Heir Reluctant
Astounding – June 1958
(1958)*
Robert Silverberg
illustrated by Freas

Some are born great, some achieve greatness—and some, it seems, have to have greatness shoved down their throats with a force pump!

-

Chapter I

"... Perhaps the knottiest problem that confronts one whose task it is to provide for the development of a young and newly-independent world is the question of transfer of power. The stresses of a planet's initial colonial years give way to the very different stresses of early self-government, and the man who leads the government in its first stages must be an extraordinary one. Paradoxically, however, the potential leader is not always anxious to assume the burden of rule, and frequently may be obstinately reluctant to do so ..."
Dynamics of the Colonial Process 
Dawson

-

	DRY, dusty wind was blowing across Dannon City from the east, kicking up fallen leaves in the broad plaza before the imposing dwelling of the Terran Resident Protector on Dannon's World. It was a storm-carrying wind, David Kilross thought, looking out into the plaza.

	Well, he expected a storm. He had been Resident Protector here long enough to know when a storm was on its way.

	He turned away from the window, conscious of the slightly-higher-than-Earthnorm pull of gravity. The dark gray-purple clouds scudding overhead had put him into a somber mood. He clenched and unclenched his fists. He wanted to talk to somebody; anybody, it seemed, as long as he could communicate some of the thoughts and plans that spun in his head.

	Kilross walked to his desk, opened a communicator channel, and spoke quickly and crisply. A few moments went by; then the area on the far wall where the solido-projector was glowed a soft yellow, deepening to green as the figure of a man appeared.

	The image facing Kilross was that of an Earthman, short and thickset like himself. He was Merrill Stoneham, Protector of Lannimar, fourteen light-years away. Stoneham and Kilross had entered Colonial Service together, a decade earlier. They were old friends.

	Without preamble Stoneham said, "Dave, I read your report in Extracts. I was going to call you about it. You're taking a big chance, you know."

	Quietly Kilross said, "I know. I was always a pretty fair gambler."

	"But you're gambling with a world, now! Are you sure you're right?"

	An enigmatic expression entered Kilross' eyes as he said, "Can we ever be sure? We manipulate gigantic forces, Merrill. How do we know we won't crush ourselves?" He knotted his hands together. Behind him, he heard the first downward lashing sweep of the storm, the heavy thudding of the rain against the dry streets of Dannon City. Kilross said, "This planet is right on the edge of independence. I'm going to give it to them."

	Stoneham shrugged. "I suppose you know what you're doing. My planet's at least a century in the future, so far as the question of independence goes. But I won't question your statement. Except that your Extracts article said that Dannon's World faces a possible dictatorship if Earth grants independence now. And yet, in the teeth of that statement, you go right ahead. How come?"

	"I've got an ace in the hole," Kilross said. "A natural leader, the sort of man you don't come across often. His name's White. Austin White."

	Frowning, the solido-projection of Stoneham said, "If he's so good, why isn't he ruling now? Your article said a man named Henderson was the local top man."

	Kilross leaned forward avidly. "Don't worry about White. He's busy now, with other things. But he'll take over, when he's needed. I'll bet five years of my pension on it."

	Stoneham stared levelly at his fellow administrator for a long moment, smiling in a sort of grudging admiration. After a while he reached beyond the solido field with his left hand, and drew a half-full glass toward him. He waited while Kilross could pour a drink of his own.

	Stoneham raised his glass. "Here's to you," he said.

	Fourteen light-years away, on Dannon's World, Resident Protector David Kilross shook his head and grinned. "Here's to Austin White," he responded. "The future premier of Dannon's World. Only he doesn't know it yet."

	At the moment the two Terrans drained their glasses, the object of their discussion was entertaining a member of the local planetary government in his downtown flat.

	Austin White's apartment in the heart of Dannon City had the sterile, barren appearance one would expect of the home of a bachelor with a predilection toward tidiness. Above everything else, White was tidy—whether in laboring over the mathematics that was his chief pleasure in life, or in keeping his few personal possessions in their proper places.

	A few pieces of golden-hued driftwood were the only ornaments in his flat. He did not believe in cluttering up his home with bric-a-brac, any more than he believed in cluttering up his mind. He was a tall man, not yet forty, with dark close-cropped hair and a lean muscular frame. His face was particularly striking; thin fleshless lips, a triangular wedge of a nose, eyes that never seemed to be looking at, but always past and through. He was a fifth-generation settler on Dannon's World.

	His guest was Bernhard Klein, a third-generation man of Swiss-Terran extraction. Klein was Minister of the Arts in the cabinet of Premier Henderson. And for the past two months, Klein had had much the same thing to say to White each time he visited him.

	"Dammit, Austin, if there's a revolution on this planet next month it'll be your fault!"

	White frowned, sighed, stubbed out his cigarette. The rain was a tumultuous drumbeat outside, battering the windows and the rooftops of the city and washing the soil from the gaunt purple hills that ringed it in.

	"You always lay the blame so directly at my door," White said. "As if I could have altered the situation by sacrificing my private life to oppose Henderson—"

	"Your father and your grandfather before him had no objections to sacrificing their private lives," Klein reminded him a little icily. Klein was a small man, soft-spoken, with a determined glitter in his pale green eyes. "They were willing to run. They served Dannon's World thirty-five years between them, as Premier."

	"Be reasonable, Bernhard. People would never understand. They wanted public life, and they got what they wanted, I want something else."

	And, he added silently, I watched them waste their lives in a futile attempt at governing. You can't govern unless you can teach the people to rule themselves. Dad and Grand-dad knew what needed to be done. They just didn't know how to go about doing it.

	That was what White was trying to find out. He was searching for an equation, a mathematical formulation for human communication. For a decade, he had known that the end of his goal was in sight. Another five years, perhaps, another ten, another fifteen—

	He worked at it, with single-minded intensity that made some people think he was strange. He didn't care. In his eyes, his work came first, before all else. Before family, before friends, even before his planet. He had suffered for that, but he stuck to his purposes. There was time to explain later, after he had succeeded.

-

	Coolly White lit another cigarette and dialed a drink. He leaned forward and snapped a musicdisk into the socket. It was Bach's Third Brandenburg Concerto; it relaxed the somewhat overtense atmosphere of the room.

	Klein drummed for a moment on the edge of his chair. He seemed to be weighing his words, measuring them for their maximal persuasive effect. At length he said, "I came here for a specific reason tonight, Austin. I came to ask a favor."

	"Ask it, then."

	"No. Not yet. First let me say this: I want you to hear me out, and not answer me until I'm finished. And I want a simple answer, yes or no, you understand? Also I want it clear that I'm asking it in my official capacity as part of Premier Henderson's cabinet, not simply as a friend of yours. I hope it won't have any future effect on the relationship we—"

	The lengthy prelude annoyed White. He smiled suddenly and said, "All right. What is it you want, Bernhard?"

	"Simply this. Premier Henderson has drafted a fourth Home Rule petition. He requests Resident Protector Kilross to forward the petition to the Colonial Council on Earth for immediate consideration."

	"Henderson's going to get the same reaction he did the last three times. Kilross will make polite noises and toss the petition in the disposal the minute Henderson turns his back. I don't see—"

	"I haven't told you yet," Klein said sharply. "Henderson feels that perhaps the wrong approach has been taken in petitioning Kilross, up to now. He thinks perhaps if some well-known citizen served the petition, somebody respected by all but not an actual member of the government, Kilross might take the petition more seriously."

	"No," White said immediately. A stiff week of important calculations awaited him. "I'm not interested in taking a job as a process server, if that's what you're driving at."

	Klein shrugged. "I guess I should have expected it. Very well. But consider this—and what I say is strictly entre nous. Henderson anticipates a fourth rejection of the petition. He expects it. And he says that if Kilross turns it down again, he's going to declare Dannon's World independent of Earth anyway, and expel the Terran Resident Protector."

	"That's revolution. The cabinet and the Assembly won't let him do any such thing."

	"We can't stop him," Klein said. "Henderson happens to have full executive control over the military. He can touch off a one-man revolution if he feels like it. And I know he feels like it. Henderson's utterly ruthless. Do you know him?"

	"I met him once. I didn't care to meet him a second time."

	"O.K.," Klein said. "You saw who he is and what he's like. Now, if you refuse to go to Kilross and give him the petition—dammit, Austin, you'll be touching off that revolution as sure as if you fired the first shot!"

	White was silent for a long time, scowling. Why did they never let him concentrate on his work? Why were they always claiming portions of his time? He had watched two earlier generations of Whites fritter away their lives in futile attempts to preserve the bonds of civilization, when they could have been working on—

	He stared at his thick strong hands and wished Klein had never come this evening. He did not look up.

	Klein said quietly, "If you had wanted the premiership seven years ago it would have been yours on a platter, and you know it, Austin. But you decided not to take it. You said your family had bossed Dannon's World for two generations, and that was long enough. So you turned the job down and eventually Mark Henderson grabbed it. O.K. You have your own life to lead. But I'm asking you to grant half a day of your precious time to your planet and go to see Kilross. How about it?"

	Without answering, White rose and walked to the window. It had stopped raining, and the streets were darkly wet. Neat, symmetrical streets; the founding fathers had planned well. A rainbow arched splendidly across the sky, dropping sharply behind the steely rim of the mountain wall. Golden shafts of sunlight broke against the pavement.

