Charon (2 page)

 
He struggled, tried to remember.
The.
words
. . . The mission . . .

 
"Where are the others, Jatik?"

 
Others?
"Dead.
All dead."

 
"Then you are the last. Hurry, Jatik, for time grows short and my power to hold you weakens quickly. I must know. Did you get hi? Did you see the meeting?"

 
Meeting . . . what meeting? He struggled. Oh, yes, the meeting. Oh, God! The meeting . . .

 
"I—I saw," he managed.
"The Four Lords at Diamond Rock.
The Four Lords and the others.
Oh, God!
The others!"

 
"Those others—think, Jatik! Hold on a bit more! The others! What were they like?"

 
"Horrible . . . Monstrous.
They wore the cloaks of men but could not hide from us. They are terrible, Koril, terrible to behold.
Spawns of some hell beyond man's imagination.
Slobbering, horrible . . . Such as they were born in some hellish place far removed from man."

 
"The Four Lords—there is an alliance?"

 
"Yes, yes! Oh, God! You must destroy them, Koril! You must not let them sell man out to such as these! Horrible! You cannot know! I pray to God you never know. Their very sight was enough to drive Latir and Mohar mad."

 
"What do they look like, these spawns of hell? Think, Jatik! Hold on!"

 
"Look like! My mind holds what little it still has by putting that likeness from it. Monstrous . . . Pulp . . . Slime . . . They are evil, Koril! Evil in ways no human can comprehend. They will devour man and then they will devour the Four Lords and us. You must ..."

 
"Jatik!
Jatik! Hold on!
Just a little more!
Jatik!
Come back! I need to know . . . Oh, hell, what's the use? He's gone."

 
Koril sighed and shook his head, then got up from beside the dead man and looked around his desert domain. The bodies of the two naril still twitched nearby where he had slain them.

 
He spent the better part of an hour restaging the death scene. Sooner or later he knew that some party from Diamond Rock, even now covering the trail of chase and capture, would happen here, and he wanted to make it absolutely certain that any such party would draw the obvious conclusions. Essential to him was that party's belief that the naril and Jatik had finally finished each other. They would believe it
To
get even this far required one of enormous power, and even so, only seeing the dead man's rainstorm from afar and recognizing it for the signature it was had brought him here. Too late, alas, too late for poor
Jatik ...

 
Still, he had learned much from the dead man. Or, more properly, Jatik had confirmed his information and his worst fears. But Koril was old—old and alone now. Power he had in abundance, but there were limits to an old man's endurance even with the best of powers.

 
He needed a new Company, he knew, and that would not be easy to assemble, particularly under Matuze's watchful eye. While she would assume that his messengers had all failed to report, there was no question that she would recognize the dead for who they were and guess who had sent them.

 
Still, he knew his course was already set and his resolve was firm. No matter what the odds, it must be done. There was no getting around the shock and revulsion of Jatik's last utterances. Both he and the dead man had been born and raised on worlds far from this one, and both had seen a lot in this universe before being exiled to this hell.

 
Hell . . . That was Charon, true enough. Every horror in the mind of man from the beginning of time to now was here, along with a physical landscape, climate, and plant and animal life appropriate for the worst of Dante's hells.

 
Koril knew this for a fact, and he knew that Jatik also knew and felt it.

 
What could a man already in hell see that so frightened him?

 
What sort of thing could cause a criminal imprisoned in hell with thousands of other criminals to label something unimaginably evil?

 
What was so monstrous that even the denizens of hell were repulsed and frightened by it?

 
Jatik had been a sadistic mass murderer without the slightest sense of good and evil. The very concepts had been alien to him. And yet, and yet—even he had now seen something so terrible that he
had
known evil before he died. There was
a certain
symmetry in that, anyway.

 
Still, the Four Lords had made a compact with whatever it was here on Charon. Their egos would protect them, Koril reflected sourly.
For a while, anyway.

 
The Four Lords were evil by human standards. They were evil personified to many, including the confederacy itself. But they had not been evil to Jatik, not in the slightest.

 
Just what
had
Jatik seen? Into what terrible bondage had they sold themselves and mankind on their own egomania-cal delusions of grandeur?

 
It was almost as hot as a human being could stand there on the hard, desolate desert, yet Koril felt a sudden chill as he turned and walked away from the body of the dead man.

 
The most frustrating thing to a great military force is to discover that it is at war only long after the first blows of the
enemy have
been struck. Even more frustrating is when, even after the discovery of enemy action, you simply can't find the enemy.

 
The Confederacy was the culmination of all human history and culture. In the distant past, man had determined that expansion to the stars was the most interesting and preferable means of advancing civilization without racial suicide. Somehow the sporting instinct overrode all else in the human condition when the proposition was put correctly. National competition was something all people, regardless of background or ideology, could understand. They could work for, root for, and cheer on their home team against all comers.

