diff options
Diffstat (limited to '59504-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 59504-0.txt | 527 |
1 files changed, 527 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/59504-0.txt b/59504-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7a5063 --- /dev/null +++ b/59504-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,527 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59504 *** + + + + + + + + + + + + + A MATTER OF ORDER + + BY FOX B. HOLDEN + + _Balance is a fundamental law of + order. How, then, can integrity + cancel such a principle even though + the future of Mankind demands it?_ + + [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from + Worlds of If Science Fiction, August 1956. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that + the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] + + +"I don't like it at all," the tall thin man said. His name was Tharn, +and he was known throughout the sprawling colony for the high-strung +nervousness that was understandable enough in a youth of fifty, but +hardly normal for a man of his years. You had to be careful how you +talked to Tharn, even if you were Angelo, Dean of Masters, himself. "I +don't like it," Tharn reiterated, with another dramatic sweep of his +long bony arm, "one bit, Angelo. Look at them, circling up there." + +The thin, lined face turned squarely to Angelo's own, and the large, +almost protruding black eyes snapped with all the vibrant fire of the +fine artistic mind that boiled constantly behind them. + +Angelo turned his own eyes upward, momentarily following Tharn's +still-upthrust arm. Although he did not need to look again. It was +as the Second-Eldest of the colony said, of course. The slender, +stylus-shaped object that reflected the golden midday sunlight in +splintering shards against the almost cloudless cobalt of the sky still +circled. + +It would land at the edge of the great colony. Angelo knew this, Tharn +knew it, the colony knew it. + +Angelo turned his old eyes back upon Tharn, and the ghost of a smile +plucked at his white-bearded lips. Tharn colored, suddenly aware of the +incongruous picture he presented. Poised with all the drama of a Mark +Antony pleading to the populace to sorrow for a Caesar, while rather +mundanely bedecked in his paint-spattered working-smock! The high color +in his seamed face remained, but he pursued his point as though Angelo +had never smiled at all. "They won't be satisfied--" + +Angelo got up from the canvas stool before his easel, and the motion +itself was enough to halt Tharn in mid-sentence. There was going to be +some sort of action, anyway. + +"Now look," Angelo said slowly. His voice carried the measured +deliberation that its rich, deep timbre complemented so harmoniously. +"First of all, Tharn, if we begin showing signs of undue alarm, you +know what it will do to our younger men and women. They'll be upset for +weeks, and we'll have another one of those terrible Realist periods." +Angelo grimaced with his incredibly bushy eyebrows. "Besides that, if +you'd take a really careful look at that ship, you'd see in a moment +that it's certainly of a type none of us have ever seen. We certainly +cannot prevent its landing. We certainly do not have the means to +present a hostile front when it does. Therefore, we shall go to the +Dell and greet it. I would estimate--" Angelo turned his massive, +white head slowly for another glance above the low, alabaster walls of +the mosaic-tiled court-yard, "that they will effect a landing within +another ten minutes or so. If you'll send an apprentice to go fetch +Maler, the Philosopher, and Ghezi, the Semanticist, and--and I think +Ojar, the Orator, with word to meet us by the Lesser Amphitheater +there, we can be on our way directly. Oh--and Tharn--" + +Tharn followed the First-Elder's glance to his paint-smeared smock, +colored once more, and immediately erupted into a volcano of action, +as though rounding up a young jack-a-napes apprentice and locating and +donning a suitable street toga were things that could be simultaneously +accomplished. + +He exited, mumbling heatedly between cries of "Boy! _Boy!_" and Angelo +smiled again, and prepared his own person for the meeting. He mused +that Maler, the Philosopher, commented often in his evening wine that +to run was never to escape, only to change the pattern of pursuit, +and of course you couldn't argue much with Maler. Not and win,--but +then, nobody on Ste. Catherine very often argued to win. Where was the +pleasure in that? + + * * * * * + +There was a great, scorched spot in the soft greenness of the +gently-rolling earth, and it widened like an undammed, muddy pool as +the thundering, cylinder of steel lowered itself on a pillar of flame. + +They kept a respectable distance; Angelo, Tharn, Maler, Ghezi, Ojar, +and the several hundred curious and apprehensive of the colony who had +followed. Angelo had decided the closest possible spot for waiting, +stopped there, and