don't see each other nearly as often as we'd like. Writing can be a lonely business.
Spinrad was once considered a "new wave" writer, but since I haven't any notion of what that means, I can't comment. I do know that he pays attention to character as well as technical detail, but then, so do a lot of writers who aren't thought "new wave" at all. One thing is certain. He can tell stories that you'll remember a while.
In conventional thought, Democracies are preferable to Empires, because they are more humane and ethical, and more likely to adhere to the rule of law. The facts are different. Polities conventionally described as Republics have had imperial ambitions, and have often enforced their imperial rule over others. The Athenians converted from Republic to Democracy, but continued to act as colonial masters over their former allies in the Aegean. And as C. Northcote Parkinson points out, they enforced their rule with a cynical ferocity matched only by the most ruthless of dictators.
On one occasion, Mytilene wished to withdraw from the alliance and cease paying tribute to Athens. The Athenians blockaded the city and brought about its surrender, after which Cleon got the popular assembly to decree that the entire military-age population of Mytilene should be massacred, and everyone else sold into slavery. A galley was dispatched to deliver the order to the Athenian military commander at Mytilene.
The issue was debated again the next day. When Diodotus called for mercy, Cleon demanded justice: he warned the Athenians that the maintenance of empire demanded that the subjects be kept in a constant state of fear, and the empire would pass away if the Athenians were guided by compassion.
The moderates won, and another ship was dispatched to rescind the orders of the first. On that happy occasion, the first ship, bearing the dreadful news, was slow, while the second was rowed by men eager to arrive on time.
Athens was hardly the last state, republic or empire, to sacrifice principle to expediency. For all the power of the state, though, the decrees of Republic and Empire alike must be carried out by men.
Outward Bound
Norman Spinrad
Captain Peter Reed floated closer to the big central viewport of the conning globe.
Before him, filling half his field of vision, was the planet Maxwell, green continents and blue seas reminding him of Earth.
He shook his white-haired head. Earth was fifty light-years off, or to put it another way, seventy years ago, or in another way, only four months.
Reed shrugged, not an easy task for a seventy-year-old man in free fall. Or to put it another way, an eight-hundred-year-old man.
Reed could not help laughing aloud. Fifty subjective years in space, he thought, eight hundred years in objective time, and still it has its wonder for me.
As he watched, a mote of light detached itself from the disk of Maxwell, and arced upward.
That would be Director Horvath's ship, thought Reed. Last time the Outward Bound was at Maxwell, it had been ruled by a hereditary king. But that was three hundred years ago. King La Farge, thought Reed sadly, dead and gone three hundred years.
This Lazlo Horvath, now. He seems to be a different proposition. Ambitious, dangerous.
Reed smiled wryly. If he keeps up this way, he may soon be honored by a visit from Jacob ben Ezra.
The captain spoke into the communicator. "Rog, get the reception room ready. Our customer's on the way."
He paddled awkwardly to the rear of the conning globe, grabbed a guard rail, and pulled himself through the rotating doorway, into the main cylinder of the Outward Bound .
Immediately, he felt the tug of gravity. The Outward Bound was an untidy collection of cylinders and globes, held together by spars. While in orbit, the whole conglomeration spun about a central axis, creating an artificial gravity. But, of course, it was necessary that the conning globe be stationary, so it hung in front of the main cylinder, mounted on