“Do you? Why?”
“I’ll tell you,” I said. “Maybe you’ve noticed I seem to have a knack for being where the news-stories are.”
He set his cup down precisely in the center of its saucer.
“That, Tarn,” he said mildly, “is why you’re wearing the cape permanently now. We expect certain things from members, you know.”
“Yes,” I said. “But I think mine may be a little bit out of the ordinary-oh,” I said, as his eyebrows rose suddenly, “I’m not claiming some kind of pre-cognition. I just think I happen to have a talent for a little more insight into the possibilities of situations than other members.”
His eyebrows came down. He frowned slightly.
“I know,” I said, “that sounds like boasting. But, just stop and suppose I have what I claim. Wouldn’t a talent like that be highly useful to the Council in its policy decisions for the Guild?”
He looked at me sharply.
“Maybe,” he said, “if it was true-and it worked every time-and a number of other things.”
“But if I could convince you of all those ifs, you’d sponsor me for the next opening on the Council?”
He laughed.
“I might,” he said. “But how are you going to prove it to me?”
“I’ll make a prediction,” I said. “A prediction calling-if it comes true-for a major policy decision by the Council.”
“All right,” he said. He was still smiling. “Predict, then.”
“The Exotics,” I said, “are at work to wipe out the Friendlies.”
The smile went away. For a moment he stared at me.
“What do you mean by that?” he demanded. “The Exotics can’t be out to wipe out anyone. It’s not only against everything they say they believe in, but no one can wipe out two whole worlds of people and a complete way of life. What do you mean by ‘wipe out,’ anyway?”
“Just about what you’d think,” I answered. “Tear down the Friendly culture as a working theocracy, break both worlds financially, and leave only a couple of stony planets filled with starving people who’ll either have to change their way of life or emigrate to other worlds.”
He stared at me. For a long moment neither of us said anything.
“What,” he said, finally, “gave you this fantastic idea?”
“A hunch. My insight,” I said. “Plus the fact that it was a Dorsai Field Commander, Kensie Graeme, lent to the Cassidan levies at the last moment, that defeated the Friendly forces there.”
“Why,” said Piers, “that’s the sort of thing that could happen in any war, anywhere, between any two armies.”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Kensie’s decision to sweep around the north end of the Friendly line and take the Friendlies in the rear wouldn’t have worked so successfully at all if Eldest Bright hadn’t the day before taken command and ordered a Friendly attack on the south end of Kensie’s line. There’s a double coincidence here. An Exotic Commander appears and does just the right thing at the moment when the Friendly forces take the very action that makes them vulnerable.”
Piers turned and reached for the phone on his desk.
“Don’t bother checking,” I said. “I already have. The decision to borrow Kensie from the Exotics was taken independently on the spur of the moment by the Cassidan Levies Command, and there was no way Kensie’s Intelligence Unit could have known in advance about the attack Bright had ordered.”
“Then it’s coincidence.” Piers scowled at me. “Or that Dorsai genius for tactics we all know they have.”
“Don’t you think Dorsai genius may have been a little overrated? And I don’t buy the coincidence. It’s too large,” I said.
“Then what?” demanded Piers. “How do you explain it?”
“My hunch-my insight-suggests that the Exotics have some way of predicting what the Friendlies will do in advance. You spoke of Dorsai military genius-how about the Exotic psychological genius?”
“Yes, but-” Piers broke off, suddenly thoughtful. “The whole thing’s fantastic.” He looked once more at me. “What do you suggest we do about it?”
“Let me dig into it,” I said. “If I’m right, three years from now will see Exotic troops fighting Friendlies. Not as hirelings in some other-planet war, but in a direct test of Exotic-Friendly strength.” I paused. “And if I turn out to be right, you sponsor me to replace the next Council member dying or retiring.”
Once more, the dry little man sat staring at me for a long minute.
“Tarn,” he said finally. “I don’t believe a word of it. But look into it as much as you want; I’ll answer for Council backing for you on that-if the question comes up. And if it comes off anything like you say, come talk to me again.”
“I will,” I said, getting up and smiling at him.
He shook his head, remaining in his seat, but said nothing.
“I’ll hope to see you again before too long,” I said. And I went out.
It was a tiny burr I had stuck onto him, to irritate his mind in the direction I wanted him to speculate. But Piers Leaf had the misfortune of having a highly intelligent and creative mind; otherwise he would not have been Chairman of the Council. It was the kind of mind that refused to let go of a question until it had settled it one way or another. If it could not disprove the question, it was likely to start finding evidence to prove it-even in places where others could not see such proof at all.
And this particular burr would have nearly three years to stick and work itself into the fabric of Leaf’s picture of things. I was content to wait for that, while I went ahead with other matters.
I had to spend a couple of weeks on Earth, bringing some order back to my personal business affairs there; but at the end of that time I took ship for New Earth once more.
The Friendlies, as I said, having bought back the troops they had lost as prisoners to the Cassidan forces under Kensie Graeme, had immediately reinforced them and encamped them outside the North Partition capital of Moreton, as an occupation force in demand of interplanetary credits due them.
The credits due, of course, were from the government of the now defeated and nonexistent North Partition rebels who had hired them. But, while there was nothing exactly legal about it, this was not uncommon practice between the stars, to hold a world ransom for any debt contracted off-world by. any of its people.
The reason, of course, was that special currency between worlds which was the services of individual human units, whether as psychiatrists or soldiers. A debt contracted for the services of such units by one world from another had to be paid by the debtor world, and could not be repudiated by a change of governments. Governments would have proved too easy to change, if that had been a way out of interplanetary debts.
In practice, it was a winner-pay-all matter, if conflicting interests on a single world hired help from off-world. Something like the reverse of a civil suit-at-law to recover monetary damages, where the loser is required to pay the court costs of the winner. Officially, what had happened was that the Friendly government, being unpaid for the soldiers it had lent the rebel government, had declared war on New Earth as a world, until New Earth as a world should make up the bad debt contracted by some of her inhabitants.
In actuality, no hostilities were involved, and payment would, after a due amount of haggling, be forthcoming from those New Earth governments most directly involved. In this case, the South Partition government, mainly, since it had been the winner. But meanwhile, Friendly troops were in occupation upon New Earth soil; and it was in self-assignment to write a series of feature articles about this that I arrived there, some eight months after I had left.
I got in to see their Field Commander with no trouble this time. It was evident among the bubble-plastic buildings of the cantonment they had set up in an open area that the Friendly military were under orders to give as little irritation to non-Friendlies as possible. I heard no cant spoken by any of the soldiers, from the cantonment gate clear into and including the office of the Field Commander himself. But in spite of the fact he “youed” instead of “thoued” me, he was not happy to see me.
“Field Commander Wassel,” he introduced himself. “Sit down, Newsman Olyn. I’ve heard about you.”
He was a man in his late forties or early fifties with close-cropped, pure gray hair. He was built as square as the lower half of a Dutch door and had a heavy, square jaw which had no trouble looking grim. It was looking grim now, for all he was trying to appear unconcerned-and I knew the cause of the worry that was making his expression a rebel against his intentions.