Virtual Unrealities, The Short Fiction of Alfred Bester (6 page)

“And?”

“Who knows? Gaul is producing phenomena. Perhaps he’s unconsciously broadcasting on a telepathic wave band. Broadcasting and getting results. He wants heroin. The broadcast goes out—”

“But Espers can’t pick up any telepathic pattern further than the horizon. It’s direct wave transmission. Even large objects cannot be penetrated. A building, say, or a—”

“I’m not saying this is on the Esper level,” Migg shouted. “I’m trying to imagine something bigger. Something tremendous. He wants heroin. His broadcast goes out to the world. All men unconsciously fall into a pattern of activity which will produce that heroin as quickly as possible. That Austrian chemist—”

“No. Australian.”

“That Australian chemist may have been debating between half a dozen different syntheses. Five of them could never have produced heroin; but Gaul’s impulse made him select the sixth.”

“And if he did not anyway?”

“Then who knows what parallel chains were also started? A boy playing Robin Hood in Montreal is impelled to explore an abandoned cabin where he finds the drug, hidden there centuries ago by smugglers. A woman in California collects old apothecary jars. She finds a pound of heroin. A child in Berlin, playing with a defective Radar-Chem Set, manufactures it. Name the most improbable sequence of events, and Gaul can bring it about, logically and certainly. I tell you, that boy is an angel!”

And he produced his documented evidence and convinced them.

It was then that four scholars of various but indisputable intellects elected themselves an executive committee for Fate and took Oddy Gaul in hand. To understand what they attempted to do, you must first understand the situation the world found itself in during that particular era.

It is a known fact that all wars are founded in economic conflict, or to put it another way, a trial by arms is merely the last battle of an economic war. In the pre-Christian centuries, the Punic Wars were the final outcome of a financial struggle between Rome and Carthage for economic control of the Mediterranean. Three thousand years later, the impending War of Resources loomed as the finale of a struggle between the two Independent Welfare States controlling most of the known economic world.

What petroleum oil was to the twentieth century, FO (the nickname for Fissionable Ore) was to the thirtieth; and the situation was peculiarly similar to the Asia Minor crisis that ultimately wrecked the United Nations a thousand years before. Triton, a backward semibar-baric satellite, previously unwanted and ignored, had suddenly discovered it possessed enormous resources of FO. Financially and technologically incapable of self-development, Triton was peddling concessions to both Welfare States.

The difference between a Welfare State and a Benevolent Despot is slight. In times of crisis, either can be traduced by the sincerest motives into the most abominable conduct. Both the Comity of Nations (bitterly nicknamed “The Con Men” by Der Realpolitik aus Terra) and Der Realpolitik aus Terra (sardonically called “The Rats” by the Comity of Nations) were desperately in need of natural resources, meaning FO. They were bidding against each other hysterically, and elbowing each other with sharp skirmishes at outposts. Their sole concern was the protection of their citizens. From the best of motives they were preparing to cut each other’s throat.

Had this been the issue before the citizens of both Welfare States, some compromise might have been reached; but Triton, intoxicated as a schoolboy with a newfound prominence and power, confused issues by raising a religious issue and reviving a Holy War which the Family of Planets had long forgotten. Assistance in their Holy War (involving the extermination of a harmless and rather unimportant sect called the Quakers) was one of the conditions of sale. This, both the Comity of Nations and Der Realpolitik aus Terra were prepared to swallow with or without private reservations, but it could not be admitted to their citizens.

And so, camouflaged by the burning issues of Rights of Minority Sects, Priority of Pioneering, Freedom of Religion, Historical Rights to Triton v. Possession of Fact, etc., the two Houses of the Family of Planets feinted, parried, riposted, and slowly closed, like fencers on the strip, for the final sortie which meant ruin for both.

All this the four men discussed through three interminable meetings.

“Look here,” Migg complained toward the close of the third consultation. “You theoreticians have already turned nine man-hours into carbonic acid with ridiculous dissensions …”

Bellanby nodded, smiling. “It’s as I’ve always said, Migg. Every man nurses the secret belief that were he God he could do the job much better. We’re just learning how difficult it is.”

“Not God,” Hrrdnikkisch said, “but hith Prime Minithterth. Gaul will be God.”

Johansen winced. “I don’t like that talk,” he said. “I happen to be a religious man.”

“You?” Bellanby exclaimed in surprise. “A Colloid-Therapeutist?”

