 Part XI of Ultima Fool. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Karen Savage. Ultima Fool by Mac Reynolds. Part XI. Ronnie Bronston had got to the point where he avoided controversial subject with Tog even when provoked, and she had a sneaky little way of provoking arguments. They had only one really knock-down-and-drag-out verbal battle on the way to Kropotkin. It had started innocently enough after dinner on the space-liner on which they had taken passage for the first part of the trip. To kill time they were playing Battle-Chess with its larger board and added contingents of pawns and castles. Ronnie said idly, "'You know, in spite of the fact that I am a third-generation United Planet citizen and employee, I am just beginning to realize how far out some of our member-planets are. I had no idea before.' She frowned in concentration before moving. She was advancing her men in echelon attack, taking losses in exchange for territory and trying to pen him up in such small space that he couldn't maneuver. She said, "'How do you mean?' Ronnie lifted and dropped a shoulder. "'Well, New Delos and its theocracy, for instance, and Shangri-La and Mother and some of the other planets with extremes in government of socioeconomic system. I hadn't the vaguest idea about such places.' She made a deprecating sound. "'You should see Amazonia. Or, for that matter, the Orwellian State.' "'Amazonia,' he said. "'Does that mean what it sounds like it does?' She made her move and settled back in satisfaction. Her pawns were in such a position that his bishops were both unusable. He'd tried to play a phalanx game in the early stages of her attack, but she'd broken through, rolling up his left flank after sacrificing a castle and a knight. "'Certainly does,' she said, a fairly recently colonized planet. A few thousand feminists, no men at all, moved on to it a few centuries ago, and it's still an out-and-out matriarchy.' Ronnie cleared his throat delicately. "'Without men—uh, how did they continue several centuries?' Togge suppressed her amusement. Artificial insemination at first, so I understand. They brought their, um, supply with them. But then there were boys among the first generation on the new planet, and even the Amazonians weren't up to cold-bloodedly butchering their children, so they merely enslaved them. Nice girls.' Ronnie stared at her. "'You mean all men are automatically slaves on this planet?' "'That's right.' Ronnie made an improperly thought-out move, trying to bring up a castle to reinforce his collapsing flank. He said, "'U.P. allows anybody to join evidently.' And there was disgust in his voice. "'Why not?' she said mildly. "'Well, there should be some standards.' Togge moved quickly, dominating with a knight several squares he couldn't afford to lose. She looked up at him, her dark eyes sparkling. The point of U.P. is to include all the planets. That way at least conflict can be avoided, and some exchange of science, industrial techniques, and cultural gains take place. And you must remember that while in power practically no socioeconomic system will admit to the fact that it could possibly change for the better. But actually there is nothing less stable. Public systems are always in a condition of flux. Planets such as Amazonia might for a time seem so brutal in their methods as to exclude their right to civilized intercourse with the rest. However, one of these days there will be a change, or one of these centuries. They all change sooner or later.' She added softly. "'Even Han.' "'Han?' Ronnie said. Her voice was quiet, where I was born Ronnie, colonized from China in the very early days. In fact, I spent my childhood in a commune. She said musingly. The party bureaucrats thought their system an impregnable, unchangeable one. Your move.' Ronnie was fascinated. "'And what happened?' He was in full retreat now, with nowhere to go. His pieces pinned up for the slaughter. He moved upon to try and open up his queen. "'Why don't you concede?' she said. Tommy Payne happened. "'Pain?' "'Uh-huh. It's a long story. I'll tell you about it some time.' She pressed closer with her own queen. He stared disgustedly at the board. "'Well, that's what I mean,' he muttered. I had no idea there were so many varieties of crackpot political economic systems among the U.P. membership.' "'They're not necessarily crackpot,' she protested mildly, just at different stages of development.' "'Not crackpot,' he said. "'Here we are, heading for a planet named Krapotkin, which evidently practices anarchy.' "'Your move,' she said. "'What's wrong with anarchism?' He glowered at her and outraged disgust. "'Was it absolutely impossible