then made no move save to shield his eyes from the +terrible glare of the ship's landing-jets as it made its cautious +descent. As he had predicted, the chosen landing-spot was at the +extreme northern edge of the Dell, near the Lesser Amphitheater. And +they had all just arrived in time. + +The ship settled; its thunder ceased. + +Masters, Students, and apprentices alike unshielded their eyes, and +then all were turned in unbroken silence toward Angelo himself. He was +Dean. He could deal with this. + +Angelo hesitated for perhaps a full minute. In that time he ordered +the scene in his mind; the ship from Space, thrust upward toward +the heavens like some weapon of challenge, surrounded by the gentle +undulations of the low Renoir range to the far west; the rugged, +ice-capped Alps of Cezanne to the south and further distant still; the +low, wind-tossed and wild Van Gogh Plain that stretched endlessly to +the east, and finally to the north, the fertile richness of the Valleys +of Rembrandt which reached as far as the eye could see. + +All this, and the warmth of the clear atmosphere that embraced it all +was seen and felt in that minute--by Angelo, and by the rest, as he +intended they should. _This_, the minute seemed to say, _is yours. Do +not betray it._ + +And then he was walking with the dignified deliberation of his office +toward the ship, the pure white of his full toga billowing gently in +the soft breezes of the Dell. + +There was a clanging sound. A round section of the ship, near the +wide fins of its stern, swung open; men came through it, started down +a series of metal rungs to the ground. As he walked, Angelo counted +them--one; two; three. Three men. + +Three men from Earth, of course. + +And he knew what they wanted. + +They met halfway; three men from Earth in their blue-and-silver +uniforms, their heads close-shaven, their boots polished as though +fashioned of metal ... and Angelo, inches shorter than they, far +greater in girth than they, with his feet in hide sandals, and his long +white hair falling free to merge with the rolling folds of his single +garment. + +The man in the middle of the uniformed trio spoke; the obvious leader. + +"This is the--the Colony of Artists, Planet of Ste. Catherine?" The +heavy sound of his voice seemed to balk at the words ever so slightly. +"You are their leader?" + +"I am Angelo, Dean of Masters here," Angelo replied. "I do not lead, +but guide, instead. I am at your service, gentlemen of Earth." + +"You seem certain of where we are from." + +"But of course--do I not immediately recognize and speak your tongue?" + +"You would, of course," the leader said, and Angelo did not miss the +hint of grudging acknowledgement in his voice as he said it. In face +he was little different than the other two, although perhaps a year or +two older. But for all practical purposes they were the same--the high +foreheads, the too-closely-spaced blue eyes, the sharp, disciplined +features, the lack of any genuine character at all. They were as much +of the same bolt of cloth as the uniforms they wore. + +"Of course," Angelo smiled. "Our memories here on Ste. Catherine are +fortunately long, and our libraries are well-filled--and well-used! And +of course we have been expecting you." + +"_Expecting_ us?" + +"Naturally," and again Angelo smiled. "It is a philosophical truth +after all--Man is a social creature by nature, and as such, must +continually seek the company of his own kind. And of course," and there +was the hint of a repressed glitter in the old man's eyes, "the people +of Earth have always known, and have--have never forgotten where we of +Ste. Catherine were to be found." + +The leader reddened and seemed on the point of explosive speech, and +the muscles of his jaw hardened as he controlled his impulse. Angelo +waited. + +"You are of course--correct," he said after a moment's pause. "And it +will perhaps be best for all that we understand each other clearly from +the beginning. We come to you in some embarrassment, we come to you +asking a favor." The last word the leader uttered with a distaste that +the best of his self-discipline could not control, and Angelo chuckled +inwardly. A favor, was it? Embarrassed, were they? He could quite +imagine! + +"Perhaps," Angelo said, "it would be more comfortable to discuss your +mission in my studio. Will you gentlemen follow me, please?" + +He turned and began walking back to where the others waited, and +the three men from Earth followed him. At first they balked for the +briefest moment, but they followed him. + + * * * * * + +The studio of Angelo, Dean of Masters, was open to the sky like his +court-yard, for this was the fair season on Ste. Catherine in this +latitude, and not yet time to draw the transparent tarpaulin skylight +across the tops of the studio walls. Angelo had seated himself near +the center of the superbly-muraled room, on one of the low, colorful +cushions so widely preferred in the colony to the more formal furniture +that was still to be found, to some extent, in the shops and homes of +the artisans. Artists in their own way, of course--and some practical +work had to be put up with to satisfy the more mundane requirements of +existence. As long as they took true pride in the beauty of their work, +the artisans would always be very welcome members of the colony--as +well, to be sure, as necessary. + +And seated in a semi-circle behind Angelo were the other Elders, +and two or three advanced Students to cater to whatever needs might +arise during the conference. There would be no apprentices here! +Before Angelo, taking to their cushions rather awkwardly (his beard, +fortunately, was of sufficient luxuriance to cloak the tiny smile of +satisfaction at his lips!) were the three Earthmen; their leader, of +course, in the center and facing Angelo directly. + +"We may begin at any time," Angelo said in his most courtly fashion. +Those behind him nodded--Tharn for once a little absently, because he +had become involved in a rather difficult line-sketch on the tablet +supplied him for note-taking. He didn't approve of these strangers, but +there were more important things than interstellar visitors, especially +since they were only Earthmen, and Angelo was insisting on taking full +charge. He, Tharn, was through arguing. Walking multiplication-tables! +Pah! Angelo could have them, then! + +"It is possible you are not aware, here on Ste. Catherine," the leader +began with the slightest tinge of sarcasm, "that on Earth there is, at +present, a rather regrettable difference of thinking on policy." + +"Another political slaughter, that is," Angelo countered not too +lightly for the obvious allusion to Ste. Catherine's complete lack of +any kind of electrical or electronic communications. "A major war, in +other words." + +The leader flushed slightly. "Well, yes. As a matter of fact, it has +gotten somewhat out of control." His teeth were almost clenched as he +made the admission, and Angelo easily sensed the pain in the man at +having to make it to the Artists of Ste. Catherine, of all people in +the universe. "Out of control," the leader was continuing, "to the +point where, in fact, and according to the unimpeachable findings +of our actuarial computers, human life on Earth is threatened with +complete extinction." The leader hesitated, interpreted the looks in +the eyes of the men whom he faced, and found himself not quite able to +meet them with his own. But he continued; best to get it said once and +for all. + +"We are now, of course, well aware that predictions which were once +thought the mere rantings of alarmists--religious and philosophical +cranks--were tragically accurate. Both sides are perfectly matched +from the technological aspect, of course. The so-called 'secrets' of +science cannot be kept 'secret' at all, at least not by men. They exist +everywhere in the universe, for any man to seek and to exploit as he +sees fit." He paused, at last found the temerity to meet the gazes of +the others. + +"Go on," Angelo said. + +"Both sides have come to absolute stalemate. But not, regrettably, the +kind of stalemate that means cessation of activity. In a conflict to +the death, stalemate simply means battle without victory; battle until +neither side has a living man left to fight. + +"So, in short, we are desperate. There _must_ be a victor, or Earth is +lost entirely. One more mass strato-attack with L-bombs and.... Well, +at any rate--there must, as you can readily understand, be a victor, +and soon. Obviously, the Others must be defeated." + +_Yes of course_, thought Maler, the Philosopher. _It is the_ Others, +_always, who must be defeated_.... + +"And so we have," the leader was saying, "come to you for help." + +He stopped speaking then, for a moment, waiting for Angelo's +reply. Waiting simply for him to ask "what kind of help could we +Artists possibly give _you_...."--waiting for, and prepared to take +unflinchingly, the searing taunt that could not help but be in the +question ... "--you who can fly ships through Space, who have at your +computer-tips the hard-won miracles of science and engineering?" But +wordlessly, the leader waited. + +And in the brief moment before he spoke, the history of it all flashed +through Angelo's mind; the history that began with the Revolt. Three +centuries ago, with the Ancestors of them all on Ste. Catherine. The +artists, the philosophers, the writers, the orators, the dramatists, +the poets--all of them, who had, when at last they could no longer +stomach their civilization's arrested adolescence and its refusal to +be weaned from its electronic and atomic toys, remembered the first +Fundamental Law of Order in art, and put it to devastating use. Unity. + +In Unity, they rebelled. + +They warned, first, in fairness. They took pains to point out +carefully that it is a healthy sign for the developing child to become +intrigued with movement, sound, and color--that it was normal for a +child to