«Let a bunch of barbarians take over the holy throne?» muttered Goram.
Heym closed his mouth, and gathering determination tightened his gaunt face. He looked around the pulsing city, and a vast tenderness and pity welled up in him—poor geniuses, poor helpless unwitting supermen—and answering it came a steely implacable resolve.
There was too much at stake to let his own personal fate matter. Certainly a mindlessly destructive atavist could not be allowed to block history. He would keep trying, he’d do his best to talk Goram over, because the alternative was fantastically risky for the station and against all his own training and principles—including elementary self-preservation.
But if he failed, if Goram remained obdurate, then he’d have to apply the same primitive methods as the soldier. Goram would have to die.
Rain clouds came out of the west with sunset, thunder rolling over the sky and a cool wet wind blowing from the sea. Goram and Heym finished a primitive but satisfying meal in a small restaurant and the psychologist said: «We’d better look for a place to stay tonight. Will you be in this city tomorrow?»
«Don’t know,» answered Goram curtly. He had been silent and withdrawn during the day’s tour of the metropolis. «I have to think over what I’ve seen today. It may be enough basis for a decision, or I may want to see more of the planet.»
«I’ll pay the score,» offered Heym. He fought to keep his voice and face blank. «And I’ll ask the waiter to recommend a tavern.»
He followed the man toward the kitchen. «Please,» he said in the common tongue, «I wish to pay the check.»
«Very well,» answered the native. He was a tall young fellow with the faintly weary eyes of a scholar—probably a student, thought Heym, doing his stint here and getting his education free. He took the few coins casually.
«And—is there a place to stay overnight near here?»
«Right down the street. Stranger, I take it?»
«Yes. From Caralla on business. Oh—one other thing.» It was a tremendous effort to meet that steady gaze. Heym was aware of his own clumsiness as he blurted the request: «I… uh… I’ve lost my knife and I need it to prepare some handicraft samples for display tomorrow. The stores are all closed now. I wonder if you have an extra one in the kitchen I could buy.»
«Why—» The native paused. For a vertiginous instant, Heym thought he was going to ask questions, and he braced himself as if to meet a physical impact. But on a world where crime was virtually unknown and lying hardly ever went beyond the usual polite social fibs, even so crude a fiction could get by. «Yes, I suppose we have,» said the waiter. «Here, I’ll get one.»
«No… I’ll come along… save you the trouble… choose one for my purpose if… uh… if you have several you can spare.» Heym stuck close to the waiter’s heels.
The kitchen was spotlessly clean, though it seemed incredible that cooking should still be done with fire. Heym chose a small sharp knife, wrapped it in a rag, and slipped it into his pocket. The waiter and chef refused his money. «Plenty where this one came from—a pleasure to help out a visitor.»
«What were you out there for?» asked Goram.
Heym licked stiff lips. «The waiter was new here himself and went to ask the cook about hotels.»
The first raindrops were falling as the two came out into the street. Lightning forked vividly overhead. Goram shuddered in the raw damp chill. «Foul place,» he muttered. «No weather control, not even a roof for the city—uncivilized.»
Heym made no reply, though he tried to unlock his jaws. The blade in his pocket seemed to have the weight of a world. He looked down from his stringy height at the soldier’s squat massiveness. I’ve never killed, he thought dully. I’ve never even fought, physically or mentally. I’m no match for him. It’ll have to be a sneak thrust from behind.
They entered the hotel. The clerk was reading a journal whose pages seemed purely mathematical symbols. He was probably a scientist of some kind in his main job. There was, luckily for Goram, no register to sign, the clerk merely nodded them casually toward their room.
«No system here,» muttered Goram. «How can they keep track of anybody without registry?»
«They don’t,» said Heym. «And they don’t have to.»
The room was large and airy and well furnished. «I’ve slept in worse places,» said the soldier grudgingly. He flopped into a chair. «But it’s the first place where the hired help reads technical journals that I’ve seen.»
«The social order here is unique,» Heym repeated himself. «The colonists evolved through families, clans, tribes, kingdoms, and republics in a matter of centuries. Finally the most advanced countries worked out the present system, which was universally adopted when planetary government was established.»
«What is it?»
«Well, it’s a kind of democratic socialism—really the only logical form of government for a race of geniuses, at least until robots are developed. You see, the race needs an advanced civilization, with its technical advantages, in order to give the brilliant minds contact with each other and resources to carry out and propagate their ideas. Yet no high-grade mind should be put to the myriad routine and menial tasks essential to running a civilization, everything from garbage collection to government. The present set-up is a compromise, in which everyone puts in a small proportion of his time at those jobs. He can do manual work, or teach, or run a public-service enterprise like a farm or restaurant—whatever he wishes. And he can work steadily at it for a few years and then have all his needs taken care of for the rest of his life, or else put in a few hours a day, two or three, over a longer period of time. The result is that needs and a social surplus are available for all, as well as education, health services, entertainment, or whatever else is considered desirable. The planet could, in fact, do without money, but it’s more convenient to pay in cash than fill out credit slips.
«Incidentally, that’s probably one reason there’s no great interest in providing more material goods for all—it would mean that everyone would have to put in more time in the mines and factories and less on his chosen work. Which is apparently a price that genius is unwilling to pay. I don’t think there’ll be any great progress in applied science until the research project established some time back perfects the robots it’s set for a goal.»
«Uh-huh,» muttered Goram. «And just let them expand into the Galaxy and find we have such robots—left unproduced since the Imperial populace has to be kept busy—and see what they’ll do. They’d be able to wreck the whole set-up, just by inventing and distributing, and they’ll know it.»
«Can’t you credit them with being smart enough to see the reasons for maintaining the status quo?» asked Heym desperately. «They don’t want the barbarians on their necks any more than we do. They’ll help us maintain the Empire until they have developed a way to change conditions safely.»
«Maybe.» Goram’s mouth was tight. «Still, they’ll hold the balance of power which is something no group except the Imperium can be permitted to do. Spirit! How do you even know they’ll be on our side? They may decide their best advantage lies with our rivals. Or they may be irritated with our having used them so cavalierly all these centuries.»