Title: The Unnecessary Man
Author: Garrett, Randall, 1927-1987
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Unnecessary Man" ***


 THE
 UNNECESSARY
 MAN

 BY RANDALL GARRETT


 _Sometimes an organizational setup
 grows, sets its ways, and becomes
 so traditional that once-necessary
 jobs become unnecessary. But it is
 sometimes quite hard to spot just
 which man is the unnecessary one. In
 this case ... not the one you think!_


 Illustrated by Martinez


    _"I recall," said the Businessman, "that William Wrigley, Junior,
    once said:_ 'When two men in a business always agree, one of them is
    unnecessary.' _How true that is."_

    _The Philosopher cast his eyes toward Heaven. "O God! The Mercantile
    Mind!" He looked back at the Businessman. "When two men in a
    business always agree, one of them will come in handy as a
    scapegoat."_

                                                 _THE IDLE WORSHIPERS_
                                                 by R. Phillip Dachboden

[Illustration]

Lord Barrick Sorban, Colonel, H.I.M.O.G., Ret., sipped gently at his
drink and looked mildly at the sheaf of newsfacsimile that he'd just
bought fresh from the reproducer in the lobby of the Royal Hotel. Sorban
did not look like a man of action; he certainly did not look like a
retired colonel of His Imperial Majesty's Own Guard. The most likely
reason for this was that he was neither.

Not that he was incapable of action on a physical level if it became
necessary; he was past forty, but his tough, hard body was in as fine a
shape as it had been fifteen years before, and his reflexes had slowed
only slightly. The only major change that had occurred in his body
during that time had been the replacement of an irreparably damaged left
hand by a prosthetic.

But Lord Barrick Sorban preferred to use his mind, to initiate action in
others rather than himself, and his face showed it. His was a precision
mind, capable of fast, accurate computations, and his eyes betrayed the
fact, but the rest of his face looked, if anything, rather like that of
a gentle, persuasive schoolteacher--the type whom children love and
parents admire and both obey.

Nor was he a retired colonel of the Imperial bodyguard, except on paper.
According to the official records, he had been retired for medical
reasons--the missing left hand. In reality, his position in the Imperium
was a great deal higher than that of an ordinary colonel, and he was
still in the active service of the Emperor. It was a secret known only
to a comparative few, and one that was carefully guarded.

He was a fairly tall man, as an Imperial Guardsman had to be, with a
finely-shaped head and dark hair that was shot through with a single
streak of gray from an old burn wound. In an officer's uniform, he
looked impressive, but in civilian dress he looked like a competent
businessman.

He held the newsfac in his prosthetic left hand, which was
indistinguishable in appearance and in ordinary usage from the flesh,
bone, and blood that it had replaced. Indeed, the right hand, with its
stiff little finger, often appeared to be more useless than the left.
The hand, holding the glass of rye-and-ginger, gave an impression of
over-daintiness because of that stiff digit.

Lord Sorban paid little attention to the other customers in the bar;
customers of the Green Room of the Royal Hotel weren't the noisy kind,
anyway. He kept his attention on the newsfac for the most part; only a
small amount of awareness was reserved for the approach of the man he
was waiting for.

The banner line on the newsfac said:

    BAIRNVELL OCCUPIED
    BY IMPERIAL FORCES

He read through the article hurriedly, absorbing what facts he didn't
know, and then flipped over to the editorial page. If he knew the
_Globe_, there would sure as Space be an editorial.

There was.

    At 0231 Greenwich Earth Time, 3/37/229, the forces of the Imperial
    Government occupied the planet Bairnvell. (See article, Page One.)
    The ships of the Imperial Space Force landed, purportedly at the
    request of Obar Del Pargon, rebel leader of the anti-Presidential
    forces. That such an action should be condoned by the Imperial File
    is astounding enough; that it should be ordered by the Prime
    Portfolio himself is almost unbelievable.

    The government of Bairnvell, under the leadership of President
    Alverdan, was not, by any means, up to the standards of the Empire;
    the standard of living is lower, and the political freedom of the
    people is not at all what we are used to. But that is no excuse for
    interfering with the lawful government of any planet. If the
    Imperium uses these methods for extending its rule, the time must
    eventually come when our own civil liberties will be in peril.

    Perhaps Lord Senesin's actions are not so surprising, at that. This
    is the third time during his tenure as Prime Portfolio that he has
    arbitrarily exercised his power to interfere in the affairs of
    governments outside the Empire. Each such action has precipitated a
    crisis in Galactic affairs, and each has brought the Empire nearer
    to conflict with the Gehan Federation. This one may be the final act
    that will bring on interstellar war.

    The ...

       *       *       *       *       *

Colonel Lord Sorban stopped reading as he noticed the approach of the
man he'd been waiting for, but he didn't look up until the voice said:

"I see you've been reading it, my lord." The voice was bitter. "A real
fiasco this time, eh?"

Sorban looked up. "It looks like it might mean trouble," he said
carefully. "Have you read all of it, Mr. Senesin?"

