thoughts. "Lord knows, we've tried all we could. None of this is. public, of course, although leaks have—well, leaked. It is so serious that it is quite beyond our comprehension. We just don't seem to be able to take it seriously."
Leaks. He remembered how one service might know all manner of great secrets within it, and yet the idea of sharing that knowledge with a sister service just did not arise. That was a minor hangover of security; that he could recognize, but now that general scrutiny was needless there were other reasons for that clannish service pride.
"Since we found out," Rattigan was saying. "All the way up the line, no one has really believed. Not believed. I, personally, find it difficult to accept. The ultimate evil has, at last arrived."
"The ultimate evil," Inglis said.
Now he understood the unsmiling welcome he had received. The usual laughing, carefree welcome of communications and service personnel was proverbial. There had been nothing carefree about the CDB staff. They'd known something was wrong. It was a feeling, an aura, that seeped down from higher echelons. Nothing that they, in the lower ranks, could personally finger; but a nuance they would unfailingly recognize.
"Some theologians," Inglis said carefully, "have postulated that there can be no great evil. That if we re-check our thinking we will find ourselves at fault."
"Would to God we were, Roy. No ... no, there is no mistake, as far as the best minds can tell."
Dick Myrtle spoke, slowly and thoughtfully for him, or for the way he'd been when Inglis knew him, in the old capsule-dropping days. "Evil is a force just as is good, we all know that. It isn't just a matter of boiling up a few children in oil, or starving half the population and killing the other half so that a selected few may live in luxury, nor is it merely being unkind to your neighbour. These are degrees of evil.
"Remember the reports on that culture on—where was it now—that binary with the involved planetary orbit that gave two winters for every summer?"
"Klordovain, Gus. Summer was a pretty time."
"That's the place, Dick. Remember that culture they had of exposing every third child? And of burying alive every third oldster when the winters came?"
"I remember," said Inglis. The papers and the networks had been full of it.
"Well, we talked this over, and we were able to affect certain ecological changes, helped the people and today they don't have this inbuilt urge to shed people when the going gets tough. But any group of Terrans faced with a lack of oxygen or food on a drifting ship might get down to drawing straws for life. It's a matter of viewpoint, and of talking it out."
"And you've talked to these aliens—these evil ones?"
"They've been spoken to by a scouting party—luckily enough from the CDB. I have the transcripts. You're going through them, later." Rattigan sighed, fingering the jewel in his ear. "Every mind that has studied them has formed the same conclusion. Evil."
"Not just a bunch of aliens who don't happen to think like us?"
"Not just that. That and a whole lot more."
"So it seems," said Myrtle gloomily, "that we'll have to unsheath the weapons again, the bombs and the dust and the ray sand all the rest of it."
"It looks very much like war," Admiral Gus Rattigan said. "Devil take it."
"War." Inglis found the idea distasteful. He was not a religious fanatic of any persuasion; he was a space marine who would do a job. If that job included war, he would carry on just the same, despite a civilized man's abhorrence of the idiocy. "War," he said again. "What contacts have the aliens?"
Rattigan chuckled. He sounded like a nuclear steam pile hotting up. "They haven't."
"Oh?"
"The scout ship was smart enough to avoid letting the aliens have any inkling of our spatial co-ordinates. Of course, it doesn't take much guesswork to select an area of space and say: 'These new aliens must come from there,' but that doesn't find a group of suns in all
Leaks. He remembered how one service might know all manner of great secrets within it, and yet the idea of sharing that knowledge with a sister service just did not arise. That was a minor hangover of security; that he could recognize, but now that general scrutiny was needless there were other reasons for that clannish service pride.
"Since we found out," Rattigan was saying. "All the way up the line, no one has really believed. Not believed. I, personally, find it difficult to accept. The ultimate evil has, at last arrived."
"The ultimate evil," Inglis said.
Now he understood the unsmiling welcome he had received. The usual laughing, carefree welcome of communications and service personnel was proverbial. There had been nothing carefree about the CDB staff. They'd known something was wrong. It was a feeling, an aura, that seeped down from higher echelons. Nothing that they, in the lower ranks, could personally finger; but a nuance they would unfailingly recognize.
"Some theologians," Inglis said carefully, "have postulated that there can be no great evil. That if we re-check our thinking we will find ourselves at fault."
"Would to God we were, Roy. No ... no, there is no mistake, as far as the best minds can tell."
Dick Myrtle spoke, slowly and thoughtfully for him, or for the way he'd been when Inglis knew him, in the old capsule-dropping days. "Evil is a force just as is good, we all know that. It isn't just a matter of boiling up a few children in oil, or starving half the population and killing the other half so that a selected few may live in luxury, nor is it merely being unkind to your neighbour. These are degrees of evil.
"Remember the reports on that culture on—where was it now—that binary with the involved planetary orbit that gave two winters for every summer?"
"Klordovain, Gus. Summer was a pretty time."
"That's the place, Dick. Remember that culture they had of exposing every third child? And of burying alive every third oldster when the winters came?"
"I remember," said Inglis. The papers and the networks had been full of it.
"Well, we talked this over, and we were able to affect certain ecological changes, helped the people and today they don't have this inbuilt urge to shed people when the going gets tough. But any group of Terrans faced with a lack of oxygen or food on a drifting ship might get down to drawing straws for life. It's a matter of viewpoint, and of talking it out."
"And you've talked to these aliens—these evil ones?"
"They've been spoken to by a scouting party—luckily enough from the CDB. I have the transcripts. You're going through them, later." Rattigan sighed, fingering the jewel in his ear. "Every mind that has studied them has formed the same conclusion. Evil."
"Not just a bunch of aliens who don't happen to think like us?"
"Not just that. That and a whole lot more."
"So it seems," said Myrtle gloomily, "that we'll have to unsheath the weapons again, the bombs and the dust and the ray sand all the rest of it."
"It looks very much like war," Admiral Gus Rattigan said. "Devil take it."
"War." Inglis found the idea distasteful. He was not a religious fanatic of any persuasion; he was a space marine who would do a job. If that job included war, he would carry on just the same, despite a civilized man's abhorrence of the idiocy. "War," he said again. "What contacts have the aliens?"
Rattigan chuckled. He sounded like a nuclear steam pile hotting up. "They haven't."
"Oh?"
"The scout ship was smart enough to avoid letting the aliens have any inkling of our spatial co-ordinates. Of course, it doesn't take much guesswork to select an area of space and say: 'These new aliens must come from there,' but that doesn't find a group of suns in all
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