reported to the Floating Kingdom, and if all went well, it would be good for a handsome raise in salary.
The problem was that he didn't need any more money. What he needed was things to spend it on. Things like weapons from the Republic and Democracy.... He reassembled all the weapons, called the guards, and went to bed, a troubled man. He woke up feeling no better.
He skipped breakfast and went back to his office and looked at the weapons again, touching each one lovingly, regretfully. They were so damned beautiful! He had already considered arresting Durmin on the spot and confiscating the weapons as evidence. But they'd have to be turned over to the court, and that would be the last he'd ever see of them. He had even toyed with assassinating the dealer and his aides, but decided against it on strictly practical grounds. No, he'd have to follow the thing through. Collection or no collection, his first loyalty lay with the Commonwealth.
Not that the Commonwealth would really need his help or his loyalty. After all, what could one planet—even a well-armed one—do against the combined might of almost two million worlds? It wouldn't amount to much more than a policing action. Of course, the cannon could do an enormous amount of damage, but that could be taken care of by the simple expedient of destroying the trigger mechanism before turning it over to Durmin. In all likelihood any race that had been able to recondition the firearms before him would be able to repair the cannon, but there was always the chance that such an intricate mechanism was beyond their abilities. At least, he liked to think so.
Furthermore, the galaxy was in a state of flux. Rebellions were cropping up with greater frequency, and
surely Durmin's contacts weren't the only aliens who had been surreptitiously stockpiling weapons over the centuries against the day that they would finally dig in their heels and strike back at the oppression of the Commonwealth. Blowing the whistle on this operation wouldn't solve anything; in all probability, it wouldn't even delay the uprisings on any of the other worlds. There were a thousand races that sooner or later would take up arms against Man—but there was only one collection, and probably only this one opportunity to add such precious treasures to it. Besides, in these days of instant interstellar communication, there wasn't a ghost of a chance that the aliens would still have their arsenal around by the time the Navy got there. Turning Durmin in would just be a gesture in futility, an act of misplaced nobility.
He picked up the explosive pistol again, caressed it lovingly, cradled it in his hands. He was still holding it when Durmin returned with another container. “Here are the rest of them,” he said, carefully unloading the items on Selimund's desk. Selimund looked them over one by one. Suddenly he froze. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked softly. “I thought you'd like it, Governor,” said Durmin, smiling. “A pistol from Twenty-Seventh Century Earth,” whispered Selimund. He reached out a trembling hand and touched it gingerly, reverently. “I've seen a couple of drawings, but...” “It's a beauty, isn't it?” said Durmin. Selimund nodded.
“I know your specialty is alien weapons,” Durmin continued, “but when something like this comes along ... well, it's the prize of the whole lot. That's why I've got to ask for the cannon.” Selimund looked long and hard at him, then found his gaze drawn back to the pistol. “It's a deal,” he said.
A moment later he was working meticulously over the newest treasure in his collection, polishing and shining it, completely oblivious to a galaxy that had once again found it expedient to stockpile weapons. 22: THE REBELS
...As the millennium drew to an uneasy close, Man was girding for the greatest challenge yet to his primacy in the galaxy; and, strangely enough, this challenge came not just from the alien races, but also from a number of misdirected Men as well. Among the first of the turncoats was Loran Baird, a former naval officer, who for reasons known only to himself...
—
over the races of the galaxy. Members of warring races, they nonetheless managed to form a bond of
mutual trust and friendship which resulted in...
Everything was going to hell.
Castor V hadn't joined the Commonwealth, and neither had some fifty other planets that had seemed to be teetering on the brink. Not only that, but some of the frontier worlds, feeling their oats, had actually tried to throw the Commonwealth out. It hadn't worked, of course, but each act of rebellion got a little farther than the previous one before it was suppressed. Then came the real shocker. Spica VI, that huge and hallowed ship-building world, populated only by the race of Man, declared independence from the Commonwealth. The Floating Kingdom, its back to the wall, responded in the only way open to it—with might and more might. The Spicans fought to the last man, and when the brief but bloody war was over, almost two million men lay dead on the surface of the planet, a once- industrialized surface that was now and forever covered with rubble and debris. “The problem,” said Baird, “is that no one is taking the trouble to organize these damned uprisings, to coordinate them for maximum efficiency.” His companion looked across the table at him. “How do you expect any coordination?” he asked at last. “You've got a thousand alien races, plus a goodly number of Men, who have nothing in common except their enmity toward the Floating Kingdom and Deluros. They've never worked together, never trusted one another, never before fought against a common enemy. Why should they start now? Or, to put it another way, you're a Man. What Canphorite or Lodinite or Emran in its right mind would trust you?” “I see your point, Jannis,” said Baird, “and yet in the end they're going to have to trust me, just as I'm going to have to trust them.”
“Ah, but are you?” Jannis smiled.
“If I have to, I will,” said Baird grimly. “That's why I've contacted you. You're a merchant on Canphor VII. You deal with the damned creatures. Can you set up a meeting between me and one of their underground leaders?”
“I figured as much,” said Jannis. “Why Canphor? Why not some race that doesn't have a five-thousand-year history of insurrection, some race that won't be predisposed to murder you the instant you walk into the room?”
“Because the Canphor Twins are the leaders of the nonhuman races, and if we're ever going to overthrow this tyranny we're going to need their help.” “You keep talking about some mysterious ‘we,'” remarked Jannis. “Just who do you represent?” Baird's eyes narrowed. “That information is for the Canphorites,” he said at last. “I take it that I have been scrutinized and found wanting,” said Jannis dryly. “The less you know, the less trouble you'll be in if the roof comes tumbling down,” said Baird. He
slipped a large roll of currency across the table. “Will you do it?”
Jannis looked at the roll, then nodded. “I imagine it will have to be on one of the outworlds. They won't come to any planet of your choosing, and you certainly won't go to the Canphor system.” “The hell I won't,” said Baird. “I want them to know we mean business.” “How about Canphor III, then?” said Jannis. “That way it won't seem like a total capitulation.” “No,” said Baird firmly. “One of the Twins, VI or VII, I don't care which.” Jannis shrugged. “It's your funeral.”
But that, decided Baird after his companion had left, was where Jannis was wrong. It was the Commonwealth's funeral. Not today, not next year, perhaps not even in a century, but it would be the start.
Jannis contacted him a few days later. The Canphorites had, to his amazement, agreed to the meeting. The two Men would go to Canphor VI, where Jannis would escort Baird to a certain building and then leave him. No arrangements had been made for Baird's departure, which Jannis found distinctly ominous, but Baird readily consented to the conditions. Baird had never been to either of the Canphor Twins, and as Jannis's ship landed at a Canphor VI spaceport, he was amazed by the lack of structures to be seen. He had thought, considering the Canphorites’ long and variegated history, that both populated planets would be teeming with life and activity.
“Don't be misled,” said Jannis when Baird questioned him on this point. “Most of Canphor VI is underground. I guess they got understandably tired of rebuilding their cities after we kept razing them to the ground. Pretty much the same situation exists on Canphor VII. In fact, over the past few hundred years,