for him to say anything without her disagreement?' Tog said mildly. "'The anarchistic ethic is one of the highest man has ever developed,' she added, after a moment of pretty consideration. "'Unfortunately, admittedly, it hasn't been practical to put to practice. It will be interesting to see how they have done on Krapotkin.' "'Anarchistic ethic? Yes,' Ronnie snapped. "'I'm no student of the movement, but the way I understand it, there isn't any.' Tog smiled sweetly. The belief upon which they base their teachings is that no man is capable of judging another. Ronnie cast his eye ceilingward. "'Okay, I give up.' She began rapidly resetting the pieces. "'Another game?' she said brightly. "'Hey, I didn't mean the game. I was just about to counter-attack.' "'Ha!' she said.' The section G.A. John Krapotkin was named Hidika Yamamoto, but he was on a field tour and wouldn't be back for several days. However, there wasn't especially any great hurry so far as Ronnie Bronston and Tog Lee Chang Chu knew. They got themselves organized in the rather rustic equivalent of a hotel, which was located fairly near U.P. headquarters, and took up the usual problems of arranging for local exchange, meals, means of transportation, and such necessities. It was a greater problem than usual. In fact, hadn't it been for the presence of the U.P. organization, which had already gone through all this the hard way, some of the difficulties would have been all but insurmountable. For instance, there was no local exchange. There was no medium of exchange at all. Evidently, simple barter was the rule. In the hotel—if it could be called a hotel—lobby, Ronnie Bronston looked at Tog. Anarchism, he said, oh great, the highest ethic of all. And what's the means of transportation on this wonderful planet? The horse. And how are we going to get a couple of horses with no means of exchange? She tingled with laughter. All right, he said, you're the man Friday, you find out the details and handle them. I am going out to take a look around the town, if you can call this a town. It's the capital of Kropotkin, Tog said placatingly, though with a mocking background in her tone. Name of Bancunin, and very pleasant, too, from what little I've seen. Not a bit of smog, industrial fumes, street dirt, street noises. How could there be, he injected disgustedly. There isn't any industry, there aren't any cars, and for all practical purposes no streets. The house is a quarter of a mile or so apart. She laughed at him again. City boy, she said, go on out there and enjoy nature a little. It'll do you good. Anybody who has cooped himself up in that one big city earth all his life ought to enjoy seeing what the great outdoors looks like. He looked at her and grinned. She was cute as a pixie, and there was no two ways about that. He wondered for a moment what kind of a wife she'd make, and then shuttered inwardly. Life would be one big contradiction of anything he'd managed to get out of his trap. He strolled idly along what was little more than a country path, and it came to him that there were probably few worlds in the whole U.P. where he'd have been prone to do this within the first few hours he'd been on the planet. He would have been afraid elsewhere of anything from foot-pads to police, from unknown vehicles to unknown traffic laws. There was something bewildering about being an earthling and being set down suddenly in New Delos or on Avalon. Here somehow he already had a feeling of peace. Evidently, although Bancunin was supposedly a city, its populace tilled their fields and provided themselves with their own food. He could see no signs of stores or warehouses, and the U.P. building, which was no great edifice itself, was the only thing in town which looked even remotely like a governmental building. Bancunin was neat, clean as a pin as the expression went. Rani was vaguely reminded of a historical tri-de-romance he'd once seen. It had been laid in ancient times in a community of the Amish in Old Pennsylvania. He approached one of the wooden houses. The things would have been priceless on earth as an antique to be erected as a museum in some crowded park. For that matter it would have been priceless for the wood it contained. Evidently the planet Kropotkin still had considerable virgin forest. An old timer smoking a pipe sat on the cottage's front step. He nodded politely. Rani stopped. He might as well try to get a little of the feel of a place. He said courteously. A pleasant evening. The old timer nodded. As evenings should be after a fruitful day's toil. Sit down, comrade. You must be from the United Planets. Have you ever seen earth? Rani accepted the