Mack Reynolds - The Rival Rigelians

“Of course not,” Mayer scoffed. “Man makes his greatest progress under pressure. A major war will unite the nations of both the western continent and this one as nothing else could. Both will push their development to the utmost.”

He added, thoughtfully, “Which reminds me. It might be a good idea for us to begin accumulating interests in such industries as will be affected by a war economy.”

Jerry Kennedy chuckled at him. “Merchant of death.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Kennedy said. “Something I read about on an historical tape.”

At the decade’s end, once again the representatives of the Genoese team were first in the Pedagogue’s lounge. Mayer sat at the officers’ table, Martin Gunther at his right. Jerry Kennedy leaned against the ship’s bar, sipping appreciatively at a highball in a tall glass; the drink was inordinately dark.

They could hear the impact of the spaceboat from Texcoco when it slid into its bed.

“Poor piloting,” Gunther mused. “Whoever’s doing that flying doesn’t get enough practice.”

They could hear the ports opening and then the sound of approaching feet. The footsteps had a strangely military ring, for a group of scientists and technicians.

Joe Chessman entered, followed immediately by Barry Watson, Dick Hawkins and Natt Roberts. They were all dressed in heavy uniform, complete with colorful decorations. Behind them were four Texcocans, including Reif and his teen-age son, Taller, also in uniform, though the other two Tulans wore civilian dress.

Mayer scowled at them in the way of greeting. “Where’s Plekhanov?” he snapped. “The agreement was that the heads of teams meet each decade.”

“Leonid Plekhanov is no longer with us,” Chessman said sourly. “Under pressure his mind evidently snapped and he made decisions that would have meant the collapse of the expedition. He resisted when we reasoned with him.”

The four members of the Genoese team stared without speaking. Jerry Kennedy put down his glass at last. “You mean you had to restrict him? Why didn’t you bring him back to the ship?”

Barry Watson said slowly, “He was put under guard. We were in combat. The men who guarded him disappeared in the fray. Leonid evidently died with them. We are lucky any of us survived.”

“You should have taken more efficient steps to protect him,” Mayer snapped. “I had my differences with Leonid Plekhanov, but, after all, he was second in command of this expedition. I am not at all sure, now that he is gone, who I will appoint to take his place.”

Dick Hawkins chuckled softly.

Chessman took a chair at the table. The others assumed standing positions behind him. He said coldly, “I am afraid we’ll have to reject your views on the subject. Twenty years ago this expedition split into two groups. My team will accomplish its original mission, its tasks. Your opinons are not needed.”

Amschel Mayer glared at the others in hostility but when he spoke again it was on a different subject. He said, “You have certainly come in force this time.”

Chessman said flatly, “Save for Mrs. Chessman, that is, Doctor Sanchez, and Steve Cogswell, who have been left behind to hold things together, this is all of us, Mayer.”

“All of you? Where are Stevens and MacBride?”

Barry Watson said, “Plekhanov’s fault. Lost in the battle that broke the back of the rebels. At least they died in good cause.”

Joe Chessman looked at his military chief. “I’ll act as team spokesman, Barry.”

“Broke the back of the rebels,” Jerry Kennedy mused. “That opens all sorts of avenues, doesn’t it?”

Chessman growled. “I suppose that in the past twenty years your team had no obstacles. Not a drop of blood shed. Come on, the truth. How many of your team has been lost in this peaceful program of yours?”

Mayer shifted in his chair. “Possibly your point is well taken. Nick Rykov fell into the hands of a group of malcontents, some of the barons and Temple monks who oppose our reforms. Our reports indicate he is dead.”

“Only one man lost, eh?”

Mayer stirred uncomfortably then flushed at the other’s tone. “Something has happened to Buchwald and MacDonald. They must be insane. They’ve broken off contact with me, are amassing personal fortunes in the eastern hemisphere.”

Hawkins laughed abruptly. “Free competition,” he said.

Barry Watson leaned forward and said to Kennedy, rather than to Amschel Mayer. “How is, uh, Doctor Wieliczka? Why didn’t she come?”

Kennedy cocked his head questioningly but said, “Too busy. She’s got a whole string of medical universities and hospitals under her care. However, she sent you a message.”

Watson looked at him. “Well?”

Kennedy said slowly, “She said, give him my love…”

Barry Watson flushed.

“…if he still wants it.”

Chessman growled. “Let’s halt this bickering and jabber and get to business. First, let me introduce Reif, Texcocan State Army Chief of Staff and his son Taller.”

Reif and his son came to a formal salute. The Earthmen from Genoa nodded acknowledgment, uncomfortably.

Chessman said, “And these other Texcocans are Wiss and Foken, both of whom have gone far in the sciences.”

The two Tulan scientists shook hands, Earth style, but then stepped to the rear again where they followed the conversation without comment.

Mayer said, “You think it wise to introduce natives to the Pedagogue ? Last time it was armed guards. This time prominent officials and scientists.”

“Of course,” Chessman said. “Following this conference I am going to take Foken and Wiss into the library. What are we here for if not to bring these people up to our level as rapidly as possible?”

“Very well,” Mayer conceded grudgingly. “And now I have a complaint. When the Pedagogue first arrived we had only so many weapons aboard. However, both teams have evidently run into more physical violence than was at first expected. And you have taken more than half of the ship’s weapons in the past two decades.”

Chessman shrugged it off. “We’ll return the greater part to the ship’s arsenal. At this stage, we are producing our own.”

“I’ll bet you are,” Jerry Kennedy said. “Look, any of you fellows want a real Earthside whiskey? When we were crewing this expedition, why didn’t we bring someone with a knowledge of distilling, brewing and fermenting?”

Mayer snapped at him. “Jerry, you drink too much.”

“The hell I do,” the other said cheerfully. “Not near enough.”

Barry Watson said easily, “A drink wouldn’t hurt. Why’re we so stiff? This is the first get-together for ten years. Jerry, you’re putting on weight.”

Kennedy looked down at his rounded stomach. “Don’t get enough exercise,” he said, then reversed the attack. “You look older, Barry. Are you taking your rejuvenation treatments?”

Barry Watson grimaced. “Sure, but I’m working under pressure. It’s been one long campaign.”

Kennedy passed around the drinks, thoughtfully refilling his own glass.

Dick Hawkins laughed. “It’s been one long campaign, all right. Barry has a house as big as a castle and six or eight—I don’t think he knows himself—women in his harem.”

Watson flushed, but obviously without displeasure.

Martin Gunther, of the Genoese team, cocked his head. “Harem?”

Joe Chessman said impatiently, “Man adapts to circumstances, Gunther. The wars have lost us a lot of men. Women are consequently in a surplus. If the population curve is to continue upward, it is necessary that a man serve more than one woman. Polygamy is the obvious answer.”