“I happen to be a religious man,” Johansen repeated stubbornly.

“But the boy hath the power of the miracle,” Hrrdnikkisch protested. “When he hath been taught to know what he doth, he will be a God.”

“This is pointless,” Migg rapped out. “We have spent three sessions in piffling discussion. I have heard three opposed views re Mr. Odysseus Gaul. Although all are agreed he must be used as a tool, none can agree on the work to which the tool must be set. Bellanby prattles about an Ideal Intellectual Anarchy, Johansen preaches about a Soviet of God, and Hrrdnikkisch has wasted two hours postulating and destroying his own theorems… .”

“Really, Migg …” Hrrdnikkisch began. Migg waved his hand.

“Permit me,” Migg continued malevolently, “to reduce this discussion to the kindergarten level. First things first, gentlemen. Before attempting to reach cosmic agreement we must make sure there is a cosmos left for us to agree upon. I refer to the impending war… .

“Our program, as I see it, must be simple and direct. It is the education of a God or, if Johansen protests, of an angel. Fortunately Gaul is an estimable young man of kindly, honest disposition. I shudder to think what he might have done had he been inherently vicious.”

“Or what he might do once he learns what he can do,” muttered Bellanby.

“Precisely. We must begin a careful and rigorous ethical education of the boy, but we haven’t enough time. We can’t educate first, and then explain the truth when he’s safe. We must forestall the war. We need a shortcut.”

“All right,” Johansen said. “What do you suggest?”

“Dazzlement,” Migg spat. “Enchantment.”

“Enchantment?” Hrrdnikkisch chuckled. “A new thienth, Migg?”

“Why do you think I selected you three of all people for this secret?” Migg snorted. “For your intellects? Nonsense! I can think you all under the table. No. I selected you, gentlemen, for your charm.”

“It’s an insult,” Bellanby grinned, “and yet I’m flattered.”

“Gaul is nineteen,” Migg went on. He is at the age when undergraduates are most susceptible to hero worship. I want you gentlemen to charm him. You are not the first brains of the University, but you are the first heroes.”

“I altho am inthulted and flattered,” said Hrrdnikkisch.

“I want you to charm him, dazzle him, inspire him with affection and awe … as you’ve done with countless classes of undergraduates.”

“Aha!” said Johansen. “The chocolate around the pill.”

“Exactly. When he’s enchanted, you will make him want to stop the war … and then tell him how he can stop it. That will give us breathing space to continue his education. By the time he outgrows his respect for you he will have a sound ethical foundation on which to build. He’ll be safe.”

“And you, Migg?” Bellanby inquired. “What part do you play?”

“Now? None,” Migg snarled. “I have no charm, gentlemen. I come later. When he outgrows his respect for you, he’ll begin to acquire respect for me.”

All of which was frightfully conceited but perfectly true.

And as events slowly marched toward the final crisis, Oddy Gaul was carefully and quickly enchanted. Bellanby invited him to the twenty-foot crystal globe atop his house … the famous hen roost to which only the favored few were invited. There, Oddy Gaul sunbathed and admired the philosopher’s magnificent iron-hard condition at seventy-three. Admiring Bellanby’s muscles, it was only natural for him to admire Bellanby’s ideas. He returned often to sunbathe, worship the great man, and absorb ethical concepts.

Meanwhile, Hrrdnikkisch took over Oddy’s evenings. With the mathematician, who puffed and lisped like some flamboyant character out of Rabelais, Oddy was carried to the dizzy heights of the
haute cuisine
and the complete pagan life. Together they ate and drank incredible foods and liquids and pursued incredible women until Oddy returned to his room each night intoxicated with the magic of the senses and the riotous color of the great Hrrdnikkisch’s glittering ideas.

And occasionally … not too often, he would find Papa Johansen waiting for him, and then would come the long, quiet talks through the small hours when young men search for the harmonics of life and the meaning of entity. And there was Johansen for Oddy to model himself after … a glowing embodiment of Spiritual Good … a living example of Faith in God and Ethical Sanity.

The climax came on March 15 … The Ides of March, and they should have taken the date as a sign. After dinner with his three heroes at the Faculty Club, Oddy was ushered into the Foto-Library by the three great men where they were joined, quite casually, by Jesse Migg. There passed a few moments of uneasy tension until Migg made a sign, and Bellanby began.

