The colonel said curiously, “What happened when these three men got back to Boschock—or Paradise, as they call the miserable hole?”
“What happened? Well, while they’d been gone, the inhabitants had split up into warring factions. When they came back, Roberts presented himself as their liege-lord, Vaughan, Duke of Trasimere—and they accepted him.”
The colonel looked startled.
“And that’s the ultimate cause for this masquerade we’re carrying out right now?”
“That’s just the barest suggestion of it. Next, there was a war between Duke Vaughan, and a sorcerer called ‘Oggbad.’ Where Oggbad came from, we have no idea. But there’s some ferocious wild life on that planet, and the wild life cooperated by attacking the city in support of Oggbad.”
“Holy—”
“Naturally, the inhabitants suspended their differences to protect themselves against Oggbad. That temporarily ended the factional strife amongst the inhabitants. But you see the significance of all this?”
“Sure. Roberts and the others must have developed an emotional-field generator and learned to use it. It must be big and powerful, too.”
“Exactly. And with that, if they choose, they could carve out quite an empire. But they don’t seem to be doing that. Instead, as nearly as we can judge, they’re trying to straighten out the mess on Boschock III. Now, in brief, that’s what brings us here, and if Larssen doesn’t run wild on us, we should have them on board shortly, and start to figure this business out.”
“Wait, now. With their own E-G, aren’t we taking a certain risk in bringing them aboard?”
“If they had with them one of the power that they used on the planet, sure. But Ahrens tells me that’s impossible. Anything they’ve got on their ship, we can beat down. He’ll pour on the power as soon as they’re in range, and reel them in so dewy-eyed and overcome to be members of the Interstellar Patrol that they’ll hand their plans over voluntarily, and be grateful to do it, at that.”
The colonel frowned, then shrugged. “Well, that gives a clearer picture of that part anyway. But, that’s not what you called about, is it?”
“No. We’re already doing about all we can there. This other business is unrelated, except that it adds to the strain. It’s nothing of our choosing.”
The colonel smiled. “You don’t mean the Space Force is calling on us for ‘interservice cooperation’?”
“Not the Space Force—PDA.”
The colonel’s smile faded. “When Planetary Development admits it needs help, it is in a mess. What’s got them by the throat this time?”
“Nothing serious. Just two dozen petty kings and princes.”
The colonel frowned. “Two dozen petty—”
“You see, PDA is opening up new regions for colonization. Since travel by colonization ship is not the best possible preparation for the rigors of life on a new planet, PDA likes to give the colonists a chance to recover, and to finish their fitting out, at a Rest & Refit Center, before the final stage to the colony planet. It generally works out that if the R & R Center is on an Earth-type planet, it simplifies things for everyone. PDA has found exactly one Earth-type planet that’s ideally situated as a site for an R & R Center. This planet is already settled by an intelligent life form so human in appearance that, for all practical purposes, you might as well say there’s no difference.”
“So PDA has to get the approval of these people before they can put their Rest & Refit Center on the planet.”
“Exactly. And that’s where the fun starts. This place is backward. Each pipsqueak nation on the planet is run by a petty monarch of some kind. A few of these local princes do their jobs. But the bulk of them spend their time popping grapes into their mouths, spurring on the recruiting teams for the harem, and figuring out how to wring more taxes out of their subjects.”
The colonel thought a moment, then shrugged.
“Then the people should happily vote the princes out of office. Let PDA run the Space Force in there, to cover them while they explain the principle of the vote, and, in no time at all, they’ll have the approval of the populace.” The colonel leaned back, and clasped his hands around his knee. “That solves the problem.”
The figure on the screen smiled sourly, and held up between finger and thumb a small message spool. “This is a record of the story as I got it from PDA. What’s on this spool explained the thing to me, and it will explain it to you just as well. Then you can figure out the solution for yourself.”
The colonel sat up. “Wait a minute. Then I can—”
“Obviously someone has to handle this mess. And SymComp has made its choice. The problem is all yours.”
The wall screen faded out.
Across the room, the “incoming message” lid of a pneumatic chute snapped open. A shiny metal cylinder popped part way out, opened up, and dumped its cargo.
With a clang, the message spool dropped into the tray.
II
The colonel stared at the spool for a moment, then gave a short bark of a laugh, scooped the spool up, and went out the hatch-type door. A brisk walk down a corridor brought him to an unmarked hatch that gave way at the pressure of his hand. He stepped into a small neat room, one wall of which was lined with books, while another wall bristled with a formidable array of weapons. A small viewer sat on a stand by the desk at the foot of his cot. The colonel shut and locked the hatch, then snapped the spool into the viewer, spun the chair around, and sat down.
He was at once presented with a view of a desk, behind which was seated a fussy-looking individual in a state of considerable nervous tension. On the desk was a nameplate reading, “R. Halstead, Senior Administrator.” On the desk were three viewers, several racks of spools, and a pile of reports. A small side table held an ash tray heaped with cigarette butts, a half-empty glass of water, and a small pill bottle with the cap off.
The administrator cleared his throat self-consciously.
“Ah . . . I have been assured by my superiors that it will be within the normal canons of proper procedure to apply through channels to determine the availability of . . . ah . . . interservice assistance regarding a matter of some consequence to the . . . the fullest settlement by humanity of the available interstellar territory consonant with equitable treatment of less-favored inhabitants of the planets in question.”
The colonel listened intently. With all this jargon, the administrator must have something to hide. He went on:
“The situation is of more than normal urgency, having been the subject of many exhaustive studies by the foremost authorities in the relevant fields of supply factors and trans-solar jurisprudence . . .”
The colonel waited out a lengthy statement designed to show how much work PDA had done. Then came a complex justification of PDA procedures, which the colonel listened to closely, since he had no idea what esoteric point they might be hung up on now.
In due time there emerged the sentence, ” . . . Since, of course, due consideration must be assured for the established customs of the indigenous sentient populace, it would obviously be intrusive and autocratic to force upon them our conception of representative government; a more enlightened policy requires that no such intrusion be tolerated; the existing allocation of administrative authority must be regarded as uniquely suited to the conditions obtaining at the moment amongst the populace; and hence their leaders, whatever the outward apparent form of their government, must be regarded as the duly-chosen representatives of the people . . .”
The colonel hit the replay button. He went over this section until he was satisfied that he knew what it meant: Regardless of circumstances, whoever was in charge when PDA got there, that was who PDA dealt with. In this case, that meant two dozen wrangling petty princes.
The administrator went on, “We find it most unfortunate that these Planetary Representatives, by a vote of eighteen to six, have chosen to reject the building of a Rest & Refit Center on the planet. There is no other suitable planet for this facility. Obviously, we can’t send colonists into this region without proper preparation; and yet, to be true to our own principles, we can’t force the local princes to accept the R & R Center. Any administrator who did choose to do that would be removed by higher authority. We can’t permit any outsider to use force against them, either. They are our responsibility. We must lead them, not force them. Yet we must have this Rest & Refit Center. Hence we’ve had no choice but to put the Center out to contract, on the assumption that the contractor will persuade the People’s Representatives of the advantages of accepting the Center. Unfortunately, no contractor has felt confident enough to submit a bid.”