The young man nodded. The bitterness in his voice was paralleled by the
bitterness reflected in his face. "Oh, yes. I read it. The other
newsfacs pretty much agreed with the _Globe_. I'm afraid my father seems
to be rather in the soup. Being Prime Portfolio in the Terran Empire
isn't the easiest way to stay out of trouble. They'll be screaming for a
Special Election next." He sat down next to the colonel and lowered his
voice just enough to keep anyone else from hearing it, but not enough to
sound conspiratorial. "I think I've got a line on those tapes."

Colonel Sorban raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well, I wish you luck. If you
can uncover them in time, you may be able to save your father's career,"
he said, in a voice that matched Senesin's.

"You don't sound very concerned, my lord," said young Senesin.

"It's not that," said the colonel. "I just find it difficult to believe
that--" He cut his words off as another man approached.

The second newcomer was a red-faced, plumpish man with an almost
offensively hearty manner. "Well, well! Good afternoon, Lord Sorban!
Haven't seen you in some time. A pleasure to see you again, my lord, a
distinct pleasure! I don't get to Honolulu often, you know. How long's
it been? Four years?"

"Two, I think," said the colonel.

"Really? Only two? It seems longer. How've you been?"

"Well enough," said the colonel. "Excuse me--Mr. Heywood, I'd like to
present you to the Honorable Jon Senesin; Mr. Senesin, this is Robar
Heywood, of South African Metals."

While the two men shook hands and mouthed the usual pleasantries,
Colonel Lord Sorban watched them with an amusement that didn't show on
his placid face. Young Senesin was rather angry that the _tête-á-tête_
had been interrupted, while Heywood seemed flustered and a trifle
stuffy.

"So you're the son of our Prime Portfolio, eh?" he said. There was a
trace of hostility in his voice.

Colonel Sorban saw what was coming and made no effort whatsoever to stop
it. Instead, he simply sat there in straight-faced enjoyment.

"That's correct, Mr. Heywood," Senesin said, a little stiffly.

"I should have known," Heywood said. "You look a great deal like him.
Although I don't know that I've ever seen your picture in the newsfacs
or on the screens."

"Dad prefers to keep his family out of the spotlight," said Senesin,
"unless we get publicity for something other than the accidental fact
that we happen to be the family of the Prime."

"Yes, yes, of course. I see. May I stand the three of us a drink?"
Senesin and the colonel were agreeable. The drinks were brought. Heywood
took a swallow of his, and remarked casually: "Do you agree with your
father's politics, sir?"

"I don't know," Senesin said flatly.

Heywood misunderstood completely. "Yes, I suppose it is a bit
disappointing. Hard for a man's son to divide his loyalty like that. You
can't support his actions, and yet you hesitate to condemn your own
father."

"You mistake my meaning, Mr. Heywood," young Senesin said sharply. "I
said, 'I don't know' because I honestly don't know what my father's
politics _is_ any more."

But Heywood only compounded his error. "Of course not. How could you?
Since he became Prime, his policies have been erratic and unpredictable,
not to say foolish."

_This is it_, thought the colonel, wondering what young Senesin's
reaction would be. He didn't have to wonder longer than half a second.

"Mr. Heywood," said Senesin, his voice oddly tight under the strain of
suppressed emotion, "a person should learn to know what he's talking
about before he makes any attempt to talk. If you must talk drivel about
my father, I'll thank you not to do it in my presence." And before
Heywood could formulate an answer, Senesin turned to the colonel. "If
you'll pardon me, my lord, I have another errand to perform. I'll see
you at eleven." Then he turned and walked out.

Heywood stared at his receding back. "Well," he said after a moment, "I
guess I spoke out of turn. But he seemed ..." He turned back to his
drink, shrugged. "Oh, well. Tell me, my lord, what do _you_ think of
Senesin's policies? How long do you think he'll last in office?"

The colonel adroitly avoided the first question by answering the second.
"I dare say he won't last long. There'll be a great fuss in the File,
and most of his own party will desert him--I think. They hardly have any
choice, considering the reaction of the populace to this Bairnvell
thing."

"And I agree," said Heywood decisively. "We've got no business
interfering with the lawful governments of planets and systems outside
the Empire. The old days of Imperial expansion are over. Why, the way
Lord Senesin acts, you'd think Emperor Jerris the First was on the
throne."

"Well, not quite," Colonel Lord Sorban said dryly. "I can't imagine any
Prime Portfolio in the time of Jerris I daring to act on his own
initiative."

"Exactly," said Heywood, just as though the colonel had agreed with him.
"That's why we have a constitutional Empire today. One man can't be
allowed that much power without the consent of the governed. The people
must have a right to depose anyone who abuses the power they give him."
He swallowed the remainder of his drink. "Can you imagine what it would
be like if the present Emperor tried to pull that sort of stuff? Not
that he _would_, mind you; he's too good an Emperor for that. He sticks
to his job. But these are different times. And then, too, we can't
afford to antagonize the Gehan Federation. After all, I mean, _war_ ..."
He shook his head at the thought.

