Lloyd Biggle Jr.: The World Menders

“If it’d had some, maybe they would have been needed,” Farrari said.

Jorrul hobbled in and seated himself on an unused table. “Big ruckus at the other end of the corridor,” he said. “Super-specialist claims this CS trainee Farrari states in a report that he saw the olz build a shrine to a dead durrl and worship him.”

“Wrong,” Farrari said. “I said that’s what it looked like to me. What they thought it was I have no idea.”

“Could the rascz have taught it to them?” Jorrul asked.

“It’s very likely. Just as the rascz probably taught them their religion, if you want to call it that, and taught the olz of the caretaker villages to look after the dead. Obviously the olz have a startling capacity for learned responses, and just as obviously the rascz can’t comprehend that there is no rationale whatsoever behind those responses. Or they couldn’t comprehend it at the time they set up the religion. It all happened so long ago that very few rascz today are aware that the olz are supposed to have one.”

“I’ve been asked for recommendations on future Bureau operations on Branoff IV,” Jorrul said. “No one seems to have reached any conclusions about this thing—all they do is stand around and argue about it—but they want me to make recommendations for future operations.”

“You might suggest that we try to influence the rascz to send expeditions beyond the mountains to search for new food plants,” Farrari said. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if they found some.”

“It’d surprise me,” Jorrul growled.

“It wouldn’t surprise me, because I’d include in the recommendation the suggestion that IPR import some that are suitable for this world and plant them so they’ll be there waiting for the expeditions.”

“You’re out of your mind!”

“This nonsense about strict adherence to principles in the face of dwindling food production that’ll eventually destroy the world’s only civilization has been carried far enough. Second, I’d recommend that IPR make a serious attempt to exploit the malsz.”

“What are the malsz?” the coordinator wanted to know.

“Neighborhood gossip clubs,” Jorrul said. “What’s there to exploit about them?”

“They elect their own officers, don’t they? And they have important responsibilities concerning sanitation and keeping the streets clean.”

“If you want to call them important.”

“Don’t you think it rather remarkable that there are flourishing democratic institutions, however small and insignificant, right under the entrenched toes of an absolute monarchy? Combine the malsz into a city-wide organization, and you have the rudimentary basis for a national democracy.”

“The rascz aren’t ready for the idea,” Jorrul said.

Farrari said disgustedly, “IPR still doesn’t understand the incredible error it’s made on this planet. It set up a two thousand year plan to democratize the olz, who need fifty or a thousand times that, and it virtually ignored the rascz, who are so ripe for democracy that they’re fumbling toward it on their own. Here’s another motto for your IPR manual: THE BEST WAY TO DETERMINE WHETHER OR NOT A PEOPLE ARE READY FOR AN IDEA IS TO SUGGEST IT TO THEM.”

“All right,” Jorrul said. “We’ll suggest it. What about the olz?” Farrari shook his head.

“Your second pilgrimage to the Life Temple bore results—did they tell you? The kru issued a stern order against mistreating an ol. The priests will also waste a lot of theology on your blunt statement that the olz are the kru’s people, but that won’t get the olz an adequate diet in winter.”

“It’ll take new food crops to do that.”

“I’ll suggest them. What’s the object of this new complex of laboratories?”

“To learn,” Farrari said.

“That sounds like an excellent suggestion, the kind Bureau Headquarters hardly ever turns down. As concerns the olz, I’ll recommend that we learn something about them, with the added information that our local ol expert already has several laboratory programs in operation.”

“As long as you don’t identify the ol expert, that’s satisfactory with me,” Farrari said. “I’m being asked too many questions as it is.”

Jorrul pushed himself to his feet and reached for his cane.

“Come and visit us?” Farrari asked.

“I will,” Jorrul promised. “The first chance I get.”

He hobbled away.

“Are you leaving right away?” the coordinator asked.

“Yes. Unless I’m ordered, I won’t be back until the mob disperses.”

“I won’t order you unless someone orders me,” The coordinator promised. “I think I will move in here. Thanks.”

“Come and visit us?”

“As soon as I can get away.”

Farrari walked slowly along the corridor, sorting out the unrelenting blast or argument that flowed from every workroom.

“Of course the olz worship the rascz. There’s hardly a populated world in existence that doesn’t have some kind of domestic pet that worships its human masters, no matter how much those masters mistreat it.”

Rascz gave the olz a religion modeled on their own. Those burial caves. Did you know about the cave under the city of Scorv? The rascz bury their dead there.”

“Look. If the olz are animals, maybe they have a highly developed sense of smell. Maybe that’s why we lost so many ol agents. The olz could tell they weren’t olz, and then—”

“What’s wrong with the condition of the olz?” Farrari paused to listen. “ Give me another example of a domestic animal that has their measure of independence. I say the rascz and the olz have achieved a unique symbiosis. Neither could exist without the other. And when, eventually, the rascz achieve industrialization, the olz can be bred to perform many routine industrial tasks.”

Farrari moved on, shaking his head slowly. He came to Isa Graan’s supply section, and Graan greeted him with a smile. “Quite a madhouse, eh?”

“Quite,” Farrari agreed.

“And no one to blame but yourself,” Graan said with a chuckle. “All the visiting brass want to make the grand tour. Jorrul’s men are complaining about being nothing but a glorified escort service, and my men are doing nothing but run platforms around Scorvif. But it can’t last forever, I keep telling myself. They’ll get tired and go home, and then we can get back to normal.”

“We’ll never get back to normal,” Farrari said.

“Are those olz really animals?” “I don’t know.”

“As long as you don’t know, couldn’t you have kept it to yourself?”

Farrari grinned, and Graan grinned back at him and slapped him on the back. “I’ve been wondering,” Graan said. “Several of us have been wondering. Couldn’t this whole gambit be something you thought up to make the IPR brass do something about the olz?”

“You don’t fool a super-specialist with a gambit,” Farrari said.

They climbed aboard a small platform and a moment later they were riding the cool night air in a rapid descent to the foot of the mountain. The platform landed; Farrari got out, softly called his thanks, and watched Graan take off.

For a moment he stood looking at the valley below, where an ol night-fire flickered. Then Farrari turned, the mountain opened before him and closed after him, and he went directly to the observation room. Liano greeted him with a smile.