here.”

Beth put a hand on Martin’s shoulder and glared at the First. “No,” she said fiercely. “He is unwell. Disregard what he says. He does not want the doctor, he needs the doctor!”

The Keidi turned toward her, remaining silent.

“It shames me to say this,” she went on, “because we are a proud race who dislike showing weakness before others. But there are nonphysical aspects to my life-mate’s condition which are becoming more serious than the injury itself. Through pride he wishes these concealed from you. He also knows that during these negotiations, any sign of weakness will be exploited by you, no matter what kind of verbal misdirection you use to suggest the contrary. But I must be practical and forget our pride. There are things which a healer can be told, and forms of nonphysical help which even an other-species doctor can give. Do you understand me?”

Still the First remained silent.

“Speak, damn you!” Beth said. If she was feigning anger, then Martin could not tell it from the real thing. “I know that by making this admission, by revealing my strong personal concern in this matter, I have given you a powerful lever to use against us. But know also that if my life-mate does not receive all the help possible, there will be no advantage to you, no support from the hyper-ship for your Great Plan, nothing. There is no other lever that you can use, no chastisement up to and including ultimate force that you can exert, that will gain my cooperation. Do you understand that?

The First raised a hand and for a moment Martin thought he would strike her, but he used it only to gesture to the guard in the doorway.

One of the Keidi brought in a small, square cage and set it on the bed. Inside the narrowly spaced bars they could see a smaller cage suspended loosely at its center, and inside that one of their wrist units twisted and turned on a narrow cord. There was no way that they could reach it with their fingers, or quickly introduce a narrow instrument, if one had been available, to hold it steady while they made the change from translation to communication mode.