“Oddy,” he said, “have you ever had the fantasy that some day you might wake up and discover you were a king?”

Oddy blushed.

“I see you have. You know, every man has entertained that dream. It’s called the Mignon Complex. The usual pattern is: You learn your parents have only adopted you and that you are actually and rightfully the King of … of …”

“Ruritania,” said Hrrdnikkisch, who had made a study of Stone Age Fiction.

“Yes, sir,” Oddy muttered. “I’ve had that dream.”

“Well,” Bellanby said quietly, “it’s come true. You are a king.”

Oddy stared while they explained and explained and explained. First, as a college boy, he was wary and suspicious of a joke. Then, as an idolator, he was almost persuaded by the men he most admired. And finally, as a human animal, he was swept away by the exaltation of security. Not power, not glory, not wealth thrilled him, but security alone. Later he might come to enjoy the trimmings, but now he was released from fear. He need never worry again.

“Yes,” exclaimed Oddy. “Yes, yes, yes! I understand. I understand what you want me to do.” He surged up excitedly from his chair and circled the illuminated walls, trembling with joy. Then he stopped and turned.

“And I’m grateful,” he said. “Grateful to all of you for what you’ve been trying to do. It would have been shameful if I’d been selfish … or mean… . Trying to use this for myself. But you’ve shown me the way. It’s to be used for good. Always!”

Johansen nodded happily.

“I’ll always listen to you,” Oddy went on. “I don’t want to make any mistakes. Ever!” He paused and blushed again. “That dream about being a king … I had that when I was a kid. But here at the school I’ve had something bigger. I used to wonder what would happen if I was the one man who could run the world. I used to dream about the kind, generous things I’d do… .”

“Yes,” said Bellanby. “We know, Oddy. We’ve all had that dream too. Every man does.”

“But it isn’t a dream any more,” Oddy laughed. “It’s reality. I can do it. I can make it happen.”

“Start with the war,” Migg said sourly.

“Of course,” said Oddy. “The war first; but then we’ll go on from there, won’t we? I’ll make sure the war never starts, but then we’ll do big things … great things! Just the five of us in private. Nobody’ll know about us. We’ll be ordinary people, but we’ll make life wonderful for everybody. If I’m an angel … like you say … then I’ll spread heaven around me as far as I can reach.”

“But start with the war,” Migg repeated.

“The war is the first disaster that must be averted, Oddy,” Bellanby said. “If you don’t want this disaster to happen, it will never happen.”

“And you want to prevent that tragedy, don’t you?” said Johansen.

“Yes,” answered Oddy. “I do.”

On March 20, the war broke. The Comity of Nations and Der Realpolitik aus Terra mobilized and struck. While blow followed shattering counterblow, Oddy Gaul was commissioned subaltern in a line regiment, but gazetted to Intelligence on May 3. On June 24 he was appointed A.D.C. to the Joint Forces Council meeting in the ruins of what had been Australia. On July 11, he was brevetted to command of the wrecked Space Force, being jumped 1,789 grades over regular officers. On September 19 he assumed supreme command in the Battle of the Parsec and won the victory that ended the disastrous solar annihilation called the Six Month War.

On September 23, Oddy Gaul made the astonishing Peace Offer that was accepted by the remnants of both Welfare States. It required the scrapping of antagonistic economic theories, and amounted to the virtual abandonment of all economic theory with an amalgamation of both States into a Solar Society. On January 1, Oddy Gaul, by unanimous acclaim, was elected Solon of the Solar Society in perpetuity.

And today … still youthful, still vigorous, still handsome, still sincere, idealistic, charitable, kindly and sympathetic, he lives in the Solar Palace. He is unmarried but a mighty lover; uninhibited, but a charming host and devoted friend; democratic, but the feudal overlord of a bankrupt Family of Planets that suffers misgovernment, oppression, poverty, and confusion with a cheerful joy that sings nothing but Hosannahs to the glory of Oddy Gaul.

In a last moment of clarity, Jesse Migg communicated his desolate summation of the situation to his friends in the Faculty Club. This was shortly before they made the trip to join Oddy in the palace as his confidential and valued advisors.

“We were fools,” Migg said bitterly. “We should have killed him. He isn’t an angel. He’s a monster. Civilization and culture … philosophy and ethics … those were only masks Oddy put on; masks that covered the primitive impulses of his subconscious mind.”