The Sentimental Agents in the Volyen Empire

‘What a massacre that was – of both invaders and invaded.’

‘Yes.’

‘A glorious chapter in the annals of both sides.’

‘Yes.’

‘I was admiring today the two memorials standing side by side in your main town square, commemorating that glorious day, one for the Gallant One Thousand, the Volyendestans, or Moon II, and the other for the Heroic Volyenadnans, or Moon I. Your ancestors, whose blood runs in your veins. Together, of course, with the blood of the Volyens, and many others.’

He was regarding me steadily, with a thoughtful expression tinged with bitterness.

‘Right, mate,’ he said. ‘I know you well enough by now. What is it you are warning me about?’

‘Well, what do you think, Ormarin?’

‘You really think Sirius will …?’

‘You are weak, divided, declining.’

‘We’ll fight them on the –’

‘Yes, yes, but don’t you think …’

‘How is it you are so sure of it, if you aren’t a Sirian agent, that is? I’m beginning to think –’

‘No, I am not, Ormarin. And I am sure that you don’t really think anything of the kind. Why should I have to have any special sources of information to enable me to see what is obvious? When a planet is weak, divided, declining, nearly always it is taken over by a stronger planet or group of planets. If not Sirius, then some other power. What makes you think you are immune to this law, Ormarin?’

Down in the valley dark was falling. The hundreds of slave labourers were being pushed into a double file on the new road by the guards who ran and scampered all around them: they were being marched off for the night.

‘Poor creatures,’ he said suddenly, his voice hot with pity. ‘And is that going to be our fate?’

I said, ‘The Sirian Empire is well past its peak. It has been expanding slowly, for – But if I told you how many millenniums, would you be able to take it in? Your history covers a few thousand of your years. The Sirian Empire is the greatest in size in our galaxy. There have been periods when its growth was checked, periods when it was reduced, because of indecision on the part of the rulers of Sirius. But, looked at overall, it has grown. This last period is one of frenetic and frantic unplanned growth, because of the internal battles going on inside the Sirian ruling classes. It is an interesting fact that the theory governing the Sirian Empire at this time does not include the idea of expansion! Expansion is not on its agenda. They are not stupid, the Sirians, or not all of them: some at least know they are not in control of what they do, and they have just begun to understand that such a thing is possible, that an Empire may control its development according to … but that is another story.’ I was watching his face for a glimmer of understanding, and if he had showed any sign I would have gone on to talk of Canopus, and what governs us. But there was nothing there but the strain of trying to follow ideas, if not beyond him, at least too new for easy assimilation. ‘Recently – talking comparatively, of course – Sirius has conquered several new planets, not as a result of a planned and considered decision, no, but because of some hasty decision made to meet an emergency.’

‘Hasty,’ murmured Ormarin, indicating the fine road below us, along which the slave labourers were being marched to their barracks for the night.

‘The decision to build this road was made a year ago – a Sirian year. When Volyen conquered the two planets that Sirius considered were part of their Empire.’

‘You didn’t finish that history.’

‘The Westermen, those unscrupulous conquerors of whose blood you are so proud, created here and on Volyen a highly structured society of multifarious skills.’ Here I saw him smile wryly down at those formidable Westerman hands. ‘But, as always has to happen, Moon I and its two colonies lost impetus … This time it was Volyen’s turn to rise again and conquer. A quite interesting little Empire it has been, the recent Volyen Empire, with some mild ideas of justice, not indifferent to the welfare of its inhabitants, at least in theory, trying to absorb into its ruling classes the upper echelons of the conquered …’

I saw him begin to feel ashamed, and heard him sigh.

‘Well,’ I said, ‘you could have chosen to live in the compounds and barracks with the natives, rather than compromise, but you didn’t …’

‘Oh, believe me,’ said he, in the hoarse, suffering voice I had almost deliberately invoked, ‘I have lain awake night after night, hating myself.’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ I said, ‘but the fact is, you did do what you’ve done, and as a result your position on this planet is a key one. And when the Sirians invade –’

But I had miscalculated. The stimulus had been too much.

He leaped to his feet on the now dark hill, with the stars coming up bright behind him – one of them Volyen, his present master – and, holding up his right fist, his Westerman or Volyenadnan fist, he orated: ‘I stand here as a free man, breathing free air, my feet on my own soil! Rather than submit to the tyrannies of alien invaders I will pick up stones from the hillside if need be, and sticks from the forest, and fight until death overcomes me and –’

‘Ormarin!’ I tried to interrupt. ‘What have all those fine words got to do with your situation? For one thing, you have efficient modern weapons, you free peoples of the Volyen Empire …’ But it was no use.

