Mack Reynolds - The Rival Rigelians

Watson looked from one Earthling to the next. “Then are we in agreement?”

Each in turn nodded.

Peter MacDonald said, “And do you all realize that here we have a unique situation that might be exploited for the benefit of the whole human race?”

They looked at him, intrigued, but questioningly.

“The dynamic we find in Genoa, and Texcoco, too, for that matter, though we disagree on so many fundamentals, is beyond that in the Solar System. These are new planets, new ambitions are alive. We have at our fingertips, man’s highest developments, evolved on Earth. But with this new dynamic, this freshness, might we not in time push even beyond old Earth?”

“You mean…” Natt Roberts said.

MacDonald nodded and pursed fat lips. “What particular value is gained by our uniting Genoa and Texcoco with the so-called Galactic Commonwealth? Why not press ahead on our own? With the vigor of these new races, we might well leave Earth far behind.”

Barry Watson mused, “Carrying your suggestion to the ultimate, who is to say that one day Rigel might not become the new center of the human race, rather than Sol?”

“A point well taken,” Gunther agreed.

All the others of Earth nodded their solemn agreement.

“No,” Taller said softly.

The seven Earthlings turned hostile eyes to him.

“This particular matter does not concern you, General,” Watson rapped at him.

The grim visaged Taller smiled his dour amusement at that and came to his feet, to tower above them.

“No,” he said. “I am afraid that hard though it might be for you to give up the powers you have held so long, you Earthlings are going to have to return to Terra City, from whence you came.”

Isobel said languidly, “Oh, Taller, don’t be a flat.”

Baron Leonar, however, said in gentle agreement with the general, “But obviously, he is correct.”

“What is this?” Watson rapped. “I’m not at all amused.”

The Honorable Russ stood also and took his position next to Taller. “There is no longer use of prolonging this. I have heard you Earthlings say, more than once, that man adapts to preserve himself. Very well, we of Genoa and Texcoco are adapting to the present situation. We are of the belief that if you are allowed to remain in power we of the Rigel planets will be destroyed, probably in an atomic holocaust. In self-protection we have found it necessary to unite, we Genoese and Texcocans. We bear you no ill will, far to the contrary, you have brought wonders to us. However, it is necessary that you all return to Earth. You have impressed upon us the aforementioned truism that man adapts but in the Pedagogue’s library I have found another that also applies. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

There were heavy automatics in the hands of Natt Roberts and Dick Hawkins. Barry Watson leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrow. “How’d you ever expect to get away with this sort of treason, Taller?”

Martin Gunther blurted, “Or you, Russ?”

Wiss, the Texcocan scientist, quiet all this time, held his wrist radio to his mouth and said, “Come in now.”

Dick Hawkins thumbed back the hammer of his hand gun.

“Hold it a minute, Dick,” Barry Watson rapped. “I don’t like this.” To Taller he rasped, “What goes on here? Talk up, you’re just about a dead man.”

And it was then that they heard the scraping on the outer hull.

The Earthlings looked up at the overhead, dumbfounded.

Isobel blurted, “But…but we have the only two spacecraft available. What can that be?”

“I suggest you put up your weapons,” Taller said quietly. “At this late stage, I would hate to see further bloodshed. There has been too much already.”

In moments, they heard the opening and closing of locks and footsteps along the corridor. The door opened and in came: Leonid Plekhanov, Joe Chessman, Amschel Mayer, Natalie Wieliczka, Mike Dean, Louis Rosetti, an emaciated Jerry Kennedy and Nick Rykov. Their expressions ran from sheepishness to blank haughtiness.

MacDonald bug-eyed. “Dean, Rosetti, Natalie. The Temple monks burned you at the stake!”

They grinned at him, shamefaced. “Guess not,” Mike Dean said. “We were kidnapped. They figured we were getting too stute for our own good. We’ve been teaching basic science, in some phoney monastery.”

Watson’s face was white. “Joe,” he said.

“Yeah,” Joe Chessman growled. “You sold me out. But Taller and the Texcocans thought I was still of some use.” He looked at Leonid Plekhanov, strangely subdued compared to the man he had been half a century before. “I suppose they did the same to you. Took you off and held you, utilizing your learning.”

Amschel Mayer snapped bitterly, “And now if you fools will put down your stupid guns, we’ll make the final arrangements for returning this expedition to Terra City. Personally, I’ll be glad to get away!”

Behind the resurrected Earthlings were a sea of faces representing the foremost figures of both Texcoco and Genoa in every field of endeavor. At least fifty of them in all.

As though protectively, the Earthlings ganged together at the far side of the messtable they had met over so often.

Martin Gunther, his expression still dazed, said, “I…I don’t know. This is impossible. You are all alive!”

Leonid Plekhanov looked about him. “Not quite all,” he said lowly. “Cogswell, Stevens, MacBride. We’ve had a heavy toll.”

Taller resumed his spokesmanship. “From the first, the most progressive elements on both Texcoco and Genoa realized the value of your expedition and have been in fundamental sympathy with the aims of the Pedagogue , or, at least, its original aims. Primitive life is not idyllic. Until man is free from nature’s tyranny and has solved the basic problems of sufficient food, clothing, shelter, medical care and education for all, he is unable to realize himself. So we cooperated with you to the extent we found possible.”

His smile was grim. “I am afraid that almost from the beginning, and on both planets, your very actions developed an underground, I believe you call it. Not an overt one, since we needed your assistance to build the new industrialized culture you showed us was possible. We even protected you against yourselves, since it soon became obvious that if left alone you would destroy each other in your mad desire for power.”

Baron Leonar broke in. “Don’t misunderstand. It wasn’t until the past couple of decades that this underground which had sprung up on both planets, united.”

Barry Watson blurted, “But Joe…Chessman…” He refused to meet the eyes of the man he had condemned.

Taller said, “From the first you made no effort to study our customs. If you had, you’d have realized why my father allied himself to you after you had killed Taller First. And why I did not take my revenge on Chessman after he had killed Reif. A Khan’s first training is that no personal emotion must interfere with the needs of the People. When you turned Joe Chessman over to me, as Leonid Plekhanov earlier was turned over to Reif, I realized his education, his abilities, were too great to destroy. “We sent him to a mountain university and have used him profitably all these years. In fact, it was Chessman who finally brought us to space travel.”

“That’s right,” Buchwald blurted. “You’ve got a spacecraft out there. How could you possibly?”

Taller said mildly, “There are but a handful of you; you could hardly keep track of two whole planets and all that went on upon them.”

Amschel Mayer said bitingly, “All this can be gone over on our return to Terra City. We’ll have a full year in space to explain to ourselves and each other why we became such complete idiots. I was originally head of this expedition—before my supposed friends railroaded me to prison—does anyone object if I take over again, with Leonid Plekhanov as my deputy?”