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
He cleared his throat, feeling foolish. “Thanks, Tog,” he said.
“Not at all, Ronny. Why, this is my job.”
Was there the faintest of sarcasm in her voice? It hadn't been more than a couple of hours ago that he had been hinting rather heavily to Sid Jakes that he needed no assistance.
She even knew the layout of the West Greater Washington shuttleport. Her small body swiveled through the hurrying passengers, her small feet a-twinkle, as she led him to and down Corridor K and then to the desk at Exit Four.
Ronny anticipated her here. He flashed his own badge at the chair-borne Space Forces lieutenant there.
“Lieutenant Economou?” he said. “Ronald Bronston, of the Bureau of Investigation, Section G. We've got to get to Neuve Albuquerque soonest.”
The lieutenant, only mildly impressed, said, “We can have you in the air in ten minutes, citizen. Just a moment and I'll guide you myself.”
In the rocket, Ronny had time to appraise her at greater length. She was a delicately pretty thing, although her expression was inclined to the over-serious. There was only a touch of the Mongolian fold at the corner of her eyes. On her it looked unusually good. Her complexion was that which only the blend of Chinese and Caucasian can give. 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 [pg 031] 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 socio-economic 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 UP, 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 UP 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.”
[pg 032]“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 UP 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 UP 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 ocean going services of an earlier age for analogy.
They all had the dream. The enthusiasm of men participating in a [pg 033] 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 little enough to do in space, practically nothing, but there was always an officer on watch.
They leaned back in the acceleration chairs before the ship's controls and Ronny listened to the other's space lore. Stories of far planets, as yet untouched. Stories of planets that had seemingly been suitable for colonization, but had proved disastrous for man, for this reason or that.
Ronny said, “And never in all this time have we run into a life form that has proved intelligent?”
Captain Woiski said, “No. Not that I know of. There was an animal on Shangri-La of about the mental level of the chimpanzee. So far as I know, that's the nearest to it.”
“Shangri-La?” Ronny said. “That's a new one.”
There was an affectionate gleam in the captain's eye. “Yes,” he said. “If and when I retire, I think that'd be the planet of my choice, if I could get permission to leave Earth, of course.”
Ronny scowled in attempted memory. “Now that you mention it, I think I did see it listed the other day among planets with a theocratic government.”
The captain grunted protest. “If you're comparing it to this New Delos you're going to, you're wrong. There can be theocracy and theocracy, I suppose. Actually, I imagine Shangri-La has the most, well gentle government in the system.”
Ronny was interested. His recent studies hadn't led him to much respect for a priesthood in political power. “What's the particular feature that's seemed to have gained your regard?”
“Moderation,” Woiski chuckled. “They carry it almost to the point of immoderation. But not quite. Briefly, it works something like this. They have a limited number of monks—I suppose you'd call them—who spend their time at whatever moves them. At the arts, at scientific research, at religious contemplation—any religion will do—as students of anything and everything, and at the governing of Shangri-La. They make a point of enjoying the luxuries in moderation and aren't a severe drain on the rank and file citizens of the planet.”
Ronny said, “I have a growing distrust of hierarchies. Who decides who is to become a monk and who remain a member of the rank and file?”
The captain said, “A series of the best tests they can devise to determine a person's intelligence and aptitudes. From earliest youth, the whole populace is checked and rechecked. At the age of thirty, when it is considered that a person has become [pg 034] adult and has finished his basic education, a limited number are offered monkhood. Not all want it.”
Ronny thought about it. “Why not? What are the shortcomings?”
The captain shrugged. “Responsibility, I suppose.”
“The monks aren't allowed sex, booze, that sort of thing, I imagine.”
“Good heavens, why not? In moderation, of course.”
“And they live on a higher scale?”
“No, no, not at all. Don't misunderstand. The planet is a prosperous one. Exceedingly prosperous. There is everything needed for comfortable existence for everyone. Shangri-La is one planet where the pursuit of happiness is pursuable by all.” Captain Woiski chuckled again.
Ronny said, “It sounds good enough, although I'm leery of benevolent dictatorships. The trouble with them is that it's up to the dictators to decide what's benevolent. And almost always, nepotism rears its head, favoritism of one sort or another. How long will it be before one of your moderate monks decides he'll moderately tinker with the tests, or whatever, just to be sure his favorite nephew makes the grade? A high I.Q. is no guarantee of integrity.”
The captain didn't disagree. “That's always possible, I suppose. One guard against it, in this case, is the matter of motive. The privilege of being a monk isn't as great as all that. Materially, you aren't particularly better off than any one else. You have more leisure, that's true, but actually most of them are so caught up in their studies
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