Mack Reynolds - Dawnman Planet

Sid Jakes was there, too, sprawled in a chair, his hands in his pockets, his face in its all but perpetual grin. Lee Chang Chu was also present, sitting demurely to one side of Metaxa’s desk, her cheongsam dress emphasizing her oriental background.

Metaxa grunted. “Ronny. Good. We’re just about to get underway. Drink?” He made a motion to the inevitable squat bottle that stood at his right hand.

Ronny shuddered. “That stuff? And this time of day?” He looked at the girl. “Hi, Lee Chang.” So far as he knew, every unmarried man in Section G was in love with the diminutive Chinese girl, despite the fact that she was possibly the most effective agent of them all, and had reached supervisor status, ranking the great majority.

She smiled her slow smile and nodded her greetings, as though too shy to speak out in this gathering of men.

Metaxa grunted, “Sid, bring Ronny up to date.”

Sid chuckled happily. “Everything’s going to pot. Whether or not we’re going to keep the lid on this, even temporarily, is moot. We thought we’d selected the two thousand most responsible chiefs of state of United Planets. Actually, what we’ve got is a madhouse. Hardly any two of them agree on what’s to be done. At least a dozen have dropped out of UP.”

Ronny stared at him. “Dropped out! But why? In this emergency…”

Metaxa interrupted. “They didn’t wait long enough to consider the emergency. As soon as they heard that we had been violating Articles One and Two, they resigned.”

Lee Chang Chu spoke for the first time. She said softly, “Self-interest we shall always have with us. There’s a sizable percentage of our species that would rather die, and bring down the whole race with them, than face the threat of having their political or religious institutions changed.”

There was no refuting that.

Sid went on. “Goshen and some of the other hairy-chested planets want to declare war on the aliens. Right now.” He laughed his pleasure at the idea. “We don’t even know where they are located in the galaxy, but Goshen wants to declare war. On their own planet, of course, they’ve resisted the introduction of gunpowder. Afraid that the serfs they exploit might get uppity if there were weapons available capable of knocking over castle walls. But they want to declare war on some unknown aliens, who evidently have the neat trick of changing a whole world’s atmosphere from nitrogen-oxygen, to poison gas, overnight. Oh, great.” Sid chortled again.

“Get on with it, you laughing hyena,” Metaxa grumbled.

Sid said, “Others want to sue for peace. How we can sue for peace is another mystery. Keeping in mind that even if we knew where they came from, we still have no particular reason to believe we could communicate. Or, if we could, that they’d be interested in doing so. But even that’s not the end. A few of the member planets want to send missionaries. Missionaries, yet! If there’s anything that’ll irritate just anybody at all, it’s bothering around with his religious institutions. Besides, who ever heard of missionaries being sent from a weaker to a stronger power. It’s the stronger power that always beats its weaker neighbors over the head with its missionaries.”

Ronny said, thoughtfully, “What is our own stand? Section G has been aware of the problem for over a century. What should we do?”

Metaxa stirred in his chair. He growled, “For the most part, what we have been doing. That is, speeding up our own development by every means that we can. Scientifically, industrially, socio-economically…”

Ronny frowned at him.

His chief scowled back. “We’ve got to push toward the optimum socio-economic system…”

Ronny said mildly, “There are nearly as many ideas on what that is as you’ve got persons who have considered the question.”

Sid chuckled.

Metaxa growled, “Please, no humor at this time of day. So far as we’re concerned, the optimum social system is one under which the greatest number can exercise the greatest amount of each individual’s ability. As much education as the individual can assimilate, all-out encouragment of unusual gifts, absolutely nothing so silly as industrial production cycles that allow such nonsense as unemployment, not to speak of anything as reactionary as featherbedding.”

Lee Chang Chu said softly, “It is an optimum which has been realized on few planets, I am afraid.”

The commissioner said, “At this point, we are aware that our potential enemy exists, though we are not in contact. But we haven’t any reason to believe that he is aware of our existence. It is possible that we have another year, another century, another millennium before our cultures touch. Possible, but not probable. To the extent we can delay that meeting, we can be more happily prepared for it. That’s our job. Delay, delay, delay, while man continues to advance.” He looked at Ronny again. “And that’s where you come in.”

Ronny Bronston was taken aback. “What?”

Sid chuckled his amusement.

Ross Metaxa reached his hand out for his Denebian tequila, while saying to Lee Chang, “You’re the only one of us that’s been to Phrygia. Brief Ronny on the place. That’s why I called you in.”

Lee Chang nodded demurely. “Are you acquainted with the derivation of the planet’s name, Ronny?”

“I don’t believe so.”

“It was one of the early Greek states. Myth has a story about one of its kings, a cloddy named Midas who had an abnormal love of gold. He befriended Silenus…”

Sid put in, “I know that one. The god of drunks.”

Lee Chang looked at him from the side of her eyes and went on. “And as a reward Dionysus gave him one wish. He chose the power to turn everything he touched into gold.” She twisted her mouth in gentle mockery. “The ramifications are obvious.”

She looked at Ronny again. “The name has a certain validity. Phrygia, I mean. The original colonists were a group which rebelled against the growth of what was then called the Welfare State. They were even more emphatic than usual. Many planets have been colonized by elements strong for, ah, free enterprise, and opposed to any interference at all by the state in the management of business—not to speak of democratic ownership of the means of production, distribution and communications. The colonists of Phrygia didn’t even believe in common ownership of such things as the post office and highways, not…”

Ronny blinked at her. “How can you conduct a post office or…”

Sid chuckled. “Ronny, old man, you don’t go far enough into history. Don’t you remember the Pony Express and Wells Fargo? In the early days, mail was in the hands of private concerns. And quite a hash they made of it, too. And early toll roads and toll bridges were private, too.”

“At any rate,” Lee Chang went on, “the settlers of Phrygia were strong individualists and great believers in pragmatism. On Phrygia, it’s each man for himself and the devil take the hindmost.”

“Also,” said Sid, “dog eat dog, never give a sucker an even break, and if I don’t take advantage of this situation, somebody else will.” He laughed.

Lee Chang said thoughtfully, “The characteristic also manifests itself in their interplanetary relations. The Phrygians are great entrepreneurs, great traders. More than once, less advanced member planets have had to evoke Article Two of the UP Charter to avoid being swallowed up, economically speaking, by the stutes from Phrygia.” She allowed herself a slight smile. “I suspect, actually, that they are in considerable revolt against the existence of such a restraint. Given a free rein, Phrygia would be in full control of a considerable section of her part of our growing confederacy, in short order.”