	White turned and his eyes met Klein's. The small man had been damnably persuasive. And he had no choice but to accept, anyway.

	In a tired voice he said, "You win, Bernhard. I'll go to Kilross if you think it'll help."

Chapter II

"... In choosing a native-born leader for a newly-independent colony world, the Terran Resident Protector must seek a man with the qualities of sound leadership. That is to say, the man of his choice must have deep-rooted inner ethics, toughness of mind and of purpose, and a certain ruthlessness, a willingness to undertake difficult tasks without reference to self or to public clamor, if he sees the overall result as beneficial. In short, the Resident Protector must seek a man who has essentially the same characteristics as himself, though these traits may manifest themselves in subtle and sometimes awkward manners ..."
Dynamics of the Colonial Process 
Dawson

-

	In the immediate pre-independence years of a colony world, the Terran Resident Protector is normally the most important single individual on the planet. He is chosen on Earth, by the Colonial Council, and his appointment is for life. It is his task to review any decisions of the local colonial government, give advice when necessary, intervene openly when affairs called for intervention.

	David Kilross, Resident Protector of Dannon's World, had held his post seven years. He had been appointed on the death of his predecessor in 3107, and had arrived to find himself Protector of a thriving, fully-industrialized Earth-type world well on its way to winning the coveted Home Rule status that amounted to absolute independence within the loose framework of the Terran Commonwealth.

	He had finished his solidophone conversation with Stoneham on a hopeful note; Stoneham had his hands full on Lannimar, peopled by brawling miners and smelters, and Kilross had offered him some advice. Then, breaking the contact, he returned to the job of drafting his monthly report to Earth. The communicator panel on his desk lit up suddenly. He nudged the acknowledger and said, "What is it, Cronin?"

	His attaché for local affairs said, "Sir, there's been a call for you from an Austin White. He wants an appointment with you for this afternoon. I told him you were writing your report, but he insists it's important."

	Kilross' eyes narrowed briefly. "Tell him I'll see him," the Protector said. "The report can wait."

	Cronin protested, "The report, sir! The Council always screams if it's the least bit late, and—"

	The attaché was earnest, Kilross thought wearily, but a little dull. "The Council can learn to have patience, Cronin," he said sharply. "Tell White I'll see him today."

	"Very well, sir."

	The panel went dead.

	He's coming! Kilross thought exultantly. The complex plan was beginning to unfold.

	Kilross had met White only once before—seven years ago, when he had arrived on Dannon's World to take over for dead Jackson. The head of the local government then had been the vigorous, popular Richardson White. But White had died suddenly of pneumonia only six weeks after Kilross' arrival; and the Premier's son, Austin White, had emphatically turned down all bids to succeed his father.

	After Richardson White had come a series of short-term Premiers, their names already half-forgotten: Marrick, eight months; Duval, seven months; Keswick, fifteen weeks. And then, two years ago in 3112, Mark Henderson.

	A brisk, efficient man, Henderson began his career as a local selectman in a southern city, and rapidly had swept his way northward to the capital and the premiership. Running unopposed on a platform of reconstruction, Henderson easily won the approval of the people. He announced he would undo the damage caused by his weak-willed predecessors. He called for speedy expansion of industry, increase in the export balance, and prompt colonization of the uninhabited continent to the east.

	Within a few months he had restored the Dannon economy to the healthy position it had enjoyed before the death of Premier White. Within his first year in office, a city was rising on the western shore of the far continent. Superficially, he had done a good job.

	But, Kilross thought, Henderson was a fool. A dangerous fool at that, brutal, ruthless, self-willed. Kilross had allowed him to attain the premiership only because he intended to use Henderson as a lever in a greater plan.

	The communicator glowed again. "What is it, Cronin?" Kilross asked.

	"I called White and told him what you said. He'll be here in an hour."

	"Good."

	"Do you want me to bring you the dossier on White, sir?"

	"It won't be necessary." Kilross chuckled. "I know all I need to know about Austin White, Cronin."

	"It wouldn't be any trouble for me to bring it in—"

	"Not necessary," Kilross snapped. "I'm briefed on White already. I offered him the premiership back in 3107. That was before you came here, I think. He turned it down."

	"Turned it down, sir?"

	"That's right" Kilross smiled at the memory. "Said he was too busy on a project of his—deriving a set of mathematical parameters of human communication, I think. So I gave the job to Leon Marrick. But White's going to be in office soon. He's going to succeed Henderson."

	"What's that, sir?" came the startled voice of the young attaché.

	"I said he's going to succeed Henderson. He doesn't know about it, yet, and if you told him he'd say you were crazy. But I know my man, Cronin, I've watched him for seven years." Kilross laughed. "Get a good look at him when he shows up, Cronin. It's instructive to see him. He's tough. One of the most solid human beings I've ever seen."

	"I'll look at him, sir."

	Still chuckling, Kilross broke contact and turned back to his work. White's tough, all right. And capable. But it's a lucky thing for Dannon's World and for him that I'm a little bit tougher.

	Austin White was thinking about Resident Protector Kilross as he rode crosstown that afternoon. He disliked the man. More on impulse than on actual knowledge, for he had had very little contact with Kilross. But he blamed the man for the slow, steady onset of decline in Dannon's World's affairs. Kilross had let the planet drift.

	And after Henderson had appeared to set right some of the haze of confusion five years of incompetent government had caused, White thought, Kilross had behaved increasingly negatively. Eleven months after his election, Henderson had fulfilled his final campaign promise by presenting to Protector Kilross a petition for Home Rule status for Dannon's World. 

	Kilross ignored it.

	A month after the petition had been presented, Henderson inquired when Earth planned to act on it.

	"The petition was never forwarded to Earth," Protector Kilross coolly informed the people of Dannon's World. "The time has not yet come for Home Rule here."

	The announcement caused much bitter comment. And, six months later, Henderson presented a second petition. It met with the same fate as had the first.

	And so did the third.

	Now, White thought, the time had come for a fourth petition—and this was the last one. He carried the document in a leatheroid portfolio dangling from his left hand; he rode across town in the monobus in a mood of chilly resignation, not anxious to take part in any of Henderson's political maneuvers but aware that in good faith he could not have refused Klein's request.

	Governing a planet is a hopeless job, he thought. Dad and Grand-dad tried it. They failed. They were capable, but shortsighted. They didn't realize that before you can govern properly you need a science of governing. You can't just improvise.

	That was why White had declined public office. He aimed for the higher goal. Let others struggle with routine administrative work; he worked on a more theoretical plane. He understood the futility of governing without a science of communication to guide him. Instead of taking the job everyone wanted him to have, he preferred to explore the essential basic concepts of reaching people. It was a much tougher job.

	At the entrance to the Protector's residence he paused and nudged the signal stud. The scanning beams whisked over him quickly and a deep voice said, "You may come in, Mr. White."

	The door slid back. A blank-faced servant-robot stood just within. It bowed perfunctorily and said, "Will you come this way, please?"

	White followed the servo down well-lit hallways into a narrower corridor. There he was met by a slim young Earther who introduced himself as Cronin, attaché to the Protector, and who stared at him most intensely before leading him inward to the door of a secluded office.

	Cronin touched a knuckle to the doorplate; the paneled door rolled silently open. White was ushered inside, into the presence of Resident Protector Kilross.

-

	Kilross was sitting down when White entered. He sat virtually enfolded in the soft moist arms of a relaxer, and as the gentle vibration of the chair traveled through the Protector's body the pink flesh of his throat and cheeks quivered perceptibly. He looked, thought White with some distaste, like a man who enjoys his comforts too well.

	Without rising, Kilross gestured him to a seat—a straight-backed chair, White noticed gratefully, not a clinging relaxer. White had little sympathy for some of the effete customs of the native-born Earthers. He regarded Earthers, in general, as a soft lot.

	But there was nothing soft about Kilross' voice as he said, "This visit is most unusual, isn't it, Mr. White? It was my impression that you preferred to keep aloof from such dreary things as affairs of government—and from such dreary people as those unfortunate ones who hold high government office."

	White nodded stiffly. "It's not my aim to take part in affairs of state, Excellency. I feel my family's had more than its share of power in Dannon's brief history, and that I should step aside."

	"I understand perfectly," Kilross said. "I believe you made something of the same sort of speech the last time I saw you. Seven years ago, wasn't it, when I offered you the premiership and you refused it?"

	Curtly White said, "Seventh of Sevenmonth, 3107. Odd how the sevens haunted us. But I didn't come here today to discuss my private feelings, Excellency."

	"Naturally. Cigarette, Mr. White?"

	White took it and flicked the igniting cap. It was an Earther cigarette, with a strange alien tang to it. It seemed mild, lacking in bite. He preferred the local brand of tobacco that grew in the blue-black soil of the southern farm-ranges.

	At length he said, "I'm here on a matter of grave concern to Mr. Henderson and his cabinet. They asked me to represent them here today."

	"I'm listening."

	"I came to discuss Home Rule for Dannon's World," White said evenly.

	There was an immediate change in the Protector's manner. He straightened up tensely, almost like some jungle beast that had been lounging sleepily in the noonday sun but now sensed the approach of danger. The heavy lids of the Protector's gray eyes drew back. Very abruptly there was nothing at all effete about Resident Protector Kilross.

	"Just how are you involved in the Home Rule agitation, Mr. White?"

	Stonily White said, "I agreed to bring a petition to you. I have it here, with me. Would you care to examine it?"