invitation and felt a soothing calm descend upon him almost immediately. An almost disturbingly pleasant calm. He said, I was born on earth. I, the old man said, tell me. The books say that Kropotkin is an earth-type planet within what they call a few degrees. But is it? Is Kropotkin truly like the mother-planet? Rani looked about him. He'd seen some of this world as the shuttle rocket had brought them down from the passing liner. The forests, the lakes, the rivers, and the great sections untouched by man's hands. Now he saw the areas between homes, the neat fields, the signs of human toil, the toil of hands, not machines. No, he said, shaking his head. I'm afraid not. This is how earth must once have been, but no longer. The other nodded. Our total population is but a few million, he said. Then I would like to see the mother-planet. But I suppose I never shall. Rani said diplomatically, I have seen little of Kropotkin thus far, and I am not so sure that I might not be happy to stay here, rather than ever return to earth. The old man knocked the ashes from his pipe by striking it against a heel of a work gnarled hand. He looked about him thoughtfully and said, Yes, perhaps you're right. I am an old man, and life has been good. I suppose I should be glad that I'll unlikely live to see Kropotkin change. Change? You plan changes? End of Part XI. The old man looked at him, and there seemed to be a very faint bitterness, politely suppressed. I wouldn't say we planned them, comrade. Certainly not we of the older generation, but the trend toward change is already to be seen by anyone who wishes to look, and our institutions won't long be able to stand. But of course if you're from united planets you would know more of this than I. I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about. You are indeed new on Kropotkin, the old man said. Just a moment. He went into his house and emerged with a small power-pack. He indicated it to Rani Bronston. This is our destruction, he said. The Section G agent shook his head bewildered. The old timer sat down again. My son, he said, runs the farm now. Six months ago he traded one of our colts for a small pump powered by one of these. It was little use on my part to argue against the step. The pump eliminates considerable work at the well and in irrigation. Rani still didn't understand. The power-pack is dead now, the old man said, and my son needs a new one. They're extremely cheap, Rani said. An industrialized planet turns them out in multi-million amounts at practically no cost. We have little with which to trade, a few handicrafts at most. Rani said, but good heavens, man, build yourselves a plant to manufacture the power-packs. With a population this small, a factory employing no more than half a dozen men, could turn out all you need. The old man was shaking his head. He held up the battery. This comes from the planet Archimedes, he said, one of the most highly industrialized in the U.P., so I understand. On Archimedes, do you know how many persons it takes to manufacture this power-pack? A handful to operate the whole factory. Archimedes is fully automated. The old man was still moving his head negatively. No. It takes the total working population of the planet. How many metals do you think are contained in it in all? I can immediately see what must be lead and copper. Rani said uncomfortably, probably at least a dozen, some in microscopic amounts. That's right. So we need a highly developed metallurgical industry before we can even begin. Then a developed transportation industry to take the metals to the factory. We need power to run the factory, hydroelectric, solar, or possibly atomic power. We need a tool-making industry to equip the factory, the transport industry and the power industry. And while the men are employed in these, we need farmers to produce food for them, educators to teach them the sciences and techniques involved, and an entertainment industry to amuse them in their hours of rest. As their lives become more complicated with all this, we need a developed medical industry to keep them in health. The old man hesitated for a moment, then said, And above all, we need a highly complicated government to keep all this accumulation of wealth in check and balance. No. You see, my friend, it takes social labour to produce products such as this. And thus far we have avoided that on Krapotkin. In fact, it was for such avoidance that my ancestors originally came to this planet. Ronnie said, scowling, This gets ridiculous. You show me this basically simple power-pack and say it will ruin your socioeconomic system. On the face of it, that's ridiculous. The old man sighed