Part 3 (2/2)
”I hadn't thought of it in just those words, sir--”
”It is one of the most-avoided facts of life,” said the amba.s.sador.
”Government, in the local or planetary sense of the word, is an organization for the suppression of adventure. Taxes are, in part, the insurance premiums one pays for protection against the unpredictable.
And you have offended against everything that is the foundation of a stable and orderly and d.a.m.nably tedious way of life--against civilization, in fact.”
Hoddan frowned.
”Yet you've granted me asylum--”
”Naturally!” said the amba.s.sador. ”The Diplomatic Service works for the welfare of humanity. That doesn't mean stuffiness. A Golden Age in any civilization is always followed by collapse. In ancient days savages came and camped outside the walls of super-civilized towns. They were unwashed, unmannerly, and unsanitary. Super-civilized people refused even to think about them! So presently the savages stormed the city walls and another civilization went up in flames.”
”But now,” objected Hoddan, ”there are no savages.”
”They invent themselves,” the amba.s.sador told him. ”My point is that the Diplomatic Service cherishes individuals and causes which battle stuffiness and complacency and Golden Ages and monstrous things like that. Not thieves, of course. They're degradation, like body lice. But rebels and crackpots and revolutionaries who prevent hardening of the arteries of commerce and furnish wholesome exercise to the body politic--they're worth cheris.h.i.+ng!”
”I ... think I see, sir,” said Hoddan.
”I hope you do,” said the amba.s.sador. ”My action on your behalf is pure diplomatic policy. To encourage the dissatisfied is to insure against universal satisfaction--which is lethal. Walden is in a bad way. You are the most encouraging thing that has happened here in a long time. And you're not a native.”
”No-o-o,” agreed Hoddan. ”I come from Zan.”
”Never mind.” The amba.s.sador turned to a stellar atlas. ”Consider yourself a good symptom, and valued as such. If you could start a contagion, you'd deserve well of your fellow citizens. Savages can always invent themselves. But enough of apology from me. Let us set about your affairs.” He consulted the atlas. ”Where would you like to go, since you must leave Walden?”
”Not too far, sir--”
”The girl, eh?” The amba.s.sador did not smile. He ran his finger down a page. ”The nearest inhabited worlds, of course, are Krim and Darth. Krim is a place of lively commercial activity, where an electronics engineer should easily find employment. It is said to be progressive and there is much organized research--”
”I wouldn't want to be a kept engineer, sir,” said Hoddan apologetically. ”I'd rather ... well ... putter on my own.”
”Impractical, but sensible,” commented the amba.s.sador. He turned a page.
”There's Darth. Its social system is practically feudal. It's technically backward. There's a landing grid, but s.p.a.ce exports are skins and metal ingots and practically nothing else. There is no broadcast power. Strangers find the local customs difficult. There is no town larger than twenty thousand people, and few approach that size.
Most settled places are mere villages near some feudal castle, and roads are so few and bad that wheeled transport is rare.”
He leaned back and said in a detached voice:
”I had a letter from there a couple of months ago. It was rather arrogant. The writer was one Don Loris, and he explained that his dignity would not let him make a commercial offer, but an electronic engineer who put himself under his protection would not be the loser. He signed himself prince of this, lord of that, baron of the other thing and claimant to the dukedom of something else. Are you interested? No kings on Darth, just feudal chiefs.”
Hoddan thought it over.
”I'll go to Darth,” he decided. ”It's bound to be better than Zan, and it can't be worse than Walden.”
The amba.s.sador looked impa.s.sive. An Emba.s.sy servant came in and offered an indoor communicator. The amba.s.sador put it to his ear. After a moment he said:
”Show him in.” He turned to Hoddan. ”You did kick up a storm! The Minister of State, no less, is here to demand your surrender. I'll counter with a formal request for an exit-permit. I'll talk to you again when he leaves.”
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