	Without waiting for a reply he drew the petition from its portfolio and slipped it across the burnished desk toward the Protector. Kilross' fleshy lips pursed in a sort of smirk as he accepted the little booklet and lifted its green frabrikoid cover.

-

	The room was silent for several minutes as the Protector skimmed through the document. Finally he looked up and said, "I've seen declarations like this before. Have you read it?"

	White nodded. "It requests you to contact Earth and make the necessary arrangements for a change of status for Dannon's World."

	"This is the fourth such petition I've received since Mr. Henderson took office," Kilross murmured gently. "He's persistent, at least."

	"He's received no response to any of his petitions, Excellency. I don't know Henderson well, but I understand he's a rather impatient man."

	"Quite."

	Kilross slipped almost reluctantly from the grip of the relaxer and crossed the room to a slate-gray file cabinet. He touched a black stud; the cabinet sprang open. White saw him unseal an inner section and draw out several fabrikoid-bound portfolios.

	"Contrary to public opinion, Mr. White, I don't throw these things away. I file them." Kilross dumped them down on the desk and indicated with a gesture that White was to examine them.

	White leafed through them hastily and glanced up at the Protector.

	"These are the three previous petitions!"

	"And now I have a fourth for my collection. And there will be a fifth and a sixth and no doubt a seventh. Our Mr. Henderson can't take no for an answer."

	Kilross sat down again and stared squarely across the desk at White. "My main job is to keep law and order on your planet, but I'm also here as a committee of one to determine when you've reached the point of Home Rule. Obviously you have not gotten there yet. I told Mr. Henderson this when he submitted his first petition. Tell me, White: do you honestly believe Dannon's World deserves Home Rule status now?"

	White nodded forcefully. "I do. And my father thought so, seven years ago. I happen to know he was planning to file such a petition just before his death."

	"Ah," Kilross said. "That was seven years ago. Dannon's World has changed in seven years, and not necessarily for the best, either. I spoke of now."

	"I think this petition should be forwarded to Earth—with a positive recommendation."

	"No. Dannon's World isn't ready for Home Rule status yet"

	"Is that final?"

	"It is. And if the Henderson government should send me one, two, three, or thirty-three more of these little petitions, I'll be compelled to ignore them the way I've ignored the first four."

	White rose suddenly. He wanted to reach out and smash the smug Earth-man behind the desk. "There won't be any more petitions, Excellency."

	"Oh?"

	"I give you fair warning. Henderson's a ruthless man. He wants independence for Dannon's World in the worst way, and he wants it now, while he's in charge of things. If this petition isn't granted, you can expect a revolution."

	The word hung in the air, ugly, naked, mingling with the bluish clouds of cigarette smoke that the precipitrons had failed to clear away.

	Revolution.

	A network of worlds radiated outward from Earth in gigantic bounds across the black quilt of the night. And on one of the farthest and newest of the colonies an old and familiar word was resounding.

	Revolution.

	"So," Kilross said, "either I grant you the Home Rule you don't deserve, or Henderson seizes it? How interesting. Suppose we wait and see. You can tell Mr. Henderson, if you care to, that I choose not to sign this latest petition. Now it's his turn to move."

	White nodded. He stared at the bland, mild, well-tended face of the plump Earthman, and rage flickered through him. He wanted to say, Wake up, Protector Kilross! Wake up and act or Henderson will rip you out of your cozy residence and toss you outback to the wolves, and with you our chances of Home Rule for the next hundred years. He wanted to shout, Earth will put down the rebellion and we'll be under martial law for decades. All because you're too lazy to do what needs to be done!

	"Excellency," White said, choking back his anger. "I presume you'll send for Henderson right away—before he has time to do anything foolish?"

	Kilross blinked thoughtfully. "I don't feel any need to speak to Mr. Henderson."

	"Don't you see, if you could only calm him down somehow, keep him from doing anything rash ... Perhaps one word from you ..."

	"Mr. Henderson is the duly elected head of state on Dannon's World," Kilross said frostily. "He is free to act as he wishes within the bounds of his office. But I will not interfere until such time as he has actually exceeded those bounds, not before. Is that quite clear, Mr. White?"

	White was silent for a moment, baffled and angry. A curve of events was taking shape, and he didn't like its implications.

	I get it, he thought. Give Henderson enough rope, let him rebel, and then hang him. But what about Dannon's World? We'll suffer. And you could prevent all this is you wanted to!

	In a rigidly calm voice he said, "I believe we've reached the end of this discussion, Excellency. I have nothing further to say. May I be excused?"

	"You can go, White," the Protector said. With a casual flip of his hand he increased the vibrational intensity of his relaxer, while with his other hand he buzzed for the robot to show White out.

	After the colonial had gone, Kilross nodded approvingly, smiling. He had plenty to tell when he rang Stoneham up on the solido for their next meeting. White had been hooked; he was free to wriggle, but the course of events from here on was fixed.

	He's tough, all right, Kilross thought. Tough and stubborn and smart. And before I'm through with him he'll hold the job he was meant to hold. But he still needs a little push—

Chapter III

"Inexorable is the wheel of Zeus, and many a thing he brings to pass contrary to our expectation; that which we thought would be, is not accomplished, while for the unexpected, Zeus finds a way."
Andromache

-

	Night had dropped by the time Austin White returned to his apartment; the two bright snow-faced moons of Dannon's World danced in the skies, and behind them the hard speckles that were the stars gleamed profusely. Sometimes White liked to stare at them, wondering whether he was seeing the sun of Earth, but now he did not look up. He had phoned the Capitol to report on Kilross' reply, but his own involvement with the problem did not end there. He was a deeply angry individual just now. He seethed.

	He was angry at Klein, first of all, for having dragged him into the situation in the first place. But he was angrier at Henderson, that cold-blooded, opportunistic idiot, and still angrier at that fatuous dandy, the Resident Protector Kilross.

	White slipped a musicdisk into the player—a late Beethoven quartet, a thing of subtle textures and nuances—but his mind was too bound up in political considerations to allow him enjoyment. He could not follow Beethoven's intricate structural logic this time, and for some reason the pale-hued sound of the violins seemed whining, irritating, foolish to him. Angrily he snapped the machine off, thinking blackly of Kilross.

	Kilross. A man with life tenure, an easygoing man, a lazy man, perhaps. This, thought White bitterly, is our Protector. This is the man chosen to dispense the age-old wisdom of the Mother World to the struggling benighted colonials.

	Kilross was not stupid. He undoubtedly knew in full what the inevitable consequences of his action would be. A revolt, no doubt, and the Protector would find it necessary to call in the nearest wing of the Patrol to quiet matters down.

	Dannon's World would swiftly and inevitably yield to the greater might of Earth—and the limited-rule constitution would be suspended; the world would revert to its original status as a territorial possession governed directly by distant Earth.

	It was within Kilross' power to dissolve the Henderson government and order a new general election. Perhaps a moderate—Klein, maybe—would become Premier. Catastrophe could be averted. But, thought White, Kilross had simply washed his hands of the matter. He was going to sit back and wait, and see, and give Henderson enough rope.

	There was a sour taste in White's mouth about the whole affair.

	Dispiritedly he sank down on his chair and looked at the stacked papers on his desk. A binder was neatly labeled: "Notes Toward a Definition of Human Communications." Fifteen years of work, painstaking construction of a still incomplete system for calculating societal stress-patterns and balances. He had hoped to reach at least a tentative result by this time—but even limited success was at least a year away, possibly more. And within a year Henderson and Kilross between them would have so shattered the structure of society on Dannon's World that his work would have been rendered pointless.

	He thought of his father and grandfather, the latter Dannon's first premier under the new constitution. Magnificent statues of them, fashioned from glossy plastolex, stood before the Capitol. They had worked tirelessly toward attaining Home Rule and independence. They had built Dannon's World, outward from Dannon City, establishing the settlements of Chesley and Berrin and Dawnbreak, pushing back the rugged frontier of the planet, creating a representative assembly that really represented and really assembled. But they had been only political engineers, inspired tinkerers operating on guesswork, rule-of-thumb. Austin White had tried to search out theoretical ideals of governing practice.

	And I failed. I didn't find my answer in time. And so rebellion, and generations of patient work undone in a fortnight of blood.

-

	The visiphone chimed. White ignored it, but it rang insistently, and at last he stretched out a hand and flipped it on. The image-screen lit and out of the swirling yellow electronic haze came the face of Bernhard Klein. Klein looked strangely tense. Worried.

	"There you are! I'm glad I found you at home. Austin, can you come down here right away? Without wasting a minute, I mean. I'm at the Capitol."

	"I called there earlier today. I spoke to Henderson and told him what Kilross said. You know about it?"

	"Yes, yes, of course," Klein chattered impatiently. "I know all about it. Henderson's furious! He's threatening to arrest Kilross and any Earth-sympathizers in Dannon City by morning, and proclaim independence."

	Numbly White said, "I expected it. So what?"

	"So what? So what? Look, Austin, I don't want to talk about this on the screen. Grab a monobus and come down here, right away."

	"What do you need me for?"

	"We're trying to calm Henderson down. We're trying to show him that it's suicide to start a rebellion against Earth—that it's impossible to win. He's determined, though. So we're calling up some of the prominent local citizens, to form a sort of committee to speak to him and make him change his mind. And we thought you ..."