and looked out of the village unseeingly. It's not just that single item, of course. The other day one of my neighbours turned up with a light bulb with built-in power for a year's time. It is the envy of the unthinking persons of the neighbourhood, most of whom would give a great deal for such a source of light. A nephew of mine has somehow even acquired a powered bicycle, I think you call them, from somewhere or other. One by one, item by item, these products of advanced technology turn up from, wence, we don't seem to be able to find out. Under his breath Ronnie muttered, Pain. I beg your pardon, the old man said. Nothing, the Section G agent said. He leaned forward, and a worried frown working its way over his face began to question the other more closely. Afterwards Ronnie Bronston strode slowly towards the UP headquarters. There was only a small contingent of United Planet's personnel on this little populated member-planet. But as always there seemed to be an office for Section G. Ronnie stood outside it for a moment. There were voices from within, but he didn't knock. In fact, he cast his eyes up and down the short corridor. At the far end was a desk with a girl in the interplanetary cultural exchange department working away in concentration. She wasn't looking in his direction. Ronnie Bronston put his ear to the door. The building was primitive enough, rustic enough in its construction to permit his hearing. Tog Lee Chang Chu was saying seriously, Oh, it was chaotic all right, but no. I don't really believe it could have been a Tommy Payne case. Actually, I'd suggest to you that you run over to Catalina. When I was on Avalon I heard rumours that Tommy Payne's fingers seemed to be stirring around in the mess there. Yes, I'd recommend that you take off for Catalina immediately. If Payne is anywhere in this vicinity at all, it would be Catalina. For a moment Ronnie Bronston froze. Then in automatic reflex his hand went inside his jacket to rest over the butt of the Model H automatic there. No, that wasn't the answer. His hand dropped away from the gun. He listened further. Another voice was saying, We thought we were on the trail for a while on Hector, but it turned out it wasn't Payne, just a group of local agitators fed up with the Communist regime there. There is going to be a bloodbath on Hector before they're through, but it doesn't seem to be Payne's work this time. Tog's voice was musing, Well, you never know. It sounds like the sort of muck he likes to play in. The strange voice said argumentatively, Well, Hector needs a few fundamental changes. It could be, Tog said, but that's their internal affairs, of course. Our job in Section G is to prevent troubles between the differing socioeconomic and religious features of member planets. Whatever we think of some of the things Payne does, our task is to get him. Ronnie Bronston pushed the door open and went through. Lady Chang Chu was sitting at a desk, nonchalant and petitly beautiful as usual, comfortably seated in easy chairs were two young men, by their attire probably citizens of United Planets, and possibly even earthlings. Hello, Ronnie, Tog said softly. Meet Frederick Lipman and Pedro Nazar, both Section G operatives. This is my colleague, Ronald Bronston, gentlemen. Frederick and Pedro were just leaving, Ronnie. The two agents got up to shake hands. Ronnie said, You can't be in that much of a hurry. What's your assignment, boys? Lipman, an earnest type, and by his appearance not more than twenty-five or so years of age, began to answer. But Nazar said hurriedly, Actually, it's a confidential assignment. We're working directly out of the octagon. Lipman said frowning, It's not that confidential, Tog. Bronston's an agent, too. What's your assignment, Ronnie? Ronnie said very slowly, I'm beginning to suspect that it's the same as yours, and various pieces are beginning to fall into place. Bronston was taken aback. You mean you're looking for Tommy Payne? His eyes went to his associate. How could that be, Tog? I didn't know more than one of us were on this job. Why, that means if Bronston here finds him first, I won't get my permanent appointment. Ronnie looked at Tog Lee Chang Chu, who was sitting demurely, hands in lap, and a resigned expression on her face. He said, Nor if you find him first will I. Look here, Tog, how many men does Sid Jakes have out on this assignment? I wouldn't know, she said mildly. He snapped a few dozen or so, or possibly a few hundred? It seems unlikely there could be that many, she said mildly. She looked at the other two agents. I think you had better run along. Take my suggestion I made earlier. Wait a minute, Ronnie