Entities: The Selected Novels of Eric Frank Russell (50 page)

“Who’s going to say when the time has come?” asked Kayder, looking shrewd.

“You.”

“In that case I’ll never reach a decision.”

“I don’t recall you being so finicky a few weeks ago.”

“I’ve had enough. I’m going to carry on with my trading business and behave myself providing other folks leave me alone. Moreover, although the authorities insist that I’m a Terran, I still think of myself as a Venusian and I’m not going to slaughter a fellow Venusian merely to show my gratitude to a Terran.” Hooking thumbs in vest pockets, he took on a stubborn expression. “I’d be glad to do you a favor but you ask too much.”

“I’m asking very little if you only knew it.”

“Too much!” Kayder repeated. “And I’ll tell you something else: when it comes to killing somebody you are fully capable yourself. Why don’t you do your own dirty work?”

“A fair question. There are two excellent reasons.”

“Yes?”

“For one, I’ve already drawn too much attention to myself and am anxious not to attract more. For another, if the need to remove Thorstern should arise there’s every likelihood that the first sign of it will be my own departure from this vale of tears.”

“You mean—?”

“I’ll be dead.”

Kayder said, “You know what is in my mind: I’m indebted to you just so much that when you’re dead I won’t be especially happy. But it’s no use pretending I’ll be sorry, either.”

“You’ll be sorry!” Raven contradicted.

“Care to tell me why?”

“Because it may mean that you’re next.”

“Next? Next for what?”

“For wiping out of this world.”

Standing up, Kayder spread hands on his desk and spoke harshly. “You’re getting at something. Who is going to wipe me out? Why should he want to? Seeing that you and I have been on opposite sides, why should I now be on the same list as you?”

Waving him down and waiting for him to compose himself, Raven informed, “From the viewpoint of the masses we share one thing in common—neither of us is normal.”

“What of it?”

“Ordinary people are leery of paranormals. It can’t be said that they love them.”

“I’m not love-starved. I’m used to their attitude. ” He gave a careless shrug. “They recognize those better endowed by nature and are envious of them.”

“It is also an instinctive wariness approaching fear. It is a natural and ineradicable part of their defense-mechanism. Some most remarkable things can be done with mass-fears if you can arouse them to sufficient intensity, control them, direct them.”

Stewing it moodily, Kayder offered his conclusions, “I can’t read another man’s mind but that doesn’t mean I’m dopey. I can see where you’re going. You think Thorstern may try to regain power of a different but equally satisfactory kind by stirring up an anti-mutant crusade?”

“He might. He used the aptitudes of mutants—such as yourself—to further his schemes. Now, the way he may look at it, the same or similar aptitudes thwarted him, denied him victory, even menaced his life. Being normal himself, he’ll realize that he might gain ascendancy over his fellows if all of them were normal likewise.”

“All this is sheer speculation,” Kayder objected, but showing uneasiness.

“Just that and no more,” Raven agreed. “Nothing may happen. Thorstern’s drive may go in quite innocuous directions. If so, there will be no need to take action against him.”

“He’d be playing a mighty dangerous game if he tried it. Mutants may be few in number but once united by a common peril from hordes of—”

“You’re thinking along my original lines,” Raven chipped in. “I have switched off them since. I’ve gone on to another track.”

“How d’you mean?”

“Thorstern is fifty-eight. These days plenty of people live to a hundred and retain their faculties into the late nineties. So barring accidents or assassination he has a good while to go.”

“What difference does that make?”

“He can afford to be patient and take a longer way round to achieve the same result by less arduous means.”

Kayder blinked and suggested, “Make it a bit clearer.”

“Way back in the past,” Raven informed, “some wiseacre remarked that the most effective technique is not to fight a thing but to set its own parts fighting one another.”

It registered like a shock.

“Change your way of thinking,” Raven invited. “Go from the general to the particular. There is no such creature as a standardized mutant. The word is a collective noun covering a biped menagerie.” He watched the other for effect as he continued, “And, being what you are, I’ll bet you consider insectivocals to be the cream of the crop.”