	"... Would like to come down here and help," White completed. "Sorry, Bernhard. No sale. Not interested. No go."

	"But—"

	"But nothing. Henderson doesn't need any calming down, and he won't listen anyway. He's calm and rational and he's planned this whole thing for months. And he'll go ahead with it no matter who comes downtown to pat his back and soothe his soul."

	"That's a defeatist attitude," Klein chided.

	"It's a sensible attitude. Henderson knows what he wants and he's blind to the consequences. I've wasted enough time and energy on your behalf today, Bernhard. I've been neglecting my work. And now—"

	Klein's eyes gazed reproachfully at him. "You just don't want any part of the whole mess, is that it? You can't be bothered. I'll bet your father's spinning like a turbine in his grave."

	"That'll be enough," White snapped. "I don't see any point in trying to hold back the inevitable. I learned all about political dynamics first hand, growing up in the Capitol. I see what's coming. I can't stop it; therefore I shrug my shoulders and look the other way. Good night, Bernhard. Please don't call any more this evening."

	He broke the contact; Klein's accusing face disappeared. But as White turned away from the screen he knew that he had neither been honest with Klein nor with himself.

	He could not just shrug his shoulders and look away. A revolution was about to break, here in the city where he lived, and it would consume the planet he loved. He could not ignore that. The time was coming when he would have to choose between his work and his planet, and he dreaded that moment of decision. His work was important—but how important?

	An oppressive and unfamiliar sense of impotence and futility settled over him. You take an Earth-type world, diameter nine thousand miles, fourth out of eleven planets of a G-type sun. You put a few thousand Earthmen on it and let them breed, and you get a colony-world, population fifty million, ready to become a free and wealthy planet. Then along comes a lunatic like Henderson and a procrastinator like Kilross, and five generations of work goes for nothing.

	He shook his head. Time to get down to the equations for ethical two-way flow of responsibility. He turned on the desk lamp and compelled himself to carry on with his work.

	If Mark Henderson had not been the sort of man he was, Resident Protector Kilross would have had considerably greater difficulties in establishing his desired pattern of events on Dannon's World. Henderson was unique—for, in the four hundred years since the beginning of Earth's interstellar colonization program, no one before Mark Henderson had dared to challenge the authority of the mother world. Earth's word was law.

	Henderson was the first. His was the proper personality-pattern, and he had entered the flow of history at precisely the right moment. He did not know that he had been groomed for his task by the man he regarded as his most troublesome enemy, Protector Kilross.

	Physically Henderson was impressive—above-average in height, and big, though without the lean muscularity of Austin White. Henderson was a heavy-set, fleshy man, almost burly, with sleek black hair combed directly back from his broad forehead. He affected a small pointed beard as well. His voice was a commanding boom. He thought of himself as a natural leader.

	He had one other asset which many leaders of men in the past had found most convenient: he was totally unscrupulous in achieving his ends.

	It took him only an hour, the evening of the day on which Resident Protector Kilross had refused his fourth petition, to rid himself of Klein and the other troublesome fleas who plagued him. His course was clear; he had charted it months before.

	When the last of his advisers had finally been packed away, Henderson rang for his robosecretary and ordered it to phone Protector Kilross.

	The robot registered the order and said unobstrusively: "Sir, may I remind you that the time is past 2300 hours? Protector Kilross has left instructions at the main communication center that his number is never to be called after that hour."

	Henderson nodded. "I'm aware of that. His instruction is hereby rescinded. Get Kilross on the line at once."

	It took four minutes, minutes that Henderson spent in an acute stage of impatience, staring at the mighty three-horned saurian skull, a hunting trophy of his, that leered down at him from the opposite wall of his office. He had planned this moment so long that the phrases came bubbling up unbidden to his tongue as he waited for the screen to light.

	Finally Kilross appeared. He looked sour and irritated. "What is it, Mr. Henderson?"

	"I want confirmation of the fact that you've denied my petition for Home Rule once again."

	"Confirmed." Kilross glared stonily out of the screen. "What of it?"

	Henderson paused an instant, then said: "It's my duty to notify you, as a result, that effective at midnight tonight your office is suspended and you yourself are subject to immediate deportment."

	The Protector merely smiled. "By whose authority do you make these loud noises, Mr. Henderson?"

	"By the authority vested in me as Premier of the Independent World of Holman IV, otherwise known as Dannon's World. At midnight an act of severance takes effect which ends any relationship Dannon's World might once have had with the planet Earth. I'm filing full notice of this with the Colonial Council on Earth—along with a detailed explanation of the circumstances that force us to take such a drastic step."

	"Indeed," drawled the Protector. "I'm sure the Council will be fascinated."

	"I'm sure they will be," Henderson said grimly. "And I hope they have the good sense not to order troops out in an attempt to flatten us. We'll show them we know how to fight, if they do."

	"Undoubtedly you will," agreed Kilross.

	Henderson's eyes blazed. "You're mocking me, aren't you? Think you're so very superior, with all that pure Earth blood in your veins? I'll be glad to be rid of you, Kilross. I never liked you. And what's more, if Dannon's World had had a competent governor instead of a sniveler like you, we'd all still be loyal subjects of Earth!"

	"I'm sorry you feel that way," Kilross said gravely. "I had no idea you liked me so little. Good night, Mr. Henderson. And may you sleep well."

Chapter IV

"... Refusal to act is in itself a form of action, and often is more compelling and efficient in its effect than any amount of positively-directed output of energy. It is a delicate matter that calls for great self-discipline and foresight. The successful Protector must know when the interests of his world and of Earth will be best served by staying his hand, biding his time, and allowing the inexorable pattern to play itself out..."
Dynamics of the Colonial Process 
Dawson

-

	When Austin White woke the following morning after a hard night of work and a few hours of troubled sleep, he woke into a vastly altered world.

	He did not need to go farther than the telefax slot in his kitchen wall to find that out. He rose at 0900, gobbled an anti-fatigue tablet, entered the kitchen, and yanked down on the actuating lever; the 'fax sheet came slithering out, and he scanned it rapidly, with a frown of anxiety and tension growing deeper on his face each minute. The feature headline was:

HENDERSON DECLARES INDEPENDENCE

	Premier Henderson had moved swiftly while Dannon City slept. Independence had been proclaimed at midnight, and Earth so notified by direct tight-beam subwave communication. Martial law was temporarily invoked. All members of the army reserve had been required to don uniform and report to their commanding officers for possible assignment. Meetings of the Representative Assembly were "temporarily suspended" by order of the Premier, until the present emergency state of affairs had become more stable.

	Resident Protector Kilross had been declared an enemy of the state and he had fled during the night to the safety of the Terran Military Base near Chesley, at the mouth of the Brewster River, five hundred miles to the south. Many pro-Earth sympathizers had likewise escaped southward during the night. Premier Henderson had a brief statement in the 'fax concerning these people:

	"I've given orders that they're not to be stopped. I'm not going to pursue a vindictive course. There are spaceships down there that can take a man off the planet, and anybody who wants to leave Dannon's World is free to do so. We want only patriots here."

	White read through the rest of the paper in a state of dull shock and rising anger. He had known since the day before that the separation was inevitable; still, now that it had happened, it was hard to accept rationally.

	Revolution.

	On a planet that seven years ago had been content and happy, and grateful to Earth for the help the mother world had given it.

	Of course, the worst was yet to come. Earth would never allow a colony to flaunt her strength this way. Soon—perhaps now—the golden-hulled Terran spaceships would descend on pillars of flame, the grim tight-lipped men in gray Terran uniforms would walk among the people of Dannon's World, if necessary shots would be fired. White shook his head angrily. How had a suicidal incompetent like Henderson ever been allowed to attain the Premiership? Surely anyone could see that defying Earth could only lead to prompt retribution.

	But a power-hungry fool never sees past the end of his nose. Henderson had invited destruction; it was inevitable now. And innocent people would suffer.

	In a way, White thought, I'm responsible for this. He knew that had he taken the premiership when it was offered, none of this would have happened. But there had been so many other men who seemed capable of keeping the government running more or less smoothly, and White knew that only he could have done the work he was engaged in. So he had moved to one side, making room for a Henderson, and Henderson had seized the opportunity.

	I guessed wrong.

	He had turned down the job of an engineer to do that of a scientist, hoping none of the engineers would blow up the laboratory while he labored on developing the abstract theory of how to control explosions. The theory had not been ready in time; danger threatened. White stared thoughtfully at his fingertips, feeling an inner blaze of fury and the first faint tinges of what he reluctantly admitted was a feeling of guilt.

	The planet of Lannimar, fourteen light-years from Dannon's World, was classed as a C-Rating world, only seventy-five per cent Earth-type on the Bryson scale. It was a small heavy-density planet with a 1.43 Earthnorm grav pull and a crust of heavy elements. That made it desirable for mining but rough on the miners, and Resident Protector Merrill Stoneham had to struggle not only against the aches of his own weary body and against the dark storms that whipped Lannimar's surface, but against the unruly, protesting spirits of the colonists.

	Protector Stoneham was reviewing the Home Guard in a downpour, watching the drab uniforms go by while the bleak sky dumped buckets of water down. An aide approached, tapped him, murmured: "Sir, there's a solido call from Dannon's World. Should I tell them to call back?"

	He shook his head; his forelock plastered itself to his brow. "No, Tell General Ayres that the review is canceled. I'll take the call in my office."