snapped. You mean that they'd go to Catalina? That's ridiculous. Tog Lee Chang Chu looked at Pedro Nazar, and he turned and started for the door followed by Frederick Lipman, who was still scowling his puzzlement. Wait a minute, Ronnie snapped. I tell you it's ridiculous, and why follow her suggestions. She's just my assistant. Pedro Nazar said, Come on Fred, let's get going. We'll have to pack. But Lipman wasn't having any. His assistant, he said, to Tog Lee Chang Chu. Tog Lee Chang Chu's face changed expression in sudden decision. She opened her bag and brought forth a Section G identification wallet inflicted open. The badge was gold. I suggest you hurry, she said to the two agents. They left, and Tog turned back to Ronnie, her eyebrows raised questioningly. Ronnie sank down into one of the chairs recently occupied by the two other agents and tried to unravel his thoughts. He said finally, I suppose my question should be, why do Rosma Taxa and Sid Jake send an agent of supervisor rank to act as assistant to a probationary agent? But that's not what I'm asking yet. Lipman just called his buddy Tog. How come? Tog took her seat again, rueful resignation on her face. You should be figuring it out on your own by this time, Ronnie. He looked at her belligerently. I'm too stupid, eh? The anger was growing within him. Tog, she said, it's a nickname, or possibly you might call it a title. Tog, T-O-G, the other guy. My name is Lee Chang Chu, and I am of supervisor grade presently working at developing new Section G operatives. Considering the continuing rapid growth of UP and the continuing crises that come up in UP activities, developing new operatives is one of the department's most pressing jobs. Each new agent, on his first assignment, is always paired with an experienced old-timer. I see, he said flatly, your principal job being to needle the fledgling, eh? She lowered her eyes. I wouldn't exactly word it that way, she said. She was obviously unrepentant. He said, you must get a lot of laughs out of it. If I say it seems to me democracy is a good thing, you give me an argument about the superiority of rule by an elite. If I say anarchism is ridiculous, you dredge up an opinion that it's man's highest ethic. You must laugh yourself to sleep at nights. You and Metaxa and Jakes and every other agent in Section G. Everybody's in on the Tog gag but the sucker. Sometimes there are amusing elements to the work. Lee Chang conceded, amirly. Just one more thing I'd like to ask, Ronnie rapped. This first assignment agents are given. Is it always to look for Tommy Payne? She looked up at him, said nothing, but her eyes were questioning. Don't worry, he snapped, I've already found out who Payne is. Ah! She was suddenly interested. Then I'm glad I ordered that other probationary agent to leave. Evidently he hasn't. Obviously I didn't want the two of you comparing notes. No, that would never do, he said bitterly. Well this is the end of the assignment so far as you and I are concerned. I'm heading back for earth. Of course, she said. End of Part XII. He had time on the way to think it all over, and over and over again, and a great deal of it simply didn't make sense. He had enough information to be disillusioned, sick at heart, to have crumbled an idealistic edifice that had taken a lifetime to build—a lifetime, at least three. His father and his grandfather before him had had the dream. He'd been weaned on the idealistic purposes of the United Planets and man's fated growth into the stars. He was a third-generation dreamer of participating in the glory. His grandfather had been a citizen of earth and gave up a commercial position to take a job that amounted to little more than a janitor and an obscure department of interplanetary financial clearing. He wanted to get into the big job, into space, but never made it. Ronnie's father managed to work up to the point where he was a supervisor in interplanetary medical exchange in the tabulating department. He too had wanted into space and never made it. Ronnie had loved them both. In a way fulfilling his own dreams had been a debt he owed them, because at the same time he was fulfilling theirs. And now this. All that had been gold was suddenly guilted lead. The dream had become contemptuous nightmare. Finally back in Greater Washington he went immediately from the shuttle-port to the octagon. His Bureau of Investigation badge was enough to see him through the guide-guards and all the way through to the office of Irene Kazanski. She looked up at him quickly. Hi! She said. Ronnie Bronston, isn't it? That's right. I want to see Commissioner Metaxa. She scowled. I can't work you in now. How