“An equivalent notion is nursed by telepaths,” observed Kayder, pointedly. “That’s a jab at me, but no matter. Each variety of mutant thinks himself superior to the others. Each is as suspicious and jealous as any mere pawn.”

“Well?”

“Such a state of mind can be exploited. Type can be set against type. Remember one thing, my bug-ridden friend: superior powers aren’t necessarily accompanied by superior brains.”

“I know that much.”

“There are telepaths of such acute receptivity that they can probe your mind way out to the horizon yet are so inherently dimwitted that they’ve trouble with any thought more abstruse than c-a-t spells ‘cat.’ Mutants are humans with all the faults and follies of humans. Brother Thorstern, being an instinctively good psychologist, won’t overlook that useful fact!”

By now Kayder’s mind had readjusted. He could see the dire possibilities, was compelled to acknowledge their existence. The picture was anything but a happy one.

“If he tries this out, how do you think he’ll start?”

“Systematically,” said Raven. “First of all he will gain the secret support of Heraty, the World Council and influential pawns on three planets. His next step will be to collect and correlate all data on mutants that can be assembled from every available source, analyze it, reach a positive decision as to which two types exercise the most destructive powers and therefore are the most dangerous. He will choose one of those types to play the part of ye goode and faythfulle knight, the other for the role of baby-eating dragon.”

“And then?”

“Let’s say he decides the most effective play is to persuade pyrotics to exterminate insectivocals. Forthwith all the propaganda services of three worlds start mentioning insectivocals in a most casual way but invariably in an unflattering context. This continues, building up subconscious prejudice against them, showing them in an increasingly unfavorable light until eventually most humans—by which I mean pawns and other-type mutants alike—think of insectivocals as prize stinkers with no competition.”

“Hell in a mist!” rasped Kayder.

“That much having been done, along comes insidious suggestions that insectivocals hate pyrotics because of the latter’s bug-killing powers. From time to time the public is given gentle hints that it’s a good thing we have pyrotics around to take care of us.”

“Like heck it is!” Kayder said, purpling.

“At the proper moment—and don’t forget that precise timing is all-important— a well-publicized official speech is made in defense of insectivocals, appealing for unity and tolerance and authoritatively denying an absurd rumor that educated bugs plan to take over the three planets with the aid of treacherous insectivocals. That does a lot of good. It makes the public—again including other-type mutants—jump to the conclusion that there’s no smoke without fire.”

“They won’t swallow all that guff,” protested Kayder, inwardly knowing that they might.

“The public will swallow anything, anything at all no matter how crazy, provided it appears to bear the seal of official approval, is sufficiently long sustained, never contradicted, and plays upon their fears,” retorted Raven. “Imagine they’re now thoroughly aroused—what comes after?”

“You tell me.”

“Something to trigger the situation thus deliberately created.” He sought for an example, concocted one on the spur of the moment. “A specially placed skeleton is ‘found’ on its face in the Sawtooths and is given a hundred times more publicity than it deserves. An inspired rumor flies around that an innocent pyrotic has been stripped down by a murderous insectivocal. Further emotion-arousing fairy tales follow immediately after. A picked rabble-rouser sets a mob on the run when by most remarkable coincidence the police are busy elsewhere. The news of
that
whizzes around and loses nothing in the telling.”

Bending forward he stared straight at Kayder. His eyes were cold, cold. “Before you know it, you and every other identifiable insectivocal will be racing for dear life with a howling pack of ordinary people after you, other-type mutants in the lead and pyrotics panting to get at you first!”

“While Thorstern sits back and smiles?” suggested Kayder, showing big teeth. “You’ve got the idea, chum. With the aid of scared humanity he roots out the last findable insectivocal and makes the type extinct. Then follows a carefully calculated period of peace and tranquility before the propaganda services start their new build-up on the next victims, mini-engineers for example.”

“He’ll never do it,” declared Kayder.

“Maybe not—and maybe! Did you see that last serial on the spectroscreen?”

“No, I didn’t. I can find better ways of wasting time.”

“You missed something worth noting. It featured mutants.”

“That’s nothing. They’ve run mutant characters before.”

