Horsip drew in a careful breath. “Please give the Council of Brothers my thanks, and tell them that their message was delivered.”
The Brother bowed, backed two paces, then turned and strode down the aisle and out the door.
After the Brother went out, the door opened up, and another messenger came in.
Horsip braced himself, returned the messenger’s salute, and a few moments later found himself reading a message commanding him to attend a special meeting of the High Council.
“Well, Moffis, it looks as if we’re not the only people who think the trouble is over with.” He handed him the two messages.
Moffis looked relieved.
“But I still don’t know how they know.”
“Able Hunter knows. . . . If I can get a chance to ask him.”
* * *
Since the High Council, for some reason sufficient to itself, was now situated far from where Horsip would have expected, the trip involved special transportation. Horsip soon found himself on an ultrafast ship with simple arrangements, a minimum of luxurious appointments, a well-equipped gymnasium, and a library with a highly unusual selection of books. Horsip, who did little reading—aside from reams of hated reports—found that any volume he picked up in this library held his interest, regardless of the subject. It dawned on him that these books must have been culled from the entire production of all Centra.
“H’m,” said Horsip, eying a book titled The Essence of Combat—Tactics, Strategy, Policy, and Basic Principles.
He settled down in a comfortable armchair, and was deep in the book when he vaguely heard the door shut, read on, became dimly aware of someone moving around, looked up, and saw Able Hunter frowning as he examined the titles on the shelf from which Horsip had gotten the book. Hunter looked up, and saw Horsip.
“Ah, General Horsip, how are you? You haven’t seen a . . .” He paused, noting the book in Horsip’s hands.
Horsip smiled genially.
“I will be through with this in a few days. Perhaps I could finish it sooner if I could get a distraction out of my mind.”
Hunter laughed.
“If there’s anything I can do to help . . .”
“What are Mikerils?”
Hunter glanced around. Save for the two of them, the room was empty.
“Mikerils are Centrans infected with a microorganism passed on to them by the bite of another Mikeril.”
Horsip looked blank.
Hunter said, “A study of the comparative anatomy of the two proves the relationship. It should have been obvious. How do these attacks start? Few and far between. Then they become gradually more numerous, and finally overwhelming. Why? Because the more of these creatures there are, the more Centrans they can bite. And the more Centrans they bite, the more Mikerils there are. But to be susceptible to the disease, a Centran’s body chemistry apparently has to be upset in a certain way. What we used to call ‘sin’—and what your priests call ‘not following the True Way’—upsets a Centran’s body chemistry in such a way that he becomes susceptible to the attacks of the microorganism. That is what causes the Mikeril attacks.”
“But—what started them in the first place?”
“I don’t know. Possibly it began as an infection on an early colony planet. Certainly there must be some other host, to act as a reservoir of infection.”
Horsip thought it over.
“Their size isn’t much different from ours, but . . .” He thought of the creatures moving trancelike through empty space, and sweeping overhead by the thousands—without wings, “It just isn’t possible.”
Hunter nodded. “I know. We’ve seen it, but in a few decades people will doubt our reports. All I can say is, mystics on Earth claim that men can ‘levitate’—that is, in effect, fly—and can do a great many other things, by following disciplines that control certain nerve currents, as I understand it.”
Hunter looked exasperated. “That’s their claim. But they generally refuse to demonstrate. Now and then there are reports of demonstrations, but are they true, or aren’t they?” He reached up to a different shelf. “Here’s a book I found yesterday titled The Powers of the Disciplined. When I open this book, I find that it is written in a kind of script I can’t read. But the publishing house is the Self-Development Society. If this were Earth, I would be sure this was a mystic book of some kind . . . Now, if there are such powers, then perhaps Centrans can exercise them, but only after so much self-discipline that for most people it just isn’t worth the effort. Perhaps the disease strengthens these powers temporarily, just as an insane man shows unusual physical strength.”
