“All Sollywood,” Sacherverell Breakstone begain, “ackowledged my creative-executive supremacy. The Little Hitler, they called me. And I remember reading in a biography of that great man how he could have been a magnificent painter had he chosen to follow that line instead of creating in terms of maters and men. Even so, I could have been a great musician, but I instinctively turned away from the sterility of such purely artistic creation. I found my metier in Sollywood; but even there I was cramped, strangled by the limitations of peace. The man who would create with men needs weapons. The man who would create life must be able to mete out death.
“I had my plans for lethalizing the period weapons of Sollywood—filing the daggers, clearing the barrels, finding ammunition somehow through armsleggers— But it was a difficult project. You men of the W.B.I and the powers of the Department of Allocation— I could have done it. I should have created the means of frustrating you. But then, Hartle came to me with the inspired discovery of Emigdio Valentinez.”
“You—” Astra Ardless’ voice was harsh and toneless, hardly recognizable as human. “You did kill him—”
“Not quite. Hartle had forestalled me there. Valentinez was already dead, although I should surely have ordered his death if he had not been. But why are you so concerned, my dear? You were willing to accept a share in an empire founded on a thousand other deaths, and yet you boggle at that one as though you were the idiot Devarupa himself.”
Astra Ardless said nothing. She looked as though only her own death interested her now.
“This is indeed,” Breakstone went on, “a brilliant little weapon, which I think I may claim the credit of inventing, with the basis of the few hints of Valentinez and Hartle. This particular model,” he brandished the one in his hand, “contains a disk of lovestonite a centimeter and a half in diameter and a centimeter thick. It was charged in direct sunlight, using a fifteen-centimeter burning glass focused on it. It contains approximately the solar energy of a full day.
The trigger releases that energy for one twenty-fifth of a second. This slide here controls the time of passage. At this end of the scale, the energy released in that twenty-fifth of a second is only enough to daze and blind momentarily. At this end—” He concluded the sentence by indicating the scorched face of the corpse of Loewe. “It is all weapons in one, from the gentle stunner to the conclusive killer. And by its power I shall create a new world.”
He showed signs of pausing. Garrett spurred him on with a fresh laugh. “I’m still amazed at your stupidity, S.B. What can your few accomplish, even armed with that?”
“What could five serpents accomplish in a herd of five thousand rabbits? Especially if they had the certainty of winning many of those rabbits over to serpentry, and even of equipping them with fangs?”
“A nice metaphor. But, of course, you’re only groping with words.”
“I’ve gone beyond words now, Garrett. It’s the deeds of Breakstone that will change the world.”
“And they are—”
“Listen, you idiots. Understand how a man must act to create. Tomorrow we take over the Moon. That is simple. All the life, all the supplies and communications of the Moon center in Luna City. That we take over, and we need pay no further heed to the few isolated scientists and engineers and work crews that we cut off. Now we own a satellite. We take over the spaceport and the translunar experimental station. We control the spatial wireless and with forged messages lure most of Earth’s spaceships here. We then control a space fleet.
“Then, at our leisure, we invade Earth. We have left enough men behind to be our helpful Quislings in this invasion. The W.B.I. can fight individual armsleggers, but it is not strong enough to combat my armed hundreds, who will soon be thousands. And there is no other physical force to resist us. Even those who are strong enough to resist will be sapped by their own idealistic beliefs. They will not dare to kill us until it is too late and they have themselves been killed.
“And then— You know that classic, ‘The Count of Monte Cristo’? I produced an unimportant epic of it as one of my first creations. It reaches its high point when the hero says four words, which mean all of life to him, as they must to any man of creative genius. Four words that have never been true before in all history, but which will find truth at last when I utter them:
“The world is mine!”
Garrett was moved to shudder at the blazing light of S.B.’s eyes, as vivid and as murderous as a lovestonite flash. But he forced himself to go on scoffing. “And you expect your hundreds and thousands to follow you loyally? Can a man like you inspire love and loyalty?”
“Love! Loyalty! Say rather loot and laziness. They are offered the privilege of sacking the Earth, and their lazy souls are spared the necessity of ever thinking or acting for themselves.”
“They’ll never follow you. The risks are theirs and the glory is yours.”
“You think not? Then come. Tonight I speak to them. For the first time I tell them a definite plan. I outline the assault upon Luna City. And you shall hear me speak, and you shall know for yourself if they will follow me. Boys,” he said to the guards, “bring these carefully after me. They are to be honored guests at the foundation of the new world.”
Outside, in the public square of this dome which Breakstone had