Colonel Lord Sorban had listened to Heywood's soliloquy with patience,
but he felt his irritation growing. Much as he had enjoyed the play
between Heywood and young Senesin, he had expected to get some
information out of the boy before he left. And besides, Heywood's
clichéd monologue was beginning to pall.

Therefore, the colonel finished his own drink, uttered some polite
banalities and got out.

       *       *       *       *       *

He walked around the corner to the restaurant, was bowed into a seat by
an ultrapolite android, and quietly ordered his meal. While he waited,
he spread the newsfac on the table in front of him, holding it with his
right hand while his left elbow rested on the table and his left palm
cradled his left jaw. In that position, there was nothing odd-looking
about the fact that his left thumbtip was in contact with his larynx and
his left middle finger was pressed tightly against the mastoid bone just
behind his left ear. His lips began to move slightly, and anyone at a
nearby table would have assumed that he was one of those readers who are
habitual lip-movers.

"The Senesin boy says he has a lead on the tapes. That's all I could get
out of him just now, but I have an appointment with him at eleven
tonight. How far shall I let him go, Sire?"

The sensitive microphone in the tip of his thumb picked up the nearly
inaudible sounds; the speaker in his middle finger vibrated against his
skull and brought him the answer to his question.

"For the moment, I'll leave that up to you. But I wouldn't try to stop
him just yet."

"Very well, Sire," murmured the colonel. He had already made up his mind
to let the Senesin boy go as far as he could. The lad was smart, and his
attack would at least provide a test for the psycho-sociological
defenses that surrounded the Emperor.

"Do you think those tapes--if they exist--are genuine?" the voice asked.

"According to young Senesin," the colonel said carefully, "the tapes are
supposed to show that certain ... ah ... 'highly-placed persons' in the
Imperial hierarchy are influencing members of the Government illegally.
You figure out what that might mean, Sire; it's a little too ambiguous
to mean much to me."

"'Influencing,' eh? That could mean anything from a broad hint, through
pressure and bribery, to actual brainwashing," said the voice from the
finger.

"Which one do you think it is, Sire?" the colonel asked with mock
innocency.

The voice chuckled, then said, "I haven't tried brainwashing yet."

"No-o-o," agreed the colonel, "but you might have to if Lord Evondering
gets in, and if you have to, you will."

"Colonel," said the voice gently, "there are times when I believe you
don't have a very high opinion of your Sovereign's moral outlook."

The colonel grinned, although he knew the listener couldn't see it. But
he knew the other was grinning, too. "I humbly beg your majesty's
pardon."

"You'll have to wait a while, colonel; Imperial pardons have to be by
the Portfolio for the Interior. Your Sovereign is an impotent
figurehead."

"Sure you are, Sire," said the colonel. "Meanwhile, what about those
tapes?"

"Get them--or copies of them. They can't be dangerous in themselves, but
if they're genuine, I want to know who's bugging this place. I can't
have spies in the Palace itself. Otherwise, keep your eyes on the
Senesin boy."

The voice went on giving instructions, but the colonel lifted the thumb
of his left hand from his larynx; the waiter was approaching, and if he
wanted to speak to him, it would be better not to have to interrupt the
flow of words from his finger.

The android put the dishes on the table. "Coffee, sir?"

"Yes," said the colonel. "Cream, no sugar. And bring a second cup as
soon as I've finished with the first." Only a part of his attention was
given to the waiter; the rest was focused on the instructions he was
receiving. The instructions kept coming until after the coffee had been
brought. Then the voice said:

"Any questions?"

"No, Sire," said the colonel, replacing his thumb.

"Very well. I'll be expecting your report sometime between eleven and
midnight."

The colonel nodded, brought his hand down from the side of his jaw to
pick up his fork and begin a concerted attack on his lunch.

       *       *       *       *       *

Hawaii, with its beauty and its perfect climate, had been the obvious
choice for the center of the Terran Empire. For centuries before the
coming of interstellar travel, the islands had been used to a mixture of
tongues and races, and the coming of the Empire had merely added to that
mixture. In the five centuries since Man had begun his explosive spread
to the stars, more "races" had come into being due to the genetic
variations and divisions that occurred as small groups of isolated
colonists were cut off from Earth and from each other. The fact that
interstellar vessels incorporating the contraspace drive were relatively
inexpensive to build, plus the fact that nearly every G-type sun had an
Earth-like planet in Bode's Third Position, had made scattering to the
stars almost an automatic reflex among men.

It had also shattered the cohesion of Mankind that had been laboriously
built up over several millennia. The old U.N. government had gradually
welded together the various nations of Earth under one flag, and for
nearly two centuries it had run Earth like a smoothly operating machine.
But no culture is immortal; even the U.N. must fall, and fall it did.

And, during the chaos that followed, a man named Jerris Danfors had
grabbed the loosened reins of government just as Napoleon had done after
the French Revolution. Unlike Napoleon, however, Jerris had been able to
hold his power without abusing it; he was able to declare himself
Emperor of Earth and make it stick. The people _wanted_ a single central
government, and they were willing to go back to the old idea of Empire
just to get such a government.