	He stepped through the balcony window and into the room he used as his study. David Kilross was there already, in image at least, and he laughed as he saw Stoneham's bedraggled figure.

	"Go ahead—laugh!" Stoneham growled. "You ought to try living on a world like this some time. Rain twenty-nine hours a day, gale winds ripping in off the ocean all the time, that damned bloated moon up there playing hob with the tides, the grav pulling you down—"

	"I know," Kilross said. "You have it tough. I don't have anything else to worry me but a nice cozy little revolution."

	Stoneham's jaw dropped. "A revolution? When ... how ... why—"

	"Last night. I knew it was coming—in fact, you might say I manufactured it. The local premier booted me out of Dannon City. I'm in Chesley now; that's a spaceport city way to the south."

	"Your Extracts article," Stoneham said. "You announced you were going to pull something like this, didn't you? Well? Are you in any danger?"

	"Fortunately, no," Kilross returned. "I concluded a little deal with the revolutionary boss just before I left. I'm safe provided I get off the planet pretty soon."

	Shivering, Stoneham shook himself dry. He grinned at the image glowing lambently at the far side of the room. "You're not playing poker at the Academy now, Dave. You're juggling worlds. You're either a fool or a genius to try something like this."

	"Probably a little of both," Kilross admitted cheerfully. "But I still think I'm holding all the aces—and maybe a fifth one up my sleeve."

	The dull boom of thunder sounded behind Stoneham. He heard the howling of the native dogs, thick-bodied beasts the height of a man. Electricity seemed to crackle everlastingly in the atmosphere of Lannimar.

	Stoneham smiled balefully. "You know best, I guess. Any time you get tired of playing Machiavelli, you can come visit Lannimar. I wouldn't mind a rest."

	"Don't care for your weather," Kilross said, amiably. "But keep the offer open. I may need a place to hide out if things don't work out here."

	That first morning after Henderson's coup, White offered the use of his apartment as a gathering-place for those of his friends who wanted to discuss the situation. The first of them arrived in midmorning: Kerry Burke, a rotund, usually cheerful abstract painter. But Burke was anything but cheerful now.

	Some of White's other friends came while Burke was still standing in the doorway; by noon, seven members of White's little circle of acquaintances had gathered. They were worried. They sat in the mathematician's study toying with the drinks he had dialed for them, and tried to find something hopeful in the situation. • It was not easy.

	"There's bound to be persecution," said gray-haired Gregory Macintosh, Professor of Sociodynamics at the infant Dannon University. "Once Henderson has achieved full power he's sure to consolidate ranks, eliminate those who opposed him in the past and those who are likely to oppose him in the future. That means anyone who ever spoke out with liberal or pro-Earth sentiments. And that includes all of us."

	"All except Austin," Burke said. "You never did commit yourself on any important public question, did you?"

	"No," White admitted. "I never did, I suppose. But I don't think any of you ought to worry about possible persecution by Henderson. How long do you expect Henderson to stay in control, anyway? Why, Earth will smash this pitiful little insurrection in two or three days, and Henderson—"

	"Henderson has all the time he needs to do his damage," interrupted Paul Gillison, who was the head editorial writer of the Dannon City telefax system. "I happened to do a little checking. There isn't an active Earth fleet within twenty light-years of here, at the moment. It'll take Earth at least a week to get a flotilla heading in this direction—maybe as much as a month! And that leaves Henderson plenty of time for a Reign of Terror."

	White frowned. "I didn't realize it would take so long. So you think Henderson's going to bring down the chopper, eh?"

	"Immediately," Macintosh said. "It's the inevitable pattern of a ruthless revolutionary. Henderson's a shrewd devil. He knows what happened to Robespierre and Danton, and he damned well intends to choke off the forces that might do the same thing to him. That moderate little speech in the morning telefax—you know, 'I'm not going to pursue a vindictive course'—that's a hint of what's to come."

	"And what do you suggest we do about it?" Gillison asked. "Set up a counter revolution and assassinate Henderson?"

	Macintosh shook his head. "A few of us are safe. Austin, for instance, really isn't involved in this at all. He's kept clear of politics. But you, Gillison, you and your editorials—that makes you a prime candidate for the graveyard. Burke, you signed that petition calling for a new election, didn't you? Then you're eligible for the axe, too." He looked around the room. "There isn't one of us who doesn't have some radical taint that Henderson could use as an excuse for getting rid of him. Except our host, that is. You're clear, Austin."

	"Small cause for pride that is," White said darkly.

	"Perhaps you're incriminating yourself by allowing us to enter your home today," Burke suggested. "If Henderson finds out, that is."

	"I know what I'm going to do," said a deep voice from the far side of the room. It belonged to Merriam Rayner, a poet and teacher at the University. "I'm going to get out of Dannon City while the getting's good. There are spaceships at the Terran base near Chesley. I'll close down my home and get out of the system until Henderson's safely in check."

	"You're likely not to find any home left, when you come back," Macintosh warned. "The possibility of riots—"

	"I have a wife and two children," Rayner said wearily. "They're more important to me than my home. I'm leaving for Chesley tonight, with them."

	Gillison said, "I've just about made up my mind to do the same thing. It's suicide to stay here and try to oppose Henderson. And"—he chuckled hollowly—"I have a sort of phobia about committing suicide."

-

	White glanced from one face to another, puzzled. These were the men who had been most outspoken against Henderson during normal times. But now that danger threatened they were packing up, getting out while they could, fleeing to safety. Somehow he had not expected them to do that.

	"What about you?" White said to Macintosh. "Will you be leaving too?"

	The old man smiled wanly. "No, Austin. I'll be staying here. I don't fear Henderson—and I think he can be beaten. If anyone remains to oppose him, that is."

	"You're a brave man," Gillison said. "But it's foolish to try to stand up and fight Henderson. The Terran forces will be here to do that job in a week or two. Why not get out of the system until it's safe to come back?"

	"Because I would never forgive myself for running away," Macintosh said quietly.

	White felt a surge of inner doubt. These were his friends; he wanted to help them. But some were fleeing, and the rest were foolhardily giving themselves up to certain imprisonment and possible death.

	He knew that he himself was safe—for now, at least. There was no telling when Henderson might decide that White was a potential danger to him. In a reign of terror, everyone's neck is in jeopardy.

	White decided he would face that problem when he came to it.

	Macintosh rose abruptly. "We'd better leave now. Some of us must go into hiding; the others will need to ready themselves for die journey. Austin—I hope to see you again."

	"I hope so," White said.

	He watched his friends file out, knowing bleakly that he was saying good-by to some of them for the last time.

Chapter V

"... An opponent gifted with great physical strength is certainly formidable. An opponent armed with dangerous weapons is similarly a cause for caution. But by far the deadliest of opponents is he who masks his true strength behind an appearance of outward sloth and cowardice. His is the mailed fist within the velvet glove; he may attain his ends by wheedling or by tantrums, or perhaps simply by arousing contempt for himself in the mind of his antagonist—but he will usually attain his ends. His great advantage is that his antagonist sometimes is not aware of the existence of conflict until he has already been defeated ..."
Dynamics of the Colonial Process 
Dawson

-

	The arrests started the next day.

	White learned about it from Bernhard Klein, who had fled to the suburbs and was trying to organize an opposition party. Klein called him on voice-alone, with image-screen blanked out.

	"It's beginning, Austin. The persecution. They arrested Professor Macintosh today."

	White's jaw muscles stiffened. "What do you think Henderson will do to him?"

	"Past tense: has done. They've probably held the execution already. I'm on the list, too. So are Gillison and Rayner and a lot of the others, but they're all safe. A ship left Chesley this morning with a load of fleeing liberals on board."

	Moistening his lips, White said, "You're taking a risk in calling me, then."

	"I know. But I had to talk to you."

	"What are you going to do?"

	"We're organizing a group. Trying to foment a counter revolution. It'll take time, but we want to be ready when the Earth troops get here. They say it may be six weeks or more. I can't tell you exactly where we are now, of course, but if you're interested we'll get in touch with you. And we—"

	The line abruptly went dead. White stared at the blank sleek grayness of the screen a moment, then dropped the receiver into the cradle.

	Arrests. Executions. Here, on Dannon's World. And help was at least six weeks away.

	The day slipped by, hour by dark hour. White ran some preliminary checks on the current segment of his work, but his heart was not in it. The equations lay lifeless on the page, mere fishhooks scrawled on white paper.

	When things were going right, the numbers and symbols seemed to have lives of their own, dancing feverishly about while White followed their motion and pinned them down. He did not feel the frenzied excitement of his work this evening. He felt only gloom and bitterness.

	His friends were gone. Macintosh was probably dead; Gillison, Burke, Rayner and a few dozen others had fled to more congenial worlds. Bernhard Klein was a hunted fugitive.

	I'm safe for a while, he thought. But it's a hollow safety.

	Peace officers of Henderson's private army wandered the streets, preventing demonstrations and questioning all loiterers. A death-grip of tyranny had descended on Dannon City in the name of martial law. Henderson was methodically choking out personal liberty to safeguard his grip on the premiership of the newly-declared-independent planet.

	A thought occurred to White: if he died now, his work unfinished, humanity would suffer a great loss.

	There was no immodesty in that thought, just objective thinking of a kind he had been trained to perform from birth. His work was potentially of infinite value to mankind—if he lived to complete his equations and finish his mathematical formulation of human communication. He owed it to humanity to stay alive.