spend hours observing, examining, operating, even building a +new mechanical toy. But when his new books gathered dust and fell into +disuse--when he could quote all of Faraday and none of Swinburne--when +this happened, his development as a human being of full depth and +breadth was at an end. + +When he became hypnotized by his toys-- + +When motion and force became an obsession-- + +When the means became an end in itself; when the tool became the +_raison-d'etre_, rather than the structure it had been fashioned only +to help build, then the point of civilization had been hopelessly lost, +and thinking men had but one alternative: leave, and start over. + +And so, banded together, they had left. + +It had not been so difficult. For to the Ancestors, a tool was always +that and nothing more. They could not build spaceships, but they could +buy them, and so they had. + +They could not navigate Space nor pilot their craft, so they hired the +technicians and engineers who could. + +And when the Ancestors had arrived at a planet of their choice (the +scientists had been duly proud of their superior accomplishment in +being able to find just such a planet--and of course were paid more +than the engineers and technicians) the Ancestors gave them all +sizable bonuses and sent them packing back to Earth where there were so +many fine Things to spend their money on. + +The Ancestors had, of course, been called dreamers, ivory-towerists, +alarmists, fools. They had been called madmen who lived in the +unenlightened past, believers in some foolishness called artistic +integrity; schizoids who were afraid to face Reality. Posh, polish, +and good riddance muttered the sane ones over their charts and +oscilloscopes as the last of the Ancestors' ships blasted free of +Earth. Muttered, of course, because there was, somehow, a vague +awareness that the Culture-Vultures hadn't left in fear of the bright, +quick Machines, but in--well, _they_ said, in _disgust_! + +Good riddance to childish rubbish. + +But now, apparently, the men of Earth had gotten themselves into +something so peculiarly impossible that they were desperate enough to +face the cutting wit of the fat-bottomed Artists on Ste. Catherine, +who wouldn't be able to say "I told you so" in a straightforward, +matter-of-fact way and let it go at that. Oh, no. But it would be +better to have their damned articulate tongues tear you apart than an +S-field. + + * * * * * + +The moment of reflection was spent, and Angelo asked the question. + +"And how can we help you?" was all he said. + +The leader took a deep breath. + +"One moment," Angelo said as he was about to speak. "Just a word of +warning if you please. If you want anything of us at all, simply state +your case in plain language. Don't try to 'sell' us anything--we can +beat you roundly at that! And if we agree to your request, you will +accept _exactly_ what we give you; beggars, no matter how expert in +_some_ things, are still not in the position of choosers! A matter, +after all, of--shall we say, artistic integrity?" + +The leader's eyes flashed: _Damn you and your infernal artistic +integrity!_ but it was his mouth which, fortunately for him under the +circumstances, did the talking. + +"Very well. As I said, both Sides are in perfect technological and +therefore military balance--" + +"Balance _is_ so important," interrupted Angelo. Behind him, Ojar, the +Orator was having a difficult time repressing a yelp of pure mirth. +It was unfair, of course, to bait these stumble-witted fellows like +this, but it _was_ amusing--especially when Angelo did it, who, though +a Painter, was well up on his word-play. "... Perhaps you have already +noticed," Angelo was going on, quite oblivious to the perspiration on +the leader's high forehead, and exactly as Ojar had expected, "how well +we of Ste. Catherine observe the Fundamental Laws of Order. The Rhythm +of our very way of life, for example--but excuse me! You were outlining +your request...." + +The leader had reddened helplessly, and his subordinates had both +stolen quick glances at him. It was as though images of the man +himself, reflected from mirrors at either side, had suddenly taken on +a volition of movement of their own. But quite quickly they became +well-behaved images again. + +"Both sides have equally effective weapons and defenses," the leader +went on, "and so it has become a disastrous war of attrition. To win, +we must have something they do not have, obviously." + +"To bring your Side into Dominance, of course," said Angelo sagely. "To +prevent your Subordination, as it were...." Ojar had a sudden, violent +fit of coughing. + +"Yes," the leader said. There was a momentary blankness in his eyes, +and Angelo decided that enough was enough. Unfairness was unfairness, +after all. They must hear the man out. + +"We have looked back over history," the leader said. "It was an +unprecedented step, to be sure, but we _were_ desperate! At any rate, +we discovered that one time, it