 
As politics became dirtier and more and more irrational in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, and total global annihilation grew more and more certain, man remembered that he had first set foot on the Moon because it had been sold as a sporting wager—a space race. Not that space had been ignored since—in fact, every country had been involved—but it had been a slow technocratic and military growth that sputtered here and there for lack of popular participation and support Anybody with the spirit could try the Oregon Trail in the nineteenth century, or carve a city out of frozen Siberian tundra in the late twentieth, but the very people who were the pioneers of ancient times were excluded from this new frontier, no matter how limitless it was. The poor, the destitute, and the refugee as well as idealistic dreamers had settled and tamed the old frontiers, but they couldn't even get a ticket to the Moon in the age of space. Only the highly skilled specialist was able to get into space—or the very rich. The masses of Earth, even if they wanted to go, could not, nor did the dull and plodding development of space offer the same excitement that the space race had generated in the early explorer.

 
The governments of Earth came to understand this, and also saw a world of ever-increasing population and incredibly diminishing resources grow more and more apathetic toward life in general. A steady decline in living standards worldwide was something that every computer forecast as inevitable, and each group's demand that
its
country not be the one in decline put tremendous pressures on even the most totalitarian regimes and increased the pressure for total war.

 
Technology, however, offered a way out, a way that the various nations took reluctantly but with the realization that there was little else to do. Researchers had ultimately done the impossible and broken the universal speed limit. It was complex, and involved physics that did not contradict Einstein so much as deal in totally different areas where be was simply not relevant. The stars were open to exploration. Not that the distances were shrunk to nothing: within the first century, there were so many new places to go over such vast distances that it still took more than three years subjectively to travel from one end of man's domain to the edge of the frontier. This was still a far smaller price to pay than the generations such trips would otherwise have taken. It had, after all, taken some of the early American pioneers four to six months to reach
California
. But this new system had another big advantage. Building the ships and great engines needed took a lot of capital, but once built, they cost very little to operate, and size was not a factor in cost beyond air and food.

 
Only one world in a thousand was even terraformable, but there were
still
a lot of habitable worlds out there, and the nations of the world began to compete for them instead of for more tufts of worn-out Earth—and colonizing with incentives, so the poor and the dreamers finally got to go. It took the pressure off and provided a new spark to humanity. There was excitement and discovery in the air once more and all could be a part of it, and the resources were infinite.

 
But as generations were born on new worlds, generations who had never seen Earth and had only an abstract concept of what a
Russia
or an
America
or a
Brazil
or a
Ghana
was, the old concepts of nationality began to blur. Three generations later they were no longer Americans or Soviets or Brazilians but were natives of their own worlds, the only worlds they knew.
Nor did the distance between worlds and the burgeoning numbers of worlds lend themselves to effective colonial government from afar.
Fearful now less of destroying one another than of being left behind, cast off by the new populations on alien worlds, the old governments began to cooperate more than compete, to merge, over little more than another century, into what was in effect a single ruling instrumentality, the Confederacy, with a bureaucracy dominated by those old powers but presiding over a congress where each new world was represented.

 
The pooled resources and ever-expanding technology remade world after world, many into great paradises of which the people of old Earth had barely dreamed. Many diseases were wiped out; genetic manipulation made man and woman beautiful and nearly perfect Careful genetic and cultural nudging produced a population each of whom had an equal but large slice of a very huge pie. People were bred and raised to do specific jobs, and they were the best people to do those jobs, too. It was a civilization without tension or fear—nearly a paradise. Worlds that reached such perfection were called the civilized worlds.
Though wonderful places to live and work, these worlds were spiritually and culturally dead—totally stagnant.

 
Obviously the Confederacy could have totally controlled population and settled into this stasis, but they were the heirs to all of Earth's own history. Humanity might last in paradise for a million years, but once the spark of excitement and creativity was extinguished, it was dead, an extinct race. The answer, of course, was never to stop. Scouts would continue to be
dispatched,
scouts that would discover more and more worlds to settle, tame, and remake by the oddballs and misfits that even the civilized worlds occasionally created. The frontier became not merely the edge of expansion but a religion, an article of faith among theConfederacy, something that could never be allowed to stop because it alone provided the safety valve, the creativity, the spark,
the
purpose to human existence.

 
As man filled up almost a quarter of his galaxy, he ran into some alien races. Not too many—and not nearly the number many had expected—but some. There were ones that inhabited worlds that no human could ever use, and these were simply watched for signs of future threat and generally ignored. Others used the same sorts of material as man, and these were treated in an age-old way. Those that could be modified and adapted to the Confederacy's way of doing things were welcomed into it, whether or not they wanted to come. Those that could not be culturally assimilated for one reason or another were ruthlessly eliminated, as many of the Indian tribes of
America
and the aborigines of
Tasmania
had been eliminated in ancient times. Many alien worlds were primitive and some were quite advanced, but all had one thing in common: the Confederacy was bigger and stronger and more ruthless than they were.

 
Then one day the powers that be in the Confederacy woke up to the fact that the moment they feared had finally arrived—somebody smarter than they were had found them first.

 
A robot so sophisticated it was beyond the Confederacy's technology—although only by a hair—managed to impersonate a security clerk in Military Systems Command.
Managed to impersonate that clerk so well that it fooled the man's friends of many years, his co-workers, and even the very sophisticated security systems in Military Systems Command.
It had gotten in, had stolen vital military secrets, and had almost made it out. One tiny slip was all it made, but that was enough. Still, this robot managed to survive two vacuums, crush thirty-centimeter armor-plate walls, shoot up into space and actually attain escape velocity, then to steal a ship in orbit and blast off. Military Systems Command managed to track and finally destroy it after they figured out where it was reporting.