	He was going to have to leave Dannon's World.

	He needed no rationalization. It was suicidal to stay and try to fight Henderson; the Terran forces would take care of that job soon enough. He had a responsibility to the universe, as it were, to get himself out of the danger zone and finish his work.

-

	Once he realized that, the rest was easy. He packed quickly, taking just a few clothes, several books, and his working notebooks. He did not want to be hampered by even his few personal possessions now. After all, he would be coming back in a few weeks, when Henderson had been overthrown by the Terrans.

	He traveled downtown to the jetline terminal. The peace officers questioned him, but made no attempt to interfere with him.

	The terminal was crowded when he arrived; people seemed to be leaving Dannon City in flocks. It wasn't hard to understand that. White saw none of his friends in the crowd. Moving rapidly, he found the ticket booth for the evening jetliner southbound to Chesley, and waited his turn.

	At the ticket window there was another delay while they checked his name and thumbprint against a master file held out of his range of vision. Evidently, despite Henderson's magnanimous proclamation that those who wanted to leave could leave, there was a list of traitors who were to be apprehended if they made any attempt to depart from Dannon City. White waited tensely.

	At length the clerk looked up and said, "My apologies, Mr. White. Your name isn't on the restricted-travel list. You're free to go."

	Without comment White paid for and received his ticket. He moved on through the passenger waiting room to the ready liner, and boarded it. He looked back, once; night was falling over Dannon City, and the massive vaulted bulk of the Capitol glinted blood-red in the double moonlight.

	It was hard for him to believe that something like this could be happening on his world. Somehow none of his equation, none of his studies of political dynamics, had prepared him for such an occurrence.

	For the first time in his life he felt profoundly dissatisfied with himself. He wished he could have undone the last three years. The equations could have waited. They've waited through ten thousand years of human history. Dannon's World needed me, and I didn't come through.

	But there was one ironic consolation: no one would ever ask him to take part in the government again, after Henderson's overthrow. There would be no government. There would simply be a Terran Administrator, as in any unruly or undeveloped colony which was considered unfit to govern itself.

	The spaceport at the southern city of Chesley had been built in the early years of the colony by Terran military engineers, and the spaceport's chief uses were military ones. It was manned by a skeleton force of Terrans who were under the direct orders, not of the local government, but of the Resident Protector. The port served chiefly as a refueling base for Earth spaceships making long galactic hops.

	In recent years the Protector had decided to throw the base open to development by several commercial spacelines, and it had become the chief departure-point for short-run journeys within the immediate galactic sector. Shortly after his arrival in Chesley, Austin White discovered that Premier Henderson had nationalized the commercial spacelines as part of his independence decree. Under the new regime, everyone boarding an extrasolar spaceship underwent careful screening first.

	White was in the process of applying for a second-class passage on the liner Victorious, bound out the following day for the neighboring system of Montgomery, when a familiar voice behind him said:

	"Leaving, Mr. White?"

	Surprised, White turned. His eyes widened in astonishment as he saw who it was that had spoken. For a moment he was too stunned to speak. Finally, in a hoarse voice, he said, "What ... what are you doing here, Kilross?"

	The deposed Resident Protector had changed somewhat in the four days since White had last seen him. He looked older, now, and somewhat disheveled; he wore gray diplomatic clothes and a rather tattered red plastifab vest. But when he smiled, it was with all his old self-assurance and aplomb.

	"I've taken up residence in Chesley since ... ah ... the unfortunate events in the capital city, Mr. White. But you haven't answered my question: Are you leaving?"

	Stiffly White said, "I am. Temporarily, that is. Until conditions return to normal."

	"You mean, in other words, until Mr. Henderson is removed from power?" Kilross asked smoothly. 

	White nodded at the Earthman. "Bluntly, yes."

	A curious expression of surprise mingled with amusement crossed the ex-Protector's face for an instant. Gently he said, "If that's what you're waiting for, I'd advise you not to buy a round-trip ticket."

	"What do you mean by that?"

	Kilross gestured gracefully to an open-air cafe situated at the extreme right-hand end of the spaceport arcade.

	"If you'd care to break off your ticket negotiations and have lunch with me," he said, "I'd be delighted to explain."

	"All right. Let's go eat. But remember: I want explanations."

-

	They crossed the broad, well-paved area to the cafe, which was crowded with hungry travelers. They found seats, beckoned to a servo-waiter, and punched out their order from the menu on the robot's chest.

	"It's very simple," Kilross began, as they ate. "I'm here in Chesley on a safe-conduct pass granted by Premier Henderson."

	"But I thought Henderson had issued orders for your arrest."

	"He did, he did. But that was a long time ago," Kilross said. "Two days is a long time when a revolution is going on. Those orders have been withdrawn. I'm merely waiting until next Twoday, when a Diplomatic Corps ship is scheduled to arrive and pick me up for my trip back to Earth. Henderson has granted me the freedom of Chesley until my departure time."

	White blinked. "Let me get this straight—is there some deal between you and Henderson?"

	"Deal? An ugly word, Mr. White. I have simply agreed, at last, to sign Mr. Henderson's petition for Home Rule status. I'm adding a full recommendation to the Colonial Council that such status be granted. Such a recommendation is never denied; and so, since there's no longer any need for a Resident Protector on Dannon's World, I'll be leaving next Twoday."

	White was silent a long moment as the picture swirled crazily around him and then jounced into place. Somehow, he realized, he should have expected something like this—but he had never really believed that Kilross was capable of such a thing.

	He jabbed a finger at the pudgy little diplomat. "So you stalled and bungled around until Henderson was able to grab power, and then you sold out to him! You mean to sit there and tell me that you recommended Home Rule just to save your own sweet-smelling skin, after turning it down so long because you did not think we merited it?"

	"Yes," said Kilross blandly.

	A bead of cold perspiration dribbled down the side of White's neck. He was no longer hungry; the thought of eating a meal at the same table with the Earthman was revolting.

	"So there won't be any punitive force coming from Earth," White said at last "Instead, Earth—as represented by you—is simply drawing back and tossing Dannon's World to Henderson for keeps. Is that right?"

	Kilross shrugged. "You put it crudely, Mr. White."

	"I don't care how I put it! It's the truth! You're all a bunch of fat-bellied cowards, and you're taking the easy way out by giving up! Why, I ought to—"

	Kilross raised one hand in protection.

	"May I remind you that Mr. Henderson has guaranteed me safe conduct? I'll ask you to keep your hands to yourself, White. And," he added, his voice darkening, "I don't think you're precisely the person to talk about taking the easy way out of things."

	White's jaw dropped in amazement; a couple of strangled syllables came from his mouth, nothing more. He pushed back his chair, rose, stared down angrily at Kilross for an instant He had never felt such hatred for a person before. Restraining himself, he spun and walked rapidly away.

Chapter VI

"... Values conflict constantly. It is not easy to evaluate one's actions without external referent points. One may firmly—and sincerely—believe that one's actions are beneficial to humanity, and yet unknowingly one may be functioning in a directly negative manner. One task of the Protector is to aid in avoiding such confusion of values ..."
Dynamics of the Colonial Process 
Dawson

-

	The hot southerly sun was coming down hard; Austin White walked round the roomy spaceport until his feet ached and his body was soaked with sweat, while he tried to think things out.

	It took him nearly an hour to get calmed down after his brief talk with Kilross. He knew he could easily have killed the Earther at the table if he had only a little less self-control.

	But once he was calm, it took him only a few seconds to make up his mind about his next step. The situation no longer allowed inward debate, pious intellectual weighing of balances, if-ing and but-ing. There was only one path open to Austin White.

	He had to remain on Dannon's World and fight Henderson himself.

	AH his plans for taking refuge on Montgomery VII had been predicated on the expectation that Kilross would call in a Terran force to put down the Henderson rebellion. But Kilross had sold out. There would be no Terran force. Henderson would rule unchecked. Unless—

	White saw clearly that it would be cowardice to leave Dannon's World now. He, and he alone, could take the necessary action. His equations for human communications would simply have to wait, now, for some less troubled time, for someone else's hand.

	There was no doubt in his mind. He was the son of his father and the grandson of his grandfather, and duty and service to humanity were concepts engrained so deeply in the texture of his personality that he took them for granted. He bought a ticket for the next jetliner back to Dannon City.

	It was scheduled to leave in half an hour. He went to the locker where he had stored his suitcase and redeemed it. He boarded the liner about fifteen minutes before departure time.

	Fifteen minutes later, he was on his way north. He spent the seventy minutes of the trip working out his plan of action. He smiled to himself as his pattern formed. Perhaps he hadn't been able to complete his equations, but he knew enough of psychology and power dynamics to manage by ear well enough, without benefit of the scientific formulation.

	It was late afternoon when he reached the Dannon City Jet Terminal. He boarded a local monobus and traveled downtown to his flat. There, he paused a moment before the visiphone, then dialed the number of the Secretary to the Premier. A pulse thundered inside him.

	The screen lit. A dark-bearded, nervous-looking individual said, "Office of the Premier. Who is calling, please?"

	"My name is Austin White."

	"Yes, of course, Mr. White. What can I do for you?"

	White moistened his lips thoughtfully. He said, "I'd like to make an appointment to see Premier Henderson, if it's possible. For the earliest time at which he happens to be available."