“Do your people have anything that corresponds to Mikerils?”
Hunter looked uneasy. “Not that I know of.”
“Then you, at least, can enjoy the fruits of your labor.”
“You mean, after we have a good system set up, then we can settle back and take things easy?”
Horsip nodded.
Hunter moodily shook his head. “What happens then is that we get soft—and get overthrown. Centra has had one empire. We’ve had hundreds. They all got soft.”
Horsip suddenly saw how it all fitted together. The Mikerils, hideous as they were, were what kept the Integral Union from falling apart. Every time the Centrans started off on the wrong path, the Mikerils turned up.
“Are you,” said Horsip, “the first to learn this?”
“Don’t think it for a minute. If I’m not mistaken, the Holy Brotherhood knows all about it. And I imagine the High Council does too.”
* * *
By the time their ship had reached the headquarters ship of the High Council, Horsip and Hunter had each read The Essence of Combat several times. Horsip detected what seemed to be a faint air of wondering respect in Hunter’s manner toward him, tried to unravel the cause, and concluded that possibly Hunter was surprised that he, Horsip, could read such a transparently clear and well written book—and could understand it. This thought put Horsip in a bad frame of mind. While in this bad frame of mind, they arrived at the High Council’s headquarters ship, were escorted aboard, and, without delay, decorated with a variety of ribbons and shining emblems in gold, silver, and platinum. The citations were impressive, and Horsip should have been beaming with pride. Instead, he was conscious of the blank expression on the face of Able Hunter as the decorations were hung around his neck.
Horsip’s mood got worse. Then the ceremony was over, and Horsip was invited to the big H-shaped table. Hunter, bowing with outward respect, went out.
Horsip let his breath out in a hiss, and sat down. He had reached the height of power, had held the most exalted position open to anyone in the Integral Union, his name was a household word, and just one of the decorations he had received should have made him eternally grateful. As a matter of fact, he was in an ugly frame of mind.
Horsip looked around narrow-eyed, his dissatisfaction dying down somewhat as he looked at the faces around the table. They all showed intelligence and strong character—and then Horsip saw the two representatives of Columbia.
They appeared to be out of much the same mold as the Centran members, but the sight of them made Horsip wonder. The authority of Centra had been solidly upheld—but could it have been done without the help of the Earthmen themselves—those of them who opposed the dictators? Meanwhile, Earth was still there. Who could say when the next batch of enterprising individuals might come out from Earth? And now there were two of them—these two Columbians—on the High Council itself.
Just where was this going to end?
It still seemed to be headed toward the same solution—the Earthmen were going to take over the Integral Union.
Across the H-shaped table from Horsip, Roggil growled, “The ceremonies are now over, and the recorders, photographers, guests, and honored citizens may withdraw.”
There was a rustle and murmur, then finally several doors shut, Roggil glanced around, and said shortly, “That’s over with. All right, gentlemen, we have business to attend to, and it looks like a mess of the first order. Now—”
One of the two members from Columbia said in a low voice, “Just a minute before you get started on the new business.”
Roggil glanced around, none too pleasantly.
“What?”
Horsip looked on blankly. Was this the legendary High Council in action? Where was the air of smooth functioning he had noticed before?
The member from Columbia said, “We’ve just been through quite a convulsion. We want to know what it was all about.”
There was a chilly silence.
Horsip sat up.
Roggil said in a flat tone, “The convulsion was brought on by Earthmen, my friend. Do you have any more questions?”
The representative from Columbia smiled—it was an unpleasant expression, as if he contemplated slicing off Roggil’s head.
“Why, yes,” said the Columbian, “I do have more questions. Why did you let it get out of hand to start with? You could have held all that nonsense down. You had power enough. Instead, you withdrew your strength, and let the maniacs run wild. Then, when the whole mess had blown up into huge proportions, then you came back in and flattened all those people who should never have been allowed to seize power in the first place. What was the point of all that?”