The pride and dream of the Dorsai, like the dream of the Round Table before it, was to pass; and they were witnesses to its passing.
"We will proceed." The voice of Rourke was dry and emotionless in the room.
He shuffled together the papers lying before him on his section of the long table.
"We've lived by contracts for three centuries, here on the Dorsai," he said, briskly. "We'll die, if necessary, by proper contract. I take it you've had a chance to read the copy Amanda Morgan furnished you?"
"Yes," said Hal. "I should say, to begin with - "
The uplifted hand of Rourke stopped him.
"We can discuss the actual contract in a moment," Rourke said. "As it happens, this isn't an ordinary coming to terms; but an agreement which goes in many ways beyond anything any of us have entered into before. So with your permission, we'll ask you a few questions first; and if the answers to those are satisfactory, we can move to direct discussion of the contract, itself."
"By all means," said Hal.
"Good," said Rourke.
He glanced right and left, as if he would have paused to gather the eyes of all his fellow Dorsai there, if that had been possible without his standing up and turning around. Then his gaze came back to Hal's.
"There are provisions in the contract," he said, "to require operating income for those engaged in the work of the contract, for the care of their dependents and for themselves in case of death or disabilities received in the course of work, as well as some further provision for everyone from this world who's to be engaged in that work. But in the ultimate sense, there's no currency or credit in which payment can be made for the kind of service that's being asked of us, here. I believe you can agree with me on that?"
"Yes," said Hal. "It's true."
"Then," said Rourke, "on behalf of all of us, let me ask you the soldier's question. Under that circumstance, why should we risk everything we've ever had, to fight and die for people who can't or won't fight for themselves?"
"I don't think you'll find them unwilling to fight," said Hal slowly. "Some, right from the start, and more as time goes on, are going to come and join you. In fact, I'd be surprised if you hadn't already made provision for that."
"We have, of course," said Rourke. "But my question still needs an answer."
"I'll try to answer it…" said Hal. He stepped back mentally to let that in him which was Donal respond, and - as had happened involuntarily to him on his previous meeting with the Grey Captains - felt his earliest self take over.
"It's an old question, isn't it?" he heard himself say. "Never answered once and for all. The Classical Greek who drank hemlock, the Roman who fell on his sword, had reasons for what they did. More to the point, the blind king, John of Bohemia, had his reasons nine hundred years ago when at fifty-four, he went to help King Philip of France against the English at the battle of Crecy; and had his squires lead him into the thick of battle, that August twenty-sixth in the year 1346, a battle in which he had to know he would be killed."
He paused, searching the faces before him. But there was no puzzlement or uncertainty there, only a waiting.
"In my own case…" he went on, "it's clear to me why I'm going to give everything that I've got - not just my life and all I've ever had, but any future there is for me - to what has to be done, now. I could give you my own reasons for doing that. Or I could make out a list of reasons for that ancient Greek I talked about, that old Roman, and the blind king of Bohemia. But in the end, each set of reasons would total up to the fact that what was done was done because the person doing it was who he or she was. I do now what I do because I am what I am. You, all of you, will do what you choose to do because as individuals and as a community you are what you are; and have been what you are, since the race began."
He stopped speaking.
"That's all the answer I've got for you," he said.
"Yes," said Rourke unemotionally. "The other question is - where are you going to want us to fight?"
Hal's eyes met his on the level.
"You know I can't answer that," he said. "In the first place, that where is going to be decided by what happens between now and the moment in which we all commit ourselves to action. In the second place - you know that I don't doubt your security. But in a matter like this, with the life and future of people on a number of worlds concerned, that's one piece of information I can't share with anyone until the time is right. When the moment comes for your involvement, I'll tell you; and at that time, if you want, you can make your decision to go along with it or not, since there'll be no way in any case that I could make you agree to go along with my plans if you didn't want to."
There was silence in the general audience room. Rourke had a stylus in hand and was making notes on the screen inset in the table surface before him. A strange feeling of having been through this before took Hal, followed by another, even stranger sensation. Abruptly, it seemed to him that he could feel the movement of this small world around its distant sun of Fomalhaut, the movement of Fomalhaut amongst its neighboring stars, the further movements of each of the human-inhabited worlds under their suns; and beyond even these he seemed to feel the great sidereal movement of the galaxy, wheeling them all inexorably onward to what awaited them further in time and space.
"I've so noted that in the contract," Rourke said, looking up again at Hal; "and that ends the questions we had for you, at this moment. Do you have any to ask us?"
"No," said Hal. "I'm sorry, but yes. You've made this a contract between all of you and me, with only the Final Encyclopedia to back me up. You'll have to understand that there's no way I'd ever be capable of ensuring the obligations this contract requires me to have toward you all. Even the Encyclopedia doesn't have the kind of resources that would allow it to guarantee what's set down there as due you in certain eventualities. Matters like rehabilitating this entire world, for example, if parts of it should be destroyed or damaged by enemy action in retaliation for your work under the contract; that's beyond the capabilities and wealth of several worlds, let alone something like the Encyclopedia - to say nothing of being beyond the resources of an individual like myself."
"We understand that," said Rourke. "But this contract is made for the historical record, as well as for legal reasons. It's the whole human race we're serving in this instance; and there's no legal machinery that would be capable of binding the human race as a whole, to these obligations. But an opposite party to a contract is a necessary element in an agreement like this. We consider that what's set down here will bind both you and the Final Encyclopedia morally, to the extent of what resources you do have, to observe its provisions. More than that, we can't expect - and don't."
"I see." Hal nodded. "On that basis, of course. Both Tam Olyn, for the Final Encyclopedia, and I will be more than willing to agree to it."
"Then," said Rourke, "it only remains for this assembly to go through the contract itself with you, paragraph by paragraph, and make sure that the language of it means the same thing to you as it does to us."
So they did. The procedure took over three hours, local time, and when Hal at last stepped down from the lectern, he found himself stiff-legged and light-headed. Amanda collected him from a number of the Captains who had come up to clasp hands with him; and led him toward the back of the room.