about Sid Jakes? He said, Jakes is in charge of the Tommy Payne routine, isn't he? She shot her sharp a look up at him. That's right. She said warily. All right. Ronnie said, I'll see Jakes. Her deft right hand slipped open a drawer in her desk. You'd better leave your gun here. She said, I've known probationary agents to get excited in my time. He looked at her. And she looked back, her gaze level. Ronnie Bronston shrugged, slipped the Model H from under his armpit, and tossed it into the drawer. Irene Kazanski went back to her work. You know the way, she said. This time Ronnie Bronston pushed open the door to Sid Jakes' office without knocking. The Section G supervisor was pouring over reports on his desk. He looked up and grinned his Sid Jakes grin. Ronnie! He said, Welcome back! You know you're one of the quickest men ever to return from a Tommy Payne assignment. I was talking to Li Chang only a day or so ago. She said you were on your way. Ronnie grunted, his anger growing within him. He lowered himself into one of the room's heavy chairs and glared at the other. Sid Jakes chuckled and leaned back in his chair. Before we go any further, just to check, who is Tommy Payne? Ronnie snapped. You are. The supervisor's eyebrows went up. Ronnie said, You and Rosma Taxa and Li Chang Chu and all the rest of Section G. Section G is Tommy Payne. Good man! Sid Jakes chortled. He flicked a switch on his order-box. Irene, he said, how about clearing me through to the commissioner? I want to take Ronnie in for his finals. Irene snapped back something and Sid Jakes switched off and turned to Ronnie happily. Let's go, he said, Ross is free for a time. Ronnie Bronston said nothing. He followed the other. The rage within him was still mounting. In the months that had elapsed since Ronnie Bronston had seen Rosma Taxa, the latter had not changed at all. His clothing was still sloppy, his eyes bleary with lack of sleep or abundance of alcohol or both. His expression was still sour and skeptical. He looked up at their entry and scowled and made no effort to rise and shake hands. He said to Ronnie, sirely, OK, sound off and get it over with. I haven't too much time this afternoon. Ronnie Bronston was just beginning to feel tentacles of cold doubt, but he suppressed them. The boiling anger was uppermost. He said flatly, All my life I've been a dedicated United Planets man. All my life I've considered its efforts the most praiseworthy and greatest endeavor man has ever attempted. Of course, old chap! Jakes told him cheerfully, We all know that, or you wouldn't ever have been chosen as an agent for Section G. Ronnie looked at him and discussed. I've resigned that position, Jakes. Jakes grinned back at him. To the contrary, you are now in the process of receiving permanent appointment. Ronnie snorted his disgust and turned back to Metaxa. Section G is a secret department of the Bureau of Investigation devoted to subverting Article I of the United Planets Charter. Metaxa nodded. You don't deny it? Metaxa shook his head. Article I, Ronnie snapped, is the basic foundation of the Charter which every member of UP, and particularly every citizen of United Planets, such as ourselves, has sworn to uphold. But the very reason for the existence of this Section G is to interfere with the internal affairs of member planets, to subvert their governments, their economic systems, their religions, their ideals, their very way of life. Metaxa yawned and reached into a desk drawer for his bottle. That's right," he said. Anybody like a drink?" Ronnie ignored him. I'm surprised I didn't catch on even sooner, he said. On New Delos, Moli Hassan, the local agent, knew the God-king was going to be assassinated. He brought in extra agents and even a detail of Space Force's guards for the emergency. He probably engineered the assassination himself. Nope, Jakes said. We seldom go that far. Local rebels did the actual work, but admittedly we knew what they were planning. But—I've got a sneaking suspicion that Moli Hassan provided them with the bomb. That lads a bit too dedicated. But why, Ronnie blurted, that's deliberately interfering with internal affairs. If the word got out, every planet in UP would resign. Probably no planet in the system that needed to change so badly, Metaxa growled. If they were ever going to swing into real progress, that hierarchy of priests had to go, he snorted, an immortal God-king yet. Ronnie pressed on. That was bad enough. But how about this planet mother, where the colonists had attempted to return to nature and live in the manner man did in earliest times? Most backward planet in the UP, Metaxa said soundly. They just had to