‘Who with real manhood in his veins would choose to live as a slave when he can die on his feet fighting? Which man, woman, or child among you who has known what it is to stand upright……’

I am afraid I must report that this was a bad attack. I had to have him confined to the hospital for a few days.

But I have worse to tell you. While there, I went to see how poor Incent was and, finding him comparatively sensible and able to talk about his situation, asked for his permission to administer a test.

It was the simplest possible test, based on the word history.

At this word itself, he was able to maintain composure. The word historical caused his pulse to quicken, but then it steadied. At historical processes, he remained firm. Perspective of history – so far so good. Winds of history – he showed signs of agitation. These did not decrease. I then decided, wrongly, to increase the dose, trying logic of history. At this point I began to realize the hopelessness of it, for his breathing was rapid, his face pale, his pupils dilating. Inevitability of … lessons of … historical tasks……

But it was not until dustbin of history that I gave up. He was on his feet, wildly exultant, both arms held up, preparatory to launching himself into declamation, and I said, ‘Incent, what are we going to do with you?’

Which flight of Rhetoric must be excused by the circumstances.

I gave instructions for him to have the best of care.

He has escaped. I did not have to be told where. I am leaving for Volyenadna, where Krolgul is active. I shall report again from there.

KLORATHY TO JOHOR, FROM MOON I OF VOLYEN, VOLYENADNA. (#ulink_7811b817-f8ef-563f-9dc2-10e9e0df2868)

This is not the most attractive of planets. The ice sheets which until recently covered it have retreated to the poles, leaving behind a characteristic landscape. This is harsh and dry, scarred by the violent movements of ice and of wind. The vegetation is meagre and dull. The rivers are savage, still carrying melting snow and ice, hard to navigate, offering little in the way of pleasure and relaxation.

The original inhabitants, evolved from creatures of the ice, were heavy, thick, slow, and strong. The great hands that Ormarin is so proud of built walls of ice blocks and hauled animals from half-frozen water, strangled, hammered, wrenched, broke, tore, made tools from antlers and bones. Invasions of less hardy peoples (unlike Moon II, this planet was conquered and settled more than once by Planets S-PE 70 and S-PE 71) did not weaken the stock, because the conditions continued harsh, and those who did not adapt died.

The history of this planet, then, not so unlike that of Volyendesta, exemplifies the power of the natural environment. This is a dour and melancholy people, slow to move, but with terrible rages and fits of madness, and even now, in the wary turn of a head, the glare of eyes that seem to listen as much as to look, you can see how their ancestors waited for sounds that could never be anything but warnings and threats – the whining howl of the wind, the creak of straining ice, the thud of snow massing on snow.

The latest conquest, by Volyen, has worsened conditions. Because of the planet’s abundant minerals, everywhere you look are factories, mines, whole cities that exist only to extract and process minerals for the use of Volyen. The natives who work these mines live in slave conditions, and die young of diseases caused mostly by poverty or dusts and radiations resulting from the processing of the minerals. The ruling class of the planet lives either on Volyen or in the few more favoured areas of this moon supported and maintained by Volyen; its members do their best not to know about the terrible lives of their compatriots.

So extreme are the conditions on Volyenadna that I think it is permissible to call it a slave planet, and this, as I am sure you are not surprised to hear, is how Krolgul apostrophizes it: ‘O slave planet, how long will you bear your chains?’

I arrived on a grim and grey day near a grim and grey city, walked into the central square and found Krolgul addressing a grey, grim, and silent crowd: ‘O slave planet, O Volyenadna, how long will you bear your chains?’

There was a long groan from the crowd, but then it fell silent again. Listening.

Krolgul was standing on a plinth, that supported an imposing statue of a miner holding up clenched fists and glaring over the heads of the crowd; he was deliberately copying this pose – a famous one, for the statue is used as a symbol for the workers’ movements. Near Krolgul, his nervous, agitated stance in sharp contrast to Krolgul’s, stood Incent, sometimes smiling, sometimes scowling, for he was not able to find or maintain a satisfactory public pose. Krolgul saw me, as I intended. In this crowd of heavy, slow people, there were three who stood out: me, basic Canopean, but here seen as ‘Volyen,’ as anything alien has to be; Incent, so slight and lithe and nervous; and Krolgul, though he does everything to look Volyenadnan.

You may remember Krolgul as a large, not to say fleshy, easygoing, affable goodfellow, all eagerness to please: his adaptation on this planet is quite a triumph of self-discipline, for he has created a dedicated, brooding, heroic personal known to live in a bare room on less than a worker’s wage, he has a smile so rare that it has inspired ballads.

… Volyen’s minions fired.

Our dead lay on the ground.

Krolgul frowned.