	The secretary's face left camera range for a moment. He seemed to be consulting a memorandum book. At length he said, "I'll have to check with Mr. Henderson. Will you wait?"

	"Of course."

	The screen blanked as the secretary switched lines. A minute went by, and another. Finally the screen came to life again and the secretary, looking somewhat perturbed, said, "Mr. Henderson has informed me he can see you immediately, if you'd like to come down to the Capitol this afternoon."

	"That'll be fine," White said.

-

	Austin White knew the Capitol as well as he knew his own home. His earliest memories included being taken to visit his grandfather, Premier Harrison White, solemn-looking, fantastically tall and old, in the Capitol's quiet rooms. Then his grandfather had died; White cast his memory back more than thirty years and glimpsed again the impressive funeral service that had been held for the old man.

	After that his father had taken the premiership, and the Capitol became a familiar haunt for young Austin. He had been a great favorite among the Assemblymen, he remembered. He realized now that they had simply been currying favor with him to further their own ends, since it was assumed by all that Austin would some day hold the office held by his father and grandfather.

	But there had been the quarrel with his father when he was in his early twenties. White remembered snapping angrily, "You don't know how to run this world! The people love you, but you're a phoney! You bluff and wiggle and give in to expediency, and somehow civilization stays in one piece, so they call you a great administrator. Take it from me, Dad, you're a fraud."

	Richardson White had not grown angry. He had simply smiled—smugly, young Austin had thought, but perhaps it was a wise smile—and said, "Would you like to try my job for a while? I could step down in your favor if you like."

	"Me?" Austin exploded hotly. "Me? I don't want your job! I'll never set foot in this building again."

	And then he told his father the bright dream that had been growing within him: "I'll do basic research, instead. I'll discover the fundamental principles of governing. Develop mathematical expressions for human relationships, pin down concrete terms for these vague abstractions. And when I've done that—not before—I'll take the premiership."

	"You may wait a long time," his father had said.

	Since that day, White had kept his word; he had never entered the Capitol again, even though his anger toward his father had cooled into a more understanding compassion for the older man's handicaps. He had simply never had the occasion, in his father's last years, to go near any of the governmental buildings, and in the seven years since his father's death he had been far too busy with his work to have opportunity to enter them.

	But now he was returning. His father had been right, and he had been wrong.

	Guards in the uniform of peace officers stood at the entrance to the Capitol now. They methodically searched White before passing him on.

	An undersecretary met him within the gate and conveyed him past what was undoubtedly an electronic scanner to an inner room, where Henderson's nervous-looking secretary met them. White nodded at the man.

	"Mr. Henderson is waiting to see you," he was told.

	"I'm anxious to see him, too."

	But it was necessary to pass another scanner and a second battery of watchful guards before he was finally admitted into the presence of the Premier himself. White got the impression that Premier Henderson was a badly worried man.

	If that were the case, though, it hardly showed on his face. White was eventually ushered into the luxurious study in the Premier's suite, and there he found Henderson beaming confidently at him.

	The Premier rose, crossed the room, and seized White's hand. They were virtually of the same height, both of them well over six feet, but because of his fleshiness Henderson outweighed White by nearly thirty pounds. He wore the ceremonial costume of state, which startled White; he recalled his father's aversion to wearing the gaudy thing except on the highest state occasions, and it was strange to see Henderson clad in it now.

	"I've been hoping you'd come down to see me, Austin—you don't mind if I call you Austin, do you?"

	"Not at all—Mark."

	"Have a seat, won't you? Drink? Smoke?" There was a note of forced, almost desperate geniality in Henderson's tone.

	White made himself comfortable, while Henderson bustled around the office. "You must really feel at home in this place, eh?" Henderson asked. "Being practically raised in it, so to speak."

	White chuckled. "It does look familiar. But I've been away from it a long time."

	He looked closely at Henderson. The Premier was attempting to radiate hearty good cheer, but there were telltale signs of a more tense inner state. His dark eyes flickered nervously. He seemed ill at ease. Inwardly White rejoiced.

	Henderson sat down behind the big desk, facing White. "I don't know why you've come to see me tonight, Austin—but I want to tell you that I'm glad you did. I feel we should have gotten together long ago. Last week—when you stopped off next door at the Ministry of State to pick up that petition—I wanted to get the chance to talk to you. But things were so hectic then."

	"Yes, they were," White agreed wryly.

	"They've calmed down now. I suppose you've heard that Kilross gave in and signed my petition."

	White nodded. "They broadcast it over the public-address system on the jetliner I was on this afternoon."

	Henderson frowned. "Jetliner?"

	"I went down to Chesley," White explained. "I ... thought I might take a little trip offplanet. But then I changed my mind and decided to come back to Dannon City." He eyed Henderson carefully, and, weighing his words with much thought, said, "I believe you've done a grand job, Mark. I ... I wondered if there was anything I could do personally to help you in your work of making Dannon's World independent."

	They were difficult words to say, but they rolled off White's tongue with an inborn ease. His father had always said, Know when to lie and know how to lie. This was the time for lies.

	Henderson grinned appreciatively. "I'm glad to hear you talking like that, Austin. You don't know how much the support of a White means to me and my program."

	To me and my program, White noted. In that order of importance.

	Aloud he said, "You know, I've never really done my fair share as a citizen before this, Mark. I ... well, I felt that my dad and grand-dad had done more than their share for Dannon's World, and that I could coast on their laurels. But I see that I've been wrong. I came to offer my support. If there's any way I can help—"

	Henderson seemed positively beside himself with gratitude. "I've had a tough time of it, Austin. A liberator always has to struggle against the conservative elements in his following, the dead weight. There are so many big things I want to do, once I'm sure of an unanimous backing—and having you, with all the great traditions of your family, as a member of my cabinet—you will take a cabinet post, won't you?"

	White made a token show of reluctance over the offer of the cabinet post. Then he nodded diffidently. In that moment Henderson's doom was sealed.

	"Yes," White said. "Yes, Mark. I feel it's my duty as a citizen to accept your offer!"

Chapter VII

"... Water inevitably flows downhill. A critical mass of U-235 will invariably detonate. And, also, though a natural leader may for one reason or another be unwilling to take the responsibility that is rightfully his, once it has been demonstrated to him that he must assume responsibility he will inevitably forge his way to the top, sweeping away any obstacles that block the path of human—and his own—progress ..."
Dynamics of the Colonial Process 
Dawson

-

	Six months had passed. A busy six months, too, Austin White thought tiredly, thinking back over the time that had passed since his visit to Premier Henderson—to the late Premier Henderson. White stared at his face in his office mirror and saw lines of exhaustion ringing his eyes. He had never known that the premiership could be so much work.

	Most of it had been drudgery, as he had expected. He was not used to doing drudgery. He had never really done "work" in his life, defining work as something done because it had to be done whether you liked it or not or whether or not you had something else you thought was more important to do. By that standard, his unfinished labors on communication theory had been sheer play.

	His rise to power had not been easy. Subverting the Capitol guards had been hard. Many of them were fanatically loyal to Henderson; White had had to seek out those few who had been appointed in the days when his father had been premier, and approach them cautiously. It was delicate work—especially considering that he was carrying on a full-time job as Minister of Information as well.

	But success had come at last. It was the grievous task of a shocked Minister of Information to announce to the people that their beloved premier had been taken from them in the height of his strength, with his work left unfinished. It was with the greatest reluctance that Austin White allowed the Representative Assembly to name him as Henderson's successor.

	"I hesitate to take on this great burden," he told them. "I know from the experience of my own family how terrible a task it is, and I fear that my own feeble abilities will fall far short of the requirements."

	Naturally, as he expected, they shouted him down; that night, he moved into the Capitol to stay.

	There were little details to be attended to, such as paying off the assassin and then making sure the man got as far from Dannon's World as possible. These things out of the way, White began the job of knitting together the fabric of society where his late predecessor had ripped it apart.

	The exiles returned from the far planets at White's request. The security police was rapidly disbanded. Some of the more fanatical Henderson followers had to be placated with important-sounding but functionless government posts, to keep them quiet.

	It was taxing work. It meant completely abandoning, for the time being, what Austin White had considered his life's work. His notebooks gathered dust in his office; his equations remained incomplete. But he had no time to regret that fact. He was constantly busy with the job of governing—and he enjoyed it!

	No word came from Earth. Kilross had vanished, and no vestige of Terran authority remained on Dannon's World. White governed as if the planet had been granted Home Rule privileges. A deal had been arranged between Kilross and Henderson, though neither of them was on the scene now.

	White had a visitor at the beginning of his sixth month in office. He was signing official documents at the time; the visiphone chimed and he looked up to see his secretary's bewildered face in the screen.

	"Sir, there's a man here to see you, but he won't give his name. Says you'd be interested in talking to him. We scanned him and he's not carrying anything dangerous."

	"Let me see his face."

	The camera swiveled and White found himself peering at a countenance that was oddly familiar but which he could not place. He frowned. Then recognition dawned, and he nodded.

	"All right. Send him in."

	A few moments later his office door opened. A short, slim figure entered, smiled, and said softly, "Good cheer, Premier White."

	"I thought you had left this planet months ago. What are you doing here, Kilross?"

	"A long story," the Earthman said. "Won't you invite me to have a seat?"

	Kilross had changed enormously. Gone was the citified pudginess that had characterized his appearance before; he seemed to have lost thirty or forty pounds, and he had none of the pink chubbiness he had had when Protector. His face had hardened, his lips had grown thin, his eyes had become more deeply set in their sockets. He had grown a beard, stiff and neatly trimmed.

