"King David's Spaceship" - читать интересную книгу автора (Pournelle Jerry)

CHAPTER SIX REGULATIONS

The contrast between the two officers could not have been greater. One was young, tall, of slight build, his hair an indescribable brown something like damp straw. The other was much older, with lines of care etched around his expressionless eyes, his hair gray where there was hair at all. He was heavy and short, but he had in common with the younger man a look of hardness and dedication; yet, again in contrast to his junior brother in service, there was none of the air of expectancy and anticipation the boy displayed.

“Trader MacKinnie.” The older man said it factually. “I am Captain Greenaugh of His Imperial Majesty’s Navy. I command the garrison here and Tombaugh up there in orbit. This is Midshipman Landry, who will be my observer on this stupid voyage of yours.”

MacKinnie stood and bowed slightly to Captain Greenaugh, even less to Landry, making no move to extend his hand when the others did not.

“Won’t you sit down, Captain?” Soliman asked softly. “Some wine, perhaps? Grua?”

“No. Mr. Landry and I are on duty.”

The midshipman’s face was impassive; or had there been a hint of a smile? It was hard to tell.

“Then please be seated,” Soliman insisted.

“I prefer to stand.” He turned his attention to MacKinnie. “As you are to be the local in charge of this expedition, sir, it is my duty to caution you that any infringement of Imperial regulations on the part of any member of this expedition will result in trial and punishment of both the crew member and you personally. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Captain,” MacKinnie said. He elaborately inspected the large ring on his left hand, then looked up. “I understand perfectly. Tell me why you are so unhappy with me, if you would, please.”

“I am not unhappy with you, sir. It is understandable that you would wish to travel in space. I am unhappy with Mr. Soliman for browbeating me into letting you do it.”

“Browbeating, Captain?” Soliman said in an amused tone. “Why, I merely indicated—”

“You merely indicated the relevant passages in the Imperial regulations and reminded me of your influence. I don’t give a damn about your influence, but I can’t ignore the regulations. However, I warn you, MacKinnie, if Mr. Soliman can be sticky about regulations, so can I. You’ll get a copy of the pertinent sections before you go, but I decided to see you personally to try to talk you out of this venture.”

“If you please, Captain,” Dougal asked, “why are you so opposed to our simple trading expedition? I thought it was Imperial policy to encourage trade among the worlds of the Empire. Your ambassador promises that Prince Samual’s World will profit highly through joining the Empire.”

“Sir—” The captain paused and snapped his fingers.

“Citizen Dougal, sir,” the midshipman answered. “In the service of King David.”

“Citizen Dougal, I have all too few officers on this station. I am responsible for the protection of this world from all interference with its development and assimilation into the Empire. There’s a nest of outies not twenty parsecs away; your King David is in one hell of a hurry to unify this planet against stiff opposition; the survey team keeps borrowing my people; and thanks to this expedition I have to send a junior officer off for the Saints alone know how long. There’ll be reports to file, inspections to conduct. And for what? So Mr. Soliman here can add another mega-crown to his bank account, and you people can bring some kind of gimcrack new luxuries to absorb what little capital there is on Prince Samual’s World. I don’t like it and I don’t have to like it.”

“Sorry you feel that way, Captain,” MacKinnie said. Inwardly he knew all too well the plight of a military man caught up in the details of government. He would have felt sympathy for Greenaugh, but the memory of Lechfeld was too strong. The Imperials were the enemy. “But you have admitted that you understand our motives for wanting to go. I hope we can get our work accomplished without causing you any trouble.”

“You’re damn right you will,” Greenaugh snapped. “But before you make your final decision, let me acquaint you with the regulations. Item: you will be supplied with a basic naval study of the planetary languages found in the chief city of Makassar. You will at no time teach any native your own language or Imperial speech. All negotiations will be conducted in one of the planetary languages. Is that understood?”

MacKinnie nodded, suddenly realizing why all the Imperials he had met spoke a variant of the language of Haven. If you used a man’s own language, you weren’t likely to tell him anything he didn’t know about. He wouldn’t even have the words for most advanced concepts.

“Item: as Imperial subjects,” Greenaugh continued, “you would ordinarily be entitled to protection from barbarians and arbitrary imprisonment. In your case we can’t extend it. The garrison on Makassar is too small and there’s no ship. If you get in trouble, you’re on your own.”

The captain took a small notebook-sized object from his pocket, touched a stud on the side of it and glanced at its face before returning it to his scarlet tunic. MacKinnie recognized it as one of the tiny Imperial computers, supposedly equivalent to hundreds of the best mechanical calculators in use in Haven’s banks; equivalent and more. The Imperials used them for everything, as notebooks and pocket clocks, for communications and diaries.

“Another thing, MacKinnie. Any technical innovation traced to you directly or indirectly can result in a charge of interference. If it results in any severe disruption of the development of that planet, you can get life imprisonment. Assessment of the effects of innovations and your responsibilities for them are up to the Emperor’s Lord Judges.”

“Why are the regulations so severe, Captain?” Dougal asked. “It is our understanding that the Empire intends only peace and friendship for its member worlds.”

“Damn right. And sudden technical changes destroy both. I’ve seen worlds where some smart guy used a little technology and a lot of guts to set himself up as a planetary king. Half the population out of work, the other half in turmoil. Took the better part of a fleet and a division of Marines to keep order on the place. Mister, it’s not going to happen in my sector.”

“The regulations are severe for a purpose,” Renaldi added. “There is no telling what the effects of even the most innocent technical revelations can be. Even something as inherently benign as medicines can change the whole pattern of life. There is a famous case, from the early days of the New Empire. The Church went in and with the best of motives taught practical medicine to primitives. The missionaries were particularly concerned with saving children from infant diseases. They intended to give them some new agricultural and industrial techniques, but the people were not ready for them. They rejected the agriculture and industry, but they adopted the medicine. Within fifty standard years, there was famine all over the world. The results were horrible.”

Greenaugh nodded. “Still were when I was young Landry’s age. I served a hitch on an escort vessel convoying a provisions fleet. Silliest thing you ever saw. You ever think of how futile it is to try to ship food to a whole world that’s starving? If you took every ship in the Navy and merchant service and put them on it, even if the food was free and waiting in the same star system, it wouldn’t do any good. But the Emperor’s sister got interested in the place and they had to have a try at ‘helping’. Did no good at all. Population’s thinned out a bit now on Placentia, but the planet’ll never be the same.”

“So you see,” Soliman said softly, “it is important not to interfere. No matter what the reason. You can always say that things would have been worse if you did not interfere, but you can’t know.” He sipped his wine. “Besides, people will have adjusted to the evils they are accustomed to. Your attempts to help may introduce evils they don’t know, which are always worse to bear and will probably retard their natural development.”

“Thank you,” MacKinnie said. “We will be very careful. What else must I know?”

“Still determined,” Greenaugh said. “Thought you would be. Well, if I can’t persuade you to give it up, I can’t. Bring your crew here tomorrow for inspection. Midshipman Landry will tell you the rest of the details.” He strode to the door, then paused and turned back. “Just remember, MacKinnie, you were warned. The hell with it.” He went briskly out, followed by his midshipman.

MacKinnie started to speak to Dougal once they were in the cab and drawing away from Empire House, but Dougal motioned him to silence. They returned to the Royal Guest House, where Dougal invited MacKinnie to shower, insisting that he do so in a manner that told MacKinnie it was an order. When he finished, he found fresh clothing, the elaborate Trader’s kilt and doublet gone. Dougal joined him as he finished dressing, and MacKinnie noted that the policeman had changed as well.

“Sorry, Trader,” Dougal said, “but we have found by bitter experience that the Imperials have devices, so small you would hardly notice them, which in some manner allow them to hear over long distances. Our engineers did not believe it at first, but I tested the hypothesis by feeding them false information when we had reason to suspect. I proved it, and now my people have found one of the things. Not as big as the end of your thumb.”

MacKinnie whistled. “Was there one attached to our clothing?” he asked.

“No, not this time. But the cab stood outside Empire House while we were there. They had ample time to do as they liked.”

“Any idea of the range of those things?” MacKinnie asked.

“None. And as we do not know how they work, there is no guess. Some of our best physicists insist they have a theory how one might be built, now that they know it is possible, but they say any such device would have to be very large and use much power. Still, it is a start.” Deprived of a place to sit, the policeman locked his hands behind his back and paced the room nervously.

“By the way,” MacKinnie asked, “what will our churches really do if their New Roman Church decides to take over here? I notice King David’s bishops are thick as flies in Orleans.”

“Better ours than the outlanders’,” Dougal snapped. “And all the more reason for the success of your mission, MacKinnie. Perhaps they are not as severe on the Classified worlds.”

“Yeah.” Nathan stood against one wall, patiently watching Dougal stride back and forth. “But after that interview I don’t know any more about how to get those books — but they aren’t books, are they? That Navy kid, the night he babbled about it all, said they were spools, whatever that might be. That they could be made to print books, if we knew how to do it. Only we don’t know how, do we? We don’t really know much of anything.”

“Giving up?” Dougal asked.

“No, by God!” MacKinnie grinned. “And the sooner we start, the better chance we’ll have. It’s still a fool’s errand, but at least I can feel useful again, win or lose!”