Poul Anderson: A Knight of Ghosts and Shadows

“ ‘Our’ anarchic phase?” Flandry questioned.

Desai misheard his emphasis. “Or our interregnum, or whatever you wish to call it. Oh, we may not always fight over who shall be Emperor; we can find plenty of bones to contend about. And we may enjoy stretches of peace and relative prosperity. I hoped Hans would provide us such a respite.”

“No, wait, you speak as if this is something we have to go through, willy-nilly.”

“Yes. For about eighty more years, I think—though of course modern technology, nonhuman influences, the sheer scale of interstellar dominion may affect the time-span. Basically, however, yes, a universal state—and the Terran Empire is the universal state of Technic civilization—only gives a respite from the wars and horrors which multiply after the original breakdown. Its Pax is no more than a subservience enforced at swordpoint, or today at blaster point. Its competent people become untrustworthy from their very competence; anyone who can make a decision may make one the Imperium does not like. Incompetence grows with the growing suspiciousness and centralization. Defense and civil functions alike begin to disintegrate. What can that provoke except rebellion? So this universal state of ours has ground along for a space of generations, from bad to worse, until now—”

“The Long Night?” Flandry shivered a bit in the gentle air.

“I think not quite yet. If we follow precedent, the Empire will rise again … if you can label as ‘rise’ the centralized divine autocracy we have coming. To be sure, if the thought of such a government does not cheer you, then remember that that second peace of exhaustion will not last either. In due course will come the final collapse.”

“How do you know?” Flandry demanded.

“The cycle fills the history, yes, the archeology of this whole planet we are sitting on. Old China and older Egypt each went thrice through the whole sorry mess. The Western civilization to which ours is affiliated rose originally from the same kind of thing, that Roman Empire some of our rulers have liked to hark back to for examples of glory. Oh, we too shall have our Diocletian; but scarcely a hundred years after his reconstruction, the barbarians were camping in Rome itself and making emperors to their pleasure. My own ancestral homeland—but there is no need for a catalogue of forgotten nations. For a good dozen cases we have chronicles detailed to the point of nausea; all in all, we can find over fifty examples just in the dust of this one world.

“Growth, until wrong decisions bring breakdown; then ever more ferocious wars, until the Empire brings the Pax; then the dissolution of that Pax, its reconstitution, its disintegration forever, and a dark age until a new society begins in the ruins. Technic civilization started on that road when the Polesotechnic League changed from a mutual-aid organization of free entrepreneurs to a set of cartels. Tonight we are far along the way.”

“You’ve discovered this yourself?” Flandry asked, not as skeptically as he could have wished he were able to.

“Oh, no, no,” Desai said. “The basic analysis was made a thousand years ago. But it’s not comfortable to live with. Prevention of breakdown, or recovery from it, calls for more thought, courage, sacrifice than humans have yet been capable of exercising for generation after generation. Much easier first to twist the doctrine around, use it for rationalization instead of rationality; then ignore it; finally suppress it. I found it in certain archives, but you realize I am talking to you in confidence. The Imperium would not take kindly to such a description of itself.”

“Well—” Flandry drank again. “Well, you may be right. And total pessimism does have a certain bracing quality. If we’re doomed to tread out the measure, we can try to do so gracefully.”

“There is no absolute inevitability.” Desai puffed for a minute, his cigarette end a tiny red pulsar. “I suppose, even this late in the game, we could start afresh if we had the means—more importantly, the will. But in actuality, the development is often aborted by foreign conquest. An empire in the anarchic phase is especially tempting and especially prone to suffer invaders. Osmans, Afghans, Moguls, Manchus, Spaniards, British—they and those like them became overlords of cultures different from their own, in that same way.

“Beyond our borders, the Merseians are the true menace. Not a barbarian rabble merely filling a vacuum we have left by our own political machinations—not a realistic Ythri which sees us as its natural ally—not a pathetic Gorrazani remnant—but Merseia. We harass and thwart the Roidhunate everywhere, because we dare not let it grow too strong. Besides eliminating us as a hindrance to its dreams, think what a furtherance our conquest would be!

“That’s why I dread the consequences of the Emperor’s departure. Staying home, working to buttress the government and armed force, ready to stamp fast on every attempt at insurrection, he might keep us united, uninvadable, for the rest of his life. Without his presence—I don’t know.”

“The Merseians would have to be prepared to take quick advantage of any revolt,” Flandry argued. “Assuming you’re right about your historical pattern, are they aware of it? How common is it?”

“True, we don’t have the knowledge to say how far it may apply to nonhumans, if at all,” Desai admitted. “We should. In fact, it was Merseia, not ourselves, that set me on this research—for the Merseians too must have their private demons, and think what a weapon it would be for our diplomacy to have a generalized mechanic for them as well as us!”

“Hm?” said Flandry, surprised afresh. “Are you implying perhaps they already are decadent? That’s not what one usually hears.”

“No, it isn’t. But what is decadence to a nonhuman? I hope to do more than read sutras in my retirement; I hope to apply my experience and my studies to thought about just such problems.” The old man sighed. “Of necessity, this assumes the Empire will not fall prey to its foes before I’ve made some progress. That may be an unduly optimistic assumption … considering what a head start they have in the Roidhunate where it comes to understanding us.”

“Are you implying they know this theory of human history which you’ve been outlining to me?”

“Yes, I fear that at least a few minds among them are all too familiar with it. For example, after considering the episode for many years, I think that when Aycharaych tried to kindle a holy war of man against man, starting on Aeneas, he knew precisely what he was doing.”

Aycharaych. The chill struck full into Flandry. He raised his eyes to the fading stars. Sol would soon drive sight away from them, but they would remain where they were, waiting.

“I have often wondered what makes him and his kind serve Merseia,” Desai mused. “Genius can’t really be conscripted. The Chereionites surely have something to win for themselves. But what—from an alien species, an alien culture?”

“Aycharaych’s the only one of them I’ve ever actually met,” Flandry said. “I’ve sometimes thought he’s an artist.”

“An artist of espionage and sabotage, whose materials are living beings? Well, conceivably. If that’s all, he is no more to be envied than you or I.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure I can make the reason clear to you, or even very clear to myself. We have not had the good fortune to be born in an era when our society offers us something transcendental to live and die for.” Desai cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to read you a lecture.”

“No, I thank you,” Flandry said. “Your ideas are quite interesting.”