Jerris the First was neither a power-mad dictator nor an altruist,
although he had been called both. He was, purely and simply, a strong,
wise, intelligent man--which made him abnormal, no matter how you look
at it. Or supernormal, if you will.

Like Napoleon, he realized that wars of conquest were capable of being
used as a kind of cement to hold the people together in support of their
Emperor. But, again, unlike Napoleon, he found there was no need to sap
the strength of Earth to fight those wars. The population and productive
capacity of Earth was greater than any possible coalition among
extra-Solar planets and vastly greater than any single planet alone.

Thus the Terran Empire had come into being with only a fraction of the
internal disruption which normally follows empire-building.

But Man can flee as well as fight. Every invading army is preceded by
hordes of refugees. Ships left every planet threatened by the Empire,
seeking new, uncharted planets to settle--planets that would be safe
from the Imperial Fleet because they were hidden among a thousand
thousand stars. Mankind spread through the galaxy faster than the Empire
could. Not even Jerris the First could completely consolidate the vast
reaches of the galaxy into a single unit; one lifetime is simply not
enough.

Nor are a dozen.

Slowly, the Empire had changed. Over the next several generations, the
Emperors had yielded more and more of the absolute power that had been
left to them by Jerris. While history never exactly repeats itself, a
parallel could be drawn between the history of the Empire and the
history of England between, say, 1550 and 1950. But, while England's
empire had begun to recede with the coming of democratic government, the
Terran Empire continued to spread--more slowly than at first, but
steadily.

Until, that is, the Empire had touched the edges of the Gehan
Federation.

For the hordes that had fled from the Empire had not forgotten her; they
knew that one day the Empire would find them, that one day they would
have to fight for their independence. So they formed the Federation,
with its capital on the third planet of Gehan's Sun.

It was a federation in name only. Even after several generations, the
refugees had not been able to build up enough population to fight the
Empire. There was only one other way out, as they saw it. They formed a
military dictatorship.

In the Twentieth Century, the German Third Reich, although outnumbered
by its neighbors and enemies, populationwise, had concentrated all its
efforts on building an unbeatable war machine. Japan, also outnumbered,
had done likewise. Between them, they thought they could beat the rest
of Earth. And they came dangerously close to succeeding.

The Gehan Federation had done the same thing, building up fleets and
armies and material stockpiles as though she were already at war.

And, in doing so, her citizens had voluntarily forfeited the very thing
they thought they were fighting for--their freedom.

But they posed a greater threat to the Terran Empire than that Empire
had ever faced before. Any nation so totally prepared for defensive war
may, at any moment, decide that the best defense is a good offense. Any
nation which subjects its people to semislavery for the sake of war must
eventually fight that war or suffer collapse.

The Empire had to change tactics. Instead of steady expansion, she was
forced into a deadly game of interstellar chess, making her plays
carefully, so as not to touch off the explosive temper of her opponent.

It was not a situation to be handled by clumsy fools.

And Lord Senesin, the Prime Portfolio of the Imperial File, the elected
leader of the Empire, the constitutional head of the Imperial
Government, was accused, not only of being a clumsy fool, but of being a
dangerous madman. The planet Bairnvell was an independent, autonomic
ally of the Gehan Federation, and, although not actually a member of the
Federation, was presumably under her protection. For the Imperial Fleet
to go to the aid of rebels trying to overthrow Bairnvell's lawful
government seemed to be the act of an insane mind. The people of the
Empire wouldn't stand for it.

       *       *       *       *       *

Colonel Lord Barrick Sorban was well aware of the temper of the people
and of the situation that prevailed politically in the Empire--more so,
in fact, than most men. He was also well aware that internal strife of a
very serious nature could so dangerously weaken the Empire that the
Gehan Federation would be able to attack and win.

His job was to cut off that sort of thing before it could gain momentum.
His job was to maintain the Empire; his only superior was the Emperor
himself; his subordinates hand-picked, well-trained, and, like himself,
unobtrusive to the public eye. And not one of those subordinates knew
who the colonel's superior was.

The colonel strolled along the streets of Honolulu with all the
courteous aplomb of a man who was both an officer and a gentleman of
leisure. He dropped in at various respectable clubs and did various
respectable things. He went into other places and did other things not
so respectable. He gave certain orders to certain people and made
certain odd arrangements. When everything had been set up to his
satisfaction, he ate a leisurely dinner, topped it off with two glasses
of Velaskan wine, read the tenth edition of the _Globe_, and strolled
out to the street again, looking every inch the impeccable gentleman.

At ten minutes of eleven, he took a skycab to the fashionable apartment
house where the Honorable Jon Senesin, son of the Prime Portfolio, made
his home. The skycab deposited him on the roof at two minutes of eleven.
The android doorman opened the entrance for him, and he took the drop
chute down to the fifteenth floor. At precisely eleven o'clock, he was
facing the announcer plate on Jon Senesin's door.

[Illustration]

Senesin opened the door. There was a queer look--half jubilant, half
worried--on his face as he said: "Come in, my lord, come in. Care for a
drink?"

"Don't mind if I do, Jon. Brandy, if you have it."

