Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Ultima Thule by Mack Reynolds (classic novels to read txt) 📖
- Author: Mack Reynolds
Book online «Ultima Thule by Mack Reynolds (classic novels to read txt) 📖». Author Mack Reynolds
Here, somehow, he already had a feeling of peace.
Evidently, although Bakunin was supposedly a city, its populace tilled their fields and provided themselves with their own food. He could see no signs of stores or warehouses. And the UP building, which was no great edifice itself, was the only thing in town which looked even remotely like a governmental building.
Bakunin was neat. Clean as a pin, as the expression went. Ronny was vaguely reminded of a historical Tri-Di romance he'd once seen. It had been laid in ancient times in a community of the Amish in old Pennsylvania.
He approached one of the wooden houses. The things would have been priceless on Earth as an antique to be erected as a museum in some crowded park. For that matter it would have been priceless for the wood it contained. Evidently, the planet Kropotkin still had considerable virgin forest.
An old-timer smoking a pipe, sat on the cottage's front step. He nodded politely.
Ronny stopped. He might as well try to get a little of the feel of the place. He said courteously, “A pleasant evening.”
The old-timer nodded. “As evenings should be after a fruitful day's toil. Sit down, comrade. You must be from the United Planets. Have you ever seen Earth?”
Ronny accepted the invitation and felt a soothing calm descend upon him almost immediately. An almost [pg 056] disturbingly pleasant calm. He said, “I was born on Earth.”
“Ai?” the old man said. “Tell me. The books say that Kropotkin is an Earth type planet within what they call a few degrees. But is it? Is Kropotkin truly like the mother planet?”
Ronny looked about him. He'd seen some of this world as the shuttle rocket had brought them down from the passing liner. The forests, the lakes, the rivers, and the great sections untouched by man's hands. Now he saw the areas between homes, the neat fields, the signs of human toil—the toil of hands, not machines.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I'm afraid not. This is how Earth must once have been. But no longer.”
The other nodded. “Our total population is but a few million,” he said. Then, “I would like to see the mother planet, but I suppose I never shall.”
Ronny said diplomatically, “I have seen little of Kropotkin thus far but I am not so sure but that I might not be happy to stay here, rather than ever return to Earth.”
The old man knocked the ashes from his pipe by striking it against the heel of a work-gnarled hand. He looked about him thoughtfully and said, “Yes, perhaps you're right. I am an old man and life has been good. I suppose I should be glad that I'll unlikely live to see Kropotkin change.”
“Change? You plan changes?”
The old man looked at him and there seemed to be a very faint bitterness, politely suppressed. “I wouldn't say we planned them, comrade. Certainly not we of the older generation. But the trend toward change is already to be seen by anyone who wishes to look, and our institutions won't long be able to stand. But, of course, if you're from United Planets you would know more of this than I.”
“I'm sorry. I don't know what you're talking about.”
“You are new indeed on Kropotkin,” the old man said. “Just a moment.” He went into his house and emerged with a small power pack. He indicated it to Ronny Bronston. “This is our destruction,” he said.
The Section G agent shook his head, bewildered.
The old-timer sat down again. “My son,” he said, “runs the farm now. Six months ago, he traded one of our colts for a small pump, powered by one of these. It was little use on my part to argue against the step. The pump eliminates considerable work at the well and in irrigation.”
Ronny still didn't understand.
“The power pack is dead now,” the old man said, “and my son needs a new one.”
“They're extremely cheap,” Ronny said. “An industrialized planet turns them out in multi-million amounts at practically no cost.”
“We have little with which to trade. A few handicrafts, at most.”
Ronny said, “But, good heavens, man, build yourselves a plant to manufacture power packs. With a population this small, a factory employing no more than half a dozen [pg 057] men could turn out all you need.”
The old man was shaking his head. He held up the battery. “This comes from the planet Archimedes,” he said, “one of the most highly industrialized in the UP, so I understand. On Archimedes do you know how many persons it takes to manufacture this power pack?”
“A handful to operate the whole factory, Archimedes is fully automated.”
The old man was still moving his head negatively. “No. It takes the total working population of the planet. How many different metals do you think are contained in it, in all? I can immediately see what must be lead and copper.”
Ronny said uncomfortably, “Probably at least a dozen, some in microscopic amounts.”
“That's right. So we need a highly developed metallurgical industry before we can even begin. Then a developed transportation industry to take metals to the factory. We need power to run the factory, hydro-electric, solar, or possibly atomic power. We need a tool-making industry to equip the factory, the transport industry and the power industry. And while the men are employed in these, we need farmers to produce food for them, educators to teach them the sciences and techniques involved, and an entertainment industry to amuse them in their hours of rest. As their lives become more complicated with all this, we need a developed medical industry to keep them in health.”
