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Authors: The Double Invaders
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of keeping
prisoners, except what we have learned from you. And we think the starvation
idea was unwise. To lose freedom is enough."
"Enough for
what?"
"To provoke desperate action. Several of
your people have been hurt, some killed. That is regrettable, but you gave us
no choice."
Bragan stared down at the tray while he
thought that one over. He saw a kind of biscuit or cake, a bowl of thick soup,
another bowl of what looked like fruit, a jug from which vapor was curling, and
two mugs.
"Will
you join me?" he invited. "Unless you have objections to eating with
an enemy."
"You are no longer an enemy," she
told him, grabbed the jug and began to pour a creamy white liquid into the mug.
"You have a number of wrong ideas about us, that's alL They can easily be
put right."
"Indeed!" He took a biscuit,
moistened it with the soup as she did, and tried a bite. It was good. He shook
his head at her. "You know," he said, "I speak your language,
and I have studied you as a people, as far as possible. It is my job to
understand people, but I confess I don't come anywhere near understanding you.
I am your enemy. I am Denzil Bragan—"
"Supreme Executive of Zorgan," she
completed prompdy. "Yes, I know. I am Ryth o'Mordin."
"Hallex Mordin's
daughter? I think I would have guessed."
In
fact she did have something of the old man's look, and his air of utter
competence, the same cool resolve in her gray eyes. But, for all the
resemblances, she was different. She was attractive. Her thick blonde hair was
caught back from her face with a blue cord that matched her tunic. When she
smiled, showing a dazzle of white teeth, Bragan caught himself in the act of
smiling back, and wondered what was happening to him.
"I
may look like my father," she said, "but I think my own thoughts. He
thinks you are dangerous. I think you are just wrong. Confused."
"Oh! About what?"
"So many things. It is in the way you
think. How can one man, or many men, take a planet?
Or hold it? Or own it? No one owns this planet. The words do not mean anything.
We, the Scartanni, do not own the
planet; we merely live here. It could have been anywhere else, or any other
people. It was none of our doing. It just happened!"
"You are aware of
other planets, then?"
"Of course!" She shrugged the
question away. "Suppose," she advanced, "you did own this
planet, as you term it, what would you do with it? What could you do with it, apart from live on it?"
"I would change it. A planet such as
this can support ten times, a hundred times as many people as it does now. And
great industries and products of all kinds."
"For what?" she demanded, just like
her father. "We have enough, and more than enough, for everything we need.
Why bother with more?"
"Why
bother to argue?" he retorted quietly. "You are going to have to
bother with more soon, like it or not."
"What does that
mean?"
"Never
mind. If I told you, you would just put it down to more wrong thinking on my
part, so let it slide. What's more to the point, what happens to me, now?"
"That will depend. When you have eaten
enough I will attend to your injury, and then it will be time to take you to a
session of our grand council. There we will decide what is to be done."
The
trial! he thought, but
didn't bother to comment. It was an inevitability, and there was nothing he
could do about it now. He drained his cup of creamy stuff, savoring its faintly
yeasty flavor, and declared himself satisfied. She rose promptly and went out
and away with the tray, leaving the door standing open. He noted that, then
iooked at himself ruefully. He had nothing but his leather jacket and pants,
and boots. Where would he run to? In a moment she was back with another tray
and dressings.
"Just
sit still," she ordered. "This will hurt a little, but no more than
is necessary." She had to come close in order to deal with his scalp
wound, and he became aware, again, that she had some mysterious kind of power
to affect him. The only thing he was
prisoners, except what we have learned from you. And we think the starvation
idea was unwise. To lose freedom is enough."
"Enough for
what?"
"To provoke desperate action. Several of
your people have been hurt, some killed. That is regrettable, but you gave us
no choice."
Bragan stared down at the tray while he
thought that one over. He saw a kind of biscuit or cake, a bowl of thick soup,
another bowl of what looked like fruit, a jug from which vapor was curling, and
two mugs.
"Will
you join me?" he invited. "Unless you have objections to eating with
an enemy."
"You are no longer an enemy," she
told him, grabbed the jug and began to pour a creamy white liquid into the mug.
"You have a number of wrong ideas about us, that's alL They can easily be
put right."
"Indeed!" He took a biscuit,
moistened it with the soup as she did, and tried a bite. It was good. He shook
his head at her. "You know," he said, "I speak your language,
and I have studied you as a people, as far as possible. It is my job to
understand people, but I confess I don't come anywhere near understanding you.
I am your enemy. I am Denzil Bragan—"
"Supreme Executive of Zorgan," she
completed prompdy. "Yes, I know. I am Ryth o'Mordin."
"Hallex Mordin's
daughter? I think I would have guessed."
In
fact she did have something of the old man's look, and his air of utter
competence, the same cool resolve in her gray eyes. But, for all the
resemblances, she was different. She was attractive. Her thick blonde hair was
caught back from her face with a blue cord that matched her tunic. When she
smiled, showing a dazzle of white teeth, Bragan caught himself in the act of
smiling back, and wondered what was happening to him.
"I
may look like my father," she said, "but I think my own thoughts. He
thinks you are dangerous. I think you are just wrong. Confused."
"Oh! About what?"
"So many things. It is in the way you
think. How can one man, or many men, take a planet?
Or hold it? Or own it? No one owns this planet. The words do not mean anything.
We, the Scartanni, do not own the
planet; we merely live here. It could have been anywhere else, or any other
people. It was none of our doing. It just happened!"
"You are aware of
other planets, then?"
"Of course!" She shrugged the
question away. "Suppose," she advanced, "you did own this
planet, as you term it, what would you do with it? What could you do with it, apart from live on it?"
"I would change it. A planet such as
this can support ten times, a hundred times as many people as it does now. And
great industries and products of all kinds."
"For what?" she demanded, just like
her father. "We have enough, and more than enough, for everything we need.
Why bother with more?"
"Why
bother to argue?" he retorted quietly. "You are going to have to
bother with more soon, like it or not."
"What does that
mean?"
"Never
mind. If I told you, you would just put it down to more wrong thinking on my
part, so let it slide. What's more to the point, what happens to me, now?"
"That will depend. When you have eaten
enough I will attend to your injury, and then it will be time to take you to a
session of our grand council. There we will decide what is to be done."
The
trial! he thought, but
didn't bother to comment. It was an inevitability, and there was nothing he
could do about it now. He drained his cup of creamy stuff, savoring its faintly
yeasty flavor, and declared himself satisfied. She rose promptly and went out
and away with the tray, leaving the door standing open. He noted that, then
iooked at himself ruefully. He had nothing but his leather jacket and pants,
and boots. Where would he run to? In a moment she was back with another tray
and dressings.
"Just
sit still," she ordered. "This will hurt a little, but no more than
is necessary." She had to come close in order to deal with his scalp
wound, and he became aware, again, that she had some mysterious kind of power
to affect him. The only thing he was
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