Young Senesin poured the brandy, speaking rapidly as he did. "I've made
an appointment to get those tapes, my lord. I want you to go with me. If
we can get them, we can break this whole fraud wide open. Wide open." He
handed the colonel a crystal goblet half filled with the clear,
red-brown liquid. "Sorry I left so hurriedly this morning, but if that
Heywood character had said another word I'd have broken his nose for
him."

The colonel took the goblet and looked into its depths. "Jon, what do
you expect these tapes to prove?"

The young man's face darkened. He walked across the spacious room,
brandy goblet in hand, and sat down on the wall couch before he spoke.

"Just what I told you, my lord. I expect to prove that my father's mind
has been tampered with--that he is not responsible for the decisions
that have been made in his name--that he is going to lose his position
and his reputation and his career for something that he would never have
done in his right mind--that he has been the duped pawn of someone
else."

The colonel walked over toward the couch and stood over the young man.
"Someone? You keep referring to 'someone.' Ever since you asked me to
help you, you've been mysterious about this someone. Whom do you
suspect?"

Senesin looked up at the colonel for a long moment before he answered.
Then: "I suspect the Emperor himself," he said, half defiantly.

The colonel raised his finely-drawn brows just a fraction of an inch, as
though he hadn't known what the answer would be. "The Emperor? Hannikar
IV? Isn't that a little far-fetched?"

Senesin shook his head vehemently. "Don't you see? Legally, the Emperor
is powerless; the Throne hasn't had any say-so in the Government for
over a century--except to sign state papers and such. But suppose an
Emperor came along who wanted power--power such as the old Emperors used
to have. How would he go about getting it? By controlling the
Government! He could slowly force them to give him back the powers that
the people of the Empire have taken so many centuries to obtain."

The colonel shook his head. "Impossible. Not even the Emperor could
control the votes of the whole File for that purpose. It simply couldn't
be done."

"Not that way; of course not," the young man said irritably. "But there
_is_ a way. It's been used before. Are you up on your history?"

"Reasonably well," the colonel said dryly.

"How did Julius Caesar get dictatorial powers? And, after him, Augustus?
Rome was threatened by war, and then actually engaged in it, and the
patricians were glad to give power to a strong man."

"That was in a state ruled by the few patricians," the colonel pointed
out, "not in a democracy."

"Very well, then; what about the United States, during World War II?
Look at the extraordinary powers granted to the President--first to stop
a depression, then to win a war. What might have happened if he hadn't
died? Would he have gone on to a fifth and a sixth term? How much more
power could he have usurped from the hands of Congress?"

The colonel wondered vaguely what history texts young Senesin had read,
but he didn't ask. "All right," he said, "now tie your examples up with
His Majesty."

"It's very simple. By controlling the mind of the Prime Portfolio, the
Emperor can plunge the Empire into war with the Gehan Federation. Once
that has been done, he can begin to ask for extraordinary powers from
the File. If he has a few key men under his thumb, he can swing the
majority of the File any way he wants to. Don't you see that?"

The colonel said: "It does make a certain amount of sense." He paused,
looking at the young man speculatively. "Tell me, son: why did you pick
me to tell this tale to?"

Senesin's sensitive face betrayed his anxiety. "Because you have been my
father's best and oldest friend. If he's really being made a puppet of,
I should think you'd want to help him. Do you like to see him being
destroyed this way?"

"No," said the colonel honestly. "And if he is actually being controlled
illegally, if he is actually being blamed for things he did not do of
his own free will, I'll do everything in my power to expose the
plot--that I promise you."

Jon Senesin's eyes lit up; his face broke into a smile. "I _knew_ I
could depend on you, my lord! I _knew_ it!"

"Just how do you propose to go about this?" asked Colonel Lord Sorban.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was fire in young Senesin's eyes now. "I'll turn the whole case
over to the people! I have some evidence, of course; the queer changes
in behavior that Dad has exhibited during the past few years, and such
things as that. The things that made me suspect in the first place. But
that isn't acceptable evidence." He finished his brandy and got up
excitedly to walk over and pour himself another. He glanced at the
colonel's goblet, but the colonel had three-quarters of his own drink
left.

Senesin talked as he poured. "Did you ever hear of a group called the
Federalist Party?"

"Yes," said Colonel Sorban. "They want to federalize the Empire and get
rid of the Imperial Family. Not a very popular group."

"No, but they're right! They're right! Don't you see that? And nobody
pays any attention to them!"

"Calm down, son. What have the Federalists got to do with this?"

"They have sympathizers in the Palace," Senesin explained. "They've been
able to get proof that the Emperor is illegally tampering with the
Government, that he's been brainwashing my father. And they're going to
turn that proof over to me."

"I don't quite follow the reason for that," the colonel lied easily.
"Why don't they use it themselves?"

"They can't. Nobody'd believe them. Everyone would think that the proof
had been faked for political propaganda.

