“Exactly. And now he finds them organizing again on Kronia, recruiting a following.”
“Have they approached Lan?”
“Not with anything direct—yet. But he thinks they’re sounding him out.”
“What are they saying to him?”
“That the way Kronia is run will have to change. This way of doing things might have worked when the colony was small and consisted of true believers. But as it grows, conflicts are going to emerge that will call for different methods.”
Sariena smiled faintly. “And of course, the methods they have in mind are the ones they just happen to be experienced in. I wonder who they would like to see taking charge of things, if the truth were known.”
Vicki glanced sideways as they walked. “Somehow I don’t really think this is news to you,” she said.
“I hear this and that,” Sariena replied vaguely. Then she shook her head in a suddenly decisive way. “But no. There will be no changes. Such people have nothing to offer that we want.” Which was about as scathing a remark as was likely to be heard, even in private conversation. What use are you to anyone? was the ultimate Kronian insult.
Vicki bit her lip, hesitating for a moment. Then she said, “But sometimes I can’t help wondering if they might have a point. Maybe Kronia’s priorities are guided too much by ideals instead of practicalities. Can this system continue to work as the colony continues to get bigger? Or must some quantitative way of allocating resources become necessary eventually?”
“You mean a monetary system?”
“Something like one, anyway.”
Sariena touched Vicki’s shoulder briefly. “Look, I know you’re only saying what seems to make sense. But try to bear in mind that you weren’t raised a Kronian. Terrans have only known that way of seeing things, and the mindset that it produces.” Sariena’s voice had taken on an uncharacteristically hard note. Vicki had evidently touched on something that ran deep.
“Kronia’s only experience has been as a small colony of devotees,” she pointed out.
“And you think our principles aren’t strong enough to survive against harsh reality?” Sariena shook her head. “Don’t underestimate us, Vicki. Those who only understand the kind of power that ruled Earth will never prevail here. Nobody is conditioned to hear their message. The kind of wealth that can be hoarded and controlled to buy services and servitude doesn’t exist on Kronia. And without wealth that they can control, where is their power?”
Vicki hoped so. She had heard Sariena’s arguments before. But she also knew what the people they were talking about were capable of, and that they didn’t give up easily. Kronian science might have liberated itself from the ties that had made Earth’s a servant of militarism and money, but Vicki had seen for herself how deplorably the Kronian delegation had fared at trying to match Terran political infighting. She just hoped that the Kronians were not miscalculating again, and that here at least, in a system of values that was of their own making, they were judging their opposition accurately.
CHAPTER SEVEN
On Earth, Kurt Zeigler had been a military liaison official with Eurospace and an inside contact there of General Valcroix, for whom he had supplied much valuable information—an impressive position for his relative youth of thirty-four years. He had been one of the few close associates who had escaped from Algeria with Valcroix while the general’s own aide remained behind, valiantly leading a force to hold off troops who were trying to prevent the seized orbital lifter from leaving the pad. Zeigler had always been ambitious for power, which, simply put, meant being in a position where others did what you wanted. If it didn’t come naturally with birth or wealth, the road to acquiring, he had found, was to become a trusted tool of those who possessed it, camouflaging one’s own needs behind an appearance of serving theirs. And as his career up to its untimely termination had shown, he had proved remarkably adept at following this principle. That was why he was here, still enjoying the confidence of those who had arranged his ticket out, while the general’s aide, if alive at all—a high statistical improbability—staggered and groped to exist from one lightless day to the next beneath the cloud and smoke canopy covering the cauldron that Earth had become.