be roused. And Kropotkin! Ronnie blurted. Don't you understand? Those people were happy there. Their lives were simple, uncomplicated, and they had achieved a happiness that—Metaxa came to his feet. He scowled at Ronnie Bronston and growled, and fortunately the human race can't take the time out for happiness. Come along, I want to show you something. He swung around the corner of his desk and made his way toward a ceiling-high bookcase. Ronnie stared after him, taken off guard, but Sid Jakes was grinning his amusement. Ross Metaxa pushed a concealed button and the bookcase slid away to one side to reveal an elevator beyond. Come along! Metaxa repeated over his shoulder. He entered the elevator, followed by Jakes. There was nothing else to do. Ronnie Bronston followed them, his face still flushed with the angered argument. The elevator dropped, how far Ronnie had no idea. It stopped, and they emerged into a plain, sparsely furnished vault. Against one wall was a box-like affair that reminded Ronnie of nothing so much as a deep freeze. For all practical purposes, that's what it was. Ross Metaxa let him over, and they stared down into its glass-covered interior. Ronnie's eyes bugged. The box contained the partly charred body of an animal approximately the size of a rabbit. No, not an animal. It had obviously once been clothed, and its limbs were obviously those of a tool using life-form. Metaxa and Jakes were staring down at it solemnly, for once no inane grin on the supervisor's face. And that of Ross Metaxa was more weary than ever. Ronnie said finally, What is it? But he knew. You tell us, Metaxa growled sourly. It's an intelligent life-form, Ronnie blurted. Why has it been kept secret? Let's go on back upstairs, Metaxa sighed. Back in his office he said, Now I go into my speech. Shut up for a while. He poured himself a drink, not offering one to the other two. Ronnie, he said, Man isn't alone in the galaxy. There's other intelligent life, dangerously intelligent. In spite of himself, Ronnie reacted in amusement. That little creature down there, the size of a small monkey? As soon as he said it, he realized the ridiculousness of his statement. Metaxa grunted. Obviously, size means nothing. That little fella down there was picked up by one of our space-forces scouts over a century ago. How long he'd been drifting through space we don't know. Possibly only months, but possibly hundreds of centuries. But however long he's proof that man is not alone in the galaxy. And we have no way of knowing when the expanding human race will come up against this other intelligence, and whoever it was fighting. But, Ronnie protested, You're assuming they're aggressive. Perhaps coming in contact with these aliens will be the best thing that ever happened to man. Possibly that little fella down there is the most benevolent creature ever evolved. Metaxa looked at him strangely. Let's hope so, he said. However when found he was in what must have been a one-man scout. He was dead, and his craft was blasted and torn, obviously from some sort of weapons fire. His scout was obviously a military craft, highly equipped with what could only be weapons. Most of them so damaged our engineers haven't been able to figure them out. To the extent they have been able to reconstruct them they're scared silly. Nope, there's no two ways about it. Our little rapid-sized intelligence down in the vault was killed in an interplanetary conflict, and sooner or later, Ronnie, man in his explosion into the stars, is going to run into either or both of the opponents in that conflict. Ronnie Bronston slumped back into his chair, his brain running out a dozen leaves at once. Elsa and Jake's remained quiet, looking at him speculatively. Ronnie said slowly, Then, the purpose of Section G is to push the member planets of UP along the fastest path of progress, to get them ready for the eventual, inevitable meeting. Not just Section G, Metaxa growled, but all of the United Planets' organization, although most of the rank and file don't even know our basic purpose. Section G, we do the dirty work, and are proud to do it, by every method we can devise. Ronnie leaned forward. But look, he said, why not simply inform all member planets of this common danger? They'd all unite in the effort to meet the common potential foe. Anything standing in the way would be brushed aside. Metaxa shook his head, wearily. Would they? Is a common danger enough for man to change his institutions? Particularly those pertaining to property, power and religion? History doesn't show it. Delve back into early times, and you'll recall for an example, that in man's early discovery of nuclear