"On the other hand, if _I_ do it, all I can be accused of is having a
personal motive. And if a man wants to get his father out of a jam, most
people will agree that I have a perfect right to do so. Besides, I have
enough influence to get people to listen to me, to give the evidence a
fair hearing. If the newsies got this stuff from the Federalists, they'd
throw it away without looking at it. But they'll listen to me."

"The newsies?" asked the colonel in a perfect imitation of mild
astonishment. "You intend to turn this stuff over to news publishers?"

"Certainly! That's the only way. Put the evidence before the people, and
they'll see what they're up against. I personally don't care whether we
have an Emperor or not, but at least we can force Hannikar IV to
abdicate in favor of Crown Prince Jaimie."

"I see." The colonel took another sip at his brandy and appeared to
think it over. Wisely, young Senesin said nothing.

"How are we to get this evidence?" the colonel asked at last.

"We're to meet a man," Senesin said, with an air of melodrama. "We will
get a call at fifteen of twelve, telling us where to meet him. We have
to be there at midnight."

_Oh, brother_, thought the colonel, _they really picked their man.
They've got him thinking he's hip-deep in a romantic spy story._

_Was I that way at twenty-two? A romantic? I suppose I must have been;
why else would I have joined the Guards? Not for the pay, certainly._

_Hell, I guess I'm still a romantic, in a way. Being a secret agent
isn't all fun and games, but it has its compensations._

Aloud, he said, "Very well, son; I'll go with you. Did you tell them
there'd be someone accompanying you?"

"I told them I'd have a friend along. I told them it would be you. They
said it was all right, that they knew you were a friend of Dad's. They
even knew you've been a little bitter at being retired from the Guards
so young." He looked embarrassed. "Pardon me, my lord."

"That's all right," said the colonel steadily. He managed to give the
appearance of a man who was doing his best not to look bitter.

"You aren't carrying a gun, are you?" Senesin asked suddenly. "They said
we weren't to be armed. They'll probably search us."

"I haven't been in the habit of carrying a gun lately," said the
colonel. "They won't find anything on me."

He finished his brandy while Senesin finished his second one. While the
younger man refilled both goblets, the colonel asked permission to use
the bathroom. He was gone less than three minutes, which he had spent
with thumb and middle finger to larynx and mastoid bone.

At eleven forty-five promptly, the phone chimed. No face appeared on the
screen when young Senesin answered it, but a voice gave an address on
Kalia Road.

Three minutes later, the two men were on the roof, signaling for a
skycab.

       *       *       *       *       *

At ten o'clock the next morning, a panel slid aside in a wall that had
previously seemed solid. Colonel Lord Barrick Sorban stepped into the
room, thinking as he did so that he really was a romantic. He actually
rather enjoyed the idea of using secret passages and hidden panels to
gain access to the Emperor's private apartments in the Imperial Palace.

He gave a gentle nod to the man in the blue lounging robe who sat in a
big easy-chair just across the room. "Good morning, Sire."

"'Morning, colonel," said His Imperial Majesty, Hannikar IV. "How are
things shaping up?"

The colonel chuckled. "Not a single one of the newsies printed a word of
it, Sire."

These men were close friends, and had been for years, yet they clung to
the formal titles, both from habit and for self-protection. The
accidental use of a first name could mean a dead giveaway at the wrong
time.

The Emperor was a smaller man than Colonel Sorban, but he was far more
impressive. While the colonel seemed rather mild, the Emperor
looked--well, Imperial. He looked just as an Emperor ought to
look--handsome, dark-haired, stern at times and kindly at others. The
square jaw gave an impression of firmness of character, while the
sapphire-blue eyes were penetrating without being harsh or hard.

"What about the Senesin boy?" he asked.

"He's in jail," said the colonel.

His Imperial Majesty raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" It was a question and a
command.

"Not by my orders," said the colonel quickly. "He got a little upset.
He'd taken those tapes and documents around to four editors and had been
thrown out four times. The fifth time--at the _Globe_, as a matter of
fact--he accused the editor of being in your pay. A hassle started, and
the editor called the Honolulu police. Don't worry, Sire; one of my boys
got the tapes and stuff."

"Is it genuine?"

"The evidence? Yes. The Federalists had the goods on you, all right." He
grinned. "As you said, everything but brainwashing."

"I'll take care of it," said the Emperor. "Prince Jaimie's been going
through the family files, and I rather want him to see this batch of
stuff, too. Meantime, get the Senesin boy out of that cell; I want to
see him. He's got guts, if nothing else."

"He has sense, too, Sire; he's just a little too young yet." He almost
added "and romantic," but he stopped himself in time.

"How long will it take to get him out?" His Majesty asked.

"I can have him here in half an hour. The editor of the _Globe_ will
drop the charges. I can put a little pressure on in the right places."

The Emperor nodded. After a moment, he thumbed a button on his chair
arm. "Inform Lord Senesin that he is requested to appear for a Royal
Audience in forty-five minutes," he said firmly.

"Yes, Sire," said a voice from a hidden speaker.

The Emperor looked at the colonel. "Get the boy."

