“I think this place will be all right. We ought to be able to do it.”
The following days saw the colonel’s fame spread. He was soon known as Yel Den Garoujik—the Star Prince Garoujik—and when the rumors of his wealth and impressive dominion amongst the stars had spread widely enough, the Iatulon, consumed with curiosity, had one of his court functionaries drop a hint that His Highness might be willing to grace the Yel Den’s table. The Yel Den promptly sent an invitation engraved on a silver plate, with an emerald at each corner for decoration.
The colonel was in the control room, his robes slung over the back of the control seat, when Bergen popped in to tell him the Iatulon had accepted the invitation. The colonel nodded, and glanced back at a small auxiliary screen, where the signal degarbler showed a member of the Interstellar Patrol’s legal staff.
“It’s O.K., Val,” the staff member was saying. “The local PDA consul on the planet isn’t likely to interfere until later, if at all. PDA is so desperate to get this job done that they won’t want to wreck it unless you should blossom out with bribery, or coercion. They’ll watch intently, though only an expert in spy devices would know it. But they’ll be watching only for any interference in local affairs. Any effective interference is illegal.”
The colonel smiled. “All I intend to do is talk—starting with the Iatulon.”
“I don’t see how words will straighten this mess out.”
“They’re just the first link in a chain of events.”
“Well, good luck with the Iatulon, anyway. He’s got a double-edge three-foot sword, remember.”
“Sure,” said the colonel, smiling, “but he only uses it on people who don’t do their jobs.”
* * *
That evening, the Iatulon, a tall impressive figure in flowing robes, showed up with a small but businesslike escort, ate moderately of the feast spread out before him, and cheerfully accepted a magnificent ruby put at his place with the dessert, according to local custom when entertaining royalty.
He retired in a benevolent mood to the flowered terrace beside Yel Den Garoujik’s pool, where the stars were mirrored, as magical musicians played softly, rendered invisible by the power of the Yel Den’s wizards.
After a lengthy but companionable silence, the Iatulon glanced thoughtfully around. “An entertainment to dwell upon in pleasant memory, Yel Den Garoujik. I thank you.”
The colonel bowed his head, and settled himself to the customary flowery exchange of compliments. “And I thank you, Great Iatulon, for your presence here.”
“I have done nothing.”
“This is but a setting for the jewel of your presence. What is the setting without the jewel?”
The Iatulon looked at him with a smile. “Jewels are expensive, Yel Den Garoujik. One does not spend of his substance to place a jewel in a setting unless he has a purpose.”
The colonel, slightly off-balance, said courteously, “That is true, Great Iatulon.”
The Iatulon leaned forward. “Then let us to the business, Yel Den. I am hung about the ears with those who are too frightened of my sword to think, and with those who would not think if they could think, because of the pain that would come with their first thinking. Around my borders dwell rulers who neither think nor work save when dire need rouses their hunger. I would sweep away these triflers, but long thought shows me the task outweighs my resources. Thus I am condemned to a circumscribed sphere, amongst fools and would-be idlers. What has brought the jewel to this setting, Yel Den, is not the thought of food and drink, or sweet music, though such things are pleasant, but the prospect of discourse amongst equals. You are here for a purpose. Let us now to the purpose.”
The colonel promptly discarded some carefully-prepared flowery phrases.
“In the future, many star ships will travel near this world. Whoever can induce the rulers to accept the landing of the people from these ships, will add much to his treasury.”
The Iatulon looked puzzled. “I have heard of this plan. But I tell you, Yel Den Garoujik, that no one, unless he employs sorcerers of the highest degree, will persuade the rulers of this world to agree to such a thing. I will agree to it. Therefore, without thought, my neighbors will disagree. They will not judge a matter on its merits. They will not think. Hence they will not agree.”
“And yet, I believe there is one condition in which all the rulers would agree.”
The Iatulon shrugged.
“Have you a magic potion which will make them think, Yel Den Garoujik?”
“Unfortunately, only a few will think.”
“But if only a few will think, and only those who think will agree, how can you say all will agree?”
“I say only, ‘There is one condition in which all the rulers would agree.’ ”
“If all think.”
“Yes.”
“We travel in circles, and arrive nowhere. They are fools, and will not think.”
“Fools may not think, yet all the rulers might.”
The Iatulon began to speak, and suddenly stopped. He turned to stare at the colonel, who looked back quietly.
The Iatulon cleared his throat. “Forgive my slowness, Yel Den. I realize now, there is some reason why you would have the thought arise in my own mind with but a hint from you. I follow the trail thus far. My ears are attuned, and my attention prepared, to grasp the idea when you set it free.”
“You have roads here, Great Iatulon. What do you think of them?”
“I would not poison your air with my thoughts of them. The streets are cobbled and bearable. In this season, the roads, though most are narrow and winding, are not bad. In very early spring and in late fall, most of them, because of mud, are good only as obstacles to an intruder. Man or beast will sink to his hips in the worst of these roads. Wagons disappear in them to the axles, and sometimes to the bed. Such are our roads, and yet they are good enough for our needs. If we travel far, we come to the border, where the enemy has soldiers to put an arrow through us if we cross. Your mention of roads carries me nowhere, Yel Den Garoujik.”
“Then let your thought travel upon a finer road, Great Iatulon—a road such as can be made by choosing the route with care, sending men ahead to clear the way, while others bring stone from the place where the road has already passed, and gravel and dirt, and pack it into place to make way for the wagons that bring yet more dirt, stones, and gravel, from the places where this road has already gone, and that have been leveled to make it smooth. Such a road could carry a big idea, amongst other things—Such things as spice, gold, fine tools, and works of craftsmanship, which now must come by sea and upriver, with many shipwrecks and at great cost.”
The Iatulon stroked his chin. “That is a big idea. But Yel Den, ideas of any size founder upon the rocks of stupidity, as a spice ship on the coastal reefs. The kings will not agree to that, either.”
“Even if they are paid the tolls?
The Iatulon looked blank.
“Tolls? What word is that?”
“What merchants would not gladly pay a small fee to trade by land with far places? This payment, or toll, would go direct to the king’s treasury. This would be a royal road, Great Iatulon, and each length of it would be the personal property of the king through whose territory it passed. The king need only set up a strong guardhouse by the road, and a gate on the road, and collect payment from every merchant who passes through.”
The Iatulon sat back. “This appears to be a practical idea. Whoever refused to cooperate would rouse the anger of those who wished to have the tolls, and hence he would risk his throne. If I understand this, the royal treasuries would be paid much of that money now lost to rocks and storms, along the whole length of the miserable coast.”
“True. And since the merchants need no longer fear these things, they should be willing to pay the tolls. If all those princes who do think should start work on such a road—”
“Yes, but wait. There is a problem. My kingdom, although far from perfect, is at least better ordered than those of my neighbors. While I have a Master of the Roads, they leave it to the peasants to repair the roads on threat of a beating. Yet the peasants are already busy in the fields, tending the crops, and repairing the damage done by the feuds and hunts of the boisterous nobility of these countries. What with the local robbers, the nobility, and the lack of vermin-proof storehouses, there is little excess from one year to the next to carry them if they did work on the roads. Everything is ill-ordered. With no Master of the Roads, no work chiefs, no men accustomed to earn extra coppers each year on the road, and no stored surplus of food, how can they build? The only system and method in such countries is applied to the army, the tax collector, and recruitment for the harem.”