weapons he almost destroyed himself. Three or four different socioeconomic systems coexisted at that time, and all would have preferred destruction rather than changes in their social forms. Jake said in an unwanted quiet tone, no, until someone comes up with a better answer, it looks as though Section G is going to have to continue the job of advancing man's institutions in spite of himself. The Commissioner made it clearer. It's not as though we deal with all our member planets. It isn't necessary. But you see, Ronnie, the best colonists are usually made up of the, well, crackpot element. Those who are satisfied stay at home. America, for instance, was settled by the adventurers, the malcontents, the nonconformists, the religious cultists, and even fugitives and criminals of Europe. So it is in the stars. A group of colonists go out with their dreams, their schemes, their far out ideas. In a few centuries they've populated their new planet, and often do very well indeed. But often not, and a nudge, a push, from Section G, can start them up another rung or so of the latter of social evolution. Most of them don't want the push. Few cultures, if any, realize they are mortal. Like Hitler's Rife, they expect to last at least a thousand years. They resist any change, even change for the better. Ronnie's defenses were crumbling, but he threw one last punch. How do you know that changes you make are for the better? Metaxas shrugged, heavy shoulders. It's sometimes difficult to decide, but we aim for changes that will mean an increased scientific progress, a more advanced industrial technology, more and better education, the opening of opportunity for every member of the culture to exert himself to the full of his abilities. The last is particularly important. Too many cultures, even those that think of themselves as particularly advanced, suppress the individual by one means or another. Ronnie was still mentally reeling with the magnitude of it all. But how can you account for the fact that these alien intelligences haven't already come in contact with us? Metaxas shrugged again. The solar system, our sun, is way out in a sparsely populated spiral arm of our galaxy. Undoubtedly these others are further in toward the center. We have no way of knowing how far away they are, or how many sun systems they dominate, or even how many other empires of intelligent life forms there are. All we know is that there are other intelligences in the galaxy, that they are near enough like us to live on the same type planets. The more opportunity man has to develop before the initial contact takes place, the stronger bargaining position or military position as the case may be he'll be in. Sid Jake summed up the Tommy Payne business for Ronnie's sake. We need capable agents badly, but we need dedicated and efficient ones. We can't afford anything less. So when we come upon potential Section G operatives we sent them out with a trusted Tog to get a picture of these United Planets of ours. It's the quickest method of indoctrination we've hit upon. The agent literally teaches himself by observation and participation. Usually it takes four or five stops on this planet and that before the probationary agent begins sympathizing with the efforts of this elusive Tommy Payne. Especially since every Section G agent he runs into, including the Tog, of course, fills him full of stories of Tommy Payne's activities. You were one of the quickest to stumble on the true nature of our Section G. After calling it only three planets you saw that we ourselves are Tommy Payne. But... But what's the end? Ronnie said plaintively. You say our job is advancing man even in spite of himself when it comes to that. We start at the bottom of the evolutionary ladder in a condition of savagery, clan, communism and government, simple animism and religion, and slowly we progress through barbarism to civilization, through paganism to the higher ethical codes, through chattel slavery and then feudalism and beyond. What is the final end? The ultimate fool. Metaxa was shaking his head again. He poured himself another drink, offered the bottle this time to the others. We don't know, he said wearily. Perhaps there is none. Perhaps there is always another rung on this evolutionary ladder. He punched in his order box and said, Irene, have him do up a silver badge for Ronnie. Ronnie Bronston took a deep breath and reached for the brown bottle. Well, he said, I suppose I'm ready to ask for my first assignment. He thought for a moment. By the way, if there's any way to swing it, I wouldn't mind working with supervisor Li Chang-Chu. End of Part XIII. End of Ultimate Fool by Mac Reynolds.