Miriam stared at him. “They've corrupted you. I thought you were the great fighter who would never give in!"
John shrugged. “I'm still fighting-but for money, not for God."
“That's disgusting!"
“Is it? Look at it this way, Miriam; I haven't killed anybody since I left the Citadel, haven't ordered anyone to his death. No one from ITD ever raped anybody-except financially. Our conquests don't leave widows and orphans and burned villages; they leave a more comfortable life."
“A year ago you heard those same arguments and denounced them."
John shrugged. “I was wrong,” he said.
When Miriam had gone he sat in the rocky hollow for a moment staring at the sky and thinking.
Miriam was quite right; a year earlier he had been determined to wipe every trace of the Earthers off Godsworld, and now he was working with them, doing the best he could to expand ITD's influence, yet he wasn't aware of any great change in his thinking.
A year ago he had thought Tuesday Ikeya's empathy spike an unspeakable abomination; now he was working for a man equipped with an identical one, and other rewirings as well, and was not troubled by it.
Of course, Blessing never raped anyone, so far as he knew, but still, his attitude had changed.
The change, he decided, had been a gradual thing, the result of working, first as a common laborer in Savior's Grace, then as ITD's local expert. He had never done common labor before that; his family had always been wealthy, by Godsworld standards, and he had entered the army as a boy of fourteen. That had been dangerous, but always exciting. He had never really seen the grinding boredom and exhaustion most people lived with. His stay in Savior's Grace had destroyed any ideas he had still held about the nobility of ordinary life on the old Godsworld. That old life was simple misery for most people, unending drudgery just to stay alive. His ancestors had been fools to give up Earther technology-even the less sophisticated technology of their time.
And working for ITD he had found the excitement of the military back in a new guise. Dawes had told him, when she spoke to him in her office those months ago, that he was not really interested in beliefs, but in using and expanding power, and she had been, he had to admit, quite right. He had hated the Heaveners for ruining his old life, destroying his position of power and privilege-but Earth had provided a replacement. He had refused the first one offered, by the Heaveners themselves, like a petulant child refusing a new puppy and demanding a dead one be brought back somehow-but he had brought ITD to Godsworld to punish Bechtel-Rand, and, worn down by his “puppyless” stay in Savior's Grace, he had taken what was offered.
He did not regret it at all.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“So I was great, and increased more than all that were before me in Jerusalem: also my wisdom remained with me."-Ecclesiastes 2:9
By the local calendar it was Christmas Day, Anno Domini 2596, when the ship bearing news of Gamaliel Blessing's promotion set down at Savior's Grace. John watched the landing through his office window; he had been the first to lay claim to a window when the above-ground addition to ITD's headquarters was built, and had made sure he had a good view of the spaceport.
He already knew about the promotion; the ship had transmitted the news from orbit. What had not yet been mentioned was the name of the new planetary administrator. There were three possibilities, as he saw it; either himself, currently the director of planning for all Godsworld; Premosila Kim, director of sales; or someone aboard the ship, sent from Earth to take over.
He wanted the job badly. Premosila was very good at what she did, certainly, and had perhaps the best intuitive grasp of practical psychology he had ever seen, but he had doubts about her ability to handle the job's other aspects. And a stranger from Earth would not know Godsworld the way he did. He had done a good job, he knew, helping ITD fit into Godsworld better than Bechtel-Rand ever did-the old protectorate had added no clients for two years now, while the Free Trade Federation was everywhere on the planet. He deserved recognition for his work.
Besides, it was the only promotion open to him, and he had always wanted to be at the top of his profession.
He watched the freighter settling onto the concrete pavement-the old-line folks in Savior's Grace had put up a fuss about that pavement, but it allowed larger ships to land safely, and when it was explained that that meant lower prices, the old-line folks had been decisively outvoted.
He could stand the suspense no longer. “Get me a line to the ship,” he told the wall.
“ITD Vessel Clydesdale,” a woman's voice answered.
“This is John Mercy; can you tell me whether Mr. Blessing's replacement is aboard?"
There was a moment's hesitation before the woman answered, “Mr. Mercy, I'm just the pilot; they don't tell me what's going on, they just tell me where to put the ship. We have a company executive aboard, but I have no idea whether he's anybody's replacement."
“Oh."
“He'll be debarking in a minute; why don't you come ask him in person?"
“Thanks, I'll do that."
His duties did not ordinarily include meeting new arrivals, but this was a special case; he stood, slapped his belt to be sure his communicator was working, and headed for the field.
By the time he stepped out onto the concrete crates were unloading themselves, sliding out through the upper hatchways and neatly stacking themselves on the waiting cargo platform. Most of the goods would have to be transferred to other containers before sale-Godsworlders were still uncomfortable around machinery that needed no human direction, and besides, the crate's brains were worth reusing.
The lower passenger hatchway was open, and three people had emerged. Two of them were ordinary ship's personnel, come aground on their own business; the third was a silver-haired man in a bizarre dark gray jacket and matching pants of a cut John had never seen before.
“Hlo and j'sevyu,” John said, extending a hand, “Welcome to Godsworld."
“Hlo,” the stranger replied. “I'm Colin Szebenyi."
“John Mercy, director of planning."
“Ah! Good, good-glad to meet you."
“Mr. Seven-Ye…"
“Szebenyi."
“Szebenyi, yes. Mr. Szebenyi, I won't waste any time; why are you here? Are you Mr. Blessing's replacement?"
“Direct, aren't you? Is that the local custom, or is it just you?"
“A little of both.” John noticed that Szebenyi had not answered the question.
“Ah. Well, yes. I'm here to evaluate the situation; the development committee has given me free rein. If I think it's necessary, I have the authority to take over here and run things myself, but I don't plan to-and I don't want to, either. Does that ease your mind?"
John smiled. “Yes, it does. What can I do for you?"
“Take me to Blessing, first off."
Three hours later, as Christmas Day was fading with the setting of the sun into New Year's Eve, John, Blessing, Szebenyi, Premosila, and Kwam? were gathered around the table in Blessing's office.
“It looks good,” Szebenyi said.
“Thank you, sir,” Blessing replied.
“You've got an outlet within ten kilometers of every village on the planet that's not exclusive to Bechtel-Rand, is that right?"
“Yes, sir."
“You've got regular air freight running?"
“Yes."
“Stable currency?"
“Yes."
“You're buying foodstuffs, leather, this weird nearwood fungus, and plenty of handicrafts-anything else?"