       *       *       *       *       *

Jon Senesin sat in a soft chair, his hands gripping at the arms as
though it might at any time fall from under him. He looked at the three
other men in the room. His father, Lord Senesin, looking rather tired,
but with a slight smile on his lantern-jawed face, sat on his son's
left. One hand ran nervously through his gray hair.

On Jon's right sat the colonel, looking cool, unperturbed, and very
gentle.

Between them sat the Emperor.

Jon's face looked pale, and there was a slight nervous tic at the corner
of his mouth. "I ... I don't understand," he said. "I--" He swallowed
hard as his voice failed him.

"Nothing hard to understand, son," said the colonel mildly. "We've been
looking for evidence to break up the Federalists for several years. Some
of them are honest men who are simply against any kind of hereditary
monarchy--we'll let them go eventually. Some of them are fanatics--the
kind that is against any form of government that happens to be in power;
they'll get psychiatric treatment. But the leaders of the group are
agents of the Gehan Federation. My men are picking them up now. The man
that contacted you and me last night was arrested within two minutes
after we left."

"But--the _evidence_! Those tapes. The documents. They all seemed
genuine. They seemed so convincing."

"They should be convincing, Jon," said Lord Senesin in his smooth
oratorical baritone. "You see, they are perfectly true."

Jon Senesin looked at his father as though the older man had suddenly
sprouted an extra set of ears. "Y ... You've been brainwashed?"

The Prime Portfolio shook his head. "No, son, not that. Did you see
anything like that on the tapes?"

"N-no. But the others. Fileman Brenner, Portfolio for Defense Vane,
General Finster--all of them. I thought--"

"You thought wrong, son," said Lord Senesin. "I am and always have been
working loyally with His Majesty. He gives the orders, and I carry them
out."

Jon's voice became taut. "You mean you're helping him? You're trying to
get the Empire into a war with the Gehan Federation so that _he_ can
become another dictator, like Jerris the First?" He kept his eyes
carefully averted from the Emperor as he spoke.

Thus he didn't notice that His Majesty looked at Colonel Sorban with an
expression that said, "You're right. He does have guts."

Lord Senesin said: "No, son; I'm not working toward that at all. Neither
is His Majesty. There would be no point in it."

Then, for the first time, the Emperor spoke. His voice was soft, but
commanding. "Mr. Senesin, let me explain something to you."

Jon Senesin's head jerked around. There was a confused mixture of fear
and determination on his face.

"Mr. Senesin, I no more want war than you do. I am trying to avoid it
with every power at my command. I have that duty to my people. But I
have another duty, too. A duty, not just to the Empire, but to the human
race as a whole. And that duty is to establish, not a Terran Empire, but
a Galactic Empire--a single, consolidated government for every planet in
the galaxy. Man can't go on this way, divided, split up, warring with
himself. Man can't live in isolation, cut off from other worlds, other
types of societies.

"We can't have a part of the human race living in constant fear of
another part. We can't allow the conditions that exist at this moment in
the Gehan Federation. To paraphrase Lincoln, 'The galaxy cannot exist
half slave and half free.'

"Right now, there is evidence that the Gehan Federation will collapse
internally within less than five years. The only way for the President
of the Federation to avert that collapse will be to declare war on the
Empire. We have had to take certain risks in order to insure that when
and if war does come, we will win it.

"Bairnvell was one of those risks. Not too great a one, as it turns out;
evidently the Federation government doesn't see that our possession of
that base is a vital factor in our own defense. Strategy in three
dimensions isn't easy to reason out.

"Mr. Senesin, I have no desire for power in a personal way. Any power I
have is used for the good of my people. I have no police system for
terrorizing the people; I don't suppress the freedom of every man to say
or print what he wants. To call your Sovereign a fatheaded slob in a
newsfac might be considered bad taste, but it isn't illegal. I can't
even bring a civil suit against you, the way an ordinary citizen could.

"Now, I'll grant that I sometimes use illegal means to control the
Empire. But there are reasons for that. I--"

He was interrupted by a soft chime. He pressed a button on his armchair.
"Yes?"

"You go on the interstellar hookup in twenty minutes, Sire. The File has
assembled," said a voice from a speaker.

"I'll be right there." He stood up and glanced apologetically at the
other three men. "Sorry. Political announcement, you know. You two go
ahead and explain to Mr. Senesin." Then he looked directly at the Prime
Portfolio. "I'll tell them you're slightly ill." He reached out, took
Lord Senesin's hand, and grasped it firmly. "I'll make it look good, old
friend, don't worry. I'll need your help with Lord Evondering when he
gets the Primacy."

       *       *       *       *       *

The other men were on their feet already. They watched in silence as he
walked out the door, then eased themselves back into their chairs.

"I still don't understand," Jon said softly. The bitterness and anger
seemed to have left him, leaving only puzzlement in their wake. "If you
take orders from him, Dad, then this isn't a democracy any more. It's
become another Imperial dictatorship."

"Son," said his father, "the Empire never has been a democracy in the
sense you're thinking about. Ever since Jerris the First, it has been
ruled solely by the Emperors. Always.

