He turned and stared at her. With her sturdy figure and overlong hair she looked like one of the old prints. “Is that the right word?”
“Not distant. Less available,” she corrected.
Sarrz leaned back in his chair. “Much better. Continue, please.”
The male agent was obviously uncomfortable. He kept fingering the tunic insignia. Calna said, rapidly, “With the discovery and application of the Oxton Effect, it became apparent that there was no need to limit any galactic civilization to the space-time rigidity previously known. With easy slip between the twenty-six civilizations with high probability index, it was believed that a unification on twenty-six space-time levels could be accomplished. Research had shown that only three space-time levels could be unified immediately. This was done. The unified civilization of three space-time aspects set itself the task of bringing the social level of the remaining twenty-three up to the point where unification could be undertaken.”
“And how could this be done?” Sarrz asked in silky tone.
The girl flushed. “Field Teams, trained in Socionetics, and based at Transition, were assigned to the twenty-three lagging cultures. It was discovered that if the Field Teams acted openly, as agents from a parallel space-time, their efforts caused a deviation in probability of the culture development so that the civilization resulting became less probable, and hence could not be kept within slip range. It could still be reached, of course, as can the several thousand less probable ones, but only with exorbitant power expenditure.”
“I see,” said Sarrz, as though he were hearing of it for the first time. He leaned forward a bit. “And have we ever lost one of these parallel space-time cultures through too obvious meddling?”
“One,” the girl said, “Several years ago. It was number seventeen on the program chart.”
Sarrz was ready for the kill. He leaned forward a fraction of an inch more. “How can you be certain that it isn’t two that we have lost. Agent? How can you be certain that your violation of all standing instructions hasn’t lost us number four as well?”
The girl flushed and then turned pale. “You sit here in Transition and lose touch with the Field Team problems,” she said boldly. “Solin and I have been on the case for over five years. As soon as we were well enough educated in language and customs to walk among them as subjects of the Empire, we found out that our hope was Andro, youngest son of the ruler. You do not know, Deputy Director, how hard we tried to get close enough to Andro to control him, control his rashness, so as to improve his timing. He led the revolt against Empire when his followers were too few, his resources too slim. Five times we managed to save him. I could not stand by and see him killed in an alley. I could not face beginning again. And let me absolve Solin here, my teammate, from any responsibility. He made the strongest protest possible. I went ahead on my own authority. And I do not think we have forced number four out of range into a low probability index.”
Sarrz closed his eyes for long seconds, opened them suddenly and stared at the girl. “You were trained, Agent. You were told the danger of obvious meddling. You were told how long these things can continue. You knew that it may be two thousand years before we can steer that culture to the point where acceptance and unification can be considered. Knowing all these things about you, Agent, you leave me with but one conclusion. That you became personally and emotionally so involved with this Andro savage that you lost your head and tried, very sentimentally, to save him. Is that not true?” She turned her eyes from him. “Answer me!” he said softly.
“I... I don’t know. Possibly it is true.”
“Agent, there are seven hundred teams operating in that parallel culture. Most of them are attempting to activate a technistic renaissance. Others are directing the subjects of that Empire in equally necessary paths. Other teams, such as the one you two form, have been operating on the socio-political level. Up until now there has not been one violation of security.”
Sarrz stood up and walked to the window. He whirled “Think of it once! Think of what you’ve done! One tiny little push and a galaxy of two billions of habitable planets is pushed forever out of our reach! What did you do with him?”
Solin said in a low tone, “We cut the passage and as he fell, we resealed it. He was unconscious by the time we floated him down to the chamber He was badly hurt. Calna stayed with him and I set up the field, returned to our ship and activated the field, removing both of them from the city. He was almost gone. We rebuilt the tissues took him in deep sleep to the dark side of that planet, to one of the dead cities which they have lost the skill to visit, and placed him on the zero metabolic level Then we grew worried and came back.”
“So you grew worried, did you?” Sarrz said with acid sweetness. “What am I to tell the Director?”
“If only they hadn’t spotted him as he escaped from the ship.” Solin said.
“I’ve been going over your detailed reports,” Sarrz said, with a sudden note of hope in his voice. “This Deralan, he who headed the pursuit, isn’t he a very ambitious one?”
“Very,” Solin said.
“Then there’s our chance! This sixth escape by Andro will ruin Deralan. Shain will probably have him shot. Shain will want proof of Andro’s death. Is there any distinctive mark on this Andro?”
“A tattoo of the royal House of Calvan on the upper portion of the right arm.”
“Go into slip at once, Solin. Take a square of the skin with the tattoo on it. Use your finder to contact the Field Team on Rael. Give the little trophy to either Agent of the team. It will be placed in Deralan’s hand before he has his audience with Shain. I don’t think Deralan will ask any questions.”
“But then,” said Calna, in a thin voice, “when Andro reappears...”
“He won’t reappear. He’ll sleep there for ten thousand years, if it seems necessary.”
The girl stood up, one hand at her throat. “You can’t do that!”
“You have no hand in any more discussion of either policy or procedure, girl. You are no longer an Agent. You will receive all the usual pensions. Report to field five at once. They’ll have orders on you. You are being sent back to our own space-time. Any planet preference?”
“Earth,” the girl said softly.
For a moment Sarrz forgot his irritation with her. “Indeed! I guess I never noticed origin on your card. Do you know, this is the first time I have ever actually met anyone from our planet of origin.”
She lifted her chin, with a look of pride. “It is a good place,” she said. “It is a good place to know, and a good place to go back to.”
“I am sorry,” Sarrz said with gentleness. “Possibly you were never right for this sort of work. I am truly sorry.”
“Why can not Andro be released to recruit new personnel for his revolt?” she asked. “Wouldn’t it save time?”
The irritation came back into Saarz’ voice. “Release him and he knows that he did not escape through his own powers. He knows he was helped, and to him it would be help through the good offices of the supernatural. He would at once relate this last escape to the previous five, and become, through his new convictions, a son of the gods rather than a revolutionary. Rebellion would change from a social to a quasi-religious basis, and we know that in order to keep number four within the high probability index range, we must hasten development along the same lines as would normally occur. We have plotted their culture curve. We can accelerate it without affecting probability, but we cannot redraw the curve on a new basis without losing them forever, or at least until slip becomes possible for lesser probabilities, and our technicians in symbolics say that will never occur.”