“A molecular synthesizing plant could turn out a year’s biological production in a day, and sneer at germs,” said Flandry.
“No doubt. No doubt, Captain,” said Bandang. “You are very clever in the Empire. But cleverness isn’t all, you know. Not by any means. There are other virtues. Ah… Warouw, I think you should not have called the circumstance of, urn, easy contamination… unfortunate. On the contrary, I would call it most fortunate. A, ah, a divine dispensation, bringing about and protecting the, er, social order most suitable for this world.”
“A social order which recognizes that worthiness is heritable, and allows every blood line to find its natural status under the benevolent guardianship of a truly scientific organization whose primary mission has always been to preserve the genetic and cultural heritage of Unan Besar from degradation and exploitation by basically inferior outsiders,” droned Flandry.
Bandang looked surprised. “Why, Captain, have you come to so good an understanding already?”
“Here is Vat Four,” said Warouw.
In each chamber, a stairway, also glassed, led down from the catwalk. Flandry was taken along this one. It ended at a platform several meters above the floor, where a semi-circular board flashed with lights and quivered with dials. Flandry realized the instruments must report on every aspect of the vat’s functioning. Underneath them was a bank of master controls for emergency use. At the far left projected a long double-pole switch, painted dead black. A light at its end glowed like a red eye.
The man who stood motionless before the board would have been impressive in his white robe. Seen kilted through a flexisuit, he was much too thin. Every rib and vertebra could be counted. When he turned around, his face was a skull in sagging skin. But the eyes lived; and, in an eerie way, the glowing golden brand.
“You dare-” he whispered. Recognizing Bandang: “Oh. Your pardon, Tuan.” His scorn was hardly veiled. “I thought it must be some fool of a novice who dared interrupt a duty officer.”
Bandang stepped back. “Ah… really, Genseng,” he huffed. “You go too far. Indeed you do. I, ah, I demand respect. Yes.”
The eyes smoldered at them. “I am duty officer here until my relief arrives.” The murmur of pumps came more loudly through the glass cage than Genseng’s voice. “You know the Law.”
“Yes. Yes, indeed. Of course. But—”
“The duty officer is supreme at his station, Tuan. My decisions may not be questioned. I could kill you for a whim, and the Law would uphold me. Holy is the Law.”
“Indeed. Indeed.” Bandang wiped his countenance. “I too… after all. I too have my watches to stand—”
“In an office,” sneered Genseng.
Warouw trod cockily to the fore. “Do you remember our guest, Colleague?” he asked.
“Yes.” Genseng brooded at Flandry. “The one who came from the stars and leaped out the window. When does he go in the cage?”
“Perhaps never,” said Warouw. “I think he might be induced to cooperate with us.”
“He is unclean,” mumbled Genseng. The hairless skull turned back toward the dance of instruments, as if beauty dwelt there alone.
“I thought you might wish to demonstrate the controls to him.”
“S-s-s-so.” Genseng’s eyes filmed over. He stood a long while, moving his lips without sound. At last: “Yes, I see.”
Suddenly his gaze flamed at the Terran. “Look out there,” the parchment voice ordered. “Watch those men serving the vat. If any of them makes an error-if any of a hundred possible errors are made, or a thousand possible misfunctions of equipment occur-the batch now brewing will spoil and a million people will die. Could you bear such a burden?”
“No,” said Flandry, as softly as if he walked on fulminate.
Genseng swept one chalky hand at the panel. “It is for me to see the error or the failure on these dials, and correct it in time with these master controls. I have kept track. Three hundred and twenty-seven times since I first became a duty officer, I have saved a batch from spoiling. Three hundred and twenty-seven million human lives are owed me. Can you claim as much, out-worlder?”
“No.”
“They owe more than their lives, though,” said Genseng somberly. “What use is life, if all that life is for should be lost? Better return the borrowed force at once, unstained, to the most high gods, than dirty it with wretchedness like your own, outworlder. Unan Besar owes its purity to me and those like me. The lives we have given, we can take again, to save that purity.”
Flandry pointed to the black switch and asked very low, “What does that connect to?”
“There is a nuclear bomb buried in the foundations of this castle,” Genseng breathed. “Any duty officer can detonate it from his station. All are sworn to do so, if the holy mission should ever fail.”
Flandry risked cynicism: “Though of course a reserve stock of medicine, and enough spaceships for Biocontrol to escape in, are kept available.”
“There are those who would do such a thing,” sighed Genseng. “Even here the soul-infection lingers. But let them desert, then, to their own damnation. I can at least save most of my people.”
He turned back to his panel with a harsh movement. “Go!” he yelled.
Bandang actually ran back up the stairs.
Warouw came last, smiling. Bandang mopped his face, which poured sweat. “Really!” puffed the governor. “Really! I do think… honorable retirement… Colleague Genseng does appear to, ah, feel his years—”
“You know the Law, Tuan,” said Warouw unctuously. “No one who wears the Brand may be deposed, except by vote of his peers. You couldnt get enough votes to do it, and you would anger the whole extremist faction.” He turned to Flandry. “Genseng is a somewhat violent case, I admit. But there are enough others who feel like him, to guarantee that this building would go sky-high if Biocontrol ever seemed seriously threatened.” . Flandry nodded. He’d been a bit skeptical of such claims before. Now he wasn’t.
“I don’t know what good this has done,” said Bandang softly.
“Perhaps the Captain and I might best discuss that,” bowed Warouw.
“Perhaps. Good day, then, Captain.” Bandang raised one fat hand in a patronizing gesture. “I trust we shall meet again… ah… elsewhere than the cage? Of course, of course! Good day!” He wobbled quickly down the catwalk.
Warouw conducted Flandry at a slower pace. They didn’t speak for minutes, until they had turned back their flexisuits and were again in the garden and the blessed sane sunlight.
“What do you actually want to convince me of, Warouw?” asked the Terran then.
“Of the truth,” said the other man. Banter had dropped from him; he looked straight ahead, and his mouth was drawn downward.
“Which is short-sighted self-interest utilizing fanaticism to perpetuate itself… and fanaticism running away with self-interest,” said Flandry in a sharp tone.
Warouw shrugged. “You take the viewpoint of a different culture.”
“And of most of your own people. You know that as well as I. Warouw, what have you to gain by the status quo? Are your money, your fancy lodging, your servants, that important to you? You’re an able chap. You could gain all you now have, and a lot more besides, in the modern galactic society.”
Warouw glanced back at the two Guards and answered softly: “What would I be there, another little politician making dirty little compromises-or Nias Warouw whom all men fear?”
He jumped at once to a discourse on willow cultivation, pointing out with expert knowledge the local evolution of the original imported stock; until they were again at Flandry’s room.
The door opened. “Go in and rest a while,” said Warouw. “Then think whether to cooperate freely or not.”