"The Imperial Family is a special breed, son. It's a genetic strain in
which the quality of wise leadership is dominant. It's a quality that's
more than just intelligence; wisdom is the ability to make correct
judgments, not only for one's self, but for others."

"But, Dad!" There was almost a wail in the boy's voice. "That makes the
whole democratic system in the Empire a farce! It's totally unnecessary!
_You're_ unnecessary! He could run everything by himself!"

Lord Senesin started to say something, but Colonel Sorban interrupted.

"No, you young fool, he is _not_ unnecessary! He is, in a very real
sense, the Emperor's shield. Our Emperors have always given the people
of the Empire the kind of government they _need_, not the kind of
government they _want_. There are certain things that _must_ be done,
whether the people like those things or not.

"How long do you think the Empire would last without the Imperial Line
to guide it? Not ten years! The thing is too big, too vast, for any
ordinary man to handle the job. The voters are perfectly capable of
electing a man to the Primacy on the strength of his likable personality
alone--look at Lord Evondering. A hell of a pleasant guy, without a
glimmering of real wisdom.

"When the people don't like the things the Government does, they throw
it out--even if the thing done was actually for the best. The people
demand a new Government. We can't allow them to throw the Emperor out,
so we need a scapegoat. This time, it happened to be your father, here.
He happened to be Prime at a crucial time, and he had to give orders
that made him unpopular. So he'll have to get out, and let the Loyal
Opposition take over. But the Emperor will go right on running things.

"Your father is far from unnecessary, son. He's a hero, dammit, and
you'd better remember that! He's taking the rap for another man because
he knows that he is expendable and the other man isn't.

"Oh, your father could probably ride this thing out and stay in the
Primacy for a couple more years. But this mess with the Federation is
going to get a lot stickier than it is now. The Emperor is going to have
to do things that the people will hate even worse, and we might as well
let that fool Evondering take the rap. He'll look so bad by the time he
leaves the Primacy that everyone will be screaming for your father back
again, to clean up the mess."

Jon Senesin still looked dazed. "But, if that's the case, why allow the
people to vote at all?"

"Because that's the only way you can keep an Empire stable! As long as
the average man feels he has a voice in his Government, he's forced to
admit that any failures are partly his own fault. Nobody rebels against
a government he can vote against. As long as he has ballots, he won't
use bullets."

Lord Senesin said: "I know it's a shock, coming this way. But look at it
right, son."

       *       *       *       *       *

"I am," said Jon slowly. "At least, I think I am. But it doesn't really
seem right. Not yet." He looked at the colonel. "One thing I don't
understand, my lord. Why did you let me take all that evidence around to
the newsies? And why are you telling me all this now? I'm still not
fully convinced. Aren't you afraid I'll tell the whole story?"

But it was his father who answered. "You tried that, son. It didn't
work, did it?"

"No. But _why_? Why wouldn't they believe me, even when I had all that
evidence?"

"Because they don't _want_ to believe you," said the colonel. "Ever hear
of a father-image? The Emperor is a symbol, Jon. He's not a human being
in the eyes of the average man. He's the kind All-Father, the godlike
being who dispenses mercy, but not justice.

"Haven't you ever noticed that orders of judgment against criminals are
signed only by the courts and by the Portfolio of the Interior? But
pardons and paroles are signed by the Emperor.

"It may not sound ethical to you, but that's the way the Emperor has to
operate. He takes credit for all the nice things he does, and lets
others take the blame for anything that's distasteful.

"You could blat it around all over fifty star systems that the Emperor
was a louse, and all you'd get is a poke in the eye for your troubles.

"It's not easy for him, and don't ever kid yourself that it is. He's
going out there now to tell the Empire that your father and his
Government have resigned. He has to try to make his best friend and most
loyal subject look a little less black than he has been painted, and all
the time it was the Emperor who wielded the paint gun. Do you think
that's fun?"

"No," said Jon softly. "No, I guess not." He paused. "Wouldn't it have
been easier to take the evidence away from me, though?"

"No. That would have left you furious. No amount of talking would have
convinced you. As it was, you convinced yourself that there is no way to
attack the Emperor directly. He's safe right where he is."

Jon shook his head slowly. "It all seems so ... so tangled. It still
seems as though the whole deception is ... well, _wrong_, somehow."

"If you look at it in a certain way," said Lord Senesin, "I suppose it
does seem wrong. But it's necessary. Absolutely necessary."

"Maybe," said Jon, still unconvinced. "It certainly does look as though
His Majesty has himself in an almost impregnable position. It's a wonder
he needs agents like you."

Colonel Lord Barrick Sorban smiled a little. The boy would see the thing
straight eventually. He had what it took, even if it didn't show much at
this stage. Actually, he was more than halfway convinced now, but
wouldn't admit it to himself yet. At least he'd been able to put a
finger on one thing.

Aloud, the colonel said: "You're not altogether wrong there, son. When
you come right down to it, _I'm_ the unnecessary man."


THE END



Transcriber's Note:

    This etext was produced from _Astounding Science Fiction_ November
    1959. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
    copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and
    typographical errors have been corrected without note.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Unnecessary Man" ***

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