“Yes, of course. So this serial may be without significance. Or it may represent the beginning of an insidious campaign planned to end when nobody lives who has an extraordinary aptitude.” He waited a bit, added, “The hero was a telepath and the extremely obnoxious villain was an insectivocal.”

“He’ll never do it!” repeated Kayder in louder tones. A pulse was beating in his forehead. “I’ll kill him first!”

“That’s all I ask. I came to you because you owe me a favor. Also because recently you were the boss of a collection of talents and probably can call upon them again. You’ve death-dealing power and the gumption to use it. Leave Thorstern alone to live in peace but watch to find which way he’s going. If you can see that for the second time he intends to create human disunity—”

“He won’t live long enough,” Kayder promised with savage determination. “And I’ll be doing you no favor. I’ll be protecting myself. I’ll have no scruples if and when the time comes. A man is entitled to defend himself.” He eyed Raven calculatingly. “Just as a guess I’d say
you
will need protecting long before me. What action are you going to take?”

Raven stood up and said, “None.”

“None?” Kayder’s heavy brows arched in surprise. “Why not?”

“Perhaps, unlike you, I’m unable to take suitable action regarding myself.” He opened the door. “Or perhaps I enjoy the prospect of becoming a martyr.”

“If that’s a wisecrack, I don’t get it. If it isn’t, then I
know
you’re crazy!” Kayder wore a worried frown as he watched the other leave.

Back in the house Raven sprawled in a pneumaseat and said to Leina, “There’s going to be more interference if events make it desirable. But not by our kind. Human schemes will be countered by humans. Are you happy about it?”

“I’d have liked it better if that had been arranged in the first place,” she gave back a little tartly.

“They’re entitled to their tiny fragment of destiny, aren’t they?” He threw her a quizzical glance.

She breathed a sigh of resignation. “The trouble with males is that they never grow up. They remain hopeless romantics.” Her great eyes looked right into him. “You know perfectly well that these puny bipeds are entitled to nothing but preservation from destruction at the hands of the Denebs.”

“Have it your own way,” said Raven, giving up the argument. There was no point in pursuing it with her—she was too entirely right.

“And furthermore,” she went on, “I have been listening while you were busy with less weighty affairs. Twelve black ships have been reported in the region of Vega.”

He stiffened. “Vega! That’s the nearest they’ve come to date.”

“They may come nearer. They may arrive here in the end. Or they may shoot off in some other direction and not be seen in this cosmic sector for ten thousand years.” She did not add more but he knew what she was leaving unsaid, “This is a bad time to take foolish risks.”

“An error in tactics doesn’t matter where there is ability to conceal it and recover,” he pointed out. “I think I’ll go catch up on the news.”

Upstairs he reclined and opened his mind and sought to extract from the ethereal babble that portion emanating from the region of Vega. It was not easy. Too many talking at once.

“The tripedal hoppers of Raemis fled into the damp marsh lands and are fearfully declining all contact with the Denebs. The latter seem to think the world unsuitable for any purpose. They are making ready to depart.”

. . twisted the pilots’ minds and turned the entire convoy toward Zebulam, a near-nova in sector fifty-one of the Chasm. They are still bulleting along under the delusion that they’re on correct course.”

“I asked him for it. He’d discarded it so suddenly and violently that he was too confused to give permission. By the time he’d collected his wits it was too late, the opportunity had passed. So now I’ve got to wait for another. Meanwhile—”

“These Weltenstiles got the fright of their lives when a cruiser came out of the dark and fastened tractor-beams upon them. It didn’t take the Denebs one-thousandth of a time-unit to realize that the ship they’d caught was a crude contraption manned by comparative savages. They let it go unharmed.”

" . . . twelve in fan formation still heading toward Vega, blue-white in sector one-ninety-one, edge of the Long Spray.”

He sat up and gazed at the night sky. The Long Spray gleamed across the zenith like a gauzy veil. Terrans called it the Milky Way. Between here and one insignificant pinpoint in the dark were a thousand worlds to divert the attention of oncoming ships. But they might persist on course, ignoring other attractions. When left alone to go their own sweet ways the Denebs were unpredictable.