water would not be contaminated with sewage. He sent soldiers out and rounded up the children and forced them into schools. Children that otherwise would have been taught nothing further than a few suras from the Koran. These were but a few things done by strongman Nasser.”
Ronny was scowling at him.
The Baron twisted his mouth in deprecation. “At the same time, and on the same continent, the newly emerged nation, the Congo, seemed unable to find an equivalent of Nasser. Instead, in an atmosphere of pseudo- democracy, they went from one barbarism to the next, going backward, rather than progressing. Come now, Citizen Bronston, don’t you think conditions sometimes call for a strongman?”
Ronny put his glass down. Thus far, he had been satisfied to hold his peace, if only to see just how the other was going to bounce the ball.
Now he said, “Interpreting history isn’t my field. I do know this, as Metaxa said, the human race is in the clutch. This is not the time for would-be strongmen to try to seize control of worlds other than their own. We can’t afford the time, nor the energies involved in interplanetary war. And, please don’t attempt to put over the idea that you, or anyone else, could form an empire from the largely individualistic United Planets, without war. Baron Wyler, you saw that charred body of the intelligent alien life form. You heard what Ross…”
The Baron held up a hand to restrain him. He nodded, still agreeable. “Indeed I did. And I was surprised that the estimable Commissioner was in possession of it. However, we could have shown him better examples.”
“Better examples?”
The Baron reached out and touched a switch on the coffee table. One wall of the room clouded, then became a giant screen.
The Baron fiddled with a small dial set into the table.
On the screen, there faded in an extensive laboratory. At least a dozen white-smocked men were working about an operating table. The Baron turned another dial, zooming in on the scene.
Ronny sucked in his breath. Those on the screen were dissecting two bodies of what were obviously specimens of the tiny life form Metaxa had deep frozen.
Another turn of the dial. A new room, more extensive than the last. At least several thousand men— technicians and mechanics—were working away at various benches, on various pieces of equipment: the nature of which, Ronny couldn’t even guess.
The Baron said wryly, “They’re trying to figure out the use of some of the devices, weapons or whatever, that we’ve gleaned from the alien planets.” He snorted his deprecation. “What if you took a squad of Neanderthal men and set them down in a 25th Century laboratory in the midst of all the products that century produced? What do you think they might accomplish?”
Ronny, his eyes bugging still, said, “Is there that much difference?”
“At least,” the Baron told him. “However, as our good Metaxa pointed out at the conference, this culture is not the one we must confront. This culture was destroyed by one beyond.”
Ronny nodded. “That is the basic point, Baron Wyler. That is why the human race doesn’t have the time to bother with ambitious men of the caliber of the Supreme Commandant of Phrygia. We know nothing at all about the culture beyond.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” the Baron said easily. “A taste more wine?”
He had Ronny staring again. “What do you mean by that?”
The Baron waggled a finger at him. “You see, my dear Bronston, we are far, far beyond Section G and its well-intentioned plans to preserve the race. Some time ago, long before the Space Forces exploration force located the alien planets, Phrygian cruisers had found them. Properly masked, of course, we were able to descend and explore. My laboratories have been working on the equipment, and even the bodies of the aliens, as you have seen. We found a few under conditions which had preserved them.”
“But you said something about the power beyond.”
The Baron nodded. “Yes. Our little aliens left enough in the way of photographs to indicate part of what we’re up against.”
“Photographs?”
“Both still photographs and also a tape that one of my more brilliant young men has been able to project. It would seem that our little aliens actually landed upon at least one of the beyond culture’s planets.”
For the last half hour the Baron had been throwing curves faster than Ronny Bronston found himself capable of catching. Now he blurted, “What in the world is the other culture like?”
“Fantastically advanced. Among other items, it would seem they have matter conversion units that can make anything out of anything else. It would seem they have fusion reactors, and, hence, unlimited power. Oh yes, an unbelievably advanced technology.”
“What do they look like?”
The Baron paused. “Just a moment.” He played with his screen dials again, said something into an order box. The screen clouded, went clear once more.
On it was an incredibly handsome man. He was dressed in nothing more than brief shorts and sandals. He had a golden-brown coloration, was of bodily perfection seldom seen, and then only among physical culture perfectionists who spend a lifetime achieving it. There was no indication that he was aware of being photographed.
“Who’s that?” Ronny said blankly.
“That’s one of your aliens.”
“Alien! That’s a
“Ummm,” the Baron said. “There’s just one thing in which he differs from man as we know him.”
He paused for effect. “These aliens don’t seem to be intelligent.”
PART TWO
VIII
If Bakon Wyler had suddenly metamorphosed into a gigantic butterfly, he could hardly have surprised Ronny Bronston more.
“Not
The Baron looked at him strangely. “Can we be so sure? Have you ever considered some of the things insects accomplish? However, neither as individuals nor as units—such as beehives or anthills—do we think of insects as intelligent. But the analogy isn’t too good. A moment, please.”
He got up, walked over to a wall screen and said something into it, then returned.
“You noted, of course, how humanoid our Dawnman was?”
“Humanoid?” Ronny blurted. “That was a
“Perhaps.” There was still a strange element in the Baron’s voice.
The screen on one of the room’s doors said, “Academecian Count Felix Fitz-james, on orders to see the Supreme Commandant.”
“Enter,” the Baron said.
He made off-hand introductions, then said to Ronny Bronston, “The Count has been specializing in this particular aspect of the matter. Undoubtedly, he will be pleased to enlighten you.” He turned to the Count. “The matter of the nature of the Dawnmen.”
“Dawnmen?” Ronny said.
The Academecian, who was an elderly scholar and somewhat nervous in the presence of his ultimate superior, said, “Undoubtedly a misnomer, but one that has come into common usage among we who are working on
