Christopher Stasheff - The Warlock Unlocked

“But you said he didn’t file for a patent.”

Yorick waved the objection away. “Morally, he figured he still had patent rights—and they could at least have asked. So he formed his own organization to safeguard the rights of individuals, all up and down the time line.”

“Including patentholders?”

“Oh, yes. In fact, he calls the organization ‘The Guardians of the Rights of Individuals, Patentholders Especially.’ Pretty soon, he had a network of agents running all the way from about 40,000 BC on up, fighting SPITE and its anarchists, and VETO and its totalitarians.”

Father Al pursed his lips. “I take it that means he supports democracy?”

“What other system really tries to guarantee an inventor’s patent rights? Of course, supporting an organization that size requires a lot of money, so he went into the treasure-hunting business. He’d have an agent in, say, ancient Greece bury some art objects; then he’d send a team to dig ‘em up in 1960, when even a child’s clay doll would fetch a thousand dollars from a museum. With coins, he’d have ‘em dug up in the Renaissance, and deposit them with one of the early banks. It’s really amazing what can happen to a few denarii, with five hundred years of compound interest.”

“Speaking of interest,” Father Al said, “it’s rather obvious that our meeting was no accident. Why are you interested in me?”

Yorick grinned. “Because you’re going to Gramarye.”

Father Al frowned. “I take it you have an agent in the Vatican, today.”

“No fair telling—but we do have our own chaplains.”

Father Al sighed. “And what is your interest in Gramarye?”

“Mostly that SPITE and VETO are interested in it. In fact, they’re doing all they can to make sure it doesn’t develop a democratic government.”

“Why?”

Yorick leaned forward. “Because your current interstellar government, Father, is the Decentralized Democratic Tribunal, and it’s very successful. It comprises sixty-seven planets already, and it’s growing fast. SPITE and VETO want to stop it, any way they can—and the easiest way is to let it grow until its own size destroys it.”

Father Al gave his head a quick shake. “I don’t understand. How can size destroy a democracy?”

“Because it’s not the most efficient form of government. Major decisions require a lot of debating and, if the diameter of the Terran Sphere gets too long, the Tribunes won’t be able to learn what the folks at home think about an issue until after it’s decided and done with. That means that unpopular decisions get rammed down the throats of the voters, until they start rebelling. The rebellions’re put down, but that turns into repression, which breeds even more rebellion. So eventually, the democracy either falls apart, or turns into a dictatorship.”

“You’re saying, then, that the size of a democracy is limited by its communications.” Father Al gazed off into space, nodding slowly. “It sounds logical. But how does this affect Gramarye?”

“Because most of the people there are latent telepaths—and about 10 percent are active, accomplished, and powerful.”

Father Al stared, feeling excitement thrum through his blood. Then he nodded. “I see. As far as we know, telepathy is instantaneous, no matter how much distance separates the sender and the receiver.”

Yorick nodded. “With them in the DDT, democracy could expand indefinitely. But they’d have to be willing volunteers, Father. You can’t expect much accuracy in your communications if you’re using slaves who hate you.”

“Quite apart from the fact that the requirement for membership in the DDT is a viable planetary democracy. So the DDT has to see to it that the planet develops a democratic government.”

Yorick nodded again. “That’s why the DDT has SCENT—to sniff out the Lost Colonies, and see to it that they develop democratic governments. And SPITE and VETO have to see to it that SCENT fails.”

Father Al’s mouth tightened in disgust. “Is there no place free of political meddling any more? How many agents does SCENT have on Gramarye?”

“One.” Yorick sat back, grinning.

“ One ? For so important a planet?”

Yorick shrugged. “So far, they haven’t needed any more—and too many cooks might spoil the brew.”

Father Al laid his hand flat on the table. “The agent wouldn’t be the Rodney d’Armand who discovered the planet, would it?”

Yorick nodded.

“And Rod Gallowglass? Where does he fit into this?”

“He’s Rodney d’Armand. The man always feels more comfortable using an alias.”

“Insecure, eh?” Father Al gazed off into space, drumming his fingers on the table. “But effective?”

“Sure is. So far, he’s thwarted two major attempts by SPITE and VETO together. What’s more, he’s used those victories to put the current monarchy on the road to developing a democratic constitution.”

Father Al’s eyebrows shot up. “Extremely able. And he’s about to discover some psionic talent of his own?”

“He’s about to disappear,” Yorick corrected, “and when he reappears in a few weeks, he’s going to be a genuine, full-fledged, twenty-four-carat wizard, able to conjure up armies out of thin air. And that’s just the beginning of his powers.”

Father Al frowned. “And he won’t do it by psi talents?”

Yorick shook his head.

“Then what is the source of his power?”

“That’s your field, Father.” Yorick jabbed a finger at the priest. “You tell us—if you can catch up with him before he disappears, and go with him.”

“You may be sure that I’ll try. But why isn’t he a psi? Because he comes from off-planet?”

“Only the genuine, Gramarye-born article occasionally turns out to be a telepath—and usually a telekinetic or teleport, too, depending on sex. The women are telekinetic; that means they can make broomsticks fly, and ride on them, among other things.”

“The witches of legend,” Father Al mused.

“That’s what they call ‘em. They call the esper men ‘warlocks.’ They can levitate, and make things, including themselves, appear and disappear, sometimes moving ‘em miles between.”

“But Rod Gallowglass can do none of these things?”

“No, but he wound up marrying the most powerful witch in Gramarye—and they’ve got four kids who’re showing a very interesting assortment of talents. In fact, they’re all more powerful than their mother. When they start realizing that, she’ll really have trouble.”

“Not necessarily, if they’ve raised them properly,” Father Al said automatically (he’d been assigned to a parish for several years). “Odd that they should be more powerful than their mother, when they don’t have psionic genes from both parents.”

“Yeah, isn’t it?” Yorick grinned. “I just love these little puzzles—especially when someone else gets to solve ‘em. But it might not be all that strange—there’re still new talents that keep cropping up on that planet. I mean, they’ve only been inbreeding for a few hundred years; they’ve got a lot of untapped potential.”

“Inbreeding… yes…” Father Al had a faraway look. “The answers would lie with their ancestors, wouldn’t they?”

“Buncha crackpots.” Yorick waved them away. “Ever hear of the Society for Creative Anachronism, Father?”

“No. Who were they?”

“A hodgepodge collection of escapists, who tried to forget they were living because of an advanced technology, by holding gatherings where everybody dressed up in medieval outfits and performing mock battles with fake swords.”

“Ah, I see.” Father Al smiled fondly. “They tried to restore some beauty to life.”