The World Swappers Read Free

offer the way of escape people are looking for.
    “But there will be conflict. Your computers predict that, and they’re right. The newcomers will struggle with the colonists; because the newcomers will have the pioneering urge, and the colonists are disillusioned, the newcomers will win–and they’ll owe their greatest loyalty to you.”
    Counce finished his long speech in the same level tone he had used throughout, and looked at Bassett, wondering what his reaction would be. It took a long time coming, but it was a tacit admission. That was another reason why Bassett was on his way to the top: he wasted no time on things like useless denials.
    He said, “In outline, that’s correct. I don’t pretend to guess how you know, but if that’s your motive for saying I want to rule the galaxy, you’re wrong, of course. You can’t rule the galaxy.”
    “That’s so true it’s a platitude,” agreed Counce. “However, we needn’t quibble about what ‘ruling’ actually consists of.”
    Bassett nodded. “But I still want to know why you came.”
    “I came to tell you that your mission to Boreas was a complete waste of time. In view of the fact that Boreas is one of the few outworlds that is kindly disposed towards Earth, you jumped to the obvious–but wrong–conclusion that it was the best place to start buying your good will for the future. Your computers will tell you that, but if I hadn’t come to see you, you’d have assumed insufficient data was the trouble, and maybe you’d have spent another ten months or a year hammering away at the problem before giving up. You might even have been discouraged enough to go back to a problem which is genuinely insoluble–how to avert Earth’s coming crisis.”
    “Now look here,” said Bassett, “we ourselves haven’t had a chance to evaluate our findings yet. You, and whoever else is behind you, can’t conceivably have had an advance report. To start with, this is one of the fastest civil ships in space, and I doubt whether anyone in your group, whoever they may be, has access to a Metchnikov driver.”
    “True,” conceded Counce, not mentioning that they got along excellently without needing Metchnikov drivers.
    The implied tribute to his deductive ability touched Bassett’s perfectly human vanity. He said, “You know, I’ve heard stories from time to time, which seemed incredible but made me keep my eyes open. You might say, I guess, that I’d been watching out for you.”
    “Whereas I was waiting for you,” Counce reminded him. He drew the knife of his words deep, and gave the wound a chance to fester in Bassett’s self-esteem before continuing.
    “Your greatest difficulty is that you don’t know what your problem really is.”
    “Indeed!” snapped Bassett. “And by what right do you claim to know better than I?”
    “Suppose we say,” Counce murmured, “that my friends and I have studied the matter for a longer time than you have. But that’s beside the point. I’m going to tell you straight out that the solution to the problem is not to be found on Boreas, but on Ymir. Having done that, I’ll give you two alternatives. You can decide that you want me to tackle the Ymiran problem for you and bring you the answer, in which case you can buy time on the Falconetta program over Video India–no special message, it’ll be conspicuous enough. I know you never patronize the show with your advertising; you don’t like the limits Ram Singh puts on the use of hypnotics. Word will get to me. Alternatively, you can turn me over the side and forget about me.”
    He raised a hand to forestall a question budding on Bassett’s lips. “There isn’t a third alternative,” he said. “You won’t crack the Ymiran problem by yourself. It’ll be tough for me, and I’m a specialist in problems.”
    “You’re good at setting them, certainly,” acknowledged Bassett. “But I’m not totally unpracticed myself, of course. I presume your mind is very well