	"You're sitting, now," White pointed out coolly. "Why have you come here?"

	"To congratulate you, Premier White."

	"I don't need any congratulations from you, thanks."

	"Maybe not. But you do need a good tongue-lashing, and I figure this is the best time and place for applying it. Sit still and listen to me, White."

	"I'm busy," White snapped irritably. "No time for foolishness. Why have you come back to Dannon's World?"

	"I never left it," Kilross said. "What?"

	"I've been ... ah ... incognito. But I've been keeping up with current events. Sad, wasn't it, Henderson dying like that? So young, too. And I see you had to twist your own arm to take the premiership. That was good. It's a credit in your favor when I file my report next month."

	"May I ask what the blazes you're talking about? What report?"

	"The report on the six-month trial of Home Rule here. A successful trial. I was pretty sure that once you got pushed into taking over the premiership, Dannon's World was over the worst of its troubles. The trick was to push you, you near-sighted nincompoop!" He cut off an outburst from White by adding, "I must say you did a marvelous job of getting rid of Henderson."

	"How do you know anything about—"

	"Because I arranged it," Kilross said suddenly, in a new voice that crackled with strength. The earthman rose and paced around the room. He suddenly seemed an oddly commanding figure, with none of his earlier effectiveness.

	"Some men," the Terran said, "are born to rule. Others grab power. And still others, to complete the paraphrase, have to have power thrust upon them. You're in the first category, White—you were virtually bred for the job, you know. But you deliberately placed yourself in the third category. There were times I could have cheerfully strangled you, if you weren't so important. You made things tough for me by refusing the premiership."

	"I had other goals in mind. Ultimately the same goals. I was working on—"

	"I knew what you were working on. Hogwash!"

	"What? I—"

	"For a while I was hoping you'd actually get somewhere with those equations of yours. But then Bernhard Klein told mc you figured you needed ten more years to reach a first-order conclusion, and I knew you were way off the track. The blowup on Dannon's World was coming a lot faster than that. If your equations—unfinished as they were—couldn't tell you that much, they weren't worth the ink you scrawled them in."

	White reddened. He said nothing.

	Kilross went on. "You were up in an ivory tower and getting farther and farther away from the bitter reality right in front of your nose. So I decided to drag you out and show you what your equations couldn't seem to tell you. I found Henderson and gave him the itch to run things—an itch that was latent in him anyway. I egged him on by hinting about Home Rule, and made him sore by ignoring all his petitions. I nudged him along the path of rebellion for two years.

	"Then I began yielding to him, hoping all the time that you'd wake up before it was too late, and see what you had to do. But you stuck to your work. You insisted on being a scientist at a time when this planet needed an engineer, a man who could get down in the grease and muck, and figure out just what in blazes was wrong. 2

	"Finally I tossed control completely into Henderson's hands by my Home Rule sellout. That left it smack up to you. If you hadn't acted inside of a month, a Terran task force would have landed here, booted Henderson out, and set up permanent occupation quarters. But I knew you'd come through. I made a bet with myself that you would."

	He looked at White sharply and in a mild voice said, "Would you mind answering a couple of questions?"

	"Sure."

	"You were working on an equation for human communication, weren't you?" 

	White nodded.

	"And presumably you had done a lot of work. Enough so your equations could give you insight into prevailing currents of action."

	"Yes."

	"Uh-huh. And therefore you knew exactly what was going to happen, because your equations told you: that Henderson would rebel, that Earth would smash the rebellion, that Dannon's World would be blacklisted by Earth and ticketed for direct administration for the next five hundred years. And therefore you sat back and let it happen, eh?"

	White fumbled for words. "No, it wasn't like that at all. I mean—" He paused.

	Levelly Kilross said, "You mean that your equations told you Henderson would successfully resist Earth and put up a permanent dictatorship here? Is that what you learned?"

	"No, it isn't that either. I ... I—"

	There was nothing he could say. He felt his cheeks growing hot. Inexorably Kilross went on in the same quiet, easygoing tone: "Either way, you knew the result was no good for Dannon's World. If Henderson won, freedom was finished here. If Earth had to step in, Dannon's World had forfeited its right to Home Rule by sitting back and letting Momma clean up the mess. And so, since you foresaw all this with the aid of your equations, you took the best course of all: shut your eyes, crossed your fingers, and wished on a star that everything would come out all right. No? Yes?"

	Kilross had not raised his voice once, and yet White felt as if he'd been through a meatgrinder. All the inconsistencies and evasions of his behavior sat accusingly out in the open, and there wasn't a blessed thing he could say in his own defense.

	He had been raked over the coals by an expert.

	There was silence in the room now. Kilross walked to the bar, and without waiting for an invitation, dialed himself a stiff drink. White sat numbly hoping he wasn't going to continue in the same vein as before.

	The worst of it was that the little Earthman was utterly, damnably right White saw now that he had sought Information, in capital letters—but Information wasn't Understanding unless you could make it work in a real-world situation. And he couldn't.

	"One of the main troubles," Kilross said, "was that this world was too nice. I have a pal a dozen or so light-years away who's on a world that's hell to four decimal places. The settlers there don't wallow around dreamily; they wouldn't live long if they did. But here—the only force you had-to fight was yourself. Dannon's World is so Earthlike that it doesn't provide much of a challenge—and most of the settlers were content to sit around and let Earth put things to rights. You were the man who would dig down in to the mess here and clean things up—but I had to pry you out of that damned ivory tower first. Pure symbols can't solve problems unless someone's willing to do the dirty work of applying them."

	"And my symbols were cockeyed anyway."

	"More's the pity. We desperately need the kind of formulation you thought you were creating. But we need independent planets more, and quicker. Sure, your work might have been valuable. If it was valid. Was it?"

	"I guess not," White said.

	"Damned right you guess not! So I made you scrap it and start all over."

	It would have been funny, except that White felt too humiliated to laugh. Kilross was a cold-blooded engineer, on a planetary scale—giving him what-for beautifully!

	The Earthman gulped the rest of his drink and said, "I'm going now. I have work waiting for me elsewhere. Look, friend—remember this, huh? If it doesn't work, scrap it and start again. Call that a basic axiom of human progress, or just a rule of thumb. But remember it."

	White nodded. He felt very small just now, but somehow he didn't resent what Kilross had done. You couldn't resent the truth very long.

	He had fouled up. Somewhere he had gone off the track, and Kilross had painstakingly—and most painfully—dumped him back between the rails, nudging him along like a small and not too bright child. Well, he had learned the less for today, and he found himself wishing Kilross would remove himself. The time had come for him to glue himself together, to put back the fragments of the personality the Earthman had just dismembered so efficiently, and get down to work.

	At the moment, he felt a surge of respect and admiration for the Earthman—a somewhat painful sense of respect since it involved his recognition of the deep and basic blundering in his own work.

	"I think I need a drink," he sighed. He dialed with exaggerated care, then set the golden drink down untasted on the edge of the desk. He looked at Kilross.

	"Was it necessary to make me hate you?"

	Kilross snorted. "You were living so damned impersonally, so beautifully theoretically, that that was the only way to reach you—you had to get a personal, immediate, here-now, practical-living reaction of some kind through that theoretical fog of yours.

	"You have the talent—and it's an artist's talent, not a scientific thing that men can be trained in!—to run this world the way it needs to run. Your equations would make it a science—if you had equations that actually worked.

	"We—the human race—can't allow you to waste your time. If you need insulting before you can be jolted into working—you'll get it. If you need a personal hate—we'll give you that.

	"You're doing a fine job. Stick on that job—and work out equations that work. We need 'em, and need 'em bad. I haven't got what it takes to develop them—you have. But you can't do it without remembering that basic principle: No idea is a good idea if it doesn't work.

	"I've got to go—I have another assignment, of course. Good luck, friend—and remember to have the sense to know it is luck. None of us knows enough to do more than gamble in this business. Start kidding yourself that you know, when you're actually gambling—and you'll be in your ivory tower again."

	White picked up his drink slowly, paused, and looked across it at Kilross. With a wry smile, he shook his head slightly. "Not with you around the galaxy. But I'll try not to make it necessary to have Momma Earth clean up our mess again. The worst of it all is ... I realize now that Dannon's World still has not earned Home Rule, really.

	"You're right that we obviously wouldn't have merited it if we couldn't clean up our own troubles—if we sat and waited for Earth to bail us out of our self-caused debacle.

	"But ... oh, dammit, Earth did bail us out! You had to drag me out of my ... hideaway."

	Kilross' face lit up with a broad smile. "Hey, I win! Stoneham swore you'd never spot that angle! Thanks! You just won me a hundred on that bet!"

	White was still standing somewhat openmouthed as Kilross went out the doorway. Gradually it dawned on him that his own recognition of that fact made it permanently impossible for him, with his basic desire for self-honesty, to resign from this job that he so little wanted—either by direct resignation, or by default, as he had for so many years.

	A slow, burning mixture of resentment rose in him. Kilross had most thoroughly forced him to trap himself—and the most infuriating thing about it, of course, was the bitter awareness that he'd trapped himself in truth. He didn't even have the satisfaction of feeling he had any right to be angry at that scheming, conniving, frustrating, hard-headed Earthman who'd done it to him.

The End