submit? All of
you?"
"The
question is without meaning." Mordin showed his teeth in what could have
been a grin. "Submit to what?"
"To
me. To my troops, my superior strength, my orders, my wishes. To Zorgan I" This time Mordin showed
some sign of deep thought, and bewilderment.
"You
know very little of us, Bragan of Zorgan. I have thought much on what you said
before, trying to understand. It seems we Scartanni do not think the way you
do. I accept orders and commands from no man, ever. Nor does any man look to me
for orders, nor would he take them. We do not tell each other what to do. It is
not the way we do things."
"Rubbishl"
Brayan barked at him impatiently. "You speak nonsense. You have here a
city, and a culture. There are many of you and you work together. You are
organized into one people. And where that happens there must be a set of rules,
a plan of some kind. There must be those who give orders and those who carry
them out. What other way is there of doing it?"
Mordin looked even more bewildered now.
"We do not work like that," he declared, as thoughtfully as if this
were some abstract debate. "I can see it would be possible to do things in
that fashion, but it is not our way. If I wish to do something, I think about
it first, then, if I so decide, I do it." He sounded like someone giving
lessons to a child.
"And if you wanted to put up a building
like this one we are in now?" Bragan challenged. "You would think,
and then decide, and then build it, all by yourself? Old man, do you take me
for a fool?"
Mordin
furrowed his craggy face in wonder. "Many of us talked a long time about
this building, many of us with varied skills. Then we decided together. And
then we built it. What other way is there?"
Bragan
felt it was his turn to be baffled, but he kept his face stiff, and filed that
line of thought for future reference.
"When Zorgan rules here," he
declared, "we will teach you other and better ways. Faster ways. We will
teach you how to construct buildings ten times as big as this and more durable.
And many other things. How to make better and faster aircraft, better road
transport, many skills. We will show you how to generate more power. We will
make everything better, and with less work, because we know a great deal about
how to make machines which will do the work for us, and for you."
"And weapons for
killing?"
"Those
too," Bragan nodded, suddenly intent. Mordin shrugged.
"We
have no need of them. Or of any of the other things. We have all the buildings
we need, all the food we need, all the power we need. We do not want machines
to do our work for us. What would be the sense of that? And we have no need of
weapons, either. We do not kill, except sometimes when we hunt for food."
Bragan
took the stunner from its pouch in his belt and laid it on a table close by. A
small neon glowed in its recess above the firing stud, to show that it was
powered. He gestured to it, eyed Mordin. "Think, man," he suggested,
"what you are saying. That small object there, is powerl It has no bottom.
With it, with that one weapon alone, I could destroy every man, woman and child
on Scarta, one at a time, and it would still be working at the end. Think of
thatl"
Before
Mordin could fashion a reply the personal radio on Bragan's wrist tweeted an
urgent summons and he raised it to his mouth.
"Yes?"
"Bragan?
Karsh here. Something's gone wrong, damned wrong! We've lost Unit Fourl Blanked
right out. Not a peep out of her!"
"Without warning?" Bragan demanded,
incredulously.
"Not
a glimmer! Reports trickling in steady—and then nothing! Hold on! Oh no! There
goes Two, exacdy the same. Total blackout!"
Karsh
was babbling. Bragan put an edge on his voice. "Get a grip on yourself,
man! There must be an explanation. Sound the alert—" He let the sentence
die in mid-air as he saw the little neon telltale on his stunner wink out.
He
felt all the complex of servos and services of his body-armor dwindle and go
inert, and know,
you?"
"The
question is without meaning." Mordin showed his teeth in what could have
been a grin. "Submit to what?"
"To
me. To my troops, my superior strength, my orders, my wishes. To Zorgan I" This time Mordin showed
some sign of deep thought, and bewilderment.
"You
know very little of us, Bragan of Zorgan. I have thought much on what you said
before, trying to understand. It seems we Scartanni do not think the way you
do. I accept orders and commands from no man, ever. Nor does any man look to me
for orders, nor would he take them. We do not tell each other what to do. It is
not the way we do things."
"Rubbishl"
Brayan barked at him impatiently. "You speak nonsense. You have here a
city, and a culture. There are many of you and you work together. You are
organized into one people. And where that happens there must be a set of rules,
a plan of some kind. There must be those who give orders and those who carry
them out. What other way is there of doing it?"
Mordin looked even more bewildered now.
"We do not work like that," he declared, as thoughtfully as if this
were some abstract debate. "I can see it would be possible to do things in
that fashion, but it is not our way. If I wish to do something, I think about
it first, then, if I so decide, I do it." He sounded like someone giving
lessons to a child.
"And if you wanted to put up a building
like this one we are in now?" Bragan challenged. "You would think,
and then decide, and then build it, all by yourself? Old man, do you take me
for a fool?"
Mordin
furrowed his craggy face in wonder. "Many of us talked a long time about
this building, many of us with varied skills. Then we decided together. And
then we built it. What other way is there?"
Bragan
felt it was his turn to be baffled, but he kept his face stiff, and filed that
line of thought for future reference.
"When Zorgan rules here," he
declared, "we will teach you other and better ways. Faster ways. We will
teach you how to construct buildings ten times as big as this and more durable.
And many other things. How to make better and faster aircraft, better road
transport, many skills. We will show you how to generate more power. We will
make everything better, and with less work, because we know a great deal about
how to make machines which will do the work for us, and for you."
"And weapons for
killing?"
"Those
too," Bragan nodded, suddenly intent. Mordin shrugged.
"We
have no need of them. Or of any of the other things. We have all the buildings
we need, all the food we need, all the power we need. We do not want machines
to do our work for us. What would be the sense of that? And we have no need of
weapons, either. We do not kill, except sometimes when we hunt for food."
Bragan
took the stunner from its pouch in his belt and laid it on a table close by. A
small neon glowed in its recess above the firing stud, to show that it was
powered. He gestured to it, eyed Mordin. "Think, man," he suggested,
"what you are saying. That small object there, is powerl It has no bottom.
With it, with that one weapon alone, I could destroy every man, woman and child
on Scarta, one at a time, and it would still be working at the end. Think of
thatl"
Before
Mordin could fashion a reply the personal radio on Bragan's wrist tweeted an
urgent summons and he raised it to his mouth.
"Yes?"
"Bragan?
Karsh here. Something's gone wrong, damned wrong! We've lost Unit Fourl Blanked
right out. Not a peep out of her!"
"Without warning?" Bragan demanded,
incredulously.
"Not
a glimmer! Reports trickling in steady—and then nothing! Hold on! Oh no! There
goes Two, exacdy the same. Total blackout!"
Karsh
was babbling. Bragan put an edge on his voice. "Get a grip on yourself,
man! There must be an explanation. Sound the alert—" He let the sentence
die in mid-air as he saw the little neon telltale on his stunner wink out.
He
felt all the complex of servos and services of his body-armor dwindle and go
inert, and know,
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