The old man hesitated for a moment, [pg 058] then said, “And, above all, we need a highly complicated government to keep all this accumulation of wealth in check and balance. No. You see, my friend, it takes social labor to produce products such as this, and thus far we have avoided that on Kropotkin. In fact, it was for such avoidance that my ancestors originally came to this planet.”
Ronny said, scowling, “This gets ridiculous. You show me this basically simple power pack and say it will ruin your socio-economic system. On the face of it, it's ridiculous.”
The old man sighed and looked out over the village unseeingly. “It's not just that single item, of course. The other day one of my neighbors turned up with a light bulb with built-in power for a year's time. It is the envy of the unthinking persons of the neighborhood most of whom would give a great deal for such a source of light. A nephew of mine has somehow even acquired a powered bicycle, I think you call them, from somewhere or other. One by one, item by item, these products of advanced technology turn up—from whence, we don't seem to be able to find out.”
Under his breath, Ronny muttered, “Paine!”
“I beg your pardon,” the old man said.
“Nothing,” the Section G agent said. He leaned forward and, a worried frown working its way over his face, began to question the other more closely.
Afterwards, Ronny Bronston strode slowly toward the UP headquarters. There was only a small contingent of United Planets personnel on this little populated member planet but, as always, there seemed to be an office for Section G.
Ronny stood outside it for a moment. There were voices from within, but he didn't knock.
In fact, he cast his eyes up and down the short corridor. At the far end was a desk with a girl in the Interplanetary Cultural Exchange Department working away in concentration. She wasn't looking in his direction.
Ronny Bronston put his ear to the door. The building was primitive enough, rustic enough in its construction, to permit his hearing.
Tog Lee Chang Chu was saying seriously, “Oh, it was chaotic all right, but no, I don't really believe it could have been a Tommy Paine case. Actually I'd suggest to you that you run over to Catalina. When I was on Avalon I heard rumors that Tommy Paine's finger seemed to be stirring around in the mess there. Yes, I'd recommend that you take off for Catalina immediately. If Paine is anywhere in this vicinity at all, it would be Catalina.”
For a moment, Ronny Bronston froze. Then in automatic reflex his hand went inside his jacket to rest over the butt of the Model H automatic there.
No, that wasn't the answer. His hand dropped away from the gun.
He listened, further.
Another voice was saying, “We [pg 059] thought we were on the trail for a while on Hector, but it turned out it wasn't Paine. Just a group of local agitators fed up with the communist regime there. There's going to be a blood bath on Hector, before they're through, but it doesn't seem to be Paine's work this time.”
Tog's voice was musing. “Well, you never know, it sounds like the sort of muck he likes to play in.”
The strange voice said argumentatively, “Well, Hector needs a few fundamental changes.”
“It could be,” Tog said, “but that's their internal affairs, of course. Our job in Section G is to prevent troubles between the differing socio-economic and religious features of member planets. Whatever we think of some of the things Paine does, our task is to get him.”
Ronny Bronston pushed the door open and went through. Tog Lee Chang Chu was sitting at a desk, nonchalant and petitely beautiful as usual, comfortably seated in easy-chairs were two young men by their attire probably citizens of United Planets and possibly even Earthlings.
“Hello, Ronny,” Tog said softly. “Meet Frederic Lippman and Pedro Nazaré, both Section G operatives. This is my colleague, Ronald Bronston, gentlemen. Fredric and Pedro were just leaving, Ronny.”
The two agents got up to shake hands.
Ronny said, “You can't be in that much of a hurry. What's your assignment, boys?”
Lippman, an earnest type, and by his appearance not more than twenty-five or so years of age, began to answer, but Nazaré said hurriedly, “Actually, it's a confidential assignment. We're working directly out of the Octagon.”
Lippman said, frowning, “It's not that confidential, Tog. Bronston's an agent, too. What's your assignment, Ronny?”
Ronny said very slowly, “I'm beginning to suspect that it's the same as yours and various pieces are beginning to fall into place.”
Lippman was taken aback. “You mean you're looking for Tommy Paine?” His eyes went to his associate. “How could that be, Tog? I didn't know more than one of us were on this job. Why, that means if Bronston here finds him first, I won't get my permanent appointment.”
Ronny looked at Tog Lee Chang Chu who was sitting demurely, hands in lap, and a resigned expression on her face. He said, “Nor if you find him first, will I. Look here, Tog, how many men does Sid Jakes have out on this assignment?”
“I wouldn't know,” she said mildly.
He snapped, “A few dozen or so? Or possibly a few hundred?”
“It seems unlikely there could be that many,” she said mildly. She looked at the other two agents. “I think you two had better run along. Take my suggestion I made earlier.”
Comments (0)