was possible to make an enemy believe +he was wrong, and that you, _his_ enemy, were _right_, through a rather +obscure verbal art called, I believe it was, propaganda?" + +"Yes," said Angelo. "The province in Art of writers and orators. As a +painter or sculptor will create illusion with paints or stone, just so +did the writer create illusion with letters." + +"So we came to understand," the leader said, trying a little note of +sarcasm of his own. "Our present difficulty is this: we of course have +no such peop--er, Artists--at our disposal. We of course tried our own +hand at it but nobody ever seemed quite able to agree on just what it +was we were trying to talk about, so--well--We have come to you. Will +you do this for us? A few words, for the sake of humanity?" + +Clever, thought Maler, at that. An intended appeal to the philosophical +side of the artistic mind. Maybe the poor wretch really meant it, even +if he wasn't aware that "humanity" meant _both_ Sides. + +"To answer you," Angelo was replying, "I'll of course have to summon +our Master of Letters. It may not be easy to win his assent, I warn +you. He can trace his own ancestry all the way back to newspaper +reporters, advertising copywriters and trade-journal writers--and so +has naturally inherited their bitterness toward all such prostitutions +of the Art of Writing, and artistic integrity in general. And you will +admit that hacking out propaganda to order is of course just that, to +say nothing of the moral aspects involved! However--" + +Magnanimously, Angelo lifted his right arm and beckoned, and a Student +was at once at his side. + +"Fetch Master Forsyth at once. And tell him I said to leave his new +Quarto behind; this is urgent." + +The young woman left, and they waited. + +"A cigarette?" Angelo proffered the leader. + +There was surprise on the man's face. "You mean you can make--" + +"Just crude paper and tobacco grown in the soil," Angelo said +apologetically. "Untouched by any rays but the sun's, I'm afraid, +and our few medicine-men--we have all kinds of hobbies here of +course--just won't comment. Here ... and a light...." + +The leader had almost finished his cigarette when the Master of Letters +arrived. + +"Angelo, you churl, sir! Do you know how long I've been working on +that line? You know how difficult it is for me to get a decent trochee +when I'm--oh, company? Capital! 'Come fill the Cup, and in the Fire of +Spring--'" + +"Please, Forsyth. These men are here on business. They want you to do +them a favor." + +Resignedly, Forsyth kept quiet. And listened for good measure. + +He listened for ten minutes. And then the leader was finished and +Forsyth said "A pox on't!" + +"Please, Forsyth--" + +"He's _right_!" came Tharn's voice. "I told you I didn't like it, and I +_don't_, and--" + +"_He_ doesn't like it?" bellowed Forsyth. "Then by Heav'n, I'll _do_ +it! Teach you, sire, to make charcoal caricatures of _me_ on a day when +I'm not lampooning _you_! Very well, but I don't think I've got too +many apprentices that aren't engaged right at the moment. Nonetheless, +if--" + +The leader was beyond control. "_Apprentices_, did you say?" he croaked +hoarsely. "Why, you--" + +"What in Dante did you think, man-child?" shot back Forsyth. "You +don't suppose I'd give you finished, creative _writers_ for the job +of a trained ape, do you? _Some_ apprentices I've got, and _some_ +apprentices you'll get--and only because Dean Angelo here says so." + + * * * * * + +The three men from Earth strode with military precision back toward +their ship. The leader was in the center, and his subordinates, each +with bulging briefcases in both hands, were on either side. A large +group from the colony walked at a slower pace behind. Angelo, as usual, +was at their head, and flanking him were Tharn and Forsyth. + +"Another whole _week_ wasted!" lamented Forsyth. "Not that the time +means anything, but those sensitive young boys and girls of mine will +never be the same! One of them, just this morning, told me she was +thinking of taking up _politics_ as a hobby! The tortures I go through +for you, Angelo--" + +"I _still_ don't like it!" Tharn cut him off. "And I don't like them! +And, Forsyth, I saw what you had your precious little apprentices +doing! You had them writing _exactly_ the same tripe they wrote for +that _other_ crowd that landed two weeks ago!" + +"Tharn, you certainly aren't the only one who has no use for that +barbaric breed. So--as long as they remain equally matched, they'll +eventually, uh--" + +"_But that means_--" + +"A Fundamental Law of Order, of course, my dear Tharn. _Balance_, as I +think I may already have pointed out...." + +Forsyth quoted something from on obscure source about the importance +of artistic integrity, and then they watched together as the ship from +Earth blasted homeward. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Matter of Order, by Fox B. Holden + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59504 *** |