Short Fiction by Mack Reynolds (ready to read books .TXT) 📕

Her figure, thanks to her European blood, was fuller than Eastern Asia usually boasts; tiny, but full.

Let’s admit it, he decided. My assistant is the cutest trick this side of a Tri-Di movie queen, and we’re going to be thrown in the closest of juxtaposition for an indefinite time. This comes under the head of work?

He said, “Look here, Tog, you were with Sid Jakes longer than I was. What’s the full story?”

She folded her slim hands in her lap, looking like a schoolgirl about to recite. “Do you know anything about the socioeconomic system on New Delos?”

“Well, no,” he admitted.

She said severely, “I’d think that they would have given you more background before an assignment of this type.”

Ronny said impatiently, “In the past three months I’ve been filled in on the economic systems, the religious beliefs, the political forms, of a thousand planets. I just happened to miss New Delos.”

Her mouth expressed disapproval by rucking down on the sides, which was all very attractive but also irritating. She said, “There are two thousand, four hundred and thirty-six member planets in the U.P., I’d think an agent of Section G would be up on the basic situation on each.”

He had her there. He said snidely, “Hate to contradict you, Tog, but the number is two thousand, four hundred and thirty-four.”

“Then,” she nodded agreeably, “membership has changed since this morning when Menalaus and Aldebaran Three were admitted. Have two planets dropped out?”

“Look,” he said, “let’s stop bickering. What’s the word on New Delos?”

“Did you ever read Frazer’s Golden Bough?” she said.

“No.”

“You should. At any rate, New Delos is a theocracy. A priesthood elite rules it. A God-King, who is immortal, holds absolute authority. The strongest of superstition plus an efficient inquisition, keeps the people under control.”

“Sounds terrible,” Ronny growled.

“Why? Possibly the government is extremely efficient and under it the planet progressing at a rate in advance of U.P. averages.”

He stared at her in surprise.

She said, “Would you rather be ruled by the personal, arbitrary whims of supremely wise men, or by laws formulated by a mob?”

It stopped him momentarily. In all his adult years, he couldn’t remember ever meeting an intelligent, educated person who had been opposed to the democratic theory.

“Wait a minute, now,” he said. “Who decides that they’re supremely wise men who are doing this arbitrary ruling? Let any group come to power, by whatever means, and they’ll soon tell you they’re an elite. But let’s get back to New Delos, from what you’ve said so far, the people are held in a condition of slavery.”

“What’s wrong with slavery?” Tog said mildly.

He all but glared at her. “Are you kidding?”

“I seldom jest,” Tog said primly. “Under the proper conditions, slavery can be the most suitable system for a people.”

“Under what conditions!”

“Have you forgotten your Earth history to the point where Egypt, Greece and Rome mean nothing to you? Man made some of his outstanding progress under slavery. And do you contend that man’s lot is necessarily miserable given slavery? As far back as Aesop we know of slaves who have reached the heights in their society. Slaves sometimes could and did become the virtual rulers in ancient countries.” She shrugged prettily. “The prejudices which you hold today, on Earth, do not necessarily apply to all time, nor to all places.”

He said, impatiently, “Look, Tog, we can go into this further, later. Let’s get back to New Delos. What happened?”

Tog said, “The very foundation of their theocracy is the belief on the part of the populace that the God-King is immortal. No man conspires against his Deity. Supervisor Jakes informed me that it is understood by U.P. Intelligence, that about once every twenty years the priesthood secretly puts in a new God-King. Plastic surgery would guarantee facial resemblance, and, of course, the rank and file citizen would probably never be allowed close enough to discover that their God-King seemed different every couple of decades. At any rate, it’s been working for some time.”

“And there’s been no revolt against this religious aristocracy?”

She shook her head. “Evidently not. It takes a brave man to revolt against both his king and his God at the same time.”

“But what happened now?” Ronny pursued.

“Evidently, right in the midst of a particularly important religious ceremony, with practically the whole planet watching on TV, the God-King was killed with a bomb. No doubt about it, definitely killed. There are going to be a lot of people on New Delos wondering how it can be that an immortal God-King can die.”

“And Sid thinks it’s Tommy Paine’s work?”

She shifted dainty shoulders in a shrug. “It’s the sort of thing he does. I suppose we’ll learn when we get there.”

Even on the fast Space Forces cruiser, the trip was going to take a week, and there was precious little Ronny Bronston could do until arrival. He spent most of his time reading up on New Delos and the several other planets in the U.P. organization which had fairly similar regimes. More than a few theocracies had come and gone during the history of man’s development into the stars.

He also spent considerable time playing Battle Chess or talking with Tog and with the ship’s officers.

These latter were a dedicated group, high in morale, enthusiastic about their work which evidently involved the combined duties of a Navy, a Coast Guard, and a Coast and Geodetic Survey system, if we use the oceangoing services of an earlier age for analogy.

They all had the dream. The enthusiasm of men participating in a race’s expansion to glory. There was the feeling, even stronger here in space than back on Earth, of man’s destiny being fulfilled, that humanity had finally emerged from its infancy, that the fledgling had finally found its wings and got off the ground.

After one of his studying binges, Ronny Bronston had spent an hour or so once with the captain of the craft, while that officer stood an easy watch on the ship’s bridge. There was