Free No World of Their Own by Poul Anderson Page B

can’t claim to know just what makes him tick.”
    â€œAh, so.” Valti took a noisy sip of wine. There was no expression in the heavy face. “Do you know why he is so important?”
    â€œI think so. Military value of his ability to damp out or control electronic currents and so forth. But I’m surprised you haven’t got a machine to do the same thing.”
    â€œScience died long ago,” said Valti. “I, who have seen worlds where they are still progressing, though behind us as yet, know the difference between a living science and a dead one. The spirit of open-minded inquiry became extinct in known human civilizations quite a while back.”
    Valti looked at him under drooping lids. “There are, of course, ways to make a man talk,” he said. “Not torture—nothing so crude—but drugs which unlock the tongue. Chanthavar has hesitated to use them on you. If you do not, after all, have an idea where Saris is, the rather unpleasant process could easily set up a subconscious bloc which would forbid you to think further about the problem. However, he may now be desperate enough to do so. He will surely do it the moment he suspects you have deduced something. Have you?”
    â€œWhy should I tell you, mister?”
    Valti looked patient. “Because only the Society can be trusted with a decisive weapon.”
    â€œOnly one party can,” said Langley dryly. “I’ve heard that song before.”
    â€œConsider,” said Valti. His voice remained dispassionate. “Sol is a petrified civilization, interested only in maintaining the status quo. The Centaurians brag a great deal about frontier vigor, but they are every bit as dead between the ears. If they won, there would be an orgy of destruction followed by a pattern much the same, nothing new except a change of masters. If either system suspects that the other has gotten Saris, it will attack at once, setting off the most destructive war in a history which has already seen destruction on a scale you cannot imagine. The other, smaller states are no better, even if they were in a position to use the weapon effectively.”
    â€œAll right,” Langley said. “Maybe you’re right. But what claim has your precious Society got? Who says you’re a race of—” He paused, realized that there was no word for saint or angel, and finished weakly: “Why do you deserve anything?”
    â€œWe are not interested in imperialism,” said Valti. “We carry on trade between the stars—”
    â€œProbably cleaning the pants off both ends.”
    â€œWell, an honest businessman has to live. But we have no planet, we are not interested in having one—our home is space itself. We do not kill except in self-defense. Normally we avoid a fight by simply retreating; there is always plenty of room in the universe, and a long jump makes it easy to overcome your enemies by merely outliving them. We are a people to ourselves, with our own history, traditions, laws—the only humane and neutral power in the known galaxy.”
    â€œTell me more,” said Langley. “So far I’ve only got your word. You must have some central government, someone to make decisions and coordinate you. Who are they? Where are they?”
    â€œI will be perfectly honest, Captain,” said Valti in a soft tone. “I do not know.”
    â€œEh?”
    â€œNo one knows. Each ship is competent to handle ordinary affairs for itself. We file reports at the planetary offices, pay our tax. Where the reports and the money go, I don’t know, nor do the groundlings in the offices. There is a chain of communications, a cell-type secret bureaucracy which would be impossible to trace through tens of light-years. I rank high, running the Solar offices at present, and can make many decisions for myself. But I get special orders now and then through a sealed circuit. There must be at least