Gordon Dickson - Dorsai!

“I am a Dorsai,” said Donal.

“Oh, spare me the glories of careful breeding!” said ArDel], harshly, picking up his now-full glass. As he turned back to face Donal, Donal saw the man’s face was tortured. “There’s more to courage than that. If it was only in your genes—” he broke off suddenly, and leaned toward Donal. “Listen to me,” he almost whispered. “I’m a coward.”

“Are you sure?” said Donal, levelly. “How do you know?”

“I’m frightened sick,” whispered ArDell. “Sick-frightened of the universe. What do you know about the mathematics of social dynamics?”

“It’s a predicative system of mathematics, isn’t it?” said Donal. “My education didn’t lie in that direction.”

“No, no!” said ArDell, almost fretfully. “I’m talking about the statistics of social analysis, and their extrapolation along lines of population increase and development.” He lowered his voice even further. “They approach a parallel with the statistics of random chance!”

“I’m sorry,” said Donal. “That means nothing to me.”

ArDell gripped Donal’s arm suddenly with one surprisingly strong hand.

“Don’t you understand?” he murmured. “Random chance provides for every possibility — including dissolution. It must come, because the chance is there. As our social statistics grow into larger figures, we, too, entertain the possibility. In the end, it must come. We must destroy ourselves. There is no other alternative. And all because the universe is too big a suit of clothes for us to wear. It gives us room to grow too much, too fast. We will reach a statistically critical mass — and then,” he snapped his fingers, “the end!”

“Well, that’s a problem for the future,” said Donal. But then, because he could not help reacting to the way the other man was feeling, he added, more gently, “Why does it bother you, so much?”

“Why, don’t you see?” said ArDell. “If it’s all to go — just like that — as if it never has been, then what was the use of it all? What’s to show for our existence? I don’t mean things we built — they decay fast enough. Or knowledge. That’s just a copying down from an open book into our own language. It has to be those things that the universe didn’t have to begin with and that we brought to it. Things like love, and kindness — and courage.”

“If that’s the way you feel,” said Donal, gently withdrawing his arm from the other’s grasp, “why drink this way?”

“Because I am a coward,” said ArDell. “I feel it out there, all the time, this enormousness that is the universe. Drinking helps me shut it out — that Godawful knowledge of what it can do to us. That’s why I drink. To take the courage I need out of a bottle, to do the little things like passing through phase shift without medication.”

“Why,” said Donal, almost tempted to smile. “What good would that do?”

“It’s facing it, in a little way,” ArDell fixed him with his dark and pleading eyes. “It’s saying, in one little instance — go ahead, rip me to the smallest shreds you can manage, spread me over your widest limits. I can take it.”

Donal shook his head.

“You don’t understand,” said ArDell, sinking back in his float. “If I could work, I wouldn’t need the alcohol. But I’m walled away from work nowadays. It’s not that way with you. You’ve got your job to do; and you’ve got courage — the real kind. I thought maybe I could… well, never mind. Courage wouldn’t be transferable, anyway.”

“Are you going to Harmony?” asked Donal.

“Whither my Prince goes, there go I,” said ArDell, and snorted his laugh again. “You should read my contract, sometime.” He turned back to the bar. “Another whiskey?”

“No,” said Donal, standing up. “If you’ll excuse me—”

“I’ll see you again,” muttered ArDell, keying for another drink. “I’ll be seeing you.”

“Yes,” said Donal. “Until then.”

“Until then,” ArDell lifted his newly filled glass from the bar. The chime sounded again overhead, and the voice reminded them that only seventy-odd minutes remained before shift-time. Donal went out.

Half an hour later, after he had gone back to his own room for one more careful rereading and study of Anea’s contract, Donal pressed the button on the door of the stateroom of William, Prince and Chairman of the Board, on Ceta. He waited.

“Yes?” said the voice of William, over his head.

“Donal Graeme, sir,” said Donal. “If you aren’t busy—”

“Oh, of course — Donal. Come in!” The door swung open before him and Donal entered.

William was sitting on a plain float before a small deskboard holding a pile of papers and a tiny portable secretary. A single light glowed directly above him and the deskboard, silvering his gray hair. Donal hesitated, hearing the door click to behind him.

“Find a seat somewhere,” said William, without looking up from his papers. His fingers flickered over the keys of the secretary. “I have some things to do.”

Donal turned about in the gloom outside the pool of light, found an armchair float and sat down in it. William continued for some minutes, scanning through his papers, and making notes on the secretary.

After a while he shoved the remaining papers aside and the deskboard, released, drifted with its burden to over against a farther wall. The single overhead light faded and a general illumination flooded the cabin.

Donal blinked at the sudden light. William smiled.

“And now,” he said, “what’s the nature of your business with me?”

Donal blinked, stared, and blinked again.

“Sir?” he said.

“I think we can avoid wasting time by ignoring pretenses,” said William, still in his pleasant voice. “You pushed yourself on us at the table because you wanted to meet someone there. It was hardly the marshal — your Dorsai manners could have found a better way than that. It was certainly not Hugh, and most unlikely to be ArDell. That leaves Anea; and she’s pretty enough, and you’re both young enough to do something that foolish… but, I think not, under the conditions.” William folded his lean fingers together, and smiled. “That leaves me.”

“Sir, I—” Donal started to stand up, with the stiffness of outraged dignity.

“No, no,” said William, gesturing him back. “Now it’d be foolish to leave, after going to all this trouble to get here, wouldn’t it?” His voice sharpened. “Sit down!”

Donal sat.

“Why did you want to see me?” asked William.

Donal squared his shoulders.

“All right,” he said. “If you want me to put it bluntly… I think I might be useful to you.”

“By which,” said William, “you think you might be useful to yourself, by tapping the till, as it were, of my position and authority — go on.”

“It so happened,” said Donal, “that I came into possession of something belonging to you.”

William extended his hand, without a word. After a second’s hesitation, Donal extracted Anea’s contract from his pocket and passed it over. William took it, unfolded it, and glanced over it. He laid it carelessly down on a little table beside him.

“She wanted me to get rid of it for her,” said Donal. “She wanted to hire me to dispose of it for her. Evidently she didn’t know how hard it is to destroy a sheet of the material contracts are made on.”

“But you took the job,” said William.

“I made no promises,” said Donal, painfully.

“But from the start, you intended to bring it straight to me.”

“I believe,” said Donal, “it’s your property.”

“Oh, of course,” said William. He smiled at Donal for a long moment. “You realize, of course,” he said, finally, “that I needn’t believe a word of what you’ve said. I only need to assume that you stole it yourself and later got cold feet about disposing of it — and dreamed up this cock-and-bull story in a attempt to sell it back to me. The-captain of this ship would be glad to put you under arrest at my word and hold you for trial as soon as we reach Harmony.”