Mack Reynolds: Planetary Agent X

“Avalon,” Mouley Hassan said, his face thoughtful.

Tog said, “Do you have any ideas on the men aboard?”

Mouley Hassan said, “There were four crewmen, and six of our agents.”

Tog said, “Unless one of them has faked papers, the six agents are eliminated. That leaves the crew members. Do you know anything about them?”

Hassan shook his head.

Ronny said, “Let’s communicate with Avalon. Tell our representatives there to be sure that none of the occupants of that ship leaves Avalon until we get there.”

Mouley Hassan said, “Good idea.” He turned to his screen and said into it, “Section G, Bureau of Investigation, on the Planet Avalon.”

In a moment the screen lit up. An elderly agent, as Section G agents seemed to go, looked up at them. Mouley Hassan held his silver badge so the other could see it and on the Avalon agent’s nod said, “I’m Hassan from New Delos. We’ve just had a crisis here and there seems to be a chance that it’s a Tommy Paine job. Agent Bronston here is on an assignment tracking him down. I’ll turn it over to Bronston.”

The Avalon agent nodded again, and looked at Ronny.

Ronny said urgently, “We don’t have the time to give you details, but every indication is that Paine is on a UP spacecraft with Avalon as its destination. There are only ten men aboard, and six of them are Section G operatives.”

The other pursed his lips. “I see. You think you have the old fox cornered, eh?”

“Possibly,” Ronny said. “There are various ifs. Miss Tog and I can doublecheck here. Then, as soon as we can clear exit visas, we’ll start for Avalon immediately.”

The Avalon Section G agent said, “I haven’t the authority to control the movements of other agents—they have as high ranks as I have.” Then he added, expressionlessly, “And probably higher than yours, too.”

Ronny said, “But the four-man crew?”

The other said, “These men are coming to Avalon to work on a job that will take at least six months. We’ll make a routine check, and I’ll try and make sure the whole ten will still be on Avalon when and if you arrive.”

They had to be satisfied with that.

They checked all ways from the middle, nor did it take long. There was no doubt. If this had been a Tommy Paine job, and it almost surely had, then there was only one way in which he could have escaped from the planet and that was by the single spacecraft that had left, destination Avalon. He was not on the planet—that was definite, Ronny felt. A stranger on New Delos was as conspicuous as a walrus in a goldfish bowl. There simply were no such.

They spent most of their time checking and rechecking United Planets personnel, but there was no question there either.

Mouley Hassan and others of UP personnel helped cut the red tape involved in getting exit visas from New Delos. It wasn’t as complicated as it might have been a week or two before. No one seemed to be so confident of his authority in the new provisional government that he dared veto a United Planets request.

Mouley Hassan was able to arrange for a small space yacht, slower than a military craft, but capable of getting them to Avalon in a few days time. A one-man crew was sufficient; Ronny, and especially Tog, could spell him on the watches.

Time aboard was spent largely in studying up on Avalon, going over and over again anything known about the elusive Tommy Paine, and playing Battle Chess and bickering with Tog Lee Chang Chu.

If it hadn’t been for this ability to argue against just about anything Ronny managed to say, he could have been attracted to her to the detriment of the job. She was a good traveler, which few people are; she was an ultra-efficient assistant; she was a joy to look at; and she never intruded. But, good God, how the woman could bicker!

The two of them were studying in the ship’s luxurious lounge when Ronny looked up and said, “Do you have any idea why those six agents were sent to Avalon?”

“No,” she said.

He indicated the booklet he was reading. “From what I can see here, it sounds like one of the most advanced planets in the UP. They’ve made some of the most useful advances in industrial techniques of the past century.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Tog mused. “I don’t have much regard for Industrial Feudalism, myself. It starts off with a bang, but tends to go sterile.”

“Industrial feudalism,” he said indignantly. “What do you mean? The government is a constitutional monarchy with the king merely a powerless symbol. The standard of living is high. Elections are honest and democratic. They’ve got a three-party system…”

“Which is largely phony,” Tog interrupted. “You’ve got to do some reading between the lines, especially when the books you’re reading are turned out by the industrial feudalistic publishing companies in Avalon.”

“What’s this industrial feudalism you keep talking about? Avalon has a system of free enterprise.”

“A gobbledygook term,” Tog said. “Industrial feudalism is a socio-economic system that develops when industrial wealth is concentrated into the hands of a comparatively few families. It finally gets to the point of a closed circle all but impossible to break into. These industrial feudalistic families become so powerful that only in rare instances can anyone lift himself into their society. They dominate every field, including the so-called labor unions, which amount to one of the biggest businesses of all. With their unlimited resources they even own every means of dispensing information.”

“You mean,” Ronny argued, “that on Avalon you can’t start up a newspaper of your own and say whatever you wish?”

“Certainly you can, theoretically. If you have the resources. Unfortunately, such enterprises become increasingly expensive to start. Or you could start a radio, TV or Tri-D station—if you had the resources. However, even if you overcame all your handicaps and your newspaper or broadcasting station became a success, the industrial feudalistic families in control of Avalon’s publishing and broadcasting fields have the endless resources to buy you out, or squeeze you out, by one nasty means or another.”

Ronny snorted. “Well, the people must be satisfied or they’d vote some fundamental changes.”

Tog nodded. “They’re satisfied, and no wonder. Since childhood every means of forming their opinions has been in the hands of industrial feudalistic families—including the schools.”

“You mean the schools are private?”

“No, they don’t have to be. The government is completely dominated by the fifty or so families which for all practical purposes own Avalon. That includes the schools. Some of the higher institutions of learning are private, but they, too, are largely dependent upon grants from the families.”

Ronny was irritated by her know it all air. He tapped the book he’d been reading with a finger. “They don’t control the government. Avalon’s got a three-party system. Any time the people don’t like the government, they can vote in an alternative.”

“That’s an optical illusion. There are three parties, but each is dominated by the fifty families, and election laws are such that for all practical purposes it’s impossible to start another party. Theoretically it’s possible; actually it isn’t. The voters can vary back and forth between the three political parties but it doesn’t make any difference which one they elect. They all stand for the same thing—a continuation of the status quo.”

“Then you claim it isn’t democracy at all?”

Tog sighed. “That’s a much abused word. Actually, pure democracy is seldom seen. They pretty well had it in primitive society where government was based on the family. You voted for one of your relatives in your clan to represent you in the tribal councils. Everyone in the tribe was equal so far as apportionments of the necessities of life were concerned. No one, not even a